I support our troops.

Hy on her knees 3
Imagine me with him.

Or “troop” as the case may be.

Captain was tall, 6’2″ and broad-shouldered.  He hunkered a little, as if to dodge something from overhead.  His texting cadence was respectful and succinct.  He was in town visiting his family on a pre-deployment leave and was going stir crazy at home.  Would I be interested in meeting up for a drink?

His Tinder profile ached with a Marine’s loneliness: he’s never around long enough to put down roots, always looking to meet new people.  My heart cracked a little.

“Yes, I’d love to meet you for a drink.”

We sat in the horseshoe-shaped booth for hours.  I drank my wine, he sipped his beers with measured resolve.  “I command 50 18 year olds.  I don’t drink like they do,” he explained.  I drank like a 40 year old who’d taken a Lyft to the bar to meet a 26 year old Marine.

He’d been deployed more times than I could keep track of and he was weary.  He felt a 100 years old and heavy.  I made jokes about nothing and flirted with his old soul, tickling him out from under the weight of the world.

Drinks gone I asked if he wanted to catch a ride home with me.

“I’d like that,” he said.

Minutes later we stood in the dark dog park behind my building and I teased him about the length of his jeans.  “Aren’t your ankles cold?”

I walked up to him, a building light cast a dark shadow along the right side of his face.  I grabbed his hips and tilted my head up.  I smiled at him and lifted up on my toes; the light glimmered in his dark eyes.

He tasted of the coffee I’d made him to perk him up and his lips were pliant.  I wanted to give him the best fucking night of his life.

Hy on her knees 2
Is my writing less impactful because my tits are out?

On my couch he pounced.  Passionately, with wild abandon.  I encouraged him with little whispered yeses and moans.  He pulled my skirt and panties off and roughly shoved my knees apart.  His clean shaven face crushed down on me and I felt his purr against my plump folds .  For a moment I felt as though he had dived into a deep well — he wasn’t there, but beneath the surface.

I dragged him up to kiss me and his fingers replaced his mouth.  He hooked into me and he was tough in that perfectly delicious way.  I gushed around his hand and I felt him freeze on my mouth as he realized I’d just ejaculated into his hand.  I nodded to answer his silent question and kissed him more.  He slammed his hand into me again and I came once more, drenching the poor motherfucking couch.

The next few hours of my life were a daisy chain of orgasms and puddles and trembling limbs.  His cock, a manageable size, found its way buried deep in my ass.  A first for us both.

I stood on splayed legs scrutinizing the sensation, begged for more lube, and then came like a mare.  My juices dumped from above as if from a bucket.

He fucked me over the toilet as I went to toss a condom, he lifted my leg on the counter and I watched us in the mirror, my hands pressed greasily against the glass.  I rode his face, his cock; I rode him backwards and upside down.  He was inexhaustible and I was not going to give up on him.  Occasionally I pleaded for a break and it seemed like he’d count to 15 in his head and then come at me like a rocket all over again.

Condom after condom slipped away, wrappers strewed about my room, my bedding soaked with our sweat and my juices.

Near 4 am he climbed on top of me, a familiar position, his weight heavy and slick on top of me and he finally came in a long, low grunt.  I trembled and fell limp, my hands prickled, my eyes filled with stars.

It had been months, many months, since a lover found such delight between me and him.  Captain, starved from months of duty, lusted for the release that civilians take for granted.  He drank every ounce of the moment of his effect on me and me on him.

We lay together panting and I immediately drifted off; I had work less than a handful of hours later.  He stirred.

“Hy, I’m really sorry, but I have to go home…” he seemed heartbroken.  “Can I call you in November when I get back?”

“You better, Captain” I said.  “And it’s ok, honey.  I get it.” I could barely open my eyes.

“Yeah, I just really need to be in my own bed.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.  I’m ok.”

He got dressed and I staggered to my closet and put on my robe.

At the door I wrapped my arms around his waist and he stooped to kiss me.  Despite plans to see each other the following day I had a sinking feeling I wouldn’t be able to pull it off.  This would likely be the last time I’d see him for quite some time, possibly forever.

He thanked me again and walked outside.

“Goodnight, Captain.  Be careful.”

“I will.”

I wondered if he’d meant to add a “Ma’am” at the end out of habit.

I didn’t get to see him again before he went back to base.

Hy on her knees 1
Fuck the haters.

 

Maybe I don’t need giant dick after all.

He glowed above me, slick with sweat.  The light from the hall cast a softness along the long lines of his naked body.  His dog tags swung in my face and I took them gently between my teeth and moaned as he plunged into me ruthlessly.

It all began last week when I checked into my Adult Friend Finder email.  He’d written me the last couple of weeks of August, but I had been MIA.  Friendly and humble, his note warranted a response.

“Hey!” he wrote back.  “I was about to give up on this whole site and shut it down!  I’m so glad you wrote me!”

We emailed a few times and jumped to text to exchange face pics.  Neither one of us could believe why the other was on AFF.  His dark blond hair was cropped military short, his face dusted with golden 5 o’clock shadow.  Then he sent pics in his fatigues at work, suited up for flying.  I died.

I’m used to dating engineers and programmers, men with soft hands and clear minds, not men trained for battle with memories of lost friends.  I know soldiers and they are a sensitive lot; our politics and outlook on cultural differences often clash and so we avoid those tender topics.  I am sensitive to their situations, but they typically don’t want me to be.  Must soldier on, and all that.  How would this man and I mesh?

He flirted and teased me throughout the day and I called him on a whim after drinks with a friend.  His thick, southern accent dripped through the phone and he had me in stitches.

Quick as lightening, sharp as a tack we played off one another until I reached my next destination.  I had to go.   Later, I checked my phone and he had sent me a beautiful image of his artful body replete with erection.

He asked if he met my criteria I think not really caring about my answer.

I’d asked earlier in the day if he wore Magnums to which he’d coyly replied that he wore whatever was available.  I’ve heard that answer before and was worried, but his charm and my curiosity convinced me to brush my Size Queen snobbery to the side.

I texted back that I wished I was wrapped up around him at that very moment.  God, how I wished I was.

On my way home I snapped a pic.  My hair hung shiny and blonde around my breasts; my eyes shone blue and my smile seemed to belie something.  I called him on the way home at 1 and left a message, nervous and silly.  He would tell me later that I was cute at 1 am.  The next morning we decided to meet up during the one hour we might have available.

There’s something about chemistry that can’t be underestimated.  When it’s not there it can be devastating.  When it is there, it’s equally as devastating.  It’s the roller coaster of promise, feared loss, excitement of the blitz of energy when two souls touch when moments before they were complete strangers.  Atoms touching, magic happening.

We arrived at the coffee-house simultaneously and I waited for him to get out of his truck.  He was tall, over 6’2″ with his boots on, covered in camouflage from head to foot.  My breath caught.  Holy shit, he was hotter in real life.

He smiled and stooped to hug me and we walked comfortably side by side to a table.  The next hour flew by.  I avoided those topics I imagined we might clash over and instead focused on the things we had in common: he has two kids full-time every weekday, he works full-time, he goes to school, sometimes the military gives him weekend assignments.  The man is as busy as I am, possibly busier.

There was a strength about him, an ease that I immediately gravitated to, and as we walked back to our cars I almost took his hand.  It seemed so natural.  We talked about when we could hang out again and when I felt the time pressing on my back I said, “So, are you going to kiss me, or what?”

“When I get there, I will,” he drawled back and laughed.

He closed the small gap between us and pressed his lips to mine.  I tasted his breath and breathed against him as he pulled me closer.  I gripped his belt and opened my kiss.  It felt like I’d been there before, so familiar, yet new all at once.

The kiss lasted longer than I expected and when we broke apart we smiled like idiots.  I drove off to pick up Peyton from school with a grin plastered to my face.

Throughout the next day we texted and he sent me a picture of a helicopter in the sky carrying a military vehicle.  “Those are my feet hanging out!” the text read as I sat in my cushy office chair.  I couldn’t wait to see him later.

We met at a local dive bar at 9.  I took a Lyft and was right on time.  He was at the far end of the bar and didn’t recognize me when I first walked in, but his eyes lit up as I came to him.  He wore a dark grey shirt and jeans with a belt.  His arms, wrapped in tattoos, opened to hug me.

I stood there between his knees for the better part of an hour.  He stole kisses and left his hand on my waist.  I shook my head when he wasn’t looking trying to process our easy connection; it felt like I’d known him forever.

I challenged him to pool and got my ass kicked, though I won each time he kissed me or pulled me against him in full view of anyone caring to look.  My short skirt rode up when he held me and his eyes were hot on my cleavage when we were apart.  We moved to a booth and opened up a little more about our lives, our failed marriages and relationships, our kids, bullshit, etc. until I suggested we go back to my place “to chill some more.”  I am nothing if not suave.

At my apartment he cracked open a new beer and I poured myself some wine and we decided to play some dominoes.  The atmosphere was relaxed, but charged, and when he complained about being a little warm I told him to take off his shirt.  And so he did.

He sat on my couch, dog tags hung from his neck, shirtless with a big, black watch on his left wrist resting on his knees.  I told him to hold still and took a headless picture of him.  “Fuck, you’re hot,” I said.  “I gotta send this to my girlfriend.”  He laughed and said that was fine with him.

I lost at dominoes, too, and he asked if I wanted to save the score sheet.  I thought about the last score card I squirreled away to the box under my bed and told him I did.

And then, the games were over.

I climbed up onto his lap and we kissed, two old souls meeting once again.  His hands roamed up my shirt and found the breasts I’d freed from my bra earlier.  He directed a nipple to his mouth and I inhaled sharply as he sucked fiercely.  A delicious shot of pain went through me.  I didn’t have to ask him to suck harder.  It was just perfect.

He ripped my clothes off and I straddled him in only my black panties, I clung to his warm chest as I smashed my breasts into his face.  His lashes touched his cheeks, lost in my softness, his mouth full.

He picked me up and set me on the ground and led me around the corner to my room and roughly flung me across the bed.  I heard his belt buckle jangle and his hand searching a pocket.  The jeans fell to the floor with a rumpled thud.

He grabbed me by the backs of my knees and hauled my ass to the edge of the bed and lapped at me softly.  His hands disappeared for a moment below the edge of the bed while his mouth kissed my open pussy and when he stood up he was wearing a condom.  I told him it was an advanced and impressive move as he lifted me up and onto his jutting cock.

I had wondered if I could feel him, warned him that I got too wet and lost average sized men, that men accused me of being too intimidating, working too hard, blah blah blah.  He’d stubbornly refused to believe any of that would happen to him and he was right.

He was hard as steel as he pushed into my body and filled me to the motherfucking brim.

I blinked, confused.  He’s not a small man by any means, quite above average, but in all my experience up to that very moment he entered me, only exceptionally large men could make me shiver around them like I was at that moment.

He pumped into me less than a handful of times and I came immediately.  He growled into my ear and lifted me up and away from the edge.

We kissed, animals in the night tangled together desperate for release, and clung to one another in a complete fucking frenzy.   He bit, we laughed, I clawed, we kissed.

I cried out again and again and he moaned with pleasure as I ejaculated against our slamming bodies in as many positions as humanly imaginable.

He pulled out, grabbed his shaft and rubbed the head of his cock all over my slit and a fountain broke loose with my cries.  He growled like a beast as I writhed below him.  I began to whimper and tried to stop the sobs.  I felt shy in my abandon and my soaking wet mess.  I begged him to stop.  I begged him to fuck me.  I just begged.

Incoherently I apologized for being too wet, but miraculously I could still feel every hot, hard inch of him.  He hushed me and braced his long arms on either side of me as I gripped the foot board with one hand, hanging on for dear life, and rammed myself against him wildly desperate for more.

He glowed above me, slick with sweat.  The light from the hall cast a softness along the long lines of his naked body.  His dog tags swung in my face and I took them gently between my teeth and moaned as he plunged into me ruthlessly.

I tugged a little then released them and threaded the chains through my fingers and held them up against his collar-bone, tightened them a little and thought what a beautiful creature this man was.

His sweat dripped down onto me as I came again and cried out.  He came with a series of punishing thrusts and one long push deep inside of me and collapsed panting on top of me.

I saw stars, purple swirls, and couldn’t feel my hands.  I hauled myself up and got towels to put on top of all the wet spots.  He laid on my pillows, his arms over his head.  I crawled up to him and lay in his nook, my heart still pounding.

I traced my hand along his wet body and over the tops of his thighs.  His cock stirred and I touched it lightly.  It swelled.

I smiled against his skin and pushed myself away and straddled him briefly before sliding between his legs.  His cock was rock hard again when I kissed his upper thighs.  The scents of latex and pussy disappeared into my mouth.  I sucked and stroked and impaled my face on him refusing to gag as he went deep into my throat.

He grunted and pushed me off of him onto my back and he straddled my chest.  He grabbed my breasts and pushed them together.  I held them there as he slid in and out of my double-Ds.  I’d never been titty-fucked before.  He was surprised.  “With these gorgeous things?”  He squeezed me and his tempo increased and I lifted my head to lick the tip each time it peaked out of the tunnel of my tits.

He lifted a knee and rested a foot beside me and began to jerk off.  His hand a dark blur, his balls bounced.  I said silky, nasty things until he grabbed my head, plunged into my face and came hotly down my throat.

His cum was tart and not unpleasant, all soldier.

We laid down and wrapped our arms around each other and dozed for half an hour until the cat decided to walk all over us, particularly his flaccid, exposed member.  Fucking cat.

I got up to kick him out, but when I turned around my new friend was up and putting on his clothes.

I surprised myself and said, “You can stay.”  I had never offered that to a man, but I imagined  sex awash in the morning light and more laughing and biting and orgasms.  I wanted that very much.

“I can’t,” he said.  “I won’t be able to sleep and I feel weird with pics of your baby everywhere, like I shouldn’t be here.”  I said that was too bad, but I understood.  His sex and single-parenthood is much newer than mine.

He sat with me on the balcony as I smoked a cigarette wrapped in my robe – my attempt to prolong a magic evening with a magic man.

When I was done I sat on his lap and kissed him on his scruffy cheek. He patted my thigh and told me he had to go.  It was nearly 3 am.

We made very tentative plans to see each other the next night.

I walked him to the door and we hugged again and said goodbye.

We didn’t see each other Saturday after all despite wanting too, but hopefully it will be in the cards some time soon.

We’ve texted every day and he sends me pictures of his glorious body and of his day up in the sky and I reciprocate.  He shares kindnesses, something I’m not at all used to from a man I’ve slept with.  Saturday morning I awoke in a panic not knowing what I should say or do, but I shouldn’t have worried.  He was warm and still there.

It’s complicated from a logistical standpoint to be much more than sexual partners with him, but I’m not going to add more men to my life to fill in the gaps.  It will be just him until it isn’t.

I’m doing life differently.  Having many who care nothing about me is painful and exhausting.  I have a tendency to clamor for people’s love and attention instead of peacefully walking my path and allowing people to come to me when they want to.   It’s a new outlook on all my relationships, not just the sexual and romantic ones.  He’s the first one to get the new Hy.

Everyone, meet The Soldier.  The man who changed things as they were already changing.

 

 

 

 

I doubled up.

The words “double date” tickle me because these days it means something entirely different than two couples out on the town together.  For me it’s two dates back-to-back in one evening.  Holla.  How’s that for some great double date ideas??

This past Friday was certainly not my first, but it was certainly my best double date in recent memory.  The last double date I had, I forgot about Date #1 completely and didn’t include him in my own list of who I was datingOops.

Date #1 lucked out and caught me at a time in my week where I was both available and feeling open-minded.  He messaged me on Tinder, but never acknowledged my preference for gold wrappers.  I ignored it and figured he knew what it all meant and followed his lead.  He was smart and quick and even though I’d already made a date with a tall drink of water for around 8 o’clock on Friday night I decided that I could handle a warm-up date with this nerdy surprise.

Date #2 was with a 29 year old lawyer.  An impossibly tall young man with whom I had established my golden wrapper requisite.  “I know what you’re talking about,” he’d messaged.  “I use them.”  I’d explained my preference while blushing furiously.  It never gets easy being a size queen.

I drove to meet Mr. Nerdy with a light heart.  My graphic tee was mostly see-through and my legs looked long in high-heeled wedges.  I had nothing to lose if this went badly; I couldn’t wait to meet The Lawyer at 8.

“I’m in the green shirt,” Mr. Nerdy texted.  I took a deep breath and walked out onto the patio littered with people drinking wine and eating cheese.

Our eyes locked and we both smiled.  He stood to hug me hello and he towered over me.  He was taller than I had imagined.  And more muscular.

We ordered some drinks and settled in.  I laughed and maneuvered through the date with a sense of fun I wore like perfume.  It enveloped us both.  We opened up, we flirted, we shared, we set boundaries.  He was far more attractive than his pictures let on and I couldn’t take my eyes off his broad shoulders and tapered waist.  When he moved his chair closer to my knees and casually dropped his hand on my warm skin my eyes locked with his and we laughed.  We knew we were a match.

He walked me to my car when I realized I was close to being late to my next engagement.  “Do you have another date?” he’d asked.

“No,” I’d blithely lied.

I hooked my arm through his elbow and thanked him for being tall enough to wear my heels.  He chuckled and squeezed my hand.  When we got to my car I turned to him and put my hands on his hips and pulled him towards me and his soft lips pressed into mine.  I looped my hands up to his shoulders and gently massaged him as he wrapped his arms around me.

We had hammered out every detail: we are both looking for passion, for connection, for something steady, maybe a launching off point for something more serious.  He alluded to being kinky and bold; I’d alluded to compliance and perversion.  His mouth plied mine with warmth and verve.  I moaned a little and arched into him and hoped I wasn’t getting beard burn from his 5 o’clock shadow.  That would be hard to explain to Date #2.  His kiss was nice and we vibrated against each other.  First kiss nerves never go away, it seems.

I broke us apart and thanked him again for the great date and we promised to see each other again.  He brought my attention to the large bulge in his dark jeans.  “I sure hope it pleases you,” he said smiling.

I winked at him and told him I was sure it would.

I drove to Date #2 beaming, skipping across clouds like a naughty angel.

As I walked into the restaurant I felt my heart beating more quickly.  I saw my date out back on the patio and he stood to hug me as I approached.  Jesus Christ, he was tall.  I reached up, he stooped down, we laughed nervously.  “Well, hello,” I said, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

I could barely look at him; his long lashes curled to touch his cheeks and he looked like a kid.  I laughed and said, “Are you sure you’re 29?!  You look 12 years old!”  He blushed and lowered his chin and assured me he was an adult.  A 6’6 1/2″ adult.

“I get that a lot,” he replied in a deep, grown up voice.  “It’s the eyelashes, I think.”

“Yeah,” I laughed.  “Maybe.”

We ordered wine and soft-shell crab and blistered shishito peppers, though the chicken liver mousse was our favorite.  Turns out he, too, is looking for a steady, lovely, sexy, passionate, brunch-going type of relationship.  Too bad he lives an hour away. But then again, maybe it’s a perfectly built-in speed bump.  I don’t know.

On our way to my favorite watering hole I laughed until I cried when I realized his feet were as long as my femur.  “Can you see this?” I guffawed as I pressed a shoe of his to my leg. “You’re a giant!”  He grinned sheepishly while I teased him, but was happy to hold me close as we walked up the hill from our parking spot.  I forgot how amazing it feels to be with a gigantic man.

We ordered drinks and bummed cigarettes off our neighbors and with each drink we sat closer and closer until our lips locked and I inhaled his Old Spice and slipped my hand between his thighs.  He moaned and grabbed me and smiled into our kiss.

“Wanna come back to my place?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

He drove me back to my car and followed me home and seconds after he walked through the door we were writhing on the couch.  His sheer size pushed me down into the cushions and his mouth moved across my neck and breasts with a reckless first-date fervor.

I led him into my dark room and we found ourselves tangled in clothes, then just limbs.  His face fell to my pussy and his fingers snaked inside of me.  I coached him on what to do with what, then relied on raw begging.  His hand slammed into me and as his mouth lapped at me I felt myself gush into his mouth.  He moaned and shivered and slammed into me more.

“Please,” I panted, “please fuck me.”

He stood up and grabbed a condom, rolled it on and positioned himself between my knees.  He pressed into me, but the erection had softened some.  I clung to him as he moved me about the bed and I could tell he was becoming frustrated with his pouty cock.

I pushed him off of me and bade him to lie on his back.  I removed the condom and began to suck.  A nice size, not huge like I’d hoped, but I knew I’d be able to feel him once I got him back in business.

I sucked and lapped and stroked and opened the back of my throat and kissed his pubis with a mouth stuffed full of cock.  His hands were in my hair and on my face and when he was hard as rock again we rolled another condom on.  He scooped me up and held on as he gyrated like a jack-hammer into my wet ass pussy.

I found myself squirting again and he moaned into my neck as he felt it between us.

He began to shake his head and I knew he was at odds again.

‘I don’t think I can cum tonight,” he finally said.

‘It’s ok,” I said stroking his head resting on my shoulder.  “There’s always tomorrow morning.”

We separated and he pulled me against him and I fell asleep next to a great big bear of a man.  I woke up a few hours later and noticed his feet were stuck through the bars of the footboard.  I smiled and got up, did my morning ablutions and quietly crept back into bed.

It was the normal thing to do after sleeping with someone: stay the night and wake up together.  I remember a time when that was common practice, though it hasn’t been in recent memory.  I either tear out of his room under the auspice of a dog who needs me or a bad back and when I have company over it’s during the day or morning so he could never accidentally stay over.  This was nice though, almost normal.

I fell back asleep almost instantly.

When I woke up a couple of hours later it was to the dog scratching himself.  I called for him to stop.  The Lawyer was disturbed now, too, and rolled to his side and pulled me against him.  I felt his morning wood for a moment then drifted off back to sleep.  The dog had begun to scratch again.

The next few minutes were spent drifting in and out of a lazy morning haze and commanding the dog to stop being so disgusting.  We laughed and wiggled closer whenever we could until finally I felt his lips on my neck and his hand on my breast.

I rolled to my back and kissed him, spread my knees and handed him another condom.  He was hard as a brick this time and I was dry and tight until I was hot and wet.  He came quickly on my belly just as I had asked him too and when he handed me a towel to clean myself up I asked him to lay with me while I came one last time.

His hand gently caressed my breasts as I held the Hitachi to my clit and I wondered if he’d ever seen a woman do this before.  I didn’t ask and he didn’t say anything.  I just let the buzz do its job and came quickly myself.

“When do you have to leave?” he asked.

“Thirty minutes,” I answered.  Peyton had a birthday party to get to.

We got dressed and I openly teased him about his towering height now that I was flat-footed.  “You know, 2000 years ago you’d have been earmarked for brawny work based on your size.  But you lucked out and got to be all intellectual and shit.”  He laughed and said he supposed I was right.  I’m sure all the village girls would have wanted him in their hut.

He said he wanted to see me again, thanked me for a wonderful time, and said his next two weekends were tied up with family and friend commitments.  I assured him we’d figure something out.  I hope that we do.

 

I have a sexual brother.

Hy getting clean
I still haven’t taken one of these. Better get on it.

We sneaked little boxes of wine into the dinner theater Saturday and giggled as we passed them back and forth surreptitiously between our seats.  We laughed at how much we’d enjoyed the blockbuster and decided to walk across the street to a bar for another drink.

Standing on the back deck sipping more wine I tried to explain how I felt about our connection.  It was light, airy, easy, sexy as fuck.  “You’re like my sexual brother, but that’s an awful thing to say about someone you want to fuck.”  His face broke into a huge smile.  He knew exactly what I meant.

I met Chase 4 weeks ago off of Adult Friend Finder.  His profile read much like mine: mind is more important than form, sex is an art, passion is a pursuit, etc.  He also had a beautiful cock.

We emailed some and quickly discovered we’re neighbors and moved to text.  There was something about him that drew me in, a wording here and there, a punctuation.  We decided to meet on a Monday night and hours before the date he texted that he had more sex than he knew what to do with, wanted me to know as much, but was compelled to meet me anyway.  I appreciated his honesty and there was an underlining humor to his situation that made me smile.

That night we drank cider and talked like old friends and shared stories about our lovers, past and present.  I liked hearing how he worried his dick was going to fall off due to all the action he was getting; he liked hearing how David liked to try to kill me with his giant cock.

I slipped my bra off when he went to get our second round and he moved his chair closer when he sat back down.  There was a steady glow growing between us.

Back at his house, we surprised ourselves with a passionate embrace.  Clothes came off, cock in mouth, mouth on cunt, titty-fucking, vulva massage, fucking fucking fucking.  He spurted hot jizz all over me then got me a towel to clean up.  I laid there and began to laugh.  He began to laugh too.

“I had no idea I could cum again,” he said.  “What a nice surprise!”

I met with him two weeks later and all we did was drink wine and talk.  It confirmed what I felt that first night, that he is a brother in arms in this sexual battle-dance.  We necked a little in his car and I went home satisfied as I was.

He’s lost some lovers since we first met, things have fizzled out, but the bulk of his efforts go to a girl who is insatiable.  I suspect that some time soon I’ll lose him to her entirely as she seems much more open to a romantic coupling than me, but he’s still mine to play with for now, and as we tangled skin to skin Saturday night under a dark purple haze of wine and weed I wondered how she was handling her time away from him.

I wondered if she’d care that he wrapped the reins of my hair around his hand and pulled as he rammed into me from behind.  I wondered if she minded that he beat my flanks with his hand and bit my nipples.  I wondered if she got as wet as me as he pounded on top of me.  I wondered if she begged him to cum rivers on her face and tits.

I woke up yesterday with crusty eyebrows and a film of semen caking my chest.  I was upside down in the bed; he’d put a pillow under my head, though he was at the head of the bed.  I sat up and looked around the dark room and felt for him.

“What time is it?” I asked him.

“Six,” he replied sleepily.

“I have to go take care of my dog,” I said in answer.

I love the morning-after puzzle of Where Did My Clothes Go? and we patted around the bed for a few minutes finding bits and pieces.  At least I still wore my knee socks.

I came and sat next to him and nuzzled his neck as he pulled me closer.  “Are you ok?” he asked.  “I was really rough with you.”

“Yes, I’m perfect.  You were great.  Thank you.”  I kissed him on the lips, my sexy brother, and quietly left.  His dark curls disappeared against the dark sheets, his pale skin bright in the darkness.

I hope I know him for a while.

 

I fucked two guys on Christmas night: A holiday tradition

No, not this Christmas, sadly.  It’s just me fondly reminiscing again about one of the best nights of my life.

Last year I wrote the following blurb:

Peyton is with my ex for the next few hours and I am home alone watching a bunch of hokey Christmas movies and sipping on cheap champagne. The Neighbor is in colder weather with his family and I am alone with a herd of Christmas animals I’ve volunteered to watch for a few days. Life is pretty good at the moment. I just wish I had wood for my fire — it’s somehow lonelier without one.

Anyway, I thought I’d share one of my favorite sexy Christmas memories and most popular posts with you all today: I fucked two guys on Christmas night.

This year is much the same as last and all the others: Peyton is with my ex for a few hours so I’m alone, I’ve got the herd of animals (but they’re mine this time), no wood for the fire (or a fireplace, but I like to watch the Fireplace Channel so I sort of have one — don’t judge!), and The Neighbor is once again in much colder weather with his family.

What’s different is someone loves me.  Not a bad change.

I love this Christmas Story of mine not just because of its salacious nature, but because it marks the beginning of everything for me.  It happened 4 years ago today, seemingly a lifetime, but just like yesterday.  I can still close my eyes and feel them on me.  That was a night to go in the record books.  And without it I might not be where I am today.

Troy reached out to me recently — filled with his own nostalgia I presume — and suggested that he, Jack and I get together for a drink.  I told him I’d love to.  Troy and I crackle when together and Jack is the perfect grounding unit.  It could be a lot of fun, like old school-time buddies except we’re talking cocks and pussies, not keg stands and finals.

I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and hope that today brings you much love and warmth!

Lots of love,

xx

Hy

I know how to squirt.

[A re-post from a couple of years ago because I still get a lot of questions.  Also, everything I’ve written here still stands; I’m a squirting machine!  Apparently, lots of other ladies are, too.  Both Dawn and Caitlyn have written about their experiences with it .  xx Hy]

A lot of women want to know how to squirt. Here’s what I’ve learned to do.

Making G-spot Contact

The first time it ever happened to me was roughly 14 years ago. At this point in my sexual history I had just ended a year-long relationship where I orgasmed from only sex (both while on top and bottom) and also had only ever orgasmed from oral once. I was 25.

This particular squirting night was just your average tryst. Nothing special except that this cock was significantly bigger than the one that had made me orgasm for a year. However, despite being less than 5 inches long and fairly narrow, that smaller penis had taught me to sit low and heavy on a man’s groin, to really sink into it and how to ride him with abandon.

I’d been under the wrong impression for years that making love while on top should replicate the man’s motion like when he was on top, but with a cock that was smaller that didn’t work, hence my new moves: to grind down hard and tilt my pelvic cradle against my lover’s in order to stimulate my clitoris against his pubis, to sit tall and not lean over. I came every time with a big clitoral orgasm.

So, naturally, I applied my new method with the bigger lover. I began to feel a glow in my womb and my chest felt numb and buzzing and then I felt a release similar to the sensation of urinating, but slightly higher than my urethra.  Throughout my body it felt big and blossoming all the way to my fingertips.  It was distinctly different from the orgasms I was used to.

That first time it squirted in my lover’s eye. We both stopped for a second to laugh. I didn’t know what to say. He exclaimed, “You squirted!” I had no idea what that even meant, but I felt no shame about it. He seemed really pleased. And then we kept going.

Looking back on it, that was my first experience with a g-spot orgasm.

Size Can Matter

I never felt that again until the first time I had sex with Troy (story is here) and it was because his cock was big enough to massage my g-spot no matter what position we were in; I didn’t have to be on top. He was by far the biggest man I’d ever been with (around 8.5″). He was elated by my juices and I was utterly incapable of controlling them. They just happened to me. It became the center of our fucking.

Which is what set me off in the hunt of large cocks. Honestly, that’s the only reason. I happen to have a deep well and a larger member hits me just right every time. The smaller ones simply didn’t. Until I learned some new tricks…

Head Space – What I do

Today I don’t need a large cock to squirt anymore – yay! I’ve learned to squirt on command about 4 out of every 5 times that I try, and it’s dependent on a couple of things. First, I have to be significantly turned on, and second, the more I trust my lover the easier it becomes. My head has to be in the right place if I’m the one in charge of my squirting.

When alone, I imagine gripping the shaft of a cock with my pussy like a fist, and then simultaneously I push out around it while relaxing. All my focus, all my energy, all my breath is focused on my cunt. I contract a few times, then release and push out. Repeat. It’s all I can feel. If I squirt by myself, totally alone, with nothing and no one touching me I am a quintessential pussy. I have this, I think, I am this. If I squirt with my Hitachi, which is actually fairly rare, I am typically sitting on the edge of a bed or standing, so there is pressure on my vulva.

When with a lover, tantric lovemaking elicits much wetness from me and my lover doesn’t even have to be participating in the method. Contracting my vaginal muscles as he pulls out – as if I were sucking him back in – and then pushing against him as he pushes back in – like bearing down – stimulates my g-spot. Switching back and forth like this is only possible when the pace is slower. When the pace is frantic I simply grip with all my might.

Skills – What He Does

There are two things that my lovers have done that have caused me to squirt deliberately. One is with their cock, the other with their hands and fingers.

With any size cock, he pulls out all the way or almost all the way, and if I’m doing my tantric gripping, the sensation of leaving my body makes me squirt.

With his hands and fingers, he curls his fingers inside of me with his palm on my pubis and he slams his hand against me in a small, rapid circular motion. It’s a lot of work for him, it’s not gentle. It’s rough and intense and has always, without exception, yielded results for me.

The Neighbor said that technique worked on an ex-girlfriend, as well.

Letting Go – It’s Not Pee

I don’t know how clear a picture I’m drawing here. Of course this is one woman’s experience with squirting, but I have talked to my lovers at great length about this. Troy devoured books about the female anatomy and he understood that the ejaculate traveled a similar path as urine, but was certainly not urine. He also believed that an old lover of his would have probably squirted herself, but each time she felt the sensation she ran to the toilet.

And here’s where I have to agree. The sensation prior to ejaculating is reminiscent of peeing, but that’s it. When we need to pee there’s a pressure in our bladder, unmistakable; with squirting, the sensation is lower, more concentrated around the urethra and clitoris.

We have to trust our bodies not to get wires crossed. It’s really that simple. I know I’ve had my run-ins with poo, so you’d think I’d be the last person on the planet to say TRUST YOUR BODY, but I really believe it. I know my system won’t allow me to piss all over my lover in a fit of passion. And in part my trust in my own body allows me to let go and allow the stimulation to rise and then exit my body via a squirt.

Sometimes the fluid is odorless, sometimes it’s musky, sometimes it’s less pleasant and more urine-like. And it can all come from the same woman on different days of the week. Its scent is tied up with hormones and ph levels. Some experts believe that all ejaculate has some urine mixed in, others resolutely say that’s not true. I’m of the camp that sometimes it can be mixed in with a little urine. My ejaculate, like all the anecdotal and scientific research I found, has varied from odorless to faintly musky to strongly of urine. The Neighbor has never said anything and, in fact, once lifted a soaked towel to his face — which to me smelled faintly of urine — and told me it smelled delicious. His enthusiasm helped me to not care and to truly just let go.

Go For It

And here I have to ask a bigger question in general: Even if you did piss on your lover, so what?? You’re engaged in an intimate, messy activity that is inherently complicated and involved with the bowel, bladder, anus, and vagina just to name a few. Shit might happen (as you all know it certainly has with me). So I say, even if you do fear peeing, just fucking go for it. You won’t die and your lover will have a chance to show his mettle. And that’s the worst case scenario. Best case is that you’ll feel a g-spot ejaculation/orgasm!

I hope this has shed some light on the mysteriousness of squirting. I’d love to hear from other women who do it and hear your stories. Are they similar to mine? Different? What do you do to squirt? Do you have any control over it? And to all you women who have never done it, I say to you that you have nothing to lose in trying! Most of you will have the basic building blocks (Skene’s glands are necessary, some think), but at the very least you can have a ton of fun trying!

And here are some articles I liked regarding this whole thing:

Make Her Ejaculate

Female Ejaculation

Shejaculation: Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Gush

Originally published 2/18/12.

We fucked like old times.

We lay cuddling last week in my bed and then suddenly we weren’t.

I grabbed the soft mound of flesh beneath his basketball shorts and squeezed and pressed my cheek on his warm, firm chest then slid my head up until the bridge of my nose rested under his jaw.  I have discovered a place here which is even better than the nook.  It’s my nook within the nook.

He sighed against me and I continued to slide my hand on his stiffening bulge.  His hand traced swirls on my arm and I sunk deeper into a new state of being, so far from stress and worry which I’d been wearing for so long before that moment.

I melted against him beneath my closed lids and let him kiss my face and my lips, his cock hard and twitching beneath my fingers.  I deftly pulled his waistband down as he equally deftly lifted his hips and let me slide them down around his thick, round backside.

The lights were on and illuminated our pale limbs and lit his icy blue eyes upon my darker ones.  Finally, I thought, I could lose myself again.  It’d been far too long.  Boxes and money and my failed marriage, my hurting baby and career worries, they all twirled away like smoke.  None of that mattered.  All that mattered for those moments turned into minutes, were the two of us returning to what we knew best about one another.

My hand wrapped around his giant hot cock as he shifted over me, his mouth was wet and urgent on mine, then his hands were pulling off my little pajama shorts and his knees shoving mine wide apart.  Soon, soon!

I held my breath and clung to his bare shoulders and let my gaze hold his for one, two, three seconds before I had to break away.  Still, after everything, I am a chicken shit to let my soul pool in my eyes for him to see.

Shirt hiked up over my jiggling breasts, cock knocking at my door, a push, a sigh, then the long, deep slide into home.  My home.

This is always where I will feel welcome, like I always belong.

His hips curved into me slowly at first as he warmed up and then the tempo increased to a frenzy.  Banging, moaning, arching, begging.

I breathed in his puffs of breath upon my neck and reveled in his warm, manly weight pinning me to the mattress.  I hoped we disturbed my cranky asshole downstairs neighbor.

He sat up then and did his move, the one that slays me each and every time.  Sometimes I resent his control over my body and our easy slide into a routine, but not that night.  That night my eyes widened with anticipation and I couldn’t wait for the thrill of orgasms his body would play upon mine.

With my ankles hitched up on his shoulders he angled himself inside of me to hit my g-spot and rammed away at me as the orgasms bled through me and I felt my juices release down the crack of my bottom.  I whimpered and bit my own forearm to keep from screaming and thrashed around like a wild animal.

I begged for breaks and he gave them to me before starting up again, splitting my legs this way and that then flipping me over and twisting my long hair around his hand for a better grip and let loose on me from behind.

Tears slipped out of my eyes and I lifted my rump to meet his hips; my breath stolen by his weight and strength surging into me.  I pushed back onto him as he threw himself towards my throat through my fucking pussy.  Such a good boy.

His hand slammed down on one flank, then the other, and I hoped he’d leave a mark on me.  Then I held my breath and hoped he’d cum, but he didn’t, like so many times before.  It’s a rare occurrence now, so we finish when he gets tired, not when he’s climaxed.  So I simply have to wait for him to tire and embrace the selfish feelings of pleasure he so eagerly gives to me.  It’s a tough life, I know.

Eventually, my robust lover grew exhausted and fell limp like a giant, panting puppy who’s run wild in the yard on top of me.  My puppy, though.

It was good to fuck like old times again and it was good to be home.

 

 

He’s my TN.

My body opened for him, my heart pumped for him, my legs spread for him.

It had been days since we were able to connect; weekly demands, family in town, and work schedules conspired against us.  I felt an angsty itch I couldn’t swat away, but we had promised each other that last night would be the end of the itching.

“I need you deep inside of me,” I texted.  “It will make my world right.”

“I sure hope so,” The Neighbor responded.

“I’m sure it will,” I said.

He popped over later in the evening and lit a fire for Peyton and me.  They chatted for a minute and then he and I talked on the balcony while Pey watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

My heart was heavy and has been re-broken as I navigate a new stage of my relationship with my ex and my ex-family.  He was kind, offered words of encouragement.  “Fuck them, Hy.  Repeat after me, ‘Fuck them!'”

I said the words and joked that at least I had his cock to make me feel better.  He agreed as I leaned across the chilly night and grabbed his warm, soft bulge.

“You ok?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I answered eyeing his lips.  I brushed them with my own and his soft beard tickled my skin.  “I am now.”

“Good.”  He stood up.  “Text me later, ok?  I’m off to get dinner.”

I thanked him again and finished my warm, cozy night with my gangly limbed little one and the second I knew that sleep had descended on my house I texted a simple, “OK!”

I changed out of my jeans into maroon scrubs and removed my bra.  My heavy breasts sagged against my white cotton shirt and I sighed.  I went and laid down on my couch to wait, excited and even a little nervous.

I heard heavy footsteps, a door open, a door shut and then my door open.  He was here.

I looked at him as he walked into my apartment wearing only black basketball shorts.  “Come on,” he said with his hand out.  “Let’s go.”  His face was serious, his bulge obvious.

I giggled and sat upright, grabbed his hand and skipped a little as he led me to my room.  He shut the door and locked it lest Peyton wake up and need Mommy for something.

I handed him a lighter and gestured toward the candle on my nightstand as I turned off the lights.

I heard the lighter and the room filled with a warm glow.  He turned to me and took my face in his hands and kissed me.  His cologne filled my nostrils and I inhaled the sweet, manly scent.  I pressed my body against his bare chest and pulled back and in one motion removed my shirt then my pants.

I stood before him in purple knee-high socks and black lace panties.  I arched my back a little as I noticed him glance at my breasts and abdomen.  He grabbed me again and pulled me in for a deeper, longer kiss.

I tugged at his shorts and shoved them off the rest of the way with my stockinged foot.  He giggled at my antics, kissed me again then shoved me down on the bed and ripped off my panties.

I could feel my wetness and grew more excited to see his reaction.  He pushed my legs apart and positioned himself between them, his cock found my hole and his eyes grew wide when he felt his cock slide in with such ease.

“Jesus Christ, Hy,” he moaned into my ear.

He began to rock into me and I clung to him.  He kissed my ear, my neck, my lips.  I grew greedy and mewled at him, kissing him back like it was my last opportunity for touch.

I grabbed at his flanks and ground down on him as his arms wrapped around me to hold me to him.  He pounded my fucking pussy like it was his last opportunity for touch.

I gushed and I came in so many bursts that left me breathless, my breasts crushed against the fur of chest grew hot from our friction.  His mouth was all over me, such a rare treat, I felt like a chocolate beneath his mouth and tongue.

He pushed himself up on his knees and bent my legs, my dark purple socks looked like boots.  My pussy was so slick I could barely feel him and I worried aloud about it.  He assured me that wasn’t the case for him.

I began to pant how much I loved his fucking cock over and over, a broken, lusty record.  I clenched, I prayed, I hoped to God he could actually feel me and then I heard a hitch in his voice and his pants began to come in earnest.

The tops of his thighs slammed into the soft undersides of mine as his body jerked and he came deep inside of me.  He paused for a minute and I wanted to cry with relief.  I felt like a rag doll.  But it lasted only a moment before he started to move again.

“No, wait,” I begged.  “Please, stop, please.  Let’s just rest!”  He laughed at me and asked if I was sure.  “I said, yes, please.  I know you’re a sex machine and you can go forever, but please, go easy on me.  I really just want to lay with you.  I’ve cum 14 times already, I swear!”

He laughed again and flopped down next to me and I curled up into his nook.  I lay there thinking how weird it is that I have to tell the man-who-never-cums-in-me to stop fucking me after he finally does.  He’s a special one, that’s for sure.

We lay in each other’s arms and I felt the ooze between my legs and smiled.  I couldn’t wait to wake up the next morning and feel its continuous drip, proof that he was there.

I stroked his shoulders and his temples, anywhere I could lay my hands on him and he melted into me before announcing his departure.

I realized that it has been a solid year since I’ve been monogamous with him.  It feels weird, scary and also very right.  A year’s worth of one man’s semen in and on me, one man’s cock, one man’s eyes.  It feels possessive and free all at once.  It feels truly lovely.

I walked him to the door, gave him a good, hard smack on his ass and kissed him goodnight.  My love, my neighbor, my TN walked next door through a cold 5 feet and disappeared for one more night.

I had a great nooner once.

Go here to read a little about Geoff. He proved himself to be an agile, robust lover.  If it weren’t for his incessant talking I might have enjoyed myself a lot more than I did.  We were lovers in March and maybe April of 2011.

This post is from old writings from that time. I hadn’t met The Neighbor, yet; I was on a mission to fuck anyone and everyone if only my heart would stop breaking.

Also, amazing what a couple of years of writing will do to the quality of my work. I cringed when I reread it, so I’ve made some changes so I’m not so embarrassed to share.

My sex drive is off the charts.  Being fucked once does nothing except make sure I don’t combust; it whets my appetite for more.  It’s the Sisyphus aspect of this whole thing. 

So I made a date for Geoff to come and fuck me midday, then leave.

I ran out to the top of my stairs to meet him and hoped he could see my white panties up my skirt as he climbed the stairs. 

He smiled all the way up the steps. Fun times were ahead! A little naked party just for me and him!

I flung myself at him as he climbed the last steps and he caught me in his arms and kissed me passionately at the top of the stairs.

Laughing, kissing, and walking backwards I led him to my front door.  His cologne filled my nostrils as his mouth devoured mine and we fell into the apartment. 

Pearl snaps popped open and his shirt fell in a heap on the floor as we continued towards my bed.  He threw me down and stripped off the rest of his clothes.

“I love being fully clothed with a naked man,” I purred as I looked him over.

He was hairless and freckled mostly everywhere and his big, meaty erection hung down and to my left like a wayward banana. He’d ignored my questions about the direction of his erection the one time I’d brought it up, so I figured a man was allowed his secrets. 

I peeled my dress off and he grabbed my panties, then a condom.  Suddenly he was on top of me pile driving into me.  I could feel the tip of his cock on the left side of my canal, brushing my cervix and making me twist beneath him.

For minutes on end he slammed into me and I pushed against the wall and bore down, pushing hard with my velvety muscles with every thrust. 

He grabbed my feet and put them together before his face and fucked me like a rabid dog.  I could barely move when he cussed and stopped, gathering himself, “Oh my God, I’m gonna fucking cum.  I gotta wait a second.”

I laughed and grabbed his ass as he pulled out and dove onto my pussy with his mouth.  His goatee tickled my thighs as his broad, warm tongue lapped at me like a scoop of ice cream.

I panted that I wanted him inside of me again, but he said no.  He lifted his face and kissed me deeply, my own scent a delicious cloud about me.  His other hand worked my clit and I squirted fiercely into his hand as I cried out.  His eyes lit up and he stroked harder; I squirted more, writhing beneath his hand and begged him to fuck me.

He flipped me over and drove into me, his hands gripping my hips tightly.  I swung back down onto him with all my strength, curving a little at the end.  I reached back beneath me and cupped his balls. 

I heard him moan and then begin to speak about how he loved my body and how I was such a good fuck and so good at it. Little sexy kindnesses every woman loves to hear.

My insides were filled and my arms and shoulders were going numb with delight.  I felt tears and laughter pricking my face, giddy with desire and sensation.

Our bodies were slick with sweat when he finally came, his control pinpoint.  We flopped onto my pillows and I quickly grabbed my vibe, asked him to hold my throat tightly and came fast and hard, even squirting some while doing so.

Finally I relaxed and we chatted amiably.  He didn’t talk as much this time and for that I was grateful.  Again he asked if I wanted him to stay or if he should go.  I fibbed and told him a friend was coming over soon and he’d have to leave in 30 minutes.  “Besides, I need to freshen up after the two-hour fuckfest I just had,” I said.

I lazed with my leg slung over him and he held my hand as we laughed and shared stories watching the clock tick 30 minutes.  Then he patted my ass and got up and dressed.  We hugged and kissed and he pressed me up against the wall by the door and promised to call me later.

It was the best nooner I’ve ever had.

My yellow dress always gets me laid.

hy_bed
Proof of a good night.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the man wrapped in only a white towel glaring at me in my entryway.  Apparently, Downstairs Neighbor, upon being rushed out of my apartment because I was about to get the shit fucked out of me, had hidden behind the corner and when The Neighbor had single-mindedly tried to span the 5 feet between our doors he’d leaped out and scared the shit out of him.  A cat might also have run outside in all the commotion of TN’s glares and DN’s booming laughter.

“Oh, TN!” I laughed putting my hand on his stubbly cheek, the door tightly shut and locked behind us.  “Don’t be mad!!  He had no idea you’d be naked!!”  He leveled a gaze at me that made me giggle some more as if I’d conspired with DN to humiliate him!

I laughed some more, just simply couldn’t help it, frankly.

I kissed his cheek and hugged his stiff body and to prove his “anger” he let the towel drop and his erection bobbed heavily between us.  I grabbed it and whispered against his mouth, “I swear, DN had no idea you’d be in a towel!  It was just a joke!”

He melted against me with a grin and took my hand, led me back to my candlelit room.  “Ok,” he finally said still smiling and pulled me closer.

He bent his hand and slanted his mouth across mine, long, soft and sweet surrounded by sandpaper whiskers.  I moaned a little as he removed my cardigan.

“You look so hot in this dress,” he said taking a breath.  I swelled with pride.  My yellow dress, the yellow dress.  It always does me right.

He dipped his head back down to the top of my cleavage and I closed my eyes as his scruff left red blooms on my skin.

He returned to my lips and I breathed him in, lost in my love.  Our fingers explored the dips and swells of our figures, my face nibbling on his.

He pushed the little straps off my shoulders and the top of my dress pooled around my waist.  My breasts filled his hands and mouth and we laughed when I needed help pulling the dress back up and over my double Ds.

He grabbed my white cotton panties and tore them off.  “Leave the boots on,” he said lustily and shoved me down on the bed.

I sighed as he entered me and pulled my bottom to the edge of the bed.  My knee-high brown leather riding boots framed his face and he turned into one calf and kissed it.  I could hear him smell the leather.

His cock was enormous and I was wet as fuck.  He leaned down and kissed me and I stared boldly up at him then shut my eyes as he slowly stroked my body with his.

I thought of the strict orders he’d received from his physical therapist to not do any vigorous fucking for a while and groaned.  “Don’t hurt yourself, TN,” I warned as I felt his tempo increase.  “If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.”  I panted the words in time with his thrusts.  He only smiled mischievously at me and kept at it.

I tossed my head from side to side as it all began to feel more like torture.  An exquisite, stupidly hot and wet, torture.

He seemed to sense my agony and lifted me up fully onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. For a quick 30 seconds he pumped like horny stray dog into me and I came just as rapidly; little bursts strung together by moans, grabbed skin, and warm breath on my neck.

He stopped then, panting.  “Damn you,” I admonished.  “I’m all vibe-y.  Are you ok?”  I shook my hands like little helicopters.

“Yes, I’m ok,” he said. “And that reminds me…” he leaned over, still inside of me, and grabbed my Hitachi.  “Here you go.”  He flicked it on and lay beside me with my legs over his hips.

It took forever and a day for me to spill over, but with the struggle came the reward:  his words, his mouth; he stroked my temple and told me what a good girl I was.  And then we cuddled and loved and talked and I dozed stupidly for minutes on end.

Then he kissed me again and squeezed me, tucked me in, loved on Faisal who’s claimed him for his own, and left quietly.

The next morning I awoke naked and in a sunbeam, my body sore in all the right places.  My boots lay in a heap on the floor next to my white panties, the vibrator lay like a bone a couple of feet away and my pretty yellow dress hung draped over the foot of my bed.

My wonderful, lucky, get-laid-every-time yellow dress.  Thank you, Old Navy.