66, 77, 88
Winter Kiss

66

The instructions were simple. I wanted a “winter kiss” to chase away the blues induced by too much sun and heat and distance.  Colorado was home, snow was my friend, travel my bane, my boss my tormentor.  She was compliant, as always, showing off her ass, her legs, her perfect smile against the blinding white winter snow.  Then it hit me….

Who took the picture?

77
After four days of wind whistling through the cracks and the pilot light in the heater going out, it was a joy to see the sun shining through the blinds of my uncle’s cabin window.  “Cabin” was a stretch, but it was free and for a poor honeymooning couple it was the right price. 

“Belle” I called, not finding my wife.

“Out here!” I heard her giggle.

I opened the door.

“I’m ready for my winter kiss!”

88 keys, black, white, in their place, orderly, exactly where you expected them, never lost.  My fingers made them sing, tunes made emotions fly, each phrase, the rise and fall, the swell, was inspired by my missing muse.  She surprised me with depth and shocked me with passion.  Hedonistic and primal, the keys called out to her memory.  My wife, my agent, the audience wept and laughed and cheered as the last notes faded. 

“What’s it called?” a lone voice shouted

I smiled and answered, “A Winter Kiss.”

66, 77, 88, symmetry in shape and progression.  The perfect score with shooting foul shots (1 for 1, 2 for 2, 3 for 3….).  A number and a prime, and a picture that invoked playfulness, winter’s heat, escape from the inside, a rebellion against cold and ice.  I was intrigued by the numbers more than the pictures at first.  The picture is cute enough, reminds me of my winter girl who taught me of passion and what fireplaces and fingers were really for.  The big hat is silly, fun, fashion, but the ass, the legs slightly spread, is an invitation, a winking greeting of what lies in store. 

I love winter sex, covered in thick blankets, their weight pressing down on both bodies, the windows open for a bracing chill on exposed skin, the sweet relief as sweaty spent bodies come up for air. 

Have a wonderful winter, a safe and Joyous New Year’s Eve, and a fabulous Flash Fiction Friday.

Frog Prince

Am I worthy of your kiss?

Mother Nature is NOT a vegetarian

Nature is a cruel and amazing place.  I had NEVER seen this before until today.  Ever.
This is hunting at it's most creative.






I know this isn't sexy or funny, but the world isn't always that way.... 

For those who know.....

I was in riding the subway in London with my communist friends when I remembered some very important numbers.

41087
41245
32790
  4352
37996
40751
40599
8288
517
3629
3101.


Enjoy
and if you don't understand?  Just drop me an e-mail.

Just because it's Marisa

If the weather is good, and my schedule is on track, I'm am not at home, I'm driving to a ski resort somewhere in the Mountain West or drinking hot chocolate in front of a fire, or at the movies with my kids, or, if Santa was really really good, having sex with one of my wonderful blog followers.  (LOL...  I crack myself up)

I hope you are all having a wonderful KwanzHaunakaMas holiday, no matter where you are or who you are doing.

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

Merry Christmas

 

Merry Christmas to ALL!!!

FFF - December 24, 2010 - Christmas Eve

What?  You used me as a place holder picture?  What a prick!
I can't believe it.  I take the time to look all cute and naked retro and you throw me in as a placeholder? You couldn't even be bothered eh? I didn't inspire you for flash fiction?  My slightly open jacket?  My full breasts? My obvious lack of underwear?  What's a girl to do?

I know what I’ll do….  I’m going to just sit here and wait until you write something worth reading.  That’s what I’ll do.  I’m just going to sit here doing nothing.  Maybe read a book, or watch a bit of television.  OK, maybe I’ll stroke the inside of my jacket, you know, where it rubs against my nipples.  Stop it!  Don’t stare, I can’t help that they get so big.  You are supposed to be writing.

Yes, it does feel good to play with them, You shouldn’t ask question you know the answer to. 

Yes, my breathing is getting heavy, but you should be writing, not teasing me,   You are looking at my like you are unwrapping a present. 

What?  Really?  Me?  Am I your present?

Then come here, open my bow, and Merry Christmas.

121-199
"...unwrapping a gift..."

As Tempting Sweet pointed out, I hadn't gotten around to writing this on time, but I'm sitting alone for a few minutes on Christmas Eve and I thought I would knock out a few words. 

All gifts should be opened with appreciation, I think, so as tomorrow morning rolls around, show your gratitude, open even the most humble gift with a thankful heart, and have a very Merry Christmas.

5 things for Christmas

Name 3-5 things you would do to 5 (In no specific order) different blogger's on X-mas. Borrowed from Playfully Yours 

I'll admit, I've thought about doing a lot more than 5 things to most of these wonderful friends.

Blogger #1

1 - Meet you on the beach, finally, I just need to update my passport

2 - Collared, on your knees, where you want to be

3 - Inflict the pain you crave, the control you need

4 - Head down, ass up, no back talk, in fact, no talk at all

5 - Taking the pictures you long to share

Blogger #2

1 - Get you someplace warm

2 - Get you tickets to the Super Bowl (Vikings v. Steelers)

3 - Celebrate the Viking win with sex on the bikini-free beach.

4 - Make love in the sauna at the gym

5 - Get you in front of a professional photographer

Blogger #3

1 - Smack!

2 - Oh? You want another one? SMACK!

3 - Your bosses desk, chest down, skirt up

4 - In the bathroom, 5 minutes, no, make it 3

5 - Your husband? He can just watch. I think he likes that

Blogger #4

1 - Finally do HNT together

2 - Buy you one-way ticket away from your BF

3 - Recreate the pictures you first took for me

4 - Spank you like you've always wanted

5 - Snuggle in deep, watch the rain, make love till morning.

Blogger #5

1 - Finally get you on a video of my own

2 - Anal, Anal, Anal (because you asked nicely)

3 - Find you a better divorce lawyer.

4 - Get you off the phone and in my bed

5 - Learn to imitate that accent of yours.

Too Mushy?  Too Romantic?  Oh hush, it's 2 days till Christmas.   A little winter romance is allowed.

The best interview ever, ever...

The Daily Show with John Stewart is my favorite talk show, by far. By FAR.  He is insightful, witty, sarcastic, biting, and just as funny as anyone on TV.

Watch, Learn, Enjoy.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Ricky Gervais
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog</a> The Daily Show on Facebook

And the rain rain rain... (Part 1)

Came down down down
In rushing rising rivulets.....

It's been raining for 4 days here on the west coast, and it got me to thinking.
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When I was a young man I loved the rain.  It cleansed our valley, brought flowers to bloom, and freed me from changing pipes in 13 acres of strawberries and beans.  It gave me time to go in to town to go shopping with Momma since I wasn't needed in the fields.  It is where I discovered girls, girls in dresses above the knee, people of different faiths and colors.  People who weren't like me.  The rains allowed my father to relax because water was life, growth, a harvest, and money. 

It was after the rains that my dad's outlook would lighten.  The corners of his mouth would rise with the level of the reservoir or the speed of the creek.  More water meant more acreage under seed, more pipes to move, more equipment to rent, but it meant more hay in the barn and more food on the table.

After a rain we would put on our thick socks, our oldest boots and our "mud-flaps" (our oldest rubber rain-boots) and make the hike up and over the hill to check the water levels and make sure nothing was clogging the main filler pipes.  It was during one of these hikes that I got a taste of being King.

My dad left with my older brother to move up the hill and see if one of the irrigation valves was stuck.  When ever we hiked I brought my field glasses and looked for birds, mountain lions, and treasure. Skies were gray and threatened more rain so my dad had to move quickly.  With strict instructions NOT to wander off "this time" I climbed up "Tommy's Rock" to look around.  Tommy's Rock got its name from various rumors that swirled around it.  Tommy Prescott, local hunk and criminal in training had either killed or been killed on that rock. Some said it was suicide because there was a gun found close to the body, others said it was one of his drug-deals gone bad, while some claimed, though we scoffed at this, that Tommy was a sacrifice in a Satanic cult.  That one didn't fly with me.  But either way, they found him here, dead.  That was good enough to get the granite outcropping named in his dubious honor.

The rock as cold on my behind as I sat and looked for birds, though I knew I was out of luck with the wind that was kicking up.  I scanned the tree-line in vain, waiting for a wren of quail to show their question-marked heads but had no luck.  I could see the top of our chimney, the Barker place a ways down the hill, and a bit to the right of my place, the Claytons.  Since they had no kids, they had more money than daddy and bought a couple of acres from the Johnsons who lived just to the north of us.  Father hated seeing the land split up but did have the money to buy the land himself. 

The wind lightened a bit and for a few minutes the sun peaked through the clouds.  I warmed up enough to take off my jacket and look out in to the valley.  Just over the trees, I saw her walking out of her house.  The weak sun bounced of her brilliant white robe and made her easy to spot and hard to ignore.  She came out to their back yard which we rarely saw.  They had built the tallest privacy fence we had ever seen and had no idea why they were being so unfriendly.  When my oldest brother came back from college he walked over to the fence, took a deep breath in through his nose, and smiled as if he was the prize pig at the state fair.  He laughed and ran in to tell something to Momma about this newly smelled knowledge, "Well heaven's boy," we heard her reaction, "Don't tell your father."


This just added to the mystery of the new neighbor with the high fence and the pretty wife.  The mystery was solved as I sat there on Tommy's rock with my field glasses. 

She walked to the edge of the pool they never let us use and was waiting for someone.  Another woman came out of the house carrying boxes and bags that she dropped on the driest wet spot she could find.  The new woman in a parka and heavy boots came dressed for a very different day than the woman in the robe.  She pulled a camera out of the bag and took some pictures of the sky and the house and a flower plot in the corner of the lawn.

I couldn't hear them talking abut it looked funny to see them move without sound.  It was funny until Ms. Clayton started moving.  I stared with great concentration as she played with her hair and danced around.  As the strength of the sun warmed the earth, she dropped to robe to display her body in an incredibly small bathing suit.  It was smaller than the smallest thing I had ever seen in sister's laundry basket.  My ass was glued to the rock and my faces was welded on to the glasses.  As the dance continued I saw things for the first time as they really are.  She was touching her own boobs, I couldn't believe it, it was like she was pretending to shower in the back yard and I almost laughed out loud. 


But then I stopped laughing as Ms. Clayton did something I didn't think nice people did.  She  untied the strings of that immodestly small suit and let it drop to the ground all together.  I did the same with my field glasses.  They skittered down the rock and I took the Lord's name in vain as I jumped off Tommy's death rock and grabbed the glasses from the dirt.  One lens was scratched, the other was dirty, but the metal casing was dinged and dented from the 15 foot slide down the rock.  I would catch hell from Father for that one.

Distracted as I was, I still remembered why I was up on that rock and I scrambled back to my perch.   She was on a lounge chair now, naked except for a small patch of red fabric covering her bits.  I couldn't believe it.  Momma would have a fit if she knew what was going on next door. The city council would get involved for sure, the Women's League would sponsor the pitchforks and torches, and all the men would be smiling behind their wive's back.  I had seen boobs before, I wasn't a hick, but they had been on paper, in a dog-eared Playboy stolen from my cousin's step-father's office.  But now, I, Franklin Wright, was looking at them for real, even if they were 300 yards away.  I had the memories and the stiffy to prove it.

I said, Come Hear

Where have you been?

I got her on her knees and pulled her close.  She kept her hands behind her, clasped, docile, but her eyes said nothing.

Have you been with him?  Have you? 

My throat was tight and closing from the emotions running hot.  I grabbed her collar with my fist and pulled her closer.  Who did she think she is, such a slut, such betrayal, was it him?

Where have you been?  I shook her as tears blurred my vision and my breath shortened.

I felt my cock hardening in my pants even as my rage increased and my voice cracked.

Have you been sucking his cock you whore? 

I never used words like this with her, what was happening to me?

Let me smell you, I pulled her close and she opened her mouth obediently.  I thrust my nose and and inhaled deeply, I smelled the hot coffee she had shared with me that morning, the spiced beef of her afternoon rations, but my mind was muddled, What was that other fragrance?

My fist trembled and I felt the soft skin of her vulnrable neck against my nuckles. I squeezed harder and rocked them tight agasinst her skin, she winced and gasped as she felt her airway closing.

I pulled her across the room, her knees slid across the rough carpet as she tried in vain to keep up and I saw the friction burns raise red and tender.   

Is it cock you want?  I was screaming now, unable to grasp what might be happening, where she might have been.  I pulled my pants down over my engorged cock and pulled her tight to me.  My cock pressed against her closed lips.  What she refusing me?  Now?  Was she refusing me in now when caught in the worst of betrayals?

I thrust my hips into her face and smeared the silvery pre-cum over her face.  I was hard, messy, nearing the edge of control.  My mind scrambled to make sense of it all as I slapped her across the face with my erection.  It was so absurd, so unreal, that a strangle laugh came out, I sounded like cartoon witch, cackling now on the edge of insanity.  I stopped and stared down at her. 

Are you refusing me?   She did not move, she did not look away. 

I tightened my grip on her collar and pinched her nose shut with my other hand.  She fought her growning need for air until she could not resist and she gasped.  I jerked her neck forward and impaled her on my shaft as her bare chest heaved and gupled in air.  Her tits swayed and moved as I started thrusting in and out.  She tried to turn away but my hands were iron and held her on my shaft.  I felt the head of my cock bouncing and grating along the roof of her mouth.  I felt powerful and angry and delerious with fear.  What would I do with out her?  What would I be?

I thrust angrily and called her my whore, my slut and yelled for her to suck her master's cock.  I felt disjointed, unworldly, as if watching the assault from afar.  She fought and squirmed but I did not relent.  More and more I forced myself into her perfect mouth.  The mouth that I had kissed long into summer nights, the mouth the served me with word and deed. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I fucked her until she relented and closed around me, soft, warm, tender. I felt her tongue wrap around the angry tip as gently sucked and pulled me into her. 

Her body shifted as her raw knees spread wider, lowering herself to the right spot.  One hand carresed and cared for my shaft while the other snaked downward between her own trembling legs.  My hands remained locked in her lucious brown hair, as I pulled her in and out in perfect time with my thrust.

That's better, I bellowed and I gasped with the pleasure of my pending release.  You are mine, you are mine, I felt the first twich deep inside and I held her tighter than ever, filling her throat as I release, YOU ARE MINE.

I felt her throat move and quicken to take all of me,  her hips and chest convulvsed as her fingers hit the right spot between her pink and tender gash.  Her climax intensified with every swallow and we locked together in rigid convulsions as we filled each other, as every muscle and synapse melted in to one.

Feeling the last of my seed was spent, I pulled her off of me and tossed her to the floor.  Her hand was still buried between her folds as she fell to her side.  Her fair skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and tears and cum as she spread her legs to display herself to me. 

Thank you master, she gasped as she allowed my full inspection, thank you for my correction

I stared down at her and devoured her with my eyes, claiming ownership over every inch, every fiber of her soul.  Wiping away the tears and sweat on the sleeve of my shirt, I fell to my knees next to her and cradled her head in my arms, and kissed her tenderly.

You are welcome, my pet.  Merry Christmas.

My grandkids....

What would you do?
How would you react?

If you met the man that would, several years down the road, take your daughter's virginity?





As I see my daughter grow up, discover boys, and start thinking about dating, I wonder how I can give her the tools so she can enjoy sex more than her mother does.  How do I talk to her, teach her?

I want her to be wise, to go slowly, to find meaning and passion and expression at the right time, with the right person.  But I don't know when or who that will be.

I will have to trust her.

But currently, she can't even keep track of her iPod.

Sunday's Faith - Dec 19

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This section accidentally posted early, sorry about that.

A great quote:  Why did you tell me?

I thought this was kind of funny, The Hipster Bible

He makes all Christians and Politicians look stupid

Saturday Link Dump

One Cool Thing a Day - Crafts and arts and stuff

WTF Posters -  Just funny stuff

Why liberals are unhappy - One analysts opinion

National Geographic's Photography Contest. - just some awesome photography


Because kids are cute - more photography

It's old news by now, but the roof of the Metrodome collapsed last weekend.

Vintage ads - Ah, the "Good old Days"

Beach volleyball is very entertaining

She's still beautiful, even in Swedish

FFF - 12-17 - Mirror Mirror on the Mall

78-148     "tentative touch"

Dude, you’re crushing my nuts, can’t you hold it higher?

Shut up, do you know how heavy this fucker is?

Big whoop, you’re mister “Meet me at the gym” Use some of those muscles

Are you kidding me?  It weighs a ton.  You couldn’t hold it for a second.

Maybe we should switch, your little dick wouldn’t get in the way

Very funny.  If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been in the ocean, a very cold ocean.

You are such a prick, tip it back, get the sun out of my eyes.

I’ll do that when you get my hand off my ankle.  Is that your idea of a ‘tentative touch?” 

Dude, you are such a flamer, that’s what the director told me to do.

Yah, I get it, what ever gets you through the day man.

Oh admit it, you were looking

Whatever, well, maybe…

His agent had called with his first offer in weeks.  The bank account was a bit thin so he said OK.  Now he found himself on his back, staring up in to the eyes of a stranger.  His mind was racing as he listened to the director, trying to follow instructions, to calm his breathing, to pose, to just be part of the picture. 

The mirror didn’t help.  He didn’t want to see himself, that’s why he was a model, to pose, to create, to become someone, anyone but himself.  Am I the man in the mirror? He thought, laughing at the Michael Jackson reference as he lay naked at the feet of a naked black man.  The director’s voice intruded.  What?  Oh, OK. 

He reached out and felt his hand wrap around the ankle.  With that first tentative touch,  his arm relaxed, and the standing man smiled.

The touch was too soft at first, too tentative, distracting almost, but the director was confident and patient and soon Fletcher felt the hand wrap tighter on his ankle.

“I’m Fletcher.” He said, trying to defuse the tension.

“I’m Anders” said the man in the grass, “Glad to met you”

The mirror moved in his hands as he directed the light across Anders’ naked body.  He was glad he was hidden by the glass as he felt  his cock harden.  He tried to control his thoughts, to be professional, but when he looked down and saw the 2^nd hard shaft his heart raced.  Their eyes met, Anders smiled up at him as the director yelled at them to be serious.  He looked up and into the camera lens, the wind felt good on his skin, and his outlook lifted.  It was good to make a new friend.

I told a friend that the challenge of FFF is to write on the days when you don’t like the picture, when it’s not easy.  Well, this picture was like that for me, especially at first. What do I do with two guys?  Now, I now the answer is easy and obvious for some, I’ve never written for that combination.  MMF?  Sure, MM? not so much.  So, admittedly, I was at a loss for where to begin.

Humor is a good way to start when you are uncomfortable, crack a joke, lighten the mood, deny the tension, and ignore the elephant penis in the room.  My dad would break the tension by saying we should “saddle up the elephant,” meaning that we needed to admit, address, and move on.  So what do you do when you have two beautiful naked men in a park?  You have them argue, it’s what men do best.  Starved for physical affection, men retreat into combat, insults, or conflict to deflect themselves from addressing other emotions, frustration, loneliness, inadequacy, fear, or attraction.  It is only at the end when one of the men cracks, and admits to anything. I imagine the last line of #1 was whispered, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to be denied, if the reaction was harsh.

In all three scenarios they are being watched, these are not private moments, they are staged and stilted and any real reactions have to be veiled until later.  As his hand wraps around the other man’s ankle in #2, his heart rate drops, his arm relaxes and the photos are taken.  But what happened?  Did his confidence in his heterosexuality return and he realized that these are just pictures or did he realize that it was OK to be there, to be attracted, to be accepting.  Is he gay or gay-for-pay?  Is even an issue while the camera is rolling?  What happens next determines the real story.  #3 implies a future, it’s more obvious, more directly sexual, they smile, the admit, and both are planning. 

If you aren’t totally bored with all of this by now, the scenario below is the first one that came in to my head and I thought of it in script form…..(If you don't count the script notes, I stay within the word  limit)

What were they thinking (Scene 1)…

[Naked man in grass – voice over – his voice]
Ok, just breath, relax stay calm, it’s OK, nothing wrong here, just relax, but the grass itches and it’s tickling my ass.  DON’T think about it, just breath, relax, stay calm.  Be professional.  Dude, just be straight, don’t think about it, just breath, relax and stay calm. Yea, but that wind feels good. DUDE!!!  He’s right there, his ‘thing’ is right behind that mirror, are you crazy? Why did you sign up for this?  I don’t care if she’s cute, screw her photography class, this is too much, you haven’t even kissed her yet, you are such a pussy, I can’t believe you agreed to this.  Oh shit…

[Naked man with mirror – voice over – his voice]
Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.  MAN!   You looked down. Don’t look down, don’t look down Don’t look down, don’t look down.  Man, you looked down again!

[Together – voice over]

Oh shit, it moved.

With our gracious host, Panser, out for the week, I took the liberty of posting last week's players here.  There are so many creative writers, let's get the word out and see who played.  And even if they didn't do a FFF post, they all have terrific blogs.  Pay them a visit.

Nilla:  http://vanillamom.wordpress.com 
Drenchxoxo:  http://thedrenchedone.blogspot.com 
Advizor:  http://advizortoall.blogspot.com 
Aeon's Angel:  http://afreedomtosubmit.blogspot.com 
Soren:  http://amorousdays.blogspot.com  
France:  http://theworldbegins.blogspot.com 

Vesta:  http://vestassubmission.blogspot.com 
David:  http://dsinvegas.blogspot.com 
Rozewolf:  http://wordwytch.wordpress.com 
Lexi:  http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com 
Oversexed Librarian:  http://oversexedlibrarian.blogspot.com
Sephani Paige:  http://sephanipaige.wordpress.com 
Max:  http://mystic-satyr.blogspot.com
Violet:  http://writteninpurpleink.blogspot.com 

Dixie:  http://dixiedukes.blogspot.com/

Welcome home

.

.

.

Greet me like you mean it,

wrap me up in your arms

hold me as if you missed me

cover me with all your charms

Don't ever try to leave me

Just standing by the door

Greet me like you mean it

And we'll love for ever more.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Are you freaking kidding me?????

I get so infuriated when I read about lawsuits like the one in this CNN story.

"A California woman is suing McDonald's claiming the fast-food giant uses toys to market directly to young children"

Really?  Really?  No shit. Geez is this woman an idiot or what?  Of course McDonalds uses toys to market directly to children, they aren't going for the Harvard market? 

Parham, a 41-year old state employee, says her kids repeatedly ask for Happy Meals, mainly for the toys. "We have to say no to our kids so many times and McDonald's makes that so much harder to do. I object to the fact that McDonald's is getting into my kids' heads without my permission and actually changing what my kids want to eat."

 What a load of crap.  You give your permission every time you let them watch TV, every time you take them there, every time you neglect to educate them about advertising, every time you take them out for dinner instead of cooking at home and teaching them about nutrition and health.

If you cared so much about your kids, you'd teach them what advertising is, what crap the toys are, and how fast food is a treat and not dinner 5x a week.  I've been watching TV with my kids since they were young. We sit and we watch together, and when ads come on and they turn to me with their adorable eyes wide and say, "Daddy may I....?" we talk.  Shocking, I know, but we talk.

Why do you want it now?
What did the ad say that makes you want it?
How do ads influence our decisions?
Can this product do all it says?
Will it be as fun as it looks?
How long will it last until it breaks/runs out/wears out/loses its appeal?
Can a tube of lipstick really make you popular?
If you don't play with the 22 Bakugan balls you already have (all garage sale finds, thank you) why will you play with one more?

It's called parenting.  It's called caring for your kids and giving them to tools to take care of themselves.

If this lawsuit succeeds will they ban all advertising?  This woman obviously isn't capable of making decisions on her own.  She can't even tell her own kids "No."  If you have to tell them no "so many times" then you aren't explaining yourself very well.  Are we really coming to a point in society where you have to sue others because you can't parent yourself?  EVERY AD on the Saturday morning shows you let your kids watch for 4 hours targets them.  Polly Pocket, Pokemon, Hot Wheels, Pizza Hut, Mattel, Bratz, every one of them targets your kids, but this lady has apparently decided that she's done being a parent, it's time to sue the big guy and ditch all sense of responsibility.

Parents can, and should be, the most influential person in their children's lives.  Its your JOB to teach them about marketing, ads, fast food, good health, nutrition, and most of all PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY. 

If you don't teach them early and often to understand and analyze marketing, do you think the will survive in the world?  If you can't teach them to tell between fact and fiction, between reality and marketing, they will end up with maxed-out credit cards, a closet full of Gucci, and a lifetime of diet pills and bad credit. And for all of you with daughters, don't think that it's just corporations targeting your kids.  Every college age boy knows how to market themselves, and they are all targeting your girls, and some of the boys.

Long Live the Happy Meal!!!  Long Live Good Parents!!

(the rant is finished, resume your lives)

I love winter...

It creeps in slowly
as the long days fade
and sweaters replace tank tops,
boots replace flip-flops,
and bonfires on the beach give way to
long snuggles as the fireplace crackles.

It is winter when I think of you most.
Your love of all things Christmas,
how good you looked in jeans and snow boots
as you walked away
always looking over your shoulder
to make sure I was watching.

I remember our first long night together.
Schoolwork was done
books were back on the shelves
and you kindled the flames
and the heat, and the need.

Soft cotton pajama pants
bare skin, full breasts
your hand on my wrist
guiding
teaching
telling me how to bring you pleasure.

You were my first, the first
with the courage to show me.
"Not here", you said as my fingers moved.
"Here" and I felt the softness for the first time.

"Not so hard" you whispered.
"It feels better if you do this..." and you
moved my kisses an inch.
Never losing your smile
never passing judgment
teaching, sharing, bonding us together
making me feel like I was worth the time

It was your heels I first felt
tight on the small of my back,
ankles locked,
holding me tight
"harder now"
You led me past my fear of hurting you.
"More"
Your voice was urgent, loving, needing me
"Don't stop."
You owned your body in a new way
like no woman I had known before.

"I’m going to cum" you said.
with me, with us
you claimed if for yourself and you shared with me
you wanted me
you wanted pleasure
you wanted release
and you wanted me to be there

you had no shame
you had no guile
you were a woman who knew she was a woman
and you made me feel like a man.

I love winter
but I am sad when I miss you
when I miss the glow of your skin by firelight
your warm kisses as I walked out your door
I miss the way your wrapped me in your life
kept me warm
and made me strong.

Merry Christmas Kari.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(I had the perfect winter picture for this post, but I lost it in all of the cutting and pasting and refreshing and moving and, well, crap.  Imagine, if you will, a beautiful women by the edge of a lake, the ground covered in snow, on her tip-toes, bare, her bronzed skin in contrast to the white around her. She faces away, her back a smooth landscape against the freshly fallen snow.  If I can find it again I'll add it.)

Blogs about blogging are boring blogs

I have always thought that posts about posting and blogs about blogging are little to self serving, but sometimes it's fun to acknowledge the people who make writing our blogs so much fun.  We had "Love your Lurkers" day a while back and I still love all the silent visitors that drop in read.  Today though, is a thank-you note to my friends who drop in and say hi, those who e-mail me and boost my ego and my social skills by making me interact with humans, or at least very cleverly programmed spam-bots.

 

Today's special shout-out goes to Namibia, a country with a lot of desert, a long coast line, some wonderful people, and apparently, some very discerning Internet users who love good blogging.  :-)

On one of the stat pages, Malaysia had 6 page views.  I don't even know if a blog like mine is legal in Malaysia.  So, to my dear reader in Malaysia, please don't get arrested, and if you do get arrested, tell them my name is Pete and I'm writing from Nigeria.  For $7,500 I can get you the money of a dethroned prince.

I also was kind of pleasantly surprised to see my "Follower" count start creeping up.  As of Monday, I had 84 people with too much time on their hands how pegged their name to my blog.   Thank you all, my ego appreciates it. I'll try and make your visits worthwhile, mostly by not blogging about blogging very often.

morning goodbyes

Every time we say goodbye
I die a little
Every time we say goodbye
I wonder why a little
Why the Godss above me
Who must be in the know
Think so little to me
They allow you to go

Sunday's Faith

I forgot to post this on Sunday, but since the WikiLeaks story may be old new by then, I'm putting my Sunday post out on Monday.  Forgive me, for I have sinned....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 I'm not sure if this is religious, or political, but here it is nonetheless.

This is my favorite comment on the various church abuse scandals

and we will finish with "Hate Mail By Richard Dawkins"

Saturday's Link Dump

I've been thinking what to do for my Saturday posts.  Sunday's have started to drift towards a certain theme, so maybe Saturday should do the same.  Maybe I can start linking to sites I like and just give you all something to do while you wait for Saturday morning cartoons are over.

So here we go:

30 Awesome Football stadium Cakes

Just in time for Christmas - A Bacon Nativity Scene

I have daughters, so I think about this stuff.

Are you still.....?

Mine?

Ask Me

 

Eu posso ir, desde que ele leva para você aprender a lição

Enquanto ele leva para você entender

O que será preciso?
Se é abuso? Posso entregá-lo.
Se é ternura? Você vai ter que conquistá-lo.
O que será preciso?

Estou disposto a fazer com que a dor que você crave
Basta perguntar ...
novamente, e novamente.

FFF has me "shivering with desire"

107-127

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

She was so beautiful it made her heart race.  She felt her body moisten the masculine leg she straddled.  She looked across at her, shivered with desire, and realized sh could barely breathe.  Her skin was perfect, the hair radiant gold, long, soft.  Her breasts, and perfect nipples called to her and were now just inches away.  As she rested her hand on her thigh she thought about kissing, tasting, taking her for the first time.  Even if he had to be there, it was worth it. They smiled at each other, leaned in, and kissed, sweet bliss, Nirvana, Ecstasy made flesh, transcendent pleasure. 

He cleared his throat, hating to interrupt the two nymphs who’s kiss defined passion. 

“I’ve always wanted twins,” He said.

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

It was so strange, the nervousness, the fear, the guilt.  “Holy Shit Girl, what have you gotten yourself in to?”  Her husband’s thigh moved and she rocked against it, feeling his strength, his support. 

“Just put your hand…”  She nodded at them and smiled with shaky lips, shivering with desire.  She did not want to admit how little encouragement she needed.   

She felt more than naked, exposed, not a victim, but a sacrifice, “To what?” she pondered, she felt feminine hands on her skin, “To lust? To death, To freedom?” She felt tears and pleasure in equal measure.  She ground harder into the muscles of her beloved and reached out to familiar but alien flesh.  The first of many was welling up inside of her, and she put away fear

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

Just 2 for now, 127 words go by so quickly, they are but a beginning. 

Go see who else is playing today!

Nilla:  http://vanillamom.wordpress.com 

Drenchxoxo:  http://thedrenchedone.blogspot.com 
Advizor:  http://advizortoall.blogspot.com 
Aeon's Angel:  http://afreedomtosubmit.blogspot.com 
Soren:  http://amorousdays.blogspot.com 
France:  http://theworldbegins.blogspot.com  (France is a newcomer; please go welcome her!) 
Vesta:  http://vestassubmission.blogspot.com  (Another newcomer; please go say welcome!) 
David:  http://dsinvegas.blogspot.com 
Rozewolf:  http://wordwytch.wordpress.com 
Lexi:  http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com 
Oversexed Librarian:  http://oversexedlibrarian.blogspot.com
Sephani Paige:  http://sephanipaige.wordpress.com 
Max:  http://mystic-satyr.blogspot.com

Pull

 

What kind of pain do you want today?

I am in the mood to inflict.

Red, Red, or Red

 I love shopping.  I love shopping for my self, for others, with others, to buy gifts, and I especially love shopping if it's with other people's money. 

A friend of mine on the bus, a seriously pretty mom/nurse/runner/commuter, said that she hates shopping.  So I volunteered to do it.  She said that she had the list, but that she hated fighting the crowds at the malls, seeing the $$s add up, and she especially hates the buyers remorse that kicks in during this time of year. 

None of that impacts me.  If I'm within my budget I don't feel guilty.  If I bought it, I like it.  I like the idiots at the mall, the poser teenage boys hitting on the over-sexed teenage girls, the cheesy Christmas music, the bad decorations, I really like it all.

 She thought about what I said and joked that she's pay me to do her shopping.  I said it was a deal, but that I'd do it for free if she came with me.  You see, if I love shopping, I REALLY love shopping for women, and if you'll let me get you in a dress shop, buy a lunch and stay a while, I will put in you in a dozen outfits before you set your purse down.

During a shopping trip in college with a tragically platonic friend, she asked me if I was gay because I liked clothes and knew fashion.  I responded that I definitely was not gay, that I loved women, and more, I love women in beautiful clothes.

If I had even a hint of talent at designing them myself, I wouldn't be stuck behind this auditor's desk writing posts about other people who design clothes. 

I hope she takes me up on the offer.  She is pretty, strong, and has great hair and would look fantastic in any of these dresses.  (I was going to say "fabulous" but that makes me sound gayer that this post already implies)

I'm not sure which one I like best.  These were on display the other day at Bebe's when I was walking around at lunch.  I'm not sure how much they cost, but I bought a cute halter-top for a friend there last month and it was $40.  So, I'm sure the dresses would be a bit pricey. 

So what is this post about?  Not much, except that when I saw these dresses and talked to my friend, it just made me think how much fun it is to spend other people's money.

Maybe I should go in to politics.

Just a reminder

You know what I'm talking about.

Obedience is an interesting thing. 

If it's freely given it is a wonderful gift.  

If it is forced, it feels like slavery to both.

The cyber D/s game is a delicate balance of 

play, willingness, and suspension of reality.

I am not there to enforce instructions

Compliance is given freely or not at all.

I can not be there as a reminder

Except through e-mail, and silly postings like this.

Is it even D/s when over the Internet?

If I have no power, 

then there is no Power Dynamic to play with.

If submission is voluntary

If no Punishments can be administered

All I can do is withdraw

And most feel that my leaving is part of the reward.

But I am not complaining

She is a wonderful playmate

A willing partner in crime

but it is different.

it is not D/s

It is play

for both of us

and I smile everytime I see her name

in my in-box.

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

Postlude

I find myself writing

In prose

detached

to imitate the rhythms and 

feelings of real humans

and it gives me

the ability

to avoid grammer

structure

and thought

and sometimes

it makes me sound

a little

like

Captain Kirk.

For the Daughters..

I don't have time to go too deep on this topic, but I wanted to link to a great post over at "Dorothy Surrenders" and drop a quick note of thanks.

http://dorothysurrenders.blogspot.com/2010/12/never-cross-dame.html

Dame Helen Mirren gives a wonderful thank you speech for the Sherry Lansing Leadership Award and talks about the role of women in film and in life.  It's a wonderful 6 minutes.

But on the larger scale it made me grateful for all of the women (and men) who have worked so hard on behalf of my daughters, whom they have never met.  Because of these women my daughters can go to college, pick a degree of their choice, get a job, vote, own property, wear ants to work, stay at home, run a company, report the news, cure cancer, teach at the highest levels, get elected, serve in the military, and a countless list of other things that my mom was not allowed to do.


AI have studied politics, economics, and have lived outside the United States enough to know how easy most of my life has been, simply because I was born a man.  I can write my name in the snow and do anything else, at least try anything else in my life and no one bats an eye.  My daughters, except for maybe the snow thing, can now do the same.  It won't be as easy as it should be, but, because of brave, dedicated, and rebellious women who went before them, the paths have been open.

Thank you.

Forced - Part 1

 

Really?

Did you think you could get away with it?

Did you think I wouldn't notice the fresh linens?

The full hamper?

The look in your eye?

You are such a silly, silly whore.

you are my whore, of course,

But that does not excuse your behavior

your choices

I gave you very clear guidelines

I gave you rules

Instructions

Limits

And you chose to ignore them

to violate your Master's will.

Now it is my turn.

You wanted to cum

You did not ask permission

So now, you will cum.

When I say

As many times as I want

For whomever I invite to join us.

The ropes are in place

You are in place

As you should be

compliant,

at my will

you will cum

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

(Do you want part 2?)

If I was there

If I was there

I would lock the door behind me

my phone call defined your role

the house has been emptied,

the beds have been made

things have been prepared

 You know that this is not personal,

that was about to come is not about you

it is not about us

it is about the world

and the pain it inflicts

~~~~

In front of the fireplace we kneel

Two souls in need of release

two hearts that see

I cup your face in my hands

kissing you gently on the forehead,

upon closed eyes,

down your cheek, to your neck, 

your shoulders that carry me

I caress the unmarked skin of your breast

your chest

your hip.

When I am done

you will be mine, you will be marked, you will be pain.

When I am done I will be at rest

When I am done

you will feel complete

When we are done

we will be healed

Simple

There are times when I want it simple

When I want you naked
When I want you quiet
When I want you alone
When I want you to be mine
When I want to feel you
When I want to fuck you
When I want the world to go away
When I want you open and ready
When I want just to be inside you

It doesn't have to be complicated
Sometimes it is best when it is simple.

Hurray for morning sex!!

The heating blankets were on low, keeping us warm through the night and when I reset my alarm for 20 minutes more, it was her hand that snaked down, her voice that said, "Lock the door." and her voice that asked, "How quick can you be, I want to go back to sleep."

It was wonderful!  Who said Monday's were bad?