0 comments/ 10286 views/ 0 favorites Musings By: magmaman Every story I have ever written is true, at least they are at the moment the hands touch the keys. I know they are, they are written by those who live them. They all live inside me. Do my hands even touch the keys? Sometimes they don't, yet the words flow out of whoever I am at the moment. I flood the screen with drivel, tears streaming down my face, fear gripping me, or joy as I revel in success. The words let me run, fly, love again. I am as strong, desirable, or as cruel as I wish to be. I often sit with tears washing my face, trying to describe the feelings of pain and inadequacy inside me. Sometimes the words describe the sensations of need that flashes across my breasts, down to my loins as I try to speak of...what? Sex? A need for a strong man to love me? I am so unsure, I am only female when she makes me be. Then I am strong, my powerful upper body intimidates any who would glance my way. I abuse myself with weights, lifting, pounding, nothing else to do. In an instant, the words convert me. All I have are the words. {I am huge, my arms and shoulders monstrous with power. Women love me, fall at my feet and reach for me with unbridled lust. I usually do not resist, I just allow. I get my choosing.} My nurse lifts my broken body carefully, she bathes the areas I cannot touch. I try to look down her blouse as she bends to attend to me, the thought of an illicit peek making my breath come in short gasps. {She knows I am looking, allows it, the upper swell of her fine mammaries exposed to my gaze. She makes no attempt to hide them, obviously she is enjoying my attention. I come erect, my large member rigid in her hands as she bathes me. She smiles, reaches for me, holding me, staring at me in awe.} I look down as she changes the tubing to my penis, slips the drape back over my genitals. The clear plastic bottle is dumped and washed, hooked back up. I am once again shriveled, limp. "Coffee today?" she smiles at me. Always that smile. Yet I see the sadness in her eyes when she thinks I am not looking. {My hands reach out and close around her throat, how dare she look down on me? I can speak, I just don't want to, have no need to! Can't she understand that?} I nod, staring out the window at the cold rain and wind. I hate the rain. Ready for another day, I touch the button on my chair and turn back to the screen. The words begin to flow again. {My class sits attentive as I demonstrate the touch that brings comfort to the female body lying on the table before me. So young, so very beautiful. My talented hands allow the drape to fold over her soft unblemished skin, creating a semblence of modesty, professional respectfulness. My class watches closely as I turn my back to them, lift the sheet to allow her to turn over. I know they are watching me, impressed by the sheer power of my huge chest and shoulders, amazed that a man so strong can be so gentle. Aware they all can see her outline, I hold up the drape longer than necessary. The drape is thin. They lean forward to look, I allow the material to settle back. I begin anew, my hands working the front of my model's legs, higher and higher. I hear the sharp intake of breath as in a moment of carelessness I lift the drape, exposing her most private parts to their gaze. She grins and looks at me from slitted eyes, not minding, I knew she would not.} "It seems to be improving nicely." the nurse says, as she dabs ointment on my elbow where it rubs against the chair. I know it isn't. {It was just a day at the beach. We stopped for ice cream. Sally jumped up and headed for the store as I sat and fiddled with the air conditioning, the engine idling. I heard her scream, looked up as the pickup truck jumped the curb, slammed into my driver's door. "We can't save this arm." A voice said. "She is a Doctor, we have to try."} The scene fades away, my nurse carefully rebandages the open sore on my good left arm. {He tells me he has to go to work. He wants to take the Mustang.} "Not the Mustang!" My mind screams at him, he ignores me. {He starts the Mustang, delighting in the roar of the powerful engine. Before he could place the car in gear, the coughing racked his chest again. Dismissing it as just a cold, unaware of the beast that grew in his lung, he drove out to the highway.} Bastard! I told you not to take the Mustang! I have the keyboard, I have control. I smile inwardly, yes! I am the one who is in control here. It is raining. I hate the rain. I touch the button, turn to the screen. {I feel the power of the machine beneath me as I feed the throttle to the floor. The tires lose grip, the car shifts sideways towards the wall, the sounds of screaming engines all around me. I do not lift, building speed quickly, impossibly quickly towards the next turn. I am grinning broadly at the sheer joy of the sensation. The front tires bite in spite of the slick pavement, a testiment to my skill as I rotate the wheel, feeling for traction. I manage to get the nose of my racer underneath the driver just ahead as he brakes to negotiate the turn, then drops down towards me... We make contact.} The nurse is leaning down, she has my socks off, feeling my pulse. I look down her open blouse at the swell of her breasts again, I see the upper edge of her bra, trimmed in thin lace. She likes it when I look, I can tell. {I can see the undercarriage as the van rolls onto it's side. I am hard on the brakes of my new Mustang as I turn the wheel away, left fender already smashed, twisted crazily towards my windscreen. Too late I realize the huge truck is there. A flash of light and color, all goes black.} The nurse stands up, smiles at me. "All done, you are doing fine." I lean forward, sipping the dark liquid through my straw, it tastes bitter. {Tears streaming down my face, I reach for the needle I had obtained from the hospital where I work as a Doctor. I touch the plunger lightly, to remove the air, turn the needle towards my arm. I hesitate, feeling the comfort of my nakedness as I sit in the hot soapy water of the bathtub. But I cannot live, knowing my man is gone.} Screaming in my head stops me. Always in my head, no peace, no rest. They are always there. She is gone. I am alone. I see out the window it is raining again. I hate the rain. I will walk again one day. I know I will. So many years have passed, but they tell me great progress is being made in medicine. So many I have been before have died. One day I will kill them all, but new ones keep arriving. They think I will give up, I won't. I have all the time in the world, I will be free. I touch the button, swing the chair to my window. The snow is falling, the world is white and beautiful. So cold, I look up to see the shimmer of light through the ice hanging from the edge of the roof. A bird, late on it's migration, flies down and lands on the windowsill, hugging the glass tightly for warmth against the frozen day. I try to be the bird, so free to just fly away. I touch the button, my chair rotates back to the computer. {"Hello!" I hear the female voice suddenly by my side. I look up, the sunlight at her back outlines her perfect body. She wears just the bottom half of a small bikini, unashamed, her fully tanned breasts bare to my gaze as I shade my eyes from the light. She looks me in the eyes with a smile. "I couldn't help but notice you sitting by yourself." I smiled back, knowing soon I would have her. She would press against me, needing, I would touch and explore every inch of her.} I can see the light reflecting off the windshields of the cars as they drive by down on the highway. The morning Sun is low in the sky, yet it is already warm. "Keep an eye on the thermometer" the nurse tells me, patting my knee. I can't feel that, she knows it. {I reach out and wrap my hands around her throat, the powerful muscles of my forearms bulging as I bear down.} Bitch! I turn to the screen to hide my face, so she cannot see into my mind. I know she does sometimes. I am sure of it. {"Let's walk down by the river." he said. I don't know why I went, something inside me made me, I knew full well what he wanted. The sensations inside betrayed me, made me powerless to resist. We reached the riverbank, he turned and took me in his arms. I worried he would not like my overweight body, even as my nipples erected at the thought of his touch. I did not resist his advances. Quickly his hands found my ample bosom, in a rush he had me down in the grass, my mind in a haze as I felt him probing at me. My body responded in a cry of pleasure as I thrust back at him.} "Back in an hour." the nurse said, that same smile on her face as she reached for the door. I ignored her. {I saw the Frisbee coming, a gust of wind caught it, lifted it higher. I ran, reached out as far as I could for it. Such fun, to be so young and full of energy. Just as my fingers touched the edge of the toy, I felt the shock go through me. I had not seen the tree.} "Such a shame." The Doctor said. "I doubt he will ever walk again." It wasn't my fault! I don't know why I bought the Mustang, an urge, something in the moment. Fate, perhaps? Every motion, every word spoken, each step taken led to one blinding instant. It replays over and over in my mind, two innocents dead. {I see the big truck up ahead, the silver SUV pulling out from the left. I slow and follow as the women in the SUV blend into traffic. I will get my bathing suit, go down to the beach. Such a fine spring day, I am driving very carefully.} I hear the door close behind my nurse. I am alone. {Lying still, I can feel them moving between the shadows in my darkened room. I try to press my body upright with my one good arm and leg, I cannot move. Trapped in the moment between sleep and awake, I open my mouth to cry out, no sound escapes me. I feel them getting closer, one leans in to bite me on the neck, to feed.} The voices, always the voices. I turn away from the screen, then back. She is here. {The figure offered me was half what I had expected. "Assistant to the Executive Secretary" he said. Assistant. I thought of my Master's Degree, "Assistant" he said. A decade of hard effort, deprivation. Needing the work, I accepted, glancing at the large busted blonde in the office outside his door as I left. "See you tomorrow, honey!" she said, not looking up from the magazine she was reading. I made it all the way to the ground floor before the tears came.} She leaves me. I look out the window, the sun is high in the sky, it is getting warm. {The bell rang, I stepped out to the center of the ring. Years of work had prepared me for this one moment, my big shot. I knew I was way behind on points, just one chance remained. I blocked his blows to my body with my elbows, they were weaker now, they no longer shocked me to my core. I saw his body shift as he put all he had into a right hook, tipping my head forwards, I countered. A straight left, right down the middle. I felt the satisfaction as my blow landed solidly, the full weight of my 220 pound frame behind it. He seemed to fold in slow motion, I stepped back to let him fall. Blood streaming from the cuts on my face, I smiled broadly as they lifted my arm in victory.} I sip my coffee, satisfied. {Sweat streaming from my body from the workout, I answered the soft knock on the door. It was her, I knew it would be. She pushed by me into the room, turned and reached for me. She was naked in seconds, her fine breasts like needles against my sweat soaked skin. Forgotten was her husband that I worked for, forgotten was all the potential problems we could create. It was just us and the moment.} {Tears stream down my face as I write. I curse the body and face I was given. All of the other girls seem so pretty, I live trapped in my skinny flat chested body. My phone never rings, no boys ever call. None even ask for my number to call, I am part of the background. The one time with a boy was seconds, he pressed me back against the bed and thrust at me, then he was done. It was like he was in a rush to leave the room, I lay there with my clothing down around my ankles wondering what had just happened.} I let her fade back into my mind, she always depresses me when she shows up. I wonder if Dan is around? I touch the button on my chair, move to the counter. Turning in close, I can reach the coffee with my left arm, I pour myself a cup. I carefully swing it into the holder on my chair, it is hot. The voices are singing again, I roll to the window and look out at the Sunshine, it is Spring. That cheers me, I roll back to the computer screen. Dan fills my head, my mind, we are smiling. I know we have time to write a bit before she wakes up. {The memories of the evening before fill my mind. Minutes before, I had quietly slipped the covers back to gaze at her nakedness as she slept. Such a beautiful creature, she had seen me across the room and something clicked. She simply walked up and said, "Dance with me?" Today I planned to take her for a long drive in the Corvette. I really wanted a New Mustang when I had bought the machine, but that caused a fight.} "No, not a Mustang!" He was insistent. "Never a Mustang!" * I touched the button on the chair, rolled back for another cup of coffee. Time to write. Plenty of time to write. Dan wouldn't be back from his drive for hours. I touched the button that adjusts my body temperature, I was sweating even though it is snowing outside. Only my face sweats, but it warns me. Yes, plenty of time to write, she is here and wants to. We have all the time in the world. MGM Musings #1: Leaves & Lovers I am brooding. Well, perhaps. Perhaps this is only one of “those” moments. You know, one of those moments spent lost somewhere beyond the concerns of the day and still not quite fully abandoned in fantasy or forgetfulness. But maybe you know what I mean. For me at least, it seems that there are times that seem detached. When I can sit back and think of the things happening around me. These are the times when I feel most aware, and when I think most deeply, and – if truth be admitted – when I most enjoy myself. Not being quite as caught up in the excitement of doing I have some perspective by which to reflect on a situation, to savor the experience rather than to be consumed by its passion. Surely you must have these experiences also? There are places I associate with each of these moments. Everyone has such places I suppose. Wait. Don’t tell me just yet. Instead let me guess! ….hmmm. I would have to say that you, …for you, it is in the bath. And not just any bath. You would have an oversized bathtub, filled deeply with piping hot water. Probably one of those old cast iron baths with a white porcelain finish, the high back, and the claw feet. The room would be warm, misty, …dimly lit by late afternoon sunlight coming through a small leaded window near the ceiling. Perhaps a wrap around lace curtain has been hung in place of the shower drapery. Of course it would be silent and would have absolutely nothing that would cause you to think of anything outside those walls. Ah, one last item – I think you would have a candle or two burning. You would soak in the warmth, stare past the idle flicker, dimly note the faint smoky fragrance and begin to recollect some earlier time. And just maybe, it seems clearer to you. That is when your moments begin… It is cliché, but am I right? Even if I am not, perhaps this helps you to better understand what I mean. Anyway, “No.” My place is not the bath. There is a little gathering place near the campus that serves my purposes well enough. It is just a little restaurant that provides coffee, tea, bottled beer and small tables where all sorts of people stop to sit and talk. Perhaps just as important, it also provides a wall of small paned windows that look out over the courtyard and onto the street. I can’t forget those. Without those it could easily be lost among the hundred or so other little coffee shop-cum-watering holes that seem to multiply when we aren’t looking. But this place has been there long enough to have its own history - and the requisite hanger-ons to retell the stories. It is just far enough from the university that somehow it serves as much as neighborhood café as student hangout and a little bit as clubroom for the professionals that work in the area. The crowd depends on the time and the day. Each time it brings different stories to mind - - - - - - - - - Leaves & Lovers I dropped in to “my place” mid-day on Sunday just to sit and read by the window. I knew it would be quiet and it was. A perfect place to sit and watch the wind blow the fallen leaves around on a cool and damp fall day. Jenny, one of the servers and a graduate student at the University, saw me as I walked in and gave me that special smile and animated welcome that she saves for, well, absolutely everyone. This time is was; “Hey, Hi! How are you? Wait! I have something perfect for reading. Grab a seat I’ll be right back!” “Um, I’m fine.” I stammered, but she was gone. I took a seat in the corner by the windows. Soon Jenny was back. “Try this. Gerry decided this would go well with the weather.” Then, grinning broadly, “I think the fall makes him sentimental. Anyway, tell me what you think. I’ll be back later.” With that, she left me to myself, my book, and what turned out to be a mug of warm cider. I took a sip. It turned out to be warm hard cider with a touch of cinnamon. A bit of a departure from the tea I first had in mind, but I had to admit it was a fine fit with the afternoon. I think this is the type of surprise that make the place a little special to me…Gerry seems to have a way with little things that create a mood. Whether it was the particular title I had chosen, the cider, or something else it didn’t take long before I decided that the blowing leaves were far more interesting than my book. After 20 minutes or so, I gave up all pretense of reading and turned my attention to watching the leaves swirl in the corner of the courtyard and to pondering the occasional people walking by. There were groups of students hurrying past - animated with a thousand concurrent agendas and the forming and reforming of their pairings. There were young couples on bikes and skates – so serious at their play – and middle-aged couples trying to shepherd their kids down the sidewalk. An elderly couple held hands as they walked. A few lone figures passed by. My attention drifted to the window glass itself. I noted how easily it separated the inside air from the swirling air only inches away – the same air yet so different. Maybe this was what put me in a detached frame of mind as my attention continued to drift toward the inside of the shop. I don’t know why, I kept thinking about the couples of different ages. I thought how they seem just as bound by patterns as the blowing leaves. Each leaf moves on its own, but on the same general course as those in front and behind. A few blow out on their own or get caught in the eddies but eventually most get propelled upward in the whirl. On a path toward a common destination. Are couples just the same? I thought of the students. I thought of the young couples. I had been just as naïve and just as enthused when I was of their ages. And what about the old couple? Is it possible yet for me to really understand anything meaningful about them? …but more about that in a different tale. I was brooding about what happens when people from different points of the journey mix. What a complication our ages must be. My attention was drawn to the handful of voices inside the shop. I wasn’t really listening to the words, just absorbing the meter of the sounds. Standing out from the noise were Jenny’s clear, animated measures. I listened to the sound as she stood talking about nothing with a stylish and good looking middle-aged man at a nearby table. As I watched and listened I noted how beautiful she was... I mean, sure, one “always” notices one thing or another about someone. And sometimes, somewhere in the back of one’s mind you might take a tally or note a specific thing or two. Certainly I had noticed Jenny before - “that hair”, “that blouse”, whatever – but in an off hand way I reserve for someone well outside my own age range. This time I found myself really looking. Her hair. The blush of her cheeks. The way her skirt clung to her hips. She really was gorgeous. Perhaps not in the sense of a fashion model – though she was definitely pretty. Deep blue eyes. Straight hair falling around her shoulders. Medium blonde with silver/gray streaks. She had strong, though not at all masculine, features. I felt voyeuristic as I let my eyes examine her the same way so many men do. I admired the particular shape of her breasts. Smaller and beautifully formed. Through her blouse one could see the suggestion of small nipples riding high on her breasts. Hmmm…the cider was definitely affecting me...but still I stared. The door opened and a young twenty-something man walked in. Upon hearing the jingle of the bell, Jenny glanced at door. It was only a moment, but her uncertainty, her vulnerability, showed in her unconscious quick self examination – wetting her lips, quickly pushing the hair from her face and almost imperceptibly straightening her posture and lifting her chest. The moment passed. Just as quickly it was forgotten and she was continuing her jest with the man at the table. She laughed. Her lips opened in a deep laugh that quickly dissolved into a girlish self-conscious giggle. In that moment, her teeth flashed. Her head tipped slightly backward baring the smooth white skin of her neck. I watched as the blood rose to briefly flush her skin and fill her lips. The color rose and passed upward accenting and throwing into relief the smooth muscles of her neck; the sensual curves and recesses of her throat; the gentle line of her jaw. The blush passed upward to reside in her cheeks then quickly disappeared again. I could read the shift in her attitude. She was no longer at work. She was talking to a man that interested her at some level – although I bet this never occurred to her. It was just innocent flirting. Flirting that I could tell would keep him awake tonight thinking about her. And I realized, that if I let it, her flirting would also keep me awake tonight. I began thinking about her and the potential of the two of them being together tonight while I lay awake in my own bed. Three leaves caught in a momentary eddy, I thought. Now, please don’t think…I know you are going to think something perverse, but really it isn’t like that. I was noticing all these things, and the thoughts were going all around in my head, but in a sort of strange detached way. Well, despite what I have been saying, I was thinking just as much about the man to whom she was speaking. He was clearly enthralled with her - if not with the conversation. Could it have been just the conversation? Somehow I thought not, his eyes seemed to be appreciating far more than just her gestures. I started to daydream the beginnings of the thoughts that would obsess me later that night. I imagined how it would be for them as they drew together. An everyday older man and an everyday younger woman – not so strange really, I told myself. Jenny wasn’t the type to play the shy innocent. I knew that. I figured that she knew what she wanted and how her part would go. What did he want? O.k., of course I know what he thought he wanted. I could see those things myself. As every woman says; ‘guys can be so shallow’. But what if the attraction was more than that? He really did look like a pretty decent guy. What more might he be looking for? What could he hope for? What might he be fantasizing at that very moment? Hmmmm….whatever it was, I still thought he might get some surprises. I felt myself begin to sink into that familiar, intimate awareness of my physical self … I let myself float and tried to imagine myself in each of their places. Yes, it was going to be a good night after all: Him: “I followed her up the stairs to her apartment. She stepped quickly, leading the way. I couldn’t help myself but to stare at her long legs and firm ass as she climbed the stairs above me. She wore those tight low cut jeans, “hip-huggers” we used to call them. “Good Lord, did they really used to look that good?” I wondered. I didn’t really care. The jeans accentuated the curve of her lower back and provided a tantalizing glimpse of the gentle flare of her hips. As she climbed I was mesmerized by the dimples at the base of her spine – moving with the sway of her hips and belying the strength of the muscles anchored just below the surface. She inserted the key in the lock, but instead of turning it, she spun herself around. She put her arms around my neck and pulled herself into me, enveloping my mouth with her own. I barely had time to register the sensation or the intensity of the kiss and the warmth of her lips. “Mmmm…how about that?” She asked. “Are you ready?” She giggled as she pulled away. Luckily, I didn’t have to frame a coherent answer. She quickly turned back around, opened the door and was across the threshold. I should have noticed the symbolism. I had presumed that I was the experienced one and that I would guide our lovemaking. When I was her age, the girls were also young, we were exploring our intimacy and learning our limits. We were both always fumbling. Then again, perhaps I should have noticed absolutely nothing so abstract. Here was a woman. She in her domain and in possession of all the advantages that mattered for anything at that moment: beauty; energy; intent – and sufficient innocence to become easily lost in passion. It occurred to me that the last item is the first to go. I followed across the threshold. “What now?” I thought. The lights were still off. Even as we stood in the open doorway, I again felt her arms around my neck and her body pulled against mine. I knew that my desire was just as strong. In that moment, with that realization, our roles reversed and it was I that held her to me. I felt her yield. I felt strong and I felt young again. I broke our kiss and buried my face in her hair. I breathed deeply savoring the scent of her body and the faintest remnants of the perfume she put on hours earlier. Her hair cascaded around my face. The sensation blocking out everything else. My lips touched her neck. I kissed the recess behind her jaw and then moved forward to nibble at the smooth skin behind her ear. I felt her body relax. She yielded to me and she laid her head to the side, resting now on my shoulder, giving me full access to her neck and cheek. I gently kissed her. Finally I was breaking away and opened my eyes to look directly into hers. I saw there a sparkle and appreciation, and also amusement. “Ah, you are ready! Come.” She said. She took my hand and pulled me to the living room. Jolted out of my reverie, I recognized that we had assumed our original roles. She was leading again. Her attention was focused on the here and now and on our physical intimacy – not the musings of an old man. “Here.” She said simply. Again we kissed. Deeply this time. Her lips devoured, pressing and moving aggressively. She playfully bit my lower lip. It was in fun, but still hard enough to warn me that this wasn’t supposed to be a “one girl show.” I grabbed her to me and returned the full energy of her kiss. The passion was flowing from her and I fed upon it and echoed it back. We said nothing. Just hard passionate kissing. I stroked her back, then stopped to rest my hands on her hips. I let them roam around her sides to rest again on her lower back, feeling the rise of her buttocks and hips. I felt the strength of her body in her slight lithe movement as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other; in the slight change in pitch of her pelvis. Once again she began setting the pace, hurrying our progress. Yet I sensed brief moments of uncertainty when it seemed she wanted to slow down, in conflict over what she really wanted. Her hands would propel us forward, reaching for the next objective. But her body would linger seeming to savor the kiss or the touch just a moment longer. “Take your time.” I said breathlessly between kisses. Her kisses became slower and more sensuous. Jenny worked her hand between us and began unbuttoning my shirt. She opened the top half of my shirt and pushed it down over my shoulders, restricting the movement of my upper arms. Next she leaned forward and lightly kissed along my collarbone. “There we go. That’s better.” She said, “Let me touch you.” I whispered, “I can’t reach you. I want…” She lifted her head and kissed me to quiet me. Our eyes met. All I saw now was a sparkle of excitement. She quickly returned to stroking and kissing my chest. Oh, such a feeling! Her tongue traced the line of my collarbone where her lips had just been. She lingered making little circles in the recess at the base of my throat. Her hands roamed across my chest and passed slowly down, stopping with her fingers over my nipples. She gently stroked with her fingertips. Using what freedom I had in my arms, I unbuttoned the lower half of her shirt and slipped my hands inside. As she continued to kiss me I felt my penis begin to stir. I reached to release the button on her jeans and I eased the zipper down. I continued my exploration, running my hand over her stomach muscles, taunt just below the skin. I roamed to that flat place just below the curve of her stomach and above her patch of hair. With the tips of my fingers I could just barely sense the rise of her mound. “See? You can reach.” She spoke into my shoulder. Although she offered no resistance, I backed off. Did I sense disappointment? I slid my hands as far as I could up her back and pulled her to me. I felt her stomach press against my groin. She rocked her pelvis against me. I didn’t need this kind of encouragement. I was already so hard it was painful. “Oh, hold on a moment. I am kind of stuck.” I stammered. She looked up. “Poor Baby, I can fix that.” She released me from the remainder of my shirt and unbuttoned my jeans. My hands were free to roam! I lost no time in removing her shirt. She wore no bra and I pulled her to me, pressing our bodies together. Her breasts were firm and pressed hard against me. I felt their heat on my chest and her hard nipples against my skin. Her chest rose and fell in full breaths against mine. As it did, I felt her breasts pull against my chest and her nipples skip across my skin. I kissed her deeply. My hands roamed over her back. I reveled in the contact as we pressed our upper bodies together and slid them over each other to heighten the sensation. I buried my face in her hair. I could have stayed like that for ages. “God! You are so cute. Lets go.” Said Jenny, pulling away. “What?” “Lets go. I am dying.” She explained as she pushed her jeans and panties down her legs. “Come on, right here is fine.” … Good Heavens! How long had I been daydreaming? I was actually getting myself worked up over this little fantasy. After a quick look around the restaurant I shifted my position to get comfortable. For a moment I struggled with my imagined scenario. Something didn’t feel quite right. I felt Jenny would probably lead the activity from here and I began to imagine I was she - “Lets go. I am dying. Come on, right here is fine.” I mean ‘o.k.’ so the couch isn’t the most romantic, but come on, we had already bypassed the candlelight and roses steps. And, there was no question that he was ready. I could barely get his jeans undone … damnable button flies just don’t work “under pressure.” You would think guys would figure that out. Besides I had been working myself into a frenzy during the last three hours as I debated bringing him back here. Standing there cuddling was kind of sweet of him, but I was looking for something more physical. I loved the look in his eyes as he took in my body. An unusual desire arose in me. “Stay still. Let me start.” I sunk down in front of him. I pushed his pants down as I knelt. I am usually fairly ambivalent about going down on a guy. I don’t really mind, but it usually doesn’t do a lot for me. Usually the main turn on is the reaction from the guy. Tonight was different – I guess that I wasn’t really looking for any sort of connection – just sex and he seemed nice and looked good. Maybe that was it, I thought. Either way, tonight I wanted this. I didn’t touch him with my hands. I grabbed his hips then leaned forward to trace the underside of his cock with the tip of my tongue. When I reached the end I slowly moved over the head and slipped him into my mouth. I held his hips steady and slowly worked my head, feeling him moving in and out. This is what I wanted. Just to feel the rawness of the act. I blocked out everything but the awareness of this thing I was doing and the feeling of my hardened nipples and the growing pressure between my legs. I began rocking my whole body and clenching my thighs together, concentrating the pressure on my groin. I was aware only of the motion between my legs and the penis in my mouth. We continued. I felt the warmth begin to spread and knew that I could cum if I continued this long enough. Musings #1: Leaves & Lovers He whispered to me. “Oh, Jenny.” was all he said. It was enough to break the spell. “Mmm…” I groaned and took him in my hand. “What’s wrong? Is this o.k.?” “Nothing is wrong. You are wonderful.” I took him back into my mouth, but it wasn’t the same. I parted my knees and snaked my other hand down to rub over my mound. Three, four passes only. Then I parted my labia and slid the length of my fingers down either side of my clit. I let the tips trace the outline of my opening. Absolute sensual pleasure. I pressed a finger inside myself and began working it in and out. ‘What am I doing? I’ve never done this in front of a guy!’ I thought. Well, o.k., I had, but not inside like that. But it felt good and I began to raise and lower my hips in time to my explorations. Hmmm, I wasn’t being exactly subtle either. With my other hand I held the base of his cock and began to alternate taking him into my mouth and licking along the underside. I began thinking about my technique…damn, that takes the fun right out of things. Don’t they realize that it takes a lot of creativity to do this for any length of time? I reached my decision. “Change Out!” I called. “What?” “My turn to receive.” I laid back on the carpet, spread my legs and continued to masturbate in front of him. ‘Well so much for the couch. Or any remaining dignity,’ I laughed to myself. But the look on his face told me that those thoughts were furthest from his mind. He took the hint and knelt between my feet. He leaned forward and began to kiss my thighs just above my knees. He slowly made his way upward. “You are teasing me.” I said softly. He whispered between kisses, “Wrong.” “…You are teasing me.” “…It is only fair...” “…that you feel some…” “…of what I am right now.” With that he kissed me lightly just above my clit. Once. Twice. Then he paused and slowly drew his tongue down one side and around my opening. He was building the tension in me expertly. Now this was delicious. And, I thought, so much better than most of the guys I know. I couldn’t help it. I began to rock my hips, reaching for him. He slipped his hands under my legs, grabbed my hips and pulled me into him. He pressed firmly into my center and flicked my clit lightly against his teeth. God, I was almost there. I moaned, or squeeked really – I wish I had moaned. It seems more classy somehow. He stopped. He looked up. He grinned, “We are even now. Come here.” He rolled onto his back. “On top? Mmmm…o.k. I want you inside of me.” I rolled over and straddled him. I reached beneath me to guide him into place. I wanted him all at once and drove myself all the way down onto him. Oh yeah, it was right. It felt good. I felt him move within me, straining to push further. I rose to the point where I felt the head of his penis begin to slip from me. Just to the point where I felt myself loose control over his organ, but where I could still feel myself wrapped around him at my opening. I paused for the briefest time, long enough to look in his eyes and see that familiar look of surprise and then yearning. “No, NOW we are even.” I said. He groaned in answer and began to open his mouth to speak. I dropped myself fully upon him and rocked my pelvis forward, grinding myself into him. His fingers dug into my thighs. Back and forth I ground my clit against him. I didn’t rise. I relished the feel of him buried inside me and stretching me. I made love to him like that until I saw him close his eyes and begin his own effort to push up into me. Oh, he was close. I was getting there too, but I usually have trouble climaxing that way. “I want you on top.” I asked as I continued to ride him. He hesitated. Then in a breathless whisper, “I need you on top. Now. Please.” He came fully alert, grabbed my arms and pushed me over. He rolled with me and immediately thrust into me as far as he could go. “Yes, like that, I want it hard.” He let loose and did as I asked. He took me fast with deep strokes. With his full weight he pressed me into the carpet. It was what I needed and I began my climax almost immediately. It was one of the most powerful orgasms I had experienced in a long time. I clasped him with my arms and legs as it overtook me. I drew up my knees and clamped them tightly to his sides. He kept up the assault and drew out my orgasm for what seemed forever. He didn’t slow his pace until my orgasm was subsiding. He then began slow deep strokes that continued to elicit tremors in me. Finally, after a minute or more, I felt the wave of relaxation overtake me. I sighed deeply. He continued his slow deep strokes. I relaxed and let my legs fall limply to the sides, may arms hung loosely around his shoulders. I was completely open to him as I lay there. I wanted only one more thing. “Come in me.” He clutched my shoulders and buried his face in my neck. “Say it again.” He moaned. “Come in me.” I whispered. My words drove him over the edge. He tensed and drove deep into me one final time. I clung to him while his spasms subsided. Finally he relaxed and slowly withdrew. I was satisfied. He stroked my hair and kissed my neck and rolled to the side while still holding me. We lay like that for the longest time. Just about perfect. I awoke from my fantasy. I was back in the cafe...but still I stared, still a little dazed. Kind of in that “post-orgasmic haze” I had been thinking about. This was almost as good as the real thing. Jenny looked up and caught my eye in the moment before I was jolted back to reality and averted my gaze. Although it was only a fleeting moment, I saw a sparkle of friendship and knowledge in her eye – like she had read my thoughts. I knew it was foolish. I knew she wouldn’t guess the details, but I am sure that she read the voyeuristic desire in my eyes. I thought, “This can’t be happening. How embarrassing – and here I am unable to a look from a woman 15 years my junior in the eye.” Still, I know that in that moment something passed between us and there was no question but that I would lie awake tonight pondering the possibilities. -------------------- (or if you prefer, here is the original somewhat darker ending) (After their climax – in his voice) Just about perfect. He thought also. “Did you have fun?” She asked. “Fun?” That was not a word I expected to hear. “Yes. It was great.” I replied. But I know that a distant tone had crept into my voice. Strangely, I felt empty. God, it really had been great. But this feeling wasn’t right. I knew why. She heard the hesitation in my voice. Now she was the one faltering, unsure. Looking for guidance on how to proceed now that our physical desires were satiated. This was new. She was on the edge of an intimacy that she rarely shared with her other lovers. This excited, but also scared her. It was in her eyes. Yes, that was it – she was really asking me “Can I trust you? Why do you pull away like this?” I strove with myself not to turn my eyes from hers, not to look away. The tables were turned and indeed now I was the more experienced one. Suddenly the years seemed to matter again. And despite my desire to do so, I did not know how to make the connection that she saw was missing in my eyes. I felt the burden of her reliance on me. But, Oh God, how to answer all the unspoken questions? How could I explain now, after sharing her body, that she could not fill the hole that is missing when we reach this point. She didn’t have the experience. We didn’t have the shared history. I felt ashamed. I silently implored, “Dear Lord, please don’t let her see it in my face. Don’t let me hurt her.” I had deluded myself into believing that our conversation and laughter was the precursor to something deeper. I believed that we could discover it afterward. I think that maybe I believed that I could be the one to teach her to reach beyond sexuality to embrace sensuality. But only someone her own age could do that. They don’t have to be in love, though it helps. They only have to be Lovers who already know the needs of each other’s body and who want to experience something more. As this awareness flooded in, I realized that this was arrogance talking. I merely drew from her enthusiasm and her passion in an attempt to recapture my youth. I wanted to become lost again in the innocence of passion. What an ass I was. But then again, what were she really looking for? Did she receive it? Was a passionate tumble enough? ‘Fun’ she said… And she was right. It was fun. “Thank you for letting me be 25 again.” I said. I kissed her gently and held her close. And she smiled again. And we stayed that way a long time. I wonder if she knew what I meant. Musings Author's note: This is a collection of independent, stand-alone short stories about my wife. Some are fiction, while others are memories and flashbacks. They were written separately and never edited for continuity, so there are tense changes, repeated phrases, etc. I make no apologies, because these were intentionally spur-of-the-moment. Enjoy. --------- 1. If I were home, I would just roll over and start groping you, maybe waking you up, maybe not. I gently lift up the comforter, sliding the sheets down to reveal your goddess' body. You always complain about the way your breasts flatten when you lie on your back, but I think it is incredibly sexy, and I stare lustfully at them as my cock hardens. I lean down and lick around the nipple, so soft and warm as you sleep. It hardens and I take it into my mouth, causing you to stir and mumble in your dreams. My hand slides across to your other breast, palming the sculpted flesh as I gently nip with my teeth, eliciting a soft groan as you slowly rise out of your slumber. I back off, and you settle into your deep breathing agin. My fingers trace down to your waist, finding you naked down there as well. Excellent--I'm glad we started sleeping this way more often. Delicately I slip out of bed, walking around to your side, admiring your body in the dim light: so thin, girlish, and sexy. I slowly spread your legs, breathing on your bald pussy as it is exposed. My tongue finds its way along your slit, the tangy ripeness quickly giving way to wet sweetness as your body responds. I'm not sure if you're awake yet, since your eyes are still closed, but when my cock slides into you they flutter open. Slowly you focus on me as I move in and out of you, your body taking over while your mind tries to awaken. I do not try to hold out, reveling in your tight pussy and the sexiness of your perfect tits. My orgasm approaches and I grunt softly as your hands run through my hair. I lean down and kiss you as my cock pulses and ejaculates into your warm body. "Mmm, couldn't sleep again, darling?" you ask quietly as my cock softens and slides out of you. "Not for long...thank you, my love." You smile and blink sleepily, kissing me on the nose as I shift back to my side of the bed. "Sleep well, baby," I hear you mumble, and soon we are both fast asleep. ***** 2. I walked through the house, stalking my wife. I was naked, and carried a bottle of lube in my hand. I found her cleaning the closet in the guest bedroom. She turned as I entered the room, sweeping a strand of hair behind her ear. I strode towards her, and she saw the movement and looked up at me. "Babe...?" she smiled questioningly as she stood, but my only answer was a tight-lipped smile. I took the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head. She raised her arms to accommodate, and her sports bra followed shortly. I palmed her lovely breasts a moment, pinching the nipples, then I took her by the shoulder and pushed her back onto the bed. I climbed after her, swiftly straddling her chest and leaning forward, presenting her with my rapidly hardening cock. "Why, hello there..." she muttered delightedly, then she swirled her tongue around the head. I sighed, then rocked forward with my hips, driving myself deeper into her glorious mouth. She moaned in response, then coughed as I pushed into her throat and pulled out, sitting back on her chest. A string of spit hung between my cock and her lips for a moment before separating and drawing a line down her chin and neck. I popped open the plastic bottle and my wife pressed her wonderful B-cups together as I poured lube all over them. "Do it, baby...fuck my tits," she cooed, and I happily obliged. My cock nestled between the warm, slippery flesh, and soon I was driving back and forth with growing intensity. My wife continued talking dirty to me and leaned forward to lick my dick head every time it came forward. I was horny before I walked into the room, so it wasn't long before I felt the pulsing in my balls, followed closely by several strong jets of cum all over her chin, neck, and chest. My thrusting slowed, and she giggled as cum ran down her chin onto her neck. "Thank you, baby; I needed that," she said, as if I had done her a favor. "Anytime, dollface; anytime." ****** 3. As I pass through the living room on my way to the office, I notice you standing in a robe making pancakes in the kitchen. My pace slows, my eye following your figure under the thin silk. Your hair is still wet from the shower, and I catch a hint of your shampoo in the air over the baking batter. My cock twitches, and I know I will have you. I come up behind you and cup your breasts, burying my face in your neck. You sigh, reaching back and pulling my hair as my hands release the sash and the robe falls open. One hand returns to your bare breast as the other snakes down to your pussy, freshly shaved and still damp...or is that something other than shower water? I press my hardness into your back, and I feel a hand close around it, lightly stroking over the flannel of my pajama pants. Of course I have no shirt on, not in my own home. My hands fall to my waist, and my pants soon drop to the floor. I rock my hips back, sliding my cock forward between your legs. You gasp and stand up a little on your toes, easing the sudden pressure on your clit. In response I turn and push you over the counter, taking a moment to admire your bare ass as the short robe rides up. My hand slides along the smooth, perfect cheek before smacking it, sending ripples across to the other side. I line up and press into you, pushing down on your back with my hand until your nipples are pressed into the cold marble countertop. You moan, and I thrust deeper, grunting against the pressure of your not-quite-wet-enough pussy. But your sexy voice drives me on: I know you want this as much as I do. Once I bottom out, I wrap your thick, wet hair in my fist and pull towards me, arching your back as I pull out and establish a rhythm. The living room binds are open and I can only imagine what the neighbors would see if they care to look closely: me, standing behind you, pushing you forward over and over as your tits sway in the opened robe, your beautiful face showing every expression of lust and sexual satisfaction. I yank your hair and smack your ass, thrusting deeper. Your hand reaches back, pulling me into you harder. I smell the beginnings of burnt pancake, and violently reach over and shove the pan onto another burner, metal clanging as the pan strikes the wall and the spatula falls to the floor. I resume with another smack on your ass. I know you are close. Your voice rises as we near the end. I see the guy from across the street step out of his door and walk down his driveway, facing us. Whether he can see us or not doesn't matter; "Oh god...I'm cumming!" you shout, and suddenly your pussy clenches around my cock, sending me into my own orgasm as our neighbor unlocks his car and glances at our house. He pauses as I thrust in to the hilt, grinding my hips into you to elongate your climax as your flexing pussy milks my cock. I pull out, ignoring his open-mouthed stare, and wipe my cock on your buttcheek before retrieving my pajama pants. Walking around the counter back to the office, I bend over and kiss you as I pass. "I'd like chocolate chips in mine; why don't you ask what he'd like in his?" ------ 4. I know you like the candles; that was a thoughtful touch on my part. I figured you should get at least one elegant gesture, because there would be very little else of that tonight. I bend down and resume licking your asshole. I have been alternating between it and your pussy for the last 45 minutes. About ten minutes ago I finally got so tired of hearing you simultaneously bitching about switching back and forth without rinsing my mouth while at the same time moaning like a slut that I finally gagged you. Since your hands and legs are tied down, I don't need to worry about you pulling it out, and I can resume pleasuring you/frustrating you orally at my leisure and in blessed silence. The honey I used to sweeten your backdoor is running low, so I pour more along your crack and spread your buttcheeks lewdly with my hands before burying my face between them again. My tongue probes and laps, and your body squirms as I press your hips into the bed. My fingers find your cunt once more, already soaking wet and slightly gaping from the dildo I've had stuffed up there for the last twenty minutes. I think you've cum at least three times, but I stopped caring as soon as I fastened the last restraint. For good measure I spank you with my other hand. Your weeping pussy has soaked the comforter, which I know you can feel and would normally piss you off since you spent so much time picking out the decorations for this room, but you're so turned on right now that you find yourself rubbing your clit against the cold wetness as my tongue snakes in and out of your ass. I've been teasing you all day, talking about this great night I have planned, when really all I want to do is fuck your ass. I think you'll like it, but I'm not really concerned with confirming that right now. I slide my finger up from your pussy to your ass, burying it and pulling back out, coated in honey and pussy juice. I lean forward and slip it into your mouth around the gag, which is soaked in your spit. You moan and I feel your tongue cleaning my finger. Finally: you are willing to do my bidding, so now it's time to work out my own orgasm. I casually push forward, forcing my cock into your loosened pussy, driving down and grinding around to coat myself with the only lube you're going to get tonight. Besides, I've been warming you up over the last hour with every toy and tool at my disposal, so I know you are loose and wet and basically horny for cock in any way you can get it. So, now you're going to get it. I pull out and slide up an inch, nocking the head of my penis into the cleft I know so well. I press forward and your relaxed sphincter gives way almost as easily as your pussy did. I sigh as the exquisite friction grips my cock, completely ignoring the muffled whimpering coming from your sock-stuffed mouth. My hands reach under your body, finding your hard nipples and pinching them, hard, like I know turns you on. I pull out and push in again, once more reveling in the almost-lubed sensation of your perfect ass. My tempo picks up as my fingers pinch harder, then I arch my back and pull down on your nipples as I thrust as deeply into your rectum as I can and flex my cock to full girth. You scream into the sock and I feel your body shaking into yet another orgasm. I capitalize on your fluttering muscles, resuming my pounding until I can feel my own orgasm growing. I roll and pinch your nipples as the long-awaited load pours into your ass pulse by pulse. My groans drown out your open-mouthed panting and the hours of self-denial are justified in the incredible orgasm I receive from your unbelievably sexy body. I regain control, still sliding in and out of your asshole, now lubed with both our cum. I reach up and pet your head, gently stroking your beautiful hair as I wait for the inevitable next step. Slowly the pressure builds again, this time in another means, from something else I have been withholding all day. I pull out with a sucking 'pop' and look around me until I find the dido-vibrator, shoving it back into your pussy. Your legs jerk as I switch it on and your body writhes from the sensation so closely following an orgasm. Your moaning returns, satisfying my bored curiosity: you are indeed still horny (as usual--slut). I straddle your back, still playing with your hair as my semi-hard cock slowly comes to rest on your back. The pressure reaches the tipping point and I do nothing to stop the stream as it shoots up your back. The initial flow courses up your spine, then spills over both sides. Once again, I know you would normally be furious about this, but your only reaction is to moan louder. I reach down and direct the piss over your raven hair, marveling in the way it turns slick and wet. My cock jumps in excitement, tracing a line up the back of your head, where I hold it, my eyes following the stream as it soaks your mane. You are still moaning, beyond the point of caring what I do with you, so turned on and overstimulated is your body that you will not even fight off a golden shower on the guest bed. The guest bed with all of the trimmings and silk comforter and whatever other bullshit went into decorating this rarely-used room. Still, I'm only supposed to do this in the shower...too bad, slut, you're getting it here and now, and you are quite obviously enjoying it. The stream slowly fades and I shake off the last few drops on your long hair lying between your shoulderblades. You are soaked, and look devastatingly sexy. Switching off the dildo, I step off the bed and stand before you, untying the gag and letting the saliva-soaked sock drop to the floor. Your mouth hangs open in a dazed smile and I cannot resist shoving my cock into it. Feebly you lick me clean, mewling and reaching out with your tongue to lick my balls. I smile down on you fondly and reward you with a loving cock slap to the cheek. After enjoying your tongue on my sack for a good long while, I retrieve a thick blanket from the closet and throw it over your prone form. The air disturbed by the motion conveniently extinguishes the candles. "Sleep well, my love; I'll untie you in the morning and it will be your turn." But you are already asleep. ------- 5. I hear the front door open and I am on my feet, hurrying out of the office to the living room. I *love* when you get back from working out--the sheen of your skin, the way your sports bra clings to your breasts, the smell of your body. I catch a glimpse of your runner's butt in black spandex capris disappear into the bedroom. I follow in pursuit. You stand in the middle of the room, head tilted back as you drink from your water bottle. Your other hand reaches up to free your ponytail as I step up behind you and deftly lift your sports bra above your breasts. You squeal, spilling some water, and I spin you around, spilling more. I press my body into yours and kiss you, ignoring your mild protests as my hands wander. Soon my thumbs are hooked in the spandex and pushing, revealing your smooth pussy. The smell of your womanhood reaches my nostrils and I am driven a little more crazy. I shove you back onto the bed, lifting your feet and pulling off your shoes without bothering to untie them. The capris follow shortly. I pause to stare lustfully at your sweaty, perfect body, then I drop between your legs. I know you are anxious to shower first, but I don't care; I want to lick your pussy now, while it's sweaty and pungent, and I will not be denied. My tongue probes your tangy depths and laps on the surface, the salty sheen of your mons making me salivate and hunger for more. Despite your initial embarrassment I can tell you are turned on--your juices flow almost immediately, and when I bring a finger up it slides right in...as does the second....and the third.... My other hand lifts your leg, pushing it back on the bed, revealing your cute little butt. My fingers slide down almost of their own accord, two of them pressing into your backdoor, slick with sweat and girl nectar. Your moans jump an octave and your hips buck. I struggle to keep my mouth over your clit, but my efforts are rewarded with the shuddering/screaming orgasm that rips through your body. I continue licking and probing and humming until you push my head away. Slowly I remove my fingers and stand, sucking them clean as I look down on you haughtily. "Go take a shower, you dirty slut, then come find me when you get out...I'm not done with you." ------- 6. We pull into the garage and as the door shuts, I turn off the truck. I look over at you, quietly evaluating your nudity as you stare back unashamedly. I, too, am naked, and quite comfortable with it. We have just returned from dinner, playing our favorite car game involving single headlights and stripping. We...may have gone a little into overtime along the rather convoluted route home. Winter rain continues to pour on the garage roof as the engine ticks, cooling in the damp air. The comfortable silence is heavy with sexual premise, yet I am not satisfied that you are ready. So I sing to you. Softly, my voice carries from my throat into the cooling air. The ignition is still half-turned; as the overhead light goes out, you are bathed in shimmering cerulean light from the CD player. I stare into your darkened eyes as you listen, chest rising and falling in growing arousal. You are stunningly beautiful. I love you madly and I'd marry you again with just as much fervor as on our wedding day. And our wedding night? Well, I try to relive that as often as possible...such as right now. The song ends and I make a shooing gesture. You slide against the door as I shift over the center console and take your place. With careful maneuvering you are in my lap, kissing me as our hands explore. My hand finds the chair lever and you--and your kisses--follow me down. Your long black hair closes like a curtain around us and we make out as flashes of blue slip through your tresses. Like warm silk, your breasts brush across my chest as you slowly rock your hips back and forth. The base of my penis soon alternates between wet heat and evaporating cold: the rain and the song and the light are doing all the work--I am merely enjoying the rewards. I trace my fingers down your ribs and cup your sculpted butt cheeks, flexing and rocking with your hips. Slowly I pull you up my lap, spreading your juices along my shaft, which pulses in response. Soon you are forward enough and I flex, my cock slipping between your folds. I feel your excited exhalation flow around my mouth as my first tentative thrusts pierce your depths. Your head alternates sides kissing me as you naturally take over, sitting down and impaling yourself on my cock. Rocking and thrusting, bucking and grinding, passionately we make love in the blue silence. Time melts away, only images and sharp sensations remain: the outline of your breast when you twist away to tuck your hair behind an ear; the sheen of sweat on your chest when you sit upright; the burning stare as you look down at me, panting; the painful grip you take on my hair as you climax. My own is not long after yours and I truly flood you with my seed. You moan into my mouth as the warmth spreads within your womb. The kisses taper off and eventually your head is resting on my sweaty chest. Lightly I stroke your hair as your warm breath tickles my ribs. Occasionally my cock flexes, making you jump a little and giggle each time. My hardness never really goes away, and I can tell you, too, are still horny. Soon we will go again, either here or on the bed or somewhere in between...it doesn't matter. I will have you anytime, anywhere, my love, my life, my wife. Musings and Ramblings Hi everyone! My name is Nate, but most everyone knows me as "Barkeep". That seems to be the most commonly used salutation, until closing time. Then I get to learn all of my nicknames. When ever I meet someone new I automatically say "What'll ya have?" I've gotten a lot of funny looks from people until I tell them what I do for a living. The interesting part of my profession is that I DO get treated as a professional. When I took my first bartending job, I had no idea that I would automatically achieve the same stature as a doctor, lawyer, or accountant, even among the members of those professions! Not only that, but on a good night I can make one-tenth of what they make without the worry of support staff, errors and omissions, or professional liability. I even helped console some of the jurors in the OJ case. They took a lot of consoling. As most professional barkeeps know, the most closely related profession is lay-psychiatrist, followed closely by detective. I've always thought that experienced barkeeps should automatically be accepted as inspectors for the Department of Weights and Measures, but our bosses made a pretty good argument that we did not really know what and ounce was. As many of you know, we often are called upon for advice during the performance of our duties but there seems to be a lack of comprehension among many of our clientele because we schedule many repeat consultations, some almost daily. The nature of our product and it's affect on that comprehension guarantees frequent visits to our oracle. The unfortunate thing about our profession is that we are now required to be licensed in many states and can be held responsible for over serving. This is a difficult call, because it is not just a measure of quantity (as the regulations say), but also the level of reverie, remorse, anger, or depression. By the way, the bar business is considered by most economists as one of the most recession proof, and I'm convinced that the state governments finally figured this out and started to regulate as a way of exerting control over yet another legal vice. What they failed to realize is that they managed to reduce a substantial amount of tax revenues in the process, but we know that politicians are not particularly bright anyway. Each personality, being individuals, reacts differently also. Some become extremely amorous, some are totally dumbfounded (we get a lot of blank stares), and some very nice people become belligerent or flat out mean. While going to college my most brilliant professor told me that if I truly wanted to understand human nature and have a leg up in the business world, get a bartending job for awhile. Well, I never went back to college. I did ply my trade all over the western United States until I realized that Nevada was the Promised Land. Now how can you argue with a state that understands human nature so well that gambling and prostitution is legal throughout most of the state. Their politicians are smart too, because they passed laws to ensure the public safety (regular medical check ups for working girls), and they taxed the receipts. This adds to the public coffers immensely and allows many public services to be funded without the state going into the red. They also did a great job of promoting the establishments as destination resorts where everyone wants to go with the full expectation of losing at least two to five thousand dollars in a weekend. Don't ya just love it? What I don't quite understand is why there would be a slut in Nevada, unless you're a very bad slut, because you could get all the cock you want and make great money at it. Why just give it away? I failed to inform you that I did make enough money bartending that I bought a whorehouse. Most of my girls are putting themselves through college or are housewives looking to help achieve the American Dream as quickly as possible. I can get top quality because I can recruit nationally. I suddenly realized that's why there are sluts in Nevada, THEY CAN'T MAKE THE GRADE!! Yes, I'm married. I have a beautiful wife I met in Los Angeles. We met at a friend's house in Bel Aire. She was intrigued because when she asked me what I did for a living I said that I'd just bought a whorehouse. How's that for an opening line? Problem is it wasn't an opening line. Simone is an interior decorator and immediately asked me if I was going to remodel. Of course it started as a working relationship, but I guess she decided that I was so honest about what I did for a living that I might be someone she could trust. I told her that business is business but home is home and never the twain shall meet. The up side is that she knew she had to be my personal whore, but she also knows that I love her and respect her. We are past the point of having children, but travel is what we really want to do. Her kids are grown and I never had any (and I know that for certain). Simone and I have just formed a Nevada Corporation for a private offering to our friends throughout the US and abroad for a destination resort with services offered to both genders. No gays or lesbians. We figured we would leave that for someone else to offer. We want our guests to be totally relaxed and comfortable and figured a separation would probably be optimal. No swapping also, you can do that at a regular hotel or resort. All stock was sold within forty-eight hours and ground breaking will be in two months. We haven't decided what the uniform will be for the primary service staff though, so suggestions would be welcomed. Remember to respect your barkeep. Musings on The Kinneret By way of introduction… Annikki and I met a few years ago on an Internet forum named Speculum Pages. I had posted my first and only entry to a discussion and Annikki sent the only reply. Over the course of a few weeks and dozens of emails, we discovered we had a lot more in common than anal eroticism. Annikki is an American born and raised Israeli that went to a kibbutz summer after high school and stayed. I am a Southerner that answers proudly to the term "Redneck." I realize that doesn't sound like we could have anything in common, but we discovered so many connections that it was spooky. By the end of the first month, she invited me to come to Israel. By the end of the second month I accepted. The first meeting was amazing. I arrived in Tel Aviv on Shabbat evening and she could not come until Sunday morning. I left a note with an extra key at the hotel's front desk, and was awakened by a naked goddess sliding under the covers beside me. We both have adult children and grandchildren. So, no, Annikki and Seth are not our real names. When our love exploded on us we were both married. My wife, who supported and encouraged our relationship and became very close to Annikki, has since died. Annikki remains in a love filled 30+-year marriage. We spend a week together twice each year if at all possible. In between, we "talk" daily in Messenger, send e-cards for any reason at all, and exchange erotic writings. Even though Annikki is an accomplished professional, has two degrees, and edits professional journal articles, when she writes erotica she adopts a stream of consciousness style devoid of punctuation, capitalization, and paragraphing. I edited her emailed note to conform to Literotica style constraints. Annikki is only, but always, submissive in the bedroom. I am only, but always, in charge in the bedroom. Rigshee is Yiddish for laying a guilt trip on someone. The Kinneret is the Sea of Galilee. Safed is a magical mystical village in northern Israel. Pupik is Yiddish for the belly button. Cous is Hebrew and Arabic for the female genitalia. And, going "to Ireland" is not anti-Gaelic. It is our euphemism for using the toilet and comes from our second trip together. We spent a week in a small three-room cabin in an Orange grove near Nahariya. Whenever, genteel and somewhat shy, Annikki went into the bathroom; she would play a CD of Irish folk music to cover any embarrassing sounds. Musings on the "New" Survivor Contest 2009 Throughout the years the Survivor Contest at Literotica has evolved as the sometimes fierce competition has pressed, bent and sometimes broken the rules. Some competitors have attempted to compound the rules with "ethical" standards branding contestants competing well within the rules as cheaters. Others redefine the "spirit" of the competition as simply trying very hard all year, implying that those who simply appear not to have tried as hard or who didn't maintain a consistent monthly output throughout the year have somehow not operated within the "spirit" of the competition. There is an undercurrent of opinion that the correct way to play the game is to simply write good, long stories and that approaching the game with a strategy is wrong. Of course, the actual setting of an "ethical" standard or making up some off handed "spirit" of the competition is a strategy in itself as competitors try to alter another's approach to the contest. Many competitors recognize this strategizing; others don't and fall prey to these gamers. The game and the "spirit" of the game is well defined in the rules where the objective is defined as: "To write as many new and original stories in as many different categories listed on the main story index in the course of the year as possible." With the beginning of Literotica's 2009 Survivor Contest just weeks away the latest revisions to the rules defines the next step in the evolution of the game. The first of the changes is simply a step to enforce one of the old rules that proved to be unenforceable. For a chaptered story to have its individual chapters counted in Survivor, each story had to stand on its own. As chaptered stories started showing up more and more it became impossible to clearly define which chapter actually stood on its own and the time it took to make this differentiation simply made the rule unenforceable. One contestant in particular emphasized this problem by simply posting ridiculously fragmented bits of stories tied together by continuous strings of "to be continued" and entered them in the contest. This writer astutely saw the problem and made it so obvious to everyone that the change became inevitable. The next set of changes combine into one major change in the scoring, immunity and bonus system for the game. While in the past, most changes in the rules have been adjustments tweaking the rule set, closing a loophole, or better defining a specific rule, the changes to the scoring system this year is a core change to the game, returning a lot of the scoring emphasis to story count and categories filled. No longer will a category specialist be able to write dozens of stories in one category and then play the numbers with the rest of the scoring and beat a contestant writing several stories in every category. While the story and category count is a key factor in scoring, there are still some basic strategies that must be considered. With the cap requirements, zero value immunities and the lack of filled category bonuses, the three points earned for each first story in a category becomes an important part of a contestants score. The elimination of the filled category bonuses makes every point earned that much more important. Depending upon when you choose to use an immunity, it can cost you as many as five if used as the first cap in a category, two points if used as the second cap in a category and one point if used in subsequent caps. Once again, considering the few bonuses available, contestants will need to make sure they can afford to sacrifice the points. In a close race the five points you lose because of an immunity means you will need to write five more stories than your competitor, something that may be tough to do after an entire year of writing story after story, often in unfamiliar categories. Something all serious competitors will need to consider is the simply drudgery of the competition over the year. Yeah, you can rush out and write thirty five stories and fill every category scoring an amazing one hundred sixty five points or 4.71 points per story, but after that each and, with the exception of the contest entry bonuses, every story is worth one point. Past competitors might remember the summer drudgery of having to write one point story after one point story to fill a category. Ah, the filled category then gained you an additional five points. Well that prize is gone now. After the initial thirty five categories are filled each story is worth one point and one point only. Serious competitors in the 2009 Survivor Contest will face the drudgery of writing tens or hundreds of stories covering the entire range of categories worth one point each to finish in the top places in this contest. Early decisions regarding immunities will affect how many stories each writer will need to complete to compete. Yes, this game has change from a horserace to a tractor pull where inch by inch a winner is determined. Now, for the contestants simply wanting to expand the scope of their writing, the new scoring system gives extra incentive to write stories in every category. With the amount of prizes available to the top finishers, the top fifteen finishers, Survivor offers rewards to both the fanatic competitor and the writer simply wanting to expand their range. The revisions to the rules in 2009 are extensive, but they will better support the objective of the contest than past rule sets. This will be an interesting year in Survivor. * * * * * * Editor's Note: The Annual Literotica Survivor Writing Contest is a year-long competition open to anyone who likes to write. To find out how to get involved, click here.