Friday, 31 August 2007

31/08/07

Today is the 10th Anniversary of the death of Princess Diana.

I have always felt a certain affinity with her. We were born in the same year and I watched her fairy tale wedding on the television with my future Husband, full of hope for the future that it was possible for a bright bubbly personality to live happily every after with a more sober, older man.

I read my Hello at the hairdressers and saw the pictures on the News as her life unfolded. The pregnancies and births. The public occasions. The clothes. The new hairstyles. The glamorous lifestyle. Dancing with John Travolta and hobnobbing with celebrities.

Then the rumours started. And the press manipulation. I read Andrew Morton's book like car crash television - with my slitted fingers covering my eyes and yet unable to look away. The revelations were extraordinary. The eating disorders exacerbated, if not caused, by the sadness within her married life - more empathy there.

Whilst the Wales's marriage was spinning out of control into a very public fireball, I was engaged in bearing and bringing up my own two very small children. Seeing her turn up at the Serpentine Gallery in that fantastic little black dress, completely stealing the show away from her Husband, who was being interviewed about his life that very night on the television by Jonathan Dimbleby. Watching her, horrified, on Panorama as she revealed the very intimate details of the three people in her marriage and yet completely understanding the reasons why she did so.

It became apparent to all of us that she was as much an attention junky as any blogger on the internet today. Her desperation for everyone to love and admire her left her with no choice but to get third parties to voice the reality of her situation. And yet her ability to make people love her without having to do any of that was so clear. You only had to watch the reaction of the people who met her, even in the full glare of the media. They were completely smitten by her smile and the warmth in her eyes. Her devotion to her charitable causes, her determination to use her position and her persona to make a difference were immensely laudable attributes.

But I just wanted her to find someone who could give her the love she needed. All those men, the army types, the bodyguards, the sportsmen, the heart surgeon, the art dealer - none of them had the social standing or the gumption to be able to face down the paparazzi and deal with the disdain of the higher echelons of society in which she moved.

And then there was Dodi. Wealthy playboy, used to the attentions of the media. Accustomed to being considered a pariah by the English gentry. He and his father must have seemed so different to the cold family life that she had experienced where duty was all. In the world of the Al Fayeds, it seemed to be all about having fun and enjoying the world and all it had to offer, money no object.

Watching the documentaries about that last summer, I was taken back to my own thoughts as I saw the pictures on the evening News. She just looked as if she was having a great time. For once, completely relaxed and enjoying herself. The programmes in recent months have seemed to imply that a lot of it was staged for the cameras and maybe some of it was in an attempt to give the paparazzi what they needed so that the couple could ensure some time for themselves.

And then the cold reality of the cctv footage from the Paris Ritz. The Princess, tired and tearful from being chased around. Why didn't they just stay at the Ritz? Who will ever really know? But they exited stage left with a man who could have been drunk behind the wheel and it all ended in tears at pillar 13 of the Alma Tunnel. In another City, hundreds of miles to the north that I drive through regularly, there are a series of such tunnels and often, as I enter the dark, narrow tubes, I think about how easy it would be to lose control just for a split second... and I'm only travelling at 30mph.

We had been away visiting friends on the August Bank Holiday weekend of 1997, returning home late on Sunday night. My Husband awoke me at about 10am to tell me that they were reporting on the radio that Princess Diana had died and we turned on the television. To be honest, I felt quite tearful. She had been such an icon, such an immense figure throughout my life for the previous 17 years. I had grown up with her, tried to copy some of her fashion and hairstyles. She was the same age as me and she was dead.

As the days passed, the story unfolded and the mountain of flowers and messages outside Kensington Palace and Buckingham Palace grew, I watched the public display of grief with a certain detachment. Yes, I could understand it but I had no desire to join it. I had my own personal memories of the happy smiling teenager who grew into such a beautiful but tormented woman.

I watched the Funeral from quite early in the morning. There were several tearful moments - the sight of the little wreath of, was it white lillies? on top of the coffin. With the card bearing the single word 'Mummy'. The appearance of the main men in her life, especially her young sons, as they joined the cortege behind the coffin and walked to the Cathedral and the eulogy given by her brother, Earl Spencer. I didn't look away until the hearse bearing her coffin drove in through the gates at Althorpe and disappeared.

Suddenly, there was no more to see. The Princess of Wales had left the stage and the world was a sorrier place without her. I think she touched the lives of so many people, just by being there, being photographed, being shared with us. The alacrity with which the Press tried to fill the void with the Kylies and Victoria Beckhams of the world was laughable.

The Prince went on to marry his mistress and seems to be living happily ever after. Do I begrudge him that? Of course not. He should have followed his heart and done it in the first place rather than making three people miserable by doing his duty. But if he had, then Diana Spencer would never have seen the light of a million flashbulbs... and the cult of her celebrity would never have been born.

Thursday, 30 August 2007

P is for...

Not only am I all the P words mentioned in the Magnificent 7Ps but I am also one more - prehistoric.

I am 46 years old. Yes, I have a much younger looking body and I'm very fortunate that my face isn't wearing too badly either. However, the march of time often catches up with me to tap me on the shoulder and remind me that the sands in the hour glass may now have more settled in the bottom than still to flow through from the top.

I come from a family of women who all lived well into their nineties. My grandmother is over one hundred. But that doesn't make me superwoman. My eggs suffer the same degradation as any other woman's as they age. Much as I would love to give Ruf a child, I know that this is not really feasible. The chances of a 40 year old man and a 46 year old woman producing a damaged baby are statistically so much greater than those of a 40 year old man and, say, a 36 year old woman. We both freely admit that we are now too selfish and too stubborn to contemplate the prospect of our lifestyles being changed in so dramatic a fashion as would occur with the advent of a disabled child, notwithstanding all the other considerations.

However, that doesn't mean that it doesn't still hurt to think that if he wanted one, I couldn't fulfil that desire and I worry that my presence in his life might well stop him from achieving what is every man's natural goal - to procreate and perpetuate his genes.

My periods have always been relatively regular - 28 or 35 days. There might be the odd slightly shorter or slightly longer gap but pretty much I knew roughly when they would occur. So when, last year, I failed to menstruate at all one month, I was naturally a little alarmed but I did a test and it was negative. The decorators duly arrived for the following month and I put it down to another P word - premenopausal - and started taking the requisite herbs in tablet form, which sorted things out again.

Naturally, when it happened again last month, I was not unduly concerned.

Common sense told me that I had been pregnant three times and carried two to term but all three had started with very similar symptoms and I knew I was pregnant within a couple of days of conception, borne out by my first baby starting contractions on the exact day I said she was due - despite the 'experts' telling me that I had gone a week over. I didn't keep a temperature chart for nothing and that showed that I had had a 35 day cycle the month that the teen was conceived.

When I fall pregnant, I can feel the closure of my cervix, like a bung inside me. There was no such sensation this time. When I fall pregnant, my nipples feel as if they are on fire and I can hardly bear to put on a bra. I have to admit that the left one has been a little tender but in more like a precursor to menstruation than a pregnant way and, bearing in mind that Ruf had just spent a weekend twisting and squeezing them with an abandon which should have been impossible...

It was the faint but continual feeling of nausea this time around that really made me worry, especially as it started just over a week after Finger Fucking Friday. But, again, it wasn't like the nausea I have had in previous pregnancies and I put it down to an inner ear problem that I often get.

Of course, it was the craving that finally set all the alarm bells ringing. On Sunday, I had this amazing desire for chips and gravy which Ruf duly produced. When I drove home on Monday I had to stop after a couple of hours and buy a portion of chips to eat as I drove. On Tuesday, I ate masses of mashed potatoes. I was standing in the kitchen tucking into the cold leftovers at midnight before I went to bed! Yesterday I just had to have salt and vinegar crisps followed by chips and gravy again for tea.

I am an anorexic. This is not normal behaviour.

So, this morning, I took the test.

The pink line showed up almost straightaway, darkening ominously the longer I looked at it.

Fuck.

Sugasm #94


Mon 27th Aug, 07
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #95? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

Fisted, first. “And it was lovely, because the movements made by his fist inside me were so different to a cock.”


The Razor, the Tape and the Man “He’s never known this lack of control, this unstoppable surge of orgasm, this wave of ecstasy soldiers crossing his territory.”


Sex Work And Religion: Monotone Man “Religion comes up during calls more than I anticipated when I started doing sex work.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself Masterlock Street Cuffs

Editor’s Choice Watching my girl’s caning

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Wednesday, 29 August 2007

Magnificent 7Ps

With apologies to Gypsy for taking so long to respond to her Magnificent 7Ps tag...

Passion: I'm passionate about everything I do. There's not much point in approaching goals in a half-hearted way because that will be the nature of the subsequent outcome.

Purpose: My purpose is to try to bring my kids to adulthood without them suffering too many traumas on the way. It's really difficult because there are so many peer pressures that you just can't foresee or head off.

Pursuit: My pursuit is, of course, to find happiness. And, since I met Ruf, I can honestly say that I really am so much happier.

Position: Yup, I'm a doggy girl too if you must know - although flat on my back with my legs in the air and Ruf firmly ensconced between them comes a close second :)

Pummelling: I have a black belt in a martial art... so I really do enjoy dishing out a bit of pummelling.

Progress: I think Ive come a long way from that distraught skeletal woman who nearly sank at the end of 2004.

Personality: I try very hard to be a 'cup half full' type of person and most people say they remember me for my smile.


Im supposed to tag someone else, so I pass this on to... BenefitScroungingScum




And then there is another P word that is very firmly on my mind at the moment. This has happened before and, of course, it could just be the vagaries of my advanced age but I guess that I do need to ascertain that that is all it is.

I have bought a test.

It's OFFICIAL! Cakes can be Hot...

You scored as Hot, You are Hot, you scream and are wild, people love doing anything sexual with you.

Hot

94%

Soft

75%

Violent

69%

Exciting

50%

Sweet

50%

Wet

50%

Awkward

19%

Shy

19%

What is your sexual style?
created with QuizFarm.com



With thanks to Lady in Red for drawing this quiz to my attention :)

Tuesday, 28 August 2007

Back to School Challenge

Ms R's Back to School Challenge - a bit of a rush in the very short time available but here goes...



6' Under

My neighbours all keep pristine gardens. As a result, I too have become a keen gardener, forever with my hands in the dirt, talking to my babies as they unfurl their soft green shoots to the sun, watering them possessively in the full heat of summer and watching them die, shrivelled and half-eaten as the slug and snail population of my property eat their fill.

I cannot bear to suffer the indignity of a stray dandelion, poking its head between the stones of my parquet-inspired brickwork pathways and spare neither my back nor my fingernails in my quest for the perfect frontage. I am, to put it bluntly, more than a little obsessed with the appearance of my front entrance. I try so hard to keep its lavender bush lining immaculately trimmed and go to peculiar lengths to ensure that the whole area presents the most pleasing aspect to all comers.

So what is it with the fauna in my little corner of Essex? Do they think I look like an animal undertakers? Why do they always choose my garden to breathe their last gasp and spin off this mortal coil? First it was a too close encounter with a dead pigeon which, at first glance, appeared to be headless. I knew I couldn't leave it there on the path even in the hope that a passing fox would take it away for a free supper. Those bastards never do that when you want them to!

So, donning my oldest jeans and tucking them into a long, thick pair of socks before slipping on my paint spattered deckies, a 'has definitely seen better days' fleece with the sleeves firmly buried inside the long armed gauntlets of my stoutest gardening gloves, I armed myself with a spade and proceeded to investigate the corpse more closely.

It wasn't a very old pigeon, the feathers were still quite fluffy but it was big enough to take up the entire bed of the spade as I lifted it up and, wrinkling my nose pitifully whilst holding it at arm's length, started the journey from the sideway to a patch of earth that would be soft enough for me to bury it. You can imagine my disgust as the head suddenly bounced out from underneath it, the neck well and truly broken and, squealing pathetically whilst recoiling in horror, I nearly dropped the lot. Grimacing with the indignity of the whole thing, the bile rising in my throat as I cursed in an unseemly fashion for one performing the duties of an undertaker, I continued the slow walk down the garden where I proceeded to inter the corpse with full burial rites and a prayer before firming the earth over the top and covering it with leaves and a brick to ensure that some vermin didn't dig the damn thing up and leave even less of it lying in the middle of the garden.

You can, therefore, imagine my dismay when I try to return a parcel that I have taken in for my neighbour only to discover that my latest corpse is a fully grown fox which, having caught the son's attention as it limped around in the garden plaintively this morning, has decided to come back and cark it on my front drive whilst I was out at Tesco!

I suppose I should have tried to look on the bright side, at least it was not stopping us from parking the cars - hurrah for the considerate foxy. But my stoic side was not encouraged when my neighbour took her parcel, looked down her nose and said 'I see you have a corpse in your front garden!'

I return home immediately to assess the full extent of the renard problem and realise very swiftly that this is not something that I can just carry by spade and bury in the small but rapidly growing cemetery in my back garden. So I telephone the council and explain the nature of my predicament.

'Oh,' says the lady receptionist, 'the one thing we don't deal with is foxes. But I can give you the number of the RSPCA or, indeed, the Fox Welfare Association?'

'The Fox Welfare Association? I think it may be just a little late for counselling!'

'Well,' she continues, purposefully ignoring my attempt at irony 'the best thing you can do is put it in a black sack and leave it out for the dustmen who will take it.'

Now, there are several problems with this particular course of action, the first being that this is Wednesday and the dustman came for their weekly retrieve and disposal duty yesterday! OK, this summer has not been the hottest on record, but the smell is going to cause me all sorts of problems with my social standing in the locality come next Monday.

Next, I try to explain that this thing is the size of a small pony and, being a very tiny person, I'm going to be hard pushed to lift it up, let alone fit it in a black sack. It's almost as big as me for god's sake!!!

'Couldn't your husband do it?' Terrific, poor Mr Cake gets home from work in the dark and finds himself providing a shroud!

I try arguing the toss but there is no shifting her. A black bag burial it will have to be. Until, at the end of the conversation, she adds as a parting shot: 'Of course, because it's on a private drive, there's nothing I can do about it, but if it was on the public highway, then I would have to make a report'

So, listening to the hidden meaning behind her words, I don my undertaker's outfit once more, pick the corpse up by a front and back leg (taking care to bend my knees so as not to put my back out again) and deposit it under the tree outside my property, before alerting the council to the dead body that I have spotted on the footpath in this particularly highly rateably valued residential road.

'What sort of animal is it?' enquires the lady who answers.

'Not being David Attenborough, I have absolutely no idea,' I reply. 'But I think it is red with a bushy tail...'

When I look, less than an hour later, the corpse has gone and my front entrance is, once again, perfection.

Blog Interview

The very nice people at BlogInterviewer.com asked me to answer some of their more probing questions.

So if you want to read my erudite and perspicacious views on life, love and blogging, you need to go here and if you want to help me win some lolly to support my various nefarious habits, including my ugly fascination with sex toys, you need to press the thumb that's pointing upwards. Thanking you kindly x

Monday, 27 August 2007

The End of the Affair

I did see The Catalyst one final time.



His emails made him seem so undecided. Yes, he had made his decision but he still talked in a very flirtatious way, still asked me to send risque photos, still sent some of his own. It was very confusing. I didn't want to give up without a fight. To look back from the future and wish I had tried harder - it is one of my biggest failings, never knowing when to give up a lost cause.



One day, I was near his home town on another matter so I arranged to see him for a drink that evening. I was so full of excited anticipation when I picked him up from close to his house. He looked a little nervous but my heart was just so glad to see him. I reached over and kissed his pale cheek. Actually having him in my car was an amazing feeling. Being in the same small space, so close I could hear him breathe.



It was so weird when he reached into the glovebox in front of the passenger seat. So like my fantasy and yet not. I laughed nervously and told him he probably shouldn't look in there, which, of course, made him even more determined to discover its contents. The base of the toothbrush brought a smile to his face and he looked at me curiously but I wasn't going to offer the head... not yet. I wanted to see what the evening brought but I was glad he knew that it was there. He returned it to its hiding place and closed the cover.



I drove a few miles away under his direction to a local pub and we had a couple of drinks and a good chat. He was warm and friendly but then he said he had to get back. As we got into the car in the car park, I knew that this was probably my last chance. I wasn't going to go home a second time with regrets for not even having kissed him properly. The car was parked in quite a secluded spot so I slipped off my shoes and slid inelegantly across the central console and positioned myself on his lap facing him.



To start with, he looked alarmed and then almost resigned. I put my arms around his neck and buried my face in the soft skin. He smelt faintly of Issy Miyake and it just felt so good to actually be physically pressed against him, his hard chest digging into my soft one. I could feel his hands caressing the skin of my back under my tshirt and then we kissed. His lips were warm and soft, gently opening and closing against mine. My heart was singing so loud, I thought he must be able to hear.



Encouraged, I pulled away and lifted his tshirt just as I had imagined it in my Bristol fantasy. Kissing his nipple ring and savouring his muscles with my lips but in this reality he didn't melt into me. He wasn't fighting me off, but he wasn't welcoming me in either. I didn't know what to do, how to play it. I noticed him glance at the time showing on the front of his phone on the dashboard.



'I have to get back. She will be wondering'



I wanted to rip the phone away from him and throw it into the back seat. But, instead, I tried one last time and kissed him, harder this time, my hands roving all over his chest, his stomach, his thighs. I could feel him hardening beneath my bottom and inwardly I shouted at my victory.



Within seconds, it had become hollow. The moment was lost forever as he looked at his phone for a second time and I knew I could never win. Yes, he wanted me, but he wanted her more, wanted to try to make his future work. I smiled and kissed his cheek. He opened the door and picked me up bodily and lifted me out of the car, carrying me giggling, as I clung to him with my arms and legs, just enjoying that final moment of him before he placed me back into the driver's seat.



'I had forgotten how light you are,' he whispered as he kissed away the tear of resigned realisation that was rolling down my face.



He got back into the passenger side and held my hand for a few moments as I started the car. I knew I had failed and I accepted it. The radio burst into life... Angels by Robbie Williams. It was too much and, despite my best efforts, two more big fat tears forced their way past my closed eyelids and I switched it off in disgust.



I drove him back to the place where I had collected him. He talked of the future, that he had been sorely tempted but glad that he had been able to resist. It would not have been good for either of us. He checked the time on his phone again, kissed my cheek and I watched him walk away for the final time.



I didn't totally give up on him, we still flirted by email from time to time but I think I finally realised the futility of what I was trying to achieve. Bear once said that it was soul destroying for him watching me beat myself against the brick wall of The Catalyst's confusion and trying to pick up the pieces every time he disappointed me.



I guess, in the end, it just hurt too much.

Friday, 24 August 2007

Finger Fucking Friday

As I drove the last few miles to my eventual destination, I called Ruf and told him to read my blog. Of course the last entry was Hannibal Lector Thursday. He didn't know about that piece.



When I arrived, it was warm and about to get much hotter still as I dropped my bags and threw myself into his arms. It had been three long weeks since I was last there... and we were both thinking about that post and its eventual denouement.


Very soon we were on the bed, removing clothing, kissing and stroking. We know each other's bodies like the backs of our own hands and yet they still surprise us with the intensity of their reaction to the other's presence. I was wearing one of my favourite sets of lingerie - black with big white polka dots. When he slid off the little panties and finally touched me, I was incandescent with desire... and then he started.


'I'm going to finger fuck you... fuck you with my fingers... these fingers...'


And he did, but not before he had spent an inordinate amount of time teasing me, building me up to a pinnacle of frustrated fury before sliding them into me. Sometimes my cunt pretty much froths with desire for him, bubbles of lust just spilling out of me but this time it was different. My lust was thick and sticky, gloopy and glutinous on his fingers as he let me eat myself off them again and again. Probing me until I was gasping distractedly, loading them up and feeding them to me. All the time whispering the 'f' words that so arouse me.


And then his rhythm changed to curling his fingers against my gspot and tapping. Gently at first, calming me down and then rousing me from my dreamy reverie as they beat more insistently, building until he was beating a military tattoo on the target as I arched screaming away from and into him, not knowing whether I was coming or going with the exquisite ecstasy that consumed me.


Slowly letting me come down and then hiking it up again, over and over, interspersed with kissing and us both licking the come from his fingers. Every time he finds a new torment with which to drive me over the edge before he penetrates me with his cock. He loves the power he has to send me into paroxysms of delighted screams with his fingers but the effect of his cock is without comparison.


The first time he enters me, after so long apart, it is so tight and wet. It slides in easily enough but with enough friction to make me catch my breath with every centimetre that it progresses inside me until I'm almost hyperventilating with pleasure and then he withdraws, producing the same effect. Penetrating me again, all those sensitive nerve endings at the entrance, electric with expectation and arousal and again the gasping as he proceeds and then withdraws. All done so slowly so that I can feel every cell of him inside me over and over again. He plays me like the most expensive and delicate of violins, a maestro drawing the sweetest tunes from my fragile body until he, in turn, starts to lose control.


His arms are tight around me but he reaches around and cups one buttock and pulls it up against him, lifting me slightly from the bed. My legs automatically hook around his hips as my arms encircle his back, latching onto him like some curious bushbaby/limpet hybrid, pulling myself tightly against him as he starts to increase the speed of his assault. The friction starts to grow inside me, my juices welcoming him and lubricating his pursuit as he whispers of his love and his desire and his need. His words taking my mind, just as his movements possess my body. Kissing and gripping and shunting, harder and faster, I cling on with every ounce of strength in my body, holding him to me as tightly as I can. Enfolding, encircling, embracing his need. Nails digging deep to keep him there as the tide of his passion engulfs and overwhelms me until I scream my fulfilment to the world and draw him home to the place that he belongs, shuddering and spurting deep within me.







In answer to your question, yes I did keep to my side of the bargain and remained untouched for 11 whole days. So, as you read this, it will be Friday late afternoon/evening and, hopefully I will be getting my just rewards.



But, of course, what you all really want to know is: did Ruf cheat?


So, mister, did ya?

Wednesday, 22 August 2007

Ruf Spots

The first time I saw Ruf was around the time I was involved with MrUD, nearly three years ago. We were both at a seminar. I didn't even notice him until we were in the pub afterwards. Then he was introduced to me and I can still see the scene in my head so it must have made an impact although there is nothing to tell. We didn't talk and my overriding memory is of someone quiet and shy kept securely within the bosom of his students. But that picture remained in my head.

Cakespeak: I was seeing MrUD, I wasn't really noticing other blokes


The second time was a few months later when I went to train at his class. Everyone said what a good teacher he was and I was in a quandary about where to go next with my training so I drove nearly 200 miles to see what he had to offer. Again, he was very quiet and didn't really talk to me other than to give me some instruction during the lesson. We did have some trouble communicating at first because of our different accents.

The thing I do remember is how fit he was... oh stop that, as in stamina! I'm not completely obsessed by beefcake you know. I mean they did this really long warm up - almost 45 minutes of press ups - knuckle, hindu, crocodile - loads of squats and sit ups, jogging, butt lifts, shadow boxing. It went on and on and he is not like one of those instructors who stands around calling out instructions, he joins in all of it and still has the breath and the energy to call out the moves! And then taught another 90 minutes of lesson afterwards.

Afterwards, he gave me the addresses of some teachers in my area who would follow the same syllabus that he taught.

Cakespeak: I was still clinging onto the hope that MrUD and I could sort things out, I wasn't really noticing other blokes.



The third time I met him was a couple of months after that. I had gone to an event and he took the time to come over and ask how my training was going, which was very flattering.

At the end, I went over to a friend to say goodbye. He happened to be chatting with Ruf and, after I kissed C, it seemed churlish of me to just ignore the guy who had been so very helpful to me in terms of changing the direction of my training. So I reached up and kissed his cheek.

I had never been so close to him before and I felt his hand on my hip. Then something happened. I can't really explain it properly. The only way I can describe it is to say it was as if something deep down inside me recognised him, remembered him. As if my body had known him somewhere before a long, long time ago. I didn't want to let go. I wanted to stay safe and warm in the circle of his arm. It just felt like the right place to be.

For the first time in six months, the tendrils and chains that had secured my heart so steadfastly to MrUD loosened and started to fall away. Was it pheromones? It certainly wasn't lust because I wasn't sure I even found him attractive. It definitely was not love at first sight or anything earth shattering. I wish I could say that there were lightning bolts or a chorus of angels with harps, but there were none of those things. Just this inexplicable feeling that this moment was somehow very important with no idea why.

I pulled away and stood staring at him like a halfwit as he smiled back at me. And then there was an eruption of noise and another friend launched himself at me. He had seen me getting ready to leave and wanted to say goodbye. Before I knew what was happening, I was enveloped in a crowd of kissing, hugging and wellwishing as all the good feelings of the day were expressed effusively.

By the time I emerged from the melee and looked for him, he had gone.

Cakespeak: What the fuck just happened?

Sugasm #93


The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #94? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.



This Week’s Picks


Between Baths “His tongue licks along the edge of my thong and then slips underneath, and then he pulls the material aside so he can get to me.”



Fantasy Vs. Reality: What Is Cheating? “Paid escort work is fantasy; dating me is reality.”



How To Set Up an MFM Threesome “You’d be surprised how many guys will say they can’t wait to bed her down, then chicken out or not show up after you’ve shelled out money for a hotel room.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself Neal Mather Fetish Figurenes


Editor’s Choice Need a hand?


More SugasmJoin the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, 20 August 2007

Bristol

About ten minutes after I arrived, you called me and I realised from your distinctive jacket that I could actually see you standing about 20 yards away. I started to laugh and walk towards the firedoors as I answered the phone and told you that if you turned to your right you could watch my butt walking away from you.

When I got to the rain-spattered windows, I watched your reflection coming towards me in the glass and heard you laughing from the phone as well as for real in my other ear and then it went dead and your arms were around me from behind as you hugged me so tightly, I could hardly breathe. I pressed myself back against you and, I swear, I could feel you getting hard as you kissed the side of my neck.

I said 'hello you' and turned round to hug you properly. You lifted me up and I could feel your heart beating so fast and I knew that mine was hammering in my chest too. Would you still want me now that you had seen me, would I still feel the same way about you? When you remembered where we were and put me down I looked up into your big brown eyes and admired the long lashes and knew that, for me, everything was as it had been. Finally I had all the pieces of the picture in the right order and I could see you properly... and I couldn't stop smiling.

Then my phone rang and it was a friend asking me to meet her in the main hall and we went from there to the cafe to get breakfast. You sat yourself down next to me and I couldn't help but run my foot up the back of your leg, almost giggling with excitement as I could feel you pushing back against my toes. I put my hand down beside my leg so that the back of my hand was touching your thigh and I could feel myself shivering at the closeness of you. And all the while we were chatting away with our friends as if there was nothing between us at all.

After breakfast we went back to the auditorium. I texted you to tell you where I was and, after a while, you came over and stood behind me. I leaned back against you as close and as often as I dared without people we knew noticing. Sometimes my bottom brushed your thighs and it was such torture, I almost didn't do it again. All the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention and my nipples starting to harden and when you whispered in my ear, I began to shiver. I say it again, how do you have this power over me. I clasped my hands behind my back and met yours under my rucksack and I could feel the waves of electricity running up my arms and down my chest, through my stomach and into my groin making me so wet. But the place was crawling with people and nowhere quiet to go.

You said, 'let's go get a drink' and so we left the hall and went back to the cafe so you could get some fizz and I could get a cup of tea - I wasn't drinking any more of that muck they said was coffee - yuk. There was hardly anyone in there and we had a table on our own just sitting opposite one another, looking into each other's eyes and recognising the longing reflected there. There wasn't any need to say anything, we had said it all so many times before. We both knew how we felt and that we had to do something about it, just to ease the frustration a fraction. But what? Where? It wasn't possible yet. I would have gone into the toilets with you, I was desperate to have you touch me but you would have none it... not like that.

We went back to the hall again and I was aware of you rooting around in the back pocket of my bag and finding a toothbrush head. You started to laugh because you knew exactly what it was. But then you had to go off because there was someone you had to see.


After a while, my phone buzzed and there was a picture - of my toothbrush, which I didn't realise that you hadn't returned. I came out of the hall and I could see you in the main entrance. I ran up, pulled at your arm and said 'let's go'. You looked puzzled but followed me out of the doors and across the road to the car park. We had to make our way up the slope through the flower beds and you took my hand to help me up and then, as we walked through the cars, you kept hold of it, pulling me in so that your arm was around me. It was getting dark and the car park was starting to empty but then you saw my car. It's hard to miss and when we reached it, you pushed me back against the side so no-one could see us. We were standing so close, just looking at each other and then you dipped your head as I stood on tiptoe and our lips brushed. I looked into your eyes and suddenly my body was on fire. My arms went round your neck and pulled your face towards me until we were really kissing. I could feel something wet on my face and I realised I was crying with relief. You kissed my tears and then returned to my lips, putting your hands on my bum and pulling me into you so I could feel how much you wanted me.

I unlocked the car and you climbed into the passenger seat and hauled me astride you as I lifted up your tshirt and licked 'my' nipple ring like I've wanted to do ever since you first showed it to me that night - it seems so long ago. I kissed it and ran my fingers over 'my' muscles and laughed at myself for enjoying it so much. I pulled my tshirt over my head and threw it onto the back seat. Your hands were touching my nipples through bright pink lace and then one was in your mouth, wet and pointy and aching before you released it and blew it dry. I almost screamed, it felt so good and then you did the other one until I was going mad with wanting you to touch me, to explore how wet I was, how much I wanted you.

That's when you laughed and showed me the toothbrush again. I reached behind me into the glove box and produced the missing piece all charged and ready to go and you opened my trousers, slid them backwards and just brushed my clit with your thumb through the lace. I couldn't help it, I gasped as I exploded inside. I'd waited so long and now you'd finally touched me...

And then the familiar whirring sound and you pressed the brush against the lace and I exploded again. Your mouth around my nipple, your hand working the brush. I pressed myself against both, moving my hips to find the best contact, trying to relax, to make the most of every vibration; feeling your other hand caressing my bare back, and then come round between my legs and your fingers were inside me questing upwards and finding it. Pressing it from inside and outside and my back was arching towards you, my hands were behind me digging into your thighs, gasping your name and savouring every last second, every last drop running out of me, soaking your fingers and your hand, shaking and trembling but wanting more.

I reached in front of me and unbuttoned your fly. Your cock jumped out into my hand and I felt you shiver as I curled my fingers around him, the way I had dreamed of doing for so long. I caressed his whole length and tickled the end with my thumb. I giggled as I watched it pulsate for me. But you hadn't finished with me yet and your fingers were pressing up inside me again. I leaned forward to push my tongue into your mouth as I tried to match the rhythm of your fingers with my hand and my tongue, trying to ignore the vibrations of the toothbrush cos I wanted to do something for you. Finally it was too strong and I had to stop kissing you as again you made me fly until I was panting and out of breath.

I pulled myself off your fingers and put one in my mouth and sucked it before I gave you the others to taste. Bending down to lick, as I cradled your beautiful totem in both my hands and massaged him up and down from bottom to top and over, from bottom to top and over, licking and massaging and sucking and feeling him getting harder and harder until I could take it no more and had to have you inside me, sliding onto you with everything so wet and hard and then pushing the vibrating toothbrush against one ball as I slid up and down on you.

You gasped for a change, feeling what I felt as the vibrations tickled at first on one spot and then took over the whole ball until your whole groin was so hot and tight. You snatched the toothbrush away and pressed it onto me and then started pumping into me with one hand on my hip pulling me down as you shunted upwards faster and faster, and there was only the sound of our united breathing and moaning and whispering until at last everything met inside me hot and wet and sticky and shuddering and wonderful. My arms around your neck, your hands round my waist, our bodies pressed tightly against each other and joined together so I felt whole at last...

And then we became aware of the time and that people had started to appear at the front of the building. You reached over and got my tshirt; helped me put it back on and kissed me as we both readjusted each others' jeans. We both wanted to say those words that are always there but can't be said but it didn't matter because we knew anyway. I slid off your thighs and jumped out of the car so that you could get out too. You kissed me and hugged me before we walked hand in hand back to the edge of the car park. You helped me down the muddy bank and then we walked slowly back across the road to the hall. I watched as you found your friends and slowly made your way over to the minibus, saw you wave as it drove away. But already my phone was beeping and you're texting me to try to arrange another day... And I cant wait, xx


Going through my stuff, I found this and, even tho it's a fantasy about meeting The Catalyst and not quite my normal style, I thought it was too good to just discard unread...

Saturday, 18 August 2007

Wanking this weekend?

To all you wankers out there... you lucky, lucky masturbatory people!

It would seem that this blog has degenerated into navel gazing this week and it's all Ruf's fault. You see, last weekend, after he'd fucked me senseless for three solid days, come the Monday morning, we were both a little tired. But still he managed to rise to the occasion one last time, leaving me gasping and breathless by the strength of his pumping.

However, he hadn't finished pleasuring me, oh no, not by a long shot. As I lay there, close to exhaustion, he was reaching into the box of hedonistic delights and extracting toys. He turned me face-down into the pillow and demanded that I hold the wand stimulator against my clit. The next thing I know, the glass arse dildo that I love so much is being slid into my little starfish. He knows that I am putty in his hands when he uses that device... but there is more. This man loves double penetration and so, before long, my other best friend, the curved silicon dildo is making its way into my pussy and he's syncopating the two so that as one slides out, the other slides in, as that one pulls out, the other pushes in. In, out, in, out, the rising tide of my orgasm ignoring the fatigue in my body as he drags me screaming to my climax. Over and over until I'm begging him for mercy.

But, of course, he has a little revenge in mind. If you will remember, Tulip Time was where I asked for one more orgasm and took seven as he pumped manfully away for ages. Well, this time, Ruf was extracting his own particular retribution. As I shouted: 'Stop, stop!'; he replied: 'Oh no, I think we should carry on for, say, three more?'

And so he continued with his in-ing and out-ing and, despite my mind's frantic attempts to fight him, my body just kept on responding in the way he knows it must. I lost count. Was it three, was it four, was it five? Until finally he took pity, gently removed my playthings and flopped onto the bed beside me, smiling sheepishly at my shocked and dishevelled countenance.

'You bastard,' I whispered... with a sigh of affectionate contentment.

And then the rogue dropped his bombshell.

'I think, since we are seeing each other again in two weeks time... less than two weeks time... we should both agree to a wanking ban to maximise our pleasure levels when you eventually get here. So, no masturbating for either of us between now and Friday week.'

Given such strict instructions, I shall be a good girl, compulsively sticking to the rules and making and reading as few posts as possible that are likely to engage my less nun-like urges and turn me from the path of righteous abstinence - hence the sexless navel gazing of the last few days.

So, you can send me as many pictures of rampant penises as you like, torment me with tales of your sexual proclivities, but I shall not stray. My toothbrush shall remain silent, other than for the purposes of dental hygiene. My fingers shall keep themselves busy at innocent pursuits suitable for a chaste and celibate lady. I am a woman of uncommonly strong willpower. I shall not falter and the rewards in terms of pleasure come Friday will be delightful indeed.



But Ruf, being a habitual wanker will, undoubtedly, cheat...

Friday, 17 August 2007

Having my cake and eating it too

So many people have asked me why I don't do something about my situation. Why don't I leave my Husband? Why don't I get my own place? Why don't I take the children to live with Ruf?

My reply to them is: But what possible benefit could any individual from this family unit get from embracing one of those options? From a purely selfish point of view, yes, I would be gaining my independence from my Husband, who is hardly a tyrant, but I would be exchanging it for the far more savage rule of having to work to try to make ends meet and provide a second comfortable home for my children. So, in effect, I would be losing my independence.

Right from the start, I have always said that I will never leave my children. My own mother deserted us when I was 17, leaving me to deal with a father close to alcoholism and a younger sister, going through the tough teenage years which suddenly became so much worse without a stable family life. Admittedly, they had been arguing for a long time so things were not that secure and we had just moved house away from everything we had grown up with. Things were very tough. I am pretty sure that these difficult times played a crucial role in my insecurity and eventually developing anorexia. I don't blame anyone, it was just the way that I dealt with it. I refuse to put my children at risk of feeling anything less than confident in their own bodies/personalities/abilities. I try so hard to make them feel loved and cared for - this seems to be especially hard with an increasingly hormonal and prickly teenage girl, but I keep trying. I never want them to think I left them or forced their father to leave them.

Ruf has always said he doesn't want to be a home-wrecker. From the very start, he fought our attraction to each other because I was still married. However, I will explain it to you, the way I told it to him.

My Husband and I seem to have found a way to remain relatively civil. There are very few rows. We sleep in the same bed, although we do not have any form of physical relationship in terms of sex or day to day affection. This was never discussed but has developed on its own over the last few years. I do not know how he feels about this. If he doesn't like it, it is up to him to initiate a conversation. For 25 years, I tried to talk to him about affection and feelings until I was blue in the face and he would not accommodate my needs. I will not beg him to love me ever again.

We have a comfortable lifestyle. A nice house in a nice area with a big garden and a bedroom and computer for each child. There is enough money for them to be able to do most of the activities that they wish to try and to go on different types of holiday with the school. For me to leave my Husband or ask him to leave and finance a second home would be to wreck their comfortable, secure, settled home-life. At the moment they have unrestricted access to both parents, who love them very much and are not constantly fighting over whose turn it is to have them or who should be supervising homework or one parent having more money than the other to give treats or withholding maintenance. He does not beat me or them. He is a good, kind man who tries to love the best he can.

Ruf lives in a one-bedroom flat in the middle of a big City, nearly 200 miles away from their friends/family/security. He cannot afford to maintain my lifestyle or that of my children.

The only person who would be made happier by moving to be with him would be me.

There is no good reason for me to leave my Husband but there are so many reasons in relation to my children why I shouldn't. And to ask him to leave the comfortable home that he has financed would be just as wrong.

To consider either option would be an act of the utmost selfishness, an abrogation of every parental responsibility that I have tried so hard to uphold... at this stage.

In a few years time, they will both be older and more independent. Hopefully, one will be finishing Uni and the other starting there. My absences during term time will not be so noticeable. I can start a slow but inexorable break away.

Of course, anything can happen in a few years and Ruf may have found someone more suitable - younger, prettier, sexier, available now, who wants to settle down and give him his own children.

Who knows what the future holds but, for now, my duty is to be with my children with just a smidgeon of selfishness to ensure that I also get a portion of what it is that makes me happy on a regular basis. You will see from the next post on this subject why I believe that my Husband will continue to collude with me in this facade.


I know it's selfish, but I want to carry on having my cake and eating it too...

Wednesday, 15 August 2007

The Question

Why, after a truly glorious weekend, when Ruf has told me he loves me time after time, when we have shown each other how much we care over and over... why do I have to spoil it? Why won't the demons rest? But The Question is so often there and it's worse when my hormones are at their lowest ebb.

Lying naked and sated in his arms, the subject came up obliquely in the conversation and it just seemed like the right time to try to address it. So I told him about The Question - how I wasn't sure if I should ask it and my certainty that I probably didn't want to know the answer. The unspoken ending to that sentence being because I feared his response would not be a confident assertion of our permanence, but what the insecure part of me has secretly suspected for over a year.

But the demons would never let it lie. They needed the clarification. They wouldn't ever let me be happy with what is and, praying that I was at least asking it from the most secure position I could hope to achieve, in the end, I just said it straight out:

'So, if she... if Sam were to come to the door tomorrow and say she'd changed her mind and wanted to be with you, what would you do?'

Sam is a woman Ruf has always had a soft spot for, a crush on I guess but circumstances have never let them both be simultaneously single. I found out about her at Easter last year. She had split up from her boyfriend and happened to be in the pub on the same night as Ruf, so he walked her home and asked her if she would go on a date with him. She had turned him down. But she still lies there dormant, an undercurrent of subversion in my happiness...

...because this happened six months into our relationship, when we had been seeing each other physically for four of them and I had thought that we were both blissfully happy.

Now I had been brave enough - or stupid enough - to ask him The Question that had been haunting me for so long.

At first, he didn't answer... which is never a good sign.

I started to wonder if the plain fact is that it doesn't matter how many times he tells me he loves me, it may never be enough to make up for that one betrayal - the demons will always be reminding me. Punishing me with the fact that is forever in the back of my mind... that I was second best, that he came back to me because he couldn't have her.

And yet I never want him to stop saying those three little words which fill me with such joy. Hearing him enunciate his passion as he holds me, kisses me, makes love to me so that there can be absolutely no mistaking the strength and depth of his feelings, I know he is totally mine. That there is no way that he could love her with the all-consuming passion that fuels his love for me. For in those moments, he is as much a part of me as I am of him and my fragile psyche is repaired.

So I just don't understand why the demons won't set me free to enjoy this. I didn't think it was possible to feel so deeply attached to someone, to experience such intense pleasure in their company and yet know such continued pain from one single incident, torturing myself mercilessly and yet so needlessly.

After some thought, he returned to The Question and answered that he didn't really know what he would do. It's so unlikely that it will ever happen. She is back with her boyfriend and he never sees her. But he assured me that, whatever the future holds, he wouldn't give me up without a fight, without having a totally concrete reason for doing so. The subject of the Proper Girlfriend hung heavy in the air again as he pulled me against him and tried to kiss away the hurt.

I don't like the way the thought of her makes me feel and behave. I can't help thinking that, perhaps, if I was with him all the time, I would not have this irrational jealousy of a single person but I cannot and will not leave my children to be with him full time. Not yet.

We both know this but it doesn't make it any easier.

Sugasm 92

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #93? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

Do one thing every day that scares you…

“What I didn’t know-that it would turn me on as much as it hurt me.”


Interview With Deborah Jeane Palfrey, AKA The DC Madam

I wanted to see coverage treating sex workers as just that-workers.”


Rough Sex - with pictures

“She bites, she writhes, she moans, she claws- none of which she can remember after.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself Keep Britain Tidy, Gimp


Editor’s Choice In Her Mind, the Pigeons Were Always Fucking


More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, 13 August 2007

The first time

The first time I did it was in the spare room downstairs. I'd been feeling sad and depressed for some months and it was calling to me, sitting there in the corner, waiting to start buzzing away.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. I knew other people did it and enjoyed it. Some people had positively recommended it for its benefits. But I was shy. Id never done anything like that before. I was scared I wouldn't know what to do, terrified other people might find out. I didn't know what it would lead to. I didn't want to get sucked in and involved.

However, one day I plucked up the courage and I did it sitting on the chair. My fingers hesitated over the button. I was aware of the heat coming off it, calling to me insistently. I could feel myself flushing with excitement and my breathing was becoming shallow until finally the desire was too strong and I switched it on.

The buzzing started, slowly at first and then louder. I could hardly contain myself as it burst into life. The warm heat began spreading through my body from the tips of my toes up to the top of my skull, making my skin tingle and flooding me with expectation. I was finally about to achieve my goal, the answers to so many questions that had been troubling me for so long...










... so I googled the words 'fussy bitch blog' and the rest, as they say, is history.

Saturday, 11 August 2007

Mirror, Mirror

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In Ruf's bedroom there is a mirror.

It looks just like any other ordinary full length mirror resting at an angle against a wall and yet, every time I pass, I have to stop to look and admire my nakedness. It makes Ruf smile as I preen in front of it but I can't make him understand.

The Magic Mirror has the ability to reflect a much nicer image. No longer do I see the blubbery old woman with the sad eyes and the fat arse who has been my counterpart for so many years.

This reflection gives an entirely different impression: a pretty, petite lady, externally so white and fragile, belying her inner strength and determination. Her pointy face is framed by a blondish brown bob and you are drawn into her startlingly big, icy blue gaze before being warmed by her wide smile of delighted excitement.

She has slim, yet strong, defined arms and shoulders softening into glorious pert handfuls of breasts with upwardly pointy nipples. Travelling down across a flat belly and on to the soft curling landing strip of light brown hair. Sliding down her lithe back and taking in that fabulous arse before moving over firm, slender thighs to toned calves ending in pretty feet with painted toenails.

With all my body image issues, you will need to indulge me and excuse my vanity because I like this woman. I just don't seem to be able to find her echo in the mirrors anywhere else.

Is it really just the view that Ruf has, magically transformed in the half light? Am I, somehow, seeing myself reflected in his eyes?

Could it be that this man truly loves the woman that he sees and is finally managing to communicate that fact with the help of a second image? The one where his strong arms go around me as I gaze, his face is buried in my neck and I feel like I am an integral part of him.

Whatever magic it employs, I like my reflection in that Mirror...

Thursday, 9 August 2007

Hannibal Lector Thursday



'I want to sit on your face...

'...I want you to slide aside my thong and lick me...

'...And I want you to put your fingers into me'

He laughs softly knowing the effect any emphasis on the next few words will have on me.

'You want me to finger fuck you?'

He pauses for effect before continuing:

'You want me to fuck you with my fingers?'

'Yessssss' the word comes out in a strangled gasp.

'So, let's get this straight. You want me to finger fuck you and lick your clit whilst you sit on my face?'

'Yesssss. I want you to lick me and fuck me with your fingers until I melt in your mouth.'

'I will see you tomorrow then...'

And with that he put the phone down, leaving me sitting in a puddle.



Until tomorrow... x

Monday, 6 August 2007

Busted

Oh my word!

Last night, my teen came in as I was viewing some blogs, so I closed down the top one with the naughty pictures and started to have a conversation with her.

Then I realised that she was staring over my shoulder at my screen.

There, in glorious technicolour, was my own description of lube and arse dildos - fortunately not the picture nor the blog title. So she has no way to know it was me that wrote it, only that I was reading about it.

'Oh', she says with a wry grin. 'Aren't you supposed to be the one who catches me looking at filth on the computer?'


Sooooo Busted!!! Sooooo Jimmy Carr!!! LMAO


However, I can't help wondering if it would be more traumatic to discover your mother reading about arse dildos or to learn that she writes about having used them...

Sugasm #91

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #92? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

The Pussy Hair Debate

“I’ve got a shaggy bush.”


Devoured

“Each bit of me that he touches arches toward him, demanding further contact.”


The Last Dance

“I start my journey down her body …”


Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sex in the Second City


Editor’s Choice

Feminist Carnival 42


More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Sunday, 5 August 2007

Bear

Bear saved me when I thought I was going to die. He pulled me back from the brink of starvation and made me eat. Talking to me, staying with me until I had eaten some soup. Every day for a week, he dragged me back to reality. But I still wanted someone else. I was distraught, desperate and demented. The Catalyst had made it clear that it was over. We could only ever be good friends. There would be no more stories, no more filthy texts and no more listening to each other masturbate.

Bear was my training partner. He noticed my slender frame become skeletal. He saw the sadness in my eyes. Over the months, even though he was over a decade younger than me, he had grown to care about me and my fabulous arse.

It was Christmas and there were parties. We all went out to a nightclub in town, downing brandy as if it was going out of fashion. I was aware of his presence close by me all night. Conscious of the pressure of his knee against mine as we sat on stools together chatting. I could feel the lust rising in me. This was a young, healthy man and he quite clearly wanted me. Wanted to touch me physically. I didn't stop to think about the alcohol we had consumed and be sensible.

He carried me on his shoulders for a mile from the Club to a burger bar where a whole crowd of us stopped for something disgustingly greasy, most of which I threw away in a bin a few streets from the shop as we walked back to a friend's house. Bear and I were some way ahead of the group and, suddenly, he dragged me into a small square just off the main road and tried to kiss me. I took fright and pushed him away but I let him hold my hand as we continued the journey. The others caught up with us and overtook and we started to lag behind. My mind was working overtime. This man wanted to kiss me. I had been starved of that manifestation of physical intimacy for so long. What was so wrong? It would just be a kiss. Just a kiss. Just a kiss.

I found myself dragging him into the next alley. Forcing him against the fence and raising my face up to his. He looked down at me questioningly and then he swooped. His lips met mine and my mind went into meltdown. Suppose I was doing it wrong? I hadn't been kissed for so long, I hardly knew what to do. So I let him take the lead and responded. It was wonderful. His lips were so soft, his tongue searched my mouth so delicately, filling me with desire for him. He broke away and took my hand to lead me deeper into the alley.

Pressing me into the fence, his kisses became more passionate. His hands were on my breasts under my jacket and through my little top. The nipples pert and hardening, responding to his interest. It was December. It must have been cold but I don't remember as he moved his hand under the thin layer of fabric and pulled down the lacy enclosures to find my skin. Goosebumps of excitement erupted under his fingers as I pressed my breasts into his hands.

My own fingers running all over his body under the silk of his shirt. I could feel the softness of the hair that covered his chest and shoulders and back. I had seen him half-naked as he trained in the gym so many times. He wasn't self-conscious about his hairy pelt whereas, in another life, I would have been disgusted and revolted by it. But in the here and now, this was my beautiful Bear. The man who had been so kind to me, listened to me drone on and on about MrUD and tried to reason out his behaviour, whilst waiting for me to take the next mouthful of food. His strong arms were now saving me yet again, showing me that I was still attractive, not the discarded reject I imagined. I pulled my hand around to the front and felt him, throbbing and hard against my palm. He wanted me. He wanted me... but I was too shy, too insecure to investigate further.

His hands were at my hips, undoing the belt and the fastenings and probing, finding my little button as I squealed with pleasure. His fingers searched and located and penetrated me. Without the belt, my trousers slid down my too-thin frame to permit his entry into the moist well awaiting him. It was blissful. Instinctively, my arms reached out along the top of the fence just above me and I clung on and lifted myself off the ground; suspended there, knees apart with his fingers inside me, probing and curling, dragging me towards the climax that was rising inside. I looked up at the cold, clear, sky above me and I could hear this sound. A low keening, rising to a shrill bark. Like a vixen in heat, howling at the full moon. Lights were going on in the nearest house and I realised that that sound was me, straining to reach the stars at the behest of his insistent fingers.

Gasping and panting and sobbing with excitement, he helped me get my feet back onto the floor, just as both our phones started to vibrate. Our friends had noticed our absence and were trying to locate us. He kissed me tenderly and rearranged my clothes. Taking my hand, he led me back to the road and we continued our journey, whispering softly.

Yes, he had always been able to make women come like that. His wife often had to stop him because she got dehydrated from coming so hard for so long. And, yes, I had been normal and had kissed him ok. I could feel the slickness in my thong as my excitement and come soaked out of me into the fabric, thick and sticky. I could smell myself on his hands as he made me a cup of coffee when we arrived back with our friends. He explained to them that the burger had made me sick and he had stayed with me until I was well enough to return to the house.

The following day he called me - as I knew he would. We both agreed that this was a one-off. He was married and neither of us wanted to repeat what I had just been through with MrUD. He has remained one of my closest friends. We may not talk very often but he knows that I love him and not just out of gratitude for what he did for me.

He showed me that I was still desirable, still capable of eliciting passion within someone much younger. He actively demonstrated that what I had feared was untrue. I was able to have the most amazing orgasm at the hands of a real man. I wasn't going to have to spend the rest of my life reliant on plastic penises in the sterility of my own bathroom. He proved that I didn't need to starve myself anymore and I will be eternally grateful for that.

It still took several months to get myself back into shape mentally and regain the desire to eat but, in the ensuing three years, my inner demons have been virtually silenced. I know they are still there in the background, lurking, waiting to strike but I have achieved a sensible weight and I eat well. I have learned to look in the mirror and see the beautiful woman that I am. My relationship with Ruf has of course been instrumental in all of this but Bear was the man who pulled me back from the edge of the abyss and placed my feet firmly onto the right path.

I will never forget him x

Friday, 3 August 2007

Heaven in a glass tube

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Hey guys, I won a prize! A prize for writing a good sex toy review :) Obviously for a sex toy website, I couldn't indulge in my normal graphic account of the experience so I had to give them the shortened version. But you, my dear Reader, you get the full frontal, balls out in the open and waggling in the wind account. So, if you're sitting comfortably, let's lube up and I'll begin x

I have to say I was a bit dubious about the whole idea of sticking a piece of glass up my arse but this dildo was truly amazing. Slim, with a nice tapered tip to aid easy penetration, it was quite small and didn't fill me with the same 'sphincter like a baggy sock'-type horror that some of the other butt plugs and anal pleasuring devices had engendered.

But we didn't just go straight for it. That would make me feel horribly like the 'up the butt girl' and that really wouldn't do for a genteel vanilla fairy like myself. So, to loosen me up a bit, we played with the other toys in the package. I had a free gift for spending over £30, a small tulip type wand stimulator. So, lying on my side with my lower leg straight and the upper one bent, as per my normal practice with such a device, my clit became it's target, rather than my gspot. Although it doesn't have the angled bulb of my original tulip, the long stem and the powerful motor were enough to bring me to a nice climax, at which point my beloved Ruf shoved the brand new lubed-up bendy vibe into my pussy from the rear. It's made of silicon, about 8 inches long and very flexible. It has nice stand-up veins all over the outside and, boy, can you feel those when he's waggling it about, particularly when he really bent it backwards towards my arse, forcing the tip forward onto my gspot. It wasn't long before I was giggling away like a demented lunatic, building up towards something major.

When he finally inserted his fingers and loads of anal lube into my arse, I had been silently willing him to do so for some time. The pressure of that clit stimulator invariably has that effect. The sensations reach so deep inside you that it just calls out for some form of anal penetration to meet them from the other side. Being a vanilla girl, in the past this has always meant his fingers but I was getting brave and this was the reason I had ordered the glass device.

The lube meant that he slid it in with no difficulty at all. We hadn't chilled it but the difference between its temperature and that of my core was enough to force a squeal of pleasure from me at the coolness as it slid inside. Combined with the external vibration on my clit and the bendy vibe pulsing and waggling around inside my cunt, the effect was amazing and I was quickly shrieking like a banshee. The sensation of those bubbles on the shaft penetrating and withdrawing inch by glorious inch was something I had never experienced before. It seemed to touch something so deep inside the core of me and pleasure every sensitive nerve ending both on its way in and on the return trip.

I don't know how long he pleasured me thus but I moaned in protest when he removed the bendy vibe so he hushed me and distracted me with more vigorous dildo waggling before he finally penetrated my empty pussy with his cock. I was almost reduced to tears by the intensity and quantity of the orgasms that ripped through me from the moment he pushed through the circle of sensitive nerve endings at the entrance all the way through his increasingly more violent pumping. The feeling of fullness inside my pelvis, having both entrances occupied was quite exquisite. One after another they hit, crashing and bashing against the walls of my expectation and beating them down with pure force.

Trying not to get carried away with the emotional aspects and focussing on the practicalities, the really good thing about this toy is that it is big enough at the base for you not to be scared of losing it (in either direction) if he stops holding the end but it is still slim enough not to interfere if he wants to attempt to penetrate both holes simultaneously and, trust me, we really tested this out vigorously. I hardly knew what to do with myself. I could barely breathe and my head was pounding, I was shrieking so loud. The whole event was almost traumatic in its intensity and it was all I could do not to burst into tears.

This is the experience I was referring to when talking about the 10,000 miles. If you could have seen me, panting, spent and shaking, my jbf (just been fucked) hair falling over my eyes and face like a curtain and my mouth one big round O of shock. He truly took me to Heaven that day and I hope the entire cast will be taking me back there again very soon.

Quite awesome! And when the review asked me to assess how quiet the item was, I had to admit that this dildo was completely silent but I made a helluva racket!


Pros
Slim, with a tapered end for easy penetration and a fat end so you cant lose it

Cons
Can't think of anything

Bottom Line
I had several amazing orgasms that almost reduced me to tears. It was heaven.

Would have no qualms about recommending this toy to anyone, even the most nervous anal experimenter.