Friday, January 20th, is Boobday!

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Busy week and I think I’m closer to pulling the trigger on going to Eroticon!  If anyone wants to help me out, I’d be forever grateful.  Click here if you’ve got any spare change and want to do your good deed for the year.  I’m so close to hitting my goal!

Got some interesting things to write about/share in the coming days and I’m feeling the energy to actually write it all up, so cross your fingers!

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

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

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

Also, just as a reminder:

  1. If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)
  2. Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

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

My tits:

Can’t hide.

NOT my tits:

Our lone submitter this week, Sandy, has out done herself this week…

Looks like I was mauled by a bear!!!

::

Leave the love!!


It’s been 2 years.

January 27th, 2015 I wrote about our last time together.  Only thing was, I had no idea that’s what it was.

It was a tender moment between us — good sex, spectacular sex — and it wiped out the doubt and worry I lived with about him and had me hopeful for our future.  I contemplated what we did next with our relationship, moving it forward.  I was the girl who got all dressed up for the dance and her date had entirely other plans.  Somewhere else.

And then, the day after I wrote the words he walked into my house and left me.  Technically we ended it 2 weeks later, but the truth is he left me the night he said he wanted a break.  Perhaps it was the last time he was buried inside of me; a real goodbye fuck.

In the weeks that followed we cried together as I begged him for a reason why.  “I don’t know, Hy.  I just don’t want to be in a relationship,” he’d say wearing a sad, heavy face like a drama mask.

Spring turned into summer and our meetings were less tearful and more reorienting.  “If we’re going to be friends, then you can’t hide things from me, TN,” I’d gently lecture.  “I don’t want details, but friends tell each other when they’re dating someone.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m not dating anyone, I promise.  I have no interest.”

He was working out early in the mornings by then, bootcamp at dawn.  I couldn’t get him up before 9 am when we dated.  He’d said he wasn’t a morning person and never would be.  He did yoga, was kayaking, even hanging out with his workout crowd.

My birthday was in late summer and the night he took me out to a fancy dinner to celebrate he complained about how tired he was because of the hot yoga he’d done in the morning and when I pressed and asked if he was doing it for a woman he claimed it was with “just a bunch of middle-aged women” from his bootcamp.  “Don’t worry.  I’m not dating,” he’d added unprovoked.

The next day I ended our friendship amidst his protests and angry, mournful tears.  I was still in love with him and watching him change into the kind of man I’d always wanted him to be right before my eyes was too painful, a slap in the face of my ill-conceived sacrifice to accept him as he was.  What a fucking idiot I was.

That fall, a mere weeks after saying my final goodbye, I ran into him with a woman at my favorite gym class.  A class that I had introduced him to and which we had attended together for a year.  She was pale and pretty and he struggled to ignore me even as he paid her every ounce of his attention.

A couple of weeks later I stumbled on his Facebook page filled with pictures of him with the same dark-haired woman.  I was devastated.  Everything – everything – he had told me about himself was a lie.

Apparently he was the kind of man who went out to parties and concerts and yoga.  He dressed up for Halloween and brought her to his work events.  He was snapped kissing her and beaming a 100-watt smile at the camera with her in his arms.  And he allowed her tag the ever-loving-shit out of him on Facebook whereas I was forbidden from giving even the slightest hint of our association with each other on social media beyond friendship.

I was glad I had preemptively ejected him from my life based on not only my ongoing feelings for him but the deeply held, but as yet unproven belief that he was lying to me.  (Posthumously and accidentally discovering hidden profiles seeking alternative sexual relationships with women during our active relationship helped cement my feelings about him lying.)

I was left in shreds.  Barely myself.  I limped along month after month of 2016 fully free of him in my life, but was repeatedly reminded of his existence — both because he remained in our complex and because about every week or so he would visit my Adult Friend Finder profile, deliberately leaving a visitor trail.

Once.

It’s now nearly two years to the day he abandoned me out of a troubled left field and I still — still — miss him.

I miss our easy rapport, our shared politics, our chemistry, our love.  And by far most of all — because I’m beyond and round the bend of the other things — I miss his fucking cock. 

Since we’ve split I’ve had 20, 30 more and not one has come close in making me feel the things he did.  Bones was an approximation, David was massive and fat but didn’t have the curve and length, Remington never let go despite having a lot to work with.

Everyone else had curves, lengths, and girths that just didn’t compare and despite my best efforts to refocus, let go, really enjoy and embrace what was in front of me I was left with a bitter aftertaste which was decidedly not TN.

Regardless of the shape and size of the penis — truly — the bottom line is no one has fucked me like he did, like he could.

He was a maestro with our bodies, perhaps I was, too.  Playing each other like seasoned musicians.  Eyes shut, feeling the chords, the notes, and the symphony in our bones.

Even that last meaningful night when he had assuredly decided he was leaving me and was completely checked out.

I can’t help but ask myself how is that even possible?? How can two people have that level of connection and pleasure while one is utterly gone?

I am ashamed and deeply humiliated at my gullibility and inability to move on.  I’m afraid that no one will be able to supplant the memories with new and better ones.  I’m scared I’m stuck.

Two motherfucking years and I have what feels like nothing to show for all my work, all my suffering, all my tearful, painful meanderings through the tangled paths of my heart.

I’m ashamed to share the depth of my broken-ness, of my mistrust, my longing.  No one can penetrate the fortress I have built around my heart except for those whose proximity and viability are null.  Men equal danger.  They cannot be trusted.  They don’t listen to me, they use me, they are not safe.

Therefore I will use them, chew them like bubblegum and rub my mound on their parts until my juices burst and runneth over and the sticky-sweet bubbles pop on my puckered lips.

Twice.

I wonder if he ever thinks of me.  In general.  I know he must considering he visits my AFF profile regularly, but I mean in real life.  Does he have anxiety about getting his mail?  Driving in and out?  I’m long since past all that, but the ghost of his cock lingers in my psyche, my pussy, my heart.

I have fucked everything that walks in an effort to replace him and to heal and all to no avail. I’ve hoped love would find me and now I’m hoping to find love.

The only thing left to try at this point is not fucking at all except I’m failing at that, too — of course — but I’m hanging in there with the hope and the will to push forward.  If I found someone like him once, surely I can find someone like him (but better) again.  Right??

At least the thought helps me sleep at night.

 

e[lust] 90

Photo courtesy of Rebel’s Notes

Welcome to Elust 90

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

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Conflicted part 1

Glow

Happy Endings

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Please You to Please Me

How to suck my cock – part 1 (attitude)

 

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Visions of Sugarplums

*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!

 

Writing About Writing

The Curious Case of Trigger Warnings
Writing About It All

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

PLEASING THE MISTRESS
Reader Q&A: Dominant women struggle, turn-ons
Chastity Questions
Not every hole is a goal

Erotic Non-Fiction

A Picture is Worth…
Morning Stretch
Lovemaking Almost Too Brilliant To Describe
The GP
I Want
Indescribable Pleasure
Humiliating an ex-Nazi: Raylene’s 2nd dozen
Preparation
I love big, fat dicks <– My contribution.

Erotic Fiction

Dude, You’re Wet!
When Love Becomes a Weakness
On a Silver Platter
The Silent Treatment
A Seasonal Affair
Three in a Stall
Schoolgirl Uniform
The New Principal 4: Escape

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Anal Retentive Or Just OCD?

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

BuzzFeed Femdom

Poetry

-06.01.17_13:22-
Mistletoe: A Lusty Limerick

 

Elust 88

Friday, January 13th, is Boobday!

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Such a wonderfully busy week; I haven’t had a minute to spare and Thursday I spent in a fog recovering.  I have two stories to share — one with Franklin and one with another fella, Martin — and more general thoughts about my new pursuits.  N. Likes also helped me with my OKCupid profile and he gave some extremely interesting — if not exceedingly frustrating — advice, which I need to still process.

Thanks, as always, to the lovely humans who’ve sent in their images and to all the bloggers who link up.  You’re all da bomb.

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

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

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

Also, just as a reminder:

  1. If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)
  2. Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

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

My tits:

I love the winter.

NOT my tits:

I love the sprawl, the necklace, the ease in Miss Over 50’s frame. Beautiful!

I loved modeling my new leather dress and my hubby enjoyed unzipping it…fun times for both.

::

Do you see how the loop in Kim’s necklace mimics the curve of her breasts?

Friday Smiles ☺, not entirely pleased with this view, but WTF!

::

Miss Ellie’s nipple piercings make me miss mine.

Something special for Friday the 13th!  What do you guys think of the look?

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I love this pic of Sandy. There’s something so raw about it.

Shame they won’t let me workout topless. I don’t want to put the bra on.

::

Adriana’s mind is playing tricks on her currently. This is a stunning image. The colors, the costume.

Despite incredibly cold temperatures, I showed up to the boyfriend’s place in my favorite winter trench coat, thigh high stockings, black heels, & little else. We managed to warm things up quite nicely.

 

Be sure to check out the other beauties below!


I’m free.

I have officially admitted to myself that I would like to find love.  I have ceased taking on any new men.  I have changed profiles to fit the new standard.  I have spoken with men on the phone.  I have written lengthy reply emails.  I am also unprepared.

There are so many layers to my life that I believe opts me out of any sane man’s world.  Hy, my need to expose myself, my writing, my kinks.  Do you know of any guy who wants to partner up with a woman who’s into triple digit lovers now, who shares intimate details of her sex life and thoughts, has thousands of Instagram followers for her alter ego, and who is comfortable living a double life for as long as necessary?

The special thing about Luke is that he met me as Hy first.  The hard part is done.  He accepts me for who and what I am.  The real life aspects are all just a bonus — my career, my child, my life — but going the other direction feels like rubbing a cat from tail to head.  It’s just awkward, unfulfilling, and might get you bitten.  In other words: hard.

I feel trapped by who I am and by my fear of rejection.

Nothing has happened — everything is calm — it’s just a waiting game now to see where all these trails go with the men currently in my life.  The lawyer, the martial artist, the sub PhD, the sweet Lothario, the sugar daddy, the dom, the mother lover, the special ops guy, the baby soldier.  The handful of others whom have yet to make a stronger impression.

Love enters our lives, right?  We don’t force it to happen, yet I find myself not willing to change much about my own self in order to find it.  Giving up Hy and this writing would be a colossal mistake. Giving up on my desires and wants and curiosities, too.  My deeply felt connections.  They’re all me, after all, and if I hide one aspect from a potential mate it feels disingenuous, like a charade.  I only want a man who wants all of me and not one layer less.

I’m terrified to discover I’m as alone as I feel, but there’s only one way of testing my theory and it isn’t cocooned in my little fuck-buddy-bubble.  It’s out there.

And so I wait in my gilded cage.  A longing woman behind her own self-imposed bars who watches the world with sad, old eyes.  Who sees the youthful couples plunge headlong into lifelong promises of love and babies, the lucky others hold tight to their nice-smelling, kind and strong, matching pieces, and the rest who bump along either indifferent or longing, like me.  Perhaps I’ll figure a way out on my own.  Perhaps someone will show me the way.

No where to go.

 

Friday, January 6th, is Boobday!

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First week of 2017 is in the books!  How’d it go for y’all??  Me, it’s been alright.  I realize I need to spruce up my last post and put in a bunch of hyper-links and better explain myself.

For the record: I’m not quitting men or sex.  No one is becoming celibate or looking for a husband!  Some of y’all sure are creative with your interpretations!

No, really.  Some of you thought that!

Lots of love to everyone who makes Boobday such a wonderful booby-ful day!

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

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

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

Also, just as a reminder:

  1. If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)
  2. Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

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

My tits:

By the holiday lights…

NOT my tits:

Sandy is a real trooper. Seeing her lay here like this, sick and feverish, made me think about how natural breasts are. Full, always there, whatever we want them to be.

I’ve been home sick. Totally forgot what day it is. Here’s your 102.6 fever boobs

::

Kim shrugs into 2017.

Summer, pool-side markings are coming on nicely.  Been acting like a grown-up for a change and using sun block!!

::

Marie is participating for the first time and allowed me to make some edits. I softened the light and obscured her identity a bit (I’m just a nervous nelly that way). I love her stance here, her resolution in an ordinary living room. Welcome, Marie!

Don’t like my body, but doing something about it this year. 39 years old but never too late to work on it and regain my confidence.

Be sure to click on the links below to see who else is participating!


When the mood hits, strike: Looking for love

The crowd pulsed around me and I felt the chant.

“Ten!  Nine!  Eight!”

I clung to the Prosecco bottle and my glass, careful to spill not one drop.

“Seven!  Six!  Five!”

Tina’s little idea for me to be her date for the night had panned out well enough.  I’d curled my hair into beachy waves, stuffed myself into a dress which had to eventually be swapped out, and gone out with low expectations.

“Four!  Three!  Two!”

Her two friends, a couple, bounced next to us, their glasses held high among all the other gold, silver and bronze liquids sloshing in the air.  I hadn’t talked to anyone but these three all night long.  Except for the stranger who bought me a bottle of Prosecco, whoever that was.  Thanks, dude.

And then the big climax.

“Ooonnnneee!”

The room exploded with little horns and cheers and the band banged on their instruments as kisses rippled through the room from strangers and friends.

We left shortly after — having drained 4 bottles of bubbles — and walked happily, loudly home in the dark.  I like to think cars honked cheerily at us as we meandered home, but I doubt any driver would be trying to attract attention past midnight on New Year’s Eve.  But the mood was jovial, full, warm.

I awoke at 7 in Tina’s sister’s bed alone, but for Tina’s sister’s cat, Pierre.  I was fully dressed and the Spanx which cut into my thighs were my wake up call.

On the drive home I thought about the last several of my New Year’s Eves.  I was married on New Year’s Eve exactly eleven years ago.  We threw an epic party that my friends and I still talk about fondly.  We’d chosen that night because of the disaster which New Year’s seems to always become and now we wouldn’t have to ever worry about it again!  Ha.  Oh, naive, Hy!

The first New Year’s alone was spent with my very closest friends.  The Neighbor was not yet in my life, though he must have been nearby celebrating.  The next I’d invited him to come over while I stayed with Peyton, but he went to a party instead.  The next we shroomed together, the following we went to dinner and I discovered more hurt and betrayal, and the last one together we spent like rags drying on a line: dismal and limp with my friends.  He’d break up with me 3 weeks later.

The next, alone and completely heartbroken still, I spent with Ashley.  She and I had played softball with TN and she knew him well.  Saw his struggle, mine.  Our love, our colossal collapse.  But it was dark and singular and sparklers still make me nervous from growing up in a drought state and I couldn’t enjoy their hissing, spinning, maniacal screams into the treetops.

This year was different, though.  Although alone, completely and totally, I was surrounded with energy and a wild abandonment.  There was no sorrow like the first.  No longing and yearning and disappointment like with TN.  No settling for plans.  Just a decision to enjoy myself.

I spoke to no one — except the generous stranger — and didn’t want to.  My goal was to feel alive, to feel full, to feel beautiful and strong.

This year, I have decided, I am going to attempt to achieve something I have never tried to do before: to find love.  And not to stumble upon it, to luck out in finding it, but to actively and intentionally seek it out.

I will follow the trails of some men I’ve met under the “old regime” to their ends, but in the meantime I have hit pause on my AFF* profile — as well as my other pursuits — and reopened OKCupid in order to achieve a better platform for real conversation.

As of January 1st there are no less than 5 men who have wowed me with their words, good looks, and yes – desires for a long-term relationship.  The amount of effort required in culling the herd of potential boyfriends is vastly greater than that needed to find a fun roll in the hay and I am already completely exhausted.  Coyness is seen as a brush off; I must actually respond in kind!

But, I’m also determined to change my life.

I’ve long been afraid to let myself do something like this, to set goals.  Fear of failure, frustration and the overruling feeling that it’s futile have all kept me away, but at 41, I can no longer say my current methods work all that well.  I have been plagued by mostly mediocre sex all year long and I realize that more emotional effort is required to get things right.

I’m not going to “Just enjoy myself until I find something more serious.”  I’m going to look for the serious… and hopefully also enjoy myself.  I might not even kiss on the first date.  (Go ahead and scoff.  I just did.)

Happy New Year, Internet Boyfriend!

Here’s to a year of love.  We all need a little.

 

 

 

 

 

*TN still checks out my profile every week or so.

Friday, December 30th, is Boobday!

hy_tits_bannerWell, as my friend, Jack, used to say, “Fuck me with a rake.”

I cannot wait for 2016 to be over; I don’t even like the sound of it in my mouth.  Twenty-seventeen has such a better clip to it.  We English speakers grab our lip with the V and and hold the tongue against our teeth for the N.  It feels like sexual move, to be honest.

As I predicted two weeks ago I’m ending the year sick, though “sick” isn’t quite right.  I’m just unwell.  Something has attacked me this year, mind, body and spirt.  Simultaneously, many things have fought against it all right along side of me.  My generous sister, friends, and dozens of incredible strangers have all given their love, support, and even money to help me get through this year.  To them I am forever and eternally grateful.  Thank you.

Twenty-sixteen was the year a drop in income coincided with an increase in expenses, both of which were significant and uncontrollable.  My hope is that 2017 is the year I claw my way out of all of it.  The financial crisis, the health weirdness, the loneliness.

That poll I took a few weeks back determined that y’all kinda like the Boobday name, so I guess I’ll leave it as is (for now), but expect a few new things this year.  I’d like to broaden the reach and gather more bodies to share.  If anyone has ideas as to how to achieve this, email me!  I’d love to hear them.

Ok, I need to shut up and post!

I love you all, so so so so very much and I am so grateful to host this little meme each week.

xx

Hy

PS: I’ve set the link up for 24 hours from the time I post, so feel free to link up tomorrow!

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

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

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

Also, just as a reminder:

  1. If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)
  2. Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

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

My tits:

Rolled out of bed — as usual — and found the light.

 

NOT my tits:

We get a sneaky peek of Kim’s smile!

Farewell 2016,crossing fingers and legs (OK maybe not legs LOL;)) for a fuck-load better 2017. Have fun and be safe everyone, Mwah from SA xxx

::

Kate has participated in the past, but took a break. Here she is again exploring her feminine side with us.

Even though I’m not a cisgender woman this gives me the change to express my female side and what’s inside.  I feel safe and accepted with your blog community and you as the host.  Im going through a lot now and will be this upcoming year so this helps.

::

Beam me up, Sandy!

The after affects of a long time in the nipple pumps.

::

Click the images below to see who else is participating!:


I love big, fat dicks.

Sue me, I do.  I love the way they stretch me and fill me, the way they pick me up from the inside and move me from this place in time to that place in time like a fleshy warp drive.  I love fearing them, sucking on them, and weeping upon them.  I revel in their rarity and their beauty.  I’m an unapologetic Size Queen: big, fat dicks are my friends.

And so is Remington.

After being a proper 25-year-old shit back in July he reached out and apologized and my old 41-year-old ass accepted.  Life’s too short for not forgiving someone with whom you really click.  Proper grammar, too.

He was right on time, all smiles, like a coat hanger stretched his face.  We had much to catch up on, some shit talking to do.  Long and lanky, goofy and sexy, he lay on my couch as I fed him wine and thought disgusting things about his body.  His soft skin, his big, fat cock, his youth.  Fuck: his youth.

Yet Remington is wise beyond his years somehow.  His drive, his ambition.  It sets him apart from other dipshits his age.  I mean, he’s still a dipshit — only dipshits don’t show up to things he’s promised to do– but he’s a brilliant, savage, delicious young man and it somehow makes it all part of the man.

We played Mastermind and when he knew he’d lost, instead of going down in flames he leaned across the table and kissed me.  Deeply and passionately with his coat-hanger smile.

I smiled back into him and climbed onto his lap.  We quickly removed my clothes and pressed my breasts into his face then I slid quietly between his legs, unwrapped his goodies and began to suck.

The glans’ ridge caught on my lips while I serviced it like an obedient piston; the warm, round helmet hit the back of my throat and I fought the gags with great pleasure.

We stood almost as if we shared a mind and stumbled into my candlelit room hand in hand.

I rustled in my drawer since he’d left his condoms in his Mustang convertible until I found some condoms.  “Do you need Magnums?”

“Yes.”

Rip, peel, roll, push, ahhhhh.

We nipped and kissed each other’s lips, jaws, and necks.  I greedily held his hips against mine.  “No.  Stay,” I whispered, desperate.  He held still and we breathed each other’s breath.

We moved and flipped, groaned and gripped, and all too soon it was over with a mad bashing against my ass.

We collapsed on the bed and moved to the pillows and quickly fell asleep.  I was vaguely aware of his soft snores and his hand on my hip.  I wondered if he fit in my bed, but fell back asleep before the worry fully woke me.

Some time in the night, long before dawn, I reached for the soft, warm meat between his thighs and felt it grow turgid in my grip.  The Christmas lights in my window cast a warm glow over the swell of his hip and legs, his cock pulsed and twitched in my hand.  And then I fell asleep and the tickle of his retreating, shrinking cock shivered me out of my slumber for a second or two until he — and I — were both fully asleep again.

I did not get to stuff his beautiful largeness back inside of me.

The morning was a mad dash because he overslept.  He shoved his feet into his leather boat shoes, grabbed his bag, pulled on his crumpled jeans and kissed me once, twice, three times before rushing out the door.

Later, he informed me he’d beaten his CTO to work so it was as if it’d never happened.  I might have congratulated him on his good luck and silently lamented at my own bad luck.  I had really wanted more of him.

He’s so much more than just the good fortune between his legs — he is not reduced to only his penis — but I would be lying if I pretended it wasn’t a cherry on the Young Man Sundae that is Remington.   A delicious, big cocked, smiling man-dessert.  And fuck… I do love me some fat, yummy man meat.

I fucked two guys on Christmas night: A holiday tradition

I love reposting this year after year.  It’s now the 5th year in a row I’m posting my magical Christmas night story.  It was the first time Troy and I met Jack and it was the launch of a beautiful friendship between the three of us.  It was also the launch of my sex positive journey, a true freeing of a soul.  This was originally published 12/25/11 and when I read it it’s almost like someone else wrote it.  Crazy how time will do that to a person.  I hope you’re all having a lovely holiday season with your loved ones!  xx Hy

Tonight is my one-year anniversary of becoming a libertine and creating a left-of-center, non-vanilla lifestyle. For real.

Prior to a year ago, I was a newly single woman embarking on a non-monogamous dating path. That much I knew. But I didn’t know how far I swung out of the mainstream until a surprise package landed in my lap late December 25th, 2010. That’s when I knew I was forever changed.

Troy was a man I’d men in early November and our sex was electric. I made him cum 4 times our first time and he’s the one who opened my body to wonders I didn’t know existed. He was a demanding, gentle, talented lover, but out of bed he was cruel, punitive, and dismissive. Our sexual affair lasted as long as I could stand until he betrayed me with a friend. I mourn the loss of his cock and skill, but celebrate the freedom from the bullshit.

One of the many things that Troy and I bonded over was our shared fantasy regarding a third man. He wanted to suck a huge cock and I wanted to watch men suck each other. So we embarked on a hunt via AFF to find a third. Man after man didn’t pass muster. Troy would routinely meet them first to make sure they weren’t creepy, then I’d meet them, but no one clicked. We were becoming discouraged.

Then, it all came together. Like the twinkle in Santa’s eye. It wasn’t planned, it was a happy accident. Suddenly I had two men before me, a fire in my hearth, and cocks all over inside me.

Here’s the story as I documented it one year ago today:

The other night I was suddenly and unexpectedly childless. I invited Troy over for companionship since a trip he had planned for fell through (a wild jaunt in the mountains with an Amazonian Russian doll, no less). I surprised him with my childless status to which he immediately jumped and texted Jack, a 20-something computer-systems-IT-type dude; European in stature and British in intonation, to come to my house instead of his for an initial meet and greet.

Troy was agitated and nervous as we waited so I pushed him down on my couch and sucked and stroked his cock for a few minutes with expertise, then climbed on top and drenched his hips with my pussy juices as he pile drove into me and came like a rockstar.

Finally Jack arrived. Tall, pale, polite, floppy-haired and bespectacled. The perfectly innocuous third to our fantasy.

I sat on the couch next to Troy. Jack sat in a chair. We chatted. Then someone suggested Jack sit next to me, essentially sandwiching me between them. The men began discussing auto-oral stimulation and I mentioned I loved to sit and hold my breast in my hand like this. Then I asked if Jack would like to hold it. Then I told Troy to hold the other one.

I sat there in stillness. The universe swirled around me as two large, warm male hands each cupped a heavy breast tenderly, eagerly.

“What do you want us to do next, sweet Hyacinth?” Jack asked.

“Kiss my neck,” I firmly replied.

And they did. Two pairs of soft lips on balanced sides of my neck, nibbling away. Their hands kneading and strong on my tits still.

With locks of soft hair brushing one side of my neck and the fine stubble of a shaved head on the other I tell them, “Now unbuckle your pants.” They do and I reach into each of their laps and hold giant, rigid cocks. Jack is 8″+, Troy is close to 8″.

All salacious hell breaks loose and the next 3 and a half hours or so are a fucking blur. Literally.

If memory serves me, Jack flipped me on my back, hefted my knees high and peeled off my panties. He fell onto my pussy with gusto while Troy kissed me deeply. It hurt for a few strokes and I had to say, “Flatten your tongue, Jack, flatten it,” to which he did immediately. This went on for a few minutes before things switched gears.

I sucked Jack first. Troy wanted me to lead the way, to break the ice, and I was more than willing. I kneeled before him and spread his legs wide, gripped the base and licked from balls to stern. Jack is thick and my hand was filled with his heat. He was shaved clean, which I don’t ordinarily like, but with the contrast of Troy’s trimming I found it intriguing, titillating, lovely. I deep-throated him like Troy had taught me a couple of days prior but I was sorely lacking so he took over.

I watched in awe as this powerful, 6’6″, broad-shouldered, and athletic man gently took hold of another man’s 8″ cock and tenderly put it in his mouth and. bore. down. Like he was born to it. Someone was probably touching me somewhere — I have no clue — I was spiraling up and up as my fantasy manifested before my eyes.

Things switched again. Jack started fingering me, someone was kissing me, someone was licking my pussy and I was squirting. And squirting. And squirting.

My brain began to shut down and be replaced by my glorious cunt, my nerves, my sensations.

Minutes, hours, an eternity? later I found myself fucking Jack – something neither Troy nor I thought I’d do. He pounded into me. Maybe Troy was there licking my clit? I don’t know. Maybe we were in my room, maybe the living room. God, I have no fucking clue, even now. I only know that at some point my vibe entered the equation and I was prone over my ottoman in only a bathrobe and two long, naked men at my head and rear. Jack was under me with three fingers curled deep inside, the vibe held tight to my clit. Troy was at my face, kissing me, whispering how beautiful I was, this was, and his fingers trailed lightly along my back and face as I whimpered and shuttered and cried and came and came and came and poured juices all over Jack’s face beneath me.

They talked about me like I wasn’t there; marveling at my body and its responses to them. I loved hearing every word. They compared their sensations at “bottoming out” with me, how amazing it was; how eager I was; how incredible I felt and how good I tasted.

And I came some more.

Then I sucked Jack with Troy burying himself deep inside of me, essentially controlling Jack’s blowjob with his thrusts. As Troy so aptly pointed out later, I was, literally, a FUCKING COCKSUCKER.

Later, I lay on my back in my bed with Troy to my left and Jack over me and deep inside of me, the vibe at my clit. Jack had never fucked with a Hitachi before and he kept up a steady stream of comments, “Oh my God. She’s clenching. I can feel her. It feels so good. Oh, Hyacinth…” And then as he came he pulled out, stripped off the condom and Troy sucked him dry, then was suddenly looming over my face, blocking out the light, and snowballing Jack’s yummy, tangy cum into my eager mouth.

I finished myself off with the vibe, Troy’s hand on my throat, Jack quietly waiting at my feet. My mind fragmented. Then Troy says hoarsely, “Hyacinth, I need you to suck me like only you can.” And I did. And he came brilliantly in my mouth, warm and delicious, like heated vanilla.

There were times during the night when I could hear them wondering aloud whether or not they’d “broken me” as I lay trembling and gasping in a literal puddle of my own making. I always said, “NO. Just give me a minute. Don’t stop.” And they didn’t. They kept going and going, playing off of what each other was doing to me, juxtaposing their strokes, their styles.

The strongest two snapshots I have in my mind from that night are 1) of my face pressed into the ottoman with unimaginable sensation skyrocketing out of my pussy through every vein of my body and Troy’s breath mingling with mine as tears slipped over my cheeks from the sheer magnitude of it all, and 2) of me on my back in my bed, Jack silhouetted to the right, Troy on the left. They’d asked me what I wanted them to do as I held the vibe desperately to my clit, and I’d whispered, “Touch each other,” and they simply did. Just them on their knees, I think they might have touched their chests or maybe just a hand, I don’t know, but it was enough for me to explode in orgasm through every cell of my body.

This event is important for a couple of reasons.

First, my self-esteem seems securely anchored not in the fact that men want me, but that I am, indeed special. Other women are not like me. I have something to offer that few do. Gone are the days of me feeling lacking because I don’t cum easily with men — lo, I’ve only clitoraly orgasmed with four lovers ever and two of them I loved (my only two loves, actually, one by accident and Troy was the 4th). Men should feel lucky to come across a woman like me who loves sex, loves men, is open-minded, kind, intelligent, fun, and really fucking sweet in her pursuits to be the best lover possilble.

Secondly, I feel like I’ve been given the most precious gift ever: attention. I never, in a million years, expected Jack and Troy to focus all their attention on me. Never. It was the most brilliant gift I’ve ever received. I hope I accepted it with whatever grace and humility I could possibly muster at the time. After so many years with no attention even remotely charged with sexual energy and then to be the sudden and unexpected recipient of loads of it healed wounds I didn’t know could be healed.

Lastly, It was the beginning of the rest of my sexual life. It opened me to experiences, people, and possibilities I never knew could exist. It was my final puzzle piece. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the launching point for a titillating, salacious year of sex. A brilliantly difficult, but passionate year.

Best Christmas present ever.