Red Nightgown

What are you wearing? He asked me.

I paused, he's going to like this, I thought...a little red nightgown

Short?

Yes.

Mmmm...I can picture it. Anything underneath?

Hopefully you.

But now?

No, nothing.

You know what I can imagine? I could hear him smile, see his dirty look, as he said it.

What? I asked...dying to hear what was in store.

You opening the door wearing the nightie and nothing else...I can picture you in it.
I will kiss you, hot and heavy...take your hand and lead you further into the room - now that I have you all to myself...do you know what I am going to do to you.

Everything?

And more. His voice smiled, and more. First I will lead you to the mirror, turn you so you are facing it and stand behind you. Can you see me?

Yes.

Do you want me?

Yes.

Look me in the eyes while I touch you. I am going to kiss your neck and your shoulders while I slip my hand inside your nightgown, over your breasts....

Mmmmm...

I can imagine caressing your breasts, pinching your nipples. I can hear you moaning when I touch you.

Christ, I thought, I am surprised you can't hear me from there.

My other hand is slowly raising up your nightgown. Can you feel my sliding my hand up your thigh...touching you? I can feel your hips moving...arching forward. You want me to touch you, don't you?

Oh yes. Oh yes oh yes please.

I am going to raise up your nightgown and slowly touch you...I can see you leaning back on me and closing your eyes. Arching into my hand.
Open your eyes...look into my eyes...I want to see you.

Then I am going to bend you forward, hands on the dresser...raise up your nightgown. You are staring at me in the mirror, waiting and wanting...then I am going to slowly slide into you and fuck you from behind...can you see me looking at you in the mirror...holding your eyes with mine?

Yes, I breathed. Yes I can.

Do you want more? He asked. Yes, yes I do. I want you to fuck me.

I can feel myself pushing into you, holding your eyes, making you mine.

His, I sighed, oh yes his.

I am going to touch you while I fuck you, rub you until you can't control yourself...hold you on the edge...I want to fuck you until you are out of your mind and then look right in your eyes when I make you cum. I can't wait to feel you cum all around me.

Please, I thought, oh yes please.

Feeling you cum puts me right over the edge, he said. I can't hold back anymore...then I am going to pull out of you and cum all over your sweet ass. I want to make you dirty with me...make you mine.

Oooh, really? I said.

Too dirty? he asked. Too much? Oh no baby, I said, not too much - just right.

Technical Support?

I am in the midst of updating my blogroll to share some more of my favourite dirty whores - can I call you dirty whores? I say it with love...I could say it with a smack on your ass if you'd prefer...

Anyway, whew, easily distracted. I am trying to add two new ones (www.temptationandthedragon.blogspot.com and www.asweetnectar.blogspot.com, if you can't wait to know) and I am getting a content warning instead of the URL on the list...

Is it me? Is it you? Is it their settings? Do they need to enable their feed? (Baby, let me tell you that you enable my feed like no one else...) Can a girl only have so much fun?

Any thoughts on this would be a help. Either comment or drop me an email.

Me and Me and Me

My husband knows that I was a very errant wife...fucking strangers in hotel rooms and all...and therefore he arranged a special double-length two hour session with the couple's counselor.

She asked me why I got involved with the emotional slut. I didn't say many things...many things that might well be true. But I did say: "Because I wanted to. Because I thought it would be fun. Because there is no baggage, no pressure - it is easy. Because he wanted me and liked me and it felt really good to be wanted."

She paused, looked at me and said: "that's fairly narcissistic." And then she moved on.

Hmmm...narcissistic, eh? Probably true. OK, true.

The reality is though, after more than a decade of marriage and motherhood, of being subsumed by the lives and needs of others, I have realized that if I don't think about me...no one will.

Love

I love my wife, he told me, all tangled up in my sheets and smelling of sex with me, and if she found out, it would be over.

I love my husband, I said, peeling off the layers of clothes and reaching for more, and I am not leaving him for you.

I love my family, we both thought, as we lay together, wondering what it is that drives us to this place.

It is a funny kind of love we adulterers give, isn't it? We insist it is still there, tangible and undisturbed, and yet we stretch it to the point where it is so thin you can see through it.

We pull it so it is barely there, an afterthought in those moments in which we stray, and then we return to our lives and we expect that love to be whole. We think it will take back the shape that it once had and be waiting for us unchanged. I don't know that love, as elastic as it can be, has that much flexibility...

...and then he made me cry.

Or, truthfully, I made myself cry.

I would have fucked him all night BUT...then there was distance.

I saw it and I felt it. Although he remained friendly, I could feel the chill. I wondered: what had I done wrong? What was it that created this space?

He was on his side of the bed and I was on mine and I definitely felt a line down the middle. I needed more: I needed cuddling and touching. I needed a physical reinforcement of all the words he had been throwing my way. I wanted what had been pledged. And it wasn't there. After we had had our way with each other a couple of times I really don't think he put a hand on me except to kiss me goodbye in the morning - and, although I did not initiate that, you kinda have to at least throw a girl that bone.

We slept on opposite sides - I don't think he came anywhere near me all night - I know he didn't come near my all night. And then he looked over my shoulder in the morning, saw the clock, got up and got in the shower.

I don't think I am mistaking it that I won't be hearing from him again. I wonder what I did, what it is about me that managed to drive him away within 3 hours...I ache from wondering what it was...

My public face, my pretend strong face, would like to say fine, whatever. Only it's not. I am so disappointed: he talked big and I definitely fell for it, I definitely wanted it and craved it. I wanted to connect. I set out, 2 months ago now, with a random ass agenda. He, patiently and over hours, penciled more onto that page. He made me feel, he made me imagine, he made me yearn.

Sitting alone in that hotel room made me realize how alone I feel. How I am so desperate for approval, for affection and most of all for love. I realize even more now that I feel truly that I am not loved. And that I was looking for love - not to fall in love - but to be loved. I truly and deeply feel that I am not a woman that people love - that there is something about me that is unlovable and that I will never be loved for who I am. The husband "loves me" but he doesn't like me...and it isn't the same thing.

I called Tallulah, hysterical, and said to her: "I realize how much I want love." I crave love. I crave emotion. I crave connection. And I feel as though those things are not within my reach, will never be within my reach. Pathetically, I am also definitely craving the approval, the reinforcement of self. This is something I thought I had driven from my system - I thought I was manning-up, able to separate from that insecure part of myself...but I got tripped up in the words and the ideas...I let myself be led back down that path. Stupid.

The tragic part is I am already making excuses for him in my head...I am already denying what I know to be true and hoping for more. Thinking maybe that is just him...maybe he is not a snuggler. He did say to me as he was leaving not to read anything into the fact that he had to leave so early, and I reminded him that he had told me in advance that would be the case...and told him not to worry. But really, this more I am hoping for: More of what exactly? Another encounter where my emotional needs will not be satisfied? More false words? How stupid am I?

Maybe I am not capable of being loved, maybe my relationship is so incredibly fucked up, because I am not capable of assessing what could be a real relationship and establishing one...because I can't separate the cream and the milk. I pursue mindlessly, irregardless of my best interests, my common sense, and my instincts. I pursue to pursue - because I want to chase that elusive emotional adrenaline hit. I am a love/sex/rejection - or, really, overcoming rejection, junkie. I am hooked on the chase, on the capture...

Are you distant? Oh, baby - I will chase that to the end of the earth. Am I your second choice? Oooooh. Do you need to be convinced to love me? Come here, how dirty and pretty do I have to be to make you mine.

Enough.

First he made me cum...

There he was. As handsome as I remembered. Smiling at me, clearly looking forward as much as I was. The weeks of planning, the weeks of anticipation...were finally going to play out. I was wet and ready when I heard the knock on the door.

We lay down on the bed and exchanged maybe even 5 whole sentences...and then he kissed me and I was lost to the moment. It felt as good as I had thought it would. I liked the way he smelled, I liked the way his body felt. I ran my hand on his arm..I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back to kiss his neck...mmmmm.

He had been romancing me with words for weeks, whispering sweet nothings, telling me things I should not have wanted to hear but had come to crave. I was seduced before the door opened.

He took his time, he didn't move to take my clothes off right away - we rolled and we touched and we tasted. Shirts off skin to skin, buckles undone, hands exploring. Not cautious, not holding back, but savouring. Hands on his very nice stomach slowly trailing down, hands caressing my hips under my shirt, lips moving on lips, on necks...figuring out the right pathways. Slowly the layers peeled off - down to panties and hands...he ran his fingers up the edge of my panties, right where the thigh meets the hip...I thought I would lose my mind...and then I did.

I liked the way he touched me - I liked it right away. I wanted it the way he wanted it and then I wanted more. More more more. I wanted to be with him, connect with him, I wanted him inside me...probably too much. Definitely too much. Foolishly too much. Maybe the wanting is where I lost my way...maybe to be removed is to be safe.

Delightfully he knew what he was doing. Really knew what he was doing. As much as I had hoped he would. The kind of knows -what-he-is-doing that has you making involuntary noises and asking...moaning for more. And I was - and he gave more.

I was almost undecided: I could not wait to cum, but I didn't want to stop. I wanted to be lost in that moment for as long as possible. I wanted to be lost. I could not wait make him cum - I wanted to taste him, to pleasure him, to get him off with a fierce intensity. I had him in my hand, in my mouth, on his back and on top of me - and god I really wanted...wanted wanted wanted. The weeks of foreplay had been worth it: it was gooooood. He tasted good, he felt good. I wanted to draw it out...I wanted to really feel it - more then I have in a long time. I wanted this.

I could say that we fucked, and we did, but fucked almost seems like a callous word sometimes.

At that moment it almost felt like more...and I could have kept going all night...but...

The Ugly Truth

I feel unworthy, undeserving, alone, ugly. I feel lost, empty and at odds with my life.

When you reject me I think it is because I repulse you: after all a size 6 body doesn't look any good after a couple of 9 pound babies. Maybe I am not what you expected?

I think you are turned off by my honesty and my words. I spoke to you like I would speak to a friend, to someone I trusted - I told you my truth, which I guess is as unattractive as my body - marked and mapped with stretch marks and sagging and signs of time.

Maybe we all prefer the kind of truth that is taut and firm, the kind of truth that looks 19 - no wear and no tear, no life experience to make it ugly. I guess I don't have that kind of truth anymore.

I am, once again, so wound up viewing myself through the lens of a man. I think there may actually be something wrong with me.

I want to separate, I yearn to compartmentalize, to fuck and forget - but instead I ache.

Mind Fucking

I wonder if the emotional slut and I are just mind fucking? I am very very very curious as to whether we will meet and this incredible sexual tension, this connection between us will fizzle.


He said to me "I can't imagine, if I am this crazy about you now, how I will feel when I see you." And the craziest thing: I feel it too.

He uses dangerous phrases: I care about you, I miss you, I think about you. Phrases no errant wife should want to hear...but phrases that delight her faux-frozen heart.

It is all in our heads? Maybe. And I think there is a distinct possibility that because we are fictional to each other, because there is no reality involved, that I may be in for some very very dirty sex. Uninhibited, I-don't-care-what-you-do-to-me-cause-this-is-pretend sex.

As Heptica said to me recently: "it is mostly a mental game anyway." So, we got mental game. Oh, baby, do we got mental game. I am dying to find if the physical game is as good.


If he can't fuck me worth a damn I am going to be so disappointed.