I don’t know how to be happy.


I blinked in the sunlight that streamed through my windows and stretched like the cat who lay on my pillow purring like a crazed motorboat.  He’ll be here soon, I thought, and as if on cue, I heard the front door open and close and the cat tore off to greet our visitor.

“Good morning, TN!” I called.

“Good morning, Hyacinth!” he called back.

I fixed  my eyes on the doorway and let him fill my view as he sauntered in, sheet marks pressed into his skin and his eyes puffy, but his cock enormous and jutting out against his shiny black basketball shorts.

I giggled at the image of his exhaustion mingled with a giant erection.

He walked up to the side of the bed and pulled himself free of his shorts, his taut, pink skin a slightly curved appendage for my viewing pleasure.

I wrapped my hand around it.  “Mmm,” I said and stood up.  “I have to pee.  I’ll be right back!”

When I came back out he pushed me roughly down onto the bed and licked his hand.  “I doubt I needed to do this.  Hmm, let’s see.  Could Hyacinth be wet already?”

“It’s possible,” I answered looking up at him.  “You wake up with that monster between your legs everyday.  I happen to wake up wet everyday.”  He pushed at my opening and sure enough he slid right in.

We moved together in the sunlight, carefully avoiding each other’s morning breath and hugged and humped and clutched and climaxed.  He pinned my legs onto his shoulders and moved until I was begging him to stop and then with a puffy-eyed grin kept going.

We were done relatively quickly, it being the morning and all.  He gently removed himself from me and lay beside me.  “Hang on,” I said and rolled over and grabbed my phone, something I’d done alone for so long.

I began taking pictures of us freshly post-coital.  It felt intimate and odd, like a salty candy that gives you two flavors at once.

He left shortly after to go to work and I smiled, stupidly happy.

And then I realized how uncomfortable I am with happiness and how I am doing my best to destroy what little peace I’ve finally managed to accomplish with him: I suggested that he fuck other women. 

The night I came up with this grand plan I had just met his parents.  Over the course of roughly 4 and a half hours I’d had a glass of white wine while getting dressed, a glass of Prosecco before dinner, and a glass of Rosé with my scallops, but when I’d suggested it to him he seriously wondered if I were drunk.

“I trust you, TN, I really do.  And I’m proud of you and I think you’re amazing in bed.  I want you to be able to go out and have fun.”

He just looked at me, dumbfounded as I blithely continued.  “No, really.  I’m so happy with you, I want you to be happy, too.”

“Ok…” he said, incredulous.  “But why the change of heart?  You’ve never felt this way before.”

“It’s because you told me you loved me and I feel safe with you, content.  I really feel like I could handle it.”

I’d dozed off then on his warm, furry chest and forgotten all about it.  But he hadn’t.

The following day he brought it up again.  “So, what you said the other night.  Do you still mean it?  Or were you just drunk?”

It all came rushing back to me: the warm glow of acceptance, the sense of safety, this ridiculous drive to prove I were invincibly in love with him.  What.the.fuck.  But I was too embarrassed to back out.  “No, really, I do,” I replied and then began that weird dance that people in open relationships do wherein they try to think of every possible thing they can’t handle: no two dates with the same woman, no threesomes without me, no lies, everything has to be transparent to me.  Then, of course I asked if he’d care if I slept around.

He was thoughtful, then said he’d be ok with me and another couple, but not with another man.  I told him I couldn’t imagine fucking another man anyway, I already had my unicorn firmly in my grasp.  He’d smiled at that and then I felt a twinge of something, like a tiny splinter: why would he want to fuck another woman? aren’t I good enough? the best?  And that’s when I knew I was full of shit and actively trying to sabotage my own happiness.

The next night, after the sweet, yet brief morning love session, I came to him with hat in hand, sheepish and utterly embarrassed.  “You’re right, TN.  I can’t handle it.  I think I’m just really uncomfortable with how happy I am.  I mean, look, we’ve only been this kind of happy for 3 months and I’m already looking to inject it with chaos.”

He pulled me into his nook and stroked my arm.  “I thought so,” he said.  “Besides, I’m not a player.  I’m really not that interested in opening this up.”

I’m almost 40 years old and this is a humiliating moment for me.  I left a marriage that was safe, yet passionless, and embarked on a wild year or two of no safety whatsoever, but chocked full of passion.  I manage to cultivate a passionate — and safe — relationship and the first thing I try to do is dismantle it.

After everything we’ve been through — 4 am girl, my secret sex blog, his resistance, my anger — we’ve made it.  He wants me and my entire life and I am inexplicably uncomfortable with his unconditional regard despite my longing for just this very thing.  I am a stupid bastard.

So for now we have agreed to just be happy with each other and I’ve vowed to immerse myself in this new sensation called happiness.  It’s strange and terrifying, but I happen to like salty candy so I’m going to keep chewing.

My life is forever changed.


Because I made this happen.


Go here to get the app if you’re so inclined to bedazzle your sexts like me!

Friday, February 21st, is SIDEBOOB Booday!


So, we’re back to Friday already and it’s an epic day.  I never actually count the number of entries I get each week, but it feels like there are more than ever this go around.  I’m sure, in part, to the readers of JK and Sofia’s blog.

Which in some roundabout way reminded me that I’ve forgotten to choose a single participant each month to highlight like I did with G back in November (it took me 20 minutes to find that post; I couldn’t even remember what month that had been!).  I’ll be emailing one of you soon to tell us in your own words what it’s been like sharing your body with the Internet, so be ready!

Next week’s theme will be SUNSHINE, inspired by New Dawn’s submission this week and another old pic I ran across earlier in my hunt for that old post — and not to be confused with LIGHT Boobday.

And again, please feel free to email me Boobday theme ideas, just make sure to put BOOBDAY THEME in your subject line lest it gets lost.



Want to participate in Boobday?  Go here and read the Guidelines and State of the Boob Union to answer any questions, but this is the TL;DR of what I need each time:

  1. an attached pic

  2. a sentence about why you chose this particular photo

  3. if you want to be anonymous or not

  4. a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)

  5. a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me and only posted on Friday)

Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment.  I will not look up links.


I look at this image and literally can’t believe it’s me…
The scarf was caught on Faisal.

The first one is my favorite, but I couldn’t resist posting a second one.  I like it when little everyday things show up in shots, but I’ll also be the first to admit my blog is nothing if not self-indulgent.

NOT my SIDEBOOB tits (click on images for click-thrus where available):

@Hubman38 submitted this with permission from @VeronicaASM. I wonder where he was leading her…

I love the curve of her breast and how the nipple is pulled taut


@Beck42069 has a PSA for us all.
Here is my side boob boob day image. It’s a reminder to check your armpit during breast exams.
The answer is YES!

@SilverDom says, “Silverdrop looks so pretty in pink against her pale skin. Don’t you agree?”


Yes, JK, it is hard to get your own sideboob shot ;)

I chose this one because I love the way the light plays on her breast and in her hair, and I’ll always enjoy a topless woman the most in the bright sunshine.


This is ‘Tis’ first Boobday and she sorta [kinda not really] got wrangled into it I think she nailed it.

Seeing how this was my first Boobday submission, my husband and I picked the picture out together. We selected this picture because we each liked how my nipple was peaking out from underneath my tank top, it was sexy and revealing but still left something to the imagination.


@KaylaLords, I love them, too.

I love my boobs from this angle.


@PiecesofJade tantalizes from the shadows.  And, YES, it’s definitely good enough.

I don’t have a lot of boob to GET a sideboob shot with, but my partner LOVES sideboob, so I had to try to get a pic especially for him. Unfortunately, since I am traveling I didn’t have the right “prop” (he adores the “accidental” sideboob peeking out of a blouse) but I thought this might be good enough. ;-)


New Dawn was tough for us and an inspiration.
This week, I was sick and contemplated not taking part.
And then this morning I was feeling better, and played around in my bed…
@kinkybikermom gives us oodles of sideboob.


@offgothepanties put this one to a vote.

I had three to choose from and Mr. Wonderful picked this one out  of the three. It’s a fun game I like to play with him.


@thereon_cara gives a glimpse as if we were a fly on the wall.

This is pre-workout so I was pulling on my sports bra to head out for a run.

Look at @CurvyMilfy‘s bowls full of fun. I want to take a long, long nap right there.

I love the laying down sideboob look. D snapped this pic after he had pulled my bra down and gave my tits a nice rough squeeze.


I tore my dresser apart looking for something like this to wear, but I’m not nearly as stylish. Goddamnit, I want all @BisexualMinx’s lingerie!

Pure, simple, SideBoob

We masturbate with the light on.

The outfit of ill repute.

I pressed myself against his bare back and reached my arm around to find his stiff cock resting on the mattress.  We’d been cuddling for a while and our new configuration had interrupted my stroking.  I sighed into his back and kissed his shoulder, squeezed the hot thing in my hand.  He picked up his stream of consciousness and I closed my eyes with a smile as I breathed him in and indulged completely my joy of curling around him while sunk deeply into my mattress.

My hand, wrapped around his hotness, lazily moved the length of him and I felt a familiar draw between my legs.  I was surprised; I thought for sure the pounding headache I’d endured all day had surely killed any kind of libido, but no… she was purring just below the surface.  I decided to test it and thought out loud to us both.

“How long has it been since you masturbated?”

“Since Saturday or Sunday whenever I sent you that pic.”

“Mmm,” I replied remembering the glorious cock shot I’d received, all resplendent dark pink skin arched like a dolphin above the surface of his belly.  “I remember now.  Thanks for that.”  I squeezed my hand again and pulled his shoulder toward me to reposition him on his back.

“I want to watch you cum tonight,” I said softly, firmly.  The room was filled with light and an evening stillness, waiting.

He politely declined, but I persisted, perceiving the game.  “It’s so hot when your hand is a blur, to watch you tense your big thighs,” I whispered.

I traced my hand over his meaty quadricep.  “And to watch you shake a little.  To see your arm flex, your biceps harden.  Your little grunts and then you curl.”

“I curl?” he asked.

“Yes, you curl, just a little, like this at the end,” and I demonstrated the little crunch he does during climax.

He moaned a little and took over.  A slight smacking sound from the head of his cock joined the lilt of my story as his hand moved quickly and expertly over his own body.  “Mmm, how could I have forgotten about that sound?” I wondered.

“I want you to cum with me,” he said.  Then added, “Please, ma’am.”

I rolled over and retrieved the Hitachi resting on a nest of tangled cords and put the head over my polkadot shorts.  I lifted my white see-through t-shirt and lay in the bright light, his eyes locked on mine for a moment before we both shifted to each other’s bodies.

The wand seared through me as I watched the blurry arc of his hand.  Words tumbled out of me as quickly as my orgasm tumbled toward its cliff of release.  “I love your cock,” I gasped, “It’s so fucking big.  Look at you: so beautiful, so sexy.”

His body was doing all the things I’d already described.  His legs were rigid slabs of muscle, his chest was taut with exertion, his breath coming fast and in little jerks.

“I can’t believe you put that giant thing in me,” I managed to say and then my orgasm pushed through me like a wave crashing on the beach.  It came so swiftly the second I was done I wanted more.  He was still beating himself with a steady, sexy rhythm.

“You’re going again, right?” he asked, hopeful.

“Definitely,” I confirmed.  “Talking — hearing my own voice say those things — made me cum faster,” I said a little incredulously.  “But it’s hard.  I’m so shy.”  He said he felt the same way when he tried to talk and I felt less silly.

I put the Hitachi back on me and kept talking.  Again, it pounded through me in seconds and I arched and moaned and called out.  He closed his eyes and moved to his own music, his own needs.  His hand moved impossibly fast and his breathing shortened.  I pressed my hand gently on his thigh, close to the magic and waited.

And then he curled a little and spurts of his seed came spilling out to rest on the brambles of his hairy abdomen.  He giggled a little and relaxed.  “See?” I said kissing his shoulder.  “You curled!”  He giggled again and sighed, wiped the cum off his belly with his bare hand.

I took it and licked some off and smacked my lips, rolled back onto my back and quickly had a third orgasm with the taste of his cum on my lips and his mouth latched onto my breast.

“Let’s talk about our feelings,” he joked.  I snuggled down into my nook and kissed his chest.  His arm squeezed me to him and he nuzzled me for a kiss on the lips.

“Ok,” I said.  “I love you.”  He smiled and I got lost in his icy blue eyes, the whiskers he was growing back for me.

“I love you, too,” he replied and I quietly wrapped myself in the evening’s joy as I looked out into the quiet stillness of my brightly lit room, his chest a pillow beneath my smiling cheek.

What he saw.

Friday, January 31st, is LIGHT Boobday!


Another week, another set of incredible tits.  I can’t believe how much pleasure I get out of hosting this meme.  I have three wishes, though: that we had more 1)  women of color (though we have more than usual this week!), 2)  transwomen, and 3) smaller-breasts participating.  But perhaps with time and word of mouth it’ll become more inclusive, more representative of what’s out there.

So, if you know anyone who might fit any of those three wishes, please pass this on to her!

This week’s theme was LIGHT in honor of my lightened heart.  I took a series in the window nook of my room and couldn’t decide between about 10.  Should it be black and white? color?  I sent them off for feedback to three friends and all of them picked the same image, though one, Hubman, chose it in black and white while N. Likes and Noodle both picked it in color.  So… I guess I gotta show both, right?  You tell me which you prefer!

Next week’s theme is LOOSE.  Have fun!  And keep those creative, gorgeous pics coming!



Want to participate in Boobday?  Go here and read the Guidelines and State of the Boob Union to answer any questions, but this is the TL;DR of what I need each time:

  1. an attached pic

  2. a sentence about why you chose this particular photo

  3. if you want to be anonymous or not

  4. a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)

  5. a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me)

Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment.  I will not look up links.


My LIGHT tits:

Hubman’s fav.


Noodle’s and N’s pick.

NOT my LIGHT tits (click on pics for click thrus):

Cara teases us by her window.  Imagine if you were outside.  Follow her at @Thereon_Cara.


Sassycat gives us a bird’s eye view. Follow her at @SassyCat38.

I chose this photo because it spoke to me, reminded me of the retro 70’s look. I also thought it was different from the other photos that I normally submit. Trying to be a bit more creative when it comes to photos.


Kayla basks in the light. Follow her at @KaylaLords.

One sentence: A rare opportunity to be alone and naked, I took advantage of the natural light.

I love Beck’s offering this week. The dark is as important as the light. Follow her at @Beck42069.


Hennaed has valleys and swells for days.

I love the juxtaposition between the cold of winter outside, and the warmth of the sun on my skin.


Boobday 31 Jan 14 Heavy Tits
Silverdrop shares her gorgeous titties with a different take on LIGHT. Follow her at @silverdropUK.

My boobs go up and down, according to my cycle. Right now they are up. Way up! I almost feel like I need to hold them for support.


New Dawn and her brilliant interpretation of LIGHT.
This week, I felt like a tease. ..
I love how, playing with the light, I could change the shape and size of my boob :-)
Bisexual Minx stretches like a cat in a sunbeam. Follow her at @BisexualMinx.

I can only think of one word to describe this pic… AFTERGLOW… my husband took it of me as I was “catching my breath”

Friday, December 6th, is FLAME Boobday!


Some of you took this week’s theme quite literally!  I applaud your bravery and your artistry!  I hope no one got burned.

And sorry it’s taken so long to get today’s post up.  I typically post between midnight and 9am, but look, it’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m just starting.  Please forgive me.

Also: mulled wine helps mend broken hearts.  Did you know that?

In honor of it being Friday the 13th plus the holiday season next Friday, next week’s theme is RED.  If you need ideas, email me and I’ll give you my list of thoughts.



Want to participate in Boobday?  Go here and read the Guidelines and State of the Boob Union to answer any questions, but this is the TL;DR of what I need each time:

  1. an attached pic

  2. a sentence about why you chose this particular photo

  3. if you want to be anonymous or not

  4. a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)

  5. a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me)

Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment.  I will not look up links.

My FLAME tits:

TN had just left after a long, intense evening of talking, sharing, and making the sexy time.

NOT my FLAME tits:

Warm, like caramel.  Follow her at @KaylaLords.

Candle light makes everything better.


Follow her at @BisexualMinx,

My husband ignites the flames of passion within me every day and makes me feel HOT like I never thought possible… even when he’s not lighting my tits on fire… !!!


Anonymous Bookworm couldn’t choose between these two, asked for my help, but eventually chose #2.  Personally, #1 is my fav because I can see the curve of her waist.



This is “Dawn” and her flames.

Christmas is all around us already, and these sparklers bring back memories of Christmas Past… with an adult twist :-)   [Also] I just wanted to add that I like the warm colours on my skin, and the projected shadow of my boob on my arm.


From a series Scarlet did back in July, but it fits perfectly for today’s theme.


Silverdrop’s skin makes me want to weep with envy.

The flames in this picture are artificial. The boobs are not – they’re all mine (SilverDom checked, multiple times).


I love how you can see Anisa’s fingertips.

I love candlelight. I got the chance to have a night at a place on the beach this week to get some much delayed quiet work done, and as I worked I decided the laptop and a candle were sufficient. And then I realized I should definitely be working topless.


Beck got her titties in under the wire (and above the flame) this week. Twitter: beck42069


Photo credits go to both G (@CurvyMilfy) and her hubby, she says.

I chose this particular photo because I love the way the light is reaching toward my nipples.  I’m finding my way through the dark, holding on and taking each step carefully.  This single candle lights my way and I just have to trust I will follow in the right direction. This candle burns only for me.


Friday, October 4th, is Boobday!


Ah, October, I’m so glad you’re here.  My half of the world is cooling off and anticipation is growing.  Hallow’s Eve, Thanksgiving, the Holidays.

Fall has also always brought me love, something significant.  Every man I’ve ever loved came to me in the fall of some year.  Maybe the Universe likes me in sweaters.  I dunno.

And like many of you hating on September (Fay and Caitlyn to name two), I’ve hated most of the goddamned summer.  July was brutal.  I’d never much cared for it before this year, but now it’s a black mark on the year likely for the rest of my life.

But it’s October now and I can let go of my anger.  It feels cleansing, almost, this change in spirit.  Things dying to make way for a stillness and then a rebirth.

Sometimes, I really like how time keeps things moving.



Want to participate in Boobday? Read the guidelines and send me a pic. I don’t censor the images, so there’s no “making the cut.” That would completely defeat the purpose of Boobday. I want to provide a space for women (cis and trans, bi, straight, gay, skinny to fat) to expose themselves and feel proud of what their mamas gave them.

If you don’t include your Twitter handle, your post URL, and whether or not you want to be anonymous, I’m not going to do any investigating, but also won’t assume anything, so be sure to have all the info every single time! If it’s not in your email, it won’t be in the post.  No blog post required if you just want to post on mine.

Also, only post your Boobday pic on Fridays and always include the Boobday button in the post and a link back to me.

My tits:

That’s the Breaking Bad finale on there. Fucking amazing, right??

NOT my tits:

Ms. Ginger having a “tequila sunrise” as she called it with her man.
G’s jugs. Click on the pic for more of her. She’s always so generous with us! @CurvyMilfy
Cara mentioned just the other day that she’s tall (5’9″). This pic gives us a phenomenal appreciation of her height. @Thereon_Cara
Silverdrop is pink and pert. @SilverdropUK
This image came to me with no note and no name and with a secret email address I don’t recognize. This makes me happy.
Beck’s delicious tit behind mesh and link. I need to get me one of those things! @Beck42069
Kayla has a wardrobe malfunction and we get to see her berries. @kaylalords

I survived a small town and lived to tell about it.

If it weren’t for The Neighbor and his shenanigans a year and a half ago I never would have met Marian Green (or Noodle, as I like to call her). It was the night that TN brought home a date when he had told me he couldn’t come over because he had to work late. It was an awful, awful night, really, and I reached out to the faceless, voiceless internet friends I call my Internet Boyfriend for help.

LSAM (or now Caitlyn) and Noodle both rushed in via email, saying sweet and soothing things that friends say.

I paced around my apartment chain-smoking and checking my email when I read this note from Noodle:

So apparently I’m way more empathetic that I ever imagined because I’m giving you my number. Don’t feel obligated to use it. But if words on a screen aren’t enough and you need an actual ear… here ya go. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

It took a little while before I decided to take her up on it — I’d never broken the wall of anonymity via a phone call before — but when I did I was immediately pulled into a warm embrace of a friend.  And that was it: we were fast friends.

Since then she’s come to Hyville to visit twice (read about it here and here) and I’ve seen her in a restaurant in the big city near Noodleland once, but I’d never been to her sleepy little town before last weekend and it was, well, pretty fucking fabulous in an am-I-in-a-different-universe?? sorta way.

The short version is this: Noodle was right.  The men in her town are vastly more “friendly” than the ones in mine.

The long version of the story goes like this:

My drive to her house was almost double what it should have been and my ass ached and my back throbbed as I pulled up to her pretty brick house. I parked, giddy with excitement, yet irritable, and let myself in knowing she had just gotten out of the shower.

She rushed to meet me wrapped in a fuzzy white robe and I bent down to hug her. All my irritation and agony evaporated as we held each other at arm’s length beaming big smiles then pulled each other close again.  I loved seeing her again.

Her hair was long, wet, and curly and she smelled warm and clean as she showed me around her abode and headed back to her bathroom to finish getting ready.

“I thought we’d grill first and chill here, let you rest, then we can go to the bar I always write about.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said as she peeled off her robe and let her giant breasts spill out. I smiled to myself thinking how many of you would pay good money to see what I was seeing.

photo 1(1)

She finished getting dressed and we popped open a bottle of champagne. We used her grandmother’s glasses — I suspect because I always do with her when she’s with me — and toasted to our visit and the adventures we might have.

The night fell gently upon her sleepy little town and we drove along endless ribbons of country road to get to the nearest grocery store where the bagger insisted on helping us with our things to Noodle’s convertible. In my city, the baggers stare with dead eyes as they fill your bags, bored and painfully cool.

Back at her house we grilled shrimp and I managed not to fuck up a box of Zatarain rice. I sat at her dining room table in the middle of her beautiful, grown-up home, thinking I was living in the pages of a book. Here I was hundreds of miles away from home in Noodle’s house. Contemporary, a little country-living. Where my home is bohemian and eclectic, hers is luxurious and warm.

We finished dinner and freshened up for drinks. She pinned up my hair and made it extra fluffy because, I guess, country men like big hair and Noodle was out to prove to me that men in her town were far more friendly than those in mine. I warned her not to get her hopes up, that “Men seriously don’t talk to me. Ever,” but she snorted and told me we’d see who was right.

I was in a black, V-neck dress and wedge sandals (what I wore on the ride to her house) and Noodle donned a black V-neck T-shirt and skinny jeans. We were casual, relaxed, two old friends with a shared secret: we blog about sex and no one else knows.  Totally normal.

“You ready, Hy?” she asked as we jumped into her car.

“As I’ll ever be!” I answered and lit up a cigarette.

The Bar, as I’ll call it, was in a little strip mall. Cars with big wheels and jacked-up trucks littered the parking lot. The big door guy carded us and I wondered if his ass ever got sore just sitting there for hours.

We picked a spot as far away from the karaoke stage as possible and ordered our drinks. A whiskey and diet for Noodle and a white wine for me. The bartender wasn’t even sure if they had any wine, but she returned with what was probably weeks-old Chardonnay. I didn’t care.

I scanned the room and there was a tall, Latin-looking fellow a few bar stools down from me. He tried to make eye contact, but I wasn’t interested. I turned to Noodle instead and we chatted away as she periodically checked her phone. “Lover is going to come,” she said suddenly.

“Lover, Lover?? The one you’ve written about??” I exclaimed.

“Yes! God,” she laughed, “I haven’t seen him in forever! Well, this’ll be fun, won’t it!”

    My glass of wine that seconded as a giant spotlight.
My glass of wine that seconded as a giant spotlight.

A baseball game flickered on a TV over the bar and a talented black man killed it on stage song after song as our conversation flowed and our laughter came easily. Finally Lover showed up.

An average sized man with a bushy beard, a flashing smile and a baseball cap, he hugged Noodle hello, sizing her up with appreciative eyes. He nodded me a hello of my own and I saw immediately how he wiggled his way into Noodle’s pants. He looked like a good time on two legs.

The three of us got on like gangbusters until I noticed Noodle motioning to someone to join us. I turned to my right and the Latin-looking fellow had sidled up to me. “Hi,” he said grinning down at me and presumably at my cleavage, too. “I’m Tony.”

I said hello and resigned myself to Noodle winning our argument that men would talk to me if I weren’t in my shitty big city.  Too bad Tony was a douchebag.

He had a big smile, but no charm. He couldn’t understand why I didn’t like his scary skull tattoo with the American flag bandana. “But it has a flag!” he pouted.

I told him scary shit didn’t impress me. Lover intervened and decided to share his tattoo with us then: a simple outline of a state with the head of a Mallard duck in the middle. It was atrocious.

We laughed our asses off at his pained expression. “Hey! I was doing an ex-girlfriend a favor!” he protested laughing, feigning hurt feelings.

“Was she drunk??” I asked choking on giggles.

“Well, sorta. She was all doped up on meth,” he answered with a lopsided grin.

We all burst into laughter and Tony thought this was his moment and closed in for body contact. I moved away subtly, not interested, but he followed. I pushed him back. “What? No love for me?” he asked.

“Nope, not tonight,” was all I said.  I thought of The Neighbor and how true it was.

Tony was undeterred, however.  He tried again later after Lover lifted one of Noodle’s heavy breasts and said something about loving big tits. She laughed and swatted his hand away. So Tony reached around and also lifted one of hers, then lifted mine, but I remained motionless. His hand dropped and smile faded from his face as I looked at him implacably. That hadn’t just happened.

The four of us stayed there on our little corner of the bar for another drink and I got teased some more for my wine. It seemed no one could believe it: a woman drinks wine in a bar! I laughed at how much I stuck out without even trying.

Though I was having fun with my Noodle and her Lover boy, Tony continued to bend my ear and wedge his way into our conversation. I was getting tired of him, like a day-old rash.

Then, while outside talking with more friendly strangers, Tony pissed me off with some misogynistic, racist, foul-mouthed bullshit. I blithely got up and walked away from him saying, “That’s it. I’m fucking done.” I heard a woman at our table say, “You go, sister!”

Back safe and sound with Noodle and Lover I told them what had happened with Tony.  It was then this small-town bar transformed into a fighting ring.  The giant, $10 and hour bouncer dashed to a mass of people throwing punches.  Women screamed, men roared, the music stopped, blood spilled.  It was pretty much the perfect fucking country bar experience, in this city girl’s opinion. It was goddamned amazing.

However, Noodle and I decided to hightail it out of there anyway.

She was mortified, I was fascinated.  [Later, we’d find out that her favorite little bar had earned a new, more sinister reputation since she’d been there last nearly a year ago.]

Our night was off to an auspicious start!

As the police and EMS vehicles sped to a stop with lights flashing in the parking lot Noodle, Lover and I made plans for our next stop. “Let’s go to the Country Bar,” suggested Noodle, her curls twitching in the evening breeze. Lover and his big beard agreed to meet us there and we hopped back into the convertible.

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It’s dark out there.

The yellow center lines the only trail to follow, we swept through the darkened countryside in her speedy car recapping our exciting night thus far: Tony the disgusting, grabby fellow, Lover and his ridiculous tattoo, the bar fight.

“I totally feel like I’m on Mars right now or something!” I shouted into the wind.

“I told you the men here were more friendly! I told you you’d get hit on!” she shouted back triumphantly. “It’s kinda cool, right?”

I smiled.  It kinda was.  Douchebag or not, it’d been a long time since a man had paid me any kind of attention like that.

We pulled into a tree-covered gravel parking lot not long after. The bar looked like it’d been plucked from the bayou with grey, worn planks and sagging eaves. As the crunch of gravel under the tires ceased and she cut the engine we heard a woman’s voice shouting, “Fuck you fucking shit bag! Get your fucking ass over here NOW or I’ll come fucking kick your goddamned teeth in!” or some such nonsense.

Noodle and I froze and looked at each other, then looked back out into the darkness to find the source of the vitriol. We couldn’t see the woman, but knew she was near the entrance. “What do we do??” I asked. “This is fucking nuts! She seems freakin’ homicidal!”

“I know!” answered Noodle, “She does! I dunno! Maybe we should wait a minute.”

We sat there giggling nervously as this woman spewed drunken hate like vomit.  The crickets never had a chance.

Finally we decided we’d just have to rush past her as she yelled incoherently about “some blonde bitch.”

We kept our eyes to the ground as we, two of the blondest of the blondes, sneaked out of the car and hustled past the raging, volcanic woman. I walked in first, out of breath and laughing, Noodle followed behind.  We’d made it!

A quick scan of the place and I found the bar ahead of me a couple of steps up, adjacent to a little dance floor where a couple or two were dancing to some country song.  They looked a little bored.

As I got about two feet to the bar a tall, older gentleman walked up to me and without a word picked up my hands and twirled me off to the dance floor. My purse hung heavily on my shoulder as I looked up at his grizzly face, his eyes were closed and a little smile sat on his mouth.

I could hear Noodle laughing at me as I danced with this new Martian.

I let him take me for a couple of passes then begged off, asked for another glass of wine from yet another bartender who wasn’t sure if they had any and then spied two chairs side-by-side next to some pool tables.

“Let’s go sit there,” I suggested, “and we can watch some pool.”

We made our way through the plumes of smoke and sat down and approximately 1.5 seconds later, 4 men were standing over us asking us our names and, naturally, making fun of my wine: Austin, Rick, Shawn, and Some Dude.

Shawn decided I was his immediately and was forceful and sloppy; he wore a paunch under his unbuttoned plaid shirt. Rick was quiet, big and brawny, with the looks of an MMA fighter. Austin was baby-faced and all over Noodle from Hello.  Some Dude was just some dude.

My head spun as a deluge of compliments spilled over us and I barely had a moment to look at Noodle I was so busy bantering and deflecting, blinking curiously at this strange event. I’ve never not flirted so much in my life.

Another glass of wine was placed in my hand by someone and I felt small with my back against the wall surrounded by giant oak men. Noodle parried like a pro to my left and I tried to emulate her casualness, her quick-wittedness.

At midnight the music switched off and Lover, who’d made a short appearance, disappeared into the night. “Where do you ladies want to go next?” asked the oak men.

Noodle and I looked at each other as if to say, “The night is still young!” The locals picked the Third Bar and we headed back out to the car. Volcano Lady was gone, passed out somewhere in a ditch, I presumed, angrily twitching in her sleep.

Shawn groped me stupidly now that we were outside and I calmly removed his hand from my person. My ire rose as I envisioned a gang-rape beneath the pecan trees.  “Well, officer, her tits were hanging out and she was drinkin’ wine!” they’d say.

He tried to ride with us, but I told him No and reached for Rick, who felt safe, instead. Shawn moaned his dismay and Austin grabbed him and directed him to an SUV parked next to us.

Rick sat without complaint in the tiny backseat, his 6’4″ heft wedged in like a clown, his knees splayed wide to make room. We zoomed down more slips of country road and pulled into our last stop for the night. Here, the other oak men met us upon arrival like a hungry pack of wolves and the bartender unapologetically had no wine for me this time. I ordered a vodka soda and looked out over the crowds.

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Disco ball.

The dance floor lit up like a rave and country music pumped out of the mouths of a band, smoke hung like a blanket over us all. It was definitely Mars.

Before we sat down, Rick pressed his body against mine and fondled my bottom. “Mmm,” he said into my ear. “Are you wearing any panties??”

I moved away from his hand, not at all wanting it on me and said pertly, “Yes! Of course I am!” and walked away to the nearest table. I played it off as coy, but that’s the game: hide your anger, be nice, give a second chance. You don’t want to make a scene, after all.

Shawn snagged a chair to my left, Noodle to my right, and Rick floated around while Austin looked at home to Noodle’s right. We talked and I watched the country folks do their country things. Partners twirled on the dance floor with the occasional bump and grind and people hugged and laughed all around us.

Next to me, Shawn crept closer. His questions became more probing, strange. All of his attention was laser-beamed onto me, like a drunken homing device. I began to feel closed in.

Abruptly, I stood up and told Noodle I was going to the restroom. She said she’d come with me.

Alone and away from the horny oak men I told her Shawn was getting dangerously close to over the line with me. She said she could tell and we planned for the two of us to switch places to put some distance between me and Shawn, but I forgot the second I walked back out into the flashing lights and loud music. Country Bar Amnesia, you could call it.

Back within arm’s reach of Shawn he turned up the volume on what I can only assume he thought was wooing. He begged and pleaded with me to dance with him to which I resolutely refused. He asked me endless questions to which I wouldn’t answer. And he kept trying to hold my hand. Then Rick sat between us and I felt better… for about 10 seconds.

How’s that saying go? Out of the fire and into the frying pan?

I felt Rick’s heavy hand on my thigh slide up to my crotch. I sat motionless, not acknowledging the grope. A new man claiming me for his own in front of his drunken friend who’d also “claimed” me. What the ever-loving fuck? In these situations, I’ve learned to play possum. It’s also part of the game.

When I didn’t respond to Rick’s advance, he got up and went somewhere else.

I nervously chewed on my little finger then, not sure what to do with myself. “Don’t you bite your nails!” Shawn suddenly yelled at me.

“What??” I asked, confused.

“I said, ‘Don’t you bite your nails!'” and he tried to swipe my hand away from my mouth.

And that was it for me.

I stood up and grabbed my purse off the back of my chair, leaned down and told Noodle I was done and would wait for her at the car. I wasn’t thinking that she’d follow me, though, of course she would, I just couldn’t breathe under the weight of the attention.

I felt like a piece of meat on a slab in front of a crew of starving men. Nothing I said or did seemed to matter to them, just the fact I was a woman was enough and it overwhelmed me. It scared me.  Yes, me, the sex pot who writes about all her conquests got creeped out.  It happens.

Noodle met me at the car and this time I apologized to her for running off like that. She assured me it was ok.

Back in the car headed home I couldn’t help but laugh. It was incredible, the amount of attention I’d gotten. Noodle wasn’t joking when she said the men in her town were friendly! But me?? Little old me?? I’m used to feeling like nothing special in my big city; being invisible and ignored are what I know.

“I promised you quantity, not quality!” she laughed riotously.

“Well, that much is true!” I laughed back shaking my head. “Jesus fucking Christ… that was intense!”

We walked tiredly into her kitchen and she grabbed another bottle of wine and whipped up a cheese plate.  We sunk gratefully into the soft cushions of her couch. Her phone buzzed and she said Austin was down to meet up with her soon. “Good for you!” I said sipping some fresh and delicious red wine.

Then my phone chimed. “Who’s this??” I asked Noodle when I saw her area code.

“Oh, Rick wanted your number. I hope you don’t mind!” she giggled mischievously.

I read his message, something to the extent of “Sorry for my drunk and stupid friend.” I didn’t bother to text him back. He might as well have been talking about himself. He just wasn’t as scary or weird.

In the morning I awoke with a giant, ratted bouffant in a beautiful guest room. I was happy and tired, having slept later than I had in years thanks to the black sheers in my room.

I headed to the kitchen where fresh coffee and pastries awaited me and Noodle swayed around her kitchen in a light green cotton nightgown. “Morning!” she said to me smiling. “Let’s go out on the porch.”

I followed her outside and sat on a large, soft wicker couch; a quiet field stretched out to a two-lane road and round bales of hay rested patiently in the green grass. I thought of The Neighbor then. “My dad used to tell me those bales of hay were Shredded Wheat for buffalo,” he’d told me once while driving to a softball game.

I smiled, missing him a little and sipped on my coffee beside my friend Noodle who was also looking out at the pasture behind her little house, her coffee cup cradled in her lap. What a different world just a few hours away, I thought.

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Pic #1: is this me or Noodle?
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Pic #2: Hy or Noodle?

We dressed for the day and sped through what I’d call back roads, but are really the main threads of a country web. We got manis and pedis from small, black-haired women who clipped, rubbed, and painted us within an inch of our lives. We drank rosé and closed our eyes and giggled at the decadence. And then we topped it off with brunch at a little farm-to-table place with jars of orange marmalade on the table.

It was easy to be with Noodle, my sweet friend with a secret like me.

On our way back home the sky crowded together in dark, angry clouds and we raced its release home. We parked and quickly ran inside just as the sky opened up and rained down on the warm, sleepy little town. Trees and bushes thrashed, the ground drank and drank.

We made another cup of coffee and sat on her couch, prepared to wait out the storm inside, but I had to leave soon. It’d been a magical 24 hours with my Noodle, but I had a birthday party to attend for a bestie back in Hyville. Life is filled with stolen moments with secret blogging friends, no?

When it was time to go we hugged and promised to make another visit happen soon. She wanted me to come back with TN next time. I told her I’d do what I could, but not to hold her breath.

The skies were taking a breather when I jumped back into my car and pointed its nose towards home. I waved goodbye to Noodle as I pulled out and drove off. Later, a rainbow arced in the east.

I drove through the rain for hours and finally got home. I texted TN I’d made it back and as I wearily climbed the last few steps to my front door he came out of his apartment holding two glasses of wine.

He turned and smiled at me, shirtless and handsome, a twinkle in his eye.

In minutes I was on my back, screaming his name, his giant cock buried deep in my cunt and all the country boys washed away like the endless rain drops I’d driven through to get here.

I was happy to be home.

“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.

Friday, July 26th, is Boobday!


I had a long conversation the other day with a young woman.  She’s barely in her 20s and the epitome of nubile.  And she hates her breasts.  Of course.

In her estimation, her 32DDs don’t look like they did when she was younger.  Her heartbreak was evident as she knew she was staring down the path of continued aging and her wish to look 19 forever would become more or less a joke.  I didn’t laugh at her.  I could feel her pain.

I felt my self-imposed gag order more than ever in that moment.  I wanted to show her there was a classy, respectful, cheeky place on the internet that showcases breasts of all kinds — and every week, no less!  But I was mute.  I cannot reveal my secret sex blog, even for the benefit of one affected girl.

She will have to come to the conclusion that her body is sacred, perfect in its own ways, without the small benefit of Boobday and its loyal followers and participants.  Hopefully, with age, she will come to see that our reverence of the preternatural 19 year old “look” is truly a farce and that men of all ages and around the world love us in all our stages of life.

Here’s to that girl.  I’m glad I’m no longer her.



My tits:

My heart really always will be in SF.

NOT my tits:

Dear Ella got shut down by WP this week. She wants me to tell you it’ll take a while before she can get back up. And, yes, the usual “pornographic content” was their reason. If this is porn, then we’re all in trouble.
G’s out gallivanting around on vacation, but she took this one last week for us. She called it “weird,” but I think it’s exceptional.
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cAt and her sexy self.
Beck and her lollipop. And cleavage.
Scarlett and her scarlet nails.