I will not create
A cliche haiku about
How she dropped her garde
Acquired Stardust
i don't do bad sauce passes
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noise dept.
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Keni
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Mike Driver
almost home
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Not today Justin

roma★
DEAR READER
Jules of Nature
todays bird

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Show & Tell

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cherry valley forever

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@voyeuralan
I will not create
A cliche haiku about
How she dropped her garde
SHIANN SIENNA COLLINS
She called to me, her eyes speaking volumes across the crowded cafe. My attention should have been on my coffee, or my problems, or my wife, but her eyes...
For a moment, her eyes caught mine. It was only an instant, but her face changed, the realization of her effect on me. My complete and utter helplessness. My desire, naked on my face. I had been caught unprepared, and my heart raced as I tried in vain to calm my thoughts and the the inevitable reaction and the embarrassment and...
"so, ask HER..."
I goggled at the thought. Seriously? You want this? You're ok with this? A million thoughts ran through my head. But - I wanted it so much
Fuck... Was this really going to happen? As I rose to go introduce us and our proposal, my finger trailed along the back of my wife's hand...
And in the darkness
A sublime shadow, until -
Her legs, uncoiled
Part IV – One hundred percent and more.
The text exchange had been brief, mainly because I find it to be the most impersonal form of communication. Mostly, because it was disappointing.
————
She: Sorry can’t make our dinner on Friday night :(
Me: Well…fuck me
She: lol we haven’t even had a first kiss!!
Me: I mean in a purely crestfallen way
She: Are you sure of that mister? You have no bad intentions for our first date?
Me: No. Yes. Maybe. I have a lot of intentions.
Me: Why are you ditching out on me?
She: Called away to London for work. It happens. I’ll call later to explain.
———-
Later became eight-ish on Friday evening. Which, due to our agreement on work-life imbalance, seemed apropos. Yet, there it was. Finally, a beacon of hope. The bird chirping ringtone I had set up specifically for calls from the lovely Tuesday Mahan.
Fishing my phone from the back pocket of my jeans as I walked down the street, I was definitely taking this call. I was also taking the offensive.
“Hello, Miss incommunicado.”
“Sorry.” It was one of those long drawn out apologies where the o in the word seems to go on longer than necessary.
“Are you?” I chided.
“Yes.”
“Why. Being sorry about work conflicts is not in the agreement.”
“Well…”
I insisted. “Well, what.”
“Well…”
“Again? Spit it out, Miss radio silence.”
Tuesday admitted. “In all truth I was looking forward to tonight. One hundred percent.”
“Yet you chose to wait until now to give me a shout. Slaving away twenty-four hours a day for your career?”
Tuesday blurted a single word. “No.”
“No, what”
“I was embarrassed that I brushed you off by text.”
“Embarrassed?”
“In a way…yeah. I didn’t have the decency to call. Just…yo, I’m not showing up.”
“It’s ok.”
“Really?’
“Yeah, I get it. One hundred percent.”
“Steve..”
“Yes?”
“One hundred percent is my saying. You can’t use it.”
“You and a billion other people. There’s no copyright on saying one hundred percent.”
“True. But, I say it with flair. One hundred percent!” Tuesday said emphatically. “People know I’m one hundred percent serious.”
I nodded to myself giving what could only be described as a droll response. “One. Hundred. Percent.” It was time to change the subject, in a poor take on a cockney accent. “So m’lady, where are you staying in jolly old England.”
“Steve…don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?’
“Where do I begin? That accent is horrible. M’lady? That’s just no. Hard pass. You sound like a weirdo. Jolly old England? That’s just a double no. Double hard pass. You sound like you’re eighty years old.
“That bad?”
“Beyond that bad. I almost hung up.”
“Don’t do that. I need to hear all about you trip. Where are you staying?”
“The Savoy.”
“Oh, ritzy. Aren’t you the high falutin’ one.”
“That’s my boss’s choice. I’d have preferred a more modern boutique hotel. It’ll do though. I guess.”
“Big bed?”
“Queen sized.”
“Kinda small don’t you think?” I interrupted the flow of our conversation. “Hang on I need to hail a cab.”
“Are you calling me fat Stephen? Saying I need a bigger bed.” She goaded. “…and why are you hailing a cab. That’s so old school. There’s an uber app in case you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want to wait on a uber. I have someplace to be…and I hate riding in a Prius.”
“One hundred percent!”
“So, I was thinking. Since we’re not on the date you promised me tonight , that we could sort of wing it.”
“How so? What do you mean?” She questioned.
“I’d like to envision what our first date would have been like.”
Shouldn’t that be saved for…you know…our first date? The actual one.”
“No. I want to know what I’m missing out on.” I demanded answers. “What are you wearing?”
“Is this going to turn into phone sex Steven?”
Maybe. What are you wearing?”
Tuesday sounded exasperated. “Fine. I’ll play along with whatever this game is. Black skirt…pumps…frilly bra…a towel in my hair. I’m getting ready to go have dinner.”
“Sounds hot. I especially like the towel thing…and lack of a blouse. Dinner alone or with your boss.”
“Alone…sadly…and don’t say blouse. It makes you sound like an old man…again.”
“What were you planning to eat.”
“Um, I was thinking Italian. I have a pasta craving.”
“So, if we had dinner tonight. It would be Italian. Good to know.”
“Real Italian though. Where the food and wine is a celebration. But, the kind of place that’s intimate.” Tuesday paused thoughtfully. “Because I really wanted us to be able to get to know each other.”
“You wanted to be able to flirt with me.”
“I guess you busted me.”
“It’s ok. I had this whole fingers gliding over your hand as your foot slid up my calf seductively thing built up in my mind. You know. Longing eyes mesmerized and all that.”
“One hundred percent.”
“Then after dinner?” I asked.
“A stroll. Work off the calories and the tension between us.”
“Right. Because there’s anticipation building to a crescendo.”
“Yeah, that first kiss is inevitable.”
“Just waiting there to happen. Holding for the right cosmic moment. How do you imagine it?” A question I needed to know.
“Some hesitation. Fearful that I’m going to either fall madly in love or it’s going to completely suck.” She gave a caveat. “Which I hope to god it won’t.” Tuesday went on. “You wrapping me in your arms. A brush of cheeks. Lips touching softly. Parting. Sweet and slow. Then full-on delirium. Oh yeah, I want to be knocked out by your kiss.”
“When it happens.”
“Mhm.” She said it wistfully. The ideal of that kiss entrenched in her mind. “How did you see the kiss happening Stephen.”
“In a devastating and captivating flurry that leaves us emotionally spent. From just that first kiss.” I stopped short. “But, I have to go. I’m meeting someone right now.”
“That’s not even fair! You get me all worked up about this…and now you’re hanging up.”
“Gotta go. It’ll happen soon enough.” I hit end call just as I knocked on the door before me.
Two seconds later that door flew open. There was Tuesday Mahan in all her enchanting glory.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God! You came to London?!” She literally screamed.
“I wanted my god damned kiss. Our kiss. The devastation and delirium.”
In a nanosecond we were a hot mess of tangled limbs and searching lips.
It is believed the last French Queen before the French Revolution, Marie Antoinette, once said: “let them eat cake.”
As I sit in my car this is the quote that emerges in my mind as I look upon a historical building. However, this quote only embodies the sinful thoughts that are also running through my mind. Right now my thighs are pressed tightly against one another as I imagine one of my favorite kinks-exhibitionism. That’s right babe, I want to fuck and I want an audience.
I imagine you and me taking a guided tour of the building hand in hand. As the guide rambles on about dates and historical relevancy of what we are looking at I lean in and whisper to you that I’m not wearing any panties. You turn and look me up and down soaking in the fact that under my sundress I am completely exposed. The crowd begins to move to the next exhibit as you tug on my wrist holding me back from joining them. Your other hand reaching up to the back of my dress and sliding your finger along my freshly shaved sex. My eyes dart to the crowd and my cheeks flush with embarrassment but you know the embarrassment just makes me even wetter so you slip a finger inside me. The tour guide notices us straggling behind and motions for us to come to join the group. I turn my head and wink at you as I smooth the back of my dress down. “We better keep up,” I say to you. As we stand listening to the perfectly rehearsed speech lacking in enthusiasm you move behind me so I can feel your body pressed against me. We are behind everyone so I shimmy my ass against you and feel your stiff cock pressing into me. You lean in and tell me I’m pushing my luck. A smile paints across my bright pink lips as I bend over in front of you to adjust the strap on my heels.
As we begin to round the corner you grab my waist and tell me to wait. Once the other people are out of sight you tell me you need to feel me right now. Hand in hand we walk back the way we came and head for the door. I’m giggling thinking this is a crazy idea but I can feel my pussy juice seeping out of me. You tell me that you saw a secluded spot just outside the building as we came in pulling me behind you as we head towards the spot. There are walls on three sides like a cubicle made of bricks. The perfect spot.
We hurry into the hollowed out space and you push me forward, my hands pressed against the rough bricks as you run your fingers up my tanned legs. Your hand reaches under my dress again, this time caressing my ass. Your hand pauses as it brushes against something between my cheeks. Now you are the one smiling realizing that I’ve been plugged for you the whole time. You loosen your belt and free yourself from your pants, your cock now standing at attention. The desperate need for one another consuming us as you flip my dress up and plunge into me without warning. A moan escapes my lips as you fill me. “I’m not going to be gentle. I’m going to use you.” The words you speak into my ear sends a current through my body and into my now pulsating clit.
“Please, yes, fuck me!” I cry out to you. I feel your hand against my mouth silencing my pleas. Your hips slamming into my ass as your cock assaults my cervix, the plug angling your cock so it pummels my G-spot each time you pull back.
Hard.
Deep.
Fast.
I feel the tingle building as I get ready to climax. My teeth bite into your palm as my body shakes in your hands. Your body stiffens as you pump faster and dig your fingers into my hip. I feel your cock twitch as you flood me with your warm cum. You remove your hand from my mouth, pull my hair turning my face to meet yours. The kiss you place upon my lips makes my pussy flex as your cum spills onto the concrete below us leaving the evidence of our lust driven tryst splattered for the world to see. I smooth my dress down for the second time as you fix yourself up. We decide to hurry back to the car and forget the tour. It’s a nice day and a drive with the windows down and the music blaring sounds better than this. As we drive off I ask you if anyone saw.
Your response: “Fuck it, let them eat cake”
I assume that you are a late 40's mother. Kids are grown and gone. Now its your time to discover yourself and you like the attention that you receive by posting anonymously here.
Very nearly…
Kids are grown, but still living at home
The attention I receive here does help to compensate for the lack of it at home, but it’s more than that.
Since posting pictures of myself on here, I’ve fallen back in love with my body.
Too many images in everyday life are so doctored, that real isn’t real anymore.
On tumblr there’s much greater diversity and some of the comments I’ve received have made me stop and think that not everyone wants an airbrushed model, they like a squishy tummy or a well padded arse
It’s given me my power as a woman back.
Real women deserve every bit of respect and praise one can offer... Here's to confidence in who you really are, just as you are
She called me into the bedroom, and asked “so, what do you think of these?”
I took a good look. She deserved as much for the rest of the display. “How much did they cost me?”
She kicked her legs up slowly, one and then the other. Her ass tightened with each kick. “Enough...”
“They’re spectacular. The shoes are great too.”
“Boooooo... old joke, old man”. She wagged a finger at me. “You can do better.” She wriggled the finger at me. “You better do better...owwwww!”
My hand print swelled up, hot and red on her left cheek. God, I loved that moan she made when smacked. Kneeling down, I kissed the welt.
“That’s a start...” she cooed. “Now tell me what you think of these new shoes”
Parting her legs further, I spoke from the heart...
Nerds. Are. Sexy. 🤓
Bucket List
That thing where a webcam model you've known for some time asks you to edit an extremely intimate video...
CHECK 👍🏼
Who’s in? I am!!
Preceded by World Fully Clothed Check For Spiders and Snakes In Your Garden Day, May 3rd...
He could know nothing of her No picture in his mind But he knew she would have soft skin On the inside of her thigh So there he rested his hand And in a little while the picture came Slowly, radiating outward from the touch A glistening phantom of desire An essence of her that he hoped rang true That he prayed rang true The invitation it was making to him The thrown back head The half-closed eyes The subtle undulation Of her hips
Two fifteen am
Moonlight streams through the window
Brightness falls on flesh
=====
Two fifteen am
Longing for intimate views
Watching and waiting
=====
The hunger drove me
Brought me down here to observe
Two sixteen am
Lying prone with you
Skin to skin, cock to pussy
It won't stay this way...
mauvaisair
Delicate curves
Brightly drawn
By shadows round
Lay before me
Tightly drawn
To passions found
Sensual flesh
Plight is drawn
Desires bound
Part III – She, with the smartass sorcery
With great uncertainty must come greater courage. I think that might be a famous quote or maybe not. Either way I am dealing with a bit of uncertainty as it applies to the comely Miss Tuesday. Case in point, in my jubilation over the mutual agreement on being incommunicado during working hours I never asked the important question…what fucking hours do you work?
I mean, I know she goes to her job doing whatever she does, promptly at eight in the morning. Does she then work a traditional eight hour day…a ten hour day…is there mandatory overtime involved…business dinners? There is only one question looming in my mind. When do I get back in touch with this dazzling beauty? Because I’m not putting it off any longer than absolutely necessary.
Then again, I have shit to do myself. Really important shit like watch a Chicago Cubs day game, two NBA playoff games, and a full slate of evening baseball. Very important things. My things. So, I analyzed the situation and made a calculated decision. I rang her promptly at six in the evening. Immediately I knew I had made the correct decision.
“Hello, Stephen, with a P.” Tuesday’s voice dripped through the phone, sugary like maple syrup.
Quickly, I fired back. “Hello Tuesday…with a T and A.” Whoops. Did I take that a little far? Maybe not, she gave a girlish giggle. Which was alright, but I was, for some inexplicable reason, a bit perturbed and wanted to be forthcoming with one simple request. “Can we stop with the Stephen with P please? It’s rather…I don’t know…condescending.”
Tuesday blurted a laugh. “No Sir! We shall not stop with the Stephen with a P. I particularly like Stephen with a P.” She kept rolling with it. “Stephen with a P is cute. The way you clarified your name for me Stephen with a P. Making sure I never confused you with a Steven with a V or a plain old Steve or a Stevie or Steph…Stephon.”
“Are you drinking?”
“Maybe.”
“That would be a yes.”
“I’m at a business mixer Stevie. What else would I be doing?”
“So, you’re still on the clock?”
“In a manner of speaking. Yes, I am.” Tuesday paused. “But, I’d rather be talking to you. Since this is really boring and I’m basically being ignored.”
“Baby’s been put in the corner, huh?”
“Steve-O, are you a Dirty Dancing fan? I might need to reassess you.”
“No, I’m a pop culture fan. It helps with not needing to be inventive with what I say. People get that shit.”
“Not inventive? That’s not a checkmark Stephen.”
Wow, you got my name right.”
Tuesday chortled. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
“Maybe…maybe not.”
“How many drinks have you had? You’re a little saucy with the repartee. I’d call it witty repartee…but, nah, it’s more like smartassery.”
“Smartassery?” She mocked. “Is that like smartass sorcery? Because that would be awesomesauce.”
“I’ll bet that mouth gets you in a lot of trouble. How much have you had to drink?”
“I may or may not be on my fourth Cabernet?”
“At a work function?”
“I told you I was bored and it’s not like I’m not doing exactly what everyone else is doing here. With the exception being, I’m not parading around like a pompous ass. That’s my boss’s job.”
“You sound a little bitter. Exactly what do you do for a living Tuesday?”
“I’m the assistant for an art dealer.”
“Oh. You’re one of those girls that walks two steps behind keeping track of his schedule.”
“Who said he’s a he. Maybe she’s a she…” Tuesday seemed a little riled. “…and I take offense to that description of my job. I basically run the business.”
“You clearly stated…pompous ass. Everyone knows that’s a man. If you worked for a woman, she would have been a raving bitch…or something to that effect.”
“Point taken Sir…and you are correct. He is a he.”
“You certainly like saying Sir. Almost as much as Stephen with a P.”
“Well…blame that on my good southern upbringing.”
“I do have an appreciation for manners. At least you have some…when not engaged in smartassery.”
“There you go with that word again, Stephen.”
“There you go with the manners. You abided with the request to drop the Stephen with a P.”
“The dude abides.”
“Nice pop culture reference.”
“Huge fan of The Big Lebowski. I always dreamed of being Maude Lebowski.” Tuesday’s voice turned posh, quoting straight from the movie. “It’s a male myth about feminists that we hate sex. It can be a natural, zesty enterprise. But unfortunately there are some people - it is called satyriasis in men, nymphomania in women - who engage in it compulsively and without joy. Yes, Mr. Lebowski, these unfortunate souls cannot love in the true sense of the word.”
“Oh sweet Jesus.” I streamed a long breath. “You’re like a dream come true.”
“Or maybe I’m just weird.”
“Weird can be good in appropriate doses.”
Tuesday changed the subject. “So what are you doing later Stephen?”
Interesting. Was she angling for a hookup? “Working.”
“What in the world do you do? Are you a bartender? A waiter? Please don’t be a waiter. A male escort?”
“None of the above.” How exactly do I explain my choice in careers, which was more of an avocation in the eyes of most? “I’m an analyst.”
“What do you analyze day and night.”
“Numbers. Trends.”
“Please say you’re not a Wall Street guy, Stephen with a P. I can’t deal with that.”
“Um…I was. Once. For like six months. Couldn’t stand a minute of it. So now I do my own thing.”
“Enough already. Explain. What’s…” I could almost envision her dainty figures lifting to make air quote, “…your own thing.”
“You want the short answer or the long answer?”
“Just an answer, Mister mysterious. Gawd, are you CIA or something?”
“Oh, hell no. I’m not into overthrowing banana republics in the name of freedom.”
“That’s not an answer. Answer the question. What. Do. You. Do?”
“Can I give the long answer?”
“Just give me an answer before I hang up and never speak to you again.”
“Ok…”
“Waiting. Stephen, with a P.” I could imagine Tuesday tapping her toe impatiently for effect.
“Fine, I have a masters degree in applied analytics. But, I couldn’t stand working in an office. All the mundane day in, day out bullshit. So, I went out on my own. Doing something I like.”
“That doesn’t really give me an answer. Sounds like you’re a day trader who dabbles in foreign markets. That’s literally worse than being a Wall Street guy.”
“I dabble in sports.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Essentially…I’m a gambler.”
“That’s not a real job Stephen.” Tuesday chided.
“I live more than comfortably.”
“May I ask what more than comfortably means? A girl needs to know these things. I don’t want to deal with a guy who is going to be asking for money down the road because he lost a hundred bucks on the Jets game.”
“I don’t wager on pro football. Strictly basketball and baseball.”
“Semantics Stephen. Do you make a living? Or are you living day to day so you don’t have to have a real job?”
That pissed me right off. “It’s a very real job…Miss….what’s your last name?”
“It’s Mahan. Now answer the question and quit dodging.”
“I think you’re drunk.”
“I think…no I know…you’re dodging. What kind of living does Stephen….what’s your last name..make?
“It’s Jones.”
“What kind of living does Stephen Jones make?”
“Comfortable.”
Tuesday gave an exasperated laugh. “What does comfortable mean?”
“Ok, I own my loft.”
“Go on…”
“Where would you want to go this weekend. If you could go anywhere?”
“A beach.” She blurted out an addendum. “…and not the Jersey shore.”
“Ok, name a place with a beach you would want to go to this weekend. I’ll let you know if I can afford it.”
“Bali. I want Bali.”
“Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“I could fly you to Bali this weekend. I can afford that.”
“Excuse me?”
“This is all hypothetical. Yes, I could take you on an island vacation this weekend. Tell you to pack your bags, we’re going.”
“I call bullshit.”
“Do I need to show you my bank account. You asked for the truth of what I do and if it earned a living. I’m giving you truth.”
“So…we’re going to Bali?”
“Not after all your smartassery. We are, however, going to dinner.”
“I don’t get a choice in this?”
“Baby steps.”
“I like the sound of Bali better.”
“I like the sound of a quiet, late dinner on Friday night better.”
“Where?” She questioned.
“Not McDonalds, that’s for sure.”
“Better not be a sports bar so you can watch stupid ballgames out of the corner of your eye.”
“We’re going to go elegant.”
“Ohhh, I like elegant. Are we talking Cheesecake Factory?”
“You’re the only cheesecake involved. I’ll text you the details.”
Click.
Dialog. Done WELL