Is it a sex blog? A mommy blog? A bitch & moan blog? Um, . . . yeah. This is my place to be totally honest. In my real life, I feel like I'm always lying to somebody about something. Here, I am totally honest. Brutally so. However, no matter what bad things I say about my kids, I adore them and would never ever really, say, sell them on Ebay. The husband, often referred to as Spousehole, is another story. Oh yeah - if you are under 18 (or if you are my husband), please leave now.

Thursday, May 31, 2007

Happy HNT!!

A peek at the legs that I like to have between mine.

Happy HNT!!

Join the fun:


Just Don't Go There

Before I was married, I did a lot of things (too many for Spousehole's delicate tastes). But I never tried anal sex. Never had any interest. When my friends would tease me about my one area of prudishness, I'd say I had to save something for my wedding night. Lately I was beginning to rethink my position. You only live once, right? Then I read this little gem on from 2005. Nope. Never. Not going there. Ever.

Just in case you were wondering.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Mind-wandering Wednesday

Wandering wonderings on a warm Wednesday . . .

She was sleeping in the downstairs bedroom at the in-laws' house. Her husband was sleeping upstairs with their child, who had had a nightmare. Outside her bedroom, her brother-in-law was on the sofa bed in the family room. She could see the light was still on, could hear the TV still going. It was 5:00 a.m. She couldn't sleep either and decided to see what baby bro was watching.

Not wanting to frighten anyone with her morning breath, she popped three Altoids in her mouth before opening the door. He was sitting up on the sofa bed, watching a video. “Hey, did I wake you up?” “No,” she replied, “I just can't sleep. Strange bed and all.” She started to sit on the love seat when he said, “You can sit here with me. I won't bite.” “Then where's the fun in it?” she said playfully, as she crawled onto the sofa bed with him.

They watched a bit of a chat show on BBC America and did a little chatting themselves. He noticed her Altoids and said “Hey, share?” She flipped one to the front of her mouth and held it between her teeth, arching an eyebrow. He quickly swooped in and took it with his teeth, his soft lips brushing hers ever so gently. Her heart skipped a beat. She was confused, but curious too. “Didn't expect that, did you?” he said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You're a terrible flirt. I figured it was time to call you on it.” They went back to watching the show, ignoring the growing tension.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He's 30, looks 22, acts 18 or younger. His immaturity annoys her, but she has to admit he's absolutely adorable. He's the age her husband was when they met and looks a lot like him. At 5'11” he's the short brother. With a 30” waist he's also the skinny brother. His soulful eyes and “sensitive guy” shtick make you forget his slight build and immaturity. This is ridiculous, she thought. I'm older, married to his brother, the mother of his niece and nephew. I'm certainly not his type. He dates teenagers, for God's sake . . .

He interrupted her thoughts with a kiss. Gentle at first, then more urgent. His tongue parted her lips, exploring her mouth. Recovering from the surprise, she kissed him back. They laid back on the sofa bed, entangling their limbs as they continued exploring each other's mouth. It ceased to be kissing and evolved into more of a mouth fuck. Breaking away, she sighed, “We can't do this.” “You're absolutely right. Bed's too squeaky.” He took her hand and led her toward the bathroom. As he turned on the shower, she said, “You know what I mean. We can't do this.” “Shut up” he said, undressing her. Their clothes in a pile on the floor, they stepped into the extra-large shower and resumed their mouth fuck. Except now their hands explored one another's body as the hot water cascaded over them. He grabbed the hand-held shower as he sat on one of the shower's two seats. Setting the shower head to pulse, he aimed it between her legs. This seated position put his mouth right at breast level and he didn't try to resist their allure.

She put her hands against the shower walls to hold herself up. He was suckling at her breast, one hand training the water's spray on her aching clit, and the other hand furiously finger fucking her. He alternated breasts, sucking, nibbling, pinching with his teeth. It wasn't long before she began to moan softly. He knew she was close. His thumb joined the spray in teasing her engorged clit. Her legs stiffened, her body rocked, and she sighed and moaned simultaneously as the orgasm overtook her body.

She collapsed to her knees. As she recovered her senses, she realized his cock was right in front of her face. She began licking the water from it, starting at the base and working her way to the swollen purple head. She took the length of him in her mouth and heard him gasp. She bobbed her head up and down, licking, sucking, swirling her tongue. He says “switch” and stands up while she sits on the shower seat. Perfect. He enters her mouth slowly, his hands in her wet hair. He pumps in and out, truly fucking her mouth now. Her lips tighten and loosen around his erection. She caresses his balls with one hand and the rim of his anus with the other. She feels his balls begin to tighten and hears his breathing become more rapid. With a groan, he thrusts his cock to the back of her throat, filling it with hot cum. Stifling the urge the choke, she swallows as he sinks to the shower seat, spent. She stands, bends over to kiss him one last time, grabs a towel, and hurries from the bathroom. The others will be up soon.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Memorial Day Memories

TMI is one post down!!

My babies enjoying the water:

Memorial Day weekend was pretty good. We remembered those who have died in service of our country and said prayers of thanks for their sacrifice.

We also drank scotch. Lots of scotch, a little at a time. A scotch tasting, actually. FIL pulled out the bottles: Auchentoshan, Balvenie, Bowmore, Clynelish, Dalwhinnie - 20 year, Dalwhinnie - 15 year, Glenfiddich, Glenlivet, and Glenmorangie. The Auchentoshan (triple distilled single malt) was the hands-down winner. Smooth as silk. The 20-year Dalwhinnie was great too - but they don't export it to the U.S.- only the 15-year. You have to bring the 20-year back from the U.K. The big-time loser: Bowmore. Incredibly expensive and incredibly horrid. Tastes like dirt. Fertilized dirt. An acquired taste I plan never to acquire.

Went out on the boat 2x. Nothing better than lunch on the boat - shrimp, chips and salsa, and the beverage of one's choice. Aaahhh. Kids went swimming in the lake, explored the woods, and generally wore themselves out. Good times. Adorable brother-in-law is now the age Spousehole was when we met and looks a lot like him. Brought back a lot of memories.

An old favorite that amuses me.

TMI Tuesday!

1. When you orgasm, do you hold your breath?

I often find myself holding my breath right before (I don't even realize I'm doing it), then releasing the breath as I come/moan.

2. Have you ever had sex or played around with a celebrity?

Nope. Sammy Davis, Jr. flirted with me when I was 14, but he was older than sin and I didn't find it the slightest bit interesting.

3. Do you think prostitution should be legal? Why or why not?

Yes. I believe it should be legal and regulated. I think women in this vocation would be safer if regular medical check-ups were mandatory and the occupation was practiced in licensed brothels. We can't stop prostitution, we may as well make it safer.

4. How do you masturbate? Do you romance yourself? Get straight to the point? Read erotic material?

No romance, I generally get straight to the point. I read erotic materials sometimes. Sometimes I use a vibrator, though my favorite broke recently. :( Mostly it's just me and my right hand.

5. Which gives you the most pleasure - intercourse, masturbating for/with your partner, being masturbated by your partner?

The best orgasms come from masturbating with/for my partner and I greatly enjoy being pleasured by my partner, but intercourse gives me the most emotional pleasure. There's nothing like the physical connection of intercourse to make me feel that we are truly one.

Bonus (as in optional): Have you ever had a crush on a relative?

No, but most of my relatives are in Iowa and I'm in Michigan, so I don't spend enough time with my relatives to develop a crush. My brothers-in-law are another story . . .

Friday, May 25, 2007

Betrayal, Part I

Soon it will be one year. One year since he lost my trust. Since I was (was I?) betrayed. I don't know if I will ever know the truth. Does it even matter what really happened? Or is the damage done either way?

Last June, he announced one day that he was going to visit a friend in Traverse City. I wasn't aware he had a friend in TC. He said she was someone he knew in grad school, someone he “ran into” the previous month when he was in TC for work. (I learned later that he looked her up and asked her to meet him for drinks.) He said she was a good friend to him all those years ago; she's married, but separated; and he's going to see her TODAY, take her to dinner, a ride on the motorcycle, catch up, and then come home.

I'm stunned. I've never heard of her in the 9 years we've been together. Yet, with only an hour's notice, he's leaving the kids and me to go have dinner with her. Doesn't invite us, or even just me, to go along and meet this great friend of whom I've never heard. Oh, and he bought a new leather jacket that morning to look good for the trip. But he tells me I have nothing to worry about. Would he tell me where he was going and with whom if there was anything to hide?

He leaves and I go where I know I will find out more. I log into one of his email accounts. I know the password; I set up the account. There they are: her emails to him. They've been emailing through his work account, but he's forwarded and saved all her email here, on the account I set up for him. No big, right? I correspond with male friends and I'm not fooling around. I read the emails; I'm only getting what she said to him, since he's saved only hers to him. His emails to her would've been sent from the work account.

Mostly they seem to be conversing about common interests, people they know in common, parenting. No problem, what was I so worried about? Then I find it Her reply to him says, “I love you too, AS A FRIEND. I love you as a friend but nothing more.” My mind races. What did his email to her say? I'll never know.

I put the kids to bed. I listen for him to return. 2:00 a.m. . . . 3 a.m. . . . 4 a.m. . . . I drift off. The ringing phone wakes me at 6:15 a.m. The machine answers. “Bunny, it's me. Pick up the phone. Please. I'm so sorry. Please. Nothing happened. I swear. Please just pick up. Okay. Okay. We stayed up late talking and it was just too late to ride the bike back. Too cold. I stayed at her house, that's where I am now, but nothing happened. But I realize now that I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. I'm so, so sorry. She's helped me see that I've always loved you. I expect too much, I don't treat you like I should. I love you. Please pick up Bunny . . . .” It goes on like that until the machine times out.

When he gets home, he asks if I trust him. I say I do. But I don't. It's a full week before we have it out.

Him: I told you I love you. There's nothing more to say.

Me: Did you sleep with her?

Him: I didn't have sex with her.

Me: Did you kiss her?

[No answer]

Me: Did you sleep in the same bed?

[No answer]

Me: Did you tell her you love her? Last weekend or ever?

Him: If you can't accept that I love you, I'm here with you, there's nothing more I can say. I didn't have sex with her.

Me: Because you never thought of it or because she said no?

[No answer]

. . . .

Sometime later I say I believe him. I say I trust him. But I don't. I'll never know the truth. He's still here. I'm still here. He says he loves me. I say I believe him. But I don't know.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Happy HNT!

Happy HNT!!
Here I am, all primed for aural sex!
Huh? What's that? Speak up - - I can't hear you . . .


Wednesday, May 23, 2007


I sometimes wander aimlessly around hobby stores, waiting for Spousehole and Boy to finish looking for God-knows-what (that stuff bores me to tears). Once I ran across an item called a “hornblock.” It's a model railroading part and it's actual use is of no consequence. I just liked the word and wondered if I could ever find a use for such a silly word.

Unfortunately, I've found it. I am suffering from it, in fact. My name is Bunny and I suffer from hornblock. Like writer's block, but much, much worse. Not an erotic thought in my head, not a sensual feeling in my body. It's bizarre and I hate it. Tried to masturbate, couldn't even get into it. Not turned on at all by my favorite erotic blogs. What the hell is up with that?

Maybe too many other things on my mind:

Boy's educational plans aren't working out as we'd hoped and I am devastated. I feel like his teachers and I have failed him. They say when you have a special-needs child, you have to accept the child you have. However, you can't completely do that until you've mourned the child you don't have. I thought I had mourned the “normal” child he will never be, but perhaps I don't have all of that out of my system yet. It's very difficult sometimes. He is academically “spot on” and has good receptive language skills, but can't handle a large class size, gets overwhelmed if too much is asked of him, has sensory issues, and, most important, has expressive language skills at only a 3-year-old level. (He's 6). Not long ago, my SIL told Husband that we “push the autism thing too much” and that from what she sees, Boy is not really autistic. Because as a child-free architect who sees Boy maybe six times a year, she would know far better than neurologists, psychiatrists, psychologists, and 5 years of special ed teachers and therapists. And his own parents, who deal with him day in and day out. Fuck her.

The Red Wings are through for the year (and is anything more humiliating than losing to a Disney movie team?) Then there's the marriage, but you don't want to hear all that. My baby sister having cancer (though hopefully she's okay after her surgery). The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Poverty. Hunger. AIDS. Bad manicurists. Need I go on?

Maybe it's just the particular time of the month, if you know what I mean. I feel bloated and disgusting and have cramps that would kill a man. I should look into that drug to stop periods all together. Always said I'd never do the hormone thing again, but that just might be worth it.

Perhaps next week will be better. I'll get my shit together, solve all the world's problems, and bring sexy back to housewifery. SuperBunny to the rescue!!

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

TMI Tuesday!!

1. What was your first job?

Aside from babysitting, my first "real" job was working in my parents' frozen custard shop. I started at 16 and worked there until I was 21. My parents sold the place when I was 20, but I continued as assistant manager with the new owners until I graduated from college.

2. When did you go to your first funeral?

Age 12, when my grandmother died. She was only 58, but lived a crazy life: drove her ticket-me-red '69 Dodge Charger like a bat out of hell, drank Old Milwaukee, and smoked unfiltered Chesterfields. That'll drive you to an early grave. Weird side item: my grandfather, her husband until the day she died, never smoked a single cigarette and never took a drink his entire life. How did they ever end up married??

3. What is the sexiest word in the English dictionary?


4. Are you left handed or right handed? Which direction does the top of your head lean when you kiss on the lips?

Right and right.

5. Females: Which breast is larger? Left, but just barely.

Bonus (as in optional):Define sexy?

Sexy is an attitude. Sexy exudes confidence (but not arrogance) & open-mindedness. Sexy is being comfortable with yourself and with others, both physically and emotionally. It's also a gleam in the eye and sly smile in an otherwise unsexy atmosphere.

Note: My 'puter is back. Still running linux until I get Windows reinstalled, but at least I'm up. Unlike my old hard drive . . .

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Running Away

Warning: boring post ahead! Take precautions - consume mass caffeine quantities before reading!!

I have run away from home. After taking the kids to Shrek the Third on Friday, which went surprisingly well, I ran away. Packed a bag and abandoned Spousehole and the kids. Went out to dinner with my little sis and 6-yr-old nephew and stayed at their house that night. Got a great mani/pedi Saturday morning. Spent most of Saturday afternoon with the nephew. I know that seems to defeat my purpose of escaping children, but Sis had surgery for skin cancer on Thursday and needed some peace and quiet. (After a 6 hour surgery, the docs believe they got it all. It's just the 25 stitches in her face and resulting scar that are going to be a problem. She's only 35. Please use sunscreen folks. ).

Now it's Saturday night and nephew and I are staying at my parents' place. Before this weekend, I had spent 2 nights away from both children and husband in the last 7 years. Two nights in seven years. Scary. Have had nights with children gone, but husband still around; have had nights with husband gone, but children still stalking my every move; just no time without one or the other. This is relaxing, except for nephew. Traded one 6-year-old for another.

I'll go home tomorrow. Wonder if they miss me yet?

Also, my computer is in the hospital - it hadn't run well with Windows for about a week, but linux still ran fine. Now, not so much. Husband has the new kick-ass machine, of course, but I'm not allowed to use his precious gaming machine. Won't give me the password or set up even a limited account for me. May be a while before you hear from me again.

Hope to be back soon . . . .

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Happy HNT!

Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday!

Tuesday's "toes" question put me in a mood for footsie!

To paraphrase Jeff Foxworthy, "Naked" is when you ain't got no clothes on; "Nekkid" is when you ain't got no clothes on and you're up to somethin'!

And yes, I know my floor needs refinishing. It's on the agenda for this summer, when we can pack the little ones off to that great undefined place that all Michiganders know called "Up North." Ah, the joys of a 90-yr-old house . . .

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Sex, God, and Sushi

I totally blew off both my family and my book group tonight. Told the book group I had family things to attend to; told Husband I was going to book group and left him with the kids. Took myself out for sushi and hung out at the bookstore. Drove around singing "Better Now" by Collective Soul loudly and off-key. Must have been quite the dorky sight in my mommy-van.

Tonight I re-read a passage in Rob Bell's
Sex God: Exploring the Endless Connections between Sexuality and Spirituality that I found particularly telling. In the book, Bell discusses reclaiming sex for God. That sex is less about procreation and pleasure, though it includes those things, and more about reconnecting with people. That in the Garden of Eden, all were connected but "original sin" disconnected us from God and each other. God reconnected with us by coming to our level, in the form of Jesus. For Bell, sexuality is not just about a physical act, but a reconnection with humanity and a specific human. I make it sound heavier than it is -- the book is actually very readable and I highly recommend it.

Anywhoo, around the middle of the book, Bell is discussing how spouses or SOs should love each other with Agape, selfless love, like God loves all people. Reflecting God in our love of others. I realize that I don't have that in my marriage. Spousehole only loves me if I do what he wants, in the way he wants it done, and at the time he wants it done. Only if I am who he wants me to be, someone I have never been. He sets conditions on his love and sets the bar so high that I can never meet it. He has actually told me that I haven't earned his love. Bell describes agape thusly:

"Agape doesn't love somebody because they're worthy.

Agape makes them worthy by the strength and power of it's love.

Agape doesn't love somebody because they're beautiful.

Agape loves in such a way that it makes them beautiful.

There is a love because, love in order to, love for the purpose of, and then there is love period. Agape doesn't need a reason." Sex God, p 120.

Wow. So not what's happening in my house.

I figured out something else. I know Spousehole's constant criticism of me - bad wife, bad mother, bad Christian, bad overall human being - is in large part a way of making himself feel better about himself; his own self-esteem is in the toilet. That I realized a long time ago. The new realization: I think that, in a way, he does not respect me because I love him. He knows he is not the person he could be and if I love him anyway, I must be weak and deluded. Not that I think he is consciously thinking this through, mind you. But it's kind of like Groucho Marx's old joke about not wanting to join any club that would have the likes of him as a member.

So what am I going to do about it? Not sure yet. That's some thinking for another solo drive. We did the counseling thing for about 6 months in 2005-06 (where I got hooked on Rob Bell's NOOMA series). After all that time, Spousehole admitted that he didn't even take it seriously until the last couple sessions. Frustrating.

Post-script: In the interest of full-disclosure: Rob Bell lives in my town and I've heard him speak several times. I do not attend his church and I don't recommend his books and vids just because I've met the guy and think he is completely adorable. I recommend them because they're thought-provoking and educational and even entertaining.

Shrek a turd! Shrekaturd!

This is all I hear, almost all day, from the 2-yr-old. It's her way of demanding that Mommy drop whatever ridiculous indulgence in which she is engaging (such as laundry, dishes, cooking dinner) and take her to the Shrek the Third website. As the website says, "2 more days and the wait is ogre!" The frickin' movie opens and we'll take the kids to see it. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that we're insane to take a 6-year-old who hates loud sounds and a hyperactive, overcurious 2-year-old to a movie theater. I heartily agree. We'll have earplugs for the Boy, but I really don't know how we'll contain the girl. Husband thinks she'll be totally into the movie and it won't be a problem, but I'm not so confident.

In addition to their ongoing Shrek obsession, my children have also become quite enamored of a little film called "Porco Rosso." Not familiar with it? Me neither, until Husband brought it home recently. It's a Japanese anime, set in WWI-era Italy, with English language tracks dubbed by Michael Keaton, Brad Garrett, Kimberly Williams (before she added -Paisley), and David Ogden Stiers. The title translates to "Crimson Pig." It's not horrible or anything, I'm just sick to death of it. And I hate those exaggerated huge eyes all anime females have. Like some sort of "Precious Moments" figurine gone horribly wrong. (I hate, hate, HATE Precious Moments. Hummels too. If that's your thing, more power to ya, but I hate 'em.) And don't even get me started on the pornographic anime. I have no problem with porn, generally, but cartoon sex between cartoon humans and anatomically-correct cartoon androids - squick! That and anime women's bodies are worse than Barbie - no real human exists with those proportions. There's no way their tiny little 10" waists could support the would-have-to weigh-more-than-their-heads (each) EEE breasts they're sporting. Then again, very few real women look like the chicks in real human porn, either. Unless those implants are filled with helium, how do they not ruin their backs? Ah, well, c'est la vie.

So, if you are at a movie theater on Friday afternoon and see a family with two kids yelling "Shrek a turd!" and two frustrated-beyond-belief parents, please be kind. And if you have alcohol stashed in your bag, share. Please.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

TMI Tuesday!

1. Have you ever used foods in your sexual activities (ie; whipped cream, syrup, popsicles) and how did you use them?

Yes. Honey drizzled on the tingly parts and licked off; popsicles (suck the popsicle, suck "something else," and so on . . . ); Altoids (a really interesting sensation to have an Altoids in the mouth of the person providing oral pleasure to the other - try it!)

2. If your SO asked you to get them off using only your toes - would you do it and how?

I would, but he would never ask. I gave a "foot job" once. It was strange. And I would never, ever, want something like this done for me. I have a significant foot aversion.

3. Would you ever participate in an orgy? Have you?

I would. Don't think any of my experiences count as an orgy, though. Been in situations with multiple couples in the same room, but there was no trading of partners or anything. More of a voyeuristic thing, couples watching other couples when not doing their own thing. Two guys and me - not really an orgy, just a threesome.

4. What can a lover do to turn you on instantly?

Just whisper in my ear, "I want you." That's really all it takes.

5. Describe your favorite piece of lingerie or undergarments on yourself or your mate. (PICS PLEASE!!!)

On me, a silky red nightie. Or the green one. Or the blue one. I can't pick a favorite! On the husband, his green silky boxers or any boxer briefs. See "Ode to Boxer Briefs," below.

No pics, sorry!

Bonus (as in optional): Describe the best orgasm you've ever had. ;) Wow, hard to categorize. It was probably many years ago. K. and I had had marathon sex and I was fast asleep. About 5 a.m. I awoke to find K. stimulating me. Gently caressing, licking, sucking. I pretended to still be asleep as he continued his tender ministrations. It was a long, slow build-up to waves of pleasure rippling through my entire body. I had no sense of time or place, just the wonderful awareness of how K. made me feel. It's never been better than it was with K.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day to everyone in the blogosphere and beyond! Hope it was all you expected. And no, the flowers were not from Spousehole (he got me a card, though). The flowers were, theoretically, from my children (my father got them). Don't they look lovely on my overcluttered mantel?

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Slacker Moms: Unite!

Slacker moms are fighting back against Alphas. People think I must be an Alpha because I have a child with special needs. Like that qualifies me for freaking sainthood. Nope, I just do what I have to for my child. If you ever saw my house (right now the living room looks like an F5 swept through), you'd know I'm a total slacker. We slacker moms have to stick together! I tried to be an Alpha Mom, but I'm totally a Beta. How about you?

Re: my last post
You know not to drink and drive. You may have learned the hard way not to drink and dial (as have I). Now, take my advice: Do not booze and blog. :)

Friday, May 11, 2007

Tips for Husbands

  1. Do not tell your wife, in the middle of an argument, that you love someone else (L.), have loved L. since before you met your wife, and will always love L., and, by the way, you never really loved your wife. Even if it's true, don't say it out loud. It's cruel and will haunt your wife forever. Even if it's not true.

  2. If you've already said it, tell your wife it isn't true. Even if it is. Tell her that you were angry and just trying to hurt her (because you know that's true). And fucking apologize already.

  3. Do not constantly enumerate the ways this perfect, saintly woman is better than your wife. If you do, do not be surprised if wife agrees that L. is clearly quite smart, since she had the good sense not to date, much less marry, you. Do not be surprised if wife also points out that L. almost never initiates contact with you; you are still the one chasing after her, 20 years later. Wife may also point out that L. couldn't be bothered to attend your wedding, despite you having driven 14 hours in bad weather to attend hers.

  4. Do not treat this other woman far better than you ever treat your wife. Do not, for instance, tell your wife two weeks before Mother's Day that you got a Mother's Day card for L. because you want to honor her, as she is currently pregnant with her second child. After spewing this little tidbit, do not fail to give your wife, who just gave birth to your second child, a card (or anything at all) ,saying you just didn't think of it. She will remember, vividly, your buying a card two weeks earlier for L. and be incredibly hurt that you remembered L., but not the mother of your own children. She will be even more hurt if you fail to give her a card or gift for the next two Mother's Days, but still send a card to L. each year.

  5. When L. emails you to say that her father (a man you met 2 or 3 times) has died and to please pray for his soul, do not take that as a urgent request to leave your wife and children (with a couple hours notice) on Mother's Day weekend to drive 9 hours to be with her. I'm guessing that, with a husband she adores, 2 children, a mother, 8 siblings, and tons of other relatives, she has plenty of people to comfort her.

I'm just saying.

Thursday, May 10, 2007


It's been so long. Tonight, I don't want to be parents, friends, roommates – I want to be lovers. Shut everything out and just enjoy each other as a man and a woman. We agree to meet downtown for drinks. A couple margaritas for me, a Killian's for you. We snack on some appetizers, knowing we'll have a real dinner later. Much later, if all goes well. We chat about superficial things: hockey, movies, local gossip. All the while, my stocking-clad foot caresses your lower leg and you can't take your eyes off my breasts. You say you want to go now. I agree. I head toward my car, but you say no and flash me a hotel key card. I smile; you've been thinking about this too.

A short walk to the hotel. You start unbuttoning my blouse in the elevator, security camera be damned. I haven't seen you this anxious in years. In the room, you kiss me and lay me down on the bed. You undress me. Slowly. Carefully. Caressing, kissing, stroking my long, dark hair. I'm wearing stockings with garters and no panties; you don't say anything, but the bulge straining against your slacks tells me you're pleased. You leave the stockings and garters on. I'm entranced, watching you unknot and remove your tie and take off your shirt. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something incredibly sexy about a man taking off his tie. You lie down on the bed with me, kissing my neck, running your hand through my hair. You caress my creamy white breasts. You tease and pinch my nipples till they're rock-hard. Meanwhile, I've undone your belt and pants and have my hand on your gorgeous cock. I try to move your hand between my legs, but you tell me no. I look in your eyes and plead lustfully; I need your touch. I'm almost crazed in my desperation.

You kiss me and whisper in my ear, “Touch yourself. I want to watch you please yourself.” My head swirling with desire, I comply. My fingertips glide over my freshly shaved mound and down to my lips. I part them and begin slowly circling my clit with my middle finger. My other hand is in your pants, massaging your shaft, lubricated with your copious precum. I love holding you in my left hand as I please myself with the right. It doesn't take long. I increase the pressure and rub myself faster, my breathing heavy. I'm right at the edge, but I need your help. “Fingers. Please. Now.” I beg. You know exactly what I want. You plunge two fingers into my hot wetness, then three. Your fingers pump in and out. My own finger grinds against my clit. I start moaning, groaning, unable to keep quiet. My legs tense, my back arches. And it comes. Release, sweet release.

It's your turn. I take your pants and underwear all the way off and ask you to sit up. Your back is against the headboard as I mount you. You feel incredible inside me. I love how you fill me up. I love feeling my muscles clamp down around you. I love everything about this. I keep changing the pace – fast, glacially slow, somewhere in the middle – trying to find what works for you tonight. Your breathing is heavy and you seem to be enjoying this, but not as much as I would like. “Tell me what you want,” I whisper, “Tell me what will please you.” “Cum again” is your breathless reply. As you wish, Sir. I stay on you, moving at a pace that suits me, grinding myself into you. I'm almost there when you pinch my nipples. Hard. That's all it takes. I'm panting, moaning into your ear, cumming, begging you to fuck me now. I want you to cum for me.

You turn me onto my hands and knees and plunge into me from behind. Stroking. Grinding. Slamming my face into the mattress. This is what I have been waiting for. Nothing works for me more than you taking your pleasure from me. Using me to satisfy your own desires. You gather my hair in your hands, twisting it like a rope. Pulling it as you thrust, sending me into orbit again. I can barely hold myself up as my legs tremble, the pillows muffling my moans of pleasure. Finally, you thrust into me as far as you can and I feel your cock pulsing as you fill me with your cum. You collapse onto my back with a shudder, whispering “I love you.” You fall asleep in my arms. We are spent. We are at peace. We are reconnected.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Just Rambling

Bumper sticker I enjoyed:
If you're going to ride my ass like that, the least you could do is pull my hair.

I haven't lost my mind, I sold it on Ebay.

Movie trailer quip:
I know he's a jerk and everything, but I gotta admit: that Charming makes me hotter than July.
(Doris the Ugly Stepsister, Shrek 3; voiced by Larry King)

Story of my life, Doris, story of my life.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Bitch, gripe, and moan (and not in a good way)

Hot Pierced Guy at the Gas Station: I've always thought you were kind of hot, even though piercings aren't usually my thing. But it tells me you can handle pain and sometimes that's a good thing. You get my sly, esoteric jokes and I love that. But you ruined it for me today. I came in wearing my “I voted” sticker. You saw it and said “ There's an election today? What are we voting on today?” Arrggh! Not informed on issues of the day – the kiss of death! You almost redeemed it by saying “I'll have to read the ballot closely when I head over there.” So at least you're going to vote, now that you know there's an election. Still, your hotness level dropped considerably.

HPGatGS's Cute Bi Co-Worker: You too have ruined it for me. I had fantasies of you joining the husband and me and you introducing him to pleasures heretofore unknown. But you were on your break when I arrived today and you were outside smoking. Smoking! Nothing I hate more. Oh well. Husband would never have gone for it anyway.

UPS: Where the hell are you people? Your robot calls and says that Husband's package (new kick-ass dual-core machine) is coming today and someone needs to be home to sign for it. That was 8:00 this morning. It's 4:00 now and I've been trapped here almost all day (had the neighbor watch for you while I voted – you didn't come then). Couldn't take the kids to the park, couldn't go to the grocery store, couldn't even take the Girl for a “go-sleepy drive.” Your driver had better be male, cute, and wearing the shorts. For lonely housewives, it's all about the brown shorts.

Girl: What the hell is your problem today? I tell you there is no “blue” of the snack you want. I show you there is red and there is orange, but no blue. You persist in asking for blue. There is no freakin' blue! Never has been, never will be! It's red or orange! Those are your choices! Deal with it! Bite me one more time and that “no spanking” pledge is history. History, I tell you! Dumping your chocolate soy milk on the living room floor while you gave me the “What are you to do about it?” look? I'm preparing the Craig's List post “2-yr-old for sale” right now.

Boy: Stop torturing your sister. That's really all I've got for you. So, stop it!

Husband: I always have a list for you, don't I? “Love” you for ordering a package that requires me to stay home to sign for it. Next time, take the day off work; YOU wait around all flippin' day. Or waive the freakin' signature. I know it cost a small fortune, but whatever. And that small fortune, by the way, it would have been nice to know you were spending before it was a done deal.

Self: Stop getting so pissed off about every little thing! They're kids, they do dumb stuff. Deal with it. UPS is never reliable; again, deal. The others - they're men. They're unreliable and they do dumb stuff. Chill, have a small drink, grill something dead and red, and roll with it.

Okay, I feel better now.

Monday, May 7, 2007

New windows, a dinner party, and I got laid - a good weekend. Did I mention I got laid?

The weekend went much better than expected. Sure, the in-laws were hanging around on Friday and Saturday, Girl was a pain in everyone's ass as we replaced all the basement windows, Girl bit Boy and made him cry, and we had to beg for a babysitter for a dinner party Sunday night. But overall, it was good. How could it be good, you ask? That's right - you've guessed it - I got laid. First time in nine months. And with my husband, no less. I put the kids to bed Saturday night and went downstairs to clean up a little. He was at the computer (there's a shock), playing around with an astronomy program. As I filled the dishwasher, I thought about the usual routine: I go to bed alone, he plays a game, then he jerks off to internet porn. I decided to change things up a little. I feigned interest in his astronomy program for a while and finally just leaned in and kissed him. To my great shock, he kissed me back like he meant it. Only problem was that the kids were asleep in our bed. We ended up on the couch like a couple of horny teenagers. And he didn't make me feel bad for being a wanton, lustful slut. He just rolled with it and even seemed to enjoy it, putting aside his prudish, holier-than-thou bullshit of the last couple years.

I'm starting to realize Husband's age. He's only a little older than me, but sometimes it's enough to make a difference. Since having the vasectomy and entering his 40s, things don't get as firm as they used to and don't always stay even that firm. He also takes much longer to climax, even when it's just him and his left hand. You'd think that would be a good thing for me, but not always. After 2, 3, or maybe 4 orgasms, I'm ready to get it over with. Sometimes we girls just want to go to sleep aftwards too! But I'm not complaining, not really.

Girl is becoming a little too 2. Is there a boarding school for toddlers, where you can send them away for the terrible twos and bring them home when they hit 3.5 and start mellowing out? This one is driving me crazy. She wants her way constantly and isn't afraid to hit or bite when she doesn't get it. We put her in time-out, but then she cries like we've beaten her black-and-blue. Our little drama queen. Makes you realize why God made toddlers so cute - so you don't kill them. Other times she is the cutest, sweetest, smartest, prettiest little girl ever in the history of the universe. Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde.

The dinner party we went to on Sunday evening was interesting. Still in my thirties, I was the youngest person there. There was a retired police chief and his stay-at-home wife, a psychologist, a hairdresser, a retired mainframe guy, a retired teacher, a child care worker, a widowed social butterfly, and Husband and me. We went out on our hosts' boat for a tour of their lake; very nice. Took the Cabernet with us; very nice. Since mainframe guy is retired from Husband's place of employment, Fantasy Revenge Fuck guy's name came up. Again. (And men claim they don't gossip.) I swear, Husband hadn't mentioned him in ages. I post about this guy being my Fantasy Revenge Fuck because of Husband's enduring hatred of him and since then he's come up twice. Very weird.

Did I mention I got laid?

Friday, May 4, 2007

Interesting news item

U.S. spouses cheat like the French, but feel worse

Interesting. Perhaps we all need a visit with Melanie.

Ode to Boxer Briefs

Boxers: kinda sexy. Tighty-whiteys: not so much. Colored briefs; a little better than white. Boxer briefs: oh, baby! What is it about boxer briefs? Is it the way they package the, uh, package? Briefs are a little too functional, a little too TMI in some cases. Really TMI? Man thongs. Just don't go there, guys. Boxers are cool, but there is the flop-out factor that isn't always sexy. Boxer briefs, on the other hand, bring it all. Kind of like a push-up bra for guys. Taking them off your man is like unwrapping the most amazing present. I bought some for my husband a while back. He hates them. Seriously. Won't wear boxers either. Nope. Only wears the colored briefs if nothing else is clean. That's right; I'm a boxer brief girl married to a tighty-whitey man. Lord help me. I've tried to break him of this for many years now. I call 'em his man-panties, I point out that tighty-whiteys are what both our dads wear, I make him look at how he doesn't have man-panty lines on his gorgeous round ass when he wears the boxer briefs under dress pants. Nothing. The tighty-whiteys still rule the day. **SIGH**

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Grocery Thursday

Well, it's Thursday. Grocery shopping day. B--o--r--i--n--g. I've just been to the bank and am on the way to the store. Traffic is nearly at a standstill because of construction. Michigan has two seasons: winter and road construction. My mind wanders to my latest fantasy . . .

It's about 7:00 on a Wednesday evening. I'm driving to a motel I've never been to, trying to remember what Mapquest said, since I didn't print it out. My husband is home with the kids. I've told him I'm meeting a friend from my book group. “He better not look like anyone in my book group,” I laugh to myself. My heart is pounding and my hands are shaking. I have never talked with this man, only exchanged a few emails. I don't even know what he looks like, since the picture I've seen isn't exactly of his face. I just got his text-message: Room 126. I can't believe I'm really doing this.

I pull into the parking lot and take a bottle of tequila out of my bag. A couple quick swigs and I'm on my way. I approach Room 126. “Last chance to change your mind, 'Randi'.” I hush my nagging conscience and knock on the door. He opens it immediately, almost too fast. We just look each other up and down. He's no model, but neither am I. Not even close. I can see that hungry look in his eyes, the same hunger I'm feeling. I step in and he closes the door. Before I can put my bag down, he starts kissing me. I drop my bag as his hand moves up my shirt. As he cups my breast, he starts kissing my neck, almost instantly finding that spot that sets all my nerves on fire. I'm already starting to feel swept away into that sexual intoxication I've so missed.

I unbutton his shirt as he unbuttons mine. I've just got a camisole on and he's pulled that down to kiss my breasts. His light razor stubble feels amazing against my skin. As he rubs my nipple between his rough fingers, his other hand has found its way up my skirt. He pushes past my panties and soon he's got two fingers inside me as his thumb rubs my swollen clit. He's lightly pinching my nipple with his teeth and that's about enough to send me over the edge. I nudge him toward the bed and he roughly tosses me down onto my back. He pulls my skirt and panties off and lies down between my legs. I feel his hot breath on my labia. “You smell like heaven,” he says, and I realize it's the first time I've heard his voice. I like it. As he dives in, I also realize this is the first time I've felt a man's mouth between my legs in over 10 years. My husband is such a prude! He uses his hand to part my labia, pausing to lick and suck each side before turning his attention to my throbbing clit. I want it so bad I can't help but thrust my hips into his face. He teases me, touching me with his tongue, then taking it away. I can hardly stand it. Then he plunges his fingers inside me and sucks my clit so hard I gasp. Pumping his fingers in and out, flicking his tongue against my clit, I can't take anymore. The orgasm starts in my groin and spreads down my legs before overwhelming my entire body. I bite my knuckle to keep from screaming.

All I can think about now is having this man inside me. I sit up and roll him onto his back, realizing as I do so that he still has pants on. This will not do. I unbuckle his belt as I kiss my way down from his neck to his waistband. I unzip his jeans and start to pull them down. I stop briefly at the sight of his cock straining against his red boxers. Those pants can't come off fast enough. I return my mouth to where it left off, right below his navel. I nuzzle him with my nose, taking in his musky scent. I move down between his legs and take one testicle into my mouth, oh so gently. Since it's not nice to play favorites, I do the same to the other. Then i slowly lick my up to the head of his gorgeous 7-incher. Holding the base in my clenched hand, I take his pulsing cock into my mouth a few inches and pull away. A little deeper this time, and away again. Then as far down my throat as I can. As I slowly pull away, my lip-covered teeth press against him. He tastes wonderful. I go in for more, but he just says no and pulls me toward him. His kiss tastes like me and I love it. I reach for a condom on the bedside table. The anticipation builds for us both as I roll the condom down his rock-hard manhood. Before I know what's happening, he's on top of me and has buried his cock into me. I want it deeper and put my ankles over his shoulders so he can go balls-deep. The feeling of his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust is fabulous. I love it, but I almost never cum this way, so I pull away, turn over, and get on my knees. He's right with me and enters me from the rear without missing a beat. I can rub my clit while he thrusts in and out with abandon. I start moaning as he picks up the pace. Just as --

Damn! We're at the grocery store. Back to the boring old life of a housewife.

P.S. Thanks to "semi-celibate man" for the red boxers imagery. It's "hard" to get out of my mind. You've got it going on, baby.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Happy Anniversary . . . whatever

It's May 1, our 8th wedding anniversary. I know he remembered this year, because last night he dropped the kids and me off at the Y while he went shopping for a gift. I realize he waited until the last possible minute, but at least he is getting me a gift. I thought he was just going to say that his recent 2nd post-vasectomy "all-clear" test result was my gift. It will be the first time in a few years that he's gotten me a gift. He even got me a gift for Valentine's Day this year and that has never happened before. Of course, I haven't gotten him a gift for our anniversary, but this is because he hides all our money from me. Seriously. He has a separate account and whenever we get a decent amount of money built up in our joint account, he moves most of it to his private account. A couple months ago we had a few thousand in our savings, then one day I noticed we only had $50. I asked "WtF?" and he said he moved it to his "secure" savings. Asshole. I guess he figures I can't leave him if I don't have any cash.

I am so sore today. (Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.) Worked it a little too hard at the Y last night. Couldn't even follow up with a soak in the hot tub. There was lightning, so they closed the pool and the hot tub. They also closed the steam room and that makes no sense to me. Have lightning strikes in steam rooms become a big problem? Whatever.

I'm thinking back to our first anniversary, seven years ago. Boy, we couldn't get enough of each other back then. We took a trip to the U.P. and had sex at least once each day of the trip. That's when we conceived Boy. We had been told that I couldn't have kids, but still I was on the pill to regulate my periods. We blame a hotel in Traverse City for our getting pregnant. They had pink sheets and blue blankets on the bed. We should clearly have seen that as a sign and not made love both before and after dinner on that bed. Though I suppose it could have happened in the hot tub in our room in St. Ignace. Or the woods by Tahquamenon Falls. Still, we like to think it was the pink sheets and blue blankets. We even recommended that hotel to a couple from church trying, without luck, to conceive. (I've found our infertile friends really hate to hear that both our kids were "accidents." They work their asses off to conceive and get nothing; we don't even try and end up with two beautiful ones.)

A note re: my previous post about my Fantasy Revenge Fuck: Strangely, spouse brought this person up last night. Freaked me out, like he was reading this blog or something. He was telling me that his boss told him that he got a letter from FRD's wife saying that what happened was a tragedy for their whole family but they are trying to work through it together, etc. Spouse was appalled and disgusted that FRD's wife would even consider taking him back. When I was in college, I interned in a social work setting. We had an "intensive" program that had the goal of reuniting families in which sexual abuse had taken place. It can happen, but I can't help but think of the wives in those situations as being weak. It's like they are choosing a man over their child and no man is worth that to me. Those families got lots and lots of therapy and some seemed happy. Others, not so much. I don't know how you could ever rebuild the trust.