Ashley, Ashley, Ashley

As you may or may not recall, I have loathed and mocked Ashley Madison fairly substantially.

As I have told you: here and here and even here, I have found AM to be the domain of really dull men who live in the suburbs and want to talk to me about hockey, men who had the stupidity to get married at 22 and wear baseball caps in their profile pictures.

No. Thank. You.

But, sometimes in the spring a girl gets horny. As a friend said to me the other day: "you are nasty lately!" Yes I am: spank me, pull my hair, fuck me hard nasty. Unequivocally.

So, I thought: oh what the hell, and signed on again. And you know what? I am fishing in a completely different pond. You see...I got older. I think all of you attractive men around the age of 40: men who own ties, flirt with style and would like to talk about something other than hockey - I think you delightful gentlemen were not including my age in your search range, not wanting to go too young and be regarded as a little pervy.

But now you see, I have aged. I have aged into your search category and, darlings, it's on.

I got a very interesting email today...40ish, travels for work to my city where he conveniently stays in downtown hotels. Nice pictures - none of his cock, which I consider a very large plus: who wants to unwrap the Christmas present early, after all?

Conveniently enough he is coming to town this week. The flowers are just poking their heads up, spring is in the air and it is clearly time to take my panties off...

HNT: New Adventures

I have never done an HNT before...this is the outfit I wore out last week when I was out causing trouble with my girls. It got me several phone numbers, multiple interesting offers, and my first girl on girl action. It was a good night...

Happy HNT, dirty darlings.

Soft

I wasn't wearing very much, you'll see it tomorrow. Small white bra top with a slightly more concealing over-shirt - backless, tiny, hot. Skinny jeans, my high black boots.

You know the nights when you walk with attitude? Your heels clicking, smiling, knowing you are gorgeous....it was one of those nights.

I walked with confidence and I felt fabulous. One, two, three, four men approached me - offering me drinks, offering me drugs, offering me sex. Nothing that tickled my fancy appeared. I drank with one, danced with another and then retreated to the bar to await the return of my friends. And then someone caught my eye...close by on the dance floor watching me. Brown hair, brown eyes, confident walk, predatory eyes that matched mine...we were definitely a pair. I saw my attitude, my confidence, my lust for the evening mirrored - I was intrigued.

I was feeling just chaotic enough to lose myself in the night, whatever it would bring. Control, restraint, and inhibitions had been thrown to the wind hours before. I met her eyes evenly giving her my best show me what you've got look, a look that rarely fails...and I waited for her next move.

Smiling back she whispered an excuse to her friend and walked across the floor. We talked, I couldn't tell you about what. We ordered drinks: shots, and clinked glasses, downing the drinks not breaking the eye contact. I wasn't misunderstanding the sexual energy.

Who are you here with, she asked, a boyfriend? I laughed, no, this shirt is certainly not made for a night when I already have someone to go home with...are you here with someone?

A group of friends, she said, one I might go home with. Hmmm, neither of us had anyone watching over us tonight. I leaned on the bar and smiled invitingly. Ever kissed a girl? she said. No, I smiled.

She moved closer...and I was utterly lost to the moment.

You know those kisses that you remember like feelings? The ones that are a moment in time, not a division of parts and a selection of acts - but an impression, an image, a sensation? This was one of those.

What strikes me is how soft she was. Soft lips, gentle tongue, soft hands. None of the aggressive pushing that often comes with a kiss from a man. Tongue on tongue, lips on lips, her hands on my waist and my hands on her shoulders - running down her arms. It was soft, it was gentle, it was hot. We quickly became more intense, moved closer, utterly committed to the moment, utterly lost in lust. We must have presented quite a picture...her hands slipping under my shirt, my hands moving to stroke her ass. I just can't get over how soft she was, how the moment was both soft and intensely erotic.

We kissed and touched for a few minutes...it could have been five, ten - who knows. Only breaking apart when her male friend joined us. Do you want to come home with us? she asked me - and god, I was tempted. I bit my lip, hesitated, declined. Not out of lack of interest, God no, but I think if I am going to launch forward into the world of girl-girl-guy threesomes my very patient husband deserves to be in on the first one.

She kissed me goodnight and left, smiling back over her shoulder at me.

It was a good weekend...

Do you like it rough?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/m_e_l_o_d_y

I just had coffee with an old boyfriend - the first one who turned me over his knee and showed me what a bad little slut I was.

If I told you that I don't still get off to the image, that no one has ever quite played the game as well as he did, that no one has ever been able to match my capacity or my inclination so well, that it has never been so exquisitely erotic again - then I would most definitely be lying.

He remains, unmatched in my mind, the only man who has ever truly been able to play the D/s scenario the way I want it. Everyone else has been too gentle, too conscious. He gives no quarter, practices no restraint and is unyielding in his enthusiasm for the game.

I was giving him the gears a little about his most recent ex-girlfriend who is a sweet young thing with a taste for the dirty he said to me: "What I can say? You defined my sexual identity."

So, for all you ladies who like a good spanking while someone yanks on your pig tails, lifts up your little plaid skirt and shows you who is boss: behind that dominant man is an over-sexed, under-inhibited teenage girl with a pair of thigh highs and a taste for games.

You're welcome.

Motherfucker?

I am not sure how I am going to blatantly proposition hot class guy if he never comes to class. Seriously, I know the year is almost over - but get your butt in the chair, dude, so I can tell you to put that butt in my bed.

I actually wore mascara today in an effort to better bat my eyelashes alluringly. Pearl earrings to encourage him to give me a pearl necklace. My lucky high boots that say I will fuck you hard, bitch. This is my top game people and no one was there to appreciate it!

Motherfucker. Well, at least I hope he is...

Cross your fingers, won't you, that I will be able to open my legs.

Our Secrets

It appears to me like some of us are just mounting it because its there. Why do dogs like me lick their balls? Because they're there. Sex for sex's sake. Getting fucked cause you like the fucking. Nothing wrong with that. I get it, I appreciate it, and I accept that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

We taste that apple at our peril though, don't we? The fact that we are over the line, that it is forbidden and has an element of risk, makes it all the more delicious. The adrenaline is a heady aphrodisiac. We want the sex, we want the pleasure - but we don't want the consequences. We grasp what we can, follow our instincts - sometimes blindly and without reason - and we hope against hope that we won't have to pay for it later. In that instance we risk discovery, but we certainly don't court it.

But some of us, some of us seem to be doing it because we want something. Some of us want attention, some of us want sex, some of us want love, some of us what to finally be able to scream what it is that we are thinking. Sometimes the fantasy of infidelity, both the mental aspect and the physical, fulfills a deep yearning. A yearning for more: for what you can't have, for what you forgot you wanted, for what you lost. To be fucked, to be loved, to desired, to be appreciated.

Sometimes we acknowledge the cost and hope we can avoid paying. We know we could be caught, but the needs are such that they are worth the risk. In the cost/benefit analysis our destruction doesn't seem so bad when compared to our craving, and the reality is that we all think we are too smart to get caught.

There are a portion of us who simply disregard the cost. The cost of living our lives as they stand is simply too high. We demand to be seen, be heard, be fucked, be acknowledged, be desired, be ourselves - and we are willing to destroy or risk our destruction to satisfy ourselves. We do not just risk our destruction, at times we covet it, hoping it will be the thing that gives us what it is we want: whether it be freedom or anal. We boldly step over the line, a declaration about the state of our lives: Enough! Mine! No more! I matter! I exist!

For me, sometimes I yearn. For a time of life tantalizingly unfinished and left behind, for the road not taken, for independence from responsibilities and demands.

Do I search for my destruction in stranger's beds? Truthfully, at times I have. I would like to think those times have passed.

I have also been so desperate to fill my own needs, needs long disregarded, that I needed to take bold steps to declare myself in existence. I no longer cared enough to resist temptation. I think that that time has passed as well.

But has the urge to stray passed me by? No, although I still dance along the line and play my risky little game, I no longer seek beyond the pleasure. For the most part I don't covet my destruction so much as I covet cock. That's the thing about forbidden fruit though, isn't it? You had a bite because you were desperately hungry - but once that hunger is satisfied, you can't help but remember how delicious it tastes...

True Strength

I am going to respond to your secrets, the post is already written actually BUT something more important happened today that I want to share with you.

I don't know how many of you have been following what has been going on over at Swingerwife, but this week she decided to take her blog private because she was being harassed. Now she has decided that, in her words, she will not be silenced. Go and take a look at: http://swingerwife.wordpress.com/

I got goosebumps when I read the post and I am awed by her strength, her dignity and her power. To truly own yourself, to stare down those that judge you, especially when some of these people know her true identity - that is one powerful woman.

Kudos to you Swingerwife, you raise the bar for all of us to try to live our lives, love ourselves and express ourselves and our true experience. Well done!

Tell Me a Secret

OK dirty darlings, I have a question and I want you to think about it and answer truthfully. Tell me a secret - and not of the how big is your cock variety. (For those secrets: polly_amorous@hotmail.com.)

Is there a part of you, when you are lost in your mental fantasies about infidelity, that imagines getting caught? Envisioning what would happen? Is there even a small part of you that isn't terrified by this? Sometimes when you imagine the big reveal to you imagine not the hurt and disappointment, but finally being able to say it all out loud? To tell the truth. Do you sometimes want to admit that you are dirty outside the confines of the bedroom?

Here is mine: I have imagined being outed as a blogger, I have imagined being caught by *the wife*, I have running into neighbours at a hotel, I have imagined running into colleagues while on a rendez-vous in a nearby city - and sometimes all this imagining gives me just a little thrill.

Maybe it is the forbidden fruit. Maybe it is my nature to want to shock and to want to push the limits. Maybe I crave the attention. Maybe I am bored and want something exciting to happen.

So, when do you imagine getting caught? What is the context of the big reveal? What feelings do you associate with it?

I showed you mine, now I want to see yours...

Overshare?

I just made this fabulous e-card and sent it to the old friend. This may be a classic Kimberly-overshare.

If you are bored on a Friday I highly suggest going to www.someecards.com and playing around. Send me a hot ecard and you may get one back.

**UPDATE: Since I designed this card 2 days ago, it has been sent 5 times. One was me, but that means 4 other people have also felt it was a message they needed to send out. There are seemingly quite a few of us obnoxiously drunk gropers out there.

The Storm in Your Calm

I want to be that woman that you can't resist. The one you crave. The one you have to have.

I want to climb inside your head. I want your desire for me to overpower logic, exclude reason, restraint and control. I want you to know you shouldn't and still be unable to stop yourself from touching me, wanting me, fucking me, possessing me.

I don't want to be your muse, I don't want to be your partner, I don't want to be your friend - I want to be your obsession.

I don't want to be the rainbow at the end of your day, I want to be the lightning in your soul.

The storm in your calm. The hurricane in your eye.

I want to be in your bed for hours: can't get enough, hot, sweaty, our need for each other insatiable. I don't want to make calm, sweet, tender love to you: I want you to have me, fuck me, to be unable to think of anything but your insatiable need for me.

I want to be the woman that causes you to lose control.

Lust embodied. Sin personified. Yours.

My Dirty Whores

Please remember when I say "My Dirty Whores" I say it with love...and often lust as well!

I just updated my blog list...and it still doesn't represent everyone that I follow on a fairly regular basis. I highly recommend clicking through, there are some really fantastic and dirty minded bloggers out there.

For the record, you people are responsible for my complete inability to get anything done. You are VERY distracting!