Nude Scarlett Johansson!!!!!!!!! (not really)

My friend and I were wondering what it took to generate more hits on a blogger site. I was contending that the text itself generated hits while he thought that key words and labels were more important. So, we decided to put in one post to see if it made a difference. The text below is mostly nonsense, but we did agree that we had to write something besides "Nude Heidi Montag" a hundred times. I could have written Nude Scarlett Johansson, or Nude Jessica Alba, but I didn't, I wrote a little nonsense story.

So, please feel free to stop reading right now, it's really not worth your time to continue, in fact, I'm ordering you to stop. Please.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time, there was a president named Barack Hussein Obama, who is
interested in promoting health care reform among the blue dog Democrats, liberal Republicans, and the left wing conspiracy. His wife Michelle Obama, who advocated for curing cancer, reducing teen pregnancy, and giving tips on, “How to grow a garden”, was always at his side.

One day they decided to throw a party, they invited all of their favorite celebrities who like to be naked, in fact, the theme was Beautiful Naked Celebrities, an idea that even James Carville and Karl Rove agreed upon.

“Heck,” Carville said, “who doesn’t like Beautiful Naked Celebrities”?

“I sure do,” said Rove, “as long as they vote Republican and learn to be a maverick like Sara Palin.”

“No fight there,” said James, “but blue state liberal girls are more likely to ask for anal sex.”

Rove laughed right out loud, almost waking up a drunk President Bush, “Anal sex, Oral Sex, Anal, Oral, Anal, Oral,” it all sounds goods to me.

Pres. Obama said, “That’s enough talk about beautiful women having anal and oral sex. I just like the idea of having beautiful naked celebrities all over the White House lawn. It makes me feel like I am at the Playboy mansion, with Playboy bunnies, almost like I am Hugh Hefner. We will have to invite some of my favorite stars, such as Pamela Anderson, Kiera Knightly, Heidi Klume, Katy Perry, Jessica Biel, Beyonce Knowles, Jennifer Aniston, Jessica Simpson, Gisele Bundchen, Miley Cyrus, Megan Fox, Angelina Jolie, Ashley Tisdale, Reese Witherspoon, Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Kim Kardashian, and Reggie Bush.”

“Don’t forget the hot guys,” Michelle Obama said, “Tom Brady, Brad Pitt, Michael Jackson, if he’s come back from the dead yet, Vin Diesel, Lance Armstrong, Ashton Kutcher, and of course, Al Gore.”

We will get all sorts of musicians to play, like Linkin Park, Snoop Dog, Third Eye Blind, and even Madonna. We can put the Republican National Committee in charge of “Rock Band - The Beatles” so they feel important too.

Then Laura Bush chimed in, “We can’t forget our more conservative friends. We’ll have a room set up for YouTube videos. We will show cats playing with string, cats playing with light, cat’s playing with babies.” She squealed and continued, “We’ll have cute baby videos, NBA, NFL, and NHL highlight clips, just like they have on Sports Center on ESPN and ESPN.com.”

At the sound of Laura’s voice, an inebriated George lifted his head, “YouTube? Fuck YouTube,” he sounded angry, “I searched YouTube for 8 years and clicked on a million ‘Hot Naked Lesbian’ videos and never saw a nipple.”

His head hit the table as he passed out. Laura spoke up, “Personally, I like Redtube.com.”

With George Bush passed out on the White House table, Michelle Obama slid in behind Laura and slowly lifted her skirt. “Maybe,” she whispered, “we can be the first beautiful naked celebrities….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
See, I told you to stop, but you didn't, and now dont you feel silly for wasting so much time from your valuable life?

Elly Wanted Romance

Several of my blogger friends are unhappy at home, but two especially this have been on my mind this week.

So this cartoon is for them, and they know who they are.

I love you both, and want you to know I am glad that you are my friends.

If the picture is too small, click on it for a larger version.

So long to some favorites

Time is short, and getting shorter. My work life has kicked in to high gear and I'm running out of time to read, write, cyber, think, talk, skype, work, and go to the gym. I can only do so much.

Today I shortened my blog roll a bit and decided to finally cut out some blogs that died this year.

Three of my favorites were:

• The Girl with the Pink Tea Cup
• Eyes Wide Shut
• Good In Bed.

All three dead. I cut out others that no longer caught my attention. I've seen my follower count go up and down, and wonder if they got bored or offended. Hopefully it's the latter, and not the former. This has been a slow week for my circle of bloggers and it seems as if collective funk has settled over my corner of the neighborhood.

Oh well, maybe its the Blogger Biorhythm, we are hitting a triple low.

And I know that blogging about blogging is a waste of time, but I wanted to say out loud that I miss the three blogs that died. They were a good part of my day.

For those I dropped from my blog roll, it's nothing personal. Really.

Things I would Twitter if Twitter I could

Across the aisle from me, on my airplane heading home from Houston, is a really cute blond who doesn't know how to chew gum

I really need to pee, but the guy on the aisle is asleep.

I miss my Canadians.

I wish I had the courage to be more artistic.

I had a good week in Houston, but didn't exercise once.

I helped three women have orgasms, none of them my wife.

I should not tweet or blog with low blood sugar. (See line above)

Fantasy sex can make us unhappy with our real lives.

As my cyber relationships become more important to me, I want to talk about them in real life, but that would cause all sorts of trouble.

I think the "Save The Boobs" public service announcement campaign is just fine.

The sunset, as I fly into Los Angeles, is a single line of blood orange on the horizon, with a flame orange fringe.

The girl on the aisle just did her makeup and, as she bent forward to put her bag away, I almost saw her nipple. She is very pretty.

She is looking down the row and out my window, and when she makes eye contact with me she smiles.

Football stadiums look cool from 10,000 feet.

There is a warehouse complex far below me that looks like a giant Tetris puzzle with sodium vapor lined bricks. (If you don't know what Tetris is, you may be too young to read this blog)

I love seeing other airplanes fly underneath mine, one just went by.

She has a very expensive looking purse.

Okay, that time I swear I saw it.

Los Angeles from the air is an almost unbroken blanket of lights with bright white and red freeways for threads. When we pass over dark patches I wonder what they are. That one was way too big to be a golf course.

I always see interesting things from the air and tell myself to look for them on Google Earth, but I never do.

Individual store signs are coming into focus and I get my bearings from outlying freeways.

There is the Wal-Mart by my brother-in-law's house; he lives in the ghetto because his wife is ghetto.

I am passing over long straight streets and actually converge in the distance, I swear I can almost see the curvature of the earth. Los Angeles is just too freaking big.

I am flying over a Red Lobster restaurant with an empty parking lot, a casino with just a few cars, and a strip club that is packed.

The LAX pillar lights are changing from blue to green.

In just a couple of hours I will be home with the wife and kids and no time for Skype.

A silhouette of a 747 moves against a giant hangar, lit in blue lights at night.

She is smiling at her phone and has a beautiful laugh. She seems happy to be here.


(The title of this post is technically not correct, I now have a Twitter account and 2 followers who will be greatly disappointed to learn that I can't Twitter during the day because they block Twitter from my work network, and I can't Twitter during the night, so, I will tweet, on occasion, from home, when I'm a lone, and I think of something funny to say. So, maybe next June)

Religion anyone?

I'm not a big fan of pushing my faith on anyone else, I know that I've stepped across many lines and that my pastor would just kill me if he found this blog, but yet, my children, I feel that I must share my faith today, now that the official web-site is up......

http://shiantology.com/

Be at peace my brothers and sisters.....

It was quiet....

It was quiet as I walked to my car today
I walked past the train station and heard my footfall
In the distance, the train was coming, but was not there yet
It would not arrive for several minutes, but I heard it coming from around the hill

Full of commuters heading home
Full of commuters heading to love, to loss
Full of people full of hope and despair

It was quiet as I walked to my car today
I could hear my heat beat, my breath, pump in and out
I could hear my heart, what was left of it,
I could feel the hope build; I could feel the hope drain
But I could hear it, at least it was there

It was quiet as I walked to my car today
My brain was full of thoughts,
My mind was full of mystery
And my soul was full of a new desire
Not for her, but for the idea of her

It was quiet as I walked to my car

One and Only time

About three years into our marriage we were kissing and the foreplay was heating up. It was a wonderful evening. I can still remember the light of the full moon playing through our window, casting a faint blue-cast to all of the colors. I had her up on her knees, facing the wall, supporting her weight on her hands while I was on my back between her legs. She was open and wet and very responsive. My tongue was swirling in and out of her beautiful pussy and her fragrance was sweet and clean.

As she got more aroused she began swaying her hips forward and backward, forcing my tongue up against her clit, and then back, almost to her little pink pucker. My hands were on her breasts at first, savoring their fullness and weight, but as her movements amplified I dropped them down and began caressing her tight little cheeks.

She told me to come up and I began kissing the back of her neck as I entered her from behind. She held on to the headboard and pressed back against me and we found a quiet rhythm in the blue moonlight. We knelt up together and I wrapped my arms around her. She turned her face to mine and we kissed. Then she whispered, and asked for something we had never done.

Are you sure? I asked.
Yes.

I found the lube and and touched, opening, massaging, feeling her relax and tighten in turn as I pressed inside with one digit, then two. She breathed deeply and shifted her weight, allowing me full view, full access.

I'm ready

More KY, more breathing, and then gentle pressure, firm, slow, deep breathing, relaxing, inviting, her fingers swirled and caressed in front, maintaining the heat and desire as I slipped further in.
Deep
Tight
Hot
Frozen
Waiting
Relaxing
Moving
Slow and steady strokes from behind
Small tight circles up front
Passion and new sensations
A sense of fullness
Taboos broken.
and then
Climax
Noisy, loud, messy, thrashing.
Holding on, holding in, for dear life
Cum so hard it frightened
So long it exhausted
and then my turn
Forbidden territory explored
A new vista
Throbbing, pulsing, filling, satisfying, amazing.

And the one and only time....

Black Slacks, White Blouse

I came up with this title a few months ago when I saw my favorite law clerk from across the lunch room at work. I don't see her very often since I've changed assignments here at work and no longer have an excuse to stalk the halls of the legal department.

There is just something about a tailored white blouse that makes my heart flutter.

http://msnbcmedia4.msn.com/j/msnbc/Components/Photos/070113/070113_beckham_vmed6p.widec.jpg

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She’s tall and blond and wispy and sweet. She has a beautiful Texas lilt to her voice, not the drawl that puts her in the cow pasture, but the soft cadence of a Texas Belle that brings you back to the days of cotillions and debutantes. I imagine what she must have been like, at the tender age of 17, a beauty among her average peers, both in her talent as an artist and in notoriety as wunderkind model.

She admitted to me once, while we waited for the attorney’s to decide the future of the company behind closed mahogany doors, that her father, a doctor, had spoiled her and her sister, just a year younger, when they were growing up. Doctors were like gods back then, handsome, unassailable, unquestioned, and rich. She grew up knowing that the right boy would be selected for her husband and that keeping mommy and daddy happy was the key to a stable financial future and a permanent listing on the Dallas social register. Her beau-to-be would be under similar pressure to marry the right girl, attend the proper college, and to join his family business, be it oil, cattle, stocks, or medicine.

She confided that she never wanted the life her father and mother led and admired so much. Constantly scrutinized, they complained that the social columnists were more insidious than the paparazzi that came to power in the autumn years of her parent’s lives. Every dress was discussed, every pound gained, every drink downed, every secret told was fodder for the mill for the Dallas Examiner. Claire wanted a life in the background, in the shadows of room.

I told her that her beauty would cast to much light for her to remain in the shadows where ever she went. She would just scoff at my compliments and change the topic, making light of my affection for her and moving the discussion to politics, poverty, or the war. “Something light to break the mood”, she would say.

To Sleep

To Sleep, to dream
Of golden days and loving nights
Of sun seared laughter
And calming dark

To sleep, to dream
To awaken to hope
To art and sense
Life's endless stream

To sleep, to dream

Something new....

OK, so I'm way behind the curve, but I discovered SKYPE on Thursday and LOVE it.
A big thanks to "you know who you are...."

my admin

gray slacks
red cable knit sweater
push-up bra
small thong pantie lines
long straight hair
terrific scent
a wonderful smile.

She walks by me every day, comes to chat, to visit, and I just smile, and do nothing.

Getting Blurry - A follow-up

I started this post as a comment to my original "Getting Blurry" post, but I thought it deserved a little more thought than that.

I want to make it clear that don't blame her for anything that happened and we share responsibility probably the this is not about her role in our relationship it is just my reaction to it she is still one of my favorite people on the web and I read her blog every day.

I appreciate the comments that you have all made. It proves to me again and friends on the web are as real as friends you see everyday we give each other support and encouragement, good advice, and a shoulder to lean on and that is what friendship is all about.

I don't anticipate our friendship going back to where on this before, without the same problems returning. We felt a connection, I believe, that would be difficult to deny a second time around, as it was difficult to deny the first time. Redefining friendships is difficult. We take on a role, we play our part, and it is difficult to edit the script once the actors have taken the stage.

I will occasionally drop a comment on her blog, and she on mine, but it would not surprise me if that interaction fades as well. Sometimes it is difficult to keep being reminded of friendships from the past.

I know I have had a couple of posts this week on the same topic, that of love lost and poorly timed matches. I think we all go through that at one time or another. We meet the right person at the wrong time, and spend a lot of time wondering, "What if..."

In response to my post on Monday called, "Closure is a myth", Leonhart gave the advice, “If you can't look back with fondness or helpful retrospect, never look back.” I like the phrase, helpful retrospect . There are some relationships we can learn from, and some that are best left behind. This one, is the former. Not only have I learned some emotional truths about myself, I learned an awful lot from her when it came to creativity, erotica writing, personal photography, and what it means to be courageous in your writing.

In the end, if you can count today as the end, I am happy that I know her. I am happy that she shared part of her life and heart with me. I will still read her blog, I will still laugh at her humor, get aroused by her images, and allow her a large space in my head as I go through the day.

Getting Blurry

Okay, here's my deal,



I am married, have kids, a mortgage, one car that is paid off another car that is almost there. I have a house that might never be paid off, but at least it's not anywhere near foreclosure. I have a little bit of money in the bank and currently I have a good job, though keeping this blog and talking to all of my friends, combined with the occasional cyber session may change that if anyone paid attention to my Internet usage. I have a backyard, no pets, a garden that is being neglected, and a piano that is not being played enough. All in all, I'm a pretty normal guy.



But I like sex, a lot. I enjoy doing it, reading about other people doing it, writing about doing it, I even enjoy writing about thinking about enjoying doing it. I like to fantasize about doing it with other people, besides my wife. I like teasing, joking about it, talking about it, and, when I am lucky, I will find someone who'll pretended to do it with me over the Internet. Ah, the joy of cybersex.



In the midst of all this writing, thinking, talking, and interacting, I have made friends. I count many of you who are reading this post as my friends, though we have never met in person, and though I don't know the real names of most of you. But that's okay, that is not how I define a friend. I define a friend as someone with a shared interest in something I care about, who I like to communicate with, and who can occasionally make me laugh, think, cry, or cum. Friends, especially on the Internet, come in all shapes, sizes, creeds, and colors. It would be like a Benetton ad, if Benetton still existed, (does it? I haven't seen their ads for a while so I don't think they are around anymore.)



With all of my friends, and with all of the things I say, I am bound to say something stupid once in a while, and usually more frequently than that. Sometimes I say things that are very personal. As bloggers in this corner of the universe, we are all sharing deeply personal thoughts and feelings. We make ourselves vulnerable as we invest ourselves in each other, and as we write to exorcise our demons, explore new horizons, and discover things within us.



Sometimes we find things we don't like, we find ourselves saying things we may not mean, and sometimes the distinction between fantasy and reality begins to blur. That line got very blurry with a very dear friend of mine. We exchanged a lot of e-mails, some pictures, and some very intense cybersex moments. She shared some wonderful, beautiful, personal things with me and I am grateful for her trust and friendship.



The things got blurry. Emotions got involved, on both sides. I think we started thinking about things too much. Cybersex shifted from “Let’s pretend.” To “Wouldn’t it be nice if…” and “I want to… with you.”



Our fantasies changed. Our language changed. We started out with “I want to fuck you” where “you” is an unseen stranger, a favorite supermodel, or the cute admin down the hall, , a non-specific sexual surrogate. But soon our conversations were real, they were personal, and the fantasies turned in to desires. We morphed from being two random bloggers to being “you and me”, with names, faces, stories, emotions, families, jobs and hearts. We found ourselves connecting at a very deep level with a real person, a real woman, an actual human, not just a disembodied body, a cock, a cunt.



Things got blurry. What happened to having fun, a quick stroke, a cybergasm with a fun and creative writer on the other end? Maybe it was because we are physically close enough to each other to make the possibility of meeting too real. I’ve had cyber before; with several women (I think they are women, at least they pretend very well). But since they were so far away, it was easy to keep it strictly as fantasy. Husbands, miles, cost, wives, kids, jobs, all conspired to keep our play time as just that, play, because it did no good to think of trying to make it real.



But this was different. This was blurry, fuzzy, confusing, and in the end, heart rending.



If you refer back up to paragraph one, I’m married, I have kids, a situation that doesn’t give me the freedom, any freedom, to be anything more than a cyber friend, but I let things get out of control. We let our emotions get involved.



That is tough to avoid. I have always said that there is a direct connection between our groin, heart, and head. You can deny it, but sex means feelings, emotions, connections, and though we try and deny it, to suppress those feelings to shut down that connection, it is there, even when the connection is through miles and miles of wires, cables, and satellites. I let it get the best of me.



I let “I want to fuck you” turn in to “I want to make love to you, to take you, to hold you, to be with you.” And that friend, that very, very special friend, my favorite “you” got hurt.



I decided to write this post and explore this idea when I was in a bad mood. She had just cut me off from her private blog and had told me to stop writing her through e-mail. I was pissed. My first reaction was hurtful and mean, blaming her for protecting herself, blaming her for letting emotions come between us, but then I stopped and thought about her.



She is wonderful. She is funny, sexy, intelligent, creative, daring, sexual, sensuous, a terrific writer, an amazing poet, and one of my favorite photographers.



The more I thought about her, the more I felt my responsibility in our friendship. Our situations are different, she has more option in some areas, and I have things she wants, but does not now have. I thought about what I had said, desires expressed, comments made, and I wondered if I had led her on, if I had made promises I couldn’t keep. (Petal had an excellent post on expectations and promises that was spot on)



I could not meet her needs, yet I played and talked as if I could, and perhaps worse, as if I would. I was selfish. I took what she offered without caring if it was something she could afford to give. I took her heart, her emotions, her thoughts, without considering the person behind them. For that I am sorry.



Even writing this post may be an act of selfishness. I want to apologize, to ask forgiveness, while at the same time knowing that this post itself may cause her additional pain.



But I feel as if I need to say it, to crystallize my thinking, to understand how I caused her pain. And, armed with that understanding, I am very sorry.

A re-post - Is this cheating?

This is a re-post from last year, but, since I'm going to get my hair cut tonight, I was thinking about it..... besides, nobody read it back then anyway....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This won’t happen in a million years, but this is what I want tonight.



Work ends at 6:00 and I am on the 6:20 bus.



I sit next to the beautiful brunette with the pin-curl hair and the funky necklace.



We flirt, we talk, and she leans into me as the bus makes the sharp corner just before getting on the freeway. As the centrifugal force presses her body in to mine I turn my body away from hers, allowing her to press her chest against my broad back. Since Daryl is driving the corner is long and hard and I feel you body’s curves in great detail. As we come out of the corner, your right hand grabs my left thigh, and you hold on to keep from sliding into the aisle of the bus.



As the bus heads west, chasing the setting sun, we enter the Anderson tunnel and her hand gently squeezes me. While still in the tunnel, she quietly slips across the aisle and takes the empty seat on the sunny side of the bus.



My head reeling, my body hardening, we sit, just 5 feet away from each other, and smile like delinquents who have just stolen their first car.



She smiles at me again as she slips her iPod headphones on and closes her eyes.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



I exit the bus in the blazing sun and hop in to my car. A coupon for Sports Clips, a local barbershop, is under the wiper blades blocks my view. I check out my coif in the rear-view mirror and then check my Blackberry for my evening schedule. It’s clear, so I pull the coupon in to the car, dial the number, and head their way. They answer and I ask if Jenny is available. Hearing a “Yes” makes me change directions in the parking lot and head out to 22 and Oak for a visit to my favorite cutter.



All the girls there wear the same outfit, tight black shorts with referee shirts. Jenny also sports a long blonde ponytail, and never fails to look fantastic. “Welcome Back to Sports Clips!” she yells out, keeping with the corporate mandated greeting. I give her a high-five and head towards her chair, slipping her my coupon along the way.



“You know this only covers the cut.” She giggles.



“I know,” and I slip her a $20. “This is for the shampoo girl.”



“That would be me.” and we walk past her chair into the darkened back room where for $5 you can get a scalp massage and hot towel treatment before your shave. I had other plans, and so did Jenny.



We take the shampoo station in the back left, the darkest and most private booth. I sit down in the patent leather chair and get comfortable. She removes the armrest on her side of the chair and turn on the hot water. Standing close to me she asks if I want Almond or Mint, but she already has the Almond oil in her hand. She infuses the washcloth with the scented lotion and whispers in my ear that she’ll be right back.



I lay back with the piping hot cloth over my eyes and I let my mind wander back to the gentle touch of the girl on the bus. So bold for a first meeting, such promise for the second.



I feel Jenny’s hands massaging the day’s tension away and then I feel her right hip brush against the back of my hand as it rests on my thigh. I move it out of the way and she leans against my leg, connecting our bodies. My hand has no where to rest, so I raise it slightly and hook my pinky into the waistband of her shorts, allowing the weight of my hand to pull them down an inch, revealing that she going commando once again.



"Don't be naughty," she sighs, "there are still kids out front."



"OK" I reply with a slight mocking tone.



I lift my hand up and move it outward, brushing the skin of her stomach left exposed by the short belly-shirt, and with one swift motion, place it high on her thigh, deep between her legs.



Startled, but not surprised, her hands freeze for a moment and then go back to their sensuous job of washing my hair. My hand rests upon the bare skin of her upper thigh, and I feel her turn toward me while opening her legs, so that my thumb brushes lightly against the front of her shorts. Taking the invitation, I my hand higher until it slips under the hem of her shorts, into the crease between her thigh and her body. I discover that she is not going commando, but is wearing the thinnest hint of silk, the smallest thong covers her shaved body.



"Oh shit" she gasps and her body freezes again.



"Should I stop?" I whisper



"Hell no."



My thumb presses firmly on the black fabric of her shorts. My fingers turned to face up, stretching the black material to give me access. My thumb, hungry for more, slips under her shorts and rests on top of the thin silk panties that are already feeling damp. My index finger slides deep between her cheeks and finds the thin string of her thong and presses it aside, slipping under to caress her tight rear pucker, and the soft lips of her opening.



"Are we safe?" I ask. Her eyes quickly scan the shampoo room and she sees that we are still alone so she nods her head. I see her biting her lip to keep from making any more noise. Her hands are still entwined with my hair but they are no longer moving, they merely grip my locks for support and she leans toward me and spreads her legs even further. This is my cue to go in for more and I slip my thumb under her panties, directly on her clit, and I begin to circle. My fingers slip easily into her wet pussy as my thumb attacks her clit.



Jenny begins to breathe heavily and I feel her hips thrusting against my penetrating fingers and my attacking thumb. She loves to cum in public, and I know that she gets off on getting off at work. My fingers swirl and plunge and penetrate her wetness as my thumb flicks and spins and presses on her engorged bundle of nerves.



She turns her body toward me and backs up 6 inches to give me better access. Even in the dark I am obviously aroused in the sight of my hand disappearing up under this hot blonde girl’s shorts makes me harder still.



"Are you ready to cum? I ask



She nods her head silently. She removes her hands from my hair, hastily drying them on a nearby towel, and places one hand on my shoulder, and one hand on my hip so that she will not lose her balance when her orgasm hits. I take her by the wrist and move the hand by my hip to my body and she squeezes my cock through my thin slacks. I chuckled to myself, thinking that I am happy to be wearing black slacks instead of my more common tan khakis.



"Now?" I ask in a sexy whisper.



"Now." She replies in a his and my hungry fingers press deeper into her body, crushing her clit into her pubic bone and lifting so hard that her feet almost come off the ground. Three full fingers penetrate her as her orgasm stars to wind itself up from her toes, building through her weak knees, and her quivering thighs. Her hand clamps tightly around my cock, and though distracted by her own exploding pleasure, she remembers to squeeze in stroke me in return.



Her orgasm rocks her from head to toe. Her hand quivers, jerks and twitches as she tries to keep a hold of my erection but it is a lost cause and she lets go and leans against me for support. She tries to apologize for letting go at that crucial moment but I just laugh and whisper to and tell her to keep on cumming. I feel my hand, my fingers being squeezed by the spasms of her inner muscles.



Her juices flow and her fragrance fills the air of the shampoo room. Her body shivers and skips while little yelps escape from her clenched teeth. She begins to regain her composure, and gently presses on my wrist, telling me that she is too sensitive for more, and I withdraw my hand from under her shorts, from within, and from under the panties now drenched.



She places one hand on my head, gently stroking my hair back into place though it is still damp from the shampoo. Her other hand returns to my body and begins to gently stroke me up and down. I put my free hand on her hip and draw her closer, not for more touching, but to bring her close, to increase the intimacy of our moment together. She looks down at me and smiles knowing that her hand is bringing me close to my own climax.



“Now?” She asks.



"Now." I respond, and I let my orgasm begin. She holds me with a light touch, with almost no movement of her own. She likes to feel me cum, to feel my body swell and ejaculate. I know she hates that word, but that is what she likes, she likes to feel my cum come out.



Laying back in the soft leather chair, one hand in my hair, and her other hand gently stroking me to a beautiful orgasm, all I can do is look up her look up at her and smile. As my body calms down she uses her thumb to stroke the last few drops of cum out of my softening penis. She says that she likes that moment too, the moment when it is done, when the climax is over, and she gets to squeeze the last drop out and taste it for herself.



She leans in and kisses me gently, with just a hint of tongue, and whispers in my ear, "Thank you."



Getting back to business, she rinses the last of the shampoo out of my hair, wraps my head in a towel, and helps me stand up.



"Follow me to my chair," she says with a giggle, “and will get you finished."



~~~~



I walk through the door of my house and drop my keys in the dish on the antique table that my mother-in-law bought me for Christmas. My wife takes one look at me and asks, "Why do you keep your hair so short? It looks good when it is longer."



"I don't know," I say, "I just like getting my haircut."

Closure is a myth.

I think I may have talked about this issue before so I'm not going into great detail, but I was cleaning out my Gmail account and I found this note to an old friend. I never sent it. To this day I do not know why she terminated our friendship. I will probably never know


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Working on the notion that you would be a little bit sad if I died on
the way home, I wanted you to know that I arrived in LA safely today @
about 12:15 PDT.

Though I really didn't like how things ended on Thursday, I still want
to say what a great week I had. Our run/walk/Halloween tour on
Wednesday was the highlight and I had a wonderful time. I'm not sure
what I did Wednesday night that turned Thursday morning's note into
such a flashpoint for us, I guess the yoga strap moment could have
been skipped but I just couldn't resist.

I hate to guess what other people are thinking, or feeling, so I won't
try to do that now. I'm obviously no good at it anyway. Instead I will
tell you that the emotions I feel for you are strong and real, even if
they are out-of-place and poorly expressed, and in the end frustrating
for both of us.

I never meant to, and don't mean to now, put you in a bad situation
emotionally or socially (especially with Rob). We have a great
connection and the potential for a deep friendship. I deeply regret
putting that in danger.

Even now, technology intrudes and my BB battery is dying. You do not
have to respond, you don't have to explain. But I already miss you

I'm invoking my 24-hour love letter rule on this. So it might already
be Saturday when this arrives.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wow, why didn't I send it?
Should I have sent it?
What "might have been"?

I don't know the answers anymore. At the time I was wrapped up in the anger of being cut out of the life of a woman who generated very strong feelings in me. I was mad that she handled our breakup through an IM, and I regret being so spiteful in that final conversation.

Why didn't I send it before the IM arrived and I got a serious case of the stupids?
For one, I was (am) married, she had a boyfriend, and the idea of being dumped by someone was hard to get my head around. Admitting that I was dumped also admitted to having a relationship, and that seemed hard to admit. I've flirted, touched, fondled, and stroked, but never kissed. Her, this one, I kissed. And it was a good kiss.

Asking her to come back, to give me another chance, implied that I wanted to keep the relationship going, to escalate, to move forward or at least stay together. And what would that mean at home? Was I ready to leave to start over with her?

In the end I think I held on to the letter because I wasn't ready for any of the answers she might have given. What if she said she loved me? What if she hated me? What if I reminded her of a violent ex-boyfriend who liked yoga and left notes on her windshield?

Most people seek closure, they want answers, John Cusak tried to find them for 90 minutes and was much more entertaining than this entry. So go rent High Fidelity and have a much better evening.

Pictures and Comments

Who says that Tan lines can't be sexy? - From Papuas

I do not believe, sir, that this girl wants to be kissed. - From FB Spin

This looks very cold. - From Chagrin

Here comes the bride! - From Darker Sights

9-11-2009

My day began like every other day. I got dressed in my shorts and my T-shirt I drove to the bus stop, and I got on the bus. I don't remember if traffic was good or bad that day. I got off at my regular stop and walked the three blocks to my gym, passing the bank, pharmacy, and the other bank. When I got to the large plate glass windows that looked in on the treadmills, I realized that something was off.



No one was moving. 20 people stood on the treadmills, like statues, staring at the TVs that hung from the ceiling. Occasionally you would see one or two people enraptured by ESPN's Top 10 highlight reel, or some particularly interesting bit on Entertainment Tonight, the whole gym was still.



I stepped through the door and they had turned up the sound on the TVs. They never do that. You always have to listen over the radio, which no one ever does, because we all use our iPods that don't pick up FM stations. It took me a minute to realize what was on the screen, it was the Twin Towers, and they were on fire.



I can't remember if I arrived before or after the second tower had been hit. I have seen the clips so many, many times, that the news coverage and the actual event blur together. But I know, like my parents knew at the moment of Kennedy's assassination, exactly what they were doing day. I was just going to the gym.

We all sat in horror and watched the story unfold. Every TV was turned to CNN, and the sound of the commentators echoed and bounced off the walls. None of us wanted to leave, it felt like sacrilege to go downstairs and take a shower and go to work while people were dying in a building 3000 miles away, live on national TV.

I saw the coverage of people running down the streets, billowing clouds from downtown, the mayhem that was unleashed that day, but at the moment I'm not sure if we were thinking about the men and women of the fire, police, and emergency crews that were running against the tide, toward the buildings instead of away from them. TV movies and docudramas have tried to capture their bravery, but some of the most profound pictures I have seen are the grainy and shaky clips of the crews pulling up to buildings and directing people to safety while they prepared to go in.

I did not lose any personal friends that day. My old boss lived within 5 miles of the towers. His wife refused to return to their apartment for over two years after that day. She would not let him leave the house without his cell phone, a detailed travel plan, and a “do or die” promise that he would call on every break of every meeting that he had downtown.

I do not know what was going on in the heads of the firefighters as they approached the building. I cannot. I do not know if they were thinking about their families, knowing that they may not, knowing that they would probably would not ever come out again.

I pray for the wives, mothers, husbands, parents, who are watching the news and saw a truck with their child's company number painted boldly on the side. How many mothers wept that day knowing that their son, their daughter, was at work that fateful morning?

I will not judge those decisions made in the aftermath of this attack today. Today is not about recriminations, finger-pointing, or anger with each other.

Today is about a national day of unity, of common cause, of remembering those men and women of our country and from countries around the world who perished at the hands of maniacs.

9/11 will forever be a symbol of the irrational; the insane thought process that justifies the killing of innocents in the name of God.

I am a believer. And those of my faith have made mistakes in the past, I struggle to understand, and to anticipate and stop the thinking that leads us to this point. I do not understand how someone can read their holy scriptures and make the leap to where their God demands them to kill all others who do not think as they do.

I came across a link in the New York Times to a story about a national day of service. I like this idea. I like the idea of reaching out to others, to serve those who have traditionally been our opposition. What joy could be found if the Jews pulled weeds around the neighborhood mosque and planted flowers and trees? What friendships could begin as the Muslims feed those in the old folks home, and what bridges could be built if each group would reach out to another with an open hand and a heart of forgiveness, love, and understanding.

It is easy to serve those we love, those we affiliate with, those whom we look like. It is a bigger challenge to serve those who do not. So take a minute today, to reach out, to say hello, to hold the door, to call up and volunteer. Take action. Do something.

Make a choice today, September 11, 2009, to be, to act, to think differently.

Hold me

Hold me
Feel it
Don't stroke
Don't move
Just squeeze and release

Squeeze and release
No.
Don't.

Don't pump
No up and down
to make me think
Of the muscled tightness
Inside of you

Squeeze and release
And talk dirty in my ear
Fill our bedroom with
Hot slutty whispers
And images of delight

Squeeze and release
And run your thumb
Where tongue wants to be
Entwine our legs
Pin me to the bed
Tell me of your dreams

Roll over
Cover me but do not move
Your knowing hand
Holds and controls
Squeeze, grip, hold

Press thigh to thigh
Breast to chest
Lips to neck
and whisper to ear

Tell me your needs
Tease with commands
Fill me with desire
And squeeze

And

Release

Things I learned while in Houston

More things I would Twitter if I had twitter.....

It is easy to lie if you do it quickly without analysis beforehand

Continental Airlines thinks that Spanish speakers are hard of hearing

If you ask for help, nicely, you will usually get it

The Samoan national rugby team apparently likes to sit next to each other, and next to me.

I hate the moment, about 3 minutes after takeoff, when they cut back the engines. Coming out of LAX it is always in the middle of a sweeping left hand turn and it always makes my stomach lurch.

I am the guy you want in front of you at the security line. I’m organized, I know the rules, and I never get stopped.

I rarely lie, because at the moment I say something, I believe it to be true.

Boat harbors look really cool from 20,000 feet

RH is the prettiest woman in the Houston office. It doesn’t hurt that she looks just like AB.

It was tough not to go up to JR’s office this week. I miss her still.

You can not have a good meeting with more than 10 people in the room.

I wish I had more time to make sex special, I wish my wife had the same wish.

I wish I was single, but I’m afraid that I’m too old to do anything good with it.

I miss the friends I had when I was skydiving

For years I wanted to move back to my home town, but then I realized that all of my friends were gone and that I didn’t miss my family all that much.

My hometown, my high school, my childhood church are almost unrecognizable to me now.

Novels are very had to write, correction, good novels are very hard to write

I was to volunteer to be on an Obamacare Death Panel. I think it should be like American Idol: one guy votes to kill everyone, one guy give you sympathy, and a cute little drunk chick in the middle decides if you live or die.

I hard really good sex last night, except for our argument about her vibrator.

Rita is a very attractive stewardess for Continental airlines. She has a nice smile.

I really wish I could draw, because the desert looks stark and desolate and beautiful today.

I wish train travel was cheaper. I’ve always wanted to have sex with a stranger on the train and then seem her walking away at the next stop.

“Adventures Of A Shopaholic” is a cute movie, but has a lot of little clichés, including my most hated, the slow clap…..

The star of Shopaholic isn’t pretty, but I’d like to wake up next to her in bed.

I am very glad that I am almost debt free. After next month, my only real debt will be my mortgage.

I spend $ too quickly, but I hate taking the time to do the research to buy the “right” thing

I want to be more in love with my wife.

I am very glad I don’t drink. I would be a very bad drunk.

A coworker sends off his travel clothes ahead by FedEx and charges the company so he doesn’t have to carry his own luggage

Really pretty women sit in 6G

Really pretty women are less pretty when the complain a lot and are mean to the stewardesses.

Most guys, like the one behind me, are really bad at flirting

I really like flying, but travelling for work, is work

God doesn’t stand up well to analysis, but I think that is the point

I don’t know the difference between a deeply spiritual experience and really good music; maybe there isn’t any

I wonder if I come across as a wanna-be “player’

TMI #202 - Location Location Location

1. If you could have monumental sex where would it be (i.e. on Lincoln's lap, the stairwell of the Statute of Liberty)?

I've always wanted to do it on the 50-yard line of football stadium. I just don't know if it would be during a game or on a full moon. Also, since I lived in Washington DC, my favorite spot was always the Jefferson rotunda, at the other end of the park from Lincoln

2. Have you ever "played" with your food (i.e. a blowjob under booth #9 at Denny's, finger banging by candlelight at Spago)?

I got a foot-job under the table during college and I made out with a GF in the kitchen of her restaurant while she was working. Great memories all.

3. Have you ever had sex in motion (i.e. the lavatory on Virgin Air, the back seat of your Chevy Suburban)?

I got a blow-job on the way to Vegas on my honeymoon! Complete with swallow to prevent a mess. It was fantastic!!! But tragically, it was also 17 years ago.

I gave my ex-GF her first orgasm in the front seat of my car, right before the cops asked us to "move along', and, well, I've jerked off while driving more times than I can count. It helps to leave for work in the middle of the night and keep the glove box well stocked with condoms.

Oh, and I just remembered, I made myself cum while my GF watched (she was afraid to touch me, but loved to watch) as we drove to work together. She returned the favor on the way home. That's right. BIG SMILE on that memory.

4. Have you ever had sex worthy of a confessional (i.e. a stall in the church bathroom, on the desk in your boss's office)?

I jerked off in a church bathroom once and will probably go to hell just for that. When I was 16, I gave my first serious girlfriend the finger (her first orgasm with a guy) during a church youth ministry camp-out.

5. Have you ever had sex under the stars (i.e. in the alley behind Scores Gentleman's Club, the roof of your South Beach condo)?

Just last week, on the backyard trampoline.... and yes, we could hear the neighbors talking.

When I was dating my wife, we were at a friend's wedding reception. She took me by the hand and took me outside, under the stars and under the stairs, and told me to touch her. She surprised me by going commando and it only took her about a minute to reach climax. I can still remember every stitch of that dress and how she felt that night.

Bonus: What's your favorite place (of all places) to have sex (i.e. The Bunny Ranch, Las Vegas)?

I love sex outside in my own backyard. It only happens once or twice a summer, but the cool night air, the openness, the feeling of (maybe) being seen is just an amazing combination. I challenged a friend of mine to have an orgasm outside and she admitted that it was one of her strongest ever. There is just something special about it.

A short note to parents

After reading this post some of you will call me repressive, uptight, a prude, or a pedophile. I am none of the above. You will criticize the message and the messenger, but there is something I have to comment on tonight.

I just got back from the pool. It was blazing hot all day so when a friend of mine called to invite the family over for a swim we jumped at the chance.

I glanced over at the pool as I drove in and caught a flash of two bikini clad hotties from a distance. Teeny bikini's, not quite thongs, small triangle tops, tan skin. That's all I could see. I pulled in and wondered who these two were going to be. We piled out of the van and walked to the gate and I saw them, they were 12, maybe 13 years old.

Of course I smacked myself upside the head for thinking anything about these two, but I was shocked at the suits these two young girls were wearing. What on earth are their parents thinking? Seriously people.

What happened to parents who try and preserve the innocence of their kids?
What happened to saying "No, that suit is immodest and not appropriate for a 12 year old"?
What happened to teaching kids about dress their age, and not 10 years their senior.
What happened to protecting you daughters from lecherous men around them?

I know that parents (I am one of them) are under a lot of pressure to let their kids act sexy because their kids are under a lot of pressure to be sexy. Society is sexualizing our kids earlier and earlier. Wide-spread exposure to porn, the sexual nature of music videos and pervasive soft-core culture we live in puts kids in a very difficult position.

They want to be cool, to fit in at school, to be accepted by their peers and by the peer groups above them in the social pyramid. I know that, my daughter feels that pressure. But, to the parents, I'm asking, begging, to think of their daughter's first, understand the peer pressure and help them say no. Help them remain young innocent 12 year olds as long as they can.

Sex and heartache and horny boys will come along soon enough, you do not need to push them into it by sexing them up when you go shopping. Teach them that it is OK to be pretty, to wear cute clothes, but that it's also OK to dress your age, and teach them who is the parent.

Parents need to say "No" more often. I know that my generation doesn't like hearing that we can't do anything we want, so we don't tell our kids. But the world is a dangerous place.

As we were taking a break from the water I was laying on my lounge chair. 5-6 guys, all looking about 16-18 years old, came in to the pool area to get to the basketball court in the back corner of the complex. Everyone one of them noticed and made some comment to the guys around them about these two girls. "DAMN!" was the main one. I know they weren't thinking about their skills at swimming, or wondering how good they did in school.

I know it's politically incorrect to blame the girls, so I'll blame the parents.

If you don't want your daughters attracting the attention of a bunch of horny teenagers, don't dress her in a barely there bikini. If you don't want her to have sex before she's ready, don't dress her like a sex-doll. If you want young men to respect her, and value her as a person, then help her present herself as a person, not as a body. To the moms, don't re-live your youth through your daughters wardrobe. Don't put her in the clothes you think are sexy because you want to feel sexy. Protect them, love them enough to say no.

````
I know that there is a lot more to say here, and that there are many factors at play in the dynamic between boys and girls, teenagers and parents, and, that I need to get my thoughts organized around this as a blogger, parent, father, and as a guy. But I had to say something. I just wanted to walk up to the mom and say, "Are you nuts?", but I didn't, so I'll say it here.

I really like this picture....

http://nightmarebrunette.tumblr.com/post/167483909/barnacleberry-anotherdamnartist-acidreams-katthe

And this one...

http://darkersightsandsounds.blogspot.com/2009/08/eyes.html


and this.

http://22.media.tumblr.com/GVLkYcquQr1yks2wftafI0OJo1_500.jpg

and one more...

http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/JS8A7sZmyqpiimmtLIrJGeevo1_1280.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=0RYTHV9YYQ4W5Q3HQMG2&Expires=1250952881&Signature=G3SmJB4mpmE2CoZVqmvsE0bFg38%3D

and this one... where (who) is that hand coming from?


and this one, I love the look on the girl in the background.

The Internet intimacy scale

I have been thinking a lot about on-line friendships, the nature of Internet intimacy, and the impact we have on the real lives of others, even when we haven't "met." So, in the tradition of making things appear to be simpler than they really are, I present, The Official Internet Intimacy Scale. I don't have time to think up a funnier accronym, even though this isn't funny at all. And yes, this may be more accurately called, The Official Bloggers Intimacy Scale since this revolves around blogging.

But, WHERE ARE YOU ON THE SCALE??? Let me know in the comments, and explain your score if you dare.

1. I read blogs but do not post comments because I have no profile, and cannot.
   
   
   
   
2. I have created a profile so I can leave comments but it has no information except an ID.
   
   
   
   
3. My profile has a made up name, some BS facts about a persona I am creating, but I have no blog of my own. And no e-mail.
   
   
   
   
4. I have a blog with one or two posts, mostly with naked girlie pictures, one comment about how this post is going to be great, but since the latest post is six months old, you know I'm not serious.
   
   
   
   
5. I have a blog with a made-up name but a fairly accurate profile. I have started to leave comments in an honest and consistent way, though I remain anonymous behind my blogger ID.
   
   
   
   
6. I add a functional e-mail to my ID.
   
   
   
   
7. I have started following blogs that I like, and a few people have started following me.
   
   
   
   
8. I respond to comments on my blog truthfully, and engage in civil discourse on other peoples blogs because I realize they actually have good ideas.
   
   
   
   
9. I have started to respond to some of the comments with a personal e-mail, seeking to share information that might be too sensitive for the open public.
   
   
   
   
10. Based on personal e-mails sparked by my blog entries, or the entries of others, I have a healthy e-mail relationship with several people.
    
    
    
    
11. I have sent at least one picture of myself partially dressed
    
    
    
    
12. I have given my real first name to more than one person.
    
    
    
    
13. I look for particular people the minute I sign-on, sometimes for conversation, sometimes for chat sometimes for cyber. I begin feel disappointed if they are not there.
    
    
    
    
14. My sexual orientation in cyber-chats and fantasy posts becomes consistent my orientation in real life. (Which may be wildly inconsistent with itself)
    
    
    
    
15. I have defended my blogging habits to my real world friends, though I haven’t given them my “real” blog address, just the one with poems about kittens.
    
    
    
    
16. I have posted at least one HNT with a nipple or lingerie shot, or, I have e-mailed someone a picture of my penis. Hopefully, the lingerie and penis are not in the same picture.
    
    
    
    
17. When at the mall I start to wonder what my other bloggers would think, or how they would write about the situation I currently find myself in.
    
    
    
    
18. Somebody out there knows one or more of the following pieces of information: my real last name, the company I work for, the city I sleep in, what I look like having an orgasm.
    
    
    
    
19. I have exchanged pictures of my face
    
    
    
    
20. I have given someone my phone number or my home address.
    
    
    
    
21. I have spoken to the person on the phone
    
    
    
    
22. Other bloggers know that I am “friends” with specific bloggers.
    
    
    
    
23. I have met an Internet friend in person.
    
    
    
    
24. I have seen that friend in person and naked.
    
    
    
    
25. Bodily fluids have been exchanged and breakfast has been shared after.
    
    
    
    
26. We now have 3.5 kids and a mortgage.
    
    
    
    
27. We are bitter and divorced. Return to Step #1

What other "steps" would you add? What else moves a relationship forward in the blogosphere. I'd love to hear your comments and experience with getting close to those around you in cyberspace.

The Fires of LA

Many of you know I live in the Los Angeles area and have been nice enough to ask how I am doing with the wildfires that are hitting the news. My neighborhood is not in any danger, and my home is miles away from the edge of our town, so it would have to burn through 12 miles of city to get to me.

As blessed as I have been in this current situation, a couple of summers ago I was helping my friends pack up to evacuate and I got a small feel of how the people near this newest fire must feel. My friends were spared, but none of us feel quite as safe as we did before.

I have been really disappointed in some of the coverage from the local TV stations, but the New York Times has a fantastic slide show of the fires.

My prayers and gratitude go out to the men and women on the fire line and to those whose homes are in danger.

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2009/08/31/us/0831-WILDFIRES-UG-SS_index.html

Will you......

Thoughts from the couch at 4:00 AM

The thunderstorms have passed, but still can't get back to sleep. The alarm is set for
6:30. On the couch, leg elevated, fan on, house hot, can't sleep.

Will you kneel beside me, bend, and fill your mouth with me? Comfort
me with your tongue, your hands, your throat. Cover me with your
smooth flesh, weigh me down, spread yourself, split yourself on my
aroused shaft, join my hard to your soft.

Will you take me as I am, and as I cum, accepting my bitter heart and
tangy white? Show me, let me see your pleasure, look me in the eye
and touch yourself with boldness, spreading, splitting, opening your
lips, your smile, your core, your you.

Allow me to give to you as you have given me. Take the pleasure I
offer with tongue hand and cock. Let me see taste touch and take that
I can give more fully, let us be one. Let me in, want me in, want my
touch so I can feel loved in giving. Allow me in without thought of
return, let me give and taste and inhale and drink at the fount of
your power, the full wetness of your open lips. Let me swirl tug and
taste, let me slip, spread and fill. Let me use you as a woman as I
long to be used as a man.

Le us find release, pleasure and pain as one, at once. Let our hearts
shatter with passion and love as our bodies melt with fire and heat
and water and wet. Let our bodies find each others as hungry and
needy as they are, without regret, without shame or hesitation. Fall
back beneath me, scream moan and quiver with nature's little death,
feel bone and skin, muscle and joint consumed with the rapture of
oneness with another. Feel fully the joy the moment brings as we
entwine and melt into the starless night of delirium, melting into the
universal expanse as mind and body and soul divide, dance, and return.

Lay then beside me, as the world returns and the sounds of a new day
sneak in on morning rays. Let me kiss your sun lit skin and touch your
sweet sweaty brow. Roll me, hold me, encased in bliss and quilt,
hiding from the clock and buzz that calls us out of heaven and into
the world of men.

Smile with me, promise to be mine again, as sun sets and the world of
days and jobs and clocks and works again fades until there is only
you, me, and a night of being.....




(This is a piece I wrote for a couple of my friends, and, on their encouragement, I decided to post it. Thanks to everyone who gave me such encouraging feedback.)

Instructions for our date...

Go for a run on Monday night
Take a long hot shower upon your return
Shave yourself smooth, take extra care
After you finish, massage in some lotion
Feel your soft skin, the smooth, the wet
Feel the strength of your calves, your thighs
Lay back on the bed, lift your feet, feel your abs tighten
Feel your hips clench and your pelvis lift
Put you hands between, spread the wetness from knee to knee
Dress in silk, sleep deeply, awake ready
Wear a skirt with pleats, a high neck sweater, no cleavage, with your favorite bra
Sit tall at your desk, knees together, prim and proper, and dripping wet, fingers hungry
You log-in, and see my name, and we begin.