Personal destruction.

The woman’s dark blonde or light brown hair was pulled back in a bun.  Her clothes looked like bed-clothes, something comfortable.  Her words were angry and her movements defiant.  The man ahead of her walked on long legs down the hotel corridor purposefully, swiftly.

My brow furrowed.  What had just happened?

She remained between the two of us as I trailed behind confused and disoriented.  I took a few more steps and stopped.  She turned her back to me, like he did, and followed after him.  He never looked over his shoulder.

In the car ride home I sobbed broken, jagged sobs.  The driver navigated the dark route home, his features dimly lit by the dash.  I put my head in my hands and wailed, uncaring of my quiet audience.  Was this rock bottom?

I’d spent the entire day on my couch after a drunken red wine night and a $100 morning.  Around 4 pm he’d texted me with a picture from a fancy balcony of the beautiful countryside.  “That [city] vibe is hard to beat,” his text read.

A woman from college had come through town and he was at a resort with her.  She was sleeping in the other room while he drank bourbon and smoked a cigarette on the balcony.  He was teasing me, he said.  I told him it hadn’t worked.

Later, drunker, he asked me to come out to see him.  By then I had cleaned some of my house – and myself – and was seated at the end of my favorite bar smiling gamely at anyone who would look.  Two glasses of wine and two cocktails later I accepted his invitation.

After two false starts and a phone call to the front desk I found the bar nestled in the belly of the resort and waited.  My texts had turned from blue iMessage to green text and I wondered if his sleeping suite mate had awoken or perhaps he’d passed out.  I texted again.  Blue.

I waited longer and ordered a second cocktail.  Rye and bitters and an oily orange peel.  My phone lit up.  He had fallen asleep but was on his way down.  I should have left then.

He strode in, toothsome and tall.  A broad, boyish grin split his face open.  We didn’t even hug.  He ordered himself a double something and said, “Lets go outside.  I want to smoke.”

I wasn’t even there.  I felt my body moving and my mouth talking, but I wasn’t there.  I didn’t care to be there; I tried to feel something.  We sat on patio furniture enveloped in  other smokers’ exhaust side by side.  We said nothing and everything.  And still we did not touch.

And then a woman walked through the door and closed the distance between us.  The man stood up without a word as she spewed many at him, at me.  That is when he strode away.

She turned and followed him.

And I followed her.

I don’t know why I did that.  I had nothing to say to her.  I was pursuing him, an answer.  Was this real?  Was that actually happening to me?  Was I even here??

I didn’t follow for very long.  The blue and white flooring opened up at a large corridor intersection and I stopped.  I feared I’d get lost if I kept going, get lost in long hallways and repeating doors and lights and turns and turns and turns.

I felt so alone, so ashamed, so used up.  I’d abandoned myself completely and utterly, made one bad decision after another, and found myself in the untenable position of complete and utter fool.

The torrent of emotions poured out in my sobs, a lifetime of feeling worthless personified in a hotel hallway 20 minutes from home.

I never should have left the couch that night.  I never should have answered his text.  But when someone is hellbent on destroying themselves, there’s little to do but hang on and wait for the morning light.

The morning after is always better and the heart is ever so much a little lighter.

I’ve lost interest.

I’m angsty and lonely and restless.  My hair is clean and my skin soft.

I itch, but cannot reach the spot.  My body is a broken beautiful vessel, mine to abuse and worship in equal measure.

I’ve seen a lot of men this week, a lot of naked bodies and blood-filled organs.  I’ve felt their urges, their demands on me to fulfill unrequited desires.  Desperation clung to a couple, curiosity on another, friendly fun on a fourth.

I flipped through my phone looking for one soul I wanted to spend time with tonight and the only person whose name I could come up with was my own.  Even the girlfriends I texted who ignored me were pale seconds to my own company.  Fuck them anyway.

So off I go to the bar alone again.

There I will sit, unbothered, freshly bathed, willing and able in a bubble no one can see.  Utterly alone surrounded by humanity.

The $100 I received in the bleary 7 am hour yesterday after a date as a little thank you gift will fund my escapades tonight.  Perhaps I’ve moved my sex life forward in a new direction.  I didn’t feel badly about taking the money.  Have I turned a corner I was unaware was there?

How does anyone ever have interest in someone?  I’ve forgotten how.  Completely.

Feeling detached.

Despite eating like it’s my job, I’m feeling good.

I had a revelation this week about intimacy, false intimacy, specifically.

All these years I have struggled with how I am treated because I felt like there were connections, real things occurring between me and the men in my life.  And they were happening, I just called them the wrong things.  

I called them trust and respect and intimacy.  I should have been calling them hunting, playing, and gorging.  

We did the dance of lust and curiosity, girated and slobbered on one another.  Pulled hair and smacked flanks and spent hours cultivating a persona with 26 characters and a few vegetable emojis until our fingers were exhausted and our bellies full of pursuit.  Until we were over as quickly as we started.

I’m wondering how I could have been so wrong for so long, to expect so much of the right answer from the wrong equation.

First of all, how can anyone get to know me if all we do is text then drink in a dimly lit room bathed in each other’s pheromones?

Secondly, they haven’t done anything to earn my trust so why am I so surprised when they’ve broken it?  I hand it out like candy in Halloweeen night like the daddy-hungry little girl that I am.  

I have expected something from nothing, for a rose to bloom out of granite. 

So now I’m on my way to meet a man I hardly know and I don’t care about.  He’s from a neighboring city and used the word “laconic” to describe himself.  He’s 5’7″, good looking, charming as a Labrador and he will suffice for tonight because the truth is… I think I’m ok with nothing right now.

The rose can come later when it makes sense to grow.  Right now, all I want is to feel the honesty of cold, hard rock.  

Friday, August 4th, is Boobday!

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It’s been a hellacious week re-entering real life.  I went on a date that will go no where, was cut off by someone I don’t care to know anyway, pursued in other areas as usual, expressed my feelings to a young, beautiful sub and he responded well enough, and also generally realized how actually optimistic I am despite all this fucking bullshit.

A friend asked me, “Hy, how do you shake off the crap?”

“Me??  Just keep going, man.”

I’m still having technical difficulties with one submission and will add her later, but we have a lovely guest appearance today!  Do you remember Fatal??  She’s here, y’all!  And of course we have sexy Sandy.

Enjoy, everyone!  I’ll be back to posting again soon.

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:

Riviera burn.

NOT my tits:

My beautiful girl, Fay.

My demure tits in a shirt I’ve only recently had the confidence to wear.

::

Succulent Sandy.

Shot in the dark.


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.


Friday, July 21st, is Boobday!

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You’re looking at Canadian boobs today, my friends!  It’s lovely to be in a climate more similar to that of my beloved Northern California: dry, bright, cool in the shade, warm in the sun.  The city is a bustling one and I love all the humanity on the streets, people busy getting from point A to point B, heads down, legs swinging, Beats by Dr. Dre on their ears (seriously, they’re everywhere).

So here we have the lovely Sandy in a scandalous white shirt and Ann St. Vincent cooking up some side boob for you, and of course my rainy morning tits.

Have a fantastic weekend everyone.  Next week I’ll be sending you French tits!!  Viva la France!

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:

Canadian boobs.

 

NOT my tits:

Sandy being sultry as hell.

Boy toy wanted me to buy a T-shirt for a kink pool party. Took this for him for his opinion on my choice.

::

Ann bakes us something delectable.

I was prepping for a boudoir shoot and took a quick behind-the-scenes pic.

 

 


Friday, July 14th, is Boobday!

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And Bastille Day!  Happy Bastille Day to all you French folk out there!

I’m still feeling ridiculously low this morning.  My head is spinning.  My heart hurts.  I don’t know how to make any of this stop except to just stop putting myself out there.  None of this is worth it.

Love to you all as always.

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:

I give up.

 

NOT my tits:

Sandy stays coooool.

Lazy afternoon off from work. Avoiding going out. It was 92 today!!

 


It happened three times this week.

Three different times, three different men texted to tell me they could not keep their commitment to meeting with me.

Two gave me a couple of hours notice.  One gave me minutes to inform me he was painfully tired and could only have a couple of drinks.  I told Mr. Young we could skip it and he took the option.

If you need a man to leave you alone, just call me.  Let me at him for a week or two and he’ll never bother you again.

I promise.

Just call me Man DDT.

I walked to my favorite bar after I got my bra back from Mr. Young. Wasn’t gonna waste a shower.

Sometimes I feel like this is all I’m good for.

.

Fears of abandonment overwhelm me as my heart beats at me from within.

Say the perfect thing, all the right words.  It’s all your fault if it goes sideways.  If I get it just right he will stay. 

He will stay because I cast a spell of words on him that made him want to wrap it tighter around his soul.

He won’t have a choice then.  He will remain because I made it happen.

But that’s not real because he does have a choice.  He always does.

And so do I.

I can choose to look myself squarely in the eyes and allow that woman to be herself and believe that she is worthy.

If I am not honest about who I am and am instead busy building intricate webs to keep my target close I am hiding.

I am not real.  I am not me.  I am lying.

The truth is I am so much more than my sex.  I am all the truer words I speak, the beautiful ones I create and share.

I am more than sorcery.

I’m just not sure I can convince anyone else of that.  Possibly starting with myself.

 

 

 

Friday, July 7th, is Boobday!

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I survived another week.  I’m beginning to realize that I have absolutely no compass when it comes to my own feelings.  I am the sounding board for so many, yet I am wildly uncalibrated when it comes to my own emotional reactions.  I’ve got to think on this some more.

Anyway, I love the pic I chose for today because my belly almost looks pregnant despite having lost 5 lbs in the last couple of months and working out 4-5x a week.  It’s a good reminder that my shape does not define my feelings (or worth) and that lighting and posing are extremely powerful.

Sorry for the late post, but I’m just feeling extremely chill these days when it comes to this.  No stress, it’s all good, I’m lovin’ it.

Love you guys,

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:

I’m mostly the shadow.

NOT my tits:

 

Driving Miss Sandy…

Braless driving

 

 

The link up will be active for 24 hours from the time of me posting this!


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