Peter, Peter, pumpkin eaterhad a wife and couldn't keep her;
put her in a pumpkin shell
there he kept her very well!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
GLORY PARTY AT FRAT HOUSE
If you've been reading this blog, you'll know about Patricia. She was the most sexually complex girl I ever knew; there is a fine line between carefree and careless.
Patricia grew up in Oregon and went to the state school where she joined a sorority. I had been one of those students who never joined the Greek system. Paying my way through school, I was going from class to part-time job, and then back to the dorm to study for tests. Work hard, get good grades. That was college for me. For Patricia, it was an endless series of parties. If I was too far to one side on the academic, she was to the other extreme of party til you puke.
Obviously, not every frat boy or girl is at college just to party. I'm not making a cliche generalization about tens of thousands of students in the US. But it does go without saying that frat houses at particular state schools have a deep history of downright party debauchery. A lot of people know about the keggers with giant bubble machines, the jello or mud wrestling, naked pool parties.
For someone who'd never been inside the system, it was sort of like the Free Masons--you assumed things were normal, but never really knew the depths of the secret rites, rituals, and initiations.
Apparently, one frat house had bored holes in one of the walls between a bedroom and one of the public rooms, said Patricia. When parties really got going, frat brothers would go to the room and put their cocks through the holes. Drunk sorority chicks would service them on the other side. It became a badge of courage, bragging rights. For some sororities, it became a form of initiation.
I knew all about "Girls Gone Wild," and some of the dares the college girls would do, but to actually have glory holes in a frat house? I wasn't going to fall for another Patricia lie. But she pulled out her old laptop and after sorting through folders, she showed me a snapshot. It was exactly as she described: the sorority chicks with party bracelets on their wrists, the half-empty keg cups scattered. That's Amiee and Lindsey, two sorority sisters, Patricia pointed out. There were both in their bras, and were inspecting a hard cock protruding through a hole in the wall. See? said Patricia. She loved to be right.
I had heard Patricia talk about Amiee. She was two years older than Patricia and was her appointed older sister of the sorority. I knew she'd played some role in the "initiation" of Patricia into the sorority. I asked Patricia if she'd been initiated on the wall. No, of course not, she said, in the high-pitched voice she used when she was flirting or lying.
It was hard for me to imagine her story was actually true. But she had the photo to prove it. What I didn't know and questioned, was to what extent Patricia had participated in this frat house tradition. I knew that if she had one photo, she probably had another. A few days later, when she was gone, I snooped around until I found her old laptop. It had an old version of Windows on it, the kind we used in college with the single password at the start up. I thought for a while, and then simply typed in the name of her childhood cat. Seriously, it worked.
There's always a danger in snooping. You have to be ready for what you may uncover. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I found what I had feared. There was an image of Patricia on her knees in front of the wall. The camera flash seems to have caught her unaware. She wears her white blouse and black skirt--an outfit she still wears to go out to dinner and dates with me. She wasn't lying about the wall, but she was lying about her participation. As long as I've known her, she's been an eager initiator of oral sex. She loves to have my cock in her mouth, and apparently, stranger's cocks, too. I really should have known, but still, it was a shock. I closed the laptop and promised I'd never snoop again. But of course it was too late. Never again would I be able to feel her mouth on my cock without thinking of the frat house wall.
If you've been reading this blog, you'll know about Patricia. She was the most sexually complex girl I ever knew; there is a fine line between carefree and careless.
Patricia grew up in Oregon and went to the state school where she joined a sorority. I had been one of those students who never joined the Greek system. Paying my way through school, I was going from class to part-time job, and then back to the dorm to study for tests. Work hard, get good grades. That was college for me. For Patricia, it was an endless series of parties. If I was too far to one side on the academic, she was to the other extreme of party til you puke.
Obviously, not every frat boy or girl is at college just to party. I'm not making a cliche generalization about tens of thousands of students in the US. But it does go without saying that frat houses at particular state schools have a deep history of downright party debauchery. A lot of people know about the keggers with giant bubble machines, the jello or mud wrestling, naked pool parties.
For someone who'd never been inside the system, it was sort of like the Free Masons--you assumed things were normal, but never really knew the depths of the secret rites, rituals, and initiations.
Apparently, one frat house had bored holes in one of the walls between a bedroom and one of the public rooms, said Patricia. When parties really got going, frat brothers would go to the room and put their cocks through the holes. Drunk sorority chicks would service them on the other side. It became a badge of courage, bragging rights. For some sororities, it became a form of initiation.
I knew all about "Girls Gone Wild," and some of the dares the college girls would do, but to actually have glory holes in a frat house? I wasn't going to fall for another Patricia lie. But she pulled out her old laptop and after sorting through folders, she showed me a snapshot. It was exactly as she described: the sorority chicks with party bracelets on their wrists, the half-empty keg cups scattered. That's Amiee and Lindsey, two sorority sisters, Patricia pointed out. There were both in their bras, and were inspecting a hard cock protruding through a hole in the wall. See? said Patricia. She loved to be right.
I had heard Patricia talk about Amiee. She was two years older than Patricia and was her appointed older sister of the sorority. I knew she'd played some role in the "initiation" of Patricia into the sorority. I asked Patricia if she'd been initiated on the wall. No, of course not, she said, in the high-pitched voice she used when she was flirting or lying.
It was hard for me to imagine her story was actually true. But she had the photo to prove it. What I didn't know and questioned, was to what extent Patricia had participated in this frat house tradition. I knew that if she had one photo, she probably had another. A few days later, when she was gone, I snooped around until I found her old laptop. It had an old version of Windows on it, the kind we used in college with the single password at the start up. I thought for a while, and then simply typed in the name of her childhood cat. Seriously, it worked.
There's always a danger in snooping. You have to be ready for what you may uncover. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I found what I had feared. There was an image of Patricia on her knees in front of the wall. The camera flash seems to have caught her unaware. She wears her white blouse and black skirt--an outfit she still wears to go out to dinner and dates with me. She wasn't lying about the wall, but she was lying about her participation. As long as I've known her, she's been an eager initiator of oral sex. She loves to have my cock in her mouth, and apparently, stranger's cocks, too. I really should have known, but still, it was a shock. I closed the laptop and promised I'd never snoop again. But of course it was too late. Never again would I be able to feel her mouth on my cock without thinking of the frat house wall.
MEMORIAL DAY CONCERT
It was hot and sunny Memorial Day. Debbie and Mike went to a concert to rock out. They drank warm flat beer in plastic cups that cost too much, but fuckin'A, they rocked just like they did when they were 21. After the third band, they were pretty wasted. They passed out on the grass. Debbie, who hadn't worn a bra, didn't notice that her boob had slipped out of her tank-top. Plenty of folks walked past, nearly tripped over the sleeping couple, middle aged men and teens alike gawked at her hooter hanging out. Rock and roll.
It was hot and sunny Memorial Day. Debbie and Mike went to a concert to rock out. They drank warm flat beer in plastic cups that cost too much, but fuckin'A, they rocked just like they did when they were 21. After the third band, they were pretty wasted. They passed out on the grass. Debbie, who hadn't worn a bra, didn't notice that her boob had slipped out of her tank-top. Plenty of folks walked past, nearly tripped over the sleeping couple, middle aged men and teens alike gawked at her hooter hanging out. Rock and roll.
Friday, May 22, 2009
THE COMIC BOOK INCIDENT
Of the girls I've known, Patricia was the most sexually complex. You could say she was both sexually generous and dangerous. She was very open about her body and its sexual power, which was beautiful, and in some ways a positive example. On the other hand, her actions were without consideration of any consequence. She seemed to leave a trail of wreckage behind her, too.
Once, she told me she'd been babysitting for a neighbor's kid. "He's a precocious and horny little brat," she said. Not thinking much of her comment, I asked what she meant. "Well, just the other day, we were hanging out, looking at his comic book collection and he said since he showed me something, I should show him something. I asked him what, and he said he wanted to know why I had bumps on my chest."
I should stop her story here and point out that Patricia had a sense of her body and it's physical presence. She was not short nor tall, but medium. Her breasts were not larger nor small. Perfectly medium. Her hair was straight, naturally mousey brown, but died various incarnations of bright red. All together, she could have very easily been a girl that was considered fine looking, but "nothing special." Yet, she seemed to radiate a very physical sexual energy, enhanced by wearing short skirts, short shorts. She'd wear tall socks or leggings that seemed to draw attention to her legs, and tight tank tops that hugged her breasts. Without a bra, one could clearly see the outline of her two nipple piercings.
That detail of her outfit was what apparently caught the attention of her young charge. According to her story, the kid wanted to see her without her top. Patricia, knowing that sex equals power, agreed. She bartered that if she did show him her breasts he'd have to always behave, always go to bed when she said, and never question her rules. He sheepishly agreed. "And besides," she said to him sternly, "if you don't, I'll tell your mother." Of course, the threat was a bluff. She'd never tell the mother, but she knew that the kid would do anything to avoid parental trouble."So I showed the brat my tits," she said. She seemed to be bragging. Clearly, exposing herself to a minor was illegal as hell. She could get fired, or worse, suspended or expelled form school, and even jailed or fined if the parents pressed charges.
Part of me was aroused by the idea of her peeling off her top. When I was the kid's age, it was clearly a fantasy come true. The baby sitter showing an adolescent boy what he so desperately wanted to see. It was so wrong, and yet so part of human nature and coming of age, it also had a sense of being normal--almost special and kind. It was, like Patricia, complex and wrought with contradictions.
To be honest, I am nearly positive she was totally lying. She made up stories and said things just for shock value. I don't doubt she wore a tank top while babysitting, or that she wasn't wearing a bra, or even that the kid noticed the outline of her piercings. I don't doubt they were reading comic books. Did she flash him? Did she actually take off her top? I doubt it. No one else would. Then again, Patricia was like no one else.FACEBOOK THIS
The girls wanted to take a self-portrait. "Wouldn't it be funny if we were all topless, but not?" suggested Katy. They agreed.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
WEEKEND PROJECTS
How lovely are we when unaware of the camera. Alone in mid-project, ironing, or vacuuming, or... building a bookshelf? Domestic tools or power tools, it's the same. Sexy!
THE FIRST SHAVE
When I think of Jennifer, I think of our shaving sessions. Today, it's more common for women to shave than not shave. Even middle-aged housewives are likely to have bare lips. Blame it on the internet, or on porn, or just on the fact that social trends come and go. For whatever reason, prior to the mid-90s, none of the women I had ever seen shaved more than their bikini line. Movies, Playboys...all pop culture showed women with thick, triangular patches of pubes.So of course, human nature is to always want the opposite of what you already have. Girls curl their normally straight hair, or straighten their curls, blondes become brunettes, brunettes become blondes. So it goes.
In those days, when a full bush was the norm, any shaving between the legs was not only rare--it was unheard of. Linda Lovelace was shaven in Deep Throat. But very few of my friends had only heard of the movie. None of us had actually seen a bald pussy.
Looking back, I can't even recall how I talked Jennifer into shaving. It was such an unusual request that she didn't want to do it herself. She wasn't sure she could shave that delicate area herself without nick. Can you imagine that today? Today, I don't think you could find a woman who doesn't take a razor between her legs on a regular basis. Back then, it was charting new territory. And as such, it became a big production.
It involved laying out a towel. Getting the creme and razor and a bowl with warm water. I'd start with scissors and trim the thick briar of curls down to a stubbled patch, stumps of a clearcut. I'd lather her lips, then carefully glide the razor over. I was concentrating so hard that there was no time to get aroused. But when we were done, wiped off the last of the creme and loose hairs, I coudl look at my handy work.
The sight of smooth pussy lips for the first time was amazing. I was instantly hard and ready to take my girlfriend.
"I want to see," said Jennifer. "Take a picture. Let's document this."
So we did.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
OFFICE PARTY AND THE POLITICS OF POWER
They were at the annual office party. She had worn stockings and a back dress. There was an open bar, and they made good use of it. Giddy, they slipped away from the party. They snuck into the storeroom and found a private spot among the stacks of boxes. He helped her out of her dress. It fell off easily. She hadn't worn a bra because she didn't want the straps to show. She hadn't worn panties, either, because she hated panty lines to mar her LBD.
He was both shocked and impressed. She could see the look on his face. Sitting on a box, she gave him a full view to take in, eyes wide, mouth agog. She wasn't just letting her exhibitionist side out--although the alcohol helped make that easy. She did like to be stared at by all the men in the office, she liked their eyes. There was power in having them get frustrated and horny and awkward around her and they couldn't do anything about it. But tonight she decided that she'd pick who she wanted and what she wanted him to do to her. Her mark was a VP. He was married, and that made him safe. He wasn't going to turn into a stalker, just an adoring and grateful lover. When she let him.
She sat on the box and opened her legs, not only to give him a good look, but to set the direction for what was to come next. Still dressed in his suit, he'd kneel before her, place his eager mouth on her wet and waiting lips. He'd lick her to her pleasure. It'd been too long and it was exactly what she wanted. She would get what she wanted.
They were at the annual office party. She had worn stockings and a back dress. There was an open bar, and they made good use of it. Giddy, they slipped away from the party. They snuck into the storeroom and found a private spot among the stacks of boxes. He helped her out of her dress. It fell off easily. She hadn't worn a bra because she didn't want the straps to show. She hadn't worn panties, either, because she hated panty lines to mar her LBD.
He was both shocked and impressed. She could see the look on his face. Sitting on a box, she gave him a full view to take in, eyes wide, mouth agog. She wasn't just letting her exhibitionist side out--although the alcohol helped make that easy. She did like to be stared at by all the men in the office, she liked their eyes. There was power in having them get frustrated and horny and awkward around her and they couldn't do anything about it. But tonight she decided that she'd pick who she wanted and what she wanted him to do to her. Her mark was a VP. He was married, and that made him safe. He wasn't going to turn into a stalker, just an adoring and grateful lover. When she let him.
She sat on the box and opened her legs, not only to give him a good look, but to set the direction for what was to come next. Still dressed in his suit, he'd kneel before her, place his eager mouth on her wet and waiting lips. He'd lick her to her pleasure. It'd been too long and it was exactly what she wanted. She would get what she wanted.
BIKE NAKED PREP
This is sort of a fun picture. We've posted several lovely images from World Naked Bike Ride and other outdoor rallies where naked protesters adorn their bodies with colorful paint. Ever wonder what it looks like as these wild rebels prep? A lot of paint, and a little liquid courage. Cheers!
This is sort of a fun picture. We've posted several lovely images from World Naked Bike Ride and other outdoor rallies where naked protesters adorn their bodies with colorful paint. Ever wonder what it looks like as these wild rebels prep? A lot of paint, and a little liquid courage. Cheers!
Friday, May 15, 2009
POWELLS
One of my favorite places to go is a bookstore downtown. I love wandering the aisles of books. For some reason, the women are extra sexy in bookstores. Smart women are always sexy, and women surrounded by books, very sexy. Many are on break from downtown jobs, and wear black skirts and blouses. As they walk, as they reach for books, you can't help but notice. In the coffee shop, as I read, I turned and noticed a beautiful blonde reading a couple chairs away from me. The angle was just perfect. As she slumped slightly forward, engrossed in her book, her blouse opened just enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
