I have a crazy week, as I am sure many of us do during this time of year.

I am already in a food coma, followed closely by booze. Holiday cheer can kill a girl.

It truly is a hard time of year for people. I see it too much working at the library. Even for myself I have trouble staying lifted. I wish I could understand what it is about this time of year that triggers the loneliness and sadness, which then manifests itself into anger and grumpiness, in people. Maybe it’s just the time of year when joy and happiness are shoved down our throats and the stark realizations of our lives comes to the surface, and it is not joyful or happy or what we thought it was going to be. This is not my beautiful house… this is not my beautiful wife. I guess that is why all the holiday cheer in the form of booze.

Anyway, enough downer shit on with the sex.

Maybe I just need to get fucked proper. The celibacy kick, kind of sucks, and not in a good way. Riding a man face doesn’t count as a lapse in my celibacy, does it? It sure was fun, but I am still considering my celibacy intact. A stretch of the definition perhaps, but I did not ride cock, so I am sticking with it. Actually I am going to ride it out this time and stick with the no cock until the new year goal. It can be that difficult (I say with hesitation), I have had more than my share this year, and I just don’t have the energy, or spirit to put into a good cock hunt. So it is best I re-group about the situation of cock and it’s role in my life and in my pussy.

Until then, I love myself. Lots and lots. With porn and without, imagination can be the sweetest of fucks.

Today I am going to have some work done on my tattoo, which reminded me of the last time I had work done. The post below, from 8/18/09, is about that day.

admissions and joyrides

I have a tattoo, actually three of them.
Today I had some work done on one. It is a cover up job from a horrible tattoo I allowed to happen when I was barely 15–from an ol‘ perv named Pirate Bob, in Brighton, a farm town just out of Denver city limits. His shop had no age regulations, or regulations whatsoever. Pirate Bob’s boner kept popping out of his in his boxers as he worked his way further and further down than where the tattoo was actually supposed to be placed. This was the first time I realized I allowed something sexual to happen without saying no. He was gross, his dripping hard on dragging up my thigh, his scraggly bearded face starting down at me. Stuck in innocent rebellion, and sexual recognition of lechery. Thrill, turned warped sex thrill. Plus the added pain of the truly horrible tattoo, that has now been a reminder for too many years.

My cover up is going well. Today I focused on my pussy while she worked, I breathed, I breathed into my pussy, let pain transcend through my thick walls. Through my yoga pants I could feel the swelling taking place. The artists arm was resting on my abs and lower belly—I kept pushing my breath to the core of my cunt. The pressure of her arm on my body, put me in a relaxed pussy glowing state. For two hours I drifted in out of our conversation, always focusing on a slow breath, clinching, my pussy willow devouring oxygen turning it into blood. Focused blood. I wanted to reach down and feel my lips on top of my pants–with no panties on–I could easily reveal at my fingertips the full lips surrounding my split. Two bountiful hills with a valley to plow.

The two hour sitting passed seamlessly. Once in the car I pull out the new vibrator I got for my birthday. It has basic shape, basic vibe, but it has perfect portability. Spreading my legs I pushed the vibe into my junction, further in, closing my thighs around it.

The intensity it brought to my already full lips was causing me to sweat, my feet on fire. Pulling it out, I bounce the vibe on my kitty, rolling it around my mound hitting my clit in between. I speculated that another driver could see me, anyone in a truck, or van could see me fucking myself. I liked it. I contemplated really doing it, really sliding the vibrator into my pants and penetrating with my plastic love, but I held out, wanting to wait until I got home for a good self finger fuck. Continuing with the bouncing and the rubbing of rigid on soft, made me ready to come. My knuckles of the hand on the wheel turning white, my grip tight, I waited until I topped the hill–ahh the ocean, I see it–Then I come, nice and hard, pussy convulsion, and a big big smile followed by laughter and release. I rode the rest of the way home with the vibrator rumbling between my legs.

Walking into the apartment, dropping my bags, I stand at the open kitchen window, washing my hands with hot hot water, I slide my wet warm fingers between my lips to feel the stickiest silk, running through them– teasingly across my nub of a clit, that bounces alive at my touch. I am so slick from coming in the car, my fingers are consumed. Drifting into cock, drifting into how your branch would hit me, thick, gasping. Leaning over the kitchen sink, ass out–pussy willow in full bloom, drifting into you being behind me.

I drift into how we fucked, you bent me in half, and jammed your cock inside me, it hurt–how I breathed into my pussy and the pain subsided to fuck bliss, and our bodies collided, my ass crashing into your every thrust. My eyes drift to a half open stare on to the street, my fingers trying to imitate the thought image running through my mind, plunging. Grabbing the counter as my inside grasps my fingers and pulls them in, I pulsate around my digits– I let go.

The feeling of my wet skin on my hand–my pussy flesh melding, I leave my fingers inside me for a moment before slowly pulling them out, along with a sweet flow of my insides, and placed them to my lips for a taste of myself.