A Blogovella by Ezzie Dryar (Anne Martin)

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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!

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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.

9. Dreammaker


me in red

Thank God for Fridays, well, most of them; it seems most of my streams come on Fridays, usually in the evening, usually in reaction to news, good or bad, and there was some today – I’m not good at dealing with it – usually I flee in to my inner space, my inner erotic paradise, where dreams grow; it helps me escape, escape into that eternal musky, sultry summer evening, where there is always someone there to satisfy me, spiritually and physically – not a god or devil, just someone who knows my needs intimately, who makes me forget the cough I’ve been carrying for a few days, or the ache, the ache of longing – I long – and I’ve longed for a long time, but on Friday night, facing a weekend on my own or with my friends and not work, I think about him and about my dreams

erotic fantasies, sometimes, usually, it’s an obsession, but it helps me to survive, I’m not a sex addict, I’m addicted to dreams, dreams about sex maybe, dreams about him, about my suppressed existence, my past, my mistakes, yes mistakes, I’ve made them, but he’s nearby so it’s not all bad, and he visits my dreams, and I know I visit his, maybe I visit yours, I hope I do, and I hope it’s good for you, exciting and satisfying, do dream of me when you can – my dreams, well, I run a lot, escape dreams, he has them, too, I know, exploring places from my past, places as they never appeared in real life, places where I search for things, find things that I don’t expect, naked – funny, he says he’s always naked in his dreams, too, it’s a mystery;

I’m naked now, metaphorically, for you my reader as I bare my soul, I give you my tanned lean limbs, a runner’s tan, my milky white breasts – obviously, I never run topless – milky white like my soul, my hair bleaches in the summer, but it’s a dark red now (compliments of L’Oreal) otherwise it would probably be salt and pepper; my pure soul, which reaches out to envelope you, so you will love me – I crave affection – as most writers do, let me hold you with my words, so you can not but love me, my words, the intricacy in which I put them together to let them play, play with you, play with your dreams, in your dreams; I am there making your dreams, hopefully empowering you to make them come true; he says I inspire him, so shouldn’t you drink of the same nectar, the nectar of life, the nectar of dreams, the essence of love, and the kernal of art, I’m the most exalted carnal goddess, and sex is the most creative of drives, go forth and multiply, entertain me …

pleasant dreams my lovelies

8. Dreams and Aspirations


Carolyn by simpsonyiu

I’ve been rabid the last couple of days, obsessed with sex even more than usual, sex in dreams, wet dreams, I dream a lot, even when I’m awake, just sitting here working, now writing, tap, tap, tap, on my keyboard, doing one thing while thinking about the other,

today it’s dreams, dreams and aspirations, but mostly dreams, I’ve been thinking about publishing, that’s an aspiration obviously, and although I’m an editor, I don’t really have the right connections in publishing, and I don’t have anything substantial to submit, a nice long serious short story or novel, Hahn has stalled, while I re-consider where it is going, I’ve got a general plan, but I started the next chapter and it just felt so stale, what to do with Alleyn’s cousin, and Hahn’s three other consorts, bringing them in, but I feel like Liz needs to get back to the real world, to get her back in touch with her real feelings, to become mortal again – I know how it is going to happen, but it seems so far away in the story, so much to write between now and then, and what I’ve written doesn’t connect with my dreams, the topic of this rant, and I feel that my best writing comes when it exists in my dreams (waking or sleeping) first, before I try to commit it to paper (or hard disk),

now that was a Freudian slip (that I’ve fixed), a hard dick, see, I’m still thinking of sex way too much, too much for my own sanity, and of him, always of him, I blame him, too, and myself for letting it happen this way, of course, I still love him, and without him I’d be writing nothing at all, not about Alleyn, not about Hora, not fantasy, not my fantasies, nothing, so I guess I have him to thank as well as blame – you may blame him for what I inflict on you, for what you dream, because that’s what I do to you, help you (make you?) dream, to help you fly, to let go of the ground to fly into that land of dreams where we become immortal

powerful, and every story has a happy ending, if we want it to, do you want a happy ending or an ending at all, just the promise of a future, like sex, not a one-nighter, the kind that you know you will have again with your lover, who is always the best, the best for you, that gives you the most complete satisfaction, who completes you, not incomplete like me, except that I need you, my reader, to give me the semblance of completion, that’s the next best thing, dear reader, love me, love my work, and we’ll get along just fine (doesn’t this sound so depressing and shallow?), but we keep going, keep dreaming – do you want to know what I’m dreaming now, he’s at my door, waiting for me to finish this, stepping behind me, hands on my shoulders, massaging my neck, he knows what I want and how to give it to me, kisses the top of my head … excuse me, but my muse wants to inspire me now, so I’ll just slip into something more comfortable, or maybe nothing at all, my rentboy is here, yes, my muse is a … okay, I’ve got to stop writing now, he’s (stop that!) … I’ve got to go …

7. The Wettest of Dreams


skiinsession

YOU dreamt of me last night.  I can tell.  I can smell the sex on you.  It never quite goes away in the shower.  Don’t be embarrassed.  I dreamt of you, too.  I like that kind of dreams.

Did you get up and change your pants?  Or did you sleep in your own mess?  I kept mine on, but of course I wouldn’t make as much of a mess as you.  I love that smell.  I love love love that smell.  I like my smell, too, but it’s not as prolific as yours, all over you, the sheets, the image of me that you dreamt about. Mmmmm.

Oh, you DREAMt of me last night.  Was I role playing or fancy dress?  Maid, nurse, dominatrix, I can do them all in dreams.  I can even do men (if that is what you prefer) – that’s the power of dreams.  They can do anything.  You can’t control them.  I can.  Your dreams, that is.

You dreamt OF ME last night.  Imagine the real thing.  It’s even better.  Do you dream in color?  I do.  Last night’s was red.  Do you hear?  Do you feel?  Do you touch?  I do.  Especially in that kind of dream.  Do you taste?  Taste is my favorite sense; it’s related to smell.  You can tell a lot about a person by how they smell, but taste does it for me.  What did I taste like last night?  Remember?  I do.  The bottom of your feet.  Did you like that?  Loved it.  Remember?  Well, pay better attention, because …

You WILL dream of me TONIGHT.  I hope your partner doesn’t mind.

6. Undressing


lonerunner

I dress for comfort, not for looks, and I feel most comfortable in my running gear. I run almost every day regardless of the weather. My day-glow jacket comes off first; it’s the tight-fitting kind. I hate hearing the swish-swish of the loose ones, and it’s day-glow because I get up early, before the sun rises in the winter. I don’t want to get hit by cars, obviously. If I can help it, I’d rather not wear it at all. I prefer to run as lightly as possible, so if it’s over 40 out there, I’m in a t-shirt. I wear those hi-tech wicking shirts that draw the sweat away from my body, keeping me feeling dry while looking like I’m a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest, even before I run. The leave little to the imagination, especially when I wear my white one, like today. My running bra shows right through it, and after my run, my nipples are always quite prominent. That’s why I usually run in patterned shirts, if I’m not wearing the jacket.

Next to come off are my shoes. Again, they are hi-tech, but I’ve never liked wearing shoes of any kind. If I could run barefoot without tearing up my feet and destroying my ankles, I would. At least the shoe liners are unobtrusive. In the winter I wear black lycra tights; taking them off is like peeling a ripe banana, revealing my stilts … well … legs. You would like them – they are long runners legs with soft skin and firm muscles, and well-tanned. Maybe they are too long, but they get me where I need to go, and quickly. Removing my t-shirt, you’ll find my running bra – black today because of the white shirt. It keeps my breasts from bouncing around when I run. You may find them rather disappointing – more like mangoes than melons. Serious runners are usually small-breasted, since distance running suppresses your hormones. Underneath the bra, they are still nice and firm – pretty good for someone on the wrong side of 40. My nipples are small and dark pink. My tummy is still flat, too, an advantage of decades of a strict running regime, and I have a nice glaze of sweat all over. That leaves my panties; they aren’t the bikini style I normally wear during the day. They are fuller, so they don’t slide down and don’t show through the lycra – dark blue today, just for a little splash of colour. Underneath? Well, I won’t describe that. You know what’s there. Well, as you can see, I’m a natural redhead. Keep you tongue in your mouths! I’m ready to take my shower now.

It’s your turn.

5. Realism


womanatdesk

OK.  I’ve given up on those rules.  Too many people says it’s hard to read.  It’s supposed to be, but I’ll give in – at least in this one…

I hate the holiday season.  It’s the travelling and the family part.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love my family, but they just don’t understand me, even my sister, J.  None of them can believe that I live in the UK permanently.  For them, it’s just this 16-year holiday, while I sow my wild oats.  Every time I come home for a visit (that’s where I am now), they ask when I’m coming back.  My parents are getting up there and my siblings resent that I’m not around to help out.  They (my parents) are still upright and compos mentis, perhaps even more than I am.  They get around and about, and although both have had health scares in the past few years, neither is likely to live to an age where they become feeble and need care.  That’s just the way it is in our family.  No one has made it to 80 in several generations.  My father is the oldest of his generation, and the only one still living.  Maybe I’m a pessimist, but he’s a realist.  He’s been preparing to die for over a decade, and he’s constantly making certain that all their affairs are in order.  They’ve even bought the plot.  I don’t do graves – I hate cemetaries.  I’d rather take a fast track to dust, myself, cremation.

The worst thing about the big family gathering is that all these feelings come back, like I’ve never left, and soon I’ll be wishing I never came back.  J is starting to understand me better, but none of them really understand what I do for a living, and why I’m living in a foreign country.  They also don’t understand why I’m not married, or why I split with my ex.  Technically, if I shack up with someone else, it’s adultery.  Frankly, I thought shacking up with my husband akin to adultery.  It was over almost immediately after it began – he was never the love of my life, unfortunately, and I think he sensed that.  He was fighting a losing battle and gravitated towards someone who didn’t have my hangups.  He was right, the bastard, but that was a long time ago.  It will come up again – probably on Christmas Eve.  That seems to be the usual pattern.  At least, I didn’t have to bring work with me this year.  They love using that for their attacks.

Time for some retail therapy.

(Just a reminder: this is a reprint from 2008, but very little has changed)

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