Dirty Blogger Night Out?

I just had the following conversation with the husband...

Me: I want to go to Toronto and have a blogger's night out - I have a few blog friends there.

The Husband: Oh, are spouses invited?

Now I am envisioning the world's most awkward bar night: Perv, myself and assorted other bloggers...

Perv's Wife to Me: So HOW do you know my husband again???

Um, camp?

No, I think we are going to have to leave the spouses at home.

Surprise of My Week

Now, I know that most of you out there did not miss this: but today, yes today, is Thursday.

Imagine my surprise and dismay when (halfway through the work day) this was brought to my attention.

Apparently working two 15 and 18 hour days on Monday and Tuesday got my week all confused.

Sadly I have missed the glory and delights of HNT, therefore I may have to get twice as naked as normal next week. Better charge up those camera batteries!

*******

I don't know if any of you saw this story, about the Saudi Arabian journalist and sex-braggart being sentenced for their part in a talk show about sex that aired on Lebanese TV.

Now I am sure no one really wants to hear my views on the repugnant politics of Saudi Arabia or about my many, many problems with fundamentalism. (Although whichever one of you fuckers sent me an email about adultery and how I am going to hell, you may get to hear about my problems with fundamentalism. You may also get signed up to every fucking obnoxious newsletter I can find on the internet. )

The irony of those countries is always the underbelly, the quiet aspects - for example, the rate of homosexuality among unmarried men in Saudi Arabia is apparently quite high. Probably I should say "homosexual sex" or something, because these men wouldn't identify as gay, but they are...well, doing each other in lieu of women 'cause there are no frisky chicks accessible.

Yes, you make your wife wear a burka on the street, and yes, you will send me an email about how I am a bad, bad girl. But for a country that flogs people for talking about sex, I gotta tell you - a truly disproportionate amount of my blog traffic comes from there. I am talking a striking amount - one of the most frequently occurring countries after the U.S. and the U.K.

Adulterous sex? Bad. Women with exposed skin? Unacceptable. Talking about sex? Flogging offence.

Adulterous sex blog written by semi-naked tart? I check it every day.

If you are one of my Saudi Arabian readers I would love to hear from you...

Get Me Off

Take me to bed and get me wet.

I want to be legs open, panting, begging for it, crazy in the moment.

Naked, spread, desperate to cum.

I want to be sticky, unhinged, loud and dirty.

Get. Me. Off. Won't you?

HNT: Work Shirt

There is something about a shirt with buttons that says undo me, isn't there?

Undo a button and slide your fingers inside, undo a button and kiss my skin, undo a button and then another. Maybe even undo all the buttons.

Undo all the buttons and slide up my skirt. Slide up my skirt and slide down my panties.

Slide down my panties and bend me over your desk.

Hmmm...maybe a shirt with buttons actually says do me.

Happy HNT, dirty darlings! Don't forget to drop by on Osbasso to see who else is playing and make sure to check out the other HNT.

Sexy Bitch

So last night I barfed out of the open door of a taxi.

On the way home from a work party.

At 10 pm.

On seeing my level of maturity and ability to handle alcohol the cab driver commented to my friend: "teenagers."

Class-tastic.

Tonight I spent part of the evening googling the effects of combining my anti-depressant with alcohol. Apparently it lowers your inhibitions - which, for a woman who posts semi-naked photos of herself on the Internet, is perhaps a bit of a concern. But in a way is great because I wanted to annihilate that last vague out-post of self-censorship and self-control that had been sitting back there in my brain.

In case you were wondering: bean salad with tuna in it? Even worse on the way up.

And I wonder why I have so much trouble meeting men...I should wear a sign that says 'not a good idea.' But then the barfing might take care of that.

Group Post: Caught

I don't know about you, but I can get completely caught up in the minutiae of lust.


I remember whispers, noises, the feel of a hand on my leg or a nip at the back of my neck.


Those are the moments that come to me and make me smile, make me plan, catch me in their web.


Isn't there an expression that the devil is in the details? I know it doesn't mean that the dark temptation of lust exists in those snapshots - but for me it does.


I rarely imagine an evening of sex, what compels me is a momentary glimpse: an expression, a muttered exclamation, a stray hand.


I am not caught up in the big picture of affairs - maybe if any of us saw the big picture we would behave with a little more sense - I am caught up in the tiny pieces of lust, of delights, that can be found.


Fly in a spider's web I am caught, definitely caught.


This is another group post, click around and see who else is caught:
Amy: http://moresexchocolateandredlipstick.wordpress.com/
Gray: http://mygrayline.blogspot.com/
Mr B: http://sexwiththewife.blogspot.com/
Petal: http://secretlifeofaslummymummy.blogspot.com/
Ms Scarlett: http://msscarlettletter.blogspot.com/
Britni: http://britisstillshameless.blogspot.com/
Adulterous Letch: http://www.a6y.blogspot.com/
Hubman: http://hubmanshangout.wordpress.com/
Duchess: http://theduchessissexy.blogspot.com/
Lolita vida http://www.sexingrock.blogspot.com/
Bri: http://theunequivocalme.blogspot.com/
Veronica: http://anothersuburbanmom.blogspot.com/
Ronjazz: http://ronjazz.blogspot.com/
Barefoot Dreamer: http://dreamingbearfoot.blogspot.com/
Autumn http://autumnmistspeaks.blogspot.com/
Topaz: http://topaz-gemology.blogspot.com/
and if you want to play next time, drop me an email.

HNT: Shy Girl?

Shy? Not really. Maybe for a moment, for a picture. I can play shy if that's what you like.

In reality I overshare, laugh overly loudly and overplay my hand.


I am not interested in games but part of me wonders: should I censor my words - be more subtle? Do I have to play coy or absent or unavailable in an effort to intrigue and inspire a lover? Do I have to bite my tongue and smile in order to remain a wife? Do I deny my lust, my anger, my sadness, my love and not share my feelings with those that inspire them?

I really don't want to engage in subtext or drama. If I want you I want to tell you. If you make me angry I want to share it. I want to own myself, acknowledge my feelings and recognize my relationships for what they are: whether lustful or troubled, casual or permanent. Perhaps it is to my detriment, to our detriment, that I demand too much, hide too little or tell you what I want from you.

Shy in this image, but not in reality. It may not be perfect but this is me - flawed and hopeful, open and loving. I want to share myself with you, please let me...

Happy HNT! Don't forget to stop by Osbasso's and see who else is half-nekked.

Aftershocks

Aftershock: that feeling you get when when you reflect back on a particularly wonderful encounter. You know the one I mean - where you get a flash and a shiver in your naughty bits.

There was this boy I knew when I was younger. The first one to ever make me cum.

He used to drop by my house and come up to my room - we would roll around and kiss, fool around, touch. It was as innocent as lust in the afternoon can be.

One day, after a particularly delightful previous afternoon, I said to him: "I couldn't get you out of my head all day, I kept feeling flashes of lust in my stomach."

"Aftershocks," he said, "me too."

I have called them that ever since.

The day after our evening of delights I couldn't get the traveller out of my head, couldn't get rid of those moments, that lust.

I sat there at my desk and I would smile, get a delightful mental image, or a sudden rush of sensation.

I kept thinking of how he smelled and felt, I kept thinking (and it is really dirty slut time now) how I wish he had cum in my mouth - how much I wanted to taste him.

I almost called him to request a repeat performance.

I didn't. But goddamn, if I hadn't known that he was working as well - and if I hadn't known that he flew out that night - I would have made his afternoon as sucksational as possible.

I love those aftershocks. But I think they just may be an indication of addiction. After some time passes they no longer strike you as fiercely, the craving isn't nearly so intense. Then you reach those heights again and all you want to do is get on your knees.

Advanced Infidelity

It was a delightfully crisp night and I was walking him back to his hotel. We had been out for a drink (who doesn't like a man you can actually enjoy with his clothes on?) and we had been very well behaved in the restaurant. Colleagues out after a long day, friends meeting to catch up. There were no stray hands or questionable motives on display.

We turned the corner onto a quieter street and he pulled me in for a kiss: "It's not that I don't want to touch you when we are out in public, it's that I can't." Oh god, don't mistake it, those words melted me instantly. And, oh did I melt, right into him.

I had my arms under his jacket, running up and down his back and he had hands all over me: my waist, my hips, my chest, delving into my shirt. We stood there and kissed, almost completely oblivious to the friends chatting behind us, the cars turning the corner. It was one of those incredible moments that gathers you in its grasp and will not let you go.

He pulled back long enough to tempt me: "can you come up for a few minutes?" Oh, I shouldn't, I really shouldn't but...how can a girl resist an invitation like that from a man like that?

We kissed standing at the end of his bed...he slipped off my shirt and kissed my shoulders, my neck, ran his hands across my bare skin, tossed my bra on the floor and undid my pants. I was eager as I pulled his shirt over his head and relished the feel of him, hot against my lips and my hands. We stood chest to chest - warm skin on warm skin - I kissed his neck and his shoulders and then I made my way down his chest, undoing his pants and taking them off, sliding my tongue across his stomach, licking the line of his boxers.

You know when you are really into someone: how the smell of them, the taste of them really gets you going? I had that sensation, that delight in the moment. I wanted the taste of him on my tongue. And you know what? He tasted good. I took him in my mouth and he made one of his delightful little noises and put his hands on the back of my head, letting me have my way with him for a few minutes.

He finished taking off my clothes, lying me down on the bed. He knelt on the edge and while I sucked him he slid his fingers inside me. It was an incredibly erotic moment. This was advanced infidelity - a moment borne of knowing someone just a little better, having been naked with them more than once.

Normally at that angle I would have felt self-conscious, exposed on my least flattering angle...but not this time. The thought did not even cross my mind.

I was so wet already...so incredibly absorbed in the moment and in being with him. He touched me perfectly, sometimes it is all about angles and oh my god, this was one that worked. He stroked his fingers inside me and I swear I almost lost my mind.

Now, this just might be the dirty slut in me talking (I tell you, she has a lot to say), but there is just something so incredibly hot about opening your legs like that. Wide open. Just spreading your legs and having someone touch you. I arched up into his hand asking for more, wanting him to keep touching me - and he didn't disappoint me.

I came right there, almost urgently, definitely enthusiastically. And then he flipped me back onto the bed...

I have said it before and I sincerely hope to say it again: there is something about that moment when a lover slides inside you, that first moment of connection that is so incredibly intoxicating. This was no exception. I wrapped my legs around him and had my hands around his back and on his shoulders, squeezing them as he fucked me.

Afterward he asked me, "what are you thinking?" The truth was I wasn't thinking much of anything, mostly along the lines of mmmm after-sex cuddling or mmmm post-orgasm bliss. I was so lust drunk at the time that it didn't occur to me to return the question...but now I find myself curious: what was he thinking?

HNT: Black Nightgown

I want.

I desperately want.

I feel enticed.

I want you to touch me, to kiss me, to fuck me. I want to taste you, pleasure you, be with you.

I want to spend hours...lost in fucking, lost in being.

A taste is never enough, is it?

Happy HNT, my loves. Make sure to drop by on Osbasso and don't forget the Other HNT!

Nights Like Tonight

It is nights like tonight that make my heart bleed and my mind try to answer 1000 what ifs


It is nights like tonight when I yearn for someone who would love me, God, even like me


It is nights like tonight where I am almost consumed by loneliness - not alone, just by myself


It is nights like tonight when I can't imagine that road that has brought me here, that I can't believe I remain


It is nights like tonight where I cry quietly, alone - my usual anger translated into a pathetic grief for the life I will never have, for the partner I lack, for the utterly imaginary but compelling perfection beyond my reach.


It is nights like tonight where I reflect on how desperately I seek, how much I yearn and how much is gone.

HNT: Legs

These are my absolute favourite work shoes. They are ever so slightly horny secretary...which is why I love them. There is something about them that says "bend me over your desk" - or is that just me?

Happy HNT, my darlings. Don't forget to swing by Osbasso's to see who else is playing and remember to visit the Other HNT.