His cum came out my nose.

It was Monday and I was enjoying a quiet morning on the computer and Maintenance was puttering around my entryway when I got an unexpected text from David:

david text david text 2

He said he’d come over and wait for them to be gone and I all but leapt into the shower to wash off the 3-minute sex I’d had with The Ginger Viking the day before.  I told the maintenance guy I had to shower because a friend was coming over and to not be alarmed if a friend let himself in while I was in there.  He laughed and said something in broken English that I didn’t quite catch.  I laughed, too, because, whatever: I was about to get the shit fucked out of me.

With soap in my hair I heard a knock on the bathroom door then another followed by a muffled voice.  I shouted, “Ok!” to what, I don’t know, and continued washing up.  When I finished I noticed a thermometer sticking out of my bathroom vent above the door.  I laughed thinking about asking David to snag it for me.  It’d be easy for him.

I dried myself off, put on a strappy sundress and a little blush.  I skipped the mascara and the panties.

Butterflies swarmed in my belly as I patiently waited wondering what would happen between us.  Finally, I heard his knock.

He filled the doorway and I could see the bulge in his shorts.  “Good morning,” I said and stepped aside to let him in.

“Before you leave, could you do me a favor really fast?”  I showed him the thermometer in the vent.  He reached up and easily plucked it out and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I said laughing.

“You’re very welcome,” he answered back and stooped to cup my face in his hands.

We kissed and he trembled beneath my roaming hands.  We buzzed together like that, with deepening kisses, for several seconds.    I rubbed the bulge as he pressed into my hand.  He lifted my dress and began to play with me.  I stopped his hand and whispered not to finger me.

He looked at me questioningly.  “I’m on my period,” I explained, “and I have a menstrual cup in.”  He looked at me with more questions. “Trust me, it’s less messy this way.  You won’t feel a thing.”  We laughed a little at the short stop at pragmatism and continued to kiss as his hands rubbed my lips gently, carefully avoiding my insides.

I moaned and pressed closer and then the nerves were gone.  I wanted him, he wanted me.  A lock was opened and I felt a rush of heat pass through me.

Suddenly he picked me up like I was nothing, all 165 pounds of me.  Something clicked over in my brain; I haven’t been picked up in years.  This man was strong, so much stronger and bigger than me.  Thoughts of gangbangs and spankings and bright red hand marks sped through my brain.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he walked to my bed and gently laid me down.  I watched, already glassy-eyed, as he kicked the dog out and crawled back on top of me smiling.

We kissed and fondled each other.  He was doing his best to prep me, but I was excited that he wasn’t.  I wanted his huge fat cock in a dry pussy this time, not one so wet I couldn’t feel him.

He stood up then and I knelt on the bed as he pulled my dress off.  I unbuckled his pants and he peeled off his shirt.  His cock was fat and hard and beautifully uncut.  I bent over and took it in my mouth.  Immediately he began encouraging me as I explored how far I could take him.  The harder he got, the more he filled my mouth and I struggled to take him all in.

Then it was like a gun went off and I was done.  “I want you to fuck me now,” I said, my voice filled with desire.  Without a word he bent to get a condom, rolled it on and pushed me on my back.

This time he slowly pushed in, my favorite part.  Our mouths were locked together and I breathed him in as he began to pump.  I wrapped my legs around his waist again and held him in as far as he could go.  Eyes closed, nothing but this man existed for me.  His cock, his mouth, his scent, his warm skin, his straining muscles.

We fucked and kissed and he was brutal.  He tucked me up, split me wide and unabashedly watched our porno.  Bodies slammed together, my belly scrunched up like a Sharpei, my face red and contorted with passion as he pounded into me.

He kissed my neck and suckled my ear before growling into it and telling me what a bad girl I was.  I begged him to fuck my pussy and nearly began to cry when I began to cum around him.  His tempo increased, he pinned me, hit me, kissed me some more.

Rolled up on my side in a little ball he fucked me from the side and I felt every inch scrape inside and felt lucky that our paths crossed: this man knew how to fuck.

On my hands and knees I bent over, my ass spread for him as he stood comfortably on the floor.  His height made us a perfect fit.  I bounced on him and he gripped my hips not painlessly.  Then he pulled my wrist out from under me and my right shoulder hit the bed, then he grabbed my left.  He plowed me into the mattress.

He licked his finger and pressed it against my asshole.  I squirmed on him and moaned helplessly into the bedding.

He began to wail on my flanks with short, stinging smacks.  I let the heat roll up over me like a wave.

His filthy words filled the room as he pleasured the both of us then it stopped.  

“Fuck.” He pulled out and pointed at his thick, glistening cock.  At first I didn’t see it.  “The condom is a cock ring,” he pointed out.  His penis was naked all but save a little cream-colored ring at the base.

“I just got tested on Friday.  I’m clean,” I said.

“Me, too,” he answered as he rolled on another condom and shoved himself back inside.

A true athlete, he deftly moved us across the bed.  I matched him for every thrust, every movement.  I was in goddamned motherfucking heaven.

Finally, we rested.  I on my belly, he on his back.  He tenderly drew lines on my skin.  “My hands are numb,” I observed.

“You know why that is?”

“I have no idea.  I can barely form this sentence actually.”  I laughed into the sheets unable to lift my head.

“It’s lack of CO2.  You’re breathing very hard.”  I could hear the smile as he imparted his firefighter’s wisdom.

I considered napping then, but knew we had only minutes to spare.  I hauled myself up and crawled between his thighs.  The condom was gone, the boner remained.

I sucked and slobbered, tasted a slight hint of blood and condom and kept going.  My hand stroked, my tongue lapped, my mouth sucked.  He said kind and sexy things about being a good girl and taking all of his giant, fat cock.  I thought I was doing a miserable job, but every few strokes he’d go deep.  The first deep thrust worked, but those following caused me to gag.

My heart beat faster and my legs began to tremble.  His deep thrusts increased; I gagged and began to regurgitate my coffee.  Once I stopped and clapped my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom.  He called after me that it was ok, but it burned and tasted awful.  I couldn’t figure this out and I was frustrated.

“It’s ok, baby,” he said.  “I don’t care about the mess.  Please, don’t stop, just spit on top of me, just let go.”  He grabbed the towel we’d used to blot his forehead earlier and tucked it under his ass to catch the mess.

I nodded wordlessly and fell back down on the shaft.  My breathing was erratic and I struggled  figure to breathe, his cock stuffed me so full it was semi terrifying.  

Gag, spit, cough, fall back on it for 10 more thrusts.  His breathing became more labored and his thrusts even deeper.  I pulled off again and again and spit up on his cock.  It ran down the barrel and swung off his balls onto the towel.

He fucked my face then and I felt a release as I gagged and he hit my brain.  I squirted on his legs and threw up into the towel.  He begged me to take him back in my mouth, I was delirious with passion.  He took his shaft in one hand and put his hand on my head with the other and began to skull fuck me.

I gagged and squirted, gagged around the hot fatness jammed in my mouth, but didn’t leave him.  Tears poured from my face, slobber coated my lips and his groin.  He grew even larger in my mouth and I heard him gasp and begin to moan.  

I squirted again, popped off of him to tell him what was happening to me, what that wetness on his legs was, and he moaned loudly with pleasure.  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said.  I smiled and resumed my work.

I couldn’t breathe, was horrified at the mess I was making, but trusted him completely to guide me through it.  I was in love with this experience.

“I’m going to cum,” I heard him say and I squirted again.  He began to tense and fuck my face like it was a pussy.  I let it all go then: my vanity, my pride, my self-consciousness.  All I wanted was to be this man’s receptacle.

He roared as he came, God how that man roared.  He shook and arched and bucked into me with absolutely no control.

I held on as his jizz hit the back of my throat and I began to choke.  He held me there briefly then pumped some more.  I hungrily swallowed down everything I could and pulled off of him.  Semen oozed out of my nose and mixed with my tears.

I wiped my face clean with the towel and laid down beside this giant, panting man, his arm my pillow.  He kissed the top of my head.  Then kept kissing it.  I panted too, more than pleased, goddamned elated.

Wearily, I rolled over and grabbed my Hitachi.  “While this is all fresh in my mind,” I explained for no reason.  He giggled and pulled me close.

I pressed the buzzing head to my clit and listened to him recount the blowjob.  “You like that?  That fat cock fucking your sweet little mouth?”  I came hard and strong with his voice in my ear and his gigantic hand clenching my breasts.

I finally laid limply in his arms.

Just then the alarm on my phone went off.

“Time to go?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said.

We got up and got dressed, thanked each other, kissed each other deeply and tenderly.  He played with the dog while I put on my makeup.  He came back into the bathroom and kissed me again.  I raised up on my tip toes.

“You know what I did on my way over here?” he asked as we separated.  “I stopped to get gas and was so distracted about coming over here that I drove off with the gas hose in the tank.” We laughed.  “Otherwise, I would’ve been here sooner.”

I laughed and told him that had happened to me once, too.  And I smiled because I liked knowing he’d been nervous.  Apparently he’s not just a good lay, but a little human, too.




Some men are exceptional dates.


A few days ago after banter about an aging porn star, I found this note in my chat queue on Tinder:

“Haha so I just stumbled upon your OKC profile.  I must say, my initial impression of you just barely skimmed the surface.  To find a better example of a physical representation of a personality would be near impossible, in my opinion.  You definitely radiate bawdy, bold, and brash in a very sexy as fuck kind of way.  Well done!”

He picked a convenient spot to meet and was early.  I wore my California State flag t-shirt, knee-high boots and a short grey skirt and was unavoidably a little late.  My breasts jiggled against the low-cut and basically see-through material as I confidently pulled the bar door open and walked in having no idea what I’d find.

It took me a second for my eyes to adjust before I saw him at the end of the bar.  He was tall, had a climber’s build, and a thick, wild hairdo and clear, light blue eyes. He was better than I’d hoped.

We talked and laughed for an hour sipping drinks he bought us.  He noticed little things about me and asked about them and he looked at me as if he were memorizing my face when he didn’t think I was paying attention.  He’s The Neighbor’s age, though half a foot taller, wildly different in so many other ways, maybe the same in ways unseen.

I absent-mindedly gazed at the veins in his forearms, his lean muscles, and wondered how they’d feel against my naked curves.

We left the bar to walk a couple of blocks to where a friend of mine was having a jewelry trunk show.  We walked down a quiet, dark street and I imagined it’d be the perfect spot for a quick make-out session.  Nervousness radiated off of him in slow, rolling waves; not inappropriate, but to be respected.  I kept a safe distance from him and filled the thick warm night with small talk.

At the new venue I hugged Tina hello and she convinced me to buy a Mother’s Day card from her.  I introduced him to everyone I knew at the table by hers and bought him a cider and sat as close to him as I could.  It wasn’t close enough.

I could only manage to hook my foot on his calf as I pinched my shoulders together to accentuate my cleavage.  The humid night clung to my skin and I repeatedly tied my hair in a knot atop my head to allow my neck to cool.  He glistened under the strings of lights.

I lived up to all his expectations — exceeded them, even — he told me.  I blushed and flushed and leaned as close to him as possible, though we barely touched.  Just last night the Little Marine lavished me with compliments and I sucked them deep inside me like the eternal sponge that I am.  I’ll never tire of hearing how tantalizing I am to another human being.

We danced around what it is we’re both looking for only to discover it sounds like the same animal: a friendly, ongoing thing that’s not too serious.

Finally we acknowledged the time and decided to walk back to our cars.

Again, the long, quiet dark street and still no moves.  Standing awkwardly by my car he asked if I’d like to see him again because he would most definitely like to see me.  I said I’d love to.

“It’ll be a month or so,” he grimaced.  “I’m trying to be respectful of my ex…” his words tapered off as he referenced still living with his ex-girlfriend of 5 months.

“I understand,” I said smiling.  “Does that respect extend to kissing girls, too?”

His eyes opened wide and I reached out to his crossed arms and pulled him towards me opening his limbs to me.

“No,” he whispered as his hands reached up to cup my face.

I tilted my head back and parted my lips.  He nibbled and sucked at my mouth perfectly.  My hands rested on his hips, his muscles hard beneath my hands as I moved them up his sides just a little.

And then he broke it off and we thanked each other again and said goodnight.

I drove home smiling having no idea if we’re more than a match made on a random, sultry Thursday night in April.

Saturday, April 25th, is YELLOW Boobday!


Well, shit.

The last 48 hours have been jam packed.  My out of town guests left about 30 minutes 2 and a 1/2 hours ago and I decided to delay my work on Boobday until I had eaten.  I swear it’s all I’ve thought about since yesterday slipped through my fingers!  I feel awful for letting you all down and not getting it up yesterday!

Anyway, I’m sitting here with my yellow hair and a yellow glass of wine and I’ve been out in the yellow sun all day long.  I’ve just downloaded all your beautiful images and I can’t wait to share them with you!

This month I asked one of the most loving, thoughtful people I know in our little internet community to be April’s feature, Dawn of Dawn’s Nights.  When she first came on the scene a year ago or so she made her presence known through thoughtful, long comments and an openness of spirit I have rarely found on my journey.  She also was transparent in her struggle to redefine her self-image through her participation in Boobday.

Here are her words and a favorite photo of hers:

My friend Hyacinth asked me to write a little something about what Boobday means to me.

I am touched, because Boobday was the first step in my recovery, in reclaiming my femininity.

Ok, it may not have been the first step, but it was my first public step, even before I started my blog.

I was going through a divorce, had just left the marital bed and made my bedroom in the office…

Part of the reason I had asked for a divorce was that I wanted to regain some of my self-esteem, which had been badly bruised during a sexless and (what I now know) abusive marriage.

I was rediscovering that the woman inside was a sexual being, and I needed to feel beautiful and sexy. Enter Boobday!

I discovered Hy’s blog through a friend. He was aware of my struggles with body image. I asked what he thought of me participating in Boobday, he was very encouraging. So I dove in, found myself a name and sent Hy my first submission.

I loved how welcoming she was, how helpful with all the technical details. That first time, I felt very welcome, got lots of comments and encouragements. I even got all defensive about someone asking whether I had a blog… Fortunately, he didn’t hold it against me and we’re now great friends!

These comments made me think hard about what I expected to gain with my participation, what I was willing to give up, to accept (raunchy comments), and what I wasn’t. It was a very quick process!

I quickly realised that I love Boobday because it makes me feel good about myself. When I send in a picture, I’m usually pleased with the image I see, both as a photographer and as a woman. I had never taken a selfie before, and could only be found in a handful of pictures, because I am usually the photographer. For once, I was allowing myself to be the center of attention (safely hidden amongst my fellow participants), I was allowing myself to be seen, more than that, I was claiming that I deserved attention just as much as anyone else, and should not feel bad when I received it. It was an aha! moment.

Boobday offered me a safe place to explore myself (read: I realised I am an exhibitionist!), and to explore my beliefs about myself. The feedback I got made me aware of the fact I must not be as disgusting as my ex had always implied. It forced me to challenge the inner voice that was stating time and again, that I was too fat, too this, not enough that… It also helped me realise that I was a free woman, and could choose to do what I wanted with my body and my image. And that I needed to become my own greatest fan rather than my first critic.

Boobday was so empowering for me that I always encourage anyone to give it a try. I have made great friends here, and always feel the support of everyone. I know some of my friends did and realised it’s not for them, and that’s Ok. But I love the array of women who participate and always welcome and encourage diversity. The more diverse we are, the more women will realise that they are perfect just the way they are.

All I can say is that I would never have thought just sharing pics of myself could bring me so much. But all it took was for me to try and I was hooked.

I’ll be eternally grateful to Hy for giving me this opportunity.


Gorgeous, luscious, lickable breasts. Click the image to see her blog.


I’ve given it a lot of thought and next month’s theme will be KINKY. 

Remember, these prompts are meant to help you with a framework.  Your kinky may not be my kinky, but that has no bearing on anything.  Send me something that feels kinky to you.  And, as always, if you have an idea for a theme feel free to email me!  If my memory serves me, no one’s sent me any ideas in a long time and I’ve already used up the ones I’ve gotten!

Tomorrow I have a post coming up of a date that restored my faith in men.  No big deal.

Nothing juicy, but I’m going out with him again tonight, so maybe I’ll have something more to write about when it’s all done.

And if not then, then a ginger Viking is coming over Sunday night to bury himself deep inside of me.  We’ve agreed he’ll knock on the door with an erection and I’ll answer the door naked.

I’m pretty sure I’ll have something to write about come Monday either way.

Love you guys.



For Boobday Guidelines, click here.

My YELLOW tits:

Hy YELLOW boobday, black mesh, cage bra
Yellow hair, yellow bedding, yellow sunshine.


NOT my YELLOW tits:

Miss V does us a double whammy this month. I just love that little ring of hers. I could suck on that for a few minutes!

I had a friend help me with this one… He has some pretty damn good ideas. It was more to the point of being tied up with caution tape and what is the message? Is it cautioning the restrainer or the restrained? Anyway it’s yellow! I couldn’t resist…happy boob day!


I think this is the sexiest, most brilliant idea EVER. Love you , Mz. Hyde!!

I work in an office-sometimes I get creative at work. Thus the alter ego Mz Hyde! (shhh)


Miss V again. Unlike most of us, she’s drowning in yellow. God, look at those sexy breasts!!

Spring is in the air! All the animals are ready to get it on ;p

Svannah’s got some swagger! I imagine she’s out at dinner here and if only anyone noticed they’d get a little show.

It has been a long time since I participated. This pic taken by Will from last fall and I love the idea of submitting it. We are trying to reconnect after going through some very difficult times and he took this pic before any of that began. This was a very special evening for us. Our room was filled with joy and laughter when I casually posed for him. His smile was huge (so was something else) as I stood there wearing only this yellow top. Will, this boobday is for YOU, sweetie!


Raven is a friend of mine on Instagram. She and her husband post the most beautiful, sensual photos and you should all go check them out. @RavensDesirexo

This was the first yellow thing I found. Plus everyone loves wet boobies, right?


Renee’s photo really blows me away and it’s what inspired me for May’s theme. So beautiful, delicate, and the yellow somehow brings a sense of innocence to the image. Just stunning.

The Captain says I will be tied up for a while :)


La Shonna’s open mouth, her breasts and tousled hair. Dear God this pic is sexy. Follow her at @sunshyne0915

I don’t wear yellow often. It does make me think of spring and of the wild flowers blooming. I fell in love with this pic.


I love the stoicism of this image, yet the curve of her naked hip and the outline of her breasts belie another story altogether. Zoe nailed it.

I like the sculptural feel of this image. I also like the way the details (and by “details”, I mostly mean “nipples”) show through when the silk scarf is pulled snug.


Molly’s eye is infallible. Daffodils, a puckered nipple, a creamy swell. I want to bend my head, close my eyes, and press close. To all of it.  And yes, it definitely made me smile. @MollysDailyKiss

I took this specially for your prompt and because you said you loved spring so I thought this might make you smile.


Anonymous Aussie personifies the theme this month. She’s painfully beautiful, vulnerable even in this photo. Just love it.

On my way home today, inspiration literally drifted down from above!
It’s autumn down under & the leaves are just beginning to turn a sunny, golden colour. Happy Boobday all!

Boobday will be delayed!

Everyone, I am so sorry!

First, let me just tell you that today hasn’t been my day, but even before it went off the rails I thought Boobday was next Friday!!

Had the gorgeous lady that I asked to be the feature not pointed that out to me at MIDNIGHT last night I may still be clueless!  No wonder y’all were sending me all your hot tits yesterday!

Anyway, I had work in the morning, a lovely well-woman check at noon where a 60-year-old woman with silver hair in a buzz cut violated me, and an appointment with the Genius Bar in the afternoon where the close-talking Mikey told me in no uncertain terms that my laptop had drowned in coffee. That was a $1000 accident.

Leaving the Apple Store I headed into rush hour where another driver alerted me to my flat tire.

And guess what?  I don’t know how to change a tire!

I called everyone I know but no one could help, so I finally caved and called AAA.

Lucky for me I parked in front of a Mexican restaurant and so now I’m sipping a margarita that’s a little too sweet for my tastes, but I’ll fucking take it.

So, yeah.  I haven’t been able to get to Boobday today.

I’m headed to dinner with a girlfriend next and then friends are staying the night as soon as I get home and without a laptop I can’t work on it in the privacy of my room.

I am so sorry!

There are tons of hot ass chicks this month, too!  Can’t wait to get it up tomorrow!!

Love you all!



I am fractured.

Hy stretch in her robe
Please, don’t talk anymore, young sir. Your words ruin everything.
I am almost 40 and I have a broken heart.  I seem like a perfectly intact woman, but I am fractured.

The men I touch are odd creatures, both foreign and domestic.  Some, like me, are hunters.  Others feast on the carrion like hungry humpbacked hyenas.

I let them go without a breath; the breeze lifts them from my open palm and carries them to the next woman open for pollination.

Hy in her robe and black panties
I don’t know why I don’t want to, but I’ve changed my mind.
The ones who have good after-dinner manners are buried beneath layers of disregard and hardened dating battles.  We are all so good at the chase and so stupidly broken once we’ve had our fill.  An awkwardness slips in between us now that we’ve gotten as close as two people can.

Some flit about my head like drunken butterflies only to be replaced next time with new fluttering souls.

It is all so fleeting, so soul-sucking, so sad.

Hy black panties
Just say what you want to say. Let’s not let this linger on.
And yet, it is life, it is the hope of striking gold which makes me haul the pickaxe over my shoulder again and again.

Someone out there will have the magic I seek, the golden nectar which will make me bloom.

My sticky, waiting pistil is here for the taking.  He’ll find me eventually, my fragrance curled into his nostrils like wisps of smoke.

Hy curves robe
I have 10 more lined up. He is inconsequential.
I want to be blinded by the physical and awakened by the emotional.  I want knowledge and ignorance, light and dark.  I want an awakening that blends into wisdom so natural I don’t know where it starts and I end.

And once again I have discovered that cocks are wonderful walking sticks for this journey.








I’m bikini ready.



I don’t work out regularly.  I’m a US size 12.  I drink too much.  I occasionally smoke.  I’m creeping up on 40.  I eat pretty ok, but not great.  I’m 44-34-44.  

By all outside standards I should be hiding behind bathing skirts and using slimmer panels.  Maybe even sneaking in and out of the pool when no one’s looking.  Let that sea cow have her privacy.

But fuck that.

I am strong and curvy and me.  I have a body and therefore I’m ready.

To be bluntly honest, I don’t look as good as this in real life, but this is what I’ll be channeling when you see me with your own eyes at the pool or the beach.  Me with a soft glow, no filter, and a confidence that lasts for miles.  Chin held high, long blonde hair flowing as I swagger and sashay under the big yellow sun.

Confidence is not the domain of only the fit and the young.  Confidence is something that is earned and learned, not just handed out by genetics and the clock.  

I swim in champagne bubbles and wear ribeye steak; I languish in the endless softness of my mattress and I singe my lungs with smoke under the stars; I suckle on wedges of cheese and dye my lips purple with Tempranillo.

My life is decadent and lush; my body is its reflection and I am proud.  You should be proud of your reflection, too.




He was a big man who liked rough sex.

“The last couple of girlfriends I had didn’t match up sexually.”  His words filled my head as my mouth was stretched around the fattest cock I’d ever seen while a pair of smooth, cool balls pressed against the bridge of my nose.

David was tall, 6’5″, with broad shoulders and long, muscular limbs.  I lay on my back while he straddled over my face and guided his swollen cock down my throat.  This angle was better, my throat was more relaxed.

“Good, girl,” he crooned, “That’s it, you can take it.  You’re ok.”  I gagged and spit him out, tears streamed down my face.  His sheer size seemed to plug off my airway and I panicked despite my best efforts to remain calm.  “Shhhh, you’re ok,” he said again and gently forced himself back down my throat.  Not every woman would enjoy this, I thought.

On Sunday, the plan had been for him to bring me coffee as black as my heart and crawl into bed with me.  I met him at the door instead where we promptly fell on each other and I tasted the dark brew each time he kissed me.  He towered over me and in between nuzzles I apologized for not changing out of my pajamas.  It had seemed a little silly.  He didn’t mind.

He tore my tank top off — one of The Neighbor’s — and squeezed my breasts.  His feet were split wide like a giraffe at a river as he dipped to kiss my upturned face.

I chuckled when I found his waistband chest-level and breathed harder as I heard the metal clang as I undid his belt.  I moaned when I dipped my hand beneath his underwear and found an enormous mound of hot, rigid man.  The dude was fucking hung.

He was jittery and breathing as hard as me when I took his hand and led him into my room.  He said hi to the dog and locked him out saying not to worry about the sounds that might come from the room later.  We laughed.  On Friday over beers he’d had me in stitches.  The guy was a riot.

He stood up to his full height then and pulled off his shirt and kicked off the rest of his clothing.  He looked magnificent, mustache and all.

He grabbed me by the hair and turned my back to him and bent me over the footboard of the metal bed.  I had to stand on my toes to bend just right as he kissed my neck and began to snake his hands down to my pussy.  When he found the slit and the wetness that had gathered there he moaned something about me being a good little slut and laid his hand into my flank until it stung and buzzed with heat.  So this was how this was going to go down.

I appreciated that he had a plan — a distinct flavor — and let him play with my body, let him see what it would do for him.  When his fingers hooked into me I panted, “Harder, more, deeper, faster!” until I came and quivered with ejaculate running down my legs.

He laughed wickedly.  “Have you ever done that before?”

I nodded, already devoid of words.

He played me with his hands like a maestro for many minutes and then I played with him.

His cock was massive in girth, my long fingers only barely touched when wrapped around the shaft and I felt like every tooth I had was in the way.  I popped off of him and asked how many women in his life had had mouths big enough for him.  He smiled and said, “Only two.”  I knew I wasn’t one of them.

But what I lacked in mouth space I tried to make up in excitement and skill.  I licked and nibbled and suckled.  He moaned his pleasure and gently touched my face.  The fan moved slowly above us.

And then I was done with the fucking foreplay and needed that beer can cock inside of me.

Condom on, ankles on his shoulders, he steered himself into me and I was mesmerized by his porn ‘stache.  Soon it dripped with sweat as he pumped into me wildly with abandon.  I could only grab at his shoulders flexed with rock hard muscles for purchase, I had nothing but him to hold onto.  He liked that he said.

He bent and flexed me this way and that: feet on his chest, spooning me, me on top.  He ground my face into the mattress like an apprehended criminal.  He liked holding my hands behind my back.

“Fuck me!  Fuck me so hard, fuck my pussy!” I managed to murmur into the sheets.

He roared with passion and hooked his finger into my gaping mouth and gently pulled against my cheek while slamming his cock in me as deeply as he could.  I was a fish on his hook and could only whimper and raise my hips in response.

We stopped and I grabbed the Doxy.  His eyes lit up as we laid next to each other and this is how I came to find his soft scrotum upon my face and his horse cock down my throat.  I broke the Doxy as I pressed it against my mound, its speed waned, and then I gave it up and focused instead on the flesh on my face.

I was overwhelmed with a desire to take all of him and paralyzed with the inability.  I liked that he was both devil and angel and seemed to get off on my struggle.  We hadn’t talked about his particular brand of sexuality, but he had said he was a dirty bastard.  Dirty, indeed.  A dirty dominant, it seemed, but he was keeping it vanilla enough with just rough sex and I wanted to play along.

He coaxed and coached and I laughed and cried until I switched the Doxy back on and held it crookedly against my mound.  He swung off of me and laid down opposite me.

“I want to watch you stroke yourself,” I whispered.

His hand moved on his uncut shaft.  Beautifully pristine it moved like a wave with his hand.

I came hard and arched and bucked my hips as he watched intently.  Then we lay mostly still and traced shapes on each other’s thighs beneath the puffing of the fan.  I didn’t really know what to say.  The hunt was over.  We’d fucked each other’s brains out.  What next?

He had to go, he said, and I nodded lazily.  He pulled his pants on and did the buckle as I put on my pajama shorts.  He bent down and kissed my hip, then my belly, then my breast and landed on my neck.  My hands played on his broad back until he roughly flipped me over, skillfully put a knee on my shoulders to grind me back down into the mattress and spanked me while I writhed.

I could hear his breathing catch with each strike and I was brought back to the times in my past when a man lit into me like this.  I hoped with each blow it’d leave a mark for another man to see.

He released me and I drew up to my knees and felt his hardon.  “I wish I could fuck you again, but I really do have to go,” he murmured against my lips.

“I know,” I said kissing him back.  “I wish you could, too.”

I climbed off the bed and kissed him at the door.  He left then with a wave and I watched his back disappear around the corner.  He’d tasted like coffee again.

There are casual sex rules.

I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that there are casual sex rules.  I’ve written about how to fuck a neighbor and I’d say casual sex in general isn’t that different.  If anything, it’s easier because there’s no forced proximity and emotions might be more easily moderated.

Below are the rules that I live by.

Hy b&w in polkadot shortsRule #1: He doesn’t have to say everything right.  Just some things.

I don’t over-emphasize sapiosexual foreplay and keep in mind the connection that needs to be built is the physical one supported by the emotional.  Not vice versa.

The Little Marine wore shorts, a polo and flip flops.  Again, the bar stool beside him was reserved for me and I pulled it out and sat down gingerly next to him.  I ordered a cheap French red and he sipped on a beer.  We ordered some apps and settled in.

He was wound up and chatty and when I asked him a little bit about his history he launched into an overwhelming monotribe of a dozen siblings, some alluded racial stereotyping, and a passionate love for pitbulls.  I sat there for quite some time musing that he was handily opting himself out of any kind of long-term potential, but reminded myself that my personality and beliefs criteria were different here.

I needed him to be kind – check.  I needed him to be smart – check.  And I needed him to be hung – possibly check.  Where he fell on the political spectrum didn’t matter, how he handled his family didn’t matter, his seeming inability to ask me questions about me didn’t really matter either.  I was happy to listen.

When there was a break in his story, I shared some of mine, then injected some raunchy ones to lighten the mood.  It worked.  Then I nearly lost him.

“Do I look as fetching tonight as I did the other night?” I asked flirtatiously.

His face fell and became hard.  “You’re setting a trap for me.”

“What??” I shook my head.  “No, I’m not!”

Apparently, he didn’t like my hair pinned up into a loose bun and didn’t know how to tell me.  Forget that my breasts swung loose beneath my dress and I was wearing heels and I looked like I did on Monday when he thought I was the best thing since sliced bread.

Deftly, I navigated us away from a confrontation.  “Look, Marine,” I told him as I took his elbow and we headed back to his apartment.  “It’s not all or nothing.   You can still be honest about how you feel and complimentary.  You could say something like, ‘You look beautiful, but I like your hair down better,’ and I’d have laughed and not thought twice about it.  Put your mind in Date Mode, not Logic Mode.”

“I didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted.  “You’re right.”

Rule #2: He doesn’t have to be my physical ideal, he just has to work what he’s got.

I don’t overlook someone right under my nose because they’re not what I’m used to.

He looked good.  And compact.  He had the V from shoulder to hips that I like so much and his hair was cropped short.  If nothing were around him for scale, you’d have no idea he was only 5’6″.

Later, on his couch, I accidentally spilled red wine on him.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed.  He sat there mostly unbothered.  “You should take your shirt off,” I suggested laughing.

He laughed, too, and got up to throw his shirt in the wash.  I watched him as he peeled it off and his muscles flexed under the canned lighting.  He was a miniature Adonis.

He turned towards me and the tattoo on his pectoral curved outward with the muscle.  His abs were rock hard and long and his biceps were mountainous in a size-proportionate way.

He looked fucking edible.

I thought about all the women who pass him over because he’s short and thought what a goddamned shame that was for him.  He didn’t care, though.  He loved to crawl over any woman taller than him who was willing to let him.

Hy purseRule #3: The sex isn’t supposed to be mind-blowing.  It’s just supposed to be satisfying.

(However, in this case, it was pretty fucking great.)

Sitting shirtless on the couch now, he invited me to sit on his lap.  My panties were shoved down into my purse in anticipation of this moment.

I straddled him and we began the dance.  Nibbles and bites, moans and soft, wet tongues on warm, clean skin.

I slid down to the floor between his knees and released him from his shorts.  He was clean-shaven and bigger than average just as he’d promised.  I couldn’t call him hung, but I have been ruined by The Neighbor in that regard and I looked at him hungrily for a moment then fell on his shaft with my face.  Fuck The Neighbor and his giant, glorious, perfect cock.  I was going to show this one a great time.

I slurped and gagged and pulled on him while he shuddered and clung to his control.  I pushed him as far as he’d let me, then he pushed me off of him.  He stood and pointed at the bed and his eyes gleamed with passion.

I quivered inside and felt 9-stories tall.  I hadn’t seen a man filled with this much desire because of me in very long time.  He fucking glowed.

I pulled my dress off and laid down with him.  The paper light in the corner cast a soft glow on us as I mounted him and sunk down on him.  It felt so good to be penetrated by something other than a cold, 9″ silicone dildo.  His warm human-sized cock pressed into me until it completely disappeared inside.  I began to move.

It didn’t hurt like it did with The Neighbor and I bucked and rode him harder than I’ve ridden any other man in two years.  I came and I screamed and I clawed at his flexed chest.  He gripped my wrists and told me to go easy on him.

I leaned back and let him grind up into my neck.  I grabbed the backs of his knees to pull him in further.  He moaned, wild, and his hips slammed up into me and I came and gushed all over his waist.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he panted as he suddenly began to lift me off of him.

“All over me,” I panted back.  “My tits, my fucking face, anywhere, everywhere!”

His jizz spurted out and hit me in globs.  I rubbed it into my sweat and it kept coming.  It hit my chin.  I heard him exclaiming at the sheer volume.

I preened under the layer of cum on my body — a badge of goddamned honor — as he looked down on me, mouth hanging open and lids heavy.

We lay exhausted on the little full-sized mattress and I couldn’t think.  Or move.  Stars bloomed behind my eyelids and my limbs felt like anchors.  Minutes passed in quiet satisfaction until he bade me to get on my back. My hands were heavy with the lead mittens of orgasmic bliss, but I silently complied.

Hy with no filterRule #4: Don’t compromise on what I want.

My current dating criteria are: he must be kind (respectful), smart (quick), and hung (empirically large).   My body needs a larger man, my mind wants someone nice.

On my back I lifted my knees and he gently guided himself in.  Our eyes locked.  Neither of us could feel the other.  I was so wet, so opened, so soft and throbbing that he’d have to have been twice as big as he was for us to feel it.

“There’s no friction,” he whispered.

He pumped a few times and it made it worse.  He stopped and lay beside me and invited me into his nook.  I limply cuddled in and dozed on the post-coital clouds that still floated about me.

“I’m too wet,” I murmured.  “I came too much before we tried that.”

“Yeah,” he said and kissed my temple.  “I didn’t think of that before.”

Frankly, neither had I.

The Neighbor’s sheer size prevented him from becoming completely invisible to me, though I could lose him in the cavity of my body after too many orgasms.  He felt me more than I him and The Little Marine was about three-quarters the size of The Neighbor.  Not small, bigger than average, but not huge like The Neighbor was.  No wonder we couldn’t feel anything.

Fuck me…

Hy on her tummyRule #5: Know your limits.

This isn’t a relationship that requires traditional nurturing.  It’s an agreement between two sentient animals who have needs and who have an understanding between each other.  My limits are time and emotions.  I won’t give a whole lot of either.

We lay there for a while and he jokingly said I wasn’t allowed to leave for another 45 minutes when he’d be ready to go again.  Just then my phone alarm went off signaling it was time for me to go.

“Wait,” he said and pulled himself up and rolled me onto my stomach.

He spread the cheeks of my bottom and began to press at the pucker.  “I fucking love your ass,” he hissed and I felt his hardon on my cheek.

I raised my hips and let him play with my asshole.  He suddenly seemed to have 8 arms then and rolled on a condom, kept my cheeks spread, his finger on the star and pushed the head of his cock at my pussy hole.  It felt like a soccer-field’s worth of area being stimulated and I moaned and writhed and smeared mascara all over his white fucking sheets and didn’t give. a. fuck.

He pushed into me and we both felt it: tight, throbbing, scorching hot.  He pumped and slapped and poked my asshole slipping his finger inside every few strokes of his cock.

“Grab my balls,” he barked.  “Now!”

Mindlessly I reached through my legs and grabbed his soft, dangly balls and tugged.  He moaned and thrust harder.  I reached out a finger and pressed against his tight little asshole and he moaned louder and cheered me on.

I gripped the headboard with my other hand and yelled.  He shushed me and I told him to go fuck himself.  He laughed and kept at me until I had to pull my hand back to hold onto the earth.

I came and went limp.

He flopped back down next to me and began to jerk off as I whispered how fucking big he was and how tight his ass.  How many times I’d cum and how I wanted him to cum all over me again.

He leaped up onto his knees, hissed where did I want it, and came all over my offered breasts.

What seemed like 10 beats later I was dressed and he was escorting me to my car.  It didn’t even occur to me to kiss him goodbye; I was in a fog of sex and I wanted to be home.

I thanked him and robotically drove home thinking about The Neighbor the entire way and how beneficially medicinal casual sex can be.  My heart felt better in a way I couldn’t describe: I was bringing myself pleasure and that in itself was pleasurable.  I was answering my own question of Why Hyacinth? with positives and not negatives.

The thing about casual sex, especially when all the boxes get ticked, is that it feels like self-care, like meditation after a long day.  It recenters me and reminds me of my humanness.  Participating in this thing that practically every other person on the planet also participates in connects me to the essence of what it is to be alive and safe and healthy.  Forgiving myself for my preferences and my urges is one step, maintaining a healthy distance is another.

Next step, unrelated to the rules of casually fucking, is making sure I protect enough emotional energy for the real healing I need to happen lest I get sucked down the drain of 1000 cocks again.  At some point, none of these rules will apply and I’ll need something real.  I’ll want to be loved again and hopefully love in return.



I’m hearing new things.

Hy outside in her robe
I got bored while waiting for the dog to pee.


“Wait,” he said interrupting his own stream of thought.  “I’ve just got to tell you how goddamned gorgeous you are.”

My eyebrows went up, surprised.

“No, really,” he said sincerely.  “Your face, it’s gorgeous.  Your body… I wasn’t expecting all this.  You’re the whole package.”

He was a good looking guy and wasn’t saying it just to win me over.  I mean, of course he was, but it came from him honestly.  My hair was loose,  as were my breasts, and we sat at an outdoor tiki bar sipping on margaritas.  I wore my wedges and was a good 2 inches taller than him.  We both liked that neither of us gave a fuck.  I’m interested in what’s between his ears and his legs, not how vertical he goes.

Hy outside in her robe

Later on in a dark parking lot 2 minutes away he grabbed me from across the truck console and kissed me deeply, passionately.  He pulled my hair and paid attention to everything I did.  

I moaned a little and let my breasts slip out of my top. His hand snaked between my legs and he plunged into me until I filled his hand with my juices and came with an embarrassed smile.  The cab became perfumed with my aroma and we laughed conspiratorially.

We got out and headed to the isle that jutted into the river.  A Marine for 8 years, this guy didn’t fuck around and offered me his arm as we walked the dark trail.  My heels crunched on the gravel as his head bobbed just below eye-level.

I’ve decided to approach dating from a different angle and I am floating in peace.  I am a catch.  I am worth some effort.  Nothing less will get me in front of someone because I am the prize.  Not his cock.

This will require patience and conviction on my part.  

And the giant dildo The Neighbor gave me for Christmas in 2012.

Hy outside in her robe

Earlier, this little Marine and I had a frank conversation.  “Look,” I texted.  “I am tired of hearing how hung all you men are.  Great, that’s special and I’m hoping it’s true, but the fact is, I’m a fucking rarity, too.  I just don’t go around talking about it all the time.  I’m smart as fuck, a good kisser, soft, have big tits, I’m multi-orgasmic, I squirt, I love giving head, I’m kinky, lusty, and loving.” 

He’d been wowed my forthrightness.  

And then I followed up with the mixed signals I always send: “But I’m not looking for a hookup.  I want rapport and friendship, great conversation.” 

He made me cum again when we got back to his truck then made me promise to see him again. 

Our next date is tonight and I’ll get to see if he’s all that he says he is.  

And, lucky for me, there are others in the queue with as much eagerness as him for the new and improved Hy.   

Hy outside in her robe
I almost got caught.


I am more than my needs.

Hy in pink panties
I wish I were different…

I lost my virginity at 19 to a boy I barely knew.  He was blond and golden, had soft lips and a beard that tickled my face.  I knew him about a month before we drank smuggled wine in my bedroom and I let him go down on me.  His mouth was warm and soft and his tongue was perfect.  It was the first time I’d ever allowed a boy to do that to me.

When he climbed on top of me and tried to shove himself in me he had no idea I was a virgin.  It hurt for all of 3 seconds and was over in 4 and I laid there wondering what the fuck had just happened.  This was nothing like what I’d read about in the romance novels I devoured.

That fateful night 20 years ago marked the beginning of my lifelong pursuit of sex.  I have never stopped looking for it, needing it or wanting it.  As a young, single woman I averaged sex about once every two months.  This was pre-internet and trolling bars and parties was the quickest way to Point B.  Then the internet entered my home and it altered my universe in a molecular way.

No longer was my quest for attention and sex limited to in-person interactions, but now it was virtual and could happen round the clock.  I web-cammed with men while they jerked off in their offices, I came on screen while 4 men watched, beating themselves to climax into hands and tissues and towels.  I had phone sex with men in NY City while he lay on silk sheets and with men who lived in Salt Lake City who shyly told me their fantasies.

And then I got a smart phone.  And then divorced.

The pull for constant contact and reaffirmation was all consuming and I was sucked into a cycle of men that for a year consumed my life.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner I had men in my head, possibly my body, in my phone, my computer, my space.  They littered my emotional landscape like garbage.

The Neighbor cleared them away with his massive cock and persistent attendance, but I never resolved the crisis within me, that feeling that if I’m not hunting I am nothing.  That if I am sexless, I am losing something.

Couple that with the fact that I believe The Neighbor is out trolling for sex [with women better than me] and I am experiencing a kind of split rejection, an internal tension that has stretched me taut and spread me thin and in order to mitigate the existential pain of his rejection and subsequent satisfaction with someone else I have to find someone, the voice hisses.

The past two weeks since I’ve been home have been a maelstrom of men.   Tinder, OK Cupid, that eHarmony guy, my old lovers.  None have ended in any kind of consummation, but I’ve orgasmed a few times, squirted, have some beautiful bruises, and seen a cock or two (none of which have come even close to measuring up to what I want).

I’ve switched gears and put my efforts into Adult Friend Finder because at least there no one bitches me out for being a size queen and I figure I’m a decent human being on an adult website, so I’m sure there are male equivalents.  On Tinder I allude to gold wrappers and hope for the best.

So not only do I crave sex, but now I have the added misfortune of wanting it attached to a huge cock and a kind man who actually wants to be with me.

My struggle today, this moment, is to chill the fuck out, remind myself to remember all the kindnesses The Neighbor gave me, believe every word he ever told me, let him go, and to move on.  I won’t do anything I don’t want to do and will be patient.  My life doesn’t actually revolve around sex, despite what I might think or how it feels.

I have a child, a career, friends, my health, this blog, my writing.  What I have to offer a man is top shelf, a high commodity.  If I rush into the arms of every horny man who thinks I’m hot I’d never get a moment’s rest.  Apparently, men like me.  A lot.

What I have always done wrong when I’ve dated is I have approached it desperately, with a churning, oily need inside of me.  Almost a sickness, my need to be desired has pulsed throughout my life and it distracted me from so many things that mattered more.  I won’t do it again.

This time around I am clamoring for balance, for that belief that what I have to offer is worth some fucking effort.  I am catnip, yes, but substantial, too.  I’m a fucking person, goddamnit.

How on earth does a woman who loves sex, big cocks, kinky sex, and general debauchery obtain it when she’s sensitive, intuitive, and sweet?  When she’s horny as fuck all the goddamned time?  When she yearns for love and commitment?  I’m a walking contradiction and my own bear trap.

It may be small-minded of me, but I only wish that The Neighbor is at least half as miserable as I am.

Hy bruises
There was a fella who knew just what to do to my ass.