“It’s total perfection.”

It started out like this.

I’ve become high on love.

I dream about sharing my feelings with him and it’s a long, terrifying jump to crystal blue waters below, that feeling of my breath being stolen on the way down, the slap of wetness beneath my feet, the subsequent rush and rise to the top.

In true 7th grade fashion, I admitted to him that I like him “a whole lot.” You might be rolling your eyes at that, but it was a big deal to me.

And I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with my family on the wings of a prayer and when he said Yes I felt as though I’d won the lottery. I feel blessed, y’all.

But my lips remain sealed. I cannot say the words that boom in my heart. Those three silly little words.

I’m waiting for something. For the universe to tell me I can handle losing him. For that moment when he looks back into my tear-filled blue eyes and says, “But I don’t love you, Hy. This is just a ‘thing’ we’re doing. I’m not going to love you. You knew that.”

When I feel strong enough to weather that, my words will tumble.

But in the meantime, I float along among the clouds anchored by his mighty cock, his sweet gestures, his wise words. He roots me on every professional step I take and supports me as I navigate my tangled and painful relationship with my exhusband. He is my number one fan.

The rest of our lives is business as usual as I keep my secret. I send him a daily pic and sometimes a series if I’m feeling particularly inspired and have the freedom and privacy to do so. The weather is turning here and I recently wore jeans for the first time in months. They were a little loose, but I felt sexy and began to snap away.

Click, click, clickity-click.

I strip-teased my way down to unzipped pants and exposed breasts. He was happy to receive them.


A day or two later, I dug out my red panties with the peek-a-boo hole tied with a thick, shiny ribbon. I was curious as to what the view was like and twisted and craned my body this way and that to capture a from-behind view.

Click, click, click.

I was pleased and sent those off, too. Again, he was grateful.


Days changed into nights, cuddles turned into sweet talks, expectations morphed into reality. We tangled our parts less than our hearts. It was sweet, fairy dust; glittery longing with no release.

Finally, finally, we carved out some time to lay down inside one another. Peyton was passed out and The Neighbor was over within seconds of my “all clear” text standing in my candlelit room in black gym shorts. I wore a black spaghetti strap night dress with little sprigs of flowers dusted all over it.

We stood facing each other and he took my hand and pulled me closer, dipped his chin and captured my mouth in a long, sweet song of a kiss. I breathed him in, he inhaled me.

I ran my fingers through his hair and he clung to my bottom and pulled me towards the cradle of his hips. I felt his hardness through the thin cotton of my nightgown; my right strap slipped off my shoulder and I pulled my arm out and let my breast fall out.

We moaned into each other’s mouths and I melted into his warm skin. Every cell of my being sang of love, my pussy pulsed and my breath caught as I realized we were beginning to make love to each other.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, “We haven’t kissed like that in a long time,” he observed.

“No, we haven’t,” I agreed, though I’d argue it was closer to never.

I looked into his eyes shrouded in shadow and then his parted lips and reached forward with my own and sucked gently and slipped my soft tongue to meet his. He removed my remaining strap and I stood only in black, lace panties, then he groaned and bent to free himself from his shorts.

He pushed me down on the bed and dragged my bottom to the edge, licked his palm and rubbed it on the head of his giant erection. He positioned himself at my hole and pressed into me. Nothing happened.

Our eyes locked as we both smiled slyly knowing his first push was always the best, my favorite of favorites.

He pushed harder and I began to spread for him. I gasped a little and smiled more broadly. His mouth mirrored mine and then my eyes fluttered shut as the head entered my body completely and the rest of him eased in as if my body were a hungry constrictor.

He kissed me hungrily as his hips began to move, my body completely lubricated. “You’re not wet at all,” he joked huskily in my ear.

“Nope,” I whispered back with a chuckle, “not at all.”

He kissed my neck and my jaw and sat up and pumped into me, his hands braced on either side of me. Each punishing thrust made my breasts jiggle like bowl-shaped domes of Jell-O.

“Turn over,” he said suddenly. “Flip onto your belly.”

I did as instructed, my feet planted firmly on the ground and he slipped back into me.

“Tell me what you see,” I said thinking of my red-panty pics.

“I see my favorite thing: your beautiful body, your curves, this,” and he ran his hands from my waist to my hips. “It’s total perfection.”

photo 1

I closed my eyes and let him plow into me and light me up from the inside. My heart sparkled in time with my G-spot, our skin slapped and our moans mingled.

We moved up onto the bed completely and he pinned my knees together as he rutted on top of me, grabbed my top-knot bun and growled into my ear and struck my flanks once, twice, three times.

I lost time, wanted to be somewhere else and nowhere else. Then we were spent.

“C’mere,” I heard him as if from far away.

He pulled me into his nook and I lay there feeling more satisfied than I had in days, recalibrated. My thoughts felt like warm honey, my bones willow branches.

“Let’s go out on the balcony,” I suggested. It was in the low 60s, a rarity in September here. We dressed in white robes, him in a long Egyptian-cotton shin-length thing with my name, “Hyacinth,” embroidered on the lapel (a bridal party gift of mine from years ago) and me in a little short white one.

And there, on a balcony chair cushion beneath my knees and the breeze caressing us both, I sucked and loved on his cock, his knees splayed wide and confidently in that way that men do.

It had been weeks since I’d spent any time on him and I was ashamed. I apologized and he told me it wasn’t necessary. I answered with more sucking and smiled around his girth.

Eventually, he called me off, said he’d gotten a little too sensitive. We walked back into my room and shed our robes and laid down beside one another, the ceiling fan puffed gently on us.

The night was still young so I rolled to my side and grabbed the vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to my bare mound. TN kissed my neck and jaw, sucked on my lips and my nipple. I climbed the rise quickly and as his mouth returned to mine I began to splinter.

He caught my orgasm in his mouth as I whimpered and gasped into him.

I fell limp and he pulled me to him as he rolled onto his back. I surprised him when I grabbed his chubby cock with one hand and turned the vibrator back on while on my side.

It was a swift ride with my ear pressed to his chest as it rose and fell quickly; his cock grew in my hand as my orgasm approached, spilled out onto us and faded away.

In his arms I thanked him for saying all those nice things about me as he was fucking me. He said it was nothing, that he loved the pictures I sent him. “I think it’s especially sexy when there are things left to the imagination.”

“Really?” I said, dancing on the edge of a doze.

“Yeah, like that one in the series you sent me the other day where your pants were unzipped but your bra still on. That was damn sexy, by far my favorite of the bunch.”

I perked up a little at that, proud and pleased in equal measure.

“Well, I’m glad. I try to be sexy and not just raunchy.”

“You do a good job,” he affirmed.

I mumbled something into the warmth of his skin, wrapped in love and kisses and compliments and told him again how much I liked him. He squeezed me and said he had to go soon.

I don’t know if loving him more will make me braver or more afraid, but as I’ve been told recently I need to act like the grown up and share my feelings and I agree. Just a few more nights like this one and I might feel brave enough to try.

His favorite.

I get semi-naked three stories high.

It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon here and my apartment pool is filled with splashing and laughter.  Naturally, I had to have that as my backdrop.

(Don’t worry, no children were scarred in the making of this post.)

photo 1
Aw… it looks like A Dissolute Life Means… Obama!


Ready for a terrible, stupid joke? Q: How do you keep your girlfriend busy for hours? A: Tell her to send you a pic of her ass. However, this one only took me 30 seconds, so THERE, misogynistic assholes of the world!  Go fuck yourselves.

photo 3
TN thinks I look “extra hot” in this shirt.  I love his leftist ways.


Be sure to hop on over and see what everyone else is up to today!

Sinful Sunday

Please excuse my vanity.

I tell you all frequently that it’s “the angle” or “good lighting” when it comes to my photos and sometimes, that’s true.

And sometimes, it’s the finish on a photo that makes me feel bold enough to share with you.

Reality to fantasy.  All in a matter of moments.
They may look like 9 identical pics to you, but there is only 1 I would want you to see and it’s not the original [in the upper-left corner].
I am frequently ashamed I’m not willing to be more honest with you about my shape and I worry that I am perpetuating a stereotype when I am as real as you are.

The truth is, I feel like a lion even though I may only be a mouse, and though reality is somewhat different from what I perpetuate, I am lucky enough to see myself through others’ eyes, and I believe.

I believe they find me beautiful and — like magic — I am.

Somehow, that’s all I ever needed to do to be released from insecurity: trust.

So, please, forgive me my vanity and my altered images.  It’s how I like to picture myself.

Sinful Sunday

In lieu of words I give you sexy pics.

I am hovering above myself.

When I return, I will have words to keep me company, but until then, I am quietly and busily hustling myself.








I am dangerous.

Knock, knock.

What you can’t see is my long hair in braids and wrapped up over the crown of my head like Heidi. Yeah, I know.

The Neighbor came over to ask for an envelope. I told him it’d cost him a fondle. He grabbed my left breast in the darkened entryway.

I got him the envelope, gave him a good show as I bent over, and walked him back to the door.

He reached for that flimsy barrier between our two lives — the front door — and grabbed my breast again. I pushed him against the wall, not caring the world could see in.

“Mmm, God, that feels good. I need-” and I searched for words while my head got light.

“Tell me what you need, Hy,” he whispered against my ear as he spun me around and shut the open door, pushed me against it.

“I need your hand on my tit,” I answered.


“And your hand down my pants.” His right hand reached around and crept to my closely trimmed mound.

“Got that covered, too,” his breath was hot on my neck, his five o’clock shadow scraping behind his nipping teeth and lips.

“And your hard cock pressed into my ass.”


And then I turned around in his arms and he kissed me deeply, my heart fluttered like a caged bird.

“Ok, I gotta go. I can’t stay. Five minutes here ends up being two hours before I realize what’s happened.”

He separated from me and opened the door again.

Shamelessly I told him he should just stay anyway. “No,” he asserted, “it’s dangerous. We weren’t supposed to do what we did the other night. But I can’t seem to help myself with you. You’re dangerous.”

He smiled, took the two steps to his private universe, and went inside.

Who knew a woman in braids and underpants could be such a threat to a man’s control?

Oh, who am I kidding? I absolutely took my pajama bottoms off earlier in the night because I had a hunch he’d have an excuse to stop over for something.

Who do you think you’re dealing with here? An amateur?


Hyacinth follows through on a promise

A week or so ago I promised a little treat to celebrate reaching 100 followers. Here was the break down:

1 question:

If you could only have three movies and three books to watch and read for the rest of your life, which would they be?

Answer: Splash, Shawshank Redemption, and White Christmas; and The Idiot, The Crying of Lot 49, and The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Gah – that’s what I say right now on a pain pill at 1:30 in the morning in May of 2012. It’d be funny to see what I’d say a year from now.

And 19 ideas for pics:

ass – 3
ass + legs, not nude – 1
TN bj – 2, then 1 vote withdrawn
TN panties – 1
covered pussy – 1
hips – 2
boobs – 4
something unique to me – 1
cock between tits – 2
lingerie -1
naked outdoors -1

Is anyone else laughing like I am?? Oh man, that’s goddamned hilarious! Anyway, I’d like to thank everyone who tossed in a vote and give a big Hello and Welcome! to all the newest followers.

And since ass, legs, and hips are basically all the same that means that’s what y’all are gonna get.


I hope this was what you wanted.
Or maybe this is more what you had in mind?
No, wait. This is the one.


Hyacinth bends over.

Give it to me.

I love the freedom of not facing my partner, of being able to be as secretly expressive as I want. It releases me.

Hyacinth pulls up her skirt.

A quick pit stop in my mother’s bathroom

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon at my mother’s and a lover (I can’t even remember who) challenged me to show him my ass. I can never turn down a challenge…

Hyacinth got spanked.


I asked The Neighbor to spank me harder. He usually gets a few good swings in during a fuck, but this time we were lounging between goes and I told him to keep hitting me until he left a welt. It took about a dozen tries, but eventually, it worked. Oh, how it worked.

Then I requested an ice cube rub down to ease my flaming skin. And he cradled my ass in his arms as he slipped the ice over my redness.

I tried a spank or two on him but it hurt my hand with equal measure. I slipped a sliver of ice in his tight little anus and spanked hard. He writhed and absorbed the piece. It was fun for 30 seconds, but I’m thinking I’ll just stay the spanked and not the spanker.