A Blogovella by Ezzie Dryar (Anne Martin)

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16. Self-employment


Everyone is so busy right now.  I haven’t been on the WC much lately – too much work, so little time.  Easter is on Sunday, and I just can’t get excited about it.  It just means that I have less time to get my work done this week.  It’s not fair!  Every day that is a holiday should be extra, meaning that if Friday and Monday are holidays, then they should get tucked in after this Friday and before next Monday.  That means Thurs, Fri, Good Friday, Sat, Easter Sun, Easter Mon, Mon, Tues, etc.  You people that are “employed” still get your days off, while we who are “self-employed” can fit in the all-important work days, and then take that extra day off.  I hear you howling!  But you get those days off, while we still have to work, because we don’t get paid for not working like you do.  If we want to take days off, we have to work like maniacs to fit all the work in, so we still meet our deadlines.

Now you see what you’ve done?  I sat down to write about sex and instead find myself obsessing about work, work that I should be doing right now, since my lunch break is nearly over, a lunch break that I probably shouldn’t have taken, to write a piece that I shouldn’t be writing.  My rent-boy muse has decided to take his holiday early, too, and I’m left alone here to contemplate my navel.  Where is he?  Probably Tenerife – I don’t know where he goes.  He never takes me along.  My best friend is S/E like me, and he’s just as manic as I am, since he has to go to Finland next week.  It’s alright for some!  I want to say that I hope it snows there … alas, he’s going to freeze his tootsies off anyway.  Maybe I should send my muse there in his place and take my friend to Tenerife where it’s warm.  Somehow, I don’t think his wife would go for that.  Anyway, my muse is already gone.

Image result for rupert everett

Maybe I’d be more in the mood if I took my clothes off.  Nobody’s watching, except you my dear reader.  Well, it’s just too cold for that.  I can’t even conjure up one of my Rupert Everett fantasies.  He can be a little cool as an actor, but he’s not half dishy.  I loved him in An Ideal Husband.  I so wanted to be Minnie Driver.  Did I ever tell you my friend knows her cousin from way back?  Probably not.  That’s me: I know people who know people, but I’m never the first one in the chain.  Of course, he’s never met Minnie.  I say that with only hint of jealousy because I know that he has actually met a few rather famous personalities.

There I go, more digressions, I slip into streams that I don’t want to swim in – the water’s cold – and the one where I’d like to go skinny-dipping seems to be closed for the holiday.  Maybe I’ll just leave you a pic – she wants to be my friend, apparently.  (Why did I ever open a hi5 account?  It’s closed now.)  Why is it only women that want to be my friends?  Don’t hunky guys ever flaunt themselves in internet sex chat rooms?  I’m not into hunky anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Just pray that I dream of Rupert tonight and not the woman-across-the-street’s dog (again).

15. Slowhand


curled

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been awol lately, mostly because of work commitments, and I just find myself tired and uninspired at the end of the day – too tired to even ponder the S-word; I haven’t been writing much poetry lately, because I leave too much of my soul out there on the page, my past, my loves; it isn’t that I wan’t to hide, but I find that sometimes rather than being cathartic, it plunges me into the depths; I’m not bipolar, but I can really whip myself up into a frenzy, sometimes sexual, other times I just wallow in the misfortunes of my life, and that isn’t considerate to my friends;

it’s better to stick with sex, that’s where I can let myself go, the warm gurgle of an orgasm, the touch, real or imagined of a lover as well as his scent, his taste, his sounds, his warmth – it’s infectious – and I feel almost as if I’m flying as I touch on a fantasy, perhaps a fantasy of touch, of taste; I’ve told you how physical writing is for me, but it does that to me, starting subtly, perhaps while I’m writing about being too busy to visit you, my friends, but then it seduces me, the soft rustle of leaves, a gentle stream, my stream seductively floating me to the white water, the rapids of my fantasies, I think of it, sensation, my breathing becomes shallow, as if I’m on a run, but more like the first touch of a man, a kiss perhaps, but possibly the exploration of his hands, testing me – a test drive? – It could go that way, and I feel warm, too, breathing deeper, hopelessly taken by my mental wandering, I reach out for more, for him, I’m hungry, I’m insatiable, and I want him, my fantasy man – he’s no hunk, just an ordinary guy, but he has to be intelligent, he’s got to seduce me with his words,

he can be quiet, but I’ve got to see it in his eyes – he knows, he understands, and he wants what I want – and we all know what that is right now – I take a deep breath to slow it down, the slower the better, he must be my Eric Clapton, my slow hand, but no cool hand, I want him hot, hot for me, hot under me – I want him uncomfortable, under my control, in my control, in me, in me in every way, physically and metaphorically, urgent like my lack of punctuation moving faster towards our mutual goal of mutuality of intellectual fulfillment of ecstasy he takes me to orbit past the hydrazine cloud of the destroyed spy satellite but I’m not afraid I’m more dangerous than that he knows he screams it for all to hear while I quietly destroy him there is no other but me and he is mine he … he … satisfies me, sates me with his words, the glint in his hazel eyes that mirror mine, and he hasn’t even taken off his clothes, yet he inhabits me as I possess him, body and soul, his words, my words, inseparable

14. Moondance


Ballerina foot by Tiquis

I’m in a place deep within, black like night except for a crescent moon – I love crescents, low on the horizon, reflecting on water, but it isn’t now, it’s reflecting on a black surface, like a still lake at night, but it has no shore; it extends infinitely in all directions, and I’m standing on it, it’s solid but soft – maybe I’m walking on water, but I leave no impression, cause no ripples – it’s warm here, and I’m dressed, well, comfortably, and by now you should know how I’m most comfortable – and I’m most comfortable now, now without periods, flowing on one of my inner streams, a stream that has become the endless sea that supports me and reflects my moon, my lover, and I feel happy – no reason, just happy within, free, free to express myself; I trace an arc with my toes around to my right, I spin and reach for the moon as I would a lover on the deck of a ship, departing on a long voyage, my moon will become renewed on its journey, I plier, relever, and glisser, again to my right (I’m horribly left-footed), and stretch my left leg up, pointing to my lover, before rocking forward, down onto my knees, rolling left, once, twice, onto my back, rolling into a split, again reaching for the moon – I rock forward onto my chest, remembering to point my toes, and fingers, I roll again, feet over head, back to a standing relaxed position, I sprint forwards into an arabesque

A devilish part of me wishes there was a pole here, I want to pole dance for my lover – I knew a pole dancer once, she, too, played French horn and sat next to me in an orchestra, she was beautiful, soft, not brash, like you would expect of a pole dancer, she was remarkably feminine and masculine at the same time, I could have loved her, would have if we weren’t both into our men at the time, both coincidentally across the orchestra in the trombone section, I wish she were dancing with me now, dancing together for the moon, perhaps she is, there in my heart, I’d feel her wrapped around me as I leap again and spin, she’s there, holding me, keeping me from falling as I become more daring, a double spin – I spot on the moon to keep from getting dizzy – I pretend she is there as my pole and envelope her, another relever, tourner, and élancer straight towards the moon and another arabesque, she’s right behind me,

I stop, plier, I’m quite flexible, but usually also clumsy, I’m perfect for my lover, setting on the horizon, my moon touches its mirror, as I embrace mine, my invisible pole dancer, in the fading light I spin again, and roll, I leap into a circle of arabesques as a final parting flourish, and another plier, relever onto my toes and a vertical split – can’t do that on my toes, but I’ve rocked back and spun – it’s almost black now and I can feel my pole dancer holding me, protecting until my moon returns, I’m safe, and expectant

Basic ballet movements:

1. plier, to bend
2. étendre, to stretch
3. relever, to rise
4. sauter, to leap
5. élancer, to dart
6. glisser, to glide
7. tourner, to turn

13. Voyeur


The Unsuspecting Victim by rekha_is_batman

I’ve been sitting here working all day, and all I have been able think of has been taking my clothes off.  Sometimes, I just find wearing clothes repulsive.  I know that sitting on a wool desk chair will get uncomfortable fast, not to mention that I’d get cold rather quickly.  Still, they have to come off, at least for a short time, until it gets old, or I start turning blue.  (I can put a towel on the chair.)

Excuse me ……………

Ah yes, that’s better.  I love this feeling of freedom – and the answer is, no, I do not have a webcam.  I don’t do pictures, in any case.

Well, what now?  I know – I’ll watch you.  Call me Big Sister, as I watch your everyday lives, walking around, working, taking care of the kids, however you spend your day or your night.  Yes, the night is more interesting – don’t mind me, I’ll just sit here quietly in the corner as you make love to your partner.  Pretend I’m not here – OK, if you get off on that, you can imagine I’m there, naked, in a dark corner of your bedroom.  Don’t worry, I have very good night vision; you can have the lights off.

Rough stuff?  No, I’m not interested.  I’ll be looking out the window, watching my friend, the moon, traverse the sky.  Oh, that’s better, gentle kisses, a little bit of tongue action.  Now, you’ve got me.  Wait, don’t hide under the covers.  I don’t have X-Ray vision.  I’ll turn the heat up a little, as you turn up your heat.  No, don’t hurry on my account.  I like it slow, and the slower you go, the more excited I’ll get.  I might even, yes, do that, along with you.  Don’t pay any attention to my moans.  Oh, that was good!  I like it when someone does that to me.  That should get you going.  Mmm, that too, I never would have guessed that a tongue in my ear would have that kind of effect.

You’ve forgotten me by now.  I’m still here, but I might just move a little closer.  I want to feel your heat – yes, right here on the edge of the bed.  The moon glistens on your sweaty bodies, and I have to restrain myself from giving you a hand.  The rhythm picks up.  You are getting serious now – and so am I – the air is thick with the sultry musk of your copulation, and I’m breathing it in like water vapour in the desert.  Ooh, careful – maybe I’m in the way.  I’ll just kneel on the floor and lean my head on the edge of the bed – I’m closer to the business end there, and that’s what I want to see.  Oh, ride’m girl!  That’s my favourite position – on top and in control.  Her thigh is only an inch or two from my cheek, pulsing, throbbing.  He’s ready – I can tell – his feet are tensing … That’s right!  Let it out.  I’m not into pain, but noisy is fine, “Yes, yes, yes!”  YES! Let the neighbours hear it.  Oh my, now I’m sweating, too.  Language, dears!  OK, you can shout as many expletives as you wish.  Getting closer – me, too – hmm, never heard that one before.  Three backs arch in unison – and, and …. (pregnant pause) …. YES! blessed release …. oops, he popped out, careful!  Oh!  He got me right in the face.  Warm and slimey.  It’s OK; I just wasn’t expecting it.  I’ll just wipe it somewhere out of the way.  There, he’s back in now, where he belongs.

I’ll just lean here against the side of the bed while you finish up, and savour the post-coital aroma of your bedroom.  Yes, of course you may do it again, but I have what I’ve come for.  (Hehe!)  I might just listen, however.

Ah, I’m back at my desk, sitting on a wet towel.  I’m still warm, though, thanks to you.

12. Going Nuclear


Bare back in stillettos

It’s happening again – I’ve got to let it out, I’m writing too much real fiction, The Wind Whisperer, and no sex, well, not that much in the story at least; people have been saying that I’ve should write more of the real stuff, fiction, essays, I enjoy that part of writing, for me it’s therapy, letting out the frustration, and that usually means sexual frustration, I want it now, I need it now, you, dear readers are going to give it to me, yes, I can feel it already, the heat, the rush, mmmm, I can feel you as if you were sitting here in my lap, well, you are, via computer technology, between my legs where you belong, and I open myself to you, my heart, my body all of me – I can feel your heat – yes, there, oh, you can be so good to me,

I’ve been pondering the seven deadly sins lately, and I keep coming back to lust, I’m finding it difficult to tackle wrath, and although I have a long fuse, it’s a big explosion; sex can be that way, the longer you wait for it, the better it is, if only that were true – I’m expecting an 150 megaton blast, you’d better watch out – that’s the physical wait, but I make up for some of it by writing these words for you, my bedfellow – you keep me warm at night and sometimes during the day, like right now on a Sunday evening while I’m waiting for dinner to cook, I can just smell it, not dinner, sex, I can feel it coming like dinner, and I’m hungry, so hungry for you, and I’m tired of the foreplay, foreplay is good, but I want the main course and you are my dinner tonight, can you smell the semen in my hair, that’s left over from my jacuzzi fantasy, I loved that, but today you get to join me, and in fact, I’m your fantasy today, what am I doing now – holding you while you keep me warm, mmm, your skin is so soft against mine, I assume I’m naked in your fantasy, or about to be, did my cloths come of easily, torn, shredded, wet – I like it wet – water, baby oil, corn oil (hehe), even, yes, you know about that already, but no blood, and no pain, but I suppose if that is your fantasy, you don’t have to tell me, don’t, I don’t want to know, let me have it, and I take you places, where you want to go, need to go, I’m doing it now, do you like it, I do, and I’m feeling it, yes, there, the usual place, the best place, how do I taste, you haven’t tried, do, I like to be tasted, I think I taste like commas tonight, I’ve been using them almost relentlessly, but no periods, it’s not that time of the month, I’m ripe and ready, salted, peppered and comma-ed, what are you waiting for?

11. Freedom


good morning sunshine

Shortly after my divorce, I bought myself silk crimson pjs cum negligee.  (Notice how I slipped in some latin?  And what a apropos choice of word.  Well done, Anne.)  I thought at that time that it was to get myself back on the prowl.  It was an extravagance – something for me.  You might think that after 15+ years it wouldn’t fit me anymore, but actually I was heavier then.  There was too much stress during my marriage and its aftermath; I ate more and ran less.  The negligee was supposed to symbolize freedom.  Every once in a while, I decide to wear them, just for me – my private personal seduction.  Last night was the night, and realizing that I didn’t have to go out at all today, I’m still wearing them.  In fact, I’m still in bed.  The weather is warm today, so I’ve dispensed with the covers, preferring the warmth of my laptop on my thighs.

I’ve unbuttoned the top for comfort, hanging free and easy.  Although, I got up to do my morning toilette, I haven’t bothered to brush my hair.  It’s tangled all over the place, but there is a naturalness about it that seems to fit with today’s freedom.  The panties are perhaps a little too free.  As I said, I’ve lost a little weight since I bought them, so they slip around a little bit.  It doesn’t matter no one is watching, except you, dear reader, and I trust you not to stare.  Have I misplaced my trust?  Today, I don’t care.  You can stare all you want.  Here, I’ll lift up my laptop, so you can have a good look.  See?  They’re a little rolled up in the back and hence are hanging rather low, not hiding much at all.  Excuse me while I stand and straighten them up…

… did you get a good look?  I get really red when I blush.  They slid down to my thighs when I scooted to the side of the bed.

Mmmm … I love silk.  My body almost feels smoother through it than touching the skin directly.  Want to try it?  Cheeky!  I had an option of white lace trim, but I opted for pure silk, with discreet buttons.  The top hangs to my upper thighs.  I’m not any taller than when I bought it, but it seems like it is shorter.  As I sit here, it hangs to the side anyway, giving you the full length of my legs, a bit of tummy and yes, those.  I like having small breasts – it’s funny, most of my female characters are jealous of larger-breasted women, but I’m not.  They don’t get in the way, and I rarely have men talk to my chest instead of my eyes.  Maybe it’s closet breast-envy, but I wouldn’t admit to it.

So what shall I do today?  I might just be decadent and sit here all day.  At some point, I should eat, I suppose, but for now I’m just going to sit here, hang loose, and enjoy the freedom.  No, you can’t stay, this is my private time.  (Thinks about buying silk sheets.)

Have a nice day.  Now, beat it!

10. In come


closeup in the water

Whoa … sorry … still out … of breath …. (gulp) …. just got off the treadmill … there, that’s … whoa … a little dizzy …. there, I’m OK now.  I hate running on the treadmill, but it was cold and rainy out, and too much flooding around … wouldn’t want to swim home.  I’m sure you saw the title of this one and thought I was going to talk about earning a living.  I may eventually, but the title has a different significance, which will become apparent shortly.

I took a run to give the boys time to fill the jacuzzi.  I’ve decided to indulge myself today; this is all about me and my pleasure.  You may watch if you wish, but I’m sure there are several of you that will decide I’ve gone too far this time, so I won’t be offended if you give this a miss.

I normally prefer to shower after I run, but today I’m going to take a bath, a special bath that my boys – acolytes, chosen not for their musculature (except for Seth, a nice lusty farmhand), but rather for their staying power, and believe me, they are going to need it today.  The girls are back there ready to lend them a hand if any of them falter in their task.  No, they aren’t going to pleasure me today, not directly at least, but I will enjoy the fruits of their labours, their labours for me their goddess.  I think they won’t be pleasuring anybody for some considerable time.

As I said, today is about my pleasure.  I’m sure you all have a kinky fantasy that you’ve dreamt of, but never had the guts to try or even tell someone about.  Today, you get mine.  I’m going out of my comfort zone this time, and I’m going to break a few of my taboos – as you see, I’m already using periods, because I want to relax and savour this.

As some of you know, I’m into all things wet and slippery – in fact, I’ve been sitting in a pool of my own damp, anticipating this all day.  I was starting to worry that I’d start getting a case of panty rash.  Two hours of running means that I’m literally raining sweat. (The girls in the back are giggling at me, but I love it!)  One of the advantages of indoor running is that I can wear whatever I wish, so just my white running bra, which is now more or less transparent.  You can even see my pink nipples through it.  Don’t worry, I’ll have to take it off soon, then you’ll get a better view.  I’ve also worn my skimpiest running pants – they’re light blue, a miscalculation when I bought them.  If I’m running in public, I need to wear something under them, or I give a free show to all and sundry when they get damp with sweat like they are now.  As you will see if you look carefully (yes, do take a closer look), you can see my bush.  (Oops, there goes another taboo!)  Here, why don’t I just slip them off (my shoes came off as soon as I was off the treadmill).  There, I’m all rosy red from my exertion.  Be careful as I slip my bra off, or you’ll get showered with my sweat.  Perhaps you’d like that, come a little closer then.  I really am dripping, as I rub my chest – ah, don’t touch!  This is my fantasy, not yours.

Let’s just go in and see if the jacuzzi is ready.  Mmmm, don’t you just love it?  The smell of sex, or more specifically, cum.  (Oh no, another taboo gone!)  Gee, the boys look all worn out.  Girls, do take care of them.  They won’t be needed the rest of the day.

Isn’t that a beautiful sight?  A jacuzzi full of pearly white semen.  Yes, a very special bath coming for me.  (Don’t you just love the double entendre?)  Haven’t you just dreamt of swimming in fresh cum?

I breathe deeply and step to the edge – ah, the aroma!  I step down onto the ledge.  Ooh, how warm it is.  I have to be careful not to slip.  I’ll sit on the edge first.  Ah, warm on my calves.  I splash – well, if you can call it that – some on my thighs.  It’s so slick, like glycerin.  I step into the centre, up to my waist.  It feels so heavenly, not quite like jello, more like warm double thick cream.  I think about all those little spermies, blindly swimming around trying to find the appropriate orifice.  Some will find it, but I’m afraid they will be disappointed if they make it all the way in.  Maybe I’ll give them a little help.  First, I’ll lower myself in right up to my chin.  It’s getting in my hair, but that’s OK.  It’s like being in back in my mother’s womb.  (Going all the way back to conception!)

Time to give them a little help.  Ah … ohhhhhh … yes.  It’s a pity I’m too tired to do anything more.  I’m just going to relax for a few minutes …

… Mmm … this is nice, you should try it.  Not now!  You find your own jacuzzi!  This is my time; it’s “me” time.  There is one thing I haven’t done yet.  Full immersion.  Yes, I’m going to do it.  I’ve gotten this far.  Here I go …

Pfpfpfpfffffft!  Oooh, that feels weird.  I got some in my ears.  I think I’m going to smell like cum for weeks, but that’s OK.  It’s worth it.  It doesn’t quite drip off like water – that’s not unexpected, but it feels … ooh.  It’s still nice and warm.  Hmm … tastes like, um, oysters, salty … maybe I’ll take a little on my tongue … yes, oysters … swallow them whole, right?  Mmm.  I love oysters.

Hey, I’ve got an idea.  Turn the jets on.  The switch is just behind you.  Weeeeeee!  That’ll confuse the buggers, not to mention what it’ll do to the pumps.  Well, it’s due for a maintenance tomorrow.  Look at it foam up!  Fantastic.

I stand up and it dribbles off me like honey, it feels amazing as I rub my breasts.  Have I told you I like it when you watch me?  A massage sounds fantastic right now.  Too bad I sent the staff home.  Oh.  You will?  Well, OK, but don’t get any ideas, and you can’t get in with me.  This is my bath.

Hey, that’s not my back!  OK, it feels nice.  Don’t they just fit perfectly into your hand.  Careful, no pinching; I’m not into pain.  Mmmm.  You know, if you don’t mind getting it all up your arm, there is something else you can do for me.  Yes, you guessed.  Cumming in cum.  What a novelty.  OK, be gentle now.  I’m very fragile after a run and it’s going to take a long time, I wouldn’t want to go numb, and I want you to milk me for all it’s worth.  So roll up your sleeve and reach down.  I know you can’t see anything.  Feel free to rest your head on my shoulder.  Oooh, there, that’s the spot … gentle, even more gentle, two fingers are enough for now, slowly.  I’m afraid you won’t get the …. ooooh …. satisfaction of me screaming with delight.  I’m quiet when I have sex, until I climax, and I’m told that’s a sound that can’t be described.

If you are careful … mmm … you may hear it se … ssss …. several …. t-t-t-t times.  Sorry …. can’t t-t-t-t-t-talk anymore.

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