Friday, May 17th, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

Something has happened to my brain in the last 4 weeks since I identified my daddy issues.  I am lighter, I am more energetic at work, I feel more excited about the blog than I have in months, maybe years (not that you can tell, but I feel it!).  I am more clear about my dedication to my friends (that’s all of you!) and my commitment to Eroticon.  I feel less guilty in general about life, my needs, my choices.  I am a sparkling mother fucker, y’all.

I’m even reading more blogs!  Like, 10x as much as I have been, which is basically 100000000% increase because I was barely reading anything.  I’m still not commenting as much as I used to way back in the day, but I am reading and it feels so good!!

I’ve also decided to take a page from other memes and do a roundup of my favorite Boobday posts each week.  I’ve noticed that my wifey Rebel has been highlighting her favs on her SOSS posts and I realized that it’s not “mean” if I say which ones I like best (something I have worried about since day one of starting this meme).

Also, I will be asking for participants to send in 3 photos from the same “shoot” that they’d like submit for Boobday and I will detail how I would edit them and tell you which one I’d pick as my fave and why (this would be separate from posting Boobday).  Kind of like a sexy selfie clinic with a photographer’s eye.

I don’t know how often I’ll ask for those pics, but I’ll figure it out.  Every Damn Day in June is coming up, so that might be a good month to start.

I have 2, possibly 3 dates this weekend.  A 3rd date with The Vet, an over-night with Peter who has recently dumped his girlfriend, and possibly with the Rich Golfer* Sunday (it’s dependent on if his contractors finish up the remodeling job they’re doing).  No new dates, no new dudes, no new anything.  Just maintaining my little status quo.

Ok, I think that’s everything.  Still no new boobs from me.  Just not feeling it.  The image I chose this week is from May 10th, 2012.  I was 36, The Neighbor and I were en route to imploding.  Fun times!

xx

Hy

 

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

*[Ed. Note: I’ve updated “The Rich Golfer” to just “The Golfer,” because reducing him to his money and his hobby just seemed too much.  But he does golf a ton, so….]

My tits:

A 36 year old me. Dang.

NOT my tits:

Miss V returns! She used to post for Boobday eons ago! I’m so happy she’s back!

::

Sandy means bidness!

If You leave your clothes I’m guaranteed to wear them

::

Miss B with another lovely bra!
I wish to submit this picture as one of my favorite bras that highlights breasts very well.
::

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


e[lust] 118

Elust 118 Header of My controlled ascent

Photo courtesy of My Controlled Ascent

Welcome to Elust 118

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #119? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I have daddy issues

Processing Emotions about Polyamory

Mirror Masturbation

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

V is for view

Not Alone

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Negotiating “NO”

 

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Tension

Erotic Non-Fiction

BDSM for Beginners
My first time being co-topped
The power of touch

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Hear My Confession
Avengers Assemble
#30DayOrgasmFun: Tapping Out

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

How I Started Moving Past Old Hurts
#AtoZChallenge -X is for XXX
Vanilla date #1: Incompatible-Awesome
Confessions of an unruly slave

Writing About Writing

Relying on Email More Than Social Media

Erotic Fiction

His turn in the shower
Sharp Beauty
Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun
Oxana, With Love
Sixty Nine Steps
Glorious garden fuck
Actually, that’s what the dog-whip is for

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Don’t ask us to watch you wank for free.

 

 

Elust

Checking in.

I just want to say Hi and let you all know how much I love you.

I am well and kicking, my therapy break-through ever present in my mind.

I’m already fantasizing about London in 2020.

xx

Hy

Friday, May 10th, is Boobday!

Ok, forgive any formatting issues, I’m doing this from my phone (I can’t login to my WP dashboard).

This week has been great. Since my breakthrough in therapy everything in my life feels easier. Everything. From cutting out sugar to cutting out men. I suddenly have a place in my own world and I’m no longer chasing anything or anyone.

That said, I don’t think I’m “fixed,” or anything, I just feel righteous in the best of ways.

I have a Saturday night free this weekend. The Rich Golfer is out of town for a family event, Peter’s dad is in town, and The Vet may have a work thing. I’m cool with whatever, but regardless of men sharing my bed/time I’ll have a great night.

I would have said the same thing 6 months ago, but this time it feels a whole lot different. I dig it.

Ok, on with the boobs! This week I’m posting two old ones. Since I’m on my phone I’m unsure of the dates, but they were just a couple of lines above the one from last week in my WP photo library, so I’m guessing they were from May of 2012.

I’m posting the first one because it was me at a painful worst in my life. I can’t even remember the specifics of that particular self harming without the date (I’ve only done it twice), but it speaks volumes about how far I’ve come. My poor old soul… I feel badly for what I’ve done to her sometimes.

The second photo of me is one where I was feeling myself. The backlit silhouette, the curves. It was taken just a few days before the first pic (based on its location on the photo grid).

It’s funny how quickly things can change.

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

Hy and self harm

A little self never harm anybody… wait, what?

Hy at the old apartment backlit and sexy
In just a short while this woman’s heart would break for some reason.

NOT my tits:

SANDY 051019
Sandy has an important message for us!

Before I forget again this week….Had a sudden hair dye reaction that was unpleasant and had me rushing to urgent care. Then even more unpleasant allergy testing. PSA to all the ladies in your group “do the damn patch test!!”

Anyway, just a lazy day pic

::

MISS B 051019
Y’all are inspiring Miss B!

I wish to submit this binding picture as a way to show off/celebrate my great boobs.  

I thought of this picture due to another person’s binding picture recently on your site.   

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


Password Level achieved.

I dig his little idiosyncratic spelling of “cum.”

“Fuck I can’t wait to get soaked in your fucking cumm,” he texted at 8 am Sunday morning. “Can we start now?” I asked where he was.

“The country club.”

We had plans later that day for me to come over again and watch the next episode of Game of Thrones. He would text more throughout the day. A video of him playing with his hardon (“I have never sent anyone something like this,” he’s told me), little notes about the day dragging on and his eagerness to see me. Finally I was able to commit to arriving at 4 pm.

Two weeks earlier I’d arrived around 6:30 for GOT. Sushi was on its way and I brought a bottle of his favorite, a Malbec — and some American Spirits Yellow at his request.

“You’re so nice to me,” he purred into my neck as he wrapped his arms around me from behind while I set my things down on the kitchen island.

I had butterflies; he oozed sex. The kind of sex that was terrifyingly exciting, the kind that nurtured an apprehensive unease and simultaneous thrill not unlike looking up at the massive roller coaster with 14 corkscrews and 3 loops at 100 mph and wondering how you’ll survive it.

But survive it that night I did. Sushi never came as it was supposed to, but I sure fucking did.

We rewatched the week’s previous episode and I spread my knees for him while he stared intently at my pink puss. His reverence and delight emboldened me to show him what I otherwise am shy about. His fingers pulled my lips apart and dipped inside. He disappeared into his room and came back with a fuchsia colored silicone egg with a long tail.

He squeezed it and it buzzed and pulsed then he slipped it inside of me. He’d bought me another toy, apparently. How thoughtful.

The toy was only a novelty, though, and soon we were naked in his bed writhing and grappling with one another like Grecian wrestlers. His cock, thick and angled just-so, pressed my release buttons and I drenched the bedding and screamed and bucked with joy.

His depth of desire has no bounds, nothing is off limits. It’s like I’m a mountain to be conquered and no crevice or swell is off limits. His tongue bathed me from head to toe, his fingers found every hole, his cock, too.

We showered and he peed on me again, delightfully. His watchful hazelnut eyes on my blue ones, registering my reaction. I smiled at his mischievousness and turned my bottom towards the stream unbothered.

We paused only long enough to watch that week’s episode, curled up on one another on the couch. When it was over we were naked again. My Hitachi – thoughtfully plugged in by him – drove me up over the moon as he railed up hard and deep inside of me. My cunt rained on us both and I sobbed unabashedly, spent, completely soaked in my own cum, and entirely out of my body.

I had watched him, as if from a seat in a theater, pull my cum which had pooled in his belly button and spread it across his chest and lick his palms clean. One hand guided my hips and his other pressed on my clit as I gyrated wildly on top of him uncaring of how things jiggled or swung. I was nothing but my electric pleasure and he was the conduit. His cock, ever hard, fascinated me and seemed inhuman, robotically stiff. Who the fuck is this man??

We would take periodic breaks for a cigarette, a sip of wine, or a bit of weed. Did I even walk the earth that night or did I simply float from couch to bed to backyard in a ghostly coital haze?

He finally came while in my ass with the Wand buzzing mightily against my mound. I think I found God.

We padded back into the living room and finally sorted out the sushi situation. I ate like it was my last meal then left at 11:30 with a chaste peck on the corner of my mouth from him at the door.

The following Saturday (on my custody week) found him drunk and drugged to the extent he canceled on me an hour before we were to meet. “Crushed” is too strong a word; I felt crumpled. I did a new thing where I said how I felt and left it at that, then held my breath for his reaction the next morning and was relieved that it was human; I could look forward to our next GOT date.

I arrived as promised at 4 pm with a bottle of white, my Hitachi, and his requested box of Yellows. Driving through his posh suburb by the golf course I felt my skin burn with anticipation and wickedness. On the street children played and mothers hovered, trees literally dripped with swinging, laughing kids as I drove towards my suburban den of iniquity.

Butterflies roared in my belly as I rang the doorbell. His great big, black floofy dog barked and the door cracked. His bare shoulder, then face, peeked out. He smiled and pulled the door open for me to step in. He was naked, his cock ramrod straight. He grabbed me and kissed me passionately. I tried not to press the chilled wine against his bare skin.

This Sunday was more of the same, except I was worried if my ass could take another pounding so soon after one from the night before with The Vet. Spoiler alert: it did just fine. We toked, we poked, we joked.

Out back taking long, slow drags off a shared cigarette I announced after countless orgasms and buckets of our cum – his included – that I had officially reached “password level.”

“‘Password level’?” he asked.

“Yeah, like, if I were captured by the enemy if they made me feel this good I’d tell them anything they wanted to know,” I could swear the rose bushes shook with a giggle at me. “I’d make a real shit spy.” He laughed, seemingly happy with himself.

“Fuck, you are so goddamned sexy! UGH!” he said as he snatched his hand off my knee. “I can’t touch you anymore! I have nothing left in me, but if I do, I’ll try and I’m just so tired,” he said mostly to himself. I could barely sit upright in my chair.

He had used the pink butt plug on me that I’d brought over. My plan had been to use it on him while I sucked him off, but he had other plans. After our second shower – and even before GOT started at 8 – under the thick blanket of lust that lay upon us he spread my ass cheeks and buried his tongue in my hole. I squirmed and squealed, horrified and titillated all at once. He licked and sucked and ate like it was a piece of juicy fruit until I felt a prick and a push and he was inside of me.

He pumped while I came and cried and then he was gone, but something else was inside: the butt plug. He lay down and pulled me on top of him and as I double penetrated myself with his meat he passed me the Hitachi. Dear Lord, please have mercy on my soul.

I screamed like a wild animal and clawed at his pale skin. He hissed as a rush of liquid spilled down over his abdomen and cried out with me when we came like thunder together. I shook uncontrollably, kissed his neck and stifled my sobs. My feet didn’t touch the ground again after that. How could they possibly?

We showered a last time then went to have that cigarette where the rose bushes laughed at me. Finally we watched the show and I absentmindedly played with his cock. I had absolutely nothing left in me. I was a bag of flesh and bones, him too, I assume. He’d cum twice and showered three times with me. I lost count of my orgasms after number ten.

When it was time to go I gathered my things. He’d brought me my Hitachi and cleaned butt plug and I put them in the paper bag that had carried the wine. I laughed that it looked like I was leaving with a bottle, when really it was a bag of sex toys.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind and I turned my face to kiss him. He dodged my lips and kissed the corner of my mouth and walked me to the door.

Face to face I tried to kiss him goodbye, but his lips landed on the corners of my mouth again, but I didn’t care. I smiled, happy anyway even if he couldn’t kiss me, and thanked him for yet another wonderful time, then floated out to my car.

I’m pretty sure the rose bushes were still laughing: password level achieved.

I have daddy issues.

I don’t understand women who like their fathers, who trust them and turn to them for support.  Fathers are dark and dangerous, manipulative and cruel.  They froth at the mouth at infractions and cry, salty tears when they need a hug from the mother they never had.  Fathers whose daughters like them are mystical creatures.

Men who love and nurture their little women in ways that create strong, healthy bonds and boundaries for a lifetime of beautiful relationships?  Those exist??

I certainly didn’t have one of those.  Fathers and daughters who love and respect one another are only people who exist in books and movies and who are overheard in coffee shops.  They’re not me and my dad.

I don’t bring it up all that often, but no one without daddy issues would have a life like mine. She would never accept what I do from men.  She would assert herself and say No, she would insist on her needs being known and valued.  She would never stand for mistreatment.  But that isn’t me.  I have daddy issues.

Even saying the words makes me cringe. It’s so trite, so predictable, but there it is. I have daddy issues the size of a goddamned 747.

I wept in therapy a week and a half ago as I pieced together my disastrous date with Milwaukee. After having sex with him Thursday night that I don’t really remember, I went home to sleep it off and when I returned to his hotel room to go to brunch he accosted me.

His breath smelled of liquor at 11 am and as I pushed him off of me repeatedly he kept after me with lurid promises of what he’d do to me later.  He thought he was being sexy.  I thought he was being boorish and disgusting.

I pushed him, shoved him, told him I wasn’t a sure thing and to knock it off. Then he jammed his finger up my skirt as I peered out a window and almost got inside of me before I twisted away and yelled at him again. “After he assaulted you, why didn’t you leave, Hy?” my therapist asked gently.

I couldn’t answer her.

“Where did you feel it? Where did it come from? This knowing it was wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just knew I didn’t like it. I was very clear about him stopping and I yelled at him. But then I went downstairs with him to wait for a car to go to brunch…” I looked up at her watching me. “Then he said something else disgusting and I jumped up like this and shouted, ‘STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT I DONT FUCKING LIKE IT!!'” I demonstrated for her, something I don’t think I’ve ever done in years of working with her.

“He apologized and looked contrite. I should have left then. I should have left in the room. I should have left when I woke up with a vague sense of irritation and unpleasantness naked in his bed. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

I don’t know,” I said as I began to cry. I had this overwhelming familiar feeling related to my reaction to him. There were moments in his room that morning when fear rose up in me. Would he rape me? Hurt me? But they quickly passed as I danced and maneuvered away, but still remained within his reach.

When I’d shared the date with him with two of my dearest friends, one said this:

I think the most important question you have to answer for yourself, Hy, is why you don’t trust your gut? Why do you plot the course and then follow all the way through to an inevitable conclusion when you knew he wasn’t a good fit? Is it because you’re curious, because you desire the sex/companionship regardless of the quality, or because you feel you owe it to someone not to “back out” once the process starts?

Our message string is deleted that far back but I clearly remember saying to you, when someone is lousy over text/phone it’s never good in person, and you were not acknowledging your gut feelings. You kept saying maybe it will be better in person. You kept reaffirming what you believed his good qualities were and that he deserved a chance.

I’m checking you on this because it was quite clear to me he was acting in an odd and uncomfortable way and despite your acknowledgment of this you insisted on pushing through to the date. Why is that?

Maybe it’s a FOMO thing, you just have to be 100% sure you’re not “missing” something and so you go all the way until you can no longer deny that it was bad to begin with. But that isn’t trusting your gut is it? That’s more like being a scientist, running the experiment until you have the hard fought data which ultimately proves the initial hypothesis.

I told her she had every right to check me, that everything she wrote was true, but my internal compass is off. Though my gut is always right I continually override it.  Why??

“Tell me why you didn’t leave,” my therapist pressed.

“Because I wanted something from him…” I sobbed, humiliated, hurting.  “We were supposed to go to my favorite brunch spot, then my favorite restaurant for dinner.

“It was like that with my father.  I would be trapped with him in a booth and he’d be telling me disgusting things or droning on and on about himself as if I were there simply to listen to him and I’d be begging him to stop, to see me, but I needed new tires on my car or I wanted that fancy dinner or some spare cash.

“I endured his awfulness so he could give me things and I could feel taken care of by him for once in my life, to feel loved.”  My whole body shook with remorse and disgust and shame.  “If he gave me something, then it proved I was good enough.  That’s why I never leave.”

The feelings for the girl I was welled up inside of me and poured out my face.  I felt like blackness rose from me like steam.  No matter how awful, how gross, how in appropriate my father was I stayed the course because we both knew I was there to get something from him, and him from me.  And I was never able to make him stop despite my efforts to make him be a decent human being to both me and my sister.

When I was 20 I cut him out of my life for a couple of years after a long visit of his prolonged vileness and him rifling through all of my things while I was at class.  I eventually let him back in, feeling stronger, and even lived with him for a year after college.  It wasn’t good.  He was mean and hard, but I was living rent free, so…

And then when I was 26 he sent my sister and I a revolting joke about how semen is calorie-free.  It was the final straw and I cut him out of our lives for good.  Shortly thereafter, my sister revealed he’d molested her when she was only 8 years old and I was 11.  Now our relationship was irrevocably over and I no longer had to suffer his pitiful attempts at being my father.

Daddy issues.

I’ve never really read much about the collateral damage of sexual abuse for a child not directly harmed.  Do those papers even exist??  I’ve read countless articles on trauma and personal accounts of abuse, I hear stories on NPR for Christ’s sake, but you don’t hear how it affects the other children in the family.

From the moment my father did that evil thing to my sister I no longer existed.  I never understood why I was suddenly #2 in everything we did, why he preferred her, why she was always right and I was always wrong.  I longed for his approval and love, but was shunned again and again.  He had sins to atone for and I was no longer a priority.  I was his made his mother, and used whenever he needed support.  When he didn’t need me I was invisible.  And so it went until the day he died an excruciating death, alone in a big city in the desert.

My therapist’s eyes were soft as she watched me, tear streaked and miserable fit the pieces together.  That is why I never leave.  That is why I override my instincts.  That is why I stay near a man who doesn’t care to be with me.  Because I want something from them and if I get it it means I am worthy.  I fucking exist. 

Sometimes it’s a nice dinner, sometimes it’s sex.  My father put a high premium on a woman being a “knockout.”  I never felt I attained that level with him, but when men ogle and drool I feel vindicated and seen all over again.  I am real for that moment.  I push aside a man’s poor manners or inconsiderateness because he has promised me something – unspoken, but promised all the same.  I will get his attention, his money, his body, his pleasure.

That means that I have evolved into the ultimate seductress, ever morphing to match the desires of my date.  I prefer white wine, but he has expressed a preference for Malbec, so that is the only kind of wine I buy when I come over.  He wants to watch golf?  Ok.  I will ask as many questions as possible, though really I’d prefer the TV to just be off.  I have no impact, I am not there, but when I am turned inside out, bare skinned and lost in my own broken darkness with a man deep inside of me I am all of me.

I am not thinking about how to win him over, I am only a raw, pulsing nerve feeling our atoms mingle.  Finally, I exist again by losing myself completely.

It feels like this revelation is what I’ve been working towards in the last 20 years of therapy I’ve been slogging through.  I have been trying to close the loop with my father every day of my fucking life since the moment he touched my baby sister.  I have been trying to be seen and loved and wanted in any way I knew how.  And boy, have I adapted.  I have been a machine at getting things.

In the days leading up to this revelation I cut things off with Milwaukee.  I was very frank with him about how I felt about his behavior and while he was crushed, he understood.  It is one of the most singularly healthy things I’ve done for myself since I ended my friendship with The Neighbor or left my husband.  I don’t look out for myself, the drive to get something is so overwhelmingly powerful.  I am terrified of asserting myself, saying No, that is not ok, and then being rejected and failing to get whatever it is I want.

The Saturday after therapy the Rich Golfer* got too drunk on the golf course with the help of a Xanax and canceled plans an hour before we were set to meet.  My initial reaction was to completely accept it and reschedule for the next weekend – the words flew across text before I even realized what I’d done.  Hours later I texted again that while it’d taken a little while to sink in I thought flaking on me in the 11th hour was shitty and that it really bummed me out.

The next morning he apologized and last night as we lay curled together on his big couch between dick-sucking and ass-fucking goodness he apologized again with his lips on my neck.

It was terrifying to admit I was unhappy with him, such a small, reasonable thing, but I don’t do that: I am amenable, pleasing, ingratiating.  Yet, I was still there whole and real and I had promised myself that if he didn’t apologize – truly apologize – I would end it immediately.  But he did and I took a very small step towards being me and not just trying to get something.  I existed without the thing.

And this time I brought white wine.

 

 

[Ed. Note: *I need to rename him something less offensive.  He’s a lot more than rich and a golfer.]

Friday, May 3rd, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

I’ve got a really busy rest of my afternoon (it’s Thursday and I’m doing Boobday!  Can you believe it????).  I slept in til 7:30, stretched, fed the cat, did some chores, whitened my teeth, sipped some coffee, came into work for a quick meeting, worked on some things for a while and now I’m off to therapy, then a friend’s, then to see a famous comedian at a concert hall.

I share all of this because even once I’m home at 10 or 11 or whatever, I still want to finish a post I started writing last Saturday about my therapy break-through.  It was a big one.  A good one.  And one y’all may or may not have seen coming.

But life has been going 100 miles an hour.  My entire weekend was consumed with kid stuff and this week work has been breaking my back to the point where I come home, bake a Trader Joe’s Tartlet with cheese and prosciutto, drink two glasses of wine, and go straight to bed.

Anyway, something is coming.  And it’s not just me…

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

Me in May of 2012.  With a bad filter.  Sorry, y’all!

 

NOT my tits:

Miss B should be selling these bras!

I wish to submit another beautiful handmade bra I received as a gift.  This is a bra that would be perfect under a special dress/outfit.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


e[lust] 117

Photo courtesy of Master’s Eye

Welcome to Elust 117

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #118? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

A dominant presence

He Gripped Her Hand and Centered Her

Being alone together.

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

What the fig?

Mind and body

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

O! or, errr… NO!: Orgasm Control in an F/m Dynamic

 

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Fantasies Never Let You Down
My First Love
New Fun with Old Friends
Sometimes coming joint second
emotional disconnection, sex and loneliness
People Don’t Talk about This Sh!t

Erotic Fiction

Waking the Fallen
Daisy
opera seria
Catch the Catcher
Club Dress Extended
Dreams … (the Second : Arabian Nights)
The orgasmic arch

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Five Senses of Sex
A public beating
Rope Dreams

Poetry

-01.04.19_00:22-

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Primal Regression and Submission
14 Qualities of a “Good” Dominant
Balance in F/m voices

Events

Do I want you to hold my hand?

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Sex in Class
That’s My Kink – All Hail The Nipple Clit

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Why I’m not smiling for IWD

 

 

Elust

Friday, April 26th, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

My week has been filled with work and my baby, not being able to fall asleep until 1 am and finally passing out at 9:30 last night.  I woke up at 5:30 today and nearly jumped out of bed.  I wrote for the Smut Marathon, though didn’t get a chance to write here.  I’m waffling between where to go with my thoughts.

Do I share the awful experience I had with Milwaukee?  The absolutely incredible night I had with The Golfer since my last post about him? Or one of the most powerful breakthroughs I’ve ever had in therapy?

I’ll figure something out this weekend or today for sure.  I have lots to say.

I’m posting a vintage pic of me since I haven’t taken a photo basically since my week in England.

Love you guys and your support.  I’m reading everyone as usual and I think you’re all incredible.

xx

Hy

 

Me in April of 2012.

NOT my tits:

Miss B with another pretty black bra.
This is just a beautiful, unique bra that gives the boobs a great look and lift.

::

Sandy all squeezed in.

I’ll be a little tied up today ….

::

 

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Friday, April 19th, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

I’m with Milwaukee today, Thursday, as I’m crafting this post. It’ll be done in snippets as I can break away since I didn’t do it before we planned to meet (I’m sitting in the hotel lobby now waiting for him to come down).

This is going to be quite the pain in the ass to get up. The kinky thing, captions, the banner. Why the fuck couldn’t I get my act together earlier???

[Update: the post was never done Thursday and while the night was mostly fun, Friday has been an utter shit show.  More on that another time.]

Soooo sorry for the long ass delay, but here I am!  It’s gonna happen! Woot!

No boobs from me; I’m still on the longest date of my fucking life.  I gotta suck it up and see if we can end on a high note now.  Wish me luck.

xx

Hy

 

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

 

No tits from me.  Don’t feel like it.

 

NOT my tits:

SMN is ooooozin’ the sex.
Good morning.
Hello sunshine.
Now who’s bring in my coffee?

::

Sandy’s breasts with pebbles??

Ahhhh the fun we have. Happy GOOD Friday 😇😉😈

::

Miss B sexy at any age.

This is another hand-made bra I received recently as a gift.  I’m looking forward to wearing it under various sheer blouses/tops to show off my great boobs!

::

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