Another week, another set of incredible tits. I can’t believe how much pleasure I get out of hosting this meme. I have three wishes, though: that we had more 1) women of color (though we have more than usual this week!), 2) transwomen, and 3) smaller-breasts participating. But perhaps with time and word of mouth it’ll become more inclusive, more representative of what’s out there.
So, if you know anyone who might fit any of those three wishes, please pass this on to her!
This week’s theme was LIGHT in honor of my lightened heart. I took a series in the window nook of my room and couldn’t decide between about 10. Should it be black and white? color? I sent them off for feedback to three friends and all of them picked the same image, though one, Hubman, chose it in black and white while N. Likes and Noodle both picked it in color. So… I guess I gotta show both, right? You tell me which you prefer!
Next week’s theme is LOOSE. Have fun! And keep those creative, gorgeous pics coming!
a sentence about why you chose this particular photo
if you want to be anonymous or not
a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)
a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me)
Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment. I will not look up links.
My LIGHT tits:
NOT my LIGHT tits (click on pics for click thrus):
I chose this photo because it spoke to me, reminded me of the retro 70’s look. I also thought it was different from the other photos that I normally submit. Trying to be a bit more creative when it comes to photos.
One sentence: A rare opportunity to be alone and naked, I took advantage of the natural light.
I love the juxtaposition between the cold of winter outside, and the warmth of the sun on my skin.
My boobs go up and down, according to my cycle. Right now they are up. Way up! I almost feel like I need to hold them for support.
This week, I felt like a tease. ..
I love how, playing with the light, I could change the shape and size of my boob :-)
I can only think of one word to describe this pic… AFTERGLOW… my husband took it of me as I was “catching my breath”
I dream about sharing my feelings with him and it’s a long, terrifying jump to crystal blue waters below, that feeling of my breath being stolen on the way down, the slap of wetness beneath my feet, the subsequent rush and rise to the top.
In true 7th grade fashion, I admitted to him that I like him “a whole lot.” You might be rolling your eyes at that, but it was a big deal to me.
And I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with my family on the wings of a prayer and when he said Yes I felt as though I’d won the lottery. I feel blessed, y’all.
But my lips remain sealed. I cannot say the words that boom in my heart. Those three silly little words.
I’m waiting for something. For the universe to tell me I can handle losing him. For that moment when he looks back into my tear-filled blue eyes and says, “But I don’t love you, Hy. This is just a ‘thing’ we’re doing. I’m not going to love you. You knew that.”
When I feel strong enough to weather that, my words will tumble.
But in the meantime, I float along among the clouds anchored by his mighty cock, his sweet gestures, his wise words. He roots me on every professional step I take and supports me as I navigate my tangled and painful relationship with my exhusband. He is my number one fan.
The rest of our lives is business as usual as I keep my secret. I send him a daily pic and sometimes a series if I’m feeling particularly inspired and have the freedom and privacy to do so. The weather is turning here and I recently wore jeans for the first time in months. They were a little loose, but I felt sexy and began to snap away.
Click, click, clickity-click.
I strip-teased my way down to unzipped pants and exposed breasts. He was happy to receive them.
A day or two later, I dug out my red panties with the peek-a-boo hole tied with a thick, shiny ribbon. I was curious as to what the view was like and twisted and craned my body this way and that to capture a from-behind view.
Click, click, click.
I was pleased and sent those off, too. Again, he was grateful.
Days changed into nights, cuddles turned into sweet talks, expectations morphed into reality. We tangled our parts less than our hearts. It was sweet, fairy dust; glittery longing with no release.
Finally, finally, we carved out some time to lay down inside one another. Peyton was passed out and The Neighbor was over within seconds of my “all clear” text standing in my candlelit room in black gym shorts. I wore a black spaghetti strap night dress with little sprigs of flowers dusted all over it.
We stood facing each other and he took my hand and pulled me closer, dipped his chin and captured my mouth in a long, sweet song of a kiss. I breathed him in, he inhaled me.
I ran my fingers through his hair and he clung to my bottom and pulled me towards the cradle of his hips. I felt his hardness through the thin cotton of my nightgown; my right strap slipped off my shoulder and I pulled my arm out and let my breast fall out.
We moaned into each other’s mouths and I melted into his warm skin. Every cell of my being sang of love, my pussy pulsed and my breath caught as I realized we were beginning to make love to each other.
He pulled back, breathing heavily, “We haven’t kissed like that in a long time,” he observed.
“No, we haven’t,” I agreed, though I’d argue it was closer to never.
I looked into his eyes shrouded in shadow and then his parted lips and reached forward with my own and sucked gently and slipped my soft tongue to meet his. He removed my remaining strap and I stood only in black, lace panties, then he groaned and bent to free himself from his shorts.
He pushed me down on the bed and dragged my bottom to the edge, licked his palm and rubbed it on the head of his giant erection. He positioned himself at my hole and pressed into me. Nothing happened.
Our eyes locked as we both smiled slyly knowing his first push was always the best, my favorite of favorites.
He pushed harder and I began to spread for him. I gasped a little and smiled more broadly. His mouth mirrored mine and then my eyes fluttered shut as the head entered my body completely and the rest of him eased in as if my body were a hungry constrictor.
He kissed me hungrily as his hips began to move, my body completely lubricated. “You’re not wet at all,” he joked huskily in my ear.
“Nope,” I whispered back with a chuckle, “not at all.”
He kissed my neck and my jaw and sat up and pumped into me, his hands braced on either side of me. Each punishing thrust made my breasts jiggle like bowl-shaped domes of Jell-O.
“Turn over,” he said suddenly. “Flip onto your belly.”
I did as instructed, my feet planted firmly on the ground and he slipped back into me.
“Tell me what you see,” I said thinking of my red-panty pics.
“I see my favorite thing: your beautiful body, your curves, this,” and he ran his hands from my waist to my hips. “It’s total perfection.”
I closed my eyes and let him plow into me and light me up from the inside. My heart sparkled in time with my G-spot, our skin slapped and our moans mingled.
We moved up onto the bed completely and he pinned my knees together as he rutted on top of me, grabbed my top-knot bun and growled into my ear and struck my flanks once, twice, three times.
I lost time, wanted to be somewhere else and nowhere else. Then we were spent.
“C’mere,” I heard him as if from far away.
He pulled me into his nook and I lay there feeling more satisfied than I had in days, recalibrated. My thoughts felt like warm honey, my bones willow branches.
“Let’s go out on the balcony,” I suggested. It was in the low 60s, a rarity in September here. We dressed in white robes, him in a long Egyptian-cotton shin-length thing with my name, “Hyacinth,” embroidered on the lapel (a bridal party gift of mine from years ago) and me in a little short white one.
And there, on a balcony chair cushion beneath my knees and the breeze caressing us both, I sucked and loved on his cock, his knees splayed wide and confidently in that way that men do.
It had been weeks since I’d spent any time on him and I was ashamed. I apologized and he told me it wasn’t necessary. I answered with more sucking and smiled around his girth.
Eventually, he called me off, said he’d gotten a little too sensitive. We walked back into my room and shed our robes and laid down beside one another, the ceiling fan puffed gently on us.
The night was still young so I rolled to my side and grabbed the vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to my bare mound. TN kissed my neck and jaw, sucked on my lips and my nipple. I climbed the rise quickly and as his mouth returned to mine I began to splinter.
He caught my orgasm in his mouth as I whimpered and gasped into him.
I fell limp and he pulled me to him as he rolled onto his back. I surprised him when I grabbed his chubby cock with one hand and turned the vibrator back on while on my side.
It was a swift ride with my ear pressed to his chest as it rose and fell quickly; his cock grew in my hand as my orgasm approached, spilled out onto us and faded away.
In his arms I thanked him for saying all those nice things about me as he was fucking me. He said it was nothing, that he loved the pictures I sent him. “I think it’s especially sexy when there are things left to the imagination.”
“Really?” I said, dancing on the edge of a doze.
“Yeah, like that one in the series you sent me the other day where your pants were unzipped but your bra still on. That was damn sexy, by far my favorite of the bunch.”
I perked up a little at that, proud and pleased in equal measure.
“Well, I’m glad. I try to be sexy and not just raunchy.”
“You do a good job,” he affirmed.
I mumbled something into the warmth of his skin, wrapped in love and kisses and compliments and told him again how much I liked him. He squeezed me and said he had to go soon.
I don’t know if loving him more will make me braver or more afraid, but as I’ve been told recently I need to act like the grown up and share my feelings and I agree. Just a few more nights like this one and I might feel brave enough to try.
I tell you all frequently that it’s “the angle” or “good lighting” when it comes to my photos and sometimes, that’s true.
And sometimes, it’s the finish on a photo that makes me feel bold enough to share with you.
I am frequently ashamed I’m not willing to be more honest with you about my shape and I worry that I am perpetuating a stereotype when I am as real as you are.
The truth is, I feel like a lion even though I may only be a mouse, and though reality is somewhat different from what I perpetuate, I am lucky enough to see myself through others’ eyes, and I believe.
I believe they find me beautiful and — like magic — I am.
Somehow, that’s all I ever needed to do to be released from insecurity: trust.
So, please, forgive me my vanity and my altered images. It’s how I like to picture myself.
I was at my kitchen table doing my secret sex blog stuff last night when I heard a faint knock at my door and saw The Neighbor’s head peek through. The rest of him, clad in a towel, followed. I knew he’d been in his tub and I’d told him I wished I was sitting on his toilet with a glass of wine shooting the shit, but he’d asked for a “TN night” and so I was content to do my own thing.
But, here he was.
He complimented me on my new dress and I complimented him on his giant, flaccid penis outlined by the white terry cloth. “I’m not here to fuck. I just wanted to hear about your interesting day.” He carefully repositioned the towel exposing his flanks. “C’mon, let’s go lay down.”
“Ok,” I agreed standing to follow him, “but I only said it was mildly interesting.”
I lit a candle and he crawled under the covers, losing the towel. I sat demurely on top of the duvet, an arm’s reach away. “Come in here,” he said and patted the spot beside him. “Ok, so, your day. What happened?”
“I had coffee with Jason.”
“Was that the guy who wanted to suck my dick?”
“He was one of them, yeah. We struck up a chat a few weeks ago on Facebook and decided to catch up. It was weird, but cool. He was also the guy who gave me a C for dirty talk.”
“What a fucking asshole!”
“Yeah, well, anyway, it was ok.”
I lay in his arms and played with his chest hair idly, the two margaritas and two glasses of wine in me emboldened me to parlay this into a deeper conversation. “How do you feel about me meeting him?”
He as quiet for a bit then said he didn’t mind. “What if I’d fucked him?”
“Then I’d be disappointed.” He paused here and thought. “I think I’d want to approve of any old or new lover you hooked up with and I’d want you to tell me so we would start using condoms again.”
“So I have permission to fuck other people?”
“I’m not sure… I don’t have permission to fuck other people, though, do I?”
I sat up and looked at him, nuzzled his face and his chest with my lips. “No, you don’t. You said you didn’t want to back in January. It doesn’t work that way. Have you changed your mind?”
Again, he was thoughtful. “No. No, I haven’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
He grabbed my breasts and squeezed and I got up and kneeled between his knees, spread them slightly with my own. His massive thighs bright white against the dark aubergine sheet.
“Suck my cock now,” he growled. I grabbed his chubby cock and looked at him.
“No. What do you say?” I asked him with a soft smile.
“Fucking suck it now, you dirty fucking slut!” he tried again. My heart quickened and my smile grew.
But again, I said, “No. More.”
And in a sweet, soft voice he asked, “Will you please suck my cock, Ma’am?” and without delay I fell on the cock that had become as rigid as a soldier.
My dress pooled around my legs and my tits fell out of the top and my tender nipples dragged on his flexed thighs. I sucked and slurped and gripped and took little breaks to let his tension build.
When his erection was mighty, I didn’t want it in my mouth anymore and pulled my panties down. He pushed me to my back and lifted up my skirts and drove into me, my ankles hiked over his shoulders like a knapsack.
He lit into me like a man possessed, I managed to stare at his shadow-cast face, so beautiful and masculine, staring down at me for several moments before the pounding knocked my eyes shut. My pussy gushed and I squirted down my the crack of my bottom and moaned and gripped and clawed at him. He didn’t want things to change, was all I could think.
He slammed into me a few more times then held still. “I think I hurt my balls,” he winced. I laughed and hugged him.
“Oh, honey, that’s awful!” I crooned and kissed his neck, his head hung down dejectedly. He rolled off of me and disconnected. I was still happy about sneaking in “honey” as I gently fondled his sack. “We should put a pillow there or something next time!”
He chuckled. “I have a fluffy sports headband I could use!”
As we chatted in each other’s arms I continued to stroke his erection, never letting it waiver. “Do you think I could suck your cock?”
He nodded and I repositioned myself between his legs. I sucked and paused, sucked and waited, stroked and moaned. I told him how gorgeous his cock was, how much I loved sucking it. He teased me that I had seduced him, that he hadn’t planned on fucking me at all and I pointed out he was the one who had demanded I suck his cock in the first place. He giggled and I fell back down on him.
He burst into my mouth seconds later, his sweet laughter filled the darkened room. He shook his hands like little meaty helicopters.
I laid in his arms again for a little while then massaged his back with the Hitachi and brought myself to a little standing orgasm in between causing him to yell, “Kelly Clarkson!” from the intense vibrations on his sore spots.
We laid together finally then and talked some more and I teased him about our next break up which is due in April if we are to keep our 90-day Hy-freaks-out schedule. “Are we gonna break up and then get back together?” he asked, “or are we gonna break up break up?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to get back together.”
“Ok, then that’s what we’ll do.” He got up to go and I felt silly and a little guilty for everything, the double standards, my emotional demands. “Our relationship is an unconventional one, maybe we need unconventional maintenance, too,” I suggested. He nodded agreement and I walked him to the door while slipping on my favorite Obama shirt and a pair of white panties.
He crossed the 4 feet to his door, looked around, and let the towel drop. We smiled at each other and he walked into his apartment.
I need to say more, I think, let him know that I still love him. Or maybe that’s a silly idea and I should keep my mouth shut and be happy with his continued interest and fidelity.
Love is not always the answer and anyone who tells you so is full of shit. Love, sometimes, is the problem.
At 11 am, I laid in bed with Peyton snoozing softly beside me — around 7, I’d awoken and gone in and transferred my warm, rag doll baby to snuggle next to me.
I stretched and smiled, sunk deeper into my mattress and suddenly recalled my dream: The Neighbor’s cock buried deep inside of me, my ass in the air, him oddly perpendicular to me, and sliding his length slowly in and out. I clenched my pussy around him and he exclaimed, “Oh my god, Hy!! Do that again!” And so I did.
I worked my muscles around him like my life depended on it, and the long, slow strokes from his hips were bringing me as close to orgasm as they were him. I rocked my bottom back on him, tilting against each thrust and he groaned some more.
There was no ball-slapping, pelvis-slamming fucking like the night before. This was sensuous and concentrated.
And then I woke up before my body spilled over the edge.
I texted TN to tell him he’d fucked me good and we’d possibly created a new position.
“So Dream TN is creative?” he texted back.
“Very. It felt goooooooood,” I replied.
I laid there some more, checked into Twitter for a second, then heard a knock.
Betting it was likely him I stole to the front door clad only in panties and my Obama t-shirt — you know, the one with the ubiquitous image of him looking thoughtful and engaged.
The peephole confirmed it was him and I let him and a blast of cold air in.
“Jesus, it’s cold out there!” He shivered. The temp had dropped 30 degrees overnight.
“Do you have Peyton?”
“Yeah, I do. What’s up?”
“Oh, I wanted to see if you wanted to see a movie.”
“Yeah, I can’t, sorry. But we’re about to go to breakfast. Wanna come with?”
He stood there contemplating for a long moment. This would be the first time the three of us would do anything together. “Ummmmmm,” he looked pained as he said it. “No. No, thanks.”
I wasn’t bothered by his response, or surprised. I changed the subject quickly. “Don’t you like my outfit?” I stuck my ass out and twirled.
“Mmm. I do. I think Obama would approve this message!” He closed the distance between us and latched his mouth into my nipple, just over Obama’s right ear.
He pulled away and regarded me with a heated gaze. I thanked my lucky stars for the millionth time that my child sleeps like the dead. “I love those panties of yours. I really like the buttons, even if they’re not functional.”
“Oh, they’re functional,” I purred as I undid the top one. His eyes lit up and he motioned for me to keep going.
Halfway down I paused, shy. “I haven’t groomed all week…”
He came back to me and slid his hand down the front of my panties. “Ooh! You’re right! But I don’t care, keep going.”
I undid the remaining buttons, my panties flipped open to the sides with his paw curled around and down. One of his fingers slipped inside of me and his mouth returned to the president’s ear.
I moaned a little and hugged him closer. He stood up and pulled his hand out, sniffed his finger and made an approving sound as he headed back to the front door. We said goodbye and I closed the door.
A second later, the phone rang. It was him.
“I just want to say I’m not a dick.”
“I didn’t say no to breakfast with you and Peyton because of Peyton. I just really, really wanted to go see a movie right now. I don’t want you to think I said no because Peyton would be there.”
I smiled. This man who loves me “this much, but not that much,” certainly makes me feel loved “that much” a lot of the time. I’m certain he has no idea.
What you can’t see is my long hair in braids and wrapped up over the crown of my head like Heidi. Yeah, I know.
The Neighbor came over to ask for an envelope. I told him it’d cost him a fondle. He grabbed my left breast in the darkened entryway.
I got him the envelope, gave him a good show as I bent over, and walked him back to the door.
He reached for that flimsy barrier between our two lives — the front door — and grabbed my breast again. I pushed him against the wall, not caring the world could see in.
“Mmm, God, that feels good. I need-” and I searched for words while my head got light.
“Tell me what you need, Hy,” he whispered against my ear as he spun me around and shut the open door, pushed me against it.
“I need your hand on my tit,” I answered.
“And your hand down my pants.” His right hand reached around and crept to my closely trimmed mound.
“Got that covered, too,” his breath was hot on my neck, his five o’clock shadow scraping behind his nipping teeth and lips.
“And your hard cock pressed into my ass.”
And then I turned around in his arms and he kissed me deeply, my heart fluttered like a caged bird.
“Ok, I gotta go. I can’t stay. Five minutes here ends up being two hours before I realize what’s happened.”
He separated from me and opened the door again.
Shamelessly I told him he should just stay anyway. “No,” he asserted, “it’s dangerous. We weren’t supposed to do what we did the other night. But I can’t seem to help myself with you. You’re dangerous.”
He smiled, took the two steps to his private universe, and went inside.
Who knew a woman in braids and underpants could be such a threat to a man’s control?
Oh, who am I kidding? I absolutely took my pajama bottoms off earlier in the night because I had a hunch he’d have an excuse to stop over for something.
Who do you think you’re dealing with here? An amateur?
If you could only have three movies and three books to watch and read for the rest of your life, which would they be?
Answer: Splash, Shawshank Redemption, and White Christmas; and The Idiot, The Crying of Lot 49, and The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Gah – that’s what I say right now on a pain pill at 1:30 in the morning in May of 2012. It’d be funny to see what I’d say a year from now.
And 19 ideas for pics:
ass – 3
ass + legs, not nude – 1
TN bj – 2, then 1 vote withdrawn
TN panties – 1
covered pussy – 1
hips – 2
boobs – 4
something unique to me – 1
cock between tits – 2
naked outdoors -1
Is anyone else laughing like I am?? Oh man, that’s goddamned hilarious! Anyway, I’d like to thank everyone who tossed in a vote and give a big Hello and Welcome! to all the newest followers.
And since ass, legs, and hips are basically all the same that means that’s what y’all are gonna get.