And I Like To FuckSo, the suggestion was made after I posted my poll — favorite sexy roll play — I was asked about "female fantasies."Wow. That is a really deep subject. Because, for one, I can't speak for "women."I can speak for "woman."And that is where the wheel goes off the road, boys.The things that dwell in my heart and mind, the things that excite or 'turn me on' ... well, they don't exist in the heart and mind of another woman.Sure, are there "cross over" ... yeah.Things like, "being attentive," "listening," "hugging," ... etc. Many, many women will say - over and fucking over - that they matter. But do you guys listen? No. Fuck no. This is why when a woman finds a man that does - oh, it is on. We grab him and cling.Do we like "bad boys" ... yes. Yes we do. Until we grow the fuck up. Then we like "bad boys, that really aren't".We like it rough ... sometimes.We like it soft ... sometimes.We like it long ... sometimes.We like it quick ... sometimes.We like it ... sometimes.
Getting Older Is A BitchI am so bored, I Youtubed Fleetwood Mac's Rumors album ... can it be called an album if it is on Youtube?Whatever.I'm awake at 5 a.m. on the East Coast and that is just stupid.Israel and Hamas are back at war ... or has that ever really stopped?A huge typhoon is hitting Japan. They named it after an anime character I think.My eldest daughter is awake and acting silly. She cracks me up. So much like her father, I think.God, I love Fleetwood Mac ... they should never grow old. But it happens.The fluid of life, leaks, from our pores and slips to pavement we once played Hopscotch on and rode bikes with baseball cards in the spokes.We had roller skates and rolled with wind in our face.And Stevie Nicks was so beautiful.She twirled and twirled and twirled, and we wanted to be caught in the breeze of her skirts.Our dogs sleep. Our cats sleep. Our fish sleep.The awake hours never find me. The sleep hours make me move, like a gentle ghost, to and fro in this old house, as floorboards
Butterfly And SpiderLet me be very clear from the start ... none of what follows has anything to do with you. That might seem like a strange thing to write to so many random and varied people that will stumble across this, read it and somehow have it apply to all ... but it does.This is a confessional and as such it is strictly mine. So, if something I write turns you on - I honestly don't give a damn. I'm not trying to turn you on.I write that because if you are moved to comment — don't tell me how this turns you on or whatever. Cause I don't care if you're turn on by my sex.If this journal, this confessional and the amendment that goes with it makes me a BITCH - then I own it.I don't apologize for me.The great 2013 dust up was in our rearview mirror, and our make up sex was still fresh in our minds, hubster and I hit the sheets late Wednesday night.I spilled it all on Tuesday ... all the depravity and perversion that had run through my head. He did the same.Our miscommunication that lead to
How Much Wet Pussy Can You Handle?I had a long conversation today with long-time watcher, wcg28, about a myriad of subjects, but it centered on two central themes, that honestly are connected.The themes were swinging and posing on dA. The two are honestly connected.In my time on dA (almost two fucking years) of submitting pictures, answering comments, notes and writing journals I have encountered just about everything.Sunday, for example, a guy offered me $10,000 to come to Turkey to "work [with him] on a project." Plus travel expenses.I was born in the morning. Just not yesterday morning.I have been told I am beautiful.I have been called a whore.I have been told I am "smart."I have been told I am an "idiot."I have been a cunt, a bitch, a friend, a good person, a funny person and all things inbetween that I may have left out.There is of course one giant hole in all of these various positive and negative names — no one on dA has every actual meet me.No one on dA has ever been in the same room with me.This is