flirting to fucking

I had fun with Rob yesterday. I got to hang out on his leather couch and (pretend to) read while he puttered around the house. I miss the days I used to spend just lounging at his house, something I used to do before Christie decided to live with me full-time.

We used to spend whole afternoons cooking and drinking wine together. We'd have a pizza from scratch day or homemade chicken soup day or just plain naked chef day. Once he moved his bed into the livingroom and we watched football in bed, interspersed with sex, the entire afternoon.

So yesterday I watched him doing his housework and stuff from across the room instead of the usual face-to-face thing. It felt good, kind of like I was living there, and I wondered if this is what it would actually be like. At one point he caught me watching him do dishes. His blue eyes met mine and sparkled. Mmmmm. I wanted to devour him.

Eventually he joined me on the couch and opened a bottle of merlot. Alcohol has been good for us, especially me. It leads to uninhibited conversation, something that's not completely natural and comfortable for me. (surprised?) He gives me a drink to see what's lurking inside... or when he knows I have something on my mind that I'm reluctant to bring up.

Our conversation wandered from our kids and their antics to how we might like to tour the US in a mobile home when we're retired. Nope, not a very sexy conversation, but the fact that we had fun talking and drinking together heightened my anticipation of bedtime.

By the time we crawled into bed together Rob was feeling pretty mellow. I was going to let him drift off to sleep, but the position he chose, curled up behind me like a spoon, was a dangerous one. One wiggle from my butt created the spark that lit the evening fire.

I gave him full rein to enter me and sprint straight to the finish line. Time was of the essence as we both had to get up early. And to deny the desire would have been downright stupid. So he gave me his best from behind, sort of caveman style, completely driven by instinct. The rhythm of it all was very exciting, feeling his passion rise to a crescendo and slow, then rise again, until finally he fell and spilled into me, having generated just enough sweat to leave him smelling like a man.

Ahhh, sweet dreams.

what i want to be

joyous

exhilarated

brilliant

uplifted

inspired

alive

blessed

empowered

magnificent

perfect

pissed off

They say that anger is better than depression. I have to agree. It fills you with energy instead of depleting you. I have spent the last 6 weeks feeling really down about my relationship with Maria. Right now, I am very pissed at her. And it does feel better than before, in an empowering way.

When she moved out over a month ago on bad terms, she made her final stabbing remark that I was not invited to her graduation. The thought of missing it was pretty crushing, but that was weeks ago and she was mad at the time. I figured things would fall into place. Since then we've had a few friendly, calm interactions--I took her out to lunch, agreed to help her with some paperwork, plus reminded her that I'd be paying for a significant part of her university tuition this fall. And I continue to call and text her every week, with nothing in return from her.

Tonight I called her to say that I would love to see her graduate. She said, "well, I don't have a ticket for you." She has invited her dad, her grandparents (only on his side) and cousins (also on his side), but has no ticket for me.

A conversation ensued, which started calmly, but became frustrating once again and boiled down to the fact that, in her words, I chose Rob over my own daughter. She actually wants me to dump him because she doesn't like him. How selfish is that?!? And because he is in my life, she isn't. And this is why she thinks I don't deserve to be at her graduation.

Anyway, after trying to reason with her on the phone, we hit a stalemate. I wanted to go to the graduation and she said she didn't want me to. We eventually hung up. Then, as I started to feel bad about the whole situation again, I caught myself just in time, and thought

This is not her call to make. It's mine. I am going.

I deserve to see my daughter graduate. Are you kidding me? It was me who put her on the little yellow school bus on her very first day. It was me who packed ten zillion lunches, bought all her school clothes, worked with her for hours into the night studying for exams and helping her with projects, volunteered to help in her class in the early grades, baked those fancy Santa and reindeer cupcakes for the class Christmas party. The list goes on and on, but does she remember any of it? I'm so mad right now I could spit!

Dammit, who does she think she is telling me I cannot go to her graduation?

mystery scent

Rob brought over lilacs today that he'd cut from the tree in his backyard. He knows they are my favorite smell of all time (and I have many favorites). They are sitting in a vase in my kitchen pleasantly stinking up my house.

The last 2 times I went downstairs I thought I noticed it smelled like pizza. More specifically, it smelled like hot pizza combined with the hot cardboard box smell. I thought maybe Christie had nuked a pizza pop or something, but she hadn't.

Then I realized it was the lilacs. I'm such a dork. What's up with that?!

if i had to be a lesbian

I think these are 4 of the most beautiful women. I love Meg Ryan's and Kate Hudson's quirky personalities and sweetness. Diane Lane has a sophisticated sexiness and I like Norah Jones's exotic beauty.

And that's all I have to say about that.

standing still

“A man grows most tired while standing still.”

~Chinese proverb

So does a woman.

i was a teenage groupie...once

Yes, once upon a time, May 1980 to be exact, I fucked a rock star. Although I'd met several bands back in the late 70s/early 80s, I only slept with one musician. Except we didn't sleep.

My sister and I had bought Van Halen tickets as soon as they went on sale, and planned on getting backstage, something she seemed to have a knack for. (Her experience was more extensive than mine.) Van Halen's first album had been a huge hit, and their 2nd was following in its footsteps. They were hot, and considering I was very much into guitar, Eddie was my choice. My sister chose Alex.

Since VH was the biggest band of their time, we knew it wouldn't be easy getting backstage passes. I will never forget what I wore. It was a Danskin one-piece leotard in a deep red with a black web pattern on it. It kind of looked like a Spiderwoman body stocking. I wore a black blazer over it since it had a halter top and completely open back (hey this was the 80s) and outfit was complete with red satin spike heeled CFM shoes. Too bad no one took a picture. I'm sure it would be good for a laugh today.

But I think it did the trick, because I don't recall it was too difficult getting passes. We'd wander through the back hallways, running into roadies and asking if we could meet the band. (Dreadful shameless behavior when I think back.) The roadies always thought they deserved something in exchange for the pass, but they never got anything from us other than a thank you.

We ended up with 2 passes and wore them with pride through the concert. A teenager's dream to be the envy of others. After the show we went backstage and the guys wandered into the green room one by one. David Lee Roth was doing coke. I saw the infamous bowl of M&Ms. There were platters of food and bottles of beer everywhere.

My outfit was a hit and Eddie took a liking to me, YES. His big hair was all wild and still wet from his post-show shower. His whole face smiled when he talked to me. Cool. At that age, it was a pretty big moment in my life.

Probably the coolest part was leaving the auditorium in the limo with them. As we pulled out from the tunnel, fans were lined up on either side of the narrow pathway screaming. The limo took us all to the Holiday Inn where the band was staying. Eddie and his bro Alex were checked in as Justin Case and Justin Time. Ha. Hope I didn't just blow their cover.

My sister went off with Alex as I went off with Eddie to his room. Ya know, I don't really remember a lot after that point. And it wasn't because I was on something--in fact back then I rarely drank at all and did not smoke pot (or do any drugs). I do remember seeing a Mario Puzo book sitting on his night table, and thinking that he was somewhat intellectual. And then I remember he had a hard time getting me out of my outfit. Like, literally, it needed to be peeled off.

He had a nice, hard little body. Well-defined arms with veins bulging (God, I love that!). I remember his fingers playing with my pussy. They were pretty damn limber. I felt quite honored being touched by the same magical hands that made him one of the best guitarists of all time.

Sex with Eddie was nothing to write home about. But then again, I wasn't really there for the sex, nor was I really in the mood. It was more about the adventure and the conquest. So that's exactly what I got. I got the right to say that I fucked Eddie Van Halen in his prime. The following year he married Valerie Bertinelli. I was a little jealous. :)

I contemplated whether to post a concert video from that time, or a more recent one. I decided on this one from 2007 cuz it shows that the man's a survivor. Still lookin' good too, especially considering all he's been through. The guy can still play. Lookit those fingers go! For me, I look at those fingers with a special fondness........

blue mom

This was not a Mother's Day I was looking forward to. In fact, I was afraid of how much it would hurt this year. I knew Christie would honor me with some extra lovin', but I felt that Maria's absence would just multiply the misery she left me with last time I saw her.

Christie greeted me in the morning with a hug and handed me a beautiful homemade card. Part of her heartfelt message read I will always be here for you and I will deep down, always be your little girl. She has a way of telling me exactly what I need to hear.

I travelled to visit my own mother for the afternoon and had not heard from Maria at all. My day with Mom was nice, but overlaid with a feeling of sadness as my heart felt like a piece was missing. I came home to an empty house.

As I entered my kitchen the sight of a small pink giftbag on the counter stopped me in my tracks. Maria had been here. I pulled out the pink envelope tucked inside and saw Mom written on it. Just those words, knowing they were written by the daughter who claimed to hate me, was enough to make me break down and cry.

I gathered myself and read the card. It was a long one with a beautiful verse about the endless love between a mother and daughter, an unconditional love. As amazing as the printed message was, Maria's own handwritten words were even more touching.

Mom, I love you as I always have and always will. And apart from our differences, I hope that someday we can accept, trust, forgive and be a part of each others' lives again. Happy Mother's Day.
Love, Maria

May is my favorite month

May has typically been a great month for me. Since I was little I've liked May best, mostly because nice weather finally returned and the end of the school year was in sight. The grass turns green and lilacs bloom in May. It's everything new and alive after a long, dingy, dull winter.

For me, May signifies the beginning of something even better. Like summer, free time, growth, adventure. May is the excitement of sitting on the brink of something absolutely grand. Like Christmas Eve, knowing that you have a pile of presents to open tomorrow. Like a first date with someone you're crazy about. Like those few seconds leading up to the orgasm.

In the last decade a lot of wonderful things have happened in my life in the month of May. I met an amazing guy in May 1999 who woke me from a long, dark sleep and opened the window to my soul. In May 2000 I had my first Reiki treatment which was a life-altering experience that set me on the spiritual path I've been on since.

It was May 2005 when I got my current job--I remember how excited I was to get the phone call--I actually screamed. And in May 2006 I told my husband it was over, freeing myself from years of emotional emptiness. I moved into my own place in May 2007 and had a "Life is Good" party where everyone who came had to have a dance on the coffee table with me.

Just a few milestones and fond memories...

a woman's touch

This week I had the very first facial of my life. Not only did it feel wonderful for my face, but it was a very inspirational experience, this 80 minutes of pampering. It brought out some very unusual thoughts while I lay there somewhat paralyzed with pleasure.

The esthetician who worked on me was a young woman, early 20s, petite and gentle in every way. She massaged my face a few times during the treatment. Her touch was so light and rhythmic that it felt like her fingers were slow dancing on my face.

It struck me how delicate a woman's touch can be and it was attractive to me, in a way. I wondered if that's how Rob feels when I touch him. I also wondered if I was feeling the same sweetness of a woman's touch that men fall in love with. I suddenly could relate to being a man, and imagined myself as one being touched by a woman. It was weird, but fascinating at the same time. I swear I felt like I was in another dimension.

Rob and I have talked about having a threesome with another woman--just casually, not that we're planning one. I have a true appreciation for the human body, both male and female, and wouldn't be opposed to enjoying a woman. After all, I never have touched another woman intimately. I think it could be fun with the right person, but I definitely would want my man present. I would be a lot more comfortable doing it in the context of love, my love for Rob.

celebrating the male body

Last weekend Rob and I hung out and frolicked in the sunshine on his deck. As he lay next to me shirtless with his eyes closed, I was admiring the view. I love a good chest. I love the soft fur that he trims so nice for me and the trail that leads downward.........I like his nipples, that's no secret, and I especially like that little nook where his pec meets his armpit. I could kiss that spot for hours.

He caught me looking at him, actually at his armpit. He laughed. He's always amazed that I find such fascination in his armpits. In fact, his armpit is an important part of our history.

Way back, when we used to be just friends, I went to his house to visit him. It was a hot summer day and he happened to be wearing shorts and a wifebeater (I hate that term, but you know what I mean). We were sitting in his backyard having a beer.

At one point he raised his arm up and just kind of rested his hand behind his head. Normal position for any guy, right? He kept talking, but really I stopped hearing him right then and there. I was a bit mesmerized by the sight of his armpit. All of a sudden I became attracted to him. I didn't tell him that till months later, after we became lovers, but he's never forgotten since. He now uses his armpits as ammunition sometimes, knowing how the sight of them turns me on. (I love to be teased.)

Men's armpits can be so sexy to a woman. Not only are they great to look at, but I love the smell. Especially after sex. It smells LIKE A MAN. Not just any man, but my man. I would not enjoy smelling just any Joe.

So, armpits having been the inspiration for this blog, I went a-huntin' for a photo of the perfect pit for my post. That's when I discovered I'm not the only nut out there. There are other lunatics with armpit fetishes just like me!! Women, men, maybe even dogs. Anyway, I found a new blog to follow that's quite ripe on the subject (pun intended).

O Happy Day. Plus I got meself a new follower. Welcome, Tim.