Nooners are important for busy people.

I set my car in park and my heart raced.  His truck sat a few spaces away.  He had beaten me home.

I gathered my work bag bag and purse, my phone, and climbed out.  Where was he?

I wore brown boots, lacy tights, a short jersey skirt, and my trademark v-neck under a cardigan.  I imagine all I was missing was a pencil behind my ear and I could have passed for a sexy librarian.

I smiled thinking of him standing by my front door and climbed the stairs with a spring in my step.  Then I saw him, sitting on the next level of steps to the third floor.

“Well isn’t this a great thing to come home to,” I called out.

“Hey you,” he drawled.

I was at the top quickly and he followed me to the front door where I fumbled with my keys.  I was nervous and could feel him looming behind me.  We only had minutes with each other.

I opened the door and walked into the kitchen.  I had planned on leaving some condoms on the kitchen island and some by the bed, but there was no time for that.

I set my things down as he sat on the couch and I shooed away the wriggling dog between his legs.

“Hi,” I said again as I wedged myself between his open knees.  I took his face in my hands and bent down to kiss him.  He smelled like man and peppermint gum.

He grabbed my waist and without breaking our kiss stood and picked me up.  I worried my head might hit the ceiling fan.

I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist and reveled in his strength as we kissed and kissed and kissed.  His hands held my ass as my thighs held him.

He sat back down and pulled my shirt and skirt up and over my head.  I was dressed only in my tights and boots, my breasts stuffed in his mouth, the afternoon over his shoulder and a million miles away.

I climbed off and pulled him to standing.  “You’re wearing a different belt!” I said.  This one had one latch I could easily master.   I split the top of his fatigues and pushed them down to his hips.  “Wait, your boots…”  They were completely unlaced.

He smiled wickedly.  “I beat you here so had time to kill.”

He slipped out of his shoes and shed his shirt and pants, took my hand and led me to the island.  I knew exactly what he had in mind.

A couple of weeks before I’d sent him a series of photos of me bent over in my kitchen, my clothes pulled down or off.  It’d sparked a chat about the sad fact that I have only ever fucked in my bed in this apartment.  “That is a travesty,” he’d said.  “I’ll have to fix that for you.”

He pushed me roughly down on the cold counter and pulled my tights down below my bottom.  His big hand spread my lips and pet me.  Once, twice, three times.  I felt his stiff cock bob against me and wondered if he was going to push into me unprotected.  Thoughts raced.  Did I care?  Was this smart?  I hadn’t answered my own questions before he walked back to the khaki colored pile of clothes and retrieved a condom.

Seconds later he was inside, hard and hot as ever.

I pushed my purse and bag off the edge and held on as his hips slammed me against my kitchen gadget drawer.  I came and grinned and thought this was far better than eating lunch.

He wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled me up and walked me to the couch.  He struggled with my boots and gave up and settled me on my hands and knees, still boot-clad.  I felt like a mare and he was my stallion as he mounted me from behind, my hair golden reins.

He rammed into me faster and faster, a beautiful beast of man fucking his special lady friend in the bright glow of 12:23 pm.  He grunted and moans escaped as he got closer.

“Fucking do whatever you want to me,” I hissed.  “Hit me, fuck me, anything.”  He groaned loudly and shivered into me, his hands gripped my hips painfully, perfectly.

He held my ass to him for a handful of moments then carefully pulled out holding the condom to him.  I pulled my tights up and took off my boots while he washed up at the kitchen sink.

The pile of laundry I hadn’t had the chance to put away mocked me.  I plucked a plaid flannel from the top, put it on, and sat on the whole damn thing and watched The Soldier redress while a continuous string of apologies spilled out of his mouth.

“Really, it’s ok.  We’re busy people!  I’m just glad you could come.”

“Me, too.”

“One of these days we’ll have to hang out for real so we can fuck a whole lot at our leisure.”

“That’d be nice,” he replied.

He was tucked back in, his dick quiet, his face serene.

He came over and kissed me goodbye atop my pile of laundry.  He still smelled like peppermint.

Hy in flannel 2


The Soldier and I are reunited. [Final draft]

This is the final draft crafted from the rough I posted earlier.  I’m always interested in the process for other writers, so thought you guys might want to see how my brain works.

I took the rough cuts and fluffed out points I wanted to make, drew contrasts for emphasis, and tried to bring human elements to the interactions.  This isn’t an excuse, but I hammered out this “final draft” in less than an hour; I might be able to polish it even more if I gave myself more time, but I’m already late to arrive somewhere as it is. 

I think it’s enough for you all to see some of the process.  Let me know if you like this sort of thing or would want to participate in draft revision with me on the blog.  I think that could be a lot of fun!




Roughly a month after he disappeared The Soldier sent me a text.

“Sorry I was an asshole.”

That was a little before noon on a Tuesday.  By Thursday afternoon he was cumming down my throat.

Our original plan was for him to come and wake me up early Monday morning after I got back from Ann’s, a nice wake and fuck for the both of us, but at 6:59 am on Thursday morning I texted him.

“You know what I just realized?  My 1 o’clock meeting got cancelled…”

“Hmmm… what times specifically”

“I could be home by 1:30.  Gotta leave to get my baby by 2:40 haha”

“Hmmm….. I’ll see if I can get out”

And that was that.

I raced home from the office and knowing we were pressed for time I stripped down to my panties and donned a long, dark grey cardigan.  He gasped when I opened the door.  I gasped as he pressed past me clad in his dusty fatigues.

We turned to each other then and kissed like no time had passed.  Like he hadn’t hurt me, like I hadn’t struggled to make sense of the senseless.  He wrapped his arms around me and I lifted my face to his and let him melt into me and the last few weeks of silence disappeared.

“Hi,” I said into his mouth.


He smelled fruity and his short hair was crunchy like the boy’s hair I touched sophomore year of high school.

His hands slipped inside the cardigan and I moaned and arched against him and tugged his shirt out of his waistband.  He removed it altogether in one smooth pull and returned to our kiss.

I remember the first times I ever made out with a man and the revelry I experienced.  His height, his hard muscles, his foreign everything, including clothing.  It’s a point of pride that I can unbuckle a man’s pants with my eyes closed and lips locked on his, so I laughed when I had to break away to look at The Soldier’s gear.  The belt was buckled and velcroed shut.

He pushed my hands out of the way and deftly undid it.  I unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down past his hips.  My right breast fell exposed by my ministrations and he gently reached out and lifted the heavy flesh to his mouth.

The situation suddenly became real and we hadn’t left the foyer.

He sat down and struggled with the laces on his boots. The dog thought it was the perfect opportunity to get loved on and The Soldier laughed and pushed the wet nose away as he fumbled with the ties.  I stood impatiently wondering if this were even real.

When he stood me up four weeks earlier I was heartbroken.  Not in the devastated way I was left in by The Neighbor, but in a Fuck, I Missed Out On Something Great way.  Seeing him race to untie his boots at my feet was surreal.  And then he was done and lifting me up into his arms.

I sank down to his hips and gripped him with my thighs as he walked us back into my room, his mouth ground into mine and my heart slammed against my ribs.

My room was filled with light and I watched him roll a condom on and crawl up over me.  He pushed in and his diamond hard cock pricked me like a blade.  I came a little and trembled.

His mouth crushed down on mine and I held him to me; the cold chains of his dog tags pooled between my breasts as he rocked against me and I watched them swing when he pushed up to his hands and began to plow into me.  Standing, bent over, curled up like a ball.  He made up for lost time it seemed and I hung on to whatever I could grab for purchase and clenched and moaned and oozed and pooled around him.  My orgasms rolled one into the other as he took his cock out in hand and rubbed it vigorously all over my lips and slit and clit.

I gushed and spasmed as he watched me intently, his tattoos a dark and colorful pattern behind his lust.

I imagined the patron saint of soldiers at the end of his necklace smiling at us.

On my stomach, my skin pink from his touch, I thought of myself as his punching bag — his cock’s punching bag — or that my vagina had been very, very bad and needed to be told who was boss.

His hands gripped my hips and twisted the skin.  I moaned and cried and told the sheets to Cum, baby, cum!

Silently he shivered and held me to his hips and flopped down next to me.

He had to go in 15 minutes.

We talked about the last month, carefully avoiding the night he stood me up.  He’d been working every weekend in addition to his 40 hour work week and full time kid-duty.  I watched him watch the clock.

He got up to leave and stood facing the bed.  He looked resplendent, a casual machine of a man with war paint needled into his flesh.

I rolled closer and took his wet, flaccid penis in my hand.  It throbbed a little, as if to gasp for air.

“May I?” I asked looking up at him.

“Be my guest.”

“I just want to…” I trailed off, “before you leave…” I didn’t have words.

My intent was to give his cock a goodbye kiss, not to delay his departure, but delay it I did.

He grew exponentially against my tongue  and hand and I closed my eyes and let him stretch out inside my warm, wet mouth.  I felt a familiar hot curl between my legs and stopped.

“Too bad I can’t finish,” I said sincerely.

There was a long pause.

“What the hell…”

He climbed over me and laid down on the bed and I wedged myself between his thighs, took his hardon in my hand and dove down.

Little noises escaped his lips, a rare thing for him I think after years of sharing bunks in the Army and having two small children down the hall.  I increased my tempo, my suction, my grip and his thighs flexed, his hips lifted.  I switched pressures, returned to them, believed there was nothing on this planet but me and this fucking cock in my mouth.

His hands gripped my skull firmly and I gagged.  He came, buried deeply into my face.  I felt his heat hit the back of my throat and trickle down.  I choked a little and he released me moaning fully now.

I flopped next to him this time, my pillow swallowed my head as I had just swallowed him.  H)e got up and disappeared into the bathroom.  The faucet ran.

He returned glistening a little and apologized for having to run out.  It was 2:35.

As he got dressed and fought the dog off again I put on a long black tee and panties.  I didn”t want this to end, but it had to.

We kissed where it started and I pat his ass as he walked out the door.  He chuckled and waved over his shoulder, his shiny sunglasses flashed at me not unlike the ones the boys wore in 1990.

I was glad he was back.


Hy black T


The Solider and I are reunited. [Rough draft]

I love to see a writer’s behind the scenes and rarely get the pleasure, so I thought I’d pull back the curtain a little on my own process for you all to see. 

I don’t fancy myself any good at fiction, but love the craft of non-fiction, weaving in facts with artistic nuance, a little creative license.  So here is the rough draft of my reunion with The Soldier back in early November.  We saw each other over a lunch break and I knew I wouldn’t be able to write it up properly so jotted down these notes later that night. 

I don’t know if they’ll all make a final cut, we’ll see (final draft is here).  In the meantime you guys can see some of what happens for me as I weave a narrative. 

Any questions or comments?  Want help with your writing?  Just hit me up.  I’d love to help out.  My favorite part of English class was being able to give productive feedback.  Makes me feel useful.




came to the door in his fatigues

i was in undies and a long cardi

we kiss hello, he loves it

we kiss more, he removes his shirt, i undo his belt (velcro/difficult), my breast is exposed

unlace boots, kiss kiss kiss

he picks me up and carries me into my room

laugh about condoms in the drawer – he counts them – makes a joke

i run out to grab my phone

i come back in

pushes me down on the bed, bent over, plays with my pussy, rolls on a condom, pushes in

diamond fucking hard

holy shit

we fuck standing up, then he lifts me up and onto my stomach, flips me over, holds my knees up, legs up, i cum cum cum, hypnotized by his swinging patron saint of soldiers, his tattoos

flips me back to my stomach

rails into me

for ever

he cums

we only have 15 mins until he has to go

we chat about what he’s been doing the last month – working non stop, weekends, too.  he’s so pretty

he stands up to leave, he looks beautiful

i lean over and take his cock in my mouth, explain i just wanted to before he had to go.  it got immediately hard

i sucked more.  i was curled on my side.  rigid, looked up at him, said it was too bad i couldn’t finish.

he paused, says, what the hell…

he lays down and i dive down.

can feel his thighs flex and tense.  i switch up pressure and suction and then he grabs my head and pushes me down as he cums deep in my throat.  i choke a little.  he moans, makes sounds.

i flop next to him.  he asks to use the restroom and apologizes as he goes.  comes back, wiped down.  we get dressed.  i put on a long black t.  he fights off the dog to lace his boots.

we kiss.  we kiss again.  i pat his ass as he leaves.


Chemistry is non-negotiable.

Hy in a striped dress 2
Friday night stripes.

I’m 30,000 feet in the air on my way home from Ann’s and I’m fairly certain of three things: 1) vacation dick is pretty great; 2) cheese and more wine, while pleasurable, does not cure a hangover; and 3) I can’t remember a third thing because numbers 1 and 2 have pretty much taken all my brain power and life force.  I’m sure I’ll think of it at some point.  [Ed. note: It doesn’t happen.]

I could give you a blow-by-blow of my weekend with the ever gracious Ann, but if I jumped into that I’d be missing a bigger, more important theme of my time with her: chemistry — between friends and lovers — and how it’s actually non-negotiable.  You can’t turn it up or down, it just is or isn’t.

Ann and I have good chemistry as women, as friends.  Apparently, I had pretty great chemistry with the man she calls “Shenanigans.”  I also got to see first hand the effortless chemistry between her and a man she can’t explain, Tony.  And last night she invited two of her friends over for a night of drinks and chatting and those women also clicked seamlessly into the tapestry of our weekend.  Again, more good rapport.

Being so charged with chemistry this weekend has made me contemplate who and what I am as a person.  How am I perceived?  What is my impact on those around me?  Should I be more careful?  How do any of us ever find one another?

I arrived Friday afternoon still covered in the sweat and bodily fluids of The Soldier.  He’d come over Thursday when I discovered a free hour in my day.  He’d plunged into me and dripped sweat down on me as he rode us both punishingly over the edge.  We rested, talked easily, and as he was getting up to leave I put him in my mouth and let him bury himself into my skull.  When he came, I felt his semen hit the back of my throat and relished the feel of his hands on my head holding me to him.

I didn’t want to wash him off of me and so I didn’t.

Driving home to Ann’s she laid out our plans for the night: we had tickets to an art show of some kind, a little free time to grab a drink somewhere, then we were hitting a club.  Tony, her on/off again amour wanted to meet us for the drink portion.  I realized then the evening would require I wash The Soldier off of me if I were to be in polite society.

As the night wore on and the purple, pulsing lights cast eerie shadows on the club walls Shenanigans, an old lover of Ann’s, continued to text her from an earlier chat they’d had in the week.  She wasn’t the least bit interested, I imagine still on the high from holding Tony’s hand in the fancy hotel bar we’d met him in coupled with just a basic disinterest, but I insisted that he come over and hang out with us.  I had no ulterior motives other than just wanting to meet as many people in Ann’s world as possible.  And so he did.

By the time he arrived, however, Ann was worshiping the porcelain Gods.  I went to let him in and was surprised by how good-looking he was.  Tall as all fuck, scruffy looking in a boy-next-door kind of way.  I knew virtually nothing about him, despite her writing about him over the past two years; he seemed like such a peripheral character, I never bothered to give him my full attention.  Plus, shenanigans.  I don’t have to read about a fella to know if he’s earned that moniker.

He followed me up to the living room and I went to pour him some wine while Ann continued to die somewhere around the corner behind a closed door.  She soon went upstairs to rest.

We followed her and lay in her bed congenially until I playfully convinced him to take his pants off in front of us at which point his strip of Magnum condoms were revealed.  I’m fairly certain that secured the evening for me.  And for him.

I took his hand and led him out of Ann’s room, down the stairs and — he told me later — pulled out a great big cock and did what I love to do.

Sometimes I forget that this isn’t what normal people do.  

Most people don’t travel thousands of miles to visit their girlfriend and then end up sleeping with an old lover of theirs.  They don’t fuck on purple leather couches in the open.  They don’t fuck in their friend’s son’s beds.  But, I guess that’s the kind of person I am.

Shenanigans peeled off my dress and fondled my breasts.  He pulled me up to standing and reached for the condoms while I rolled down my stockings.  We kissed again and I felt his erection bob between us, its hard heat far above my bellybutton as he towered over me.  He roughly turned me around and pushed in.  I held onto the back of the couch and marveled at how we somehow fit even with more than a foot’s difference in height between us.

My breasts swung and I felt an orgasm come up and over me, juices trickled down to disappear at the bones of my ankles.  I briefly thought I was glad I wasn’t soiling Ann’s pretty rug or couch.  At least I wasn’t that impolite.

Time and space stood still.  I wasn’t far from home, I wasn’t in someone else’s living room, this wasn’t someone else’s man.  I was just this seething mass of nerves and drive desperate for release and he was the conduit.

He sat on the couch and I climbed up on his lap and sunk down.  His pale skin was illuminated against the dark purple leather, his cock buried up to my sternum.  He latched onto my breasts and squeezed them.  I faced the staircase behind him and saw Ann’s feet, then legs, then drawn, tired face.  She smiled and paused next to us.  I continued to move on Shenanigans, just a little, as she and I exchanged pleasantries the equivalent of which would be “Hey, girl.  You good?  Good.  Later.”

She padded past us to the kitchen then back up the stairs.  We didn’t see her again until morning.

Alone again we laughed at having just been interrupted and turned back into each other.  He picked me up and I kept my legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked me while standing in the middle of the living room.   An odd sight we must have been, I thought.  My long hair draped across us both and he seemed not to exert himself at all as he pumped against me.

I felt like a kid in a candy shop, frankly.  Free and wild to be me.  He came and let me loose and we wandered naked upstairs where I put my pajamas on and crawled into a little boy’s bed and pulled this giant stranger in after me.  I fell asleep instantly.

I don’t have a recent memory of waking up with a man.  I don’t do that.  I steal moments from busy, scheduled lives, or I run out as soon as we’re done.  It felt oddly normal to wake up next to Shenanigans and oddly normal still to let him push into me, his mouth on my neck and lips.  I couldn’t stifle a  laugh when guilt washed over him.  “Man… we’re in her kid’s bed,” he said.  I told him to close his eyes and not think about the stuffed animals.

My eyes were closed, too, thinking about the treat between my legs.  The great big athletic man rocking away into me as 8 am peered in at us.  He was getting close, he said and I told him to cum all over me, anywhere, everywhere.

He pulled out and laid ropes of pearly semen all over my belly and tits.  We marveled at his artwork and regretted not snapping a pic.  We were both too lazy to get our phones.  I was probably still drunk.

I laid there for a few minutes and blinked, reality slowly creeping in while Shenanigans was having reality crashing down hard on him.  I mean, the guy ostensibly came over to fuck Ann, but he ended up with me.  He didn’t know she couldn’t care less about what we’d done.  He was agitated and fidgety.  “I’m going to go talk to Ann.”  He pulled on his underwear and left the room.

I got up and did my morning ablutions then knocked on her door.  He was sitting on the edge of her bed looking uncomfortable.  I crawled in next to her and told him to relax.  “Tony’s bringing us lattes,” she said.  “One for Shenanigans, too.”

I took him downstairs to leave poor Ann alone until our coffees arrived.  He was nervous.

“Who am I?” he asked.  “How do I explain why I’m here?”

I told him Tony wouldn’t think twice about him, that he’d assume I’d pulled him in off the street and we’d fucked.  I couldn’t convince him, my words were useless, so instead I undid his pants and pulled him out.   He was hard again and I could taste me on him.  He was more fun with his lips sealed.

I licked his warm balls and tongued the smooth patch of skin behind them and dove down onto his shaft until he came with a deep, long guttural moan. He held me to him the exact same way The Soldier had 36 hours earlier.

He didn’t mention Tony again and when they met a few minutes later he fell over himself to explain that he was my friend.  Tony didn’t notice as I’d predicted.

I walked him downstairs, told him this might be goodbye forever, hugged him and shut the door.  I didn’t see him again.

Back upstairs, Tony had let himself up to Ann’s room and was laying under the covers beside her.  I sat at the foot of the bed while Ann rested her head on his chest and he pet the curls at her temple.  We joked like old friends and I surreptitiously watched them interact as I regaled them with my tall and sexy tale from the night before

After hearing from her for so long the somewhat torturous entanglement they’ve had I could see why she always wanted more from him.  He’s sweet, yet different, quirky; his words tumble out of his mouth with a child’s exuberance; he’s bold and bright.

He’s driven and can become hyper-focused; if she’s out of sight, she’s also out of mind, though not in a callous way.  He cares about her.  I imagine it’s much how a lot of men I’ve known have been: The Neighbor, The Soldier, countless others easily forgotten. The difference, though, between the forgettable ones and the memorable ones isn’t the effort they put in or the category of relationship that ensues, but the quality of the chemistry, the intensity.  Ann and Tony have great chemistry.  It’s natural.

All the talk about my raucous night was making Tony visibly antsy, so I left them to their own devices and went downstairs.  I sneaked back up to get some socks and could hear Ann’s cries and skin softly clapping.  I crept back downstairs to wait for pizza and thought about my chemistry with Shenanigans, all shenanigans aside.

We’d laughed and shared stories and talked like we weren’t total strangers, the mysterious atoms of chemistry doing their work.  His oddness was impossible to miss; I could see why she’d nicknamed him Shenanigans.

Later, the two spunky lovers and I ate lunch and cuddled on the couch.  My feet tucked under me and Ann’s on Tony’s lap as he watched soccer and explained his passionate love for it.  Soon, they disappeared back upstairs and I napped on the couch, desperately hungover now.

Time stood still again as I was once more reduced to my physical needs.  I climbed back upstairs and fell into Liam’s bed until Tony came in to say goodbye.  We hugged tightly and I went back to bed where Ann soon joined me.

“I asked Tony to share with me what’s in his heart and head.”  I only moaned and asked if we were really getting back on The Tony Ride.

Since meeting TN, I have greatly edited my expectations of what a relationship should look like.  Brief?  Long?  Committed?  I don’t know — or often care — what it looks like.  If it feels good, do it.  If it doesn’t, don’t.

By that afternoon I had hardly heard from The Soldier and even been told he would keep his last name private.  I could freak out about that, but why bother?  I’d rather enjoy what I have than lament about what I don’t have.  If I ever really need more from him, I’ll ask and make a decision from there.  I like the freedom of being able to fuck some guy while I’m on vacation with zero regrets.  I owe no one anything.

I urged her to seek the same kind of peace in order to enjoy the beautiful thing they share and wondered aloud if anyone had ever died from a hangover.

She left to go shopping for dinner and I buried myself under puffy down covers still wishing I were a more normal friend, one with a lower volume in general.  When she returned we readied a carpet picnic of cheeses, bread and crackers and first one, then another of her friends came over.  We laughed and talked well into the night.  After they left I lay moaning on the couch while Ann hammered out a quick post, overcome with giggles.  It still felt all very unreal.

This morning, I continued to struggle with my shame over my behavior.  Was I going to leave and in the quiet of her home would Ann suddenly realize I was actually a total shit?  I squirmed at the kitchen table as she continued to assure me she didn’t care and loved me all the same.  As a dissolute, wild woman hearing I am accepted just as I am is a remarkable gift.  I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.  Thank you, little atoms.  Thank you, Ann.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with all the chemically-charged characters from this long weekend of mine; it’s like we’re all a bunch of magnets.  Me and The Soldier and Shenanigans and Ann and her friends.  The Soldier and I will, for a lack of a better word, soldier on.  I’ll see him when I see him.  Shenanigans and I will likely be a fond memory to one another, perhaps occasional pen pals.  Ann’s friends I will long remember for their amazingly hilarious stories — I hope they remember me as fondly.  As for Ann and me, well, I just hope that when she visits me next I can return all the favors, vacation dick included.


Hy in a striped dress 1
This is what everyone does in a bathroom, right?

Let the beat roll through you: Cum on a leg.

Hy striptease 1
I felt like my sports bra might cut me in half, so naturally, I documented the release.

I’m alone, but I am not even remotely lonely.

Isn’t loneliness somehow born from the belief that you shouldn’t be alone?  That there is supposed to be someone with you?

I miss my child when it’s my ex’s weeks, I miss [the idea of] a great boyfriend, I miss the herd-like life of college where I never did anything solo.  I miss things, but I am not lonely.

Despite the absence of one person or another, my heart and life are full; I have mothering, my career, my art, my friends and family, my four-legged free-loading fur babies, my health.

Also, not surprisingly, my Instagram and this blog fill my life with the most amazing people, men and women who are so vibrantly drawn I shy away from even attempting to illustrate them for you.  Women whose hearts are worn on their sleeves and on their luscious, ripe bodies and men whose hope is to be seen as more than their often negatively portrayed brothers, every-day-people who — just like me — have a richly deep and sensual life they share online with one another and with a select few in real life.


I am often caught in conversations about shame and double lives, about the dichotomy of our desires and what we’re told is acceptable.  The number of people I know who “follow the rules” might be counted on a single hand.  We all make up our own rules and somehow think we’re the only ones doing it.

Maybe it’s age that has brought me to this place, maybe it’s my unique position in life in general, I’m not sure, all I know is I love it here.  I love all of you, I love being alone and free to choose whatever I like and being cut loose from pedantic convention.

While I might appear to be having a quiet night at home sharing the couch with the dog I’m also engaging with people from all over the world.  The Ladies of Instagram whom I have so quickly come to rely on and look to for comfort, laughs, and the poignant reminder that life is a mother fucking complex journey.  The young fellow from a big city whose provocative photos leave me salivating and squirming for more — and wishing the phone were a travel portal.  The man who got a special strip tease from the comfort of my kitchen.  The stupidly tall man whose complicated relationship status hasn’t stopped him — or us — from a lazy afternoon of flirting topped off by my tits covered with his hot, gloppy semen.  The Soldier…  fuck.

Hy striptease 3
Can you see the line cut in my side?

The Soldier texted me today and I nearly dropped my phone when I saw his name on my lock screen.  My coworker looked at my quizzically and I played it off like I was having a “moment.”  I haven’t heard from him since 2 pm on October 10th.

He apologized for being an asshole.

I asked him what happened.

It was a post-war “mental spasm” he said that could only be resolved via solitude, and then he’d been working nearly non-stop, but he couldn’t let me think that was the kind of man he was, a man that just disappeared like that.  And he’d missed me.

After several hours of catching up he sent me a pic of him laying in bed, his big, tattooed arms crossed in front of him, his bow lips smirking just a little.  His watch read 7:54, the exact time he sent it.  I felt like crawling through the phone and up his long, beautiful body.  So many men to crawl on through phones and not enough time [space continum]!

We reminisced a little and then he said the words I was hoping to hear, “We need to do it again.”

I only replied, “Yes.”

Hy striptease 4
Can you see it better now?

I look at all of these interactions as part of the hive, part of being human.  We need contact, right?  What is life if not experienced?  If not grasped by the horns??  And I want connections, whether they’re fleeting or real.  Of course a lasting connection is extra special, but I don’t discount the ones that are equivalent to being wrapped in a stranger’s arms on the dance floor, the pulsing lights, and deep rhythmic beats throbbing through me until our lips meet and hips lock.  I’ve cum on lots of rock hard thighs in my lifetime both in real life and online.  I dig it.  Sorry about your pussy jeans, man.

This peace of mind, this quiet, yet thrumming place, feels good.  Like a long and low orgasm of beautiful breath and freedom.  My legs are strong and pumping beneath me as I race across the meadow towards what, I don’t know, but I also don’t fucking care.  It just feels right.

I might be over the hump, y’all.  I might finally be over the cruel, hunched back of heartbreak.  Goddamn, it feels good.

And, you guys… The Soldier.  With any luck, he’s coming to wake me up Monday morning.

Hy striptease 5
Never under estimate the power of an image.  I might get fucked right here like this thanks to my little striptease documentation.

Sometimes blood is a very good thing.

My breasts ached a week ago and were tender to the touch.  They hung heavier than usual and wouldn’t stay in my bra cups.  I racked it up to hormones; I’d be starting my period any minute.  Except I didn’t.

Sunday passed, then Monday.  By Wednesday I was beginning to wonder how that conversation would go with The Soldier.

“Hi, TS.  I know you totally stood me up on Saturday, but, uh, I’m pregnant and it can only be yours.  Yeah, I know we used condoms and I’m on the pill, but what can I say?  No, no, I’m not lying.  I swear it’s true.  Of course I’ll terminate it, but I need you to help me out with the costs.”

That is if he answered his phone.   And at least I’d know whose it was this time…

That night I took a shower, absentmindedly mulling over how I might have to get my first abortion at 40 which made me sad.  I always wanted more than one baby, but there’s no way I could support it on my own and it’d basically ruin Peyton’s life, the baby who’s already here and needs me.

I lathered, rinsed, shaved, turned the faucet off and reached for my towels.  The dark blue one wrapped my hair and the white one I used on my body.  My shoulders, arms, hips, thighs, between my legs.

I froze.

There in rich, dark red was the definitive answer to my semi-worried musings: my blood.

I don’t know how many towels have been sacrificed like this one over the years and depending on where I am in life it can either be a nuisance or a relief.  This time, I don’t mind losing a towel to the miracle of menstruation.  I’d bathe in a tub of my blood if I could.  It means one less awkward conversation I have to have with a guy who isn’t ready and one less awful decision to make.

Thanks, Aunt Flo.  Nice to see you.


 Click the lips below to see more sexy images!

Sinful Sunday

There was an unexpected end.

I’ve never done a Wicked Wednesday before not because I haven’t loved the idea, but because I’m not an organized blogger.  I can barely keep it together for my own meme and I think I only participate in Sinful Sunday about once every 6 weeks or so — again, same fucking problem: disorganized — but as I saw this week’s prompt and posts roll in I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The prompt reads:

End of what? A story? A relationship? End of a project? Or maybe the end of a movie, or a song, or a holiday? Tell us about “the end” – a happy one, a sad one, a funny one. Share your “ends” for Wicked Wednesday.


My life this year as a single person has been filled with ends.  Ends of week-long courtships, of interminable dates, of a 3-year love affair, of nights with clouds of semen sprayed in the space between us like little gloppy paratroopers.

The other night was the end of The Soldier.  He stood me up and disappeared into the black void of non-communiqué.  Drunk and supremely disappointed I texted David, the fireman.

He towered in my doorway and then he towered inside of me.  He hooked his fingers into my body and made me weep around him like a faucet.  He rammed into me like he was angry at me and I hit back with all my might.  His body blocked out the candlelight and he growled in my ear, his words as punishing as his hips.  I trembled my finish and my chest heaved with sobs of release and sadness.  I didn’t want it to be this man.  It was supposed to be The Soldier.  I wasn’t prepared.

I had planned on tracing his tattoos with my fingertips, my hot, wet tongue.  I had planned on relearning my body around his.  I had planned on becoming friends.  I had planned on kicking his ass at dominoes.  However, before it even began, it ended and with a crescendo of confusion and hurt feelings.

I also ended the reel where I pretend I don’t care about being mistreated.  Late at night — lo, early in the morning — limp from [mis]use by the giant fireman I checked my phone one last time.  Still nothing.

So I guess you don’t give a shit about me.

Super glad that I arranged my entire day around meeting up with you tonight.

I don’t get it.  I thought you liked me…

(pissy emojis)

I’m actually super sad (super sad emojis)

I broke character that night in order to admit I wasn’t the sex robot I appear to be.  I’m a person who has expectations.  Low ones half the time, but expectations nonetheless.   Like showing up when you say you will or, at the very least, letting me know that something’s changed for you and it can’t happen, or never will again.  It’s all good.  I’m actually more like a robot in that way than you might imagine.  I have a program for communication and understanding; I resort to full on reactionary human, however, when I am disregarded.  I think it’s a pretty good new start to things.

I’d like to say that this is the end of all the bullshit, but I reckon it’s somewhere in the beginning to middle of a long brown streak of shit in my life until I settle down.  The threat of harm from indecent, ignorant, or otherwise incapable people is always there, but when you deliberately — and unknowingly — put yourself directly in their path, well, you know: shit happens.

Saturday night was the end of one particular story line in my life, a continuation of another I thought had ended.  As many endings as I’ve experienced the past 10 months I’m not entirely convinced they’re all true.  People reemerge, they change, they soften.  Sometimes, my resolve is weak.

I wish I could say I want the endings to stop, but that’s not true.  As tiresome and hurtful as some are, others are equally hilarious and enlightening.  Like the fella on Tinder today who unmatched me when I said that in addition to no strings sex, I’d also like to be able to enjoy a beer with my lover.  I’d say that end afforded me to dodge a bullet.  Thanks for that, Jordan, 30.  4 miles from you.

Then there are the endings at the end of a cock, the ones which keep me warm at night.  The kinds where I shiver and cum streams upon us both and he quivers with climax and holds me close.  The kinds when our hot mouths part and the heady spell dissipates into pressed, smiling lips and crinkled eyes.  And the kinds that were high, kept above the fray of tangled feelings and left alone on the perch of fond memory.  The kinds of ends that remind me of why I persist with the beginnings.


wicked wednesday

Maybe I don’t need giant dick after all.

He glowed above me, slick with sweat.  The light from the hall cast a softness along the long lines of his naked body.  His dog tags swung in my face and I took them gently between my teeth and moaned as he plunged into me ruthlessly.

It all began last week when I checked into my Adult Friend Finder email.  He’d written me the last couple of weeks of August, but I had been MIA.  Friendly and humble, his note warranted a response.

“Hey!” he wrote back.  “I was about to give up on this whole site and shut it down!  I’m so glad you wrote me!”

We emailed a few times and jumped to text to exchange face pics.  Neither one of us could believe why the other was on AFF.  His dark blond hair was cropped military short, his face dusted with golden 5 o’clock shadow.  Then he sent pics in his fatigues at work, suited up for flying.  I died.

I’m used to dating engineers and programmers, men with soft hands and clear minds, not men trained for battle with memories of lost friends.  I know soldiers and they are a sensitive lot; our politics and outlook on cultural differences often clash and so we avoid those tender topics.  I am sensitive to their situations, but they typically don’t want me to be.  Must soldier on, and all that.  How would this man and I mesh?

He flirted and teased me throughout the day and I called him on a whim after drinks with a friend.  His thick, southern accent dripped through the phone and he had me in stitches.

Quick as lightening, sharp as a tack we played off one another until I reached my next destination.  I had to go.   Later, I checked my phone and he had sent me a beautiful image of his artful body replete with erection.

He asked if he met my criteria I think not really caring about my answer.

I’d asked earlier in the day if he wore Magnums to which he’d coyly replied that he wore whatever was available.  I’ve heard that answer before and was worried, but his charm and my curiosity convinced me to brush my Size Queen snobbery to the side.

I texted back that I wished I was wrapped up around him at that very moment.  God, how I wished I was.

On my way home I snapped a pic.  My hair hung shiny and blonde around my breasts; my eyes shone blue and my smile seemed to belie something.  I called him on the way home at 1 and left a message, nervous and silly.  He would tell me later that I was cute at 1 am.  The next morning we decided to meet up during the one hour we might have available.

There’s something about chemistry that can’t be underestimated.  When it’s not there it can be devastating.  When it is there, it’s equally as devastating.  It’s the roller coaster of promise, feared loss, excitement of the blitz of energy when two souls touch when moments before they were complete strangers.  Atoms touching, magic happening.

We arrived at the coffee-house simultaneously and I waited for him to get out of his truck.  He was tall, over 6’2″ with his boots on, covered in camouflage from head to foot.  My breath caught.  Holy shit, he was hotter in real life.

He smiled and stooped to hug me and we walked comfortably side by side to a table.  The next hour flew by.  I avoided those topics I imagined we might clash over and instead focused on the things we had in common: he has two kids full-time every weekday, he works full-time, he goes to school, sometimes the military gives him weekend assignments.  The man is as busy as I am, possibly busier.

There was a strength about him, an ease that I immediately gravitated to, and as we walked back to our cars I almost took his hand.  It seemed so natural.  We talked about when we could hang out again and when I felt the time pressing on my back I said, “So, are you going to kiss me, or what?”

“When I get there, I will,” he drawled back and laughed.

He closed the small gap between us and pressed his lips to mine.  I tasted his breath and breathed against him as he pulled me closer.  I gripped his belt and opened my kiss.  It felt like I’d been there before, so familiar, yet new all at once.

The kiss lasted longer than I expected and when we broke apart we smiled like idiots.  I drove off to pick up Peyton from school with a grin plastered to my face.

Throughout the next day we texted and he sent me a picture of a helicopter in the sky carrying a military vehicle.  “Those are my feet hanging out!” the text read as I sat in my cushy office chair.  I couldn’t wait to see him later.

We met at a local dive bar at 9.  I took a Lyft and was right on time.  He was at the far end of the bar and didn’t recognize me when I first walked in, but his eyes lit up as I came to him.  He wore a dark grey shirt and jeans with a belt.  His arms, wrapped in tattoos, opened to hug me.

I stood there between his knees for the better part of an hour.  He stole kisses and left his hand on my waist.  I shook my head when he wasn’t looking trying to process our easy connection; it felt like I’d known him forever.

I challenged him to pool and got my ass kicked, though I won each time he kissed me or pulled me against him in full view of anyone caring to look.  My short skirt rode up when he held me and his eyes were hot on my cleavage when we were apart.  We moved to a booth and opened up a little more about our lives, our failed marriages and relationships, our kids, bullshit, etc. until I suggested we go back to my place “to chill some more.”  I am nothing if not suave.

At my apartment he cracked open a new beer and I poured myself some wine and we decided to play some dominoes.  The atmosphere was relaxed, but charged, and when he complained about being a little warm I told him to take off his shirt.  And so he did.

He sat on my couch, dog tags hung from his neck, shirtless with a big, black watch on his left wrist resting on his knees.  I told him to hold still and took a headless picture of him.  “Fuck, you’re hot,” I said.  “I gotta send this to my girlfriend.”  He laughed and said that was fine with him.

I lost at dominoes, too, and he asked if I wanted to save the score sheet.  I thought about the last score card I squirreled away to the box under my bed and told him I did.

And then, the games were over.

I climbed up onto his lap and we kissed, two old souls meeting once again.  His hands roamed up my shirt and found the breasts I’d freed from my bra earlier.  He directed a nipple to his mouth and I inhaled sharply as he sucked fiercely.  A delicious shot of pain went through me.  I didn’t have to ask him to suck harder.  It was just perfect.

He ripped my clothes off and I straddled him in only my black panties, I clung to his warm chest as I smashed my breasts into his face.  His lashes touched his cheeks, lost in my softness, his mouth full.

He picked me up and set me on the ground and led me around the corner to my room and roughly flung me across the bed.  I heard his belt buckle jangle and his hand searching a pocket.  The jeans fell to the floor with a rumpled thud.

He grabbed me by the backs of my knees and hauled my ass to the edge of the bed and lapped at me softly.  His hands disappeared for a moment below the edge of the bed while his mouth kissed my open pussy and when he stood up he was wearing a condom.  I told him it was an advanced and impressive move as he lifted me up and onto his jutting cock.

I had wondered if I could feel him, warned him that I got too wet and lost average sized men, that men accused me of being too intimidating, working too hard, blah blah blah.  He’d stubbornly refused to believe any of that would happen to him and he was right.

He was hard as steel as he pushed into my body and filled me to the motherfucking brim.

I blinked, confused.  He’s not a small man by any means, quite above average, but in all my experience up to that very moment he entered me, only exceptionally large men could make me shiver around them like I was at that moment.

He pumped into me less than a handful of times and I came immediately.  He growled into my ear and lifted me up and away from the edge.

We kissed, animals in the night tangled together desperate for release, and clung to one another in a complete fucking frenzy.   He bit, we laughed, I clawed, we kissed.

I cried out again and again and he moaned with pleasure as I ejaculated against our slamming bodies in as many positions as humanly imaginable.

He pulled out, grabbed his shaft and rubbed the head of his cock all over my slit and a fountain broke loose with my cries.  He growled like a beast as I writhed below him.  I began to whimper and tried to stop the sobs.  I felt shy in my abandon and my soaking wet mess.  I begged him to stop.  I begged him to fuck me.  I just begged.

Incoherently I apologized for being too wet, but miraculously I could still feel every hot, hard inch of him.  He hushed me and braced his long arms on either side of me as I gripped the foot board with one hand, hanging on for dear life, and rammed myself against him wildly desperate for more.

He glowed above me, slick with sweat.  The light from the hall cast a softness along the long lines of his naked body.  His dog tags swung in my face and I took them gently between my teeth and moaned as he plunged into me ruthlessly.

I tugged a little then released them and threaded the chains through my fingers and held them up against his collar-bone, tightened them a little and thought what a beautiful creature this man was.

His sweat dripped down onto me as I came again and cried out.  He came with a series of punishing thrusts and one long push deep inside of me and collapsed panting on top of me.

I saw stars, purple swirls, and couldn’t feel my hands.  I hauled myself up and got towels to put on top of all the wet spots.  He laid on my pillows, his arms over his head.  I crawled up to him and lay in his nook, my heart still pounding.

I traced my hand along his wet body and over the tops of his thighs.  His cock stirred and I touched it lightly.  It swelled.

I smiled against his skin and pushed myself away and straddled him briefly before sliding between his legs.  His cock was rock hard again when I kissed his upper thighs.  The scents of latex and pussy disappeared into my mouth.  I sucked and stroked and impaled my face on him refusing to gag as he went deep into my throat.

He grunted and pushed me off of him onto my back and he straddled my chest.  He grabbed my breasts and pushed them together.  I held them there as he slid in and out of my double-Ds.  I’d never been titty-fucked before.  He was surprised.  “With these gorgeous things?”  He squeezed me and his tempo increased and I lifted my head to lick the tip each time it peaked out of the tunnel of my tits.

He lifted a knee and rested a foot beside me and began to jerk off.  His hand a dark blur, his balls bounced.  I said silky, nasty things until he grabbed my head, plunged into my face and came hotly down my throat.

His cum was tart and not unpleasant, all soldier.

We laid down and wrapped our arms around each other and dozed for half an hour until the cat decided to walk all over us, particularly his flaccid, exposed member.  Fucking cat.

I got up to kick him out, but when I turned around my new friend was up and putting on his clothes.

I surprised myself and said, “You can stay.”  I had never offered that to a man, but I imagined  sex awash in the morning light and more laughing and biting and orgasms.  I wanted that very much.

“I can’t,” he said.  “I won’t be able to sleep and I feel weird with pics of your baby everywhere, like I shouldn’t be here.”  I said that was too bad, but I understood.  His sex and single-parenthood is much newer than mine.

He sat with me on the balcony as I smoked a cigarette wrapped in my robe – my attempt to prolong a magic evening with a magic man.

When I was done I sat on his lap and kissed him on his scruffy cheek. He patted my thigh and told me he had to go.  It was nearly 3 am.

We made very tentative plans to see each other the next night.

I walked him to the door and we hugged again and said goodbye.

We didn’t see each other Saturday after all despite wanting too, but hopefully it will be in the cards some time soon.

We’ve texted every day and he sends me pictures of his glorious body and of his day up in the sky and I reciprocate.  He shares kindnesses, something I’m not at all used to from a man I’ve slept with.  Saturday morning I awoke in a panic not knowing what I should say or do, but I shouldn’t have worried.  He was warm and still there.

It’s complicated from a logistical standpoint to be much more than sexual partners with him, but I’m not going to add more men to my life to fill in the gaps.  It will be just him until it isn’t.

I’m doing life differently.  Having many who care nothing about me is painful and exhausting.  I have a tendency to clamor for people’s love and attention instead of peacefully walking my path and allowing people to come to me when they want to.   It’s a new outlook on all my relationships, not just the sexual and romantic ones.  He’s the first one to get the new Hy.

Everyone, meet The Soldier.  The man who changed things as they were already changing.