Wednesday, March 9, 2011

#3911 Come Hither


She had on too much perfume.

She didn't mean to put on so much, but she knew he loved the way it smelled so she doused herself in it. It was a blend of oils she'd made up and called "Come Hither." She only wore it when she was definitively on the prowl. This combination could and had had detrimental affects when worn carelessly.  A lover once told her it smelled like the best sex he ever had.  Tonight, she applied it to all the places she wanted him to kiss.
Nape of her neck
Valley between her busom
Backs of her knees
Small of her back
Her navel
The meeting of her thighs
It had been so long since she'd last....seen him and he was only in town for the night. She hadn't even planned on going out that night, but since she was out, she wanted to make sure he knew shewas there before he could even see me. She wanted to linger in the air.

Would he look the same?

She made her rounds 'round the table, greeting and air kissing until she got to him. He stood, opened his arms then slid them around my waist under her open jacket and pulled her to him so effortlessly. She had fully meant to keep her distance in the embrace, but instead, feeling those arms around that waist....she was back in the familiar place both of them fought so hard so often to forget. She nestled into that familiar faraway place, her head resting in the valley of his neck and just inhaled him, as she was sure he was inhaling her. He bowed his head and ran his finger from her collarbone to her cheek and back again. She craned her neck eagerly anticipating the bites he used to plant where his thumb now danced. He planted a soft kiss an inch or two lower than he should have for it to only be a kiss of greeting.

When she felt his lips on her neck, she forgot where she was, forgot who she was, or what she was supposed to be doing.

"I know that scent well." He whispered into her ear as he took a deep breath of her scent. His breath almost felt like a growl in his chest as he took a hit of her intoxicating smell. It emanated off of her. His face was still much too close and much too low to be as innocent as she was feigning this encounter to be.

Just as quickly, he pulled away and held her at arms length, a wry smile on his lips as he drank her in visually. She battled with her legs to invent a steadiness she certainly wasn't feeling. He'd made her weak. So much for them just being friends. No one at the table even batted an eye. The whole exchange had been less than half a minute, but a lifetime of their encounters washed over her in that instant.

They sat at the table in close enough proximity to tell a thousand secrets to one another with their eyes and careful smiles. Without speaking they made dirty promises about what they would do to one another if ever they were able to escape the rest of their party. The drinks flowed easily. Her clothes felt too heavy and she was disinterested in the meal. She looked at him an he bit his lower lip She got fidgety and impatient.

She excused myself from the table and felt his eyes consuming her as she walked. He felt her wetness around him from across the table, across the room and his eyes continued to devour her as she moved slowly away from him and the party they were with. Knowing he was thinking about the same thing she was caused her to inhale slowly and hold tight her muscles at the entry to her love. There was no certainty they would be able to make good on what they were both so close to they could taste it. She didn't want to get her hopes up. She strode as confidently as she could towards the ladies' room. The hallway was dark and long and narrow and led to a tiny water closet with a pull string light.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

The flush she was feeling had crept up her neck to her cheeks. She rinsed her hands under cool water, wet up a paper towel and pressed it to her neck to try and sober up from this longing that had made her dizzy. She'd hoped the wet paper would help to cool her hunger.

When she thought she'd collected herself, she opened the too small door and stepped out only to be met with him standing a few feet down the hall propped against the wall, head hung ever so slightly. His presence startled her and she stumbled back. There was a tiny ledge between the door and the hallway and seeing him there caused her to slip and almost fall. He darted forward to save her, one arm slid into the small of her back and the other into her hand.

Around him, she even fell gracefully.

He righted her and she found herself up against the wall trying to catch/steady her breath, her pulse doing a step routine in my ears. They were frozen as if caught in a moment on a faraway dance floor. His arm round her waist, his other hand holding hers slightly above their heads. He leaned her arm against the door jam and allowed his arm to sloooowly travel down her wrist, her elbow, up her shoulder, cross her collarbone until his finger traced the line of her jaw to her chin. The soft pallate of her throat fit perfectly between his thumb and forefinger and still holding her by the throat he commanded her her neck upwards to welcome his kiss. With just those two fingers, he had the strength to hold her exactly where he wanted her. He had her by her neck pressed against the doorjam, the mass of his body against her. She couldn't get away if she wanted to and there was not a drop of fear in her heart. She liked how he held her.

Something about the danger of it made her pulse quicken.
Something about the aggression of it let her know exactly where he was waking up the next morning.
Too much needed to happen for them to part ways at the end of the meal.

Her chest rose against him. He left no room between them for it to fall.

Over his shoulder, she saw a busboy darting towards them,
misunderstanding the encounter and trying to come to her rescue much too late.
She welcomed his kiss.
She welcomed his arms holding her to him.
She welcomed all of the possibilities that night had to offer.

The dim light creeping around the curtains let her know they hadn't slept at all. He laid head to foot on the bed drinking in her legs through his hands. He'd run his fingers from heel to thigh, then glide his open palm over the vast expanse of her legs as if trying to memorize them or cover them in his fingertips. He kissed them, licked them, bit them, embraced them, held them. Even with morning-after hair and makeup she'd never felt as beautiful as she did that morning in his eyes as he devoured her legs. She'd never felt so tall, so supple, so womanly as she did laying across that hotel bed that morning.

Laying with him

Her skin was so awake with passion... she could feel the difference in the callouses on his hands, the soft pads of his fingertips....They were drowsy with sleep and longing for each other but too afraid to let the minutes pass by sleeping through the morning....after all, he was only in town for the night, and the night was running away from them fast.

She turned her gaze away from him briefly into the pillow and was met with her own scent mingling with his. Her breath seized sharply when she felt him wanting more against her thigh.

One hand slid effortlessly up her calves, up her thighs, making small circles 'round her belly as if saluting the home of the baby they joked of making.... up higher and higher, dancing along one breast, then the other until he had her neck once again cradled between those fingers of his.  His mouth followed the same path his hand had taken. She arched under each slow, wet kiss...each one eliciting a soft gasp from her parted mouth.  He climbed her slowly with his mouth til she pulled him close to her, so very close to her. She panted against the same place her face had nestled into hours earlier when they were still clothed.

He looked at her. She looked back. Their eyes met. Their stare answered hundreds of questions. Usually one to look away as she writhed with want, she held his gaze, smiled at him. He smiled back. They both inhaled deeply and then,
he entered her just as he was and she let him in....

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

#3811 Open wide & Say AHHHHHHH!!!!!

EDITOR'S NOTE: This post 1st appeared on THELAURENSHOW over a year ago. Some of you are faithful readers who've seen it before. Some of you are newbies waiting to be inducted. At any rate, this guest post was first done by one of the homies who asked that we address her as Myparentshateme.  I am nothing if not obedient... enjoy!


Ladies, what's the big deal about head?

tygerlily was telling me that a couple of weeks ago, she was chatting it up w/a friend abt another married friend of hers whose wife doesn't give head.

I blatantly made fun of the girl.

Not giving your boo a professional is to me as grave a sin as women who cant/dont cook. Broads should get marked w/a DENIED brand so fellas don't get caught out there w/one in the crib and a neglected peen.

I'm saying, how can u be grown & not rock the mic?
Crazy ish is, I believe shorty prolly expects dude to lick her love below.... How does that work? You don't wanna test your gag reflex, but feel as though he needs to slurp your vag yogurt? How do you rationalize that? No really, put me on 'cause you, dear sister, are living in DE-NIAL.
say aaaaahhhhhh....

Personally, ever since my first attempt @ "singing," I have to admit, I get turned the eff on knowing that I can do something to make a fella feel good, make him feel goooooood.

I like to see a mu'fcka's toes curl from the pleasure I am bestowing upon him.

I enjoy hearing those low guttural moans crawl up out his chest.

I appreciate all the "oh sh*ts" he spews at the top of my head like machine gun fire as he's about to cum.

That sh*t gets me really f*ckin....well, you get the picture....

I've made it a point to get my skills w/that on point. I read about it. I watch instructional videos. If you want to be happy in a relationship, I heartily advocate sucking a mean cock.
Don't know how?  4 out of 5 exes will tell you I know what I'm doing when I go down.

I know some chicks are reading this right now and thinking #hosh*t.

Y'all b*tches are prolly single and salty about it! Don't hate me, hate the fact that you're a prude.

I've heard from some of my girls that they don't do that because they don't want the dude to feel like he "got me."


You don't want him to think he "got you?"

Let me get this straight, you think letting him tickle your tonsils with his man meat means he "got you," but doing the hokey pokey with you bent over in the kitchen on a butcher block chopping board doesn't?


You boning him, aren't you? So why not give him the boning he'll never forget?

Not only that, but you feminists want power and equality, right? So why not take out all that frustration you feel about job and economic inequality by making a dude squirm and beg for mercy from the skills you can't put on a resume? Use what you've got to get what you want...E'rybody has a mouth...come check my tonsils......aahhhhhhh.....

Now that we're grown it is way more important to have QUALITY sex rather than QUANTITY. Afterall, who wants to be a lousy lay? Who wants to be the forgotten fck?

I was recently working on my "list" of all the boys I've boned before. There are A LOT of names that were left off the list. Why? 'Cause they are forgotten fcks. If I remembered them, then at best I know I got nekkid with them, but there was nothing memorable about them or about us unclothed for me to feel the need to record them for posterity. next thing you know, some sweaty dude has collapse across my perfect busom.  If I'm not feeling it, I damn sure ain't faking it. If I'm not faking it, why would I bother remembering you for a later date and higher number.

In essence, they are misdemeanor lays.  They'll get erased after a few years and won't stay on your permanent record.

They were fast food dick. They tided me over when I was hungry, but they don't neccessarily qualify as a memorable meal.

Think of them as the snackwrap of penis. A guilty pleasure you indulged in and right afterwards wished you hadn't.

But, I remember everyone whose dick I sucked & I remember them WELL....ok, maybe not ALL of them, but I do remember most....

Funny thing is, I'm almost a hundred percent sure they remember me too. How do I know this? Cause the few times I've bumped into them somewhere & given the obligatory hug, something below has automatically bumped into me. It's like seeing my smile causes a Pavlov hardon for them.

If I allow the conversation to actually become a conversation, inevitably they'll fish for details about my marital/relationship status, or lack there of, and drop hints about their own in attempts to try and get this old thing back.

Please save me your armchair feminisms about how I should be more to a man than a wet mouth barrel o'fun.

You're absolutely right.

Women should be well rounded, intelligent mates versed in global news and pop culture, be patrons of the arts and have the innate ability to both prove themselves right without emasculating....

It's about how some broads really got selfish ass mentalities and don't understand why they can't keep a dude...

It's 'cause you're not gargling babies.

UmmKay? Sorry to break it to you. Don't believe me? Try it out and see. If I'm wrong get at me. If I'm right, make sure you hydrate, don't be scared to spit on it and I won't sit by my mail bow looking for the thank you note. Your hands'll prolly be to busy to type it anyway. 


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