I know part of why I’m not writing.  

Life.  Life kills my boner to write. 

I’m currently sitting at a bar alone and all I want to do is write.  Partly because I’m alone and bored, but also because the energy is filling me up, like foam from the tap.  My mug spilleth over.

I feel more observant, more on point, energized.  For months I have typically felt spread thin.  I’m worn out, sad, hopeful, determined, grinding, slugging through.  It’s a lot of emotion to sort through every day. But I rarely am filled with brimming creativity.  Until moments like this.

When I’m surrounded by strangers, completely ignored. 

 It’s like writing pornography.  I’m so turned on to write.

I was here exactly one week ago today.  One of the many Chrises had texted me and wanted to see me again.  We met here and talked and laughed and drank fancy hipster cocktails before walking around the hipster neighborhood and binging on sake and sushi.

He lathered me in compliments all night long.  My hair, my body, my dress, my ass.  He loved it all.  I was sopping wet with his attention by the end of our night.  Figuratively speaking.

We drove back to his house and smoked “the finest weed you can find in this town!” while I deftly avoided the inevitable.  He’s not that great at sex.  

The first time I blamed myself.  The second time I realized it was him.  But he is friendly to a fault, cute, attentive, a true pleasure to spend time with so I willed myself to relax as he began to touch me.  Softly, timidly, too intimately.

When the licking, whining, cuddling dogs no longer provided enough buffer between us I decided to give it another whirl; the weed had relaxed every nerve and I floated slightly above the both of us.  Let’s do this.  

Upstairs he moaned as I undressed and I savored his sweet kisses.  We moved better together this time, though I still yearned for more, for less thought and more abandon.

I came a time or two, eyes closed willing it to be just a bit better while trying to  immerse myself in what I was actually getting.  And then it was suddenly over.  He’d silently cum and I’d fucking missed it, robbed of even the pleasure of his.

I asked him how he’d like it if I did that.  He got the message.  

We dozed sideways on his king sized bed for a minute or two before I begged off.  

“The dog.”  

He understood.

It was the next night when I was out with another man trying to get into a bar that I realized my ID was gone.

I looked for it everywhere – including my date’s jeans and underwear – but to no avail (though I did find a perky, willing cock).  

A day or two later I called the bar from my date with the Chris and voila!  They had it.

And so here I am, alone, thrumming with creativity and verve, and chatting up a handsome stranger who sat beside me while he waits for his date.

The Chris knows I’m here and will be here shortly.  Maybe this time I can parlay this surge in creativity into more than just a blog post and finally get him to make some noise.

[Ed. note: He said he’d be 45 mins.  Forty-five minutes in I was at 6% on my phone and texted him as much.  He was on another work call, don’t wait on him, sorry. And so I left.  Alone once more and robbed of the will to write yet again.]

Friday, July 28th, is Boobday!

On a bullet train to Nice right now and I’m exhausted.  

My sister decided to unload a lifetime of resentment on me last night while our children stood around wide-eyed.  It wasn’t pretty and I’m relatively certain she didn’t hear a word I said.  For fucks sake.

Good times in France, I tell you!

This week I’m missing Mz. Hyde’s pic because of technical issues, but we’ll see her next week!

And to all the other ladies, thank you!

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:

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)

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:


NOT my tits:

Bisoux1 on IG chose this pic because it’s one of her favorites. It’s definitely a good one.
Sandy dazzles.
Browngirl is also feeling her lovelies.


I have too many secrets.

As I walked back to my car among others leaving the throbbing venue I felt full, content, invigorated. And also sad.

Tears filled my eyes and my face cracked into a broken grimace in the shadows. I felt invisible.

I imagined all the conversations being had, the thoughts being mulled. Tears spilled down my cheek in one puny trickle as I made my way beneath the street lights, the happy voices behind me receded.

I wish I could do that.

I wish I could get up on stage and share my art.  I can’t play an instrument or sing, but I could share my writing, my life, my experiences and be the artist that I am for all to behold.

But I can’t.

Instead I am a secret, a closely guarded identity that only a handful know. It hurts that I can’t be all of me.

Recently I was at a professional event and we discussed our lives in relation to work in general. It’s tricky business, we all agreed. I have to cross an ocean to show my face and be myself. It’ll never happen here.

And I am crushed.

I am crushed that I have constructed a life which will never be able to reach its full potential as either Hy or me because the other holds us back.

The real life me has a professional standard to uphold and honor but Hy could endanger that. And Hy needs to share and expose herself and her art but the other me won’t let her.

I am stuck in the worst kind of purgatory of self and I don’t know what to do about it.

I have such a story to share.

Both parts of my life are dynamic sides to the same coin, each demanding special attention.

A man I met several weeks ago on Snapchat wooed me with his charm and broken heart and convinced me he was safe — he nearly had me in Vegas this very evening if it weren’t for my current and overwhelming need for distance from all men.

I told him what it is I really am and he instantly got it. “If you are found out as Hy, you won’t just face embarrassment or judgment, but you could lose your livelihood. You’d lose everything, wouldn’t you??”

Yes. Yes I would.

But it hurts keeping these two sides separate. It hurts never getting to be all of me in any part of my life. Always hiding and manipulating stories.

After the show where I laughed and cheered with deep belly-shaking howls I didn’t want to be alone. I needed to be around people and so I sat myself at a marble-top bar. Alone, but not alone.

I thought of the man who smelled like musky grass. His cologne was all natural and called something like Herbal Vibes.

“Hyacinth,” I heard a deep voice say behind me at intermission. “I thought that was you!” I didn’t know if he meant he’d thought that just then or if he’d spotted me in the crowd earlier in the night.

We hugged hello and I felt grateful I instantly remembered his name. He said he was there with Haley.

“Let me go get her!” He said with a broad smile. I wasn’t sure why he had to. She was the girl he’d fallen in love with 3 months before we met a year and a half ago and whom was his “primary” then. I’d told him I could be second to none and that had been it for us.

Haley came down, beaming. She had beautiful, glowing skin and the Millennial head-shave women of that age love to don. We shook hands warmly and then the three of us stood awkwardly.

They said they never missed this show. I wanted to tell them my life is a show.

They’re engaged now.

Good for them.

I told them I’m still allergic to relationships, and almost as if on cue she said, “It’ll happen when the time is right!” I didn’t think I’d sounded sad about my allergy.

I’m glad they’re so happy, but I couldn’t share in their joy. Seeing them get to be themselves in public together reminded me how much I don’t get the same freedom and privilege.

My friends, my family; other than the danger of strangers frivolously trying to ruin my life, do I really have anything to fear telling those who like and respect me??

Could people other than strangers know about Hy and be proud of me? Would they be supportive?

The answer is most likely yes — that couple for example — Herbal Vibes and Haley — but what if they told a friend who told a friend? That person wouldn’t give two shits about hurting me and then the dominoes would fall.

Later that night at the bar with the marble I drank overpriced Chardonnay and my vulva fell asleep on the wooden stool as I drafted this post, but at least I wasn’t alone and at least I was doing my art.

Right then. And in public. Even though no one knew.  Like always.

I’m glad it’s over.

Pet the kitty.

I’m glad its over, but I dont regret it. I feel more connected than ever to this little community of ours.

I’m wishing everyone a wonderful time in London this weekend!! Of course I wish I was packing tonight to leave on my Transatlantic flight tomorrow like some of you are, but I’ll be doing just that one year from now, so no need for tears of longing right now.

And I’ll probably be glad that February is over, too.

Febraury Photofest

I have blisters.


I made calamari for Peyton last night and the oil popped and sizzled on my wrist as I held the pan.  It hurt that hot-oil-hurt, long, low and seething, but I didn’t miss a beat.  Shit had to be done.

I fed the kids (mine and the neighbor girl) and was in bed by 10.  The week had been long and full.  I also hadn’t heard from Rex.

After our misbegotten pot roast date things slowed to a whimper.  We texted Sunday when he got back into town and a little bit each morning throughout the week, but by Friday that disappeared and I almost hadn’t noticed.

Today, Saturday, I woke up naturally to a soft blue light and a purring cat.  Sometime in the late afternoon a blister popped.  It was some hours after that I relalized I’d heard nothing from Rex since Thursday morning.

Such a shame I had to get burned at all, but so be it.  

Febraury Photofest

No more dreams.

No more dreams, no rest.

It’s bright inside, so no relief only clear sight.

Fear is a flavor, an experience, not something to swallow.

Love is a leap, not a lap.  So is bravery.

A girl learns to hide, a woman learns to be.

Rex offered his two cents for today.  This was his choice.

 

Febraury Photofest

I know we need the shadow.

We need the shadow to see the light, to see where we begin and end.  One defines the other and are therefore bonded brothers.  Foes, but friends, too.  Necessary compliments.  Bitter medicine.  

But I had no idea so many lived in the darkest of shadows.  

It’s not so much a disappointment as it is utter devastation.  Shame.

I am so ashamed.

Will people look at me and think I hate them because of the color of their skin?  Because of where they were born?  Their accents?  That I don’t think they’re as American as me??

I will cast my light into the darkness and do my part.  I will rally.  I will fight.  I will love.  I will accept.  I will fucking smile.

But I am afraid nonetheless.  

My rights to my body are on the line, my ethics as a globally conscious human dismissed, my safety as an inhabiter of Earth at risk, my care about the planet mocked.

This is a very long, very dark shadow indeed.

I take comfort in knowing that shadow cannot exist without light, that there are millions upon millions of people who are struggling to come to terms with this new reality and who are with me, shoulder to shoulder.  No, we aren’t dreaming, unfortunately.  This is real.  

But so is the light.  

I didn’t expect to share this, but it inspired the words, so…

Spreading the love (even if super late).

Every year for the past several years Rori (and her beau, Cash), would lovingly pour over hundreds of blogs submitted to her each year for her Top 100 Sex Blogs list.  Last year, she abruptly had to leave the blogging world and also her 2015 list.

Cue Molly, of Molly’s Daily Kiss, and her trusty side-kick, DomSigns, to pick up the reins and steer us clear of the cliff of nothingness.

Well, she’s at it again this year and there are only 3 days left (depending on where in the world you are).

All my favorites have already been nominated, but if you have any that aren’t on the list be sure to add yours before November 1st when nominations close!

This is the list that brings us all together, expands our horizons, and really showcases how powerful sex writing — of all kinds — can really be.

Click here to make your nominations now for Top Sex Blogs of 2016!

xx

Hy

A different view.

Secret buttons.

 

Click the lips for more!

Sinful Sunday

Friday, November 27th, is Boobday!

hy_tits_banner

It’s Thanksgiving week and I’d like to tell you all again how very thankful I am for each of you.  For the women who participate in Boobday, for the readers, friends, and lurkers.  I do all of this because I think body positivity, a healthy self-esteem, and the right to express it any way we choose are important.  It’s turned my life around and I’m proud to steward it for everyone else.

It’s been a great week; I feel blessed and focused and ready to take on the world.  I wish you all the same!

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

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

My tits:

Hy loves the 49ers
I just love the Niners.

NOT my tits:

KIM 112715
Kim gets nice and sticky!

ooops, I messed……whose got a sweet tooth?!?

::

SANDY 112715
Sandy’s curves go for dayzzzzz.

Post workout boobs.

::

ANON AUSSIE 112715
Anonymous Aussie and her beautiful tits and locks.

The thought of you sprinting up the stairs, blonde mane swishing, this one’s for all the blonde manes out there. xxx

Be sure to check out all the other gorgeous ladies this week by clicking below and leave lots of comment love!