The thrill of the chase

The thrill of the chase is only a thrill when it’s a little reciprocal. This comes up over and over again.

Men send out messages on dating sites by the dozen and get few replies, usually. You wonder if “they” will call. Does she want to hang out again? Is it too soon to ask him if he’d like to spend the night? You’re in love with them and hope they don’t just like you a bunch.

I joined a swinger club and it has a facebook group.  In the group a woman commented today that she doesn’t know if this is the experience of other single women, but she is tired of being “picked last”, and she doesn’t appreciate being someone’s booty call when some other date or the wife cancelled. She explained that she wants to sleep with people that want to sleep with her and it feels crummy to be choice number 4. Continue reading

Absence Make the Heart…

I have a few posts I really need to write.  I have a review of an awesome kinky B&B to write.. and I will, but this one just came up.

red panda

red panda from

I think I live my life to always be missing someone.  I was mucking about on Facebook and ran across a pic of my dad with one of his friends and he was smiling and looking in the camera and my breath just left me.  It’s not the white hot poker it was, but it aches sometimes.  Everyone loses their parents if they live long enough, so it’s hardly a novel experience, but doesn’t it always feel so singular and unique?

The ache for my ex-husband is mostly faded now.  I still have these moments or memories where I miss something we were, but I don’t miss being with him anymore.  But if I’m really being honest I have to say I’m not sure I’ll ever really be totally over that hit.  It’s like the arthritis in my elbow after I broke it.  You just get used to it.  I’ve moved on and he’s moved on.  He did what he pretty much always did, including with me.  He settled with the first girl he found and they seem to be building a nice life together.  I hope they are really happy.  And it’s nice to feel that.

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A Tizzy

My beautiful metamour, please skip this one.  Thank you!

sex 1

I am in a tizzy.  Maybe it’s the sweltering heat.  Maybe it’s all the naughty adventure talk.  Maybe it’s imagining what I’d like to order Yarn Hooker to do.  Maybe it’s reliving recent fun adventures or not having had a taste of the man I just started dating recently.  Maybe it is what is happening between Traveler and I.  Maybe it is our plans together or the plans I’m pursuing alone.  I don’t know.  It’s delicious.

I feel like I am in heat.  I cross my legs at work to feel them press against my pussy.  When I am walking and my rings rub I find the lick delicious.  I am on fire.  We’ve been exhausted and had little time together for weeks until this last weekend and still it is hotter.  This rabbit hole!

I’m planning an adventure…two actually.  One adventure Traveler and I are undertaking together.  One I am undertaking myself.  I have a long held fantasy and I am going for it.  I have to admit I worried about it, worried about hurting this thing with Traveler and I.  It keeps going deeper.  It keeps getting hotter and I have more here than any woman has a right to… right here.  Last night while he worked his magic I felt high with desire.  He played me like a viola.  I was panting.  I could not get my panties off fast enough to let his fingers inside. I could not stop the stream of sex and desire pouring out of my mouth.  I whispered.  I sang.  I breathed “I want you”.

We had spent the night sharing kinky desires and making plans.  We shared fantasies about Yarn Hooker and talk about the fantasy I’m pursuing.  I’d been scared to talk about it too much… scared to trust him saying that he wanted me to pursue it.  I’m so used to men saying they love my sluttiness and turning cold.

I remember my ex husband fucking me from behind in the hotel in Maui, knowing everyone standing right outside the door was listening and could hear, could see our outline, fucking me so hard we were both screaming with passion and then asking if he could cum in my mouth, telling me he wanted to fuck my face and loving it, he cried out while I swallowed every drop, he eagerly talked for days about how amazing it was to finally date a woman who he could be his every passion with.  And I remember the way his voice was cold shortly after our wedding when one night I asked him to cum on my face.  How quickly it all turns.

But it isn’t here.  If anything Traveler is wanting me MORE.  He doesn’t share this kink.  He doesn’t want to go there with me, but he wants me to go there and loves me for being authentically myself.  I think he might love me more for the sincerity here.  More and more and more I feel his want and his need and I’m comforted.  He sees ME.  He knows ME.  And he LOVES ME.

He doesn’t want me because I’m fulfilling a kinky desire for the slutty girl.  (Although I sure do like a slut lover).  He doesn’t want me just today because I am the porn image and he’ll reject me when he loves me, for being too much.  He wants me because he wants me, I think very much like I want him.  He wants to hold me and kiss me and love me and fuck me and be with me.  I can’t tell you what that does to me!

Last night I told him on my way home that I needed him naked.  He laughed and said I’d just had him.  We had fucked so quietly, after a long hot day, exhausted, but needing, trying to avoid the houseguest hearing and I’d come so hard trying not to make a sound that we could hear the splashing.  I’d controlled my breath and my ragged sounds and it had only made it more intense.  When he’d held his breath and bucked beneath me while he came thrashing with the pressure he’d held in, I felt him cum and I’d come again once more, soaking us both and making an audible rhythmic splash.   But I needed him again.

I needed him because I always need him.  I can’t imagine not needing him.  But I needed him too because I have been on a tizzy of desire.  I am overflowing.

We fucked hard last night after hours of teasing talk, urgent and with abandon, saying slutty slutty things, and I’d lost it when he said what he wanted me to do, and even then – right after we finished I could not stop coming and I’d played with my pussy when we’d stopped fucking, coming again all over him. It was amazing to look into each other’s faces then, unable to break a spell.

And wouldn’t you know it.  I’m still in a tizzy.



What it is to be loved and wanted and heard.. and still.. loved and wanted.


You have me on a boil.  You have my mind racing with deep dark luscious thoughts.  I want to taste your skin with my lips barely brushing you and giving you goose flesh.  I want your salt on my tongue.  I want your hair slipping in my grasp and your name on my breath.  I want to know the color of the flecks in your eyes and trace your jaw with my kisses.  I want your warmth and your scent.  I want your breath.  I want to taste all of you, every inch.

I want your every dip and valley and saddle at my fingertips and on my tongue.  I want to make you laugh with small delight and purr with my heat.  I want you to take in your breath sharply.  I want your muscles to coil to me.  I want you to relax into me, warm to my touch.  I want your thoughts to turn to a hum.  I want you to think in simple small words… yes.. oh.. please.. mmm.. yes.

I want to sync.  I want to roll with you and writhe.  I want you to have to use your arms and your cheek and your leg to slide over my skin because your hands aren’t enough.  And when you are melting, easing into my embrace, I want to sink my teeth into your flesh.  I want you to wonder if the heat you feel is your broken skin.

          I want your heart to speed.  

I want to pull your head back and I want to pause so you can feel the things I want to do to you there.  And I want you to turn over to me and to crave my will.  I want you to want to please me.  I want to make me want to make it hurt just enough to make your blood sing.  I want you to feel your body’s response and I want to make you flush and squirm and swell.  I want you to growl.  I want you to course.  I want you to hear and agree with what I don’t actually say.





Cat hoping on his back legs with his hands clasped found at:

Cat hoping on his back legs with his hands clasped found at:

I said something tonight at trivia that got me thinking a little.  I said I didn’t want to hope too much when it looked like we won or it wouldn’t happen.  My friend asked if I really believed my thought could change the outcome and I said I didn’t.. not really.  See, intellectually I don’t believe my mind can control things.  But it is an old old habit.  I catch myself wanting something, excited and I try not to want it too much.  I shut it down.  I have this old tape that says if you really want it it won’t happen.  And I realized I do this all the time.  I actually tell myself “don’t get too excited or you’ll mess it up”.  It’s so funny the things we tell ourselves, isn’t it?

Having said all that, I’m really getting excited for my trip with Traveler.  I can’t fucking believe it.  We’re planning a big road trip to British Columbia for.. get this.. 4 nights and 5 days.  It’s like a real vacation!  It is a real vacation!  I need to kill leave and I think he does too and what a great way to do so.  I spent a while before my date with Cleveland tonight and after looking at lodging and getting stoked at the idea of grilling with Traveler, and getting to drive with him a good long while, and going to wineries, and maybe hitting a hot spring.. and just.. whatever.  We could play axis and allies or stay in bed until 1.  We could do anything.  I’m almost giddy.  He seemed excited too, planning it with me last night.  (Don’t want it too much).  🙂

It felt like a while since I’d seen him and I guess it was a while since we’d had much time.  My last date with him was a week before and we’d met right before our weekends away for a quick bite.  It was a precious few hours after work and before we fell asleep, but it felt like a lot to reconnect and have fun planning our vacation.  We were both yawning a lot with our bellies full of tuna pasta and we blissed out on touch.  It was so nice to reconnect in all our little ways and to fall asleep sated and warm and happy.  I love our little mundane weeknights too.  It’s funny how long it feels now when I don’t see him for a week.  Time with my beautiful men has me spinning like the hills are alive with the sound of music.


A week night.  A weak night.  I’m here and having a nice night to myself, relaxing and watching Game of Thrones.  But I’m tired. I’m so very tired.  I’m bone tired.  I’ve had a headache for 4 days and I’m just so tired.  I’m overworked this week and stressed.  I’m tired and sore and my body hurts.  I keep popping my jaw.  I can’t let down my shoulders, they are so tight.  t have to push just a little bit further.  I just have to push through and get my big work project on the rails and I’m so very close.  I got a massage, which didn’t help much, and I had a lovely if frustrating date with Cleveland this week and a nice time with dinner and hanging with Traveler.

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Trying to Make the Goat Sing

ImageSometimes in life we are trying to do the impossible, or at least the improbable.  We want X.  We’d like X.  X would make us feel lovely.  We want the object of our affection, a person in this case called X, and we want them in a certain way.  We want to be poly or open or want them to let us shoot skeeball every weekend with our buddies.  We want them to grab us by our hair and throw us down and they want to light candles and dance in gossamer.  Maybe this thing isn’t really who X is.. but maybe they are just close enough?  If it’s a small thing, say skeeball that we don’t really care that much about or that they don’t.. maybe a compromise can be made.  If it’s a more integral thing to a relationship, say we aren’t sexually compatible, or they want to date others and we aren’t cool with that or they like to spend every penny they make and we wanna get married and have a life of security.. well.. now we have a problem.  

I’ve seen people twist themselves into knots trying to be something they aren’t.  Sometimes we don’t throw in the towel because we are just close enough that we think maybe they’ll give or maybe we will.  Maybe we can make ourselves accept the unacceptable.  Maybe if we dig deeper or try harder.  Maybe we can make them in this way not be them.  Maybe.. maybe.. we can make a goat sing.

ImageWe try to give the goat milk, table scraps, a fine coat of black.  We brush the goat.  Shine the goat.  We play it Brahms and Chopin.  We get it jazz and dance with it to jaunty tunes.  We are sweet about our ministrations or forceful.  We try everything we have in our bag of tricks.  We demand, beg, pled, borrow, reason with and cajole.  If it’s not going to happen then it’s not going to happen.  It’s so close to right that we try and try and try to make the goat sing.  But goats, well.. they don’t sing.  


If it ain’t right it ain’t right.  And it hurts everyone to keep trying to make the goat sing.  It’s a goat.  It needs to go to goaty things.  We need to let it.  We need to expend our energy on things that are more likely to sing.  We need to be free to think about trying songbirds, whales, hyenas and wolves.  We need something that sings and it’s okay to want something that sings, but we have to admit it.  We have to say to ourselves, self.. look.. I need a singer.  This is a goat.  Goats don’t sing.  It’s a great goat.  


It’s cute and fluffy and jumps all cute.  It can balance on the back of a horse and it’s milk makes lovely cheese.  It’s got cute horns and sharp hooves and it’s very lovely in a goaty kind of way.  So We love it for what it is and set it free, and find ourselves a singer.