Thoughts on an ever-evolving life

Archive for the month “January, 2016”

Sunday Morning Coffee

Blog Post-1-11-2016-Sunday Morning Coffee

Her mornings didn’t start before her first sip.  He knew that, and always made sure the coffee was ready the moment she first opened her eyes.  If it wasn’t, there would be hell to pay.  This Sunday morning began like every other morning, as the two of them sat on the couch sipping the black gold that began their days.

Conversation and television had been the entertainment as they commenced with their second cup of the morning.  She happened to notice a familiar bulge growing inside his loose pajama pants.  A wicked smile grew across her face as he grinned back and pulled his cock out, slowly stroking it while taking another sip.

“I REALLY like watching you do that,” she remarked as she continued to ogle.

“Good,” was all he said as his hands slid up and down the length, quickly turning the head a needy shade of purple.

She sat her coffee down, arose from the couch, opened her robe and lowered herself onto her back on the ottoman, legs spread welcomingly wide.  He quickly sat down his cup too and positioned himself between her thighs.  His first, firm thrust caused her to gasp and almost launch off the other side.  They proceeded to enjoy a good morning fuck, no frills, just animal pleasures, until his body lurched, shook and he had his orgasmic release.

But he wasn’t done yet.  He withdrew his cock and immediately began fingering her hole as his offering slowly dripped out.  Her body reacted in an almost instant release of her own.  He didn’t stop the onslaught, instead, he intensified by pounding her over and over until his entire fist was buried deep in her gushing hole.  She twisted and whimpered at the invasion and unbelievable pleasure.

After a series of intense, explosive orgasms, he paused and withdrew his hand. Her ragged breathing started to slow, and she looked down at him to see him reaching over for his coffee cup.  She thought it odd that he would stop in the middle of such intensity for a drink, when she suddenly realized that a drink was not what was on his mind.

With a wry grin, he took a mouthful of hot coffee, spread her legs wide, and placed his mouth over her quivering clit, letting the warm liquid bathe her pleasure spot while he began working it feverishly with his tongue.  In an instant her cries escalated, and a new sensation of pleasure, like she had never felt, began to break over her wave upon wave.  The combination of the hot liquid and his tongue, synergized in a way neither of them was expecting.

He continued to work her spot as she wracked in uncontrolled ecstasy, and paused briefly, for another mouthful, when the first had trickled away and been swallowed.  Her eyes narrowed wickedly, as he gulped a second mouthful.  “Fill me” she breathlessly begged, and his eyes lit with a broad smile.  His face navigated down to her hole, and he pushed the entire contents of his mouth into her awaiting opening.  He quickly pinched her lips together to keep the warm fluid inside, and took yet another mouthful.

He again placed the warm liquid around her clit, and started energetically working it while holding her lips closed.  Her back arched, as the heat of coffee and the action of his tongue created a fever to release, and when she did, he relaxed his hold on her labia and she expelled coffee in a true gushing orgasm.

She laid there, body twitching, slowly regaining her breath as he scooped her up into his arms and held her spent body.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” she exclaimed when she again had her breathing under control.

“Nothing better than Sunday morning coffee,” he replied as he places a soft kiss upon her lips.

Washing Away the Week

Blog Post-1-10-2016-Washing Away the Week

She wanted release.  The tension of the work week was now in the past.  A Friday night alone proved to be the exact thing she needed.

All the chores at the end of the day completed, she retreated to the bathroom to begin her night of self.  Clothes stripped, she stepped into the warm shower.  The water, almost too hot, cascaded down her head, traveled along her neck, spilled over her shoulders and worked its way down the length of her entire body, taking the stress and tension with it as it all swirled down the drain.  She set to the task of washing.  First, her hair.  She lathered and clawed, feeling the tingle on her scalp as she rinsed clean.  The mask that she covered her face with every morning disappeared as it smeared across the cloth, now streaked with black, blush and red.  The loofa, saturated with her favorite scented wash, traveled from neck to toes, scrubbing and erasing the skin of old, leaving her feeling refreshed and new.

Then, she couldn’t help but stand, feeling the warmth flooding across her pure and virgin skin.  Her eyes closed and she imagined the touch of a thousand fingers moving down her body.  Her own hands began to trace where theirs had been in her mind.  She felt the smooth and slickness of the water on her skin, allowing her fingers to glide up and down her arms, connecting via her pinked décolletage.  They slid down and fell over her now alert breasts.  She slipped her hands underneath, between her tits and torso, feeling the weight in her palms as she let them slide across her hand, just enough until her erect nipples now pressed into those wet palms.  Her thumb and middle finger began a decadent rubbing and pinching, light at first, ever so slowly increasing into a pain that produced a whimper from deep in her throat.  Releasing herself from the pain, her hands continued to travel down her stomach, slipping over her newborn smooth sex, and into the wetness that the shower did not produce between her slit.  Her finger found the button, waiting to be pushed, yet desiring to prolong this feeling of wanting and need.  Her fingers slowly withdrew, turned the knob, and ended her glorious bath and unfulfilled fantasy.

She leisurely dried off, ran the brush through her towel-dried hair and twisted it up in a loose knot at the back of her head, securing it with a simple clip, tendrils falling free and cascading over her bare shoulders.  She retrieved her favorite lotion and coated her skin with a moistening layer that glistened.  After applying a softening cover of lacquer upon her pouty lips, she turned and retreated to the master bedroom.

She knew she was alone for the evening, but flannel pajamas just wouldn’t do tonight.  She opened the drawer that contained her most coveted lingerie and pulled out her favorite pair of stockings.  She slowly unfurled them over her toes, covering her ankles, clinging to her calves, ending up over her knees and sitting snugly upon her firm thighs.  No garter needed for these comfortable beauties, they held steadfastly on their own.  She smiled to herself, knowing these silly striped pretties made her feel young, carefree and playfully sexy.  She stopped to admire herself in the full length mirror, taking note of her curves and how they spoke of her femininity.

She sat on the edge of her bed, and reached to retrieve her laptop from the side table.  She rolled over onto her stomach, stretched her naked body across the satin sheets, crossed her stocking covered toes, and raised the screen.  She began clicking and sliding her way through a maze of pages, until she came to the one she was looking for.  It was His.  She didn’t know him.  She only worshiped him and the captivating, idyllic words he spun from afar.  She would spend the remainder of the evening, pouring over the liquid sweet words he wrote, consuming them and wishing they were written for and about her.  Little did she know…they were.


~I was looking for some inspiration this morning, and was lucky enough to find it.  🙂


An Email from Professor


This is an email that my husband sent me a few weeks ago.  I have decided to share it now because I have found myself going back to it over and over again.  His words mean everything to me, but will be easily identified by all.  I hope you enjoy.

Blog Post-1-5-2015-An Email from Professor

Final proctoring done, in 35 minutes.  Now left to sit at my desk, pretending that the stack of ungraded exams before me means something.  I’m sure that the sensation over my skin means something more.  Memories of soft, warm flesh, visions of eyes looking up into mine. Faint traces of bodies between sheets, and the weight of winter blankets.  Voices in whimpers and grunts.  Smells of femininity, masculinity, and carnal animal desire.  Morning coffee, glowing fire, comfort of couch.  Security.  Knowing.  Feeling.  Certainty, that all that lies before me means everything, and it is most definitely not a stack of exams. I must spend the remainder of this day pretending the monuments of clutter surrounding me are important.  Knowing what truly IS will guide me through this charade….

Happy Birthday to My Son

Blog Post-1-5-2015-Happy Birthday to My Son5

Today I celebrate the day I became a mother.  My son arrived a little over six weeks early.  He came very fast, six hours from first contraction to delivery.  The Doctor barely had time to get his arms through the gown and the next push, he was here.  They whisked him over to a team waiting for him.  As the Doctor continued to care for me, all I wanted to know is how the baby was.  Everyone kept telling me to stay calm.  I wasn’t going to be calm until I knew how the baby was.  One of the Pediatricians came over to tell me that his little lungs weren’t working properly, so they were taking him to an isolation unit and I could see him when I was all done.  I told the Doctor he had about three minutes to finish up and then I was getting off this table to go find the baby.

The Doctor finished and they wheeled me into see him.  He was hooked up to a million monitors.  He was REALLY PISSED and his entire body was tight, red and angry.  His oxygen levels were dangerously low.  I just stared at this little thing, not knowing what to do.  The nurse told me it was OK to touch him.  I began stroking his teeny tiny arm with my finger and repeatedly saying, “It’s OK baby.  You’re OK.”  He began calming down and his oxygen levels began going up.  The nurse touched me on the shoulder and said, “Well, all he needed was him Mommy.”  I began shaking uncontrollably because I realized that I was his Mommy.  Of course, I knew that, but I had never REALLY thought about that until that very second.  From that moment until the end of time, I will be His Mommy and he will be My Son.

Blog Post-1-5-2015-Happy Birthday to My Son

Blog Post-1-5-2015-Happy Birthday to My Son2

Blog Post-1-5-2015-Happy Birthday to My Son4

Both Sides of the Mirror

Blog Post-1-3-2016-Both Sides of the Mirror

I stand in front of the mirror naked.

I see hair that has greyed and doesn’t hold the bounce that it once did.
He sees a place to entangle his fingers when he feels the need to claim and control.

I see eyes surrounded by lines and creases developed over years of living hard.
He sees orbs that flash fire and passion at his command.

I see a mouth that has lost its plumpness, surrounded by hard lines of past sadness.
He sees a soft and supple place to explore, kiss and taste.

I see an aged décolletage of spots, marks and lost elasticity.
He sees a field to place soft kisses and gentle touch.

I see deflating breasts, their perkiness long gone.
He sees peaks to conquer and claim, lick, tease and suckle.

I see a belly, fuller and flabbier, marred with the stretchmarks of the children I bore.
He sees the garden that he planted, which I cultivated and delivered to him, his son and his daughter.

I see thighs missing the definition that once was.
He sees the gateway to glorious layers he wants to continuously peel open and explore.

I see a body, no longer young, pure, taught, unmarred and desirable.
He sees his whole world in absolute perfection.

I want to see me through his eyes.

Unwise Encounter


She sat at a table in the bar, nervously fidgeting, awaiting his arrival.  The thought that she shouldn’t be here kept running through her head.  She had pushed her chair away from the table to make her escape at least half a dozen times, but she couldn’t go.  They were finally going to meet, finally going to speak face to face, and finally going to be within arm’s reach.

They had met online.  It all began innocently enough, just friendly exchanges between likeminded people.  The casual conversation gave way to flirting that had increased slowly over time.  He had finally asked for a less public way for them to speak.  She agonized over whether to give him her email, but the desire to see where this would go got the better of her.  Emails quickly led to phone calls.  They knew they were heading toward disaster, but they both kept right on driving

Her husband and his wife didn’t know anything about this blossoming friendship.  How could they?  Neither would understand.  Neither would accept that they were just friends.  So they had to be kept in the dark, for everyone’s wellbeing.  At least, that is what they told themselves and each other.

So tonight, she waited.  They had decided it would be safe to meet somewhere neutral, just to share one drink and some conversation.  She had arrived early.  It allowed her plenty of time to flee if she decided she needed to.  The extra time served only to increase her anxiety and worry.  What if he didn’t show up?  What if he changed his mind?  What if he was disappointed when they finally met?  What if…

She inhaled sharply as he walked through the front door.  She knew it was him instantly from the descriptions they had shared.  He seemed to be drawn directly to her too.  Both stared.  Both smiled.  Both quivered.

He made his way across the room to her table and they exchanged a friendly hug.  He held out her chair so she could sit again and they began a frantic conversation about everything and nothing at all.  They smiled, laughed, shared and consumed everything the other had to say.  While sharing a story of sadness, he reached out and touched her hand in comfort.  They both froze, locking eyes, desperately search the others face for a signal about what to do next.  They both settled back into their seats, resumed their conversation, but neither moved their hand.

Before either one knew it, hours had passed.  The startling realization caused both to pull away their hands and stand up from their seats.  They discussed how it had been so nice to finally meet.  Maybe they could do it again sometime.  He paid the tab, offered to walk her to her car and they exited the building.

She stopped at her vehicle and thanked him for the drink and lovely conversation.  He locked his eyes on hers and gave her a whispered “Your welcome.”  They both stood, motionless, silent, trembling.  The silence was broken by two words from him, “Awe Hell,” and he leaned in, placing his hands on either side of her flushed face and kissed her.  Her body gave way, as did her lips, and they allowed themselves to indulge willingly in unwise desires.  A line was crossed, and they would never be just friends, ever again.

Blog Post-12-31-2015-Happy New Year

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