If you're new to aagblog.com you should subscribe to the RSS feed or have new content delivered directly to your inbox. Get short, frequent Twitter updates here, and add me to your Facebook here. Thanks for visiting!
Oct 252009
Oct 242009
If the only alternative is playing host to wee white-suited people doing acrobatics, I think I’ll keep my dry skin, thanks:
I’m picturing this in use.
I don’t know whether to giggle or gag.
Maybe a little of both?
Oct 232009
Because if I had a penis, I’d keep it as far away from fangs as possible.
That only seems wise.
Thanks Shay!
Oct 232009
Oct 232009
I’ve spent the week as randy as a 17-year-old left alone in the house with basic cable, Women on Top, and a super-economy size bottle of lotion.
There’s really no rational explanation, although the fact that I got to see my partner after a long separation might have had something to do with it. They say that great sex increases rather than slakes desire, and with the exception of perhaps one lone incident we’ve had only dam’ fine sex.
Maybe some of it comes from the thrilling rush of visitors who have stopped by this week from The Kristen Archives and the resultant time I’ve spent exploring that site. Lots of visitors + lots of erotica = one very horny girl. (If you’ve not clicked over to check out the archives you really should [er, when you have some time alone] though I feel compelled to warn you that all manner of stories reside there, including some that may make even the most open-minded of us blush. Consider yourself disclaimed.)
The fact that I’ve spent time talking to a certain very interesting someone has also wound me up. “You’re going to think this is completely weird,” he told me the other night.
Sporfle, thought I. “Try me,” I told him. “I don’t find much weird.”
As it turns out, the man designs and creates his own sex toys. “This is relevant to my interests,” I said, and proceeded to question him closely over the next hour during which I found out about the years (Years! I love it!) he’s spent researching and building (Building! I so love it!) dozens of variations on the basic idea of a pocket pussy but made specifically for his anatomy. The passion that goes into years of sex-toy experimentation moves me; it moved me right to the bedroom more times than I’m altogether willing to admit. At my insistence, he’s agreed to write a post (illustrated with photos) about this hobby to be published next week. Is it necessary to say that I’m looking forward to it?
And I cannot ignore the additional horniness-inducing contributions of my partner, who even as I write is in the midst of an epic wank session. Stress may kill my drive but apparently it kicks his into high gear, and if anyone’s week could be said to have been stressful it is his. I can’t stop thinking about him getting off. I have a feeling I’ll be thinking about it quite a bit more, later.
Or maybe the horny is based on nothing more complicated than the fact that I’ve watched this video enough times that if it were in VHS instead of digital format it would already have evaporated into a wee puff of ozone.
In any case, I plan to take my body up on its constant, clit-thumping teasing. This weekend I’m going to a party, my first in 2009. If the opportunity arises and the moon aligns correctly with my auras, chakras and spirit guides (read: if the horny continues), I’m going to get naked.
I can hardly wait.
Oct 222009
Oct 222009
There are worse ways to mark the passage of time than by means of the ebb and flow of my household’s supply of feminine hygiene products.
Pushed to the back of the bathroom cabinet was an ancient box of super-absorbent pads left over from — can you believe it? — the aftermath of childbirth. Over the ensuing years my period grew so light that three days of tampons were more than sufficient to stem the tide. Even those became unnecessary after the insertion of a near-miraculous IUD effectively slowed and then altogether eliminated Auntie Flo’s visits.
Eventually I either gave or threw away what remained in the house, including the aforementioned ancient pads. Even my beloved Diva Cup wound up in the trash. In the last whole-house purge completed some months back I was surprised to find not a single pad or tampon, not even beneath an unused dresser, batted there for some unknown future purpose by a cat.
“I’m done,” I thought, happy no longer to have the expense or mess of period supplies at the exact same time that my younger children weaned themselves (slowly, painfully, with much teeth-gnashing on my part) from their diapers. I cast an appraising eye over my eldest, who despite generations of genetics to the contrary still has the non-differentiated body of a child of six. Although we’d discussed periods (in excruciating depth and detail) it would be years, I thought, before she’d need pads.
But then I noticed something about her little friends. Suddenly it seemed that all shirts and the seats of each pair of pants had grown tighter while every waist had shrunk. A friend and I spoke about the phenomena, which had struck her child (I swear) in the space of one short month. “She’s going to start any day now, isn’t she?” her mother asked.
I nodded. “Does she carry supplies with her?” No, she replied. Her period would likely start at home, at night, and anyhow, she accompanied her daughter everywhere.
I thought back to all the times the child spent with us unsupervised by her parents and resolved on the spot that no one was going to bleed all over my house if it could be helped. When next we were out of milk I stocked up on products appropriate for the pre-teen set (no one’s yet branded anything with Hannah Montana or Demi Lovato, can you believe it?) and hid them away so that my kid wouldn’t freak out. We are prepared for the foreseeable future.
If I live long enough I’ll go through this process once again for any daughters my own children produce — but too many “ifs” go into that possibility for it to seem real. For the moment I’ll concentrate on the present, and how quickly time is passing when I measure it this way.
