Chemistry is non-negotiable.

Hy in a striped dress 2
Friday night stripes.

I’m 30,000 feet in the air on my way home from Ann’s and I’m fairly certain of three things: 1) vacation dick is pretty great; 2) cheese and more wine, while pleasurable, does not cure a hangover; and 3) I can’t remember a third thing because numbers 1 and 2 have pretty much taken all my brain power and life force.  I’m sure I’ll think of it at some point.  [Ed. note: It doesn’t happen.]

I could give you a blow-by-blow of my weekend with the ever gracious Ann, but if I jumped into that I’d be missing a bigger, more important theme of my time with her: chemistry — between friends and lovers — and how it’s actually non-negotiable.  You can’t turn it up or down, it just is or isn’t.

Ann and I have good chemistry as women, as friends.  Apparently, I had pretty great chemistry with the man she calls “Shenanigans.”  I also got to see first hand the effortless chemistry between her and a man she can’t explain, Tony.  And last night she invited two of her friends over for a night of drinks and chatting and those women also clicked seamlessly into the tapestry of our weekend.  Again, more good rapport.

Being so charged with chemistry this weekend has made me contemplate who and what I am as a person.  How am I perceived?  What is my impact on those around me?  Should I be more careful?  How do any of us ever find one another?

I arrived Friday afternoon still covered in the sweat and bodily fluids of The Soldier.  He’d come over Thursday when I discovered a free hour in my day.  He’d plunged into me and dripped sweat down on me as he rode us both punishingly over the edge.  We rested, talked easily, and as he was getting up to leave I put him in my mouth and let him bury himself into my skull.  When he came, I felt his semen hit the back of my throat and relished the feel of his hands on my head holding me to him.

I didn’t want to wash him off of me and so I didn’t.

Driving home to Ann’s she laid out our plans for the night: we had tickets to an art show of some kind, a little free time to grab a drink somewhere, then we were hitting a club.  Tony, her on/off again amour wanted to meet us for the drink portion.  I realized then the evening would require I wash The Soldier off of me if I were to be in polite society.

As the night wore on and the purple, pulsing lights cast eerie shadows on the club walls Shenanigans, an old lover of Ann’s, continued to text her from an earlier chat they’d had in the week.  She wasn’t the least bit interested, I imagine still on the high from holding Tony’s hand in the fancy hotel bar we’d met him in coupled with just a basic disinterest, but I insisted that he come over and hang out with us.  I had no ulterior motives other than just wanting to meet as many people in Ann’s world as possible.  And so he did.

By the time he arrived, however, Ann was worshiping the porcelain Gods.  I went to let him in and was surprised by how good-looking he was.  Tall as all fuck, scruffy looking in a boy-next-door kind of way.  I knew virtually nothing about him, despite her writing about him over the past two years; he seemed like such a peripheral character, I never bothered to give him my full attention.  Plus, shenanigans.  I don’t have to read about a fella to know if he’s earned that moniker.

He followed me up to the living room and I went to pour him some wine while Ann continued to die somewhere around the corner behind a closed door.  She soon went upstairs to rest.

We followed her and lay in her bed congenially until I playfully convinced him to take his pants off in front of us at which point his strip of Magnum condoms were revealed.  I’m fairly certain that secured the evening for me.  And for him.

I took his hand and led him out of Ann’s room, down the stairs and — he told me later — pulled out a great big cock and did what I love to do.

Sometimes I forget that this isn’t what normal people do.  

Most people don’t travel thousands of miles to visit their girlfriend and then end up sleeping with an old lover of theirs.  They don’t fuck on purple leather couches in the open.  They don’t fuck in their friend’s son’s beds.  But, I guess that’s the kind of person I am.

Shenanigans peeled off my dress and fondled my breasts.  He pulled me up to standing and reached for the condoms while I rolled down my stockings.  We kissed again and I felt his erection bob between us, its hard heat far above my bellybutton as he towered over me.  He roughly turned me around and pushed in.  I held onto the back of the couch and marveled at how we somehow fit even with more than a foot’s difference in height between us.

My breasts swung and I felt an orgasm come up and over me, juices trickled down to disappear at the bones of my ankles.  I briefly thought I was glad I wasn’t soiling Ann’s pretty rug or couch.  At least I wasn’t that impolite.

Time and space stood still.  I wasn’t far from home, I wasn’t in someone else’s living room, this wasn’t someone else’s man.  I was just this seething mass of nerves and drive desperate for release and he was the conduit.

He sat on the couch and I climbed up on his lap and sunk down.  His pale skin was illuminated against the dark purple leather, his cock buried up to my sternum.  He latched onto my breasts and squeezed them.  I faced the staircase behind him and saw Ann’s feet, then legs, then drawn, tired face.  She smiled and paused next to us.  I continued to move on Shenanigans, just a little, as she and I exchanged pleasantries the equivalent of which would be “Hey, girl.  You good?  Good.  Later.”

She padded past us to the kitchen then back up the stairs.  We didn’t see her again until morning.

Alone again we laughed at having just been interrupted and turned back into each other.  He picked me up and I kept my legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked me while standing in the middle of the living room.   An odd sight we must have been, I thought.  My long hair draped across us both and he seemed not to exert himself at all as he pumped against me.

I felt like a kid in a candy shop, frankly.  Free and wild to be me.  He came and let me loose and we wandered naked upstairs where I put my pajamas on and crawled into a little boy’s bed and pulled this giant stranger in after me.  I fell asleep instantly.

I don’t have a recent memory of waking up with a man.  I don’t do that.  I steal moments from busy, scheduled lives, or I run out as soon as we’re done.  It felt oddly normal to wake up next to Shenanigans and oddly normal still to let him push into me, his mouth on my neck and lips.  I couldn’t stifle a  laugh when guilt washed over him.  “Man… we’re in her kid’s bed,” he said.  I told him to close his eyes and not think about the stuffed animals.

My eyes were closed, too, thinking about the treat between my legs.  The great big athletic man rocking away into me as 8 am peered in at us.  He was getting close, he said and I told him to cum all over me, anywhere, everywhere.

He pulled out and laid ropes of pearly semen all over my belly and tits.  We marveled at his artwork and regretted not snapping a pic.  We were both too lazy to get our phones.  I was probably still drunk.

I laid there for a few minutes and blinked, reality slowly creeping in while Shenanigans was having reality crashing down hard on him.  I mean, the guy ostensibly came over to fuck Ann, but he ended up with me.  He didn’t know she couldn’t care less about what we’d done.  He was agitated and fidgety.  “I’m going to go talk to Ann.”  He pulled on his underwear and left the room.

I got up and did my morning ablutions then knocked on her door.  He was sitting on the edge of her bed looking uncomfortable.  I crawled in next to her and told him to relax.  “Tony’s bringing us lattes,” she said.  “One for Shenanigans, too.”

I took him downstairs to leave poor Ann alone until our coffees arrived.  He was nervous.

“Who am I?” he asked.  “How do I explain why I’m here?”

I told him Tony wouldn’t think twice about him, that he’d assume I’d pulled him in off the street and we’d fucked.  I couldn’t convince him, my words were useless, so instead I undid his pants and pulled him out.   He was hard again and I could taste me on him.  He was more fun with his lips sealed.

I licked his warm balls and tongued the smooth patch of skin behind them and dove down onto his shaft until he came with a deep, long guttural moan. He held me to him the exact same way The Soldier had 36 hours earlier.

He didn’t mention Tony again and when they met a few minutes later he fell over himself to explain that he was my friend.  Tony didn’t notice as I’d predicted.

I walked him downstairs, told him this might be goodbye forever, hugged him and shut the door.  I didn’t see him again.

Back upstairs, Tony had let himself up to Ann’s room and was laying under the covers beside her.  I sat at the foot of the bed while Ann rested her head on his chest and he pet the curls at her temple.  We joked like old friends and I surreptitiously watched them interact as I regaled them with my tall and sexy tale from the night before

After hearing from her for so long the somewhat torturous entanglement they’ve had I could see why she always wanted more from him.  He’s sweet, yet different, quirky; his words tumble out of his mouth with a child’s exuberance; he’s bold and bright.

He’s driven and can become hyper-focused; if she’s out of sight, she’s also out of mind, though not in a callous way.  He cares about her.  I imagine it’s much how a lot of men I’ve known have been: The Neighbor, The Soldier, countless others easily forgotten. The difference, though, between the forgettable ones and the memorable ones isn’t the effort they put in or the category of relationship that ensues, but the quality of the chemistry, the intensity.  Ann and Tony have great chemistry.  It’s natural.

All the talk about my raucous night was making Tony visibly antsy, so I left them to their own devices and went downstairs.  I sneaked back up to get some socks and could hear Ann’s cries and skin softly clapping.  I crept back downstairs to wait for pizza and thought about my chemistry with Shenanigans, all shenanigans aside.

We’d laughed and shared stories and talked like we weren’t total strangers, the mysterious atoms of chemistry doing their work.  His oddness was impossible to miss; I could see why she’d nicknamed him Shenanigans.

Later, the two spunky lovers and I ate lunch and cuddled on the couch.  My feet tucked under me and Ann’s on Tony’s lap as he watched soccer and explained his passionate love for it.  Soon, they disappeared back upstairs and I napped on the couch, desperately hungover now.

Time stood still again as I was once more reduced to my physical needs.  I climbed back upstairs and fell into Liam’s bed until Tony came in to say goodbye.  We hugged tightly and I went back to bed where Ann soon joined me.

“I asked Tony to share with me what’s in his heart and head.”  I only moaned and asked if we were really getting back on The Tony Ride.

Since meeting TN, I have greatly edited my expectations of what a relationship should look like.  Brief?  Long?  Committed?  I don’t know — or often care — what it looks like.  If it feels good, do it.  If it doesn’t, don’t.

By that afternoon I had hardly heard from The Soldier and even been told he would keep his last name private.  I could freak out about that, but why bother?  I’d rather enjoy what I have than lament about what I don’t have.  If I ever really need more from him, I’ll ask and make a decision from there.  I like the freedom of being able to fuck some guy while I’m on vacation with zero regrets.  I owe no one anything.

I urged her to seek the same kind of peace in order to enjoy the beautiful thing they share and wondered aloud if anyone had ever died from a hangover.

She left to go shopping for dinner and I buried myself under puffy down covers still wishing I were a more normal friend, one with a lower volume in general.  When she returned we readied a carpet picnic of cheeses, bread and crackers and first one, then another of her friends came over.  We laughed and talked well into the night.  After they left I lay moaning on the couch while Ann hammered out a quick post, overcome with giggles.  It still felt all very unreal.

This morning, I continued to struggle with my shame over my behavior.  Was I going to leave and in the quiet of her home would Ann suddenly realize I was actually a total shit?  I squirmed at the kitchen table as she continued to assure me she didn’t care and loved me all the same.  As a dissolute, wild woman hearing I am accepted just as I am is a remarkable gift.  I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.  Thank you, little atoms.  Thank you, Ann.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with all the chemically-charged characters from this long weekend of mine; it’s like we’re all a bunch of magnets.  Me and The Soldier and Shenanigans and Ann and her friends.  The Soldier and I will, for a lack of a better word, soldier on.  I’ll see him when I see him.  Shenanigans and I will likely be a fond memory to one another, perhaps occasional pen pals.  Ann’s friends I will long remember for their amazingly hilarious stories — I hope they remember me as fondly.  As for Ann and me, well, I just hope that when she visits me next I can return all the favors, vacation dick included.

 

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This is what everyone does in a bathroom, right?

Hy is back in Noodle-country.

Half a day in a car whose AC decided to crap out half way there has landed me on the doorstep of my sweet Noodle, drenched in sweat and hot as hell.

I’ll not give away what’s happened so far, but we both agree it’s Penthouse Letter worthy thus far and I’ve only been here for 4 hours.

Here’s us saying howdy. 

HI.
 

Tomorrow, I meet The Russian.  Quite excited about that, I must confess.  Also, strangely ambivelant?  Hard to put my finger on it.

Here’s to a wonderful weekend in Noodle-country!  A-men!!

PS: This reminds me I need to write about Ann’s visit in June where matching panties and giant slabs of beef were involved in a killer girls’ weekend.

The sex bloggers are coming! The sex bloggers are coming!

Well, one sex blogger is coming, anyway.

She’s tall, she uses a butt plug for a doorstop, and she reveals all her dating travails to us without skipping one detail.  Do you know of whom I speak??

Yep, Ann St. Vincent is coming to my fair city this Friday.

I’ll pick her up from the airport, take her to my favorite “first time in _____” restaurant for a really stiff drink then drag her out into the muggy night with me to fill ourselves with more liquid madness and tall tales we can’t share on our blogs.  Ann, you better nap on the plane.

As you might recall from Noodle’s visits, my town is not a very friendly one in terms of male attention, so my focus will be on showing Ann the sites and the vibe of my home, not hooking her up.  And alas, I no longer have two willing and able neighbors with whom to frolic, so there’s that.

Speaking of which, don’t get your hopes up that Ann will meet The Neighbor.  I wish things were different between me and him, but they’re not.  The battery has died and the clock is stuck.  And Downstairs Neighbor is off the motherfucking grid ever since his exgirlfriend told him she never loved him (don’t ever do that to someone, ok? it’s just unnecessary).  That exhausts my list of available men to drink with in my living room.

But you know us.  Maybe we’ll find new ones.  I never know what will happen when I open myself up to possibility.  And martinis.

I don’t know if I’m a good person.

Am I a good person anymore?  Sometimes I can’t tell.

I can say with certainty that I’d help the little old lady in the grocery aisle reach her jar of spaghetti sauce or stop and help someone I saw on the street who’d collapsed.  I’d capture dogs running amok on a busy street and I’d happily sit with a lost child until his parents were found.  I care for Peyton with a tireless passion and all the love in my body and work hard to figure out my relationships with my sister and mother like a good daughter and sister.

But lately I have also been judgmental and almost incapable of keeping secrets (ok, one secret of one friend, which I shared with The Neighbor).  I’m fed up with the decisions my friends (and family) have been making which render them either miserable or powerless or both.  I am a woman of agency: if something isn’t working fix it or end it or stop bitching about it.  Leave me out of it.

I really and truly try to live by that motto, despite what it may have seemed like with my own life.  After all, The Neighbor behaved very badly in the past and many (many) of you thought I should dump his ass.

I was asked by a friend last week why I decided to stay with him through all of that.  We’re new-ish friends and we have only hung out 3 times over the past year.  Our dates are peppered with lots of personal revelations and artisan cheeses and she remembers our first meeting where TN was being distant and non-commital and probably a huge jackass — such a far cry from where he is today.

“What was it about him?” she asked me, leaning forward waiting for my answer. “How did you know things would change?”

“I didn’t,” I told her.  “I broke up with him 3 or 4 times, but he wouldn’t leave me alone.  So, I guess he made that decision in the end.”

“But you could’ve broken off contact,” she pressed, her bullshit-meter going off.  As a long-time singleton who has increasingly entered a black-and-white way of thinking when it comes to dating, she didn’t understand the complexities of our situation and why on earth I’d keep letting him back into my life, and she wanted to know my secret to what seems like a successful relationship today.

“True,” I admitted, “but it’s a lot harder to ignore a knock on your door than it is a text or a phone call.  And, to be honest, it felt good to be chased after.”

And there it was. Was I that friend not too long ago who exhausted her friends and their emotional resources like I feel my friends are doing to me now?

Add to that a growing sense that the friends I do have — many of my decades and longer friendships — feel strangely removed from me.   I am a satellite, distantly safe.  I’m not really all that involved and I kinda like it that way.

Growing up, my  mother taught me that to be a good friend you lavished attention and care on your friends, you never gossiped or shared stories, you exhausted yourself during birthday parties and important events and you were always available when needed.

Today, I realize that is a recipe for disaster because as beautiful a scene it is, it’s a flower-filled meadow with no fence.  When do you stop? When do you rest?  By my mother’s thinking: never; but by most other people’s: frequently.  Which then means you’re the only one going beyond the hills while your friends hang out at their fence replenishing their own resources and maintaining good boundaries and you feel gypped, or worse: unworthy.

So, I’m in a bind.  On the one hand I think I have a right to my compassion fatigue, on the other, I feel like a shit person and even worse, a shit friend.

 

 

 

 

I’m sexier than Liechtenstein.

I’m sure a lot of you got this annual report thingy.  Apparently, I’m more interesting to some people than Liechtenstein. Go figure.

Here’s an excerpt:

About 55,000 tourists visit Liechtenstein every year. This blog was viewed about 230,000 times in 2012. If it were Liechtenstein, it would take about 4 years for that many people to see it. Your blog had more visits than a small country in Europe!

Click here to see the complete report.

But my point in posting this is for more than just tooting my own stupid horn.

First, I’ve been blogging for a little over a year now (my anniversary was 12/17) and I’m more passionate than ever about it.  I hope I can maintain this kind of traffic and interest a year from now and I want to mark where I am now.

Second, a year in review is always relevant at the start of a new year, so why not?  Besides, I have a shit ton of awards and kudos to catch up on that I’ve basically ignored for most of the year (yeah, I’m a dick blogger, remember?).

Third, I also have a blog-content idea I’d like to run by my readers and fellow bloggers.  Who would be interested in participating in a bi-weekly column about online dating?  Email me at hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com if you are and I’ll let you know what my idea is.

Lastly, I wanted to thank all my readers and friends for making this past year utterly wonderful despite the emotional turmoil I was determined to experience.  My Internet Boyfriend is incredible, insightful, sweet, honest, and real.  I’ve made some real, honest to goodness friends — a fact that I never imagined would come to pass — and I have grown as a woman and individual more than if I’d been left alone in my vacuum of self-destruction.  I couldn’t be a luckier gal if I tried.  I mean, fuck.  It’s just awesomeness all around.  Thank you thank you thank you.

So, without being too all over the place, I’m going to list the awards and who gave them to me, but I’m not going to follow all the specific rules.  If I have left you off this list, let me know immediately and I’ll fix it and please accept my apologies in advance.

And, because I have all my favorite of favorites already listed on my Dissolutes tab, I’m asking that you  leave me the names of one or two of your favorite bloggers that I don’t have on my list so I can add them to my More Groovy Bloggers List (see that below).  I’m not going to pass these awards on to 5 or 10 or however many other bloggers because it’s already insanely incestuous around here (and I love it!!), but I want to broaden my reading via this exercise and I want you all to benefit from it, too.  Hopefully it works!

It goes without saying to check out all these terrific writers who passed these [dropped] torches on to me, too.

(Goddamn, I’m such a dick.)

Alictmi-award2e, of Story of Alice, nominated me for a TMI Award a thousand months ago.  It’s for sharing too much.  Probably has something to do with that shat story I wrote about forever ago.

Alice is beautiful, sensual, viscerally cerebral and poetry in 1s and 0s.  Her heart is warm and large and her wiles [nearly] legendary.  Thank you, sweet Alice (I’ll be saying that again before this post is through).

sexy-blogger_3887-lH.H., of My Sex Life With Lola, gave me this BILF Award.  Because everyone wants to fuck a blogger, right? My sexiest post is required by this award, but I’ll give you two options.  First, my most popular, non-squirting-related posts have been by far I was once DVP’d and I was fucked by a stranger.  While blindfolded.  And I was watched.  But one of my personal favorites has always been I made love.  I’m sentimental, I guess.

H.H. is the magical male half of the dynamic, sexy duo of H.H. and Lo.  I imagine he wears tweed as much as I imagine she’s decked out in skimpy lace.  His writing is honest and searching and extremely readable.  I always think he’s keeping something from me.  Thanks for thinking of me with this award, honey.

sunshine-blogger-award1LSAM, of Love, Sex and Marriage, passed on this Sunshine Blogger Award back before she started doing the work of 10 women and actually had time to blog!  It’s a blog awarded to those who make others feel warm and shiny.

LSAM’s writing can be at once provocative (click on her erotica) and also educational.  I always feel like I’ve known her forever when in reality I don’t know her at all.  Good thing that doesn’t matter here in Internetland.  I like her lots.  Thanks, LSAM for the blog love!

the-meta-awesomest-blog-awardThis Meta Awesomest Blog Unicorn Award was given to me by a number of peeps: Alice, whom you’ve met, the of late MIA Deviant of Deviant Diaries, sweet, poignant DW of Deviant Wench, and the intoxicatingly interesting Kayla of Sexual Being.  Thank you ladies for the nominations!  I told y’all I was a fucking dick, right??

This award is in response to the flurry of awards that were going around, I think.  It (as I’m sure the others do, too) requires some random trivia.  I’ll list 5:

  1. I’m a Virgo, Leo rising.  Moon sign is also Leo.  Or Pisces depending on which calculator you use.
  2. I like sauces on the side.
  3. My ears are pierced 11 times, but I almost never wear jewelery.
  4. I am an artist.
  5. I am ridiculously shy.

liebsteraddictive-blog-award Liebster and Addictive Awards were given by the tough cookie, Confessions of Your Husband’s Mistress.

COYHM is both haunting and titillating.  She wanted it to be a cautionary tale, but ended up discovering herself instead.  Thank you for thinking of me :)

versatileblogger1The Versatile Blogger Award – given by the indelible, sexy India of Work Spouse Story is pretty self-explanatory, I’d imagine.

India’s writing is a railroad track through a snowy landscape.  You can just make out where it’s going, but you’re not entirely certain of its destination, but you’re excited to see where you’ll end up nonetheless.  Thanks, girl, for passing this on!

very-inspiring-blogger211The Very Inspiring Award was given by the ever-scrumptious and wonderfully honest Heather and Nikki of Vagina Antics.

Their story of how their friendship came to pass is much like that of their sexual journeys: they’re exactly where they need to be today, and their writings are both succinctly raw and wonderfully whimsical.  Many thanks!

fabulous-award2Lastly, the newest of awards to make the circuit is the Fabulous Gutter Blogger Award created by India and her partner in crime, Dave over at Normal Deviations.  India, sweet and self-flagellating Dawn of Pivoine68, the sensually intellectual Fatal of You Linger Like a Haunting Refrain, and  the deeply raw True of Voirdireblog all thought of me when they had the chance of nominating a blogger.  Thank you all!  I’m humbled.

I apologize again for not following all the specific rules, but as you can see I was a Super Dick this time around and let it all pile up.

And for the grand finale, here are some new blogs I’ve discovered — that are not already on my Dissolutes tab == that I think deserve some attention.

More Groovy Blogs List:

I hope you all get a chance to check out some of these bloggers who aren’t as familiar to us as some others (though, I suspect some of these are some of your favs already, too).

Fuck, this post took goddamned forever to write.  I’m sorry for being such a slacker.  In the future, I’ll be more on top of any niceness sent my way.  I’m not an asshole, I swear!

I’ll end this with yet another big, fat THANK YOU, IBF!  Because I really and truly mean it and without you all — as crazy as it sounds — my life would be very different.

Boobs, sex, pseudo-break-ups, real make-ups, giant cock, and a settled heart will be discussed in the coming days, I promise.

xx

Hy

Sometimes I love autocorrect.

I think most of us have a love-hate relationship with autocorrect — lots of “ducks” and “ducking” in my world, according to Apple — but every once in a while I think it’s pretty neat. And it got me Noodle’s boobies. Woot!

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When I walk away, he comes running.

I got bored this afternoon.

Thursday night The Neighbor and I had softball games at the same time.  For the first time in weeks I forgot he was even at the park with me.  His team’s red shirts little laser dots on the neighboring field, my green team’s bright, grass green jerseys like blades of grass on ours.  It was a splintered Christmas theme.

After we slaughtered our opponent, we regrouped on the bleachers and drank our leftover beers.  Peyton and my friend’s kid ran amok and swung like monkeys off of anything they could get their hands on.  We passed cigarettes around when the children weren’t looking and called each other names.  I idly noticed that TN’s team was also hanging out on their bleachers.  I couldn’t even muster the energy to shrug.

Tuesday night with TN was liking going to a restaurant.  “Yes, I’d like the salad to start, the fish of the day, and a good, hard fuck for dessert.  Thanks.”  My heart didn’t flutter once Wednesday and I was shocked to realize at the end of the day that neither of us had contacted the other.  In fact, I’d forgotten to completely.  A clear departure from the old Hy.

Old Hy would have concocted some reason to text, would have felt sad that he hadn’t texted her.  She would have danced with despondency, but not this new Hy.  New Hy has honey badger style: she don’t give a shit.

So as I stood enjoying myself with my teammates, friends, and child, full and tough as nails I watched TN run from his team to me.

“Hey, Hy!” he said smiling.  My friends who’ve known him this summer said, “Hey, TN!”  I waved and asked him how his team had done.

“We killed them!”

“Good for you!  We did, too!”  We high-fived each other as his team trickled past like slow moving blood cells down the sidewalk to their cars.

“So,” he said, “Do you want to come to Bob’s for a drink with my team?”  He looked at me expectantly.  I struggled to keep my jaw from dropping.  Oh, how I’d hoped for a moment like this all summer long and now here he was offering himself to me when I had all but forgotten about him.

I looked to my girlfriend with whom I carpool.  “I’m down if you are,” she said.

“Ok,” I turned back to TN.  “Looks like I’m in.”

“Great!”  He ran off to grab his backpack and bat and quickly returned and stayed with us until we bled out into the parking lot.  Tina caught him stroking his bat suggestively to while saying, “Hy, don’t you just love my bat?  Isn’t it just the perfect size and weight for you??”  Her eye roll could have launched a trebuchet.

At the pub the kids ran to the playground with peals of laughter, a fire roared in the stone pit and people hunched over their beers.  I ordered a beer and sat next to him with the rest of his team.  4 am girl wasn’t there.  She’d dropped out due to an injury.  TN lit up and would occasionally put his hand on my lower back.  He introduced me to everyone and I teased them that we’d kick their asses next week in our match-up.  Between buffalo wings, my cheap beer, TN’s attention, my friends, and looking after Peyton I felt like a one-woman band.  Boom-clang-ping-boom! and on and on.

TN’s team left and he remained behind with me and my teammate, Ashley.  We played cornhole and laughed until he decided he’d turned into a pumpkin.  Ashley and I didn’t even bother discussing him once he’d left.  She’s been on this ride as long as I have.  What’s the fucking point?  You might as well discuss the stripes on a zebra.  Goddamned pointless.

Thirty minutes after TN left, I followed.  I carried Peyton up to bed and did the sweetest routine known to man.  TN had forgotten his to-go salad so I texted him, “I have something you might want.”  During my readings to Peyton I heard the telltale ping-ping from the kitchen.  When the baby was asleep I padded out and checked my phone.

“Yay.  Where?  Naked in bed,” was his message.

I texted back, “Come and find out.”

I peeled off my clothes, grabbed the to-go box and put it under the covers with me.  As soon as I’d pulled the sheets up to my chin I heard a knock on my bedroom door.  TN pushed it open and came in, my candle sputtered spastically at us.

“What do you have?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Oh… you know,” I answered suggestively.

He walked closer and when he reached for me I threw back the covers and handed him his salad.

“Here you go.”

He stood there dazed.  “My salad??  That’s what you were talking about?”

“Yep!  What’d you think??  Aren’t I funny!”

“Yes.  Hysterical. Can I get in bed with you? I’m cold.”

“Sure.”

He climbed in next to me and we laughed at my awesomeness. I rolled on my side and he stroked my arm then reached down and began to rub me.  He hit my nub with startling precision.   Heat flooded to my face and I let out my breath.  “Wow… you’re actually really good at that.”

“Really??” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I looked at him and nodded.  He continued to rub and I continued to wade in the surf.  “I have to check on Peyton in a minute or two.  I promised I’d go back in.”

“Just as well, I should go.”

New Hy volleyed, “Ok, sounds good.”  He continued to slide over my silky panties and my wet cunt, neither of us totally willing to break the spell.  I sat up and pulled the covers down off of his waist.  His erection strained beneath his slippery shorts.  I pulled the waistband down and took the glistening aperture of his cock in my mouth, salty precum spread across my palette.  I pulled his shorts down further and gripped his cock.  The tape on my left ring finger gently abrading his shaft.   He moaned and I forced my face down to his pelvis.  He moaned louder.

“Goddamn, that feels good.”

“Mmm mmm,” I mumbled back.  Then, “Ok, I have to go check on my baby.”

“Ok, I better go anyway.”

“Alright,” I said as I pulled my tank top back on.  He followed me out into the hallway and grabbed my breasts.  I leaned in for a kiss and his tongue danced with mine.  “See you later, Neighbor.”

He let himself out and I returned to Peyton who was sleeping peacefully.  I returned to my bed and to Frasier, smiling.

I parried with TN from a position of balanced power, confidence and disinterest.  I am on the offensive no longer a whimpering heap of shit.

Tonight is my friend’s party; he stopped by earlier to see when we were leaving.  I answered the door pantsless wrapped in an afghan.  I blushed from head to toe, out of breath with guilt.  Immediately, he knew what I’d been up to.  My rush to the door was to prevent him walking in on me.  I saw the interest dancing in his eyes and my redness spread.  He grabbed my breasts and snuck the blanket out of my hands.  I stood before him pulling my see-through t-shirt down.  It was all pointless, my blushing, but blush I did nonetheless, ever the shy seductress.

Tonight is yet another day in the ongoing struggle for my independence from him and his beautiful, fat, pink cock.  I am stuck in the web of his friendship obviously, bu let me not continue to twist myself in the web of his desires.  I want so much more than just sexual release with him.  I used to want it all, today I feel like it’s a disservice to only want his sex.  It’s not fair to either us.

And so I remain light on my toes, my love for him fading like the best friend you made at summer camp. She never fits in with your real life back home, it’s like sitting too close to the ballet.  Or maybe in this case, like sitting too close to the sword fight.

En guarde, friends.  En guarde!

My injury won’t keep me from gripping hard.

I will only fuck one neighbor.

Noodle’s account of our debauched Friday has been met with a lot of interest regarding Downstairs Neighbor.  Apparently, a lot of you pictured an impotent figure, so to speak.  None of you imagined him to be a sexual contender; he was either gay or unattractive in your minds.

Well, the truth is, he’s fetching.

Where The Neighbor is manly, yet boyish in his features, Downstairs Neighbor is all rough and manly.  DN is 6′ flat-footed, but is rarely out of his cowboy boots so he towers at 6’2″ over The Neighbor.  They both have broad shoulders and dark hair, but DN sports a beard where TN a 5 o’clock shadow.  TN clips his hair in a tight crew and DN shaves it close to offset his balding.  DN wears heavy metal band T-shirts and plaid and TN wears whatever it is I make him buy for himself — an easy, quirky style.  DN shares a larger than average cock with TN, as well.

These two men would never be friends if it weren’t for me.  They’re from opposite ends of the universe.  DN is closer to a conservative/libertarian type, TN is liberal/centrist; DN smokes a pack a day, TN works out every day; DN prowls the local bars and music venues snapping pics and roaming like a wolf several nights a week, TN is holed up in his office playing video games alone.  We’ve talked about the unlikelihood of their friendship.  They know it, I know it, and none of us really care.  We get along because of our intelligence and intellects and shared love of booze, laughter, and conversation.  TN and I have been interrupted by DN countless times with his booming laugh and doorway-filling presence.  It’s equal parts irritating and endearing.

In fact, as Noodle, TN and I headed to my room on Friday he asked if we should lock my front door in case DN barged in on us.  I assured him he wouldn’t do that, but that’s exactly what he did.  DN told me later as we all laughed about his surprise entrance, “You shoulda seen my face, Hy!  I had my hand up to knock on the door, but then was all, ‘Fuck it!  I know it’s open!’ So I pushed it open and no one was inside and then I hear, ‘Ohh!  Ohhh!   Ohhhhhh!’ ” his falsetto is high-pitched and ridiculous and I cringed at his interpretation of me in rapture.   He continued,  “And then I hear ‘slap, slap, slap!’  Of course I just went in the kitchen to make myself a drink!”

And that’s DN.  He’s loud as fuck, doesn’t give a whit about his health, writes feverishly in his spare time, is a photographer, works too much, and gives big, massive, glorious  bear hugs with kisses on the forehead.

We aren’t together — and never have been — because when I met him I was adamant about not shitting where I eat.  Ha!  Oh, the irony!  That was part of the reason I kept TN and my affair a secret from him: I didn’t want to hurt his feelings that this kid could get in my bed, but he couldn’t.

We did make out the night we met, briefly, while the other boy I’d invited up waited in the kitchen for me to finish.  I ignored his text the following morning, “If you ever need a savage fuck come down to #322.”  I said, “Thanks, but no thanks, we’re neighbors and I can’t do that,” and he let it go at that and we’ve been friends ever since.

He’s a master observer, but I don’t think that he’d fare much better than TN is right now when he was 28.  Today he’s got the benefit of being 32 and suffering through some loss and he’s generally a more emotional person that TN is.  He cries when his heart gets broken, but he’s been abysmal in his relationship attempts,  shying away from anyone who’s actually interested in him and hiding behind his work schedule.

I’m happy that he and Noodle hit it off.  I can’t think of two people I’d rather see have amazing sex than those two.  I never imagined it’d be with each other, but I am singularly thrilled that they both got sweaty and released lots of fluids on and in each other.  DN likes to say he’s a “sexual camel” and doesn’t need sex.  I think he’s a goddamned liar, but whatever.  Noodle took care of that anyway.

Downstairs Neighbor didn’t have the desire or gumption to pursue me when I said no to him like The Neighbor did and, ultimately, that’s why I never picked up with him.  I respect him for that on the one hand, but it also says a lot about him on the other.  TN and I are two peas in a pod, complimentary in every way, yet comfortable and snug.  He wanted me and came and got it.  DN didn’t.

You can think I’m crazy for preferring TN over DN, but there’s no accounting for the magic that happens when you meet your match and DN was never that man for me.

Besides, I’m a warm and fuzzy socialist-type and DN’s basically a misanthrope.  I can’t be fucking someone who wants to get rid of the welfare system.   I’d lose my bleeding heart liberal card.

I fuck while she watches.

It took me a minute to realize that I was in his bed, in his room.  There was a meaty, warm arm wrapped around me and that was why I was so hot.  I sat up and pulled off my San Francisco 49ers shirt and pajama shorts and crawled back under the covers.

The Neighbor opened up his arms and I snuggled inside his embrace and turned around to nuzzle his neck and pull off his basketball shorts.  I clutched and stroked his beautiful erection and sleepily, lo, half-drunkenly, we laughed and chatted about our night.  It’d been goddamned epic.

Wine and Sidecars, fucking and hugs, laughing and wrestling, orgasms and cum.

“I want some motherfucking waffles,” he declared between laughing.  I giggled and said I had a motherfucking headache.

“Do you have any ibuprofen?” I asked standing up and stretching in the morning light.

“If I do, it’ll be in the medicine cabinet.”  I quickly discovered he didn’t have any.

“I’ll be right back!” I called to him as I headed to his front door, naked and brash.  I checked to see if the coast was clear and jumped the five feet to my front door and let myself in and was met with the proof of my ill repute.

My black club chair was pushed to the side, the ottoman was draped in a poker felt, the lilies I’d bought for Noodle’s visit had opened up overnight and their sweet smell mixed with the remnants of incense.  To my left, by the kitchen table in a heap, was my black shirt and pale pink panties and matching lace bra.  Wine and half-filled champagne glasses were on every possible surface.

I looked around, but no one was there.  Quietly I walked to the back of the apartment and pushed open my door.  Noodle was mounted on Downstairs Neighbor, his cock buried deep inside of her.

“Hi, guys!” I beamed, partially hiding my nudity behind the door.

“Hy!” they exclaimed together startled.

“Whatchoo guys, doin’?” I asked laughing.

“Goddamnit, Hy!  Get out of here!” boomed DN with a laugh.  Noodle just giggled, never breaking contact with my neighbor.

“You want some fucking waffles?  TN’s starving and he wants some fucking waffles,” I announced, mirth plastered on my face.

“Yes,” DN said annoyed, “We want some fucking waffles, but later!  Get the hell out!”  I shut the door laughing and returned to TN’s bed, the ibuprofen in hand.

“They were fucking again, but I told them we want some motherfucking waffles so they’ll be done soon,” I said to him with a smile.

::

When Noodle arrived yesterday around 1:30 I was waiting for her on my stairwell; I couldn’t contain my excitement in the apartment.  When we finally met I squealed and jumped up and down and hugged and hugged and hugged her.

With a wine glass in her hand she wandered around the apartment exclaiming at how weird it was to actually be seeing it with her own eyes.  She went out on the balcony, her wavy hair blowing in the breeze, and pointed to TN’s balcony, “Is that –?” she left off the rest of the sentence.

“Yep.  Sure is.  And that,” I said pointing below, “Is Downstairs Neighbor,” and as I said it I could see him sitting in his chair smoking his Camel Lights.  I made quick introductions and begged him for a smoke.  He said he’d just come up and give me one.

It was strange to watch as one of my characters met one of my readers.  One has had the benefit of knowing me in my skin and the the other in my head.  Did they know the same woman??

He left and Noodle and I went and got pedicures and sipped on smuggled wine.  We chatted and laughed and she said nice things about my legs and I said nice things about her tits.

By the time we returned to the apartment the rain had stopped and the temperature had dropped a few degrees.  A breeze swept through my rooms and I felt as light-hearted as a girl riding her first pony.  Hunger drove us from the house and while meandering  through Friday afternoon traffic we listened to Super Tramp curling out of the car radio.

At the little house bar we sat outside and drank more wine and nibbled on cheese and smoked salmon.  We talked and laughed and then headed home where we lounged around like college students.  I considered a pillow fight, but painted my nails while she told me tales instead.  Then I watched her put on her makeup and get dressed for dinner while laying on my bed.  It was like we’d done this a thousand times before.

Then, right before the cabbie called to announce his arrival, she made me take off my shirt to take a picture.

My girlfriend, Lindsey, joined us for dinner and drinks and Noodle brilliantly sidestepped the questions of, “So, how do you know Hy?  How long have you known her?” not for the first time that night.  We laughed and told jokes and she lamented at how lame the men in my city were.  “Wow, you really weren’t kidding when you said men don’t hit on you!”

“Yep, the men here are fucking jerks,” added Lindsey.

By 10:30 we were ready to go home.  We’d killed another bottle of wine and were eager to have the night really begin.   TN was waiting for us somewhere in the night.

I called him to let him know we were home-bound and he offered to come pick us up, always the gentleman.  He rolled up in his fancy black car and we jumped in.  He drove Lindsey to her car and then the three of us headed home.

He had no idea what a big fucking deal that moment was, that meeting those two women meant more than just meeting two random people in my life.  Noodle knows every intimate detail of everything he and I have ever done, Lindsey knows the emotional aspects of everything.  To him, they were just Noodle and Lindsey.  To them, this was the ubiquitous, omnipresent Neighbor that — for lack of a better word — tortures their friend.

I had the sense that I was suddenly writing my own narrative again, but I shook it off and barreled down the road I travel: fucking fun and frolic.

We spilled into my apartment and TN ran next door to get his Sidecar fixings.  We are going to get drunk, he said and he was right.  The liquor flowed saloon-like for hours.  We played poker.  We laughed so hard our sides hurt and TN flirted shamelessly with me in front of Noodle making a liar out of me.  He’d never been so openly affectionate before.

Memory fades in and out from there, a misty ribbon of images and feelings: Embraced by Noodle, my head clutched to her warm bosom in a loving hug; I was safe.  Fucked and pounded on the floor in the living room;  impaled  and cried in my room, TN over me and in me, Noodle’s lilting voice in my ear.  Came and cried as he rammed into me, his mouth on her breast.  Filled up with his cum.  Laughing on the balcony with Downstairs Neighbor.  Wrestling like puppies with my love while Noodle and DN kissed and canoodled under the stars.  Cuddling on the floor of his balcony.  Noodle and DN in various and sundry compromising positions on my couch.  And then, his arm around me in his bed, sunshine pouring through the blinds.

Noodle remembers it all.  Every word, every nuance, every thrust. She was my champion, my protector, my sweet tiger.  She growled and bristled and cuffed the man-puppy on the ear when he began to stray and she outright thrummed with anger when he hurt me.

After poker, when I invited TN to touch our breasts, to give him that gift, he compared the two.  I laughed, but she hissed.  Her rebuke was swift and firm.  I don’t think he knew why he had dropped to give her 10, but he did it anyway.  And then, with a smile and her drawl, she explained to him that he may never discuss her breasts with me ever.  He nodded assent.

But the lesson was short lived.

Noodle said he suddenly looked like a kid in a candy store when I’d told him she could cum from nipple stimulation.  He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and rubbed expertly over her bra until she had a little orgasm.  He looked at me watching them and quipped, “Now why can’t you do that, Hy?”

Noodle said I looked crushed, that my lip trembled and I struggled to be ok.  I have no memory of this.  And then I left for a minute to do what, she doesn’t know, but in those 120 seconds she squared off with TN.  “You can’t say shit like that.  It’s not right,” she leveled at him.  “A woman is either wired to do that or she isn’t.  And you are asking her to do something that her body physically can’t.  And all she wants to do is please you and that was an asshole thing to say.   Do you understand?”

Understanding washed over his face as he said, “Oh.”

“Don’t say something like that again.  Got it?” and she set her jaw defiantly at him right as I returned.

Without a word she opened her arms to me and I fell to the ground with her as she cradled me, kissed my forehead and stroked my hair.  TN was across the room and she said he came up behind me and spooned me, wanting to be part of my solace.  They joked that they were making a Hy sandwich, her anger at him gone and replaced with the common goal of loving me.

Then, because he knows he can always make me feel better with his body, he slipped his fingers inside of me and began to stroke as I lay nestled in her arms.  I was bashful as heat began to wash over me.  His fingers and palm worked the slow burn inside of me until  I blossomed.  I turned into him as he made me climax in front of Noodle and she stepped back and he devoured me.  Tore off my clothes and his and took me on the living room floor with our audience of one looking on heatedly.

She said he wanted to show me off, show her what I could do at his hands.  She sensed he was proud of me.

He led the both of us back to my room.  The brandy was thick in my brain and I was a bundle of passion and lust and love and trust.  It was all there, visible for anyone to see if he cared to.  Noodle saw it.

She lay on the bed, fully clothed while we rutted, steam rising from our bodies.  She left us for a minute and returned with ice cubes.  She was sure we were on fire as she rubbed the ice on our skin. I incoherently sobbed and she translated.  “She wants you to stop.”

“She wants me to pull out?” he said surprised.

“No. Stay in, but just stay.  Don’t move.”  I cried my agreement, tears streaking my face.

I caught my breath and told him to take Noodle’s nipple in his mouth.  He leaned over and sucked, his face disappearing into the pillow of her breast, his cock pumping wildly inside of me. I released around him, body and soul.  Wildly he rode me, my bed screaming, our bodies wet with passion and exploded into me, shuddering and shaking like a sapling in a storm.

He stilled for a minute and I breathed in his soapy scent and kissed his neck.  He nuzzled mine and started to move again.  Slap, slap, slap.  Noodle got up to pee and when she came out TN and I were still locked together and Downstairs Neighbor filled the doorway with his booming laugh.  “What the fuck is going on!” he cackled.

He retreated to kitchen to make himself a drink and Noodle followed.  TN and I remained in my room locked in our private embrace.  She hugged DN like they were old friends and on the balcony she told him she’d have a coronary if he didn’t kiss her immediately.  He obliged and  a minute later TN and I joined them before tumbling around on the floor.

::

We never did end up getting those motherfucking waffles, but we did all go to breakfast.  DN and Noodle on one side of the booth and TN and I on the other.  Two couples having brunch to the casual observer, four sated individuals to those looking closer.

Noodle joked about how pleased she was that DN wasn’t some fat fuck who scratched his dirty balls all day long — I guess I’ve forgotten to mention that he’s tall, dark and handsome in his own right — and we laughed because DN said he did actually scratch his dirty balls all day long.

Then I ordered TN his apple juice for him when he went to wash his hands and had it delivered in a kiddie cup. I really am motherfucking funny.

Back home TN pulled me into his arms and gave me a warm hug as he announced he was leaving.  He hugged Noodle goodbye and left and DN and I smoked on the balcony as she bustled around packing.

“Well, honey,” she said finally, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “It’s been real.”

I stood and hugged her again and she kissed DN goodbye and left.  My wonderful, beautiful, wicked smart, southern drawl tiger left the building and my bubble and I felt empty.

I open my entire life and heart to the internet, to my Internet Boyfriend, and thousands of strangers a month, but I am shy and vulnerable in real life.  I don’t demand things that I know I should.  I have a hard time truly opening up. This blog is a living, breathing part of me and Noodle knows it inside and out.  She saw me stumble with TN and her resolve was true: she was never going to hurt me.  She could never touch his cock, she said, because she could see how much I loved him even if he couldn’t.  In fact, she was going to go one further and protect me.

I don’t have many protectors in my life, but she thinks I have one more besides her.

She saw what I see in The Neighbor.  His charm and sweetness, his love for me. “He was so protective of you, Hy, despite the stupid shit that came out of his mouth. It’s incredibly obvious he cares about you.  A lot.  But it’s also clear that he has no idea what to do with you.”

She was also my voice, my friend and my playmate.

She was mellow to my intensity, soft where I was hard.  She was fierce where I was vulnerable and my voice when I was silent.  Her energy left a wake in my house and with my friends, my two funny neighbors who don’t usually meet women like us.  I imagine I must be such a paragon of hedonism to them living their solitary, quiet lives, but I don’t care and I can’t help it and being this way has opened the door for someone like Noodle to walk through.  A woman I’d never have met in real life.

And she talked to DN about me and The Neighbor, something I find strangely appealing.  I feel comforted and cared about.  Two people, not involved, weighing in on the TN-Hy saga.  DN said  “TN doesn’t know who he is.  He’s learning everything he is through Hy.”

“I think you’re right,” she answered.

Now I’m having Noodle withdrawals, and a little TN withdrawals, too.  I felt so loved and filled up with them here.  She made magic out of a broken heart and loved on me like I’ve needed to be loved for so long.  “You get fucked all the time, Hy, but do you ever get loved on?” she asked me.

It was an excellent question and I had to answer, “No.  Not until you.”

Nope, not until you, Noodle.  Thank you for everything this weekend.  Thank you for twirling with me on the dance floor and never turning down the music.  You are beautiful and sensual, your peridot eyes are lit from within, and you smell goddamned delicious.  You are magical.  And I am lucky to know you.

I promise not to orgasm or fuck for a week.

You read that shit right.

My wet lips, my moist panties, the tightening in my cunt as I walk, sit, feel my short cotton skirt stretch across my thighs all must be ignored and beaten out of my mind.

A small exercise in control; a muscle flexed to prove a point; running in knee-deep water at sunset with a cocktail in my hand.

It’s possible, though unenjoyable. I’ve joined the other team, it seems. I’m part of the Peanut Gallery to pulse-thumping fucking and a compatriot to self-restraint.

I’m no longer the main event in these parts.

And I’m ok with that.

This is a new Hy, I suppose. For a week. It will steel my resolve for every time The Neighbor stops by for no reason for 3 minutes or pops his head over his balcony bars on a muggy morning while my baby and I are eating breakfast high above the palm trees.

I have made a promise to a friend — sweet, pervy AM — to not release myself. I can keep a promise to him. Not myself.

Sad, yes, but true.

So today, Wednesday, marks the first day of one whole week of abstaining from both orgasm and sex. A week from today I will post pics of me writhing and cumming with glee. Hopefully. Cross your fingers my partner in this gets laid because then I can at least touch myself.

The deal is, I won’t fuck anyone and AM won’t wank. And since we both find it unlikely he’ll have sex in the next week, I’ve decided to be a sister in arms and give up jerking off, too.  It’s only fair.

I will be a pulsing, whinnying mare in heat in seven days, guaranteed. I might also shit epiphanies and giggle rainbows. Regardless, whatever you do, don’t send me cock pics, ok?? (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com).

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Kiss me I’m drunk or Irish or whatever.

And PS:  Holy fuck! The ubiquitous Rincewind featured me today! I’m so honored and humbled!  Wowza!