A Question to Other Bloggers

A few days ago, one of my favorite bloggers posted a new story called, “The Lake.”

I enjoyed completely as a story and as an erotic piece. I popped a woody while reading it and passed it along to a couple of friends.

To cut down on my “Internet Time” at work, I frequently copy the story, article, or text from the web-page and put it in MS Word so I can shut down my browser. When I pasted the text of her story into Word, it found several spelling errors. NOT A BIG DEAL.

However, since I was then horny and bored, I started fixing the typos. That lead to me rereading the story and then I kicked in to editor mode. I do a lot of editing in my work, though my own posts are screened too carefully, it is almost an instinct when I read other people’s work. And it only kicks in when I really like their work. If it’s crap I don’t consider it worth the effort, but Girl Next Door is fun to read and worth the work.

So, I got out my digital red pencil and started cutting, fixing, and re-arranging. Nothing spectacular, nothing to change the mood or tone of the story, just little suggestions that I thought might help.

Then I e-mailed it to her. I’m not even really sure who she is. She has two beautiful pictures posted on her blog but little else to give herself away.

BUT, that’s not the point.

Here is my question – How would you feel if a stranger edited your blog posting and sent it back to you?

I edited her story and offered it back to her because I am a big fan of her writing and I want her to look good. Is that an awful thing to do?

I’m not going to show you my version because it is her story. I don’t want anyone to give her a hard time, If you have something to say, please comment on this blog and not on hers.

A really long post about weight loss

Leesa posted an interesting perspective on weight loss and I wrote a response, but it got me thinking

I have resisted talking about eating, exercise, and my weight loss goals on this site, trying not to bore the 10-15 readers I get each week, but I thought I’d share a few thoughts on my frustrations with losing weight. None of my struggles are unique, and I’m just venting more than anything else.

I dropped 25+ pounds with Weight Watchers 3 years ago and have, as of last week, put them all back on. Just shoot me.

My lowest weight was 196, for a total loss of 32 pounds. At 196, my friends were telling me that I was starting to look “too thin’ and I wasn’t able to sleep on my stomach because my ribs were sticking out and I had no padding on my chest. Moreover, I was starting to move from a 36 waist to a 34, and I didn’t have the money to buy super skinny jeans.

So, I settled on 200 as my optimal weight, got a great round of applause from my Weight Watcher’s group, and immediately quit attending. I stayed within the 198-202 range for several months. I would weigh in once a month to maintain my “Lifetime” status that entitled me to attend WW for free. But, the WW group that used to meet at my building disbanded, and even though there was a new group right across the street, I never made it over there.

So, as inevitably as Californians crash in the rain, and the ugly girl decides to “spend the night,” I started gaining the weight back.

At 205 I panicked a bit but claimed I was putting on more muscle in the gym

At 210, I said that I was still in my same skinny jeans and that my arms and chest were getting bigger.

At 215 I had started to worry, but couldn’t find the motivation to stay “on program” for more than a few days at a time. I’d fluctuate between 205 and 215 for the next couple of years.

My friends and a couple of acquaintances at the gym asked me how I could weigh so much while working out every day. I’ll tell you, I love to eat.

I do, I love to eat. Eating is fun, eating is emotionally satisfying; it fills boring moments at work, and is social and interesting. Eating can cheer you up, mellow you out, mask the pain, substitute for sex, enhance sex, get you ready for sex, ease the frustration over not getting sex, and is frequently better than sex.

I also love to cook. I like making big meals with lots of friends, or big meals for just myself. I like having appetizers, an entrée, a salad, and desert. Oh my, desert.

I love ice cream and I love cookies. I love to eat ice cream while folding laundry and I have to do a lot of laundry. A few years ago, I was eating ice cream and folding laundry with my wife when one of us asked, “Why can’t we lose weight?” We both looked down at our ice cream bowls, laughed, and kept on eating.

We knew then, as we know now, what we have to do to lose weight and to get in to shape. It’s just that it’s hard, it takes a long time, and it’s no fun.

Today at lunch, I was looking for something ‘healthy” to eat. I didn’t want another Subway sandwich, In-N-Out burgers are delicious, but fattening, Taco Bell is completely off the charts, the bigger restaurants in the area, Chili’s, CPK, Corner Bakery, etc, give you enormous portions, and all of my favorite teriyaki places give you tons of very yummy rice. I walked around for 30 minutes trying to think of something that I actually wanted to eat that wouldn’t force me in to skipping dinner, and wouldn’t make me feel stupid for wiping out my 1-hour morning workout.

I finally ended up in El Pollo Loco for a small salad, a single chicken leg, and a small chicken taco, total price, $3.17. And I’m still hungry.

And herein lays the problem with losing weight. It is not really the hunger, because your body really does adjust to fewer calories, but the constant thinking about food. I know that to lose weight I have to cut my total calorie intake, I get it, but having to think and plan and count and track gets old, and most of us quit, so we don’t lose they weight.

I started planning today’s eating last night. “If I go to the gym in the morning, and eat only fruit for breakfast, I can have a decent lunch and a salad for dinner, or I could eat a power bar for lunch and have a big dinner. If I have a good morning I can maybe, maybe, get a burger for lunch, but I can’t add cheese so that’s no good, and if I go for Chinese it’s too much rice, and Mexican tortillas are a sure diet killer, and even a salad at BJ’s is gigantic and I can’t stand their low-fat dressing, and yes, I’d love a Chipotle burrito but have you seen the size of the tortilla and I’m sure the cheese and sour cream alone would put me over the limit and don’t even get me started on the avocado.”

And yes, that was all one sentence because it was all one thought. As you try to lose weight, even when it is going well, you are constantly thinking about food, your points, your gym schedule, and how much water you need to drink to was it all down.

I don’t like thinking about food so much, I don’t like feeling guilty because I love McDonalds’ French fries, or Johnny Rocket’s milkshakes (chocolate peanut butter), or a fried chicken salad from Chili’s.

It takes a lot of mental energy to lose weight. When I’m bored I have to find something to do other than getting a snack, when I’m mad, or bored, or lonely, or horny, I have to find something better to do than eat or masturbate (don’t act shocked, it’s usually one or the other) When the party is a buffet, or everyone is knocking back onion rings and appetizers, when the steaks come in “Big”, “Bigger” and “Just cut the head off the cow” and the side potato is bigger than your fist, it’s hard to eat small.

The candy machine calls your name louder than before, and more frequently, and you have to say NO. The $1 burger at the Burger King between you and your bus stop is shouting for you. The ice cream is right next to the frozen peas and there’s always laundry to fold, and you can only eat so much low-fat popcorn, and the peanut butter is taunting you from behind the cupboard door, and that pack of M&Ms you bought for the kid’s school cupcakes can always be replaced.

Your head is filled with, and mired in, a constant dialogue about food. And it never stops. God’s cruel joke is that we have to eat; it’s not as if we can stop cold turkey. I just can’t say, “Today I won’t eat.” It’s not like smoking; eating’s not just another bad habit that can be stopped. We have to eat, we get hungry four hours later, our emotions mess with us and our bodies betray us.

We are screwed. Unless, unless we realize that it’s nice to walk up stairs without getting tired, it’s good so see your fee while standing, it’s not to crush your lover during sex; it’s nice to have your feet feel good and your back feel better.

It is good to be healthy, to be trim, to be lean, it is good to lose weight and be healthy and to be active and to be full of energy, it’s just hard, and it takes a long time, and it’s easy to loose sight of all the good things when the burgers are on the grill, the fries are hot, and the milkshakes are cold.

My goal is to lose 10 pounds by May 13th, 20 by the end of June.

Starting Weight 228

Current Weight: 223

May 13 Goal: 218

July 1 Goal 208

I’m off to buy a new vibrator for my wife. Our favorite is a large re-chargeable unit, an old competitor to the Hitachi Wand, but the battery doesn’t hold a charge and so we have to plug it in each time. We haven’t found one to replace it, but to make things worse, her Doc Johnson Rabbit died. That’s just a crime.

She doesn’t use it as much as the big vibe, but when she’s in the mood she really, really likes it. The “shaft” part works still, but the clit stimulator died, and without that, it’s just a big purple dildo. And with me around, she already has that.

My favorite thing about this vibe, and the mood it puts her in, is that she will go down on me while I do her with the vibe, kind of a safe, but kinky double-penetration. It's very, very erotic and the visual is amazing. I stand on the floor next to the bed, she takes me in her mouth as her head hangs over the bed, and then she, or I, works her vibrator on her open legs. It makes us both cum hard and fast. I think she feels naughty, and I love watching her thrusting with the big purple toy.

Love it, love it, love it.

Right this very minute

A few numbers to consider

According to the US Census Bureau, there are about 6,663,211,245 people alive today.

4,738,834,548 of us are between the ages of 10 and 60 and are between puberty and menopause.

3,159,223,032 of are awake (2/3) at any given moment. That’s a generous 8 hours of sleep a night.

Approximately 86% of people masturbate (95% men, 77% women)

If it takes 15 minutes to masturbate, and we do it once a day,

then,

by my calculations, there are 28,301,373 people masturbating RIGHT NOW.

Think about it for a minute

It means that 13,925,100 women have their legs spread, their panties off, and their fingers and toys busy right now.

It means that 14,376,273 men have an erection (including me) at this very moment. They are hard and ready to pop.

It means that in the one minute that it took you to read this posting, 1,886,758 people have had an orgasm.

928,340 women arched their back, bit their lips, and felt the warm melt of their body flow over their hands. Almost a million clits are throbbing, right now, with the tingly aftershocks of self-induced climax.

958,418 guys have felt the satisfying jolt of ejaculation and are stroking their cocks in the delicious after glow.

1,886,758 hearts are racing
1,886,758 minds are spinning
And
1,886,758 smiles are spreading around the world.

Right this very minute.

An amazing new actress - Carrie Reichenbach

I'm a huge fan of the show, "Two and a Half Men"

If you haven't seen it lately, check out this clip. It guest stars Carrie Reichenbach, an amazingly beautiful actress.

"No Looty, No Booty"

To set up the clip, Alan, John Crier's character, has hired a prostitute for the night....

CBS has more...

I just think she is so amazingly beautiful.

And here she is on IMDB

A long goodbye

I had an idea for a goodbye scene, one sad and rated PG, on longer, hotter, and definitely NC17
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She walked in to my office and closed the door. Without saying a word, she locked the door behind her, took three long strides and crossed to the windows of the small space. Still silent, she pulled the curtains closed, plunging the room in to semi-darkness, shielding us from the eyes of the conventioneers mulling about on the adjacent hotel’s patio just outside the glass. It appeared as if they were eating shrimp.

She put her hands on my face, pulled my lips to hers, and kissed me tenderly. This was a shock since we had fought bitterly just two nights before about my transfer and my lack of enthusiasm for staying. I took a deep breath between kisses and tried to speak but she silenced me with another kiss, followed by another, and another, and another.

Her kisses were gentle and soft, long and languorous. Her hands caressed the back of my scalp and her long fingernails left loving red marks. I tried to pull her closer, to feel her warm curves, and smell her subtle hair, but she kept her hands around my neck and her elbows pressed firmly to her ribcage, preventing me from moving in closer.

She pulled back and I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Giant tears that welled up deep in the corners of her lustrous green eyes and flowed down her face of their own accord. Her chest started to heave and her sobbing filled the room. Her hands clasped behind my neck and she pulled our foreheads together, as if trying to meld us in to one. Her lips quivered as she tried not to cry aloud, as she tried not to speak, to betray the intensity of the moments with words that would inevitably fail to convey.

She let her hands slip off my neck and around my shoulders. She pulled me down into a long and loving hug. The fragrance of her hair, the feel of her skin, the warmth of her neck overwhelmed my senses and I lost myself in the exquisite joy of holding her in my arms. I felt a tear drop lightly on my neck as she broke our embrace and backed away from me.

She smiled weakly and wiped the tears from her cheeks with trembling hands, and on equally trembling legs, she walked out the door, closing it behind her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Version 2

She walked in to my office and closed the door. Without saying a word, she locked the door behind her, tossed her small clutch purse on to my empty desk, and, in three long strides, crossed to the windows of my small office. Still silent, she pulled the curtains closed, plunging the room in to semi-darkness, shielding us from the eyes of the conventioneers mulling about on the adjacent hotel’s patio just outside the glass.

“It appears as if they were eating shrimp.” She said.

She put her hands on my face, pulled my lips to hers, and kissed me tenderly. This was a shock since we had fought bitterly just two nights before about my transfer and my lack of enthusiasm at staying with her. She turned our bodies until she was leaning against the narrow strip of vacant wall between the two windows.

I tried to take a deep breath between kisses and speak but she silenced me with another kiss, followed by another, and another, and another.

Her kisses started gentle and soft, long and languorous. Her hands caressed the back of my scalp and her long fingernails left loving red scratches. I tried to pull her closer, to feel her warm curves, and smell her subtle hair, but she kept her hands around my neck and her elbows pressed firmly to her ribcage, preventing me from moving in closer.

She pushed me back and I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Giant tears that welled up deep in the corners, caught and refracted the thin streams of light from the patio, and flowed down her face of their own accord. Her chest started to heave, her sobbing subsided, and another sound filled the room. Her hands clasped behind my neck and she pulled our foreheads together, as if trying to meld us in to one. Her lips quivered as she tried not to cry out, she tried not to speak, but stopped, afraid to betray the intensity of the moments with words.

She let her hands slip off my neck and around my shoulders. She pulled me down and kissed me deeply. Her mouth opened and our tongues met, and her hands began to move across my chest. The fragrance of her hair, the feel of her skin, the warmth of her neck overwhelmed my senses and I lost myself in the exquisite anticipation. I felt a tear drop lightly on my cheek as she broke our embrace and she quickly leaned in an enveloped it with a kiss.

She smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks with trembling hands, and on equally trembling legs, she took my hands and pushed me backwards into my high-backed ergo-chair.

“If I remember right,” she said, toying with the armrests, “these come out.” With a quick flick of a lever on each side, she disengaged the optional arms rests and tossed them against the wall. She pushed on my chest and I rolled back against the window, pressing the curtain slats against the wall and allowing more light in to the room, and in the process, knocking my head against the tempered glass.

She laughed as I rubbed the back of my head. “Serves you right.”

She stood in front of me, the light from the window highlighted the swell of her breasts under her thin white blouse and allowed me to see the outline of her white bra and the radiant golden brown of her skin.

“You like staring at my tits?” she sneered, “That will get you fired you know.” I started to giggle, but forced myself to stop after I saw the look on her face.

She took a step closer. Her spike-heeled shoes made her taller and more intimidating than in real life. She stood at my feet, her leg’s planted wide, and let me stare at her.

“Get a good look transfer, you are going to miss it.”

With that she reached down to the hem of her short skirt and pulled it up, bunching it around her waist and revealing herself to me. She was wearing the blue satin thong she had bought with my latest gift certificate and the fabric was already wet.

“Been thinking about me long?” I asked with a grin. The sting of her slap brought tears to my eyes and I rubbed my cheek to calm the pain.

“You’re just lucky I’m even here, traitor.” She snapped back, a little louder than I expected, and with a little more anger and sadness than she intended to reveal.

She straddled my hips and pressed her body against mine. She immediately felt my hardness and ground into me as hard as she could, inflicting more than a little bit of pain, and laughing at my expression. “Am I being too hard on you?” She cooed, “Do you want me to be soft” she lessened the pressure, “and gentle?” With that she lift her body almost completely off mine, and I look down to see her rubbing herself lightly against the soft fabric of my merino wool slacks. She closed her eyes and teased me by pleasuring herself with my pants, but denying me the same touch.

Still in a state of bliss, her right hand comes down her chest, caressing herself as she goes, and ends up between her spread thighs, cupping the wet satin in her hands.

“Is this what you are going to miss?” She said breathlessly, as her fingers begin to rub her lips through the fabric. “Are you going to miss watching me? watching me touch? watching me cum? Hmm? Will you miss this?” As the words escaped her lips with a hiss she arched her back and pressed her fingers deep into the folds of the soft material, circling her clit, rubbing, pressing, against her skin. Her left arm grabbed the back of my neck and her weight dropped on to my hips and she began thrusting her body against my wool imprisoned cock, extending and intensifying her climax. I watched her face contort with pleasure and pure release as the waves of arousal spread through her.

She forced herself to stand up and back away from me. Her hands quickly pulled her panties to the ground and she spread her feet further to allow herself better access to her own body. “On the desk” I said, and she backed up and sat on the polished mahogany surface. Her silk skirt came off easily as I undid the button on her hip, and it dropped silently to the floor at my feet.

My right hand cupped her left breast and I gave it an eager and firm squeeze as I pushed her backwards on to the desk. She knew what was coming and grinned. She laid back on the desk and unbuttoned her blouse and quickly unlatched the clasp of her bra to expose herself to me. “Don’t say it.” She whispered, anticipating my next words, “I know what you want.”

Her fingers began to circle and play with her engorged nipples. The deep pink skin puckered and grew under her tender caresses and she groaned as she pulled them to their full size.

“I could cum from just this,” she whispered.

“You have my permission.” I replied.

“Then do your part.” She replied.

I reached down and unzipped my pants as she continued to pleasure herself with her fingers. Sometimes gentle, sometimes rough, she caressed and played with her breasts as I stood between her legs. I took one ankle in each hand and spread her body wide. Her wetness was visible and I could see it seeping across the pale skin and into the crevice below her pussy.

“Wider” she begged.

I opened her more and lifted her hips off the desk. Her hands never stopped moving across her chest, wandering up and down, over her stomach, around her neck, and up through her long beautiful hair.

“Open me.” she groaned. I could tell that her orgasm was close and I pulled her legs open wider, straining and stretching the long muscles of her inner thigh, pulling her vaginal lips open to my gaze.

My pull was steady and gentle, her years as an athlete had left her limber so I didn’t fear hurting her. Her hand darted towards her clit, she hungered for just one touch that would send her over the edge.

“Don’t cheat.” I said, and her hands returned to her skin.

“Then finish me.” she groaned, and I smiled.

With her legs spread open, the bright pink folds of her body shimmered with moisture and caught the late afternoon light from the hotel courtyard. I stared down at her open body, so completely open, exposed, and wet.

“Do you want to cum Jennifer?”

“Yes please”

With that I leaned in ever so slightly and pressed my cock against the deliciously wet folds of her skin. I began to rub up and down, not penetrating, not entering, just rubbing slowly up and down her open lips.

“Cum for me.”

And she obeyed. Her eyes closed and body exploded into orgasm. Her back arched and she fought against my hands, still restraining her legs, holding her open and exposed. Her hips twitched and bucked themselves off the table and I saw her pussy lips quiver and they glistened with her juices as her orgasm forced itself upon her. For a solid two minutes she quivered and bucked against me. Her hands continued to tug and twist the flesh of her nipples, until slowly the crashing pleasure washed itself away and her hands began to sooth, and calm her jumpy skin.

“Are you ready?” she asked sincerely.

“Only if you are done.” I replied.

“I’m ready, and done.” She smiled at me and pulled her knees up to her chest, exposing herself, if possible, to me even more.

I stood and rubbed the tip of my cock up and down her open pussy. The moisture of her climax coated me quickly, and the warmth soothed me while engorging me further.

Knowing that she was waiting for me, I gently pressed my hardness deep into her and then pulled out.

“Are you OK?” I asked, always seeking permission to move forward, thought it was never denied. She silently grinned at me and pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

I placed the now shiny tip of my erection against the tightly puckered entrance to her ass. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out slowly as I pressed my weight, by body, my cock into her deepest recess.

My orgasm exploded immediately and hers was just seconds behind. I pressed in deeper, not moving except to feel my cum pulse through my body and into hers. Her muscles spasmed and clutched my body, milking it for all I had. Again and again I felt my body empty in to hers as I listened to her climax again, and again.

I released her ankles and rested against the backs of her legs without coming out. She opened her legs a little and I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and lifted her into my arms, still impaled on my erection, still connected. I sat back on my chair and felt her weight settle around me. This was my favorite moment of post-orgasmic bliss, still hard, still deep, her body wrapped around mine, connected, loved, together.

After several minutes of quite she stood up and felt me slide out of her. “I hate that feeling” she sighed, and reached for her panties, and skirt, and dressed herself.

“Well,” she asked, pulling me into her arms for a final kiss, “What this an acceptable goodbye?”

“It was more than I had hoped for” I mumbled between our still touching lips.

Our last hug was long and quite, with the unavoidable knowledge that it was our last for a very long time.

“Where will you be next week?” she said, stifling a small cry in her voice.

“All my stuff should be delivered and unpacked, by Tuesday.”
“I’ll miss you, miss this, miss everything.”

“Don’t talk about it, you know we’ve gone over this before. I have to go.”
“I know, I just don’t want you to.”

“I have to, besides, it’s just on the 17^th floor, and by Wednesday I’ll have my new couch and I’ll invite you up to break it in.”

She smiled, “Promise?”

“Promise”

“All right then, have a nice weekend….”