Welcome Home

He is lounging on the sofa when I arrive. Dozing after his busy activities. It’s evening and he is alone there.

Creeping in, careful to not make a sound, I tip toe up, bare feet on the carpet aiding the stealthy motion.

He is looking more beautiful than ever, for the separation. I miss him so terribly when we are apart, physically absent but the memories of him, his body, his scent, his taste... linger like a searing burn scorching my heart... and other places.

I’ve been wet for you all weekend, aching, tingling. Needing you.

I kneel down on the floor next to you, resting my face on my hands near yours. The first feel of you again is your breath on my face. I want to taste your lips again, oh, so much. Run my tongue over them and delve between them as they gently part, giving permission for me to explore you further while my teeth gently play over, nibbling, teasing, daring to ravage as much from you before you snarl back with that passion of yours...

Your breath plays out calmly against my face in the tranquil room. I sigh silently, in response.

I want to wake you with the best welcome I can. Expert yet eager finger tips reach out for the fastenings and carefully unhook and unbuckle your belt, before slipping the button free and so slowly, quietly easing down the zip. I can feel the heat radiating already, on my fingers, from you there. One of the many things I love about you, always ready. Even asleep.

Gently I peel down the waistband of your underwear just enough to slip my fingers inside, and ensure you’re positioned just right. I move over so I am closer to you there, and lower my mouth so my lips touch you through the material... I feel your slowly unfurling hardness, the warmth, the familiar gorgeous presence I have missed for so long, a seeming age.

Rub my face against you, internally moaning with how good you feel, how good it is to be back with you again.

My fingertips move the waistband down, peeling it over to expose you to me. My lips press a kiss to your collar that is presented to me, raw and pink and delicious looking. You leave a salty tasting feel upon my lips. I lick them and relish the reminder of what is hopefully to come. My tongue flickers out and lightly caresses you there, that sensitive spot, then tenderly probes further round. Lips come in to close around you... and eventually I take the head of you into my mouth in a full French kiss effect.

The suction on you there makes you shudder softly and I know you are becoming aware... not yet fully realising that I have returned, yet the familiar sensation is one of comfort, reassurance, something good. It is enough to keep you from jolting, and good enough to make even your sub conscious desire for it to continue.

Fingers reach in to lift all of you out, exposing your now full balls. I pull the material down completely, underwear and trousers, gently as possible, so I can view my sustenance that I have been craving so hard.

I can’t hold back any longer... climbing atop you so I’m nestled between your legs, I prise you up so I can get you in my mouth properly... tasting and teasing, sucking and devouring fully like a good girl. Then suddenly a hand grasping my hair firmly... and...

‘So. You’re back then...’

My eyes instantly swivel upwards and meet your beautifully cruel, dark ones. You surge in my mouth, a pulsing that is the pure essence of passion, of life, of sexuality, sensuality and every single nuance of all that is good in between.

I know in that moment that you are going to consume me entirely tonight. I’m scared and excited in equal measures, just as it should be. You don’t even know *what* you do to me with that look. You don’t even know you *are* doing it.

My tongue and teeth and lips are moving over you so swiftly but covering you so completely and with finesse, it isn’t long before your ardour is worked up to the peak... your hand moves from holding me by the hair to sit part way up, grip me under the arms and haul me upright...

‘I need to fuck you... now...’

I’m pulled up your body with no more resistance and difficulty than a rag doll, my summer dress about my hips and freshly smooth pussy ready –so ready- to welcome you home.

Sitting atop you my hands resting on your shoulders, feeling your head pressed insistently at my entrance that is slick with the wanton lust for you. The sensation as you slowly ease inside, holding at just the tip to tease and enjoy the moment for as long as possible. Keeping my hips raised as I lower my head to finally experience your lips once again, pressed lips to yours, as you taste and scent yourself on me, in my mouth, the carnal mixture jolting you and your hips thrust up trying to take me fully then and there... I dance our dance and raise my hips in harmony with you, smiling into the kiss, so teasing.

A low growl and you rape my mouth with your tongue, teeth nipping at my lips and hands moving from casually on my back to gripping me by my waist, you know how I love when you hold me by my waist, making me feel so tiny, so doll like as your hands encircle me almost completely there and move me where you wish me to be, controlling the speed and angles entirely, making me your toy.

You plunge into me fully then, growling into my ear how you need to fuck me, how good it feels, I’m naughty keeping you waiting... calling me all those names and telling me what I am until my squeaks turn to squeals and I’m dripping my need around your cock, my hips bucking and I’m struggling to thrash about on you wildly but you hold me steady, wherever you want me to be, controlling the journey.

I snake my arms around your back, to lie closer to you, flesh against flesh all the way down, a seamless meet. Your mouth draws in to close upon my neck, predator descending on his victim with a thrilling menace and unstoppable hunger.

Voraciously your teeth sink into me and your tongue forces against me through the vacuum, kissing and mauling as your hands move from my waist to maul my body, embed your long talons into my back and etch those red signature lines that I love to feel you carve into me. You moan then against my neck, breaking the seal to gasp some air and emit the audio from the sensation of me repeatedly drawing up, as far as you’ll let me, then sliding all the way down once again so you are inside me fully. Sitting on you hard and making every millimetre of you feel every single cushioning, caressing part of my internal embrace for you. Swallowing you up greedily then teasing with a break, just to tip again, before the full plunge.

My hands come up to tangle in your shimmering, glossy black hair and I hold you hard there, raising my face from laying on you and kissing you all over... licking your lips with my tongue, tasting every part of you, wanting to inhale some of your essence into me so I can carry you with me always.


The motion gets faster, moving surely to the orgasmic destination...


Suddenly you arch and I feel you filling me, I clench around you and our mouths meet again in a climactic frenzied embrace, breathless and hoarse gasps and guttral sounds between the tasting and devouring.


Too soon we come to calm once again, and I lie in your embrace, sated, loved, holding on to you, my rock. 


I will suck you clean soon and we will both once again want more, but that's another story...


For now I am happy you're finally back in my arms, and I lay with my head in your shoulder, against your neck, feeling your pulse and the rise and fall of your chest beneath me.


'I love you.'


'I love you more.'


'I love you most.'




-----------------------------------------

Dance in the Dark

The meeting of flesh, too long apart, meeting once again, in the dark. 


Moving my hands over your naked body next to me, back turned but inviting me to drape myself around you, cocoon you and shelter you with tangible love. 


Breath quickening, audibly, as I slowly stroke my finger tips from your thigh, up over your hips, to snake around, round your warm tummy as I cuddle close. My nipples first grazing then pressed against your back, as I snuggle in tighter so you can feel my warm breath upon your neck... hear those whispers in your ear.


"I love you..."


My leg follows my hand's lead, as it drapes over your body so I am clung on to you, my rock in life's ocean. Curled around you, in some confused protective tassellation, emotion painted out upon the bedtime canvas. Our touches, whispers and responses the palette to draw the inspiration from. 


Let me be your muse, you are mine.


The feelings ever present between us are a beacon of shared understanding, trust, security, even whilst pressed together in the dark.


I know you want more. So do I.


Turning you with my leg, gently nudging, hinting, suggesting... please. Respond. For me? Unspoken request. Unspoken answer. You turn on to your back, your face now towards mine. I can feel your breaths upon my face. 


Your lips draw close to mine, taste the radiantly hot passion upon my lips, it is all for you. Could you feel the searing heat, in the dark? Does it draw you like a magnet, our lips pulled together by this force?


Tasting, teasing. Breathing. Denying... then the smile I feel upon your face as you recognise my surge in lust at this memorable shared intimacy, the great seduction.


Granting my wish all at once with a swooping predator's fatal blow, leaving me victim to your will. Volunteer to the sacrificial altar, giving myself up to you. Surrendering.


Climbing atop you whilst you yet hold me in ways others cannot begin to imagine or understand.


We move, the slow, deliberate dance of the dark.


Your voice, no words, barely audible sounds from us both, exchanging a communication so primal, so carnal it is felt more than heard.


What you ask from me, I am desperate to give to you. Thrust myself upon you, take all of me. Aroused that you would plead these things. Grateful that you care to show me your want in those ways.


We twist in the darkness, moonlit patterns of liquefied, legato shadows. Transformation from settled scene to a roiling ocean of crested waves... the climax of the storm approaching faster, faster...


I ride this journey out, one I never want to end. Arms embrace as fully and tightly as possible. Light kisses, trailing lips and tongue, tasting the heat, the flesh. Caressing with sharp nips and finger tips. 


Falling to a calm once more.


Turning so you are cocooning me in my post-coital haze, the witching hour's subtleties playing upon my mind, the fragmented shards of your voice pinning images to the inside of my mind, linked to the swirling pools of sensation internal and now external.


Radiating warmth, contentment, tiredness. 


We drift, in love. Together. Fingers interlocked as tightly as your lock around my heart.


I don't ever want to let go.

You may touch me there...

Touch. It's such an intimate thing really, yet people can choose to give it away so freely, frivolously. It is both warm and sacred, and dangerous and terrifying all at once.


I am different to a lot of people, I do not like physical touch from those I have not given consent for it from, strangers or passersby in my life. It is special to me, so when people enter my personal space whether from etiquette (a handshake or hug to a kiss on the cheek) or uninvited, I find it quite strange and unpleasant. 


Touch is so evocative, makes us so responsive. We use touch to caress, to show affection, all the way up to orgasmic unions of the flesh. From a light trailing of fingertips over gradually goosepimpled flesh, to lips and tongue meshing together, mouths meeting, the places we enjoy the sensations of ingesting food into us, we share with another. The tender soft flesh of lips upon anothers, tasting them at their entrance there, tongues wrapping round each others, becoming part of each other for that all too brief moment. 


All the way to writhing atop another, touching flesh without a break, no gaps, pressing together as close as possible for the shared warmth, feeling their heart beating against you, hearing it through their chest or feeling their pulse in the darkness along with the ragged drawn breaths with the sexual motion.


Touch - it's important. I won't give it away freely. I will not have it taken from me without permission either. It is valuable. 


So many people yearn for human contact, not just online or even face to face communication but that affectionate warmth. It stirs passions in us, longings for more. Long deadened emotions can be once again aroused when we are touched a certain way.


Conversely, a touch in a familiar way can have connotations to bad memories, being touched in a certain place... what's yours? Ears? Feet? Ribs? can lead to shudders as the scenes come rushing back all too swiftly and vividly. 


Perhaps I am hypersensitive. Perhaps I should open myself up to more flesh to flesh contact, be freely touchable, huggable. Allow myself to be stroked by whoever. I cannot stop myself from feeling it is too valuable a sensation to be anyone's, however. 


I cannot do anything but give it to the select few I have allowed to share that part of me, sensations blooming from the flesh contact, whether in a motherly hug and tender holding of my child, an embrace of a close friend, or the known and intimate, learned touches, strokes, kisses and more to those I have shared all of myself with, body and soul.

Communicating emotion & needing affection

Feeling in extra need of cuddles at the moment. I don't know whether it's down to the wintry weather, or working full time finally sinking in, or other issues but I have found myself needing more affection than usual in order to keep from being a complete emotional wreck. Mostly it works, anyway.


I feel so safe when in his arms, he surrounds me and comforts me, makes all the worries just dissolve away so easily and I feel peaceful.


For someone that's always found physical affection a difficult process, taking time to trust someone enough and getting over old issues didn't come very easily. Now the floodgates seem to have been opened, and I want to make up for all the affection I haven't had. 


Unfortunately (I think that's the right word), in my life affection has only come from one source. Sex. Parental affection was non-existent and I have not really experienced platonic friendships, there has always been progression to more, or a desire to at least on one side or the other. 


This is not a plea for the violins to start, just an expression of inner feelings and yes some turmoil. I wish to be loved, but in order to come through and trust people enough to be affectionate with them, for some reason my subconscious pushes people to the very edges of sanity like some kind of torturous and rigorous testing programme. Seeing if they really will stick it out, stay with me or whether under my pressures they will do what some part of my mind always fears and expects, and simply drop me. 


I need to know the ones I give my affection to are willing to take me at my very worst, so that I can come through that process feeling safe, always safe to be me, and in that way, the me that eventually shines is the one that is free to be kind and benevolent without fear of being taken advantage of, taken for granted, hurt and abused like so many times before.


There is something special being able to strip off both physically and metaphorically at the end of the day and climb in with the ones you love, feeling at ease with them and therefore with yourself. Something soothing and special. Feeling that it's all ok is a magical moment and not one I take lightly. Flesh to flesh contact is very important to me, that's why I don't give it to all and sundry, only those allowed into my heart.


When not able to connect properly, it makes me sad. I have come to the realisation that I don't deal with sadness in the normal ways, apparently. I get angry when I'm sad. I get angry at myself, for either letting myself get sad or not being strong enough to handle a situation. I get angry because I'm the sort of person to get sad over issues other people have no qualms with. I'm angry and spiky and silent and give off an aura of absolute hatred, misery and despise. I know all this and yet can seem to do nothing about it, the tension just oozes out of me.


At those times, he knows what to do. Maybe it's because he doesn't pick up on triggers like other people. A blessing in disguise, really. He does know when something is up with me, but still can somehow (usually) drag me over to him, unfold my tightly folded arms and unfurl my tightly clenched fists, turn my face up to him and force me to tell him what's wrong. 


It is in the outpouring that I heal. Communication really IS key. You may call it ranting, or venting, but I do need to let emotions out in this way. I know the world and life is not all about me, but at the same time in my head if I keep things bottled up I really can't handle it all that well. It needs to be let out to those I am/should be closest with.


He makes me sit/lie down with him and talk. Holds me as I cry. Listens quietly and calmly as I rant angrily, sometimes saying horrid things to him and blaming him, attacking him. Simply asking why I am doing that will get me to answer calmly about how I feel. It wouldn't be the same if he simply stalked off, to ignore/hate me for weeks on end.


Things don't get sorted that way. But it's difficult when I'm in that spiky, self protective anger mode, to approach another and ask them for their help getting through this process. I don't know any other way to survive sadness, hurt and fear, other than a defence mask and to at least act strong and icy even when I feel I am shattering inside like a dropped glass figurine.


It feels good to use words to explain, to let things out, to not box things up. I am a wordsmith, not an orator. Words are beautiful yet sometimes painful and they hold so much power. With words you can love, heal, arouse, hurt, end or simply connect. The psychological process of raising images, feelings and need in another's consciousness merely through the power of the right words, is something that will always intrigue me. 


I don't really know where I'm going with this, but it felt good to let it out. Thank you for reading ~smiles~




xxx

Choking on Love

I'm lying, fairly spent, dizzy, empty headed and happy after another energetic, frenzied session. The sheets are twisted and rumpled, around and between us. Our bodies hot and coated in a light sheen while we lay partially across each other, not sure where one ends and the other begins. 


My eyes are closed but flicker open for the reassurance of his presence, still there, still with me, holding, stroking intermittently and making love noises. 


I sense he wants more, more from me and more, just more. So do I, despite the tides of physical lethargy which my lustful appetite is fighting against.


He reaches over and puts his hand to my throat, fingers closing round my throat. His growling whisper, close to my ear, 'I want you to cum for me. Cum like this, right now...'


I react, loving my body's involuntary reactions as well as my surging need causing the previously ebbing tendrils of passion to catch alight and burst into flame once more. 


He presses against my then, his other hand holding the wand to my clit, over my pussy, dancing it over and around, then aggressively holding it tight against my protesting clit once more. The bar through my clit catches and the pain only serves to heighten my rush towards that orgasmic light.


His fingers close, vice-like, round my throat. I'm drifting... caught on that sea of need, torn between the instinctive need to breathe and sacrificing that for him. Gasping, spluttering when I can, catching snippets of air whenever he wills and allows it through to me, trusting he will feed me enough to stay conscious. 


My mind is left free and clear, blanking out everything except the insistent stimulation at the very core of my need to peak, to orgasm, to obey, to please. He wants this of me, and I can achieve this. I want this, he will watch. He tells me in that soft voice, but firm and clear, this is how it will be.


I feel myself toppling over that edge... just at that point he chokes off all air and I fall into the seemingly never-ending well of explosive, chaotic, spine grabbing and nerve-ending sizzling sensation.


I finally recover enough, I open my eyes. He has released me.. He smiles. I smile back.


'I love you...'


'I love you too'


We kiss.


Perfection. 

Proudly bearing the marks of life...

Got this comment on one of my Facebook photos yesterday which made me laugh. From a cosmetic surgeon, funnily enough.


hi baby best figure


but baby u have lots of stretch marks get them treated u will be just yummy


My reply?

Ill be yummy after I get the stretch marks removed? Yes I have stretch marks. Im a real woman, Ive had a baby - and a life. Im proud of the fact Im real, not some cut to pieces, reinjected, fake tanned out of all human skin tone range, photo shopped, air brushed, pop candy, lad mag star wanna be. Im me, Im a mum, Im real, this is how I look in real life. I dont remove my hair/teeth/tits any other part of my body when I get into bed, I still look like who I am. Don't like it? Get a blow up doll.


------------------


How sad that a woman can't be just pale, with yes her marks from life, having lived. I dont think my stretch marks are excessive but I have had two pregnancies. Things happened in my life before the pregnancies that has led to other faded marks. I'm not a victim in life, Im a soldier.


I won't have a tummy tuck or a boob job, but then the only thing silicone about me when I do get (even!) older will be half the contents of my toy box.

Soothing satisfaction at the end of the day...

I love that time of the day where I get to switch off, unwind, just finish all communications with the world and relax.

I switch the world off and he switches me on.

Undressing, washing, changing into something loose and easily removeable I flop next to him on the sofa, exhausted. I am cleansed and natural, hair loose and wild, naked face. Noone else sees me like this, I am vulnerable, almost child-like.

I move closer to him, letting him know it's ok to enter my personal space. I am sensitive about the immediate space around me, noone enters it without permission. Remnants of long, locked up badness in those boxes at the far corners of my mind prevent movements towards me that I am unprepared for, some parts of me almost ruined.

Broken toy that I am, he is patient and kind and knows my body language. I let him pull me towards him, close into him, snuggled, safe, content.

He slips one hand into my clothes, a familiar movement, not sexual in itself, yet somehow all our touches with each other have the fibres of sexuality entwined with them.

I am laying across him, my head on his chest, his hand gently stroking up my spine, his other hand either laying across me or from time to time, touching my face, stroking my hair.

His need becomes pressing beneath me after a while and I smile to myself. He gives a low huff, something like petulance, and I giggle softly.

We play like this for a time, with soft touches to each other, no more than a few words spoken, just quiet or some background noise to half-focus on.

The motion and feel of his touch on my body lulls me into a drowsy, just before sleep state. Soft, fragile, ready for bed.

He lifts me firmly and we ascend to the room, the shared nest where we meet at the end of each day. Pulling from me gently what little clothes I wear, he places me into bed and joins me there.

I am exhausted but I still want him to take me, he does so... lovingly, thoroughly, ravishingly.

We sleep entangled, the deep sleep of the sated.

World Domination

After asking today what I should blog about next, this title came about, for some mysterious reason.

Yes I have been on a bit of a world domination spree lately. Ok, not just lately I admit, it's in my blood, my nature, my character. I wasn't always this way. Used to be a doormat in my youth, but times change us and any knocks or bad experiences just callous the heart and make us harder. I have had my share of those, more than my fair share, in fact.

However in the words of beautiful Pink, 'I wouldn't trade the pain for what I've learned'.

Better to be harsh, embittered, hard, domineering and cynical than a naive, gullible, soppy, blase, innocent doormat? Well perhaps not for everyone, but this is my armour and I'd rather keep it on, thank you.

My protection is to be ruthless, cut-throat and vicious at times. Attack is the best form of defence after all. I can appear heartless, vindictive and ice cold, as anyone who has been on the receiving end of one of my ranting tirades will agree.

It is an awful way to view the world, perhaps, in some people's opinion. Why not be optimistic, expect the best from people, put faith in humanity? I would so love to be like that but we are only the sum of our experiences, and mine have taught me to be careful, very careful in dealing with the world and its people. I would rather expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than put my faith in people or things just to yet again be let down.

There are only so many times you can be let down and your heart cut entirely into pieces before you lose the ability to just trust blindly. Once bitten twice shy, hell hath no fury.. all these sayings have an element of truth and reflect parts of the human psyche.

These days I use the fact that I look fairly innocent (I like to think, anyway) to my advantage. I don't think I look old and embittered, not as much as I feel at times anyway! I have come close to death several times and now I view life with different eyes. it is here to be lived. This is my life. I will live it. Those impeding on my life with anything affecting the root core of who and what I am, in a negative way, will find themselves amputated from my life.

I simply cannot afford to have any more of my heart eaten away.

You would think all of the above makes me a very vulnerable, fragile person with a frail shell of confidence. But in fact, it now comes to a point where I am strong inside. The strength that comes from accepting weakness, accepting limitations and accepting the fact I have emotional insecurities, problems in my psyche and mental imbalances that make me 'abnormal', whatever the hell normal is meant to be.

I don't have time for people's petty jealousies, cattiness, bitchiness, trying to drag me down. I laugh at the last one. I have been to the very pit of my own personal hellish abyss, you really think mere words will hurt me? You cannot say anything I have not heard a million times before, and probably phrased more articulately, come to that.

I have a sense of personal freedom now. Happiness from accepting unhappiness.

You know what world? I'm me. Accept me as I am, insanity, distrust, contradictions, hyposcrisy and all. I am here to live my life, the way I want to live it, and noone can stop me.

We all have this one chance to live our short lives, why should we let other people dictate to us how it is done, when they get their own chance of life anyway?

Step out with confidence, bluff or not. Appear eager to live. Head up, shoulders back, have a passion for life and what YOU want to achieve, without anyone telling you.


Believe in yourself and you can dominate the world.


Rant over ;)


xxxx



.

Delicious Saturday with D

I spent a wonderful day yesterday in the company of a beautiful, creative, artistic, wonderful woman who shall be named D.

We had been speaking online for a while, progressing to msn and text, the usual. Not merely cyber sex, some power exchange fun and also day to day life chat. She seemed to really care about me and I about her, our lives, so separate but similar in striking ways too.

Sharing a love for the dramatic and theatrical, she realises the importance of romance and emotion.

We both have our men in our lives, but as you will know from reading my past blog posts, there is something missing for a lot of women. Personally I feel a lot more women are bi than they either realise or feel comfortable admitting.

Finally a chance came to actually meet face to face. Nerves struck as usual, about a week before actually. However I have been swallowing them and putting them out of my mind all week until Saturday morning arrived and with it the realisation that I would actually be meeting her. In reality. In the flesh. Our flesh, together.

Mike kindly gave me a lift over to the city of our mutual choice. I sat for a while in the shopping centre cafe, having arrived early, sipping much black coffee in the hope for alertness. Clothes feeling tight and suddenly feeling less than attractive, I gulped it down as the clock ticked round to the selected time.

Finally she texted that she had arrived. I felt cold yet so hot. Contradictory feelings as usual. Confident but shy, self conscious. Hot but freezing. Calm exterior, ruffled and racing inside.

When we finally met I was struck how pretty she is. Tall yes, perfectly so. She looks like a model.. We embraced and her scent sang to me. Mike left us and we made some small talk, leaving the shopping centre cafe to find somewhere more relaxing, an ambient atmosphere. Possibly with alcohol.

Laughing, chatting and giggling down the street I had no idea where I was going. My sense of direction is hazy at the best of times (I got lost in a small shopping centre once, only finding my way out by back tracking the shops I'd been in *blush*) but I was hoping that in such a vibrant city there would be a Wetherspoons or a Yates or somesuch large comfortable bar nearby.

We walked, well, wandered for a while before admitting defeat. Turning heel we saw a Slug & Lettuce so chose to dive in there, despite the busy bustle and the football starting up. D led the way, very confident and striding through the crowds with me loitering and feeling a fool in her wake.

Grabbing a suddenly free table near the bar, I made myself comfortable as we discussed drinks. She removed her jacket and... oh my god. Her dress. My favourite colour, deep red, cut so low, displaying her perfect cleavage and ample breasts to perfection. My breath caught in my throat as I stared, dazed, like an idiot. Rabbit in headlights.

She giggled wickedly and asked (again) what I would like to drink. I muttered the first thing that came to mind, my usual, vodka and diet coke. The waitress who had seemingly suddenly appeared at our table (who could blame her) took the order, mentioned something about doubles and I nodded dumbly. Shit -why did I do that - I'm already feeling fuzzy and I haven't even started yet! D ordered something non alcoholic - what was her plan exactly, I wondered, nervously.

After a while the conversation flowed naturally and we volleyed wit and sparkling humour like the best. The buzz of the bar echoed our enjoyment and the alcohol relaxed me to a more confident feel within myself.

Dispensing with single drinks D ordered a jug of Long Island Iced Tea next. Perfect. A woman that just dives right in. I like that.

The time was spinning out of my control, we only had the afternoon together and I was aware it was slipping away and we hadn't even connected physically yet, no matter how either of us wanted to. I guessed she wanted to. I wasn't sure. I wanted to kiss her but at a table in a busy bar wasn't exactly the best place. I pushed this mental debate down to a quiet murmur in my mind as we finished the last of the cocktail jug (with a laugh - as the last two glasses were pure ice cubes) and it was my turn to choose next.

Gazing at the drinks menu which seemed to melt to a blur of alcoholic themed words in front of me, I picked out a familiar favourite... Italian Kiss.

I did choose it for the Martini involved (we are the beautiful people doncha know *mwah*), not for the urban meaning, which I only found out today! Probably a good job I didn't know that yesterday actually. My confidence would have all but evaporated!

Finally the chat, laughter and alcohol had to come to an end as D needed to leave to avoid traffic and get back home. We sighed and made our way back to the shopping centre where we were both getting picked up ... her by her wandering man (who had been wandering the streets all afternoon to leave us to get on with it -bless) and me by Mike who I would text once ready.

D and I did some final rounds of the shops, the alcohol having soothed us into a comfortable friendly bond now. Still hadn't kissed despite a couple of girly visits to the bathroom together.

We hugged and said goodbye and she made her way back to her car where her man would be waiting. I sat and texted Mike and kicked and cursed myself for not grabbing and kissing her.

Sighing and writing off the afternoon as much fun but possibly a missed opportunity... I made my way round John Lewis in the centre for a final window shop before Mike arrived. Then, a sudden volley of texts between D and I, beginning with her:

'I'm not lost, I'm temporarily misplaced.'

'I wanted to kiss you, but didn't want to freak you out!'

'I'm by GAP... come and kiss me then :P '

It was like a film. I turned on my heel and determinedly strode out of John Lewis, to the sudden startled looks of the Saturday staff and shoppers alike.

She was facing away from me, just having stepped off the escalator there... I grabbed her arm from behind, swung her round and kissed her deeply. I'm sure I could hear the score from Gone with the Wind.

Ignoring the passing groups of whistling, pack animal, lecherous men, shouting lewd suggestions and what they supposedly took for compliments, we broke free for air and smiled at each other.

'I'm glad you found me again.'

'Me too', I replied.

Embracing and kissing for a few minutes more, pulling away to the side of the centre instead of right in the centre of the crowds, we enjoyed a lovely fumble and probing embrace. She tasted delicious. Perfect.

Setting off arm in arm wandering, hazy, not really looking where we were going, I slipped my arm round her every so often and kissed her cheek and shoulder... we didn't want to have to part, it was too cruel.

I spotted Mike waiting for me on the corner, and she too knew she must finally go. I handed over the gifts I had brought for her (sex toys and lube, of course!) and made to separate at last.

With a final kiss we parted ways, promised to meet up again soon - and get a room this time. Not sure why two women kissing in public is seen as dirty yet a man and a woman are seen as romantic. That is a debate for another day, I guess.

The trip home was punctuated not only by sensual and erotic text messages between us, but also highly arousing titanium flicks against my clit from the poor state of the roads. I wasn't complaining ... despite the involuntary moans.

My dreams last night were filled with the taste of her lips. D must stand for delicious, deviant and divine. Perfection.

Can't wait til next time. Thank you D for a beautiful and perfect day.


Cara

xxx

Lesbian Love - Where I'm At Now

It finally finished with kitten. No blame on either side, we just didn't work on a mental and emotional level. Entirely opposite opinions of the world, relationships, men and women. Possibly we should have had more conversations before the removal of clothes and the multiple orgasms... ah well.

I'm a very feminine woman. In the lesbian world, there are terms to describe the different 'types' of lesbian. Of course not all women will fit these categories exactly, it is impossible to pigeon hole absolutely everyone with a few labels. However, I do identify with these types both from personal experience with women and how I feel in myself.

• Butch
• Femme
• Boi

Most people will recognise the term 'butch' as it carries the weight of the world's stereotype with it. Shaven headed, bare faced, stocky women wearing dungarees and doc martens, with an assortment of tattoos and enough metalware through their skin to worry for their safety near power lines.

As I see it, the terms mean as follows:

Butch: A lesbian who holds traditionally male values, including how they dress, lack of makeup or interest in being traditionally feminine. Often referred to as a 'dyke' whether insultingly or not. May arrive 'packing' and is usually the 'cock' in sexual relations.

Femme: A lesbian, often referred to as a 'lipstick lesbian', often mistaken for a straight woman by the outside world. Holds traditionally feminine values and opinions. Wears makeup and often holds shoes in high regard. The one who is taken by the 'cock' in sexual relations.

Boi: A fairly new term to be added to the above two separate identities, a boi may be a lesbian who for all appearances seems very womanly and feminine but holds some or all of the male ideals/opinions. Can arrive 'packing' or not. The urban dictionary describes a lesbian 'boi' in this way:

'a young transgendered/androgynous/masculine person who is biologically female and presents themselves in a young, boyish way; a boidyke; often also identifies as genderqueer.'

Personally, I feel ultra feminine, I never have the slightest inclination towards feeling male, even when I wear the largest strap on I own. When I wear a cock, it doesn't feel natural, it feels funny. I can give pleasure in this way but during lesbian sex I prefer to be taken, ravished... after appropriate wining, dining, flattery and seduction of course.

I am a Femme.

I guess you could tell that from the frequent mentions to health, beauty, lingerie, clothes and shoes in this blog alone!

Ultimately, I'm attracted to women for feminine qualities. It is difficult for me to understand lesbians who are attracted to male values and opinions in other women, as it seems slightly juxtaposed with the fact that it is women you find attractive.

Perhaps the difference lies in attitudes towards sex. For me to have sex with someone, I need to feel a bond, a connection, I want to feel attractive inside and out, valued, worth more to them than anyone (in lesbian sex, that is above all other women, not impeding any heterosexual relationship which I can distinguish from).

If I am to enjoy feeling vulnerable, fragile, to offer myself up to be 'taken' by the woman of choice, I need to feel safe and secure with them. Not only in a physical way, but in an emotional welfare way too.

It is likely that due to past bad experiences with men and my naturally cautious, anxious and at times paranoid nature, I seek out sexual attention and affection like it is water to one dying of thirst. Sex has always been how I have both been shown any affection and how I have been able to easily find it.

Heavy flirtation and a sexually suggestive nature aside, when it actually comes down to having relations with a woman I want to be supremely special to her as she is to me. I have had a relationship with a woman before and there is something almost magical about waking up with a woman that you know is entirely into you, as you are with her. Nothing male about in the slightest, just ultimate femininity, knowing the importance of the little things, romance, compliments, enjoying clothes and makeup and girly novelties.

Sometimes I wonder if I am now entirely lesbian (apart from my hetero relationship with my man which is a constant) due to forces beyond my control in life. I have been repeatedly turned off men by their attitudes, behaviour (to me and generally) and place in our culture and society.

I do not enjoy the traditional hardcore porn, with peroxide blondes, collagen lips, botox face and behinds, nipped, tucked, rammed and fucked. I prefer eroticism, sensuality, emotive art and erotic literature.

This is not to say all men are the same, far from it. I know some lovely men and they are very thoughtful and caring. This is rather, a general view of that masculine wave which seems to be everpresent and dominant in our world still, for all the work women do to correct this. That women are weaker, that they are only fit to look physically attractive and to be used as sex objects.

Just because women can take these attitudes and exploit them for their own advantage, does not mean that those attitudes and opinions were correct in the first place.

I was probably born bisexual. This is seen in the fact that I have a long term relationship with my man, who I both love, and am very much in love, with. The fact we have a 5 year old child together just binds us even closer.

He is aware that I have a need in my heart for a lesbian love, not purely physical but also to meet that desire for a matched femininity. He is not threatened by this, as obviously it is something that he both cannot and has no desire to provide.

My heart has four sections, physically and metaphorically:

• Love for my child
• Love for my man
• Love for a woman
• Love as a Mistress (see the deviant side of my life)

These all work in harmony, without impeding one another, to complete me.

Before embarking on physical love with a woman, I would advise that a mental, emotional and personality connection be made first. See if any of the above attitudes trigger a response in you. Which do you identify with? Perhaps not exactly all that each 'label' entails but what do you seek from a relationship with a woman?

I think we all deserve to be treated with respect, regardless of our gender, orientation and opinions. Embrace who you are and have fun exploring your feminine (or masculine) world!



.

Real Cock Vs Sex Toys

Men, I find it very odd that some of you have a problem with sex toys. Not a hatred for rubber or silicone; but more specifically a feeling of angst when they are brought into the bedroom by your lover.

What is it that is so intimidating about a moulded phallus made out of either a flexible material, or glass, or perhaps even inflatable? It could be the size. Maybe it is an underlying worry that your woman will prefer the toy, being seduced by its charming... ridges.

Many jokes abound in this world of liberal women, independent women, feminist women. Women who have felt their gender has been downtrodden and held back for centuries as the 'inferior' or weaker sex. Her indoors.

You may have heard some of them.

Why are vibrators better than men?
... Because a vibrator can't mow the lawn.
... Because a vibrator doesn't have an orgasm first and then just stop "vibrating."
... Because a vibrator won’t ask you if it’s bigger than all other vibrators you’ve had.
... Because you don’t have to worry where else it’s been.
... Because vibrators don’t expect you to swallow.

And of course the biggie...

If vibrators had a wallet and could fetch the drinks, we wouldn't need men anymore.

All of these and more, have been part of a rather successful attack launched on the male ego and the natural carnal source of their pride, their cock. Symbol of their masculinity, their manhood.

However, upon asking most women, they still do prefer the warmth, motion, throbbing and thrusting of a real cock. Men, you have no reason to worry, you still have the original and best!

The way I see it is, men have had their hand 'on the side' for years. This has been an accepted and 'normal' part of male life, relationships, sex etc as far back as we can see. Women have had to be grateful for any attention, sexually, from their man. Inbetween their wanking sessions!

Now, women have gained in this regard. We have sex toys as well as fingers. Female solo fun is no longer viewed as wrong, dirty, sinful. Men have a wank, well guess what? So do women. If you're not there in the afternoon when I fancy an orgasm, I don't have to wait to see if you will deign to 'give it to me' that night. I'll have a rifle through my toy box then a rifle through... well you know.

It isn't that men and women are ever going to be equal. Simply different. Not superior and inferior, merely having different interests, opinions and priorities in life. Men seem to focus on visual and physical sensations and pleasure. Women tend to require more mental stimulation and a scene setting, in order to gain maximum enjoyment in a sexual way.

I might not just want a huge hard dildo ramming up me, I may wish to tease myself (or be teased) with a remote Love Egg. Or maybe read (or share) some erotic fiction to get into the mood. How about a sensual massage or a bubble bath with luxurious bubbles, a glass of wine and some mellowing candles?

When it comes (!) to pleasure, we all get to our aim in different ways. It isn't right for anyone to feel intimidated by the novelties we either share with our partners, or use alone, to reach our peaks, mentally or physically. They are additions to what should already be a meeting of minds, emotions, bodies.

Next time your lovely lady wishes to use a vibrator to climax, whether on her own in the afternoon, or after you have already shot your load, or perhaps introduces a shared toy like a vibrating cock ring into the bedroom... don't be threatened.

Embrace this sign that she trusts you and wants you enough, to share ultimate pleasure with you. She wants to have sex with you, but at the same time is a sexually aware and confident woman not afraid to have her own set of demands, wants and needs. You wouldn't want her keeping secrets!

Lads may wish to keep banging one out with their hand (or use something even better like the Supersex stroker). They may also wish to note that their lady may just be doing the same thing, same time, different place, with their own choice of vibrator, dildo or clit bullet.

And why not, men? Why not.

Women want it all! We deserve it all. Real cock when it's ready, sex toys that are 'ever' ready.

Perfect.

Poetry - Rendez Vous

Rendez Vous

Fateful meeting
Looks so fleeting
One is cheating
Deceitful greeting

Topics bright
So called light
One is contrite
Sorrow incites

repeated parting
Friendship starting
One is charting
Wounds still smarting

Conversing free
Drops the key
One can see
A heartfelt plea

Kindly implores
Pressure withdraws
One remains sore
Can never ignore

Heart is sold
Treasures untold
Yet remaining bold
Friends of gold

--- --- ---



Cara
xxx

Poetry - Friday Feeling

Monday again - the week has begin
Living to work to pay for the fun
Staring blankly at coffee, ignoring the rain
Getting wet in the open so I dont miss the train

But my heart is light when Friday is here
My life is great so why should I fear
Trying to live without questioning why
Not finding the reason so no reason to cry

Tuesday arrives - the week's moving on
I'm waiting for friends but they've already gone
I get to work late but I'm not on their minds
They've set all their targets but they're too hard to find

But my heart is light when Friday is here
All is still well so why should I fear
Trying to live without questioning why
Not finding the reason so no reason to cry

Greetings from Wednesday - the middle of the week
Glancing at the calendar, the outlook is bleak
Twenty days are mine out of every year
But think of the options and I won't shed a tear

But my heart is light when Friday is here
Im coping okay so why should I fear
Trying to live without questioning why
Not finding the reason so no reason to cry

Thursday at last - the end is in sight
Some happiness there though the future's not bright
Trying to keep clean in a world full of grime
Talking to friends, Im just passing the time

But my heart is light when Friday is here
Just barely alive but why should I fear
Trying to live without questioning why
Not finding the reason so no reason to cry

Temporary amusement - life is a game
Have a drink, have a laugh, find a new flame
The weekend is here so try to forget
You've the rest of the year to face your regrets

But my heart is light when Friday is here
I'm going to die, refusing to fear
Trying to live without questioning why
Not finding the reason so no reason to cry

-----------------------------

Cara

xxx

Poem - In Love ( A feeling described)

The dusky pink of twilight
Weaves magic spells
A million stars twinkle brightly
Streams trickle through an evergreen forest
Playful flames of a warming fire
Cast dancing shadows around the glade
Where a sparkling hazy mist resides
Wild horses canter and race
Stopping to nuzzle tenderly
Partaking of rich autumnal fruits
The Septemberly berries
Ripe and gleaming like violet tears
Night descends
The darkness is a comforting blanket
It binds us together eternally.


Cara

xxx

FML

Wanton Weekend Walk Through

The weekend was yet again a mishmash of fun, exciting, erotic and sensual adventures. Friday saw Kitten coming round in the evening with her man for a sleepover, which I had anticipated eagerly all week. An evening of films, frigging and filthy fingering.

Beginning rather innocently with friendly chat and handholding, we progressed steadily to a point where she was writhing half naked atop me while her man was apparently engrossed in the film currently on in the background. Far, far in the background. Something about space, I wasn't really paying attention. I don't really think he was either.

Kitten definitely wasn't by the way her tiny hand was thrust then trapped between my soft warm thighs under her, her clit-seeking fingers doing an expert job keeping me breathless and on the cusp. It was all I could manage to concentrate on trying not to break the bones in my hand, contorting it into unnatural positions whilst locating her hidden wetness, down what must be the world's tightest jeans. I have really gone off jeans.

Thankfully I had removed her bra and top to free her amazing breasts, so large on such a tiny frame. Entirely irresistible. I have to pinch, suck, nibble and play with them. I simply cannot merely look at those full pert orbs, those fleshy globes, those... well. You get my point(s).


It was a thoroughly satisfying evening for all involved and I finally crawled into bed to nakedly sleep on top of my man at around 2am.


The next morning didn't dawn bright and clear as much as hazy and resentful. A 7am start wasn't exactly what I had planned for Saturday, but despite the morning fog & remaining sexual stickiness I soon cleaned up and made my way back down to my beautiful sex toy. Strong coffees, lingering looks and fond farewell fumbling filled up the few hours before she had to once again depart from me, leaving me feeling bereft and empty without her.


Without much time to dwell on Sapphic sentimentality, I had to quickly plan ahead. I had a birthday party to attend! Mike's birthday had been midweek but we had previously arranged to leave off the main celebrations until Saturday night, when my man and I would visit Mike's home for nibbles, drink and to take over Mike's bed, kicking the poor sod out onto the lounge floor. Happy Birthday Mike, we've come to eat your food, drink your alcohol, raid your cupboards and steal your bed. Nice!

Actually it was thoroughly enjoyable. We all enjoyed a veritable banquet of a Chinese takeaway. I had simply never seen nor enjoyed such a huge amount of delicious Chinese cuisine in one go before! After plenty of luxury icecream (it was a birthday celebration after all!) we tucked into fine wines, spirits and cocktails. Chat and laughter continued to the small hours whereupon my man and I retired to the comfortable & insanely bright pink king size bed for the night, once again at around 2am!



Woke at 6am. Took one look at one of the many clocks that adorned the room. Thought, fuck that. Went back to sleep.



Woke at 9am. Thought, that's marginally better. Hmm. Head isn't sore. Bonus. Looked over at my man. Looked more comfortable than the mattress. Climbed aboard.



10am. Needed a shower. Badly.



Suffice to say that after a gorgeous breakfast of coffee and croissants I was one smug and satisfied woman on Sunday.


I had briefly been in touch with Kitten over the couple of days but she was very quiet. Busy with work I supposed. Frustrating little madam! My neurotic mind was rushing through cynical and pessimistic possibilities that could have been avoided with more communication and less mind reading.


After a day of wondering where I stand, with much confusion and worry (and more ice cream) it has finally been discussed and I feel at ease. When being faithful to someone in a sexual way there is an element of expectation on an emotional level. You are faithful to them, excluding other sexual advances. In exchange for this, a person does expect to have some emotional maintenance not unlike a romantic relationship, where a bond forms.


Without mutual exclusivity, I am free to play instead of pine! Let the orgy begin!

 

FML = Fuck More Lesbians

 *laughs*


Stay sexy, Blog Angels!

xxx