No Matter What, The Woman Is The Slut

I admit it.  My virtue is running thin…transparent even.  I want to do things that I know are wrong, but at this point, I’m one thigh caress shy of earning my own scarlet letter.

Can one earn a scarlet letter even if they’re not the one who’s doing the cheating?  Is it kind of like guilt by association?

Are you all sitting there reading this wondering just what I’m getting at?  Ok, let me explain.

You might remember my racy sexting adventures with my running friend that I wrote about several months ago in a post aptly titled “Adventures in Sexting and Why I Love The Art of the Flirt“, and if not, you should go read it now.  you will love it, this I can assure you.  Now, my flirty friend has a girlfriend.  I know she exists, and while we’re only acquaintances, I can assess that she seems like a good human.  I would never want to cause her any undue hurt.  Despite this, I want to straddle her man and ride him dizzy, and this want is real and growing.

However, I also have a conscience that tells me acting on this thought is wrong.  My inner cricket has spent a lot of time shaking his finger at me lately when these thoughts cross my mind.  I think he’s due for a raise or something because he sure seems to be taking his job as guardian of my morality pretty damn seriously.  Trust me, I’m not attempting to justify what I may or may not do in the future.  I will do as I do, and the only one that has control of my choices is me.  Here I am venting my inner “angel” and  “devil” debate to you all.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who wrestles with this inner dichotomy.  Right?  Anyone?  Hello?

In this situation (and many like it) if something were to happen and down the line, our transgressions outted, I lose.  I’ll be the slut, the bad guy, the one responsible for it all, no matter whether or not his part was equal to mine.  That’s how it is, it’s the way it always has been.  I’d be the Eve that made him take a bite of my apple, single-handedly destroying his virtue with single bound.  The woman has always been the one to blame for it all since the beginning of time, and the man gets forgiven because “that’s just what men do”.  Never mind that he would be equally responsible, or the master of his own choices.  It’s this double-standard that I dislike the most.  Once again, no matter what, the woman is the slut.

I risk losing more, even though I’m not the one who has monogamous commitments to another person.  In that area I am scott free.  I’m just not sure I’m willing to risk the possibility of being alienated by mutual friends, and being shamed with an invisible, though ever-present red letter “A” on my chest.  Is the possibility of a seriously good romp worth it?eveapple

It would probably be most truthful to say that if it wasn’t for this risk, I’d have fucked him already.  I still say it’s a wonder I have held out this long.  My resistance is becoming less and less persistent.  My excuses to avoid it are progressively becoming weaker and more lame.  I want his mouth on mine and his cock buried deep inside me (I’m not picky on the orrifice, why choose just one?).  The desire to have that is beginning to rise higher than my moral ceiling reaches.

I skirted last night with a near miss.  I blame drinking without eating for the slight slip in my judgement, and now today I’m doing that think where I keep saying “I can’t believe you did that” under my breath to myself over and over again, and clutching my head in my hands in embarrassment.  Suddenly I feel like I’m back in college.  Still, my virtue remains intact, but the question is, for how much longer?










Feel Yourself To Feel Better

This afternoon I was just finishing up a letter to someone that had been very triggering and difficult to write  It flooded all sorts of agitation around inside my body.  My face was tight with the uncomfortableness that arose from talking about things I would rather soon forget.  It wasn’t to anyone I even really know, or who knows me, which I suppose is what made it so easy to just flush all that buried emotion out of my system.

As I had stepped away from my computer, my cell pinged at me from across the room.

“Sitting here with my cock in hand looking at your pictures” the message from FRF read.  I smiled at the thought, but then banished my phone back to my nightstand without responding.

“That is the last place I can go right now”, I muttered to myself.

I was in another headspace from what I had just finished writing, and sexy was the least of things I was feeling.  I was so tense and agitated.  But then I thought to myself that maybe this sexy little escape was just what I needed after all.  I mean, seriously, what better way to get rid of bad tension than with an orgasm?

I went back in my mind to all the flirty text messages we had been sending to each other earlier in the day…about how I had been in class that morning and could barely concentrate because I kept daydreaming about his face buried between my thighs and his fingers deep inside my exploring…about how much I wanted to wrap my mouth around his cock…how he couldn’t wait to know what it was like for me to cum squirting all over him…and about the towels we’d need to keep from drowning.

My bad mood instantly vanished, and was instantly replaced with wetness between my legs.

“Let me send you something new”, I replied.  There had been 7 minutes that had passed since his message had first appeared.

I yanked off my jeans, discarded them in a pile on my bedroom floor, and climbed into my awaiting bedsheets.

I knew that my timing was off with his now, but who cared really because I knew the moment my fingers brushed up against my clit that I was going to come quickly.  Foreplay, even just in the form of sexy text messages, only adds to the power behind a great orgasm.

I rubbed my tingling clit in slow circles thinking about how he was stroking himself while thinking of me.  The other day I told him I felt like silk, and I did.  I was so warm and slick, so soft to the touch.  I could get lost in the feel of myself beneath my fingertips.  I watched my screen for another message and hoped our edges would cross one another.  Impatient with want, I  scrolled back into messages from weeks ago to find one of the photos of the head of his rigid cock glistening with pre-cum.  Thoughts of what he would feel like against my lips and tongue…what he would taste like as wrapped my mouth around his cock, rushed in.  They were quickly followed by what I wrote him next.

“Wish I was there to straddle your lap and slowly lower my cunt down onto you, and ride you slowly while exploring your mouth with mine”Blog

The flush of rising orgasm was spreading like a slow fire throughout every inch of my skin.

Sliding my fingers inside myself, I imagined they were his.  Deep inside I could feel this firm bump that I had not remembered being so pronounced before…my god my g-spot was even erect!  You know, I didn’t know g-spots could change size and shape with arousal, but here I was in the middle of the throws of lust, stroking away, and in complete awe of my new discovery.  It was round and ripe with my desire.

I pressed my fingertips even more firmly into it, drawing more circles, and my eyes opened wide with the wetness that grew.  Somehow I had brought myself to the edge of squirting all over myself with just a few small strokes.  What I really wanted was to be squirting all over his face, seeing his cheeks dripping with me, and sucking myself from his kiss.

My gaze was fixed on that photo of him, as I rubbed fingered, and stroked myself into a shaking crescendo of orgasmic bliss.  Afterwards, with moist fingers still resting against my clit, I lay there and just let those after shock tremors wash over me, being still.

And just like that, we were both up and going out into our respective worlds in a matter of minutes.

Sometimes I think I must be a saint for keeping my resolve all this time, and resisting the urge to just put the two of us together to allow us to combust.  Imaginations are a far safer playground though.











Adventures in Sexting and Why I Love The Art of the Flirt

It all started with some flirty sexting one morning on my commute to work, and ended with me in the men’s private bathroom at work fingering myself.

Flirting makes me feel so alive.  It’s an instant high that spreads through my whole body starting with a smile on my face, a flush of warmth across my skin, and moves downward to crescendo into full blown juiciness between my legs (if done well).  I’d say it’s like a drug, but of course it is, it’s dopamine, baby.   It’s the (for the most part) kind of high I get from running, which is kind of funny, because as I was Googling around I found this article that basically discusses this same parallel.

I love it even more when it’s done with someone who understands the fine art of seduction, and who enjoys the art of subtly.  I love the mental “cat and mouse” game.  Teasing, chasing, and getting caught are so much fun.  And when he tells me how hard I make him with our flirtatious interludes, I can’t hep but feel intensely satisfied at the thought.  Thinking of that always makes me smile like the Cheshire Cat.

So one morning this week as I was commuting to work (don’t worry, I wasn’t driving at the time), some random flirty text messages transported me from the hum drum of the usual routine, and into a dopamine-induced fantasy land of arousal that literally had my head dizzy with want.

sextingThey started with that playful subtly that I love, little innuendoes that tease, and eventually worked their way into full-blown sexting at it’s finest.  I could feel my pussy literally dripping tight with desire at the thought of his face buried deep between my thighs covered in my juices, imagining his tongue lapping at my clit as he slid 2…3…4…fingers deep inside my hungry cunt.  And that was just the beginning, just the opening tease to make my body ache with need for his cock to be sliding into me like a hot knife through butter.   It was a wonder I had even made it into the building at work without walking straight into a wall in the haze he had me in.

When I finally made it in and settled, I was downstairs in a common room we all share for lunches.  Two other women were there also engaged with their phones, but definitely not having an experience like I was.  I could feel my skin flush with lust, and as much as I can hide my inner world, there is only so long  and so well one can hide a ravenous primal hunger.   I became aware that I was making impish faces and involuntary light moans.  I was sitting with my legs crossed so I could rub my clit between my thighs without anyone noticing, a trick I learned when I was 14 while reading the book The Joy of Sex, and I just knew the dizzying cloud of my arousal was now too much to go unnoticed.

I told him it was a good thing he was so far away because if he were here, I would not be able to control myself.  My willpower was at zero, and I would have NEEDED to touch him.  Nothing was truer.

I know, you’re thinking what would be so wrong with that?  And while I am single, he is not.  And no, he’s not polyamorous (which I am actually quite thankful for because honestly I’ve had my share of that for this lifetime, thank you).  I suppose if I was his girlfriend I would probably want to strangle the shit out of me (and him) if I knew we were having such a lascivious sexting romp, but then really, nothing is really happening.  It’s all just talk.  No one is acting on anything close to this, however, in those moments if he had been in the same room with me, my desire was so rampant that it would have been near impossible to control.  So, luckily I wasn’t actually in that position because I don’t want to be a shitty human. willpower

Fictional moral dilemmas aside…at least I could give myself the release my body was begging for.

With my lustful desires now being impossible to adequately hide, I took myself upstairs and into the one place I knew was quiet and no one would bother me: the men’s private bathroom.  It’s tucked away in a part of the building that no one seems to bother to go to, which makes it the perfect spot to feel comfortable enough to touch myself without fear of being interrupted.  I’m a very vocal lover, even when solo, so there was no way I could take myself all the way over the edge, but at least I could rub some of this torrid desire out of myself so I could at least attempt at being focussed on work and not distracted by all the lurid thoughts I was having about what I wanted to be doing with him.

I slipped into the bathroom, locked the door behind me, pulled my pants down around my hips, and slid my fingers inside my warm, wet, slit.  I stroked my clit with the lightest of fingertips to tease myself.  I couldn’t resist sending him a photo of my fingers covered in my juices.  He told me he thought that was fucking hot and that he wanted to lick them clean.  That just made me wetter.  I was almost going to post the photo here, but decided it was more erotic to me to keep that just between the two of us.

I teased myself some more, sliding fingers up inside my pussy to caress my g-spot and free myself from the desperate need to be filled by his cock.  I knew I couldn’t keep going for much longer because if I had cum, there would have been no being quiet about it, so I fixed my clothing, splashed some cool water on my face, and did my best attempt at going back to my room to focus on the day.  I can tell you it was definitely not free of distractions, as I found myself lulled into daydreams of him bending me over, holding me down, and burying his cock deep inside my ass.

It made for a most interesting day to say the least.  Admittedly, those same thoughts have been distracting me ever since.

In The Air Today…Tonight

I spent the better part of my down time at work scouring YouTube for my most favorite scene from the movie Wild Orchid to share with you.  If you’ve seen it, it’s the scene where Carrie Otis is walking through the abandoned hotel in Rio and finds a couple having fervent, unabashed sex up against a wall under cascading water.   I just find that scene incredibly hot.  Ravenous sex up against a wall, and there’s water too?  Hot.  So hot.  “On my mind all day long” kind of hot.

It’s been one of “those” days.  The kind of day when restless desires ride me like the ocean tide to shore.  No matter what the day brings, no matter how interesting or banal the task to draw me from it, my body has other needs that won’t allow themselves forgotten or pushed aside.

I hear it’s quiet want singing beneath my clothes, simmering between my legs, smoldering under each pore of my porcelain skin.

I chased it away as best I could.  I envy men who could take themselves into the privacy of their office bathroom and have their way with themselves to free their minds from such a snare.

Unfortunately, despite my keen searching abilities, I was unable to find this scene, and although there were others from that film, none of them stoke my inner desires quite as much as the one I was hoping to find and share.

However, I reminded myself of this scene from Risky Business, my love of the heightened arousal only sex where one might get caught (even when in reality you really don’t want to be) brings, and my love of the city at night.

Please note, Tom Cruise is and has never been the least bit sexy to me.  It’s the elements of the scene more than the people in it that do it for me; the lighting the both hides and reveals, the setting, the seduction, the innocence that peels away to reveal desire. It’s a small scene of cinematic genius.  I imagine myself and a man of my choosing, and then replace these people with us.  And honestly, who can deny the sensuality of “In The Air Tonight”  by Phil Collins?

Relationship In Music – Short Stuff

My relationship with Short Stuff set to music


In the very beginning…we had sex to this

And we danced in his living room to this song

When we shared a D/s relationship, this song was how I felt about him

And long after that relationship of ours died, and then a new way of relating emerged, he sent me this song telling me it was how he felt for me

But then the darkness of illumination set in…the hidden became revealed, and light became dark.

And this became my reality with him and his addiction

When I left him, he had the audacity to send me this song

And I sent him this as I continued walking away for good.  Divorced January  2012

It’s All Or Nothing

Lately my libido has been confusing me. I normally think I have a fairly high libido, as far as female libidos go comparison-wise, but it seems to be playing hide n’ seek with me recently. I spend much more time seeking it than I would care too. It used to be reliably omnipresent. I know these things ebb and flow, but my libido’s recent “no-show” is messing with my head (the little tiny pink one, that is).

See, the confusing thing is that I’m actually quite horny, but when I go to release those wonderful pent-up emotions via a little night time diddle before sleep, I can’t seem to find a fantasy that I can stick with, let alone one that really sets me aflame. This leads to me sort of diddling aimlessly, like paddling downstream with only one oar, and not really knowing where you’re going, i.e. extremely frustrating and not very much fun.

This leads me to missing my ex-FWB, but the sex with him really wasn’t all that great (despite the fact that my desire for him is insatiable, so I end up having to make stuff up. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t awful by any means, it just wasn’t good. It seems like a painful dichotomy to have so much sexual desire for someone you know isn’t the greatest in bed, but I guess that’s love for you. You know, I never once had an orgasm with him, faked more than my fair share, but I still loved being with him. This confuses me to this day, but I digress.

You see, I have a penchant to only really enjoy fantasizing about men that I have been with before, or may be with some day. I was never down for imagining myself with celebrities, or strangers. It isn’t what gets me off. Reality is far more exciting, or at least embellishing the reality at hand, more so than something that has no possibility of happening. To this extent, I have had extensive sexual imaginings about a gentleman in my running group, and I really have no clue if it ever would get anywhere near to happening in reality, but it sure is fun to create the vision of in my head! I guess I get off on the possibility of it. I like to imagine what his cock looks like, what it tastes like, what it would be like to ride him, what his lips would feel like, and generally what he’d be like in bed. Sometimes I feel mildly guilty or dare I say shameful for fantasizing such lucid sexual escapades with someone I literally brush shoulders with on such rare occasion, never speak to, and have weekly Words With Friends games with. LOL

You know, I am kind of picky, and it isn’t every day (or even every month) that I look at a man and feel real sexual chemistry, but this guy kissed me on the cheek at our holiday party, and I knew right then what I’d prefer to be doing with him…on top of a nearby table. Points south said “Oh, yesssssssss” This does not happen very often.

What on earth was I talking about? Wow, talk about major sexual ADD, Bat Man….panties

Fantasizing and reality….yeah, that’s it.

So, of the “usual suspects” in my sexual fantasy play book, I just can’t seem to pick one I’m happy with lately. In addition to being heavily turned on by the possibilities that reality in fantasy holds, I also like emotional connection.

Since I am not feeling the desire to connect with any of these men in reality, this is having an adverse affect on my fantasy life. I just don’t feel emotionally comfortable screwing even my own “Holodeck” images of them.

Lately, the ex-boyfriend from 7 years ago seems to be making an appearance in my fantasies. He’s the “Go To” fantasy guy lately because we had such fantastic real-life sexual chemistry, and I guess he’s far enough back in my past that I can only remember what he did to hurt me/piss me off, and I am not actively feeling it. I like to imagine us fucking in the shower because he looked so fucking amazing naked and wet, and we did spend quite a lot of naughty time in bathrooms together, be it our own, or friends’ bathrooms. *smiles* Plus, and I suppose this is such a girl thing to say, I absolutely cum over how the slope of his back looked; the delicious and sinuous curve of his spine from the rise of his shoulders to the dip right above the curve of his ass makes me wet just remembering how it looked glistening underneath the cascade of water from the shower head above. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm. Yes, have some.

Still, in our final days he took the word “asshole” to a whole new level, so this eventually works it’s way into my head and kills my clit buzz.

So, no ex-FWB, no runing guy, and no ex from 7 years ago working out in my fantasies.

I just need to meet someone new. I need a little romance, and the invigorating “tet te tet” of flirting that ensues in the beginning chase. Of course, for me to really want this that has to be a brain flexing its muscles behind the brawn, otherwise it’s a no go.

To quote Huey Lewis, “I want a new drug. One that won’t make me sick”

In other news….these are my latest “me” splurge.  New panties make everything better.


Me On The Joy of Kissing

I’m in far too good a mood today to leave you all in the weighted woe of my last post.  I really wrote most of those things down last night, after I was walking home in the chill of the dark autumn air.  Now, today, it’s a new feeling, a new turn of the wheel always turning.

I am feeling light, joyous, and content, and I want to share those feelings with all of you too.

Photo courtesy of The Trend Guys

And what better way to do so than to wax poetically on one of my very favorite acts of pleasure: kissing.

Kissing is making love with your mouth.   It’s exchanging secret wishes for something more.  I find it profoundly intimate and deeply sensual when done right.

A mouth that is hungry, but not voracious.  Lips that are soft, but deliberate.  A tongue that is eager to know the slippery contours of my partner’s tongue and lips.  I want a mouth that explores mine filled with desire. I want a man who explores my mouth with his like he’s painting his want across the canvas of my mouth.  Broad languid strokes of the tongue, lips that don’t wrestle, but instead embrace mine.  A tongue that traces the blossoming line of my parted lips, and knows the delicate balance of capture and release between lips, teeth and tongue.

I hate a rigid tongue.  A tongue that is stiff and flicks about like it doesn’t know where it’s going, or like it’s trying to engage in a sword fight with my tongue is a huge turn off.   I will immediately think you will make love to my body like this, and will not let you go any further.  Kissing to me, is the deal breaker. If I do not like the way you kiss me, I will never allow you any more of me.  I don’t believe that you can teach someone how to kiss.  You either know it innately, or not al all.

I want a mouth that seeks to know all of my hidden secrets, and that knows how to pull them out of me, without me ever speaking a word.

And I want a body that presses itself against mine, and becomes one with the shifting contours of my silhouette.  I body whose desire I can feel rampant and pleading.

It’s how I will kiss you, if you are someone I desire to touch this way.

I could spend an entire night just kissing…just knowing someone this way, and feeling the desperate anticipation cresting with each caress, mouths pressed deep.

Sometimes when I am masturbating, I move my mouth in an imagined kiss; trace my lower lip with the brush of my tongue, search with my lips for my invisible lover’s.  I kiss the creation of whomever I am fantasizing about in the moment, as if they were flesh and blood before me.  it instantly heightens my arousal.  I come quicker, and more intensely; the response is the same when I am with a partner, too.

I am an exceptionally orally fixated lover.  I need my mouth romanced.  I need to court the lust from your body with mine.

I want passion spoken to my soul.

Watch this.  Not these two people, but yes this song and this kissing.  Not he first kissing off the escalator (that looks too fake), but the kissing in bed.

“I am folded and unfolded, and unfolding”

“Pull me out from inside…I am ready…I am ready…I am fine”

Yes.  Please.

Love In An Elevator

So, I am working on this article for one of the sites I write for, and I keep procrastinating.  I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the subject matter in the moment, and so I keep letting myself get easily distracted.  I was in the middle of reading something for research purposes, and suddenly started thinking back to this morning.  The lovely, and might I add, saucy Fern DeVilliers at The Fur Files posted a link to an article over on Smut For Smarties (Hey, Cheeky!) on different arousal types, and so I got all involved in taking the questionnaire on just that subject, which will be used to aid in research on women’s sexuality by Dr. Petra Zebroff.

Question #18 asks the respondent to describe a real sexual fantasy (I love the irony there) in the past 4 weeks to increase arousal/orgasm.  It said you could use as little or as much detail as you felt comfortable.  Seeing as my particular fantasy is all about the details, I erred on the latter.  For me to not use exquisite details when recounting this vision of mine would have felt empty and half-hearted; two things which my fantasy world is definitely not.

And thus, all attempts to focus on doing what I should’ve been doing were not only successfully thwarted, but now I was in the throes of full-blown arousal at it’s finest.

In order to type out my fantasy in vivid, full-color detail, I had to bring it to life inside of me.  It’s the breath blown across the sparks from stick and flint smoldering, or the spark of genius in the eye of an artist as they take to their canvas, and are suddenly transported into another realm as they flesh out their inner vision on the canvas before them.  I, as such, was instantly transported into my own private world of sex and sensuality.  These two attributes are inherently inextricably married, for me, in terms of sexual fantasy.

Admittedly, my response is not as well-composed as I would usually write if I were writing for you here, or for publication elsewhere, but retouching it now seems false to me, so I will leave it exactly as I entered it into their provided text box.  The timing is also a bit sped up for conciseness in replying purposes only.  In my head, these events are not quite so 1, 2, 3.  In fantasy, I get to be the director; composing each angle and view, each moment that deserves more lingering focus lingering, the pace of the scene, and every minute detail down to costume and mood.  Everything is deliberate.  I get off on the details.  In this fantasy, I get off on the insatiable hunger of raw, unrelenting, masculine prowess, and most of the men I imagine are those who wield their masculinity with an ownership of themselves that cannot be denied or dismissed.  (Good lord, I hope season 6 of Mad Men starts soon! LOL)   When I want to relinquish my control, I want it to be with someone I see as an Alpha; well matched against my own feminine energies of equal strength.

I give you this window into my fantasy life.



Being in a glass elevator several stories up in mid ascent with a man (think Don Draper from Mad Men). We’re dressed in business attire.  He stops the elevator between floors, turns and presses my back against the  glass wall of the elevator.  His bulging erection rubbing against me with intent. He kisses me deeply, and allows his hand to slide down my body, and begins massaging my pubic mound through my black pencil skirt.  He holds me against the wall so I cannot break away, letting me know I’m his and he plans to take me.  Using the weight of his body he holds mine in place, and uses both his hands to hike up my skirt around my hips, then dives with the fingers of one hand down the front of my panties and slips them between my lips to feel the warm juices that have grown between them.  He lifts his finger to his lips to taste me, with intense eye contact throughout.  He unbuckles his belt with that same hand, and frees his rampant cock, which he then allows to slide between my legs, rubbing against the thin fabric crotch of my panties.  Kisses me like a wolf with his hunted prey, captured.  He yanks my panties down around my ankles, and lifts my body somewhat to rest on the small bar across the see-through wall.  We know people can see us but do not care.   We’re in our own world up there.  He thrusts his awaiting invader between my legs, and deep inside me.  I wrap my knees against the sides of his body.  He takes me, and we both come fiercely and quickly.  Too much heat between us to hold out against the edge of our climax.  He stays in me, eyes locked with mine, until he feels himself begin to soften.  He lowers me down gently, still keeping me where he wants me, he gives me one last soul-probing kiss, before he relinquishes me some modicum of space to adjust myself, as he tucks himself back in to his trousers. He presses the elevator button and we resume our ascent.  As we depart on the same floor and go our separate ways, I stoop quickly to retrieve my delicate black panties that lay satisfied on the elevator floor


When you take yourself to your edge, what do you see?  On more than one night, this is what I sail to the crest of mine on.