An anti climax.

It’s 11:30 pm and I just woke on my crouch for a second time tonight. I’m exhausted and displaced and need to lie down.

Today I rallied at a protest downtown and then I had a first date and it was weird because it wasn’t with him but he’s off somewhere far away and I’m not supposed to not date anyway so here I am dating.

I’ll fill in the links and badges and banners tomorrow morning. For now, the dog and I must transplant to the bedroom.

G’night.

Friday, June 29th, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

Feeling good and responsible because I’m ahead of the game this week and I’m writing this post Thursday night before I’ve even written my Thursday post for Every Damn Day in June.  Holla!

This week has been good and busy.  I saw Elliot for a sweet little makeout sesh Monday during our work day because he was leaving for a week with his family on Wednesday.  Whatdya know?  A man thinking ahead and being sweet!

We’ve talked on the phone a couple of times and texted tons.  My feet still haven’t touched the ground…

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:

Just your average weekday.

NOT my tits:

I love the little snippets of Sandy’s world that she lets us see.

Add your Boobday link below!


 



There will be more pics.

I used to use this blog to share my images and then Instagram entered my life.  I poured all my efforts into building a follower base and grew to 50k followers in 18 months.  Then the shadowbanning began in 2016 and I’ve struggled to grow ever since.  It’s not that fun over there anymore.

It’s bullshit and sexist and elitist and the rules change and the algorithms change and unless you’re some kind of benign nobody or a super sex-charged celebrity you have no rights.  We are the product, after all.

And so I’ve pulled away since the most recent shadowban from when I posted a text exchange with someone who wanted to buy a date with me and I cheekily said “$10,000.  Maybe and only if you’re cute and no sex.”  And then wrote commentary on the economics of sex and dating.

Clearly a joke, someone reported it anyway and it was removed and the shadowban started all over again.  I lost 250 followers within a day and a half and 2 months later I still haven’t reclaimed them.

I don’t give a fuck anymore.  I pop in, I connect a little, I leave.  I made friends I hope to know forever there, my “portfolio” will live on and I will continue to curate it to some degree, but that season has passed for me.  I need to be back here.

This month of writing here has reminded me how much I love this blog and all of you.  I can’t wait to clear out some space and comment on everyone’s incredible Sinful Sunday images, read everything that y’all have written with me in June, and even do another Share Our Shit Saturday

And I want to use it to share my “photography” – I have to use quotations because I’m hard pressed to call hand-held naked selfies “photography” – because this is where I can be wholly myself without fear of a reprimand and time out.

So if all goes according to my hopes and dreams, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me around here.  In all ways.

I was only in the sun for 3 hours and reapplied twice.

Extrovert recharge.

What I needed tonight was just what I got: two men’s full and undivided attention over cocktails, red meat and giggles.

All quite innocent except for all the sex talk.

Want to join in on writing Every Damn Day in June?:



He’s a magic man.

I’m on my balcony with my black coffee and horrible sunburn.  The dog is dozing in the warm morning breeze at my feet.  Anita O’Day is crooning on the record player.  And when I think about straddling his face Saturday night I feel a twitch and a pull deep in my center.  His tongue thrust inside of me, his arms wrapped around my thighs and my padded headboard softening the rhythmic banging of my head as I could barely keep upright.

I am convinced Elliot’s mouth is a gift from the Gods.

His lips are soft and full, his grin – which he claims to use sparingly – is broad.  His kiss is expert, next level, perfect.  A mixture of soft and firm, biting and loving.  And his tongue strokes like an Olympic crew member: swift, long and strong.  And that’s just on my mouth.

On my breasts and nipples he handily – immediately – mastered whatever magic it is that I love.  A pulling, biting, full sensation on my nipple that wraps around my flesh and burrows into my core.  Not too sharp, but undeniably there.  I have not had to beg, “Harder,” once.

With my pussy spread wide above it his gentle hunger alone made me burst.  Those warm lips and wet tongue lapping deep inside of me as I writhed and rode his beautiful scruffy face surprised me, though I’m not sure why.  He is good at this.

And then the words that come out of that perfect mouth have completely bewitched me.  Who is this married man from across town who says all the right things??

The more we talk, the more we discover what we have in common.  I didn’t know there was another person on the planet who dreams of visiting Michelin starred restaurants or whose children are as defiantly precocious and individual as ours are, both eerily similar in demeanor and language.  Yet we are so different, hopefully complimentary.

He prefers deep connections over wispy liaisons.  If I told him I only wanted to see him for sex he wouldn’t be interested, but if I said I no longer wanted to have sex he’d want to keep my friendship.  I’ve never even had the question posed to me before.  A man who wants to know me??  What sorcery is that??

His interest in everything I have to say seems vaguely familiar, like from a different time when I was a different girl.  Before I had been ground down, half-way swallowed, and spat out.  My stories don’t seem “too long” even to my own ears and he’s eager to hear more.  He’s told me more than once to be myself as I share my reticence to retell another sordid story or send him a sexy pic.

Hy: Can I show you another pic?
Elliot: If you’d like, of course
H: Now I got bashful lol
E: Hahaha, why??
H: I don’t knowww. I’m extra aware of over sexualizing our interactions and I don’t want to be annoying about my pics. That’s two separate ideas. Oh, and you told me you weren’t motivated by sex so I don’t want to turn you off either bc I’m hyper sexual-ish haha. All that equals suddenly feeling unsure about sending more pics/feeling bashful
E: Ah. Well, like I’ve said before, I like you, so be yourself, because there’s really no point in being a watered down shadow of you. If I got annoyed at your interest in sex & the way you express it, would I be someone you wanted to spend your energy on anyways?
H: Well, no, but maybe it’s a matter of patience and timing? I know I’m intense and I try to be sensitive to others’ needs to take it slow(er). Though now that I’m saying that your point still carries. Haha ok, I’m not used to being invited to be myself with someone, clearly haha Thank you for that 😚
E: 😘 You do you!

Our date on Saturday lasted nearly 12 hours and we never stopped talking except when his mouth was busy with other things.

He arrived a little past 5 and and we were together till 2.  I gave him gentle tips on how to float better in the pool and sat weightless on his lap while we kissed.  I showered quickly and got dressed  to accommodate my scorched legs: a long black sundress with unbuttoned buttons up to just below where my thighs come together.

We called a car and headed to a local burger restaurant, drank beer, split our burgers and swapped halves shared harrowing teenage stories and future dreams and decided to walk across the river to our final destination, a basement jazz bar.

There was one table in the back waiting just for us.  He drank Jameson and I a cold white wine and when he told me that I was beautiful and smart and sexy and that it rattled him, I told him how he rattled me.  His kindness, his openness, his sexiness.

It was past midnight before we even knew it and we rushed home suddenly conscious of the clock.  Back in my candle-lit bedroom he bemoaned the late hour.  “We have got to start doing this first thing.”

He picked me up and threw me back on the bed and I quickly wriggled out of my dress and panties while he ripped off his own clothes.  He crashed down on me and I hung on to him like I was climbing a tree.  His long, lean limbs endless to my reach.  His cock was large and throbbing in my hand as he brought me to climax with his.

I whispered about having a condom or not and he shook his head.  I was wondering what size I should grab him when I noticed the stiffness in my hand receding.  “Fuck,” he said.  “I’m so sorry.  I got in my head…”

“Shh, no, it’s fine.  Your penis will be with us eventually.  I don’t care.  Sex is so much more than that.”  And for the first time I actually meant it.  Sex is so much more than a cock inside of me with him.  It’s his everything.  It’s the way he makes me feel, the way he tastes, his skin beneath my fingertips.  It’s not the sum of orgasms – though he gave me many – or the pounding of a pussy, it’s the sum of the energy and ours is electric.

As if on cue his mouth, soft, warm and delicious, like a warm gooey cinnamon roll, found my pussy.  I played with his haunch by my head and fondled his balls and tugged on his hiding cock.  When I finally got to kiss him I tasted sunshine and happiness on his lips.

“God, I want to fuck you so bad,” he growled in my ear.

“I want to fuck you, too.  It’ll happen.  I’m in no hurry.”

And then I sucked his cock and coaxed the blood to fill it, my eyes locked on his up the plane of his torso.  He pulled me up off of him and kissed me again and I climbed up further and settled on his gorgeous face.  I rocked and moaned and closed my eyes.  I searched for him with my cunt and found him as open to me as I was to him.

I came and he swallowed and I marveled at his capacity to give so much, to make me feel so safe.

We lay entangled, our breath shared, and gazed into each other’s eyes.  I had no fear of what I might see there.  No fear of what he’d see in mine.

“You are so pretty,” I said.

He laughed.

“Dammit!  I was just about to say the same thing to you!”  He dipped his head to kiss me and I pulled him closer with my leg slung over his hip.  “Seriously.  You are so pretty.  It’s not fair,” he murmured against my lips.

I got lost tracing his lips with my fingers and scraping my nails gently against his whiskers.  I stared at his lips, that mouth.

“I have to go…”

“Please, just stay a little while longer.”

He relaxed into my arms and we kissed again, every inch of our bodies pressed against one another, alone together on my little island bed in the candlelight.

At 2:30 am he was gone and I texted.

“I’m laying here in the dark exhausted, sunburn screaming, dog snoozing and all I can think about is you and your magic. It’s almost as if you didn’t leave and your soft lips are still on mine and I’m still breathing your breath. You straight up voodoo 😘”

And he replied.

“Mm, your enthusiasm makes the magic happen. I made it back up north. Sweet dreams…. 😘”

Oh, that magical mouth.  Oh, that magical man.

 

 

 

 

Want to join in on writing Every Damn Day in June?:



This is gonna hurt.

I spent yesterday on the water with friends and slathered a generic brand of SPF 30 Sport sunblock on me.  Twice.

I think I may sue.

I look like a piebald.

 

 

Sinful Sunday

Want to join in on writing Every Damn Day in June?:



Sex is everywhere if you care to see.

Perhaps I’m unique, but my eye is drawn to sexual energy and potential. A stranger’s vibe can be discovered if I look closely and focus. It takes only moments to decode the hidden signals.

What would the driver’s stubbly jaw taste like on my lips? His black jean-clad thighs make me wonder about the force of his thrusts.

The older woman with an ample bosom saunters by and I wonder what beauty lies between her legs, if her gray husband beside her buries his face in the mounds of flesh on her chest and smiles.

If that teenage couple have discovered the glory of their own touch between them, the sunbeams that can blast out of their souls if only they tried.

I think about how driven we are to lay beside another. Always. Whether love is involved or not, most of us crave that inexplicable, universal thing that may only be achieved through our bodies.

We twist and touch, moan and mangle our limbs to smash so close we slide into a sea of sex.

Pure, religious, hedonistic, transgressive. It doesn’t matter. We want it. We need it.

And so I follow the lines of his bulging veins on the steering wheel, the dark smattering of hair and I imagine how his hands would feel on me – this Brazilian driver with a Swedish name – and I smile.

Sex is everywhere.

Want to join in on writing Every Damn Day in June?:



Friday, June 22nd, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

 

Sorry for the late posting!  I went out with the younger half of the gay(ish) couple last night, just the two of us.  Dinner and lots of drinks.  I felt like I was talking to my gay best friend until he held my hand and kissed me once.  Then I felt like I was kissing my gay best friend.  Chemistry is such an interesting thing.

And then I woke up thinking about Elliot and regretting the late-night spaghetti I’d scarfed.

So, here we are: midday and still working on this post.  I have cleaned the kitchen and taken some boob pics, though, so there’s that.

Also, still floaty about sweet Elliot.  Ahhhh……

Enjoy the tits, y’all.

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:

Elliot alllll over me.

NOT my tits:

We love you, Sandy!

Just found out today I’m BRCA1 positive 😞
Here’s to the Boobies!!!!

 

Add your Boobday link below!


Want to join in on writing Every Damn Day in June?:



Last night he made me dinner.

Last night Elliot darkened my doorway once again.  He ducked his head and stepped inside and I reached up and gave him a sweet kiss hello.  He held a bag of groceries in one hand while the dog’s tail banged on the paper loudly.  Finally he was here.

I had only just gotten off a work call and was frazzled.  The laundry was hidden moments before he arrived and there were still things I needed to clear away.  I busied myself while he put the perishables in the fridge and the dog continued to whack things with his tail.  I peeled off my corduroy blazer and hoped he noticed my new tan lines against the violet of my strapless dress.

I twittered and fluffed around him while he uncorked a bottle of red I’d bought.  “You seem nervous.”

“No,” I assured him, “That was just an intense meeting.”  I made sure to avoid eye contact as I said this.  I was nervous.

I was nervous because with each passing moment I like him more.  With each passing hour I see more of a human I want to know.  With each passing day I feel his spirit and humor.  With each passing everything I am crumbling into dust.

We took our wine and sat on my blue velvet couch.  My feet tucked under his thigh and his long legs folded out into whatever available space he had.  We laughed and talked about human things: our jobs our days our babies our mothers.

We remarked on the impossibility that we were sitting there so close.  He had written me despite my very clear disinterest in married men.  And I had responded because there was something there.

And then suddenly the conversation turned to his wife.  “So, just to be clear, we’re basically still waiting, right?”

“Oh,” he said smiling.  “She said ‘Yes’ about three days ago.”

I jumped and hit his arm.  “Elliot!!  Why didn’t you tell me!!”

“Well, I didn’t think it was something I should text you!” he laughed.

“Of course it is!  That way I wouldn’t be worrying about this amazing married man who I super like possibly leaving my life because I can’t handle not being with him sexually and freaking out that I’ll lose out on a friendship too!”  I stopped only to take a breath.

“Seriously!  I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

His grin ate his face and he pulled me down onto it and we breathed each other’s puffs and smiled together and I wished I’d hidden the laundry on my dresser, too.

::

We finished the white wine he’d brought while at my little dining room table.  The house smelled like brown sugared carrots and balsamic reduction with smokey salts and my heart felt like exploding.  I cleared our plates and returned to the table and got lost in his whiskey colored eyes.  I hung on every word he uttered.

“I better do the dishes,” I said and got up and headed to the sink.  I’d changed into a white t-shirt and stretchy cotton skirt, no bra, somewhere around the time he was deglazing the pork pan.  He sidled up behind me and cupped my breasts on the outside of my shirt.  I leaned into him and looked up, he bent down and caught my mouth.

He lifted me up onto the counter and our hands roamed as our lips locked.  I pecked at his neck and undid his buttons.  He pulled my shirt up and off just as I got his off of him.  I spread my knees and pulled him against my bare breasts.  His bulge above the counter top cradled in the pocket of my thighs.

So much is in a kiss.  It is care and skill, thoughtfulness and play.  A kiss is hope and it is momentum.  A kiss can start and sustain, it can also smash me to smithereens and shoot me to the stars.  I may have appeared to have been in my little kitchen with a large man between my legs, but I was actually in orbit. Did you see me last night twinkling in the night’s sky??

I lit candles in my room and he made a joke about my laundry.  I probably told him to shut up, but who really knows?

His magical mouth was on my breasts and pulling on my nipples.  His long fingers stroked and his hand slammed against me as I moaned and spilled out my weak heart onto his warm skin.

I tugged off his black American Tall underwear and filled a little more than two fists with thick hot man meat.

“Look at you!” I admired what was in my hands.  “You’re no fucking fruit fly!!”  He laughed uproariously – he’d been gleefully torturing me about “being hung like a fruit fly” for days not knowing anything about the anxiety that produced in me.

“I am quite happy with what I’ve got.”

“As well you should be!!”

I stuffed as much as I could down my throat and he moaned.

“Show off.”

We played and kissed and I came and he played with me some more.  Curled and cuddled into each other we dozed and I told him my fantasy to have a man who loved me no matter what or who I did.  Someone who was happy that I had a married boyfriend and a fuck buddy and a sub and who understood I was still his.

He squeezed me tightly and kissed my temple.  “I hope you find that, too.”

He operates under the notion that when I find someone who can give me “more” than he can that I will end our liaison.  What he doesn’t seem to believe is that he has already given me more than I’ve had in years.  Possibly ever.  I won’t be ending this any time soon.

It was getting later by the minute and I was still in orbit inside the ring of his long arms.  I rolled onto my back and his left hand hooked into me and I came crying into his mouth, his swollen, pulsing cock in my hand.  We dozed again.

When I stirred he woke, too.  “I have to go.  I’m so tired and have to be at work at 7.”  I kissed him long and slow, my fingers tracing the whiskers on his jaw.

“Wait…”

I switched on the Hitachi and pressed it against me.  His hand full of a breast and his mouth plying mine with comet tails.  I cried into his mouth as stars burst through me and I sparkled away.

I turned into him, nose to nose, and traced his lips with my fingertips.  “I am crushing so hard on you,” I leaked out.

“When will you believe that I’m not going anywhere, Hy?  I don’t let just anyone in.  I take this very seriously.”

“I’m trying, it’s just so hard.  I like you so much.”

“I like you, too.”

He made moves to leave again, but I convinced him to lay with his head on my breasts folded in my arms and we sailed through space together for a few more heartbeats before he had to get dressed.

We passed through the apartment making sure he didn’t forget anything and as he was leaving I stepped up on my kitchen stool, now slightly above his eye-level.  He wrapped his arms around me I melted against him and played with his hair.

“Saturday.”

“Yes, Saturday.”

I hopped down and walked him to the door where he bent down and kissed me again.  I floated back to bed and haven’t landed since.

An InLinkz Link-up

A dream in two paragraphs.

I lay atop dark, tangled sheets soft and exhausted, slightly glowing.  He crawled over me all bronzed skin and bright smile, hair and eyes as black as coal.  In tongue-curled English he snarled at me, “I told you: no mascara.”

He reached out with both big hands and cupped my face like a basketball.  His thumbs gently swiped from beside my nose to my cheekbones and with them all of my tear-soaked mascara.

 

An InLinkz Link-up