Spent too much of this weekend taking the family to stay with my in-laws. Anthony's mum and dad are thick, un-educated, fairly shallow and terrible cooks. I won't labour the whole mum/mum-in-law thing, just to say that it's a stressful time that doesn't necessarily bring out the best in me. She doesn't approve of the way I drink lots of gin (anaesthetic for chatting about nothing to dull people), or the way I expose myself (just sunbathing topless for heaven's sake), or the way her granddaughter is now a sexual person with a great bod who knows how to use it (well what do you expect at 15?).
So, given all that, it probably was a bit nasty to encourage Anthony to fuck me up the arse - with full throated grunts and groans, up to a duel screaming climax, in Anthony's childhood bedroom with only a thin partition wall between my shouts of "ufff, yeah, come on big man, fuck my arse, fuck it, offfff, yeah". No cuming into pillows for me.
Still, perhaps "nan", as she likes to be called now she's a grandmother, might now realise that her can-do-no-wrong favourite son enjoys sticking his cock up girl's arses. If she only knew about the hundreds of boys he's arsefucked!
Of course, nothing was said. And no doubt, in pillowed whispers, I'd be the harlot who'd led their golden boy astray.
Of course, granddad's gardening time increases wildly if I or Laura or (heavens above) both of us are sunbathing. Oh yes, he loves to potter in the garden, between sly glances at our hot bods and bare boobs.
There is something shamelessly thrilling about tempting a man you know can do nothing but be tortured by the sight of your tits. Granddad's uncontrollable bulge in his trousers - or rather a bulge that I control, not him (oh, you should have seen the concentration and pain on his face when I rubbed sun cream over Laura). The pleasure that if he does still fuck "nan" it'll be me and Laura he'll be thinking of (but I bet he has to go with prostitutes to get his jollies).
See what I mean about not bringing out the best in me. Cock-tease, me? Only as an act of vengeance or when provoked.
Feeling a bit off today, might be sickening for something; even cancelled an invitation to lunch with my colleague Rob (I've cracked that one, I think). Sadly, I don't think I can escape the in-laws. Even Laura has had to cut short her weekend floating about Tess, her girlfriend, to do her duty.
Chatted to Kate last night. Her life is in boxes ready for the move on Monday. Only Jack seems to be doing what he wants. He had a mate round on a sleep over, and I heard them "at it" last night through his bedroom door. I didn't want to disrupt them (well, I did, but I controlled myself for once ... I can do that, you know). So he'll be knackered this morning. Oh to be 11 again and not have a care in the world.
OK, I've helped Kate finish her piece "Male Escort" below, so of course, I've hardly got time for my own blogging! (How does that happen? Just too nice, I guess). So here are the headlines:
> Saw Rita twice this week, once in the toilets at lunchtime and once when I took her home after school. She's becoming resistant to our dirty toilet meetings. I think she increasingly wants to be treated more like a treasure, and less like a nasty dark secret. Which, of course, will make things more difficult. I might have to end our relation if she becomes more demanding.
> Rob the new history teacher has been deploying his full range of flirty conversation and has been quite successfully chatting me up. He makes me laugh. And he has a pervy view of the world that I recognise as my own. So I think I'll be letting him make his move pretty soon.
> Laura is walking on clouds. It's all I can do to make sure that she does her homework, before she shuts herself in her room and has prolonged telephone sex with Tess.
> Spent yesterday round at my chum Rose's place. We've been neglecting each other for some reason - some friendships run so deep you only need to touch-base occasionally, and then wonder why you haven't been in touch sooner. Had a very relaxing drink and girlie chat. We've arranged to go riding this weekend - so there's a sore pussy to come.
> Some witless arse called Dan has sent me 5 copies of the SirCam virus so far, and I've had my first SirCam in spanish! I can't believe how careless some of you people are. Also had a couple of Nimdas. It's a good thing I know these things are spread automatically and it's nothing personal, or I'd be feeling got at.
I was feeling a bit mum-traped-in-drabness. Robert was away. Carl was away. And I'd been staring at these four walls with only a four-year-old and a two-year-old for conversation. I love my boyz, but it takes its toll. And then I had a brainwave (not my specialty). New York has a small army of attractive professional women who find themselves in need of an escort for the night. In light of recent events, I felt sure that the trade for male prostitutes would be lower than the Dow Jones. So my patriotic duty - even as an English woman - was to spend on these important personal services and move the economy forward.
A quick whiz round the net (what a fantastic tool) produced some likely candidates. So with the boys in bed, and myself all pretty and buffed up, I waited, in high excitement for my outcall to arrive.
Having seen the business from the other side, waiting as a punter was quite an eye-opener. Of course, in my twenties, I'd never of thought I'd be the one paying for sex. But now, house-bound by childcare, and with more than enough "relationships" with men who are always at work, it seems an ideal solution - sex on the same basis as pizza delivery. Now that's progress!
Dan the escort was handsome, nearly pretty, with full pouty lips and a floppy lank of longish hair, though nowhere as long as my arse-touching white blonde hair. He had lovely nails, a firm handshake that didn't crush a woman's delicate fingers, and a deep booming voice that would have let him competed in a pride of sea lions.
He'd do.
We sat and chatted a little, I felt strangely nervous (though I knew he would be too). I tried to be cool, but found myself blurting out that I'd been an escort too in London. The need to find a common bond with people is such a powerful one. Dan was surprised ('cos I'm so classy - so many Americans think all English people are classy, even if they're as common as muck).
I just about stopped myself boring him with a history lesson about female prostitution in London in the 1980s (no mobile phones and no Internet made it much harder and much more dependent on pimps ... if you're interested). And we got down to the gritty admin: services provided and cost.
Over the phone I'd asked for a full service. He suggested freshening up (naturally). I suggested a bath instead of shower (I didn't want to get my hair wet). I also wanted some foot worship (not normally something I go for, but since I was pampering myself). And some arse play. Of course, with an escort, it's always with a condom - but that's his problem, not mine. With the necessary financials done, I went to run a bath, while I invited dan to fix a couple of cocktails.
He returned as I'd finished lighting the candles. He set down the glasses and took me in big arms. The twinkle in his eyes said, here's a man happy in his work having a good day with a pretty client. We kissed.
I felt his hands slowly explore the contours of my soft body. My nipples went hard as my body went limp in his arms and Dan kissed down on me.
I felt his pants harden against me. iI pulled back slightly, and slid my hand down to cup his hardening cock. It was nice that he was coming on to me so quickly. He reached down and unzipped my green baggy cargo trousers. With a gentle push over the arch of my bum, they fell to the floor.
Dan held my hand as I stepped out of them. Slowly he raised my white tee-shirt up and over my head. With a soft flick of the hand, he helped return the long strands of blonde hair off my face. I stood before him, transparent, with only a tiny bra and panties, a set that Emily had got me for my birthday: thin satin black straps holding up tiny triangles of clearly see-through black mesh.
Dan could clearly see the hard discs of my nipples and the prominent fat lips of my hairless pussy behind the thin gauze.
"Fuck, you're one pretty woman" Dan drooled, "turn around". iI slowly swiveled around, Dan admiring my tight firm buttocks, and the thin strap of my black thong disappearing into the deep crack of my arse.
When I turned back, Dan had already removed his shirt, and was just slowly dropping his trousers.
Dan had a handsome back - muscular without showing that working out was all he did - well groomed, too. His boxers already contained a tent pole. He whisked them down. Dan was a big man - bigger than Robert or Carl (not that either of them are that big), bigger than ... I thought for a moment and couldn't think of any of my immediate men friends who were as big a Dan. Of course, I didn't like to ask, but I'd guess 9", though it might of looked bigger because, like me, he was completely shaved.
Do I sound impressed? Well I was, and I'm not normally taken with raw cock. "Like it?" Dan asked, smiling the smile of a man who'd impressed a lot of women.
I nearly blushed ... but only nearly, I took hold of it and felt its erect weight in my hand.
"Hmmmm, nice" I smiled back.
I climbed into the bath. Dan climbed in too, kneeling between my bare legs. He took some oil into his big hands and began to slowly massage my deeply tanned skin. I relaxed into his firm careful ministrations.
Dan was very good. It felt a bit like being in your own porno movie ... in that brief bit before the sex begins, only it wasn't brief, Dan didn't have a moustache, there was no sleazy jazz soundtrack, and nothing was in German.
I really love having my feet washed. It's not really a sex thing, even as I gently stroke my own nipples. Dan was really patient, really thorough, really careful, constantly asking if this or that was nice, encouraging me to be vocal in my delight of his touch.
He washed my legs and thighs, and then asking me to stand, he washed my pussy and bottom ... his tongue following his hand. He stepped out of the bath, took a towel, and wrapped me completely in it, arms and all. And lifted me out and carried in his arms to the bedroom. I really liked that - made me feel as light as a feather.
He laid me down, unwrapped me, and started to kiss my throat and down to my chest. The water had made my breasts cool out in the bedroom. Dan's mouth blew hot making me arch my back with pleasure to push my tittie into his mouth.
Oooooooh, it felt good.
Dan straddled me, eating my tits, each in turn, holding me to his mouth: powerful without being rough, masterful without the amateur dramatics. I so wanted him to take me, ravish me, have me.
He laid me back down, and laid himself gently on top me. I was whispering in his ear, imploring him, to "fuck me, fuck me now"
With a firm lunge, he entered me, digging himself into my pussy with each powerful thrust. I grip him tightly with my nails dug into his back, with my legs splayed wide open against his strong hips. Ohhhhh, it felt so good, being so totally open to him, feeling his hard inside me. Oh, he was such a big man, and he fucked me beautifully. I felt myself get hot as my pussy tightened around dan's invading, pumping penis. I started cuming. A surprise quickie cum that left my mouth as short series of cries almost before I knew I was cuming. Dan ignored my orgasm, and with beads of sweat on his forehead, he kept fucking me.
I came again. This time the real thing. I was shouting in his ear to fuck me, my legs wrapped tight around his pumping buttocks. My nails drew blood from his back as my whole arching body was lifted repeatedly off the bed by the sheer power of dan's fucking. I came and came, in a blur of orgasms that didn't quite end before the next one started.
With a shock, he pulled out of me and rose up off my body, which gleamed with our mingled sweat. Firmly he rolled me over on to my tummy and lifted me up on to all fours, before guiding my head down onto the pillow, leaving my arse pointing proud in the air.
Dan nestled behind me, placed his hands on both of my buttocks, and firmly pulled them apart. I waited excitedly. I felt his breath on my bottom and I shivered in excitement.
The touch of his tongue on my arsehole was electric. He started gently, working the tip of his tongue around my arse, sometimes licking down to the hot wet honey-pot of my pussy, before licking back up to my arse. After toying with me for a couple of minutes, I felt his tongue fully pressing into my arse. I sneaked one of my hands down to cover my clit, and as Dan forcibly licked my arse, I played with myself.
It was an easy cum with arse and clit worked together. But I wanted more, I wanted it nastier. I asked Dan if he'd fuck me arse. His grin reached all around his face as he slipped on another condom, and generously lubed it. Dan lubed his finger and gently worked it up into my arse. I felt it repeatedly enter me and retract, until his finger was completely up my arse. He paused. I looked round and he was just kneeling behind my arse, slowly stoking his cock, looking at me.
He looked a little sheepish when I spotted him looking at me, "You are one beautiful lady," he said by way of explanation. He pressed his big fat cock against the neck of my arse, and slowly, unrelentingly, pushed his way up into my arse. I cried in the pain, but begged him to go deeper.
He started arse-fucking me, slowly at first. but soon he was pumping my arse. I was playing with my clit and trying not to over-balance as Dan powerfully slapped into my arse. I started cuming. and couldn't stop as long as I played with my burning clit. Behind me there was a sudden roar as Dan came and came.
Exhausted, he slid out of me and fell down on the bed, panting.
I got off my stiff knees, and sat besides him. I peeled the condom off his plump willy, and held its open neck above my tits. His cum glopped out quickly, and with my free hand I rubbed it over my titties. The cooling cum chilling down my hot bod.
He rolled round to grin at me and said, "Have you ever thought of going back on the game? I could really use an occasional beautiful partner for entertaining couples and some ladies?"
I was so flattered, I could have kissed him ... and i did [thanks to emily for helping me finish this, kate xxx]
Laura was just the bounciest happiest bunny you could imagine. Daddy picked her up from the railway station, she was grinning. She took all her things off, except her knickers, and stuffed them in the washing machine - still grinning. She did her Maths and Music homework - which didn't wipe the smirk from her face.
She then went up stairs with Daddy for three-quarters of an hour - Anthony was meant to be changing to go to work. They both came down smirking: Anthony changed and Laura with a different pair of knickers on.
We all sat together snug in the living room. I read my book and went "argh ha" occasionally, she chatted six to the dozen about Tess this and Tess that. We went to bed together, and I got her to show me what Tess was doing to her pussy, on mine. Which was glacial and beautiful and kept us both up longer than we should be been for a Sunday night. And it didn't stop her grinning. But by then, I was grinning too.
I've had champagne. I've had red rose petals on pink satin sheets. I've had scented candles and josh sticks. I've had pizza in bed, naked. I've had slow all over - all over - massages. I've had long baths for two, bubbled and oiled. I've smoked a few joints and giggled a lot. I've laid my head on double D boobies and felt like a little girl. And I've had such beautiful loving gentle girlie sex with Tess, I don't have the words to describe.
Our weekend together has just been the most perfect, most wonderful weekend I've ever spent with anyone in my life. I just can't believe it's happening to me!
If you're prepared to keep your hands off your dicks/pussies for five minutes you might fancy clicking over to inexplicably fancy trash. You might not completely understand which planet Nicholas, its Blogger, is speaking from ... but just from high orbit you can admire the brain-laden quality of his words. And he's blogged my blog so I'm blogging him back so that you ... poor reader ... get caught in an endlessly self-referential web of too-pleased-with-themselves-bloggers desperate for the next hit on their page. Or something ...
The trouble with submissives is they don't encourage the best in you. I mean, I don't enjoy hitting other people, I really don't. Bit of spanking, sure. A little tittie and clit torture - between consenting adults - why not. I'm not personally fond of the whip ... riding crops have always served me better, and are easier to explain-away in otherwise uncomfortable social situations ... but I don't condemn their intelligent application.
No, there's a lot of fun and a wide expanse of experience to be explored without having to actually hit anyone. But endlessly goo-goo eyed, teeny-weeny voiced, patheticness spinelessly groveling round your boots invites contempt. Contempt leads to anger. Anger leads to rage. Rage leads to losing control and finding yourself doing things that you don't really enjoy doing - like hitting people - and actually really rather enjoying it ... at the time ... And then the anger turns inwards, to make you feel bad for having lost control and doing what you shouldn't. And just as sharply, that inner anger is reflected back out again, back on to the submissive who invited it. I don't enjoying kicking people with my Doc Martens either.
The thing is, I like Cheryl. The only thing I don't like, is the way she allows herself to be treated by her husband. So I'm annoyed with myself for mistreating her just as badly. It wasn't the afternoon I was expecting or would of voted for. But it was what Cheryl wanted ... which is weird: I was the one in notional control, but she was the one actually getting what she wanted.
It was clear from the start that the soft lezzie action with Cheryl's daughter Ellis, maybe with Cheryl as well, which formed the core of my Fantasy Plan A, wasn't going to come off. Ellis was locked in her room, a punishment from her father. Graham wasn't there, but his presence ran throughout the place, like a slightly stale smell you couldn't quite pinpoint.
I'm afraid I haven't got time to write out a slap-by-slap account of the afternoon (I have to do SOME work on the new version of the website and Sunday Lunch doesn't cook itself). Which is sort of fortunate (for me) as I'm none to proud of my behaviour to Cheryl (or hers to me).
I was looking at the site stats, and vaguely wondered what was the most popular time for you nice people to come and visit me. I'd assumed it was the weekend. Well, you would, wouldn't you? Actually, it's fairly consistent - if you all visited at a completely even rate, 14.3% of the week's visits would occur on each day - for my site, every day with within 0.3% of this, except for Sunday which is -1.6% under, and Tuesday, which is +2.1% over the average, or 130% Sunday's figure. So there you have it: Sunday isn't horny, but Tuesday is.
Well I am a Maths Teacher.
OK, I'll go shopping now.
Going into a pub is always slightly nervous as a woman. Heads turn to size you up (or worse, don't). Especially if you're on your own. Extra specially if you've made a bit of an effort. I'd actually asked Penny, my near neighbour, if she wanted to come out. But she couldn't. I also rang Cheryl, but only got the answer-machine. But I was determined not end up sitting in front of the telly, alone, working my way through a bottle of wine.
The landlord gave me a nod (which is what passes for an enthusiastic welcome round here) and the landlady held up a glass to the Gin bottle in an unspoken question. So a slice of lemon was bobbing its way amongst the ice before I even reached the bar. I do like that.
I propped myself up at the bar and nattered to the landlady in between her serving punters. One bloke started chatting me up. He was rather nervous and shy. I was flattered by the effort he was making, but relieved when Cheryl came in with her nasty husband Graham and her lovely daughter Ellis. Ellis is looking so grown up these days. I looked deeply into her eyes, and she blushed. Cheryl caught me looking at her teen daughter "like that", I blushed.
If Graham hadn't been there, I would of engineered things to get invited back to Cheryl's place. But I can't say how much I can't stand how he treats his two "bitches". He just thinks he can treat every woman he meets like a piece of excrement. It's not the nasty latent violence I mind, it's the not being asked to give my permission to be treated that way. So it turned out to be one of those, nearly, but no cigar evenings.
I'll try and relax, Kate ... and thanks to everyone who emailed their support.
I've taken Laura down to the railway station with a little overnight bag. She's staying over at her new girlfriend's. And Jack's out on a sleepover. And Anthony is working nights at the moment. So it's just me in a big quiet house. Might go down the pub later, after supper with my mum.
Robert and I have decided to move to a new apartment in Manhattan: it'll put us in a better schooling district for Owen (and I wont have to avoid Jurgen anymore). So I'll be busy the next couple of weeks packing / unpacking. So I'm expecting that to take over my life.
I saw Carl for lunch yesterday, in which, surprisingly, we ate. i Hinted that Robert knew about our affair, but I think I was too subtle, or he wasn't paying attention. And it was quite a swish place, so I didn't really feel I could shout out, "my husband knows that you're screwing me!" these things are always more difficult that you think. Oh well, back to packing.
I've been seeing as much of Rita over the past few weeks as I can. Her new Year 8 class takes her even further away from the Maths block. Little toilet-based break-time liaisons have been difficult to arrange and I can only give her a lift home occasionally without becoming completely obvious.
But on the completely obvious Richter Scale, a new history teacher, Robert, has caught my eye. I'll call him Rob so you don't get confused with my brother-in-law. Rob is a tall bloke - 6' 2", broad shouldered and strong-jawed. He cuts quite a swoon with the ladies of the staffroom, me included. He also makes me laugh, with a subversive sense of humour with a naughty smutty side.
I don't want to throw myself at him (well, OK, it would be quite a nice idea), so I'll see just how much he enjoys flirting with me.
I haven't seen Tess since two Sundays ago, and though I'm planning to see her this weekend, it's been difficult. I'm surprised really. Very surprised. I seem to have gone a bit soft over Tess, which I really didn't expect.
Of course, Tess is dotty over me, and - call Miss Arrogant - I sought of expected that. I seem to be attractive to lots of older people. Now being grown up fascinates me. I feel grown up even though I'm only 15. And I see lots of grown ups behaving pretty childishly. But everyone: Mum, Dad, Granny, Auntie Kate and Uncle Robert; they all swear that I'm only grown up for my age, but not really grown up.
Only my little brother Jack thinks I'm grown up, and he's only 11 ... and Tess, who never mentions it. So I asked her last night - we talk on the phone every evening - and she said she'd never really thought about it - I was just me (lovely me, she says) and she is she. So perhaps that's what makes me feel so good to be with. Don't know. Does it matter. Maybe not, but it's confusing. I'd like know.
Well there's a charming image, Kate.
I've been seeing Rita this week, and was going to write that up, but Laura's here and wants to blog, so I'm going to go with that flow.
Well shucks sis, it's not like I haven't seen you face down, arse up, getting buggered by some randy gorilla, catching carpet burns on your face. But then "no" isn't one of your catch-phrases.
Kate, honey, you can always just say "no" ... or, "can I look at you this time". Though, thinking about, gazing into the sweat freckled purple puffing face of your man pumping at full throttle isn't actually his best view. So I guess face down in a comfy pillow isn't such a hardship.
Told Robert I was seeing Carl for lunch. He isn't usually funny about that sort of thing. But he felt the need to imprint his semen in me this morning. Kind of like scent marking me, I guess. Not the best time, what with having to get Owen ready for school and feed him and Sam. The hunger of a nearly two year old and a four year old knows no limits. So it was sort of surreal to find myself pushed unceremoniously down, bent over on to the kitchen table, inches from Owen shoveling cheerios into his greedy face, while his greedy Daddy unzipped himself and, sans foreplay, started forcing his way into my pussy. Robert's big hand between my shoulder blades kept me tit-squashed pressed down on the table. My boys munched and smiled at Mummy's red puffing face, as they watched their Daddy rape Mummy. It was so humiliating. I hated it. I loved it. I hated loving it.
I could feel myself close to cuming. when Robert grabbed my very long blonde hair and dragged me down and off the table, till I was kneeling before him. He brutally jacked himself off into my face. My boys watched fascinated as Daddy grunted like an animal, cuming over my forehead and down the centre-parting of my hair. He smeared his bloated cock into my mouth, allowing me to clean it.
Robert pissed in my mouth ... only a little, he'd already been his morning, but enough to mess my white tee-shirt and puddle on the floor.
Robert zipped himself up, and pointedly said, "Say hello to Carl for me" as he left for work, leaving me to clear up the mess on the kitchen floor (stopping Sam from sailing his cheerios in his Daddy's piss) and wipe by face clean and get the sticky cum out of my hair.
It's set me back all day, so far. I was late for school. Late to meet a friend of mine for a little shopping (it's our duty to get the economy going, you know), and late for Carl.
He skipped lunch and whisked up to the hotel room he'd booked, leading me by the arm in a no-nonsense grip. He nearly flung me on the bed - and I was thinking, oh Lord, not twice. My face was pushed into the pillow as my arse was raised up into the air - "I ain't got long, honey" Carl panted as he flipped my short skirt up over my arse and pinged the string of my thong out of my arse-crack.
His hard black cock slid easily into my pink pussy, and with equal hurry, if less roughness, Carl started to fuck me, circling my arsehole with his finger as he did so. I clamped my pussy tightly round his cock, determined to be brought off before the greedy bastard emptied himself into me.
I felt like a bitch being doggied. I came like some whore at an amateur dramatic performance ... very much lowering the tone of the plush hotel. I needed the fucking and it showed. Carl withdrew from my cunt and pushed himself up my arse, and started pumping for all he was worth. Watching himself disappear up my arse turns him on so much. He came suddenly, violently, completely. Falling on to the bed with exhaustion when he was done.
He got up nearly straight away, dressed, and with a "I'll call, honey" dashed off. Leaving me abused and sore arsed, to pick up my things. Not quite the romantic encounter I'd hoped for. And no chance to tell him that Robert knew. No chance to talk at all.
Carl called, ostensibly with some crap for Robert, but actually hoping that I'd pick up and he could ask me out to lunch tomorrow. I said yes without thinking. Ooops, better arrange some child care. Ooops, better dig my head out of war-mode. Ooops, do I really want to carry-on an affair with a drop-dead hunky guy / husband's assistant? I wonder how he would react if I told him Robert knew about us? Probably weird him out. But I guess that's a fair test ... try and avoid the whole Jurgen-super-straight-guy thing. We'll see if I'm ready for that whole truth-or-consequences game tomorrow.
Laura, darling, how are you getting on with Tess?
Well I managed a much more sophisticated weekend, Kate: dinner party for ten, four courses prepared by my own fair hands, fine wines, witty friends. It all went jolly well ... till I brought out the port and we all got horribly drunk. I stayed up till 7am chatting and talking rubbish. I realised it might be time for bed when Jack got up and started foraging through all the rubbish for something that looked like a kid's breakfast. Naturally I'm completely exhausted too, and suffering for my art ... piss-artist that is (it's an English expression that has nothing to do with pee, and everything to do with being a drunk lush).
Haven't had sex in nearly a week now. Hardly thought about it. Weird how feelings grab hold of you and change your entire body chemistry.
Watched crap, ate junk, generally slobbed and drank too much - when times are pissy, it's always nice to know you always have a friend in vodka. Robert and I polished off a bottle. Heaven knows how Sam will react to the "new formula" breast milk.
I have lost count of the number of e-mails Robert and I have received from people. Thank you all. After I got through to my Mum (almost immediately) we just couldn't call anyone. Which was pretty isolating. Downtown Manhattan is a war zone and we have a feeling of being at war, the city was locked down for over 24 hours. There is a strong feeling of community of course, but you can't get bread or milk!
I took the boyz to the park, as the schools are closed, and I had Owen home. We had to come back after two and a half hours, as the wind picked up and all the smoke from the still burning fires was blown uptown. It became difficult to breathe, and I was obviously very concerned about the boyz - who knows what shit is in that smoke. It is another beautiful day, warm and sunny, and for a while there, I wasn't thinking about the carnage, but the smoke forced us all back to reality.
Although we are surrounded by physical and emotional devastation, I feel very safe here. Manhattan is probably the safest place on earth right now! I can't imagine when things will get to normal, but I thought getting blind drunk tonight might be plan.
As you said in your email, it's hard to say anything intelligible in the face of unimaginable horror. Laura and Anthony just watched and watched, like you. I'm afraid I couldn't cope. I went and hid in my exercises and went for a long jog, just to get away. Not very brave, I know.
By the way, tell Robert he's totally weird. I couldn't think anything could make me horny.
I don't really know where to begin. The boyz and I are safe. We live well up Manhattan, east of mid central park - I don't know, 4 or 5 miles away.
I truth, Ii didn't hear anything till the phone rang - and it was Robert telling me he was safe. iI was just doing breakfast for the boyz. I turned the telly over (the boys had been watching a video) and just watched and watched (I didn't want to go out with the boyz, and there really wasn't anywhere else to go). Robert came home - he'd walked, and we just lay on the bed, watching, feeling that these people hate us ... personally. I know I'm not American, but as a slut they'd be happy to stone me as soon as looked at my long blonde hair, and this is where I live - so it felt pretty personal.
After a lot of trying and trying I was able to ring home and talk to my Mum and to Laura (who was at Mum's for her piano practice). Couldn't get through to Em, the phones were so busy. Then I went out to join the queue for blood donation - I actually found my old British blood transfusion card - I used to donate in London - good old ordinary O Positive. I was amazed at the dust. I was amazed at the numb quietness of everyone. It took a long time, but at least I'd done something.
In the end, after a numbing day, Robert and I turned out the light, and hugged for the umpteenth. Suddenly, as I was laying there, with my thoughts about the horror of the day, I felt Robert with an erection. We didn't speak, and with my body I made it clear I was absolutely not interested, but he was insistent. He mounted me, missionary style, and silently fucked me till he quickly came and got off me again. He apologised and said he didn't know why he'd just done that, but felt the urge to do it, to do something that was life positive in the face of so much death, if that wasn't too weird. I told him it was.
But as I lay on my side, cold cum trickling down the inside of my thigh, it did actually make a little sense: what do you do in the face of terror and death and hatred, but resist it with love and lust and life. So fuck you Mr Heartless Terrorist, our life goes on, our love untarnished by your hate.
Is it possible to get tennis elbow through excessive use of a vibrator? Well, two at a time usually. I've slapped a tubey-grip bandage over my elbow - so I have very attractive corrugated skin - which helps, but I think I'll have to go and see my doctor.
Laura, some Auntie advice: don't get all stressed if it doesn't work out. Remember, Tess needs you more than you need her, so make sure you get what you want.
OK, i'm off to get some fresh batteries.
So Mum said my last blog about Tess lacked the levels of detail that had helped make this thing the 13th most popular page in www.asstr-mirror.org - of which she is extremely proud of. Apparently the lesbian doings of a 15 year old are headline news.
I'm not sure whether to be flattered or tell you all to get a life! ... well I'll feel flattered today.
Trouble is, I know that Tess - my new girlfriend - would to shocked to know that our "relationship" (yes, I seem to have developed a "relationship") was being splattered across the Internet. So I feel a little cramped. But then Tess is hung-up about the whole thing, and the fact that I'll be 16 in December doesn't really cheer her up - cradle snatching is still cradle
snatching whether it is legal or not. And the other thing is, when I'm with Tess, we don't go in for the kind of full throttle gross-out kink that Mum and Lindsey got up to on Saturday. Tess seems to be very very very happy spending several hours just kissing my lips, kissing
my boobs, and kissing my pussy. So there's not a lot to tell really.
Tess is mad about me, and I am head-over-heals with being loved so much. I do worry that she's too old for me ... she is twice my age. I do worry that I should be dating a nice 17-year-old or something. But when I'm with her, it so doesn't matter. She makes me feel so totally relaxed (yes, even when she doesn't have her tongue in my pussy).
Of course, it'll be difficult now that school has started. Mum's putting a lot of pressure on 'cos this is my GCSE year. She doesn't want me working as an escort when I should be doing homework. And she won't be keen to see me spending all my weekends trailing over to Manchester to be with Tess. And Tess herself, like Mum, is quite busy - teachers work long hours. So for the moment, we're getting by on text messaging each other during the day
and ringing in the evening. I don't know when we'll be together again, but I hope it'll be soon.
Mum drove me all that way (thanks Mum) and I thought it was going to be great, a giggle, a laugh. I thought Tess and I would have sex together, go for a drink, come back, have sex together, and still have easy time to stroll back to Lindsey's for Mum to take me back home (thanks Mum - sorry for the repetition, but I have to suck up to my obliging and patient Mum, it's The Law, so she tells me). But when I got to Tess's front door, all my self-confidence drained away, and I nearly fled, except I didn't have anywhere to go. And besides, Tess was waiting at the window, watching out for me. I become nervous as hell. But the weird thing is - we had lovely slow sex together - went for a drink - came back, had more, even slower sex (that's real teenage sex, Mum), and still had time to get back.
How often does a plan workout like that?
OK, Lindsey is a very special friend. If you've read my stories about her back on the website (check out Lindsey's family). Her very open pansexual desires are a perfect match for my own. Her two boys are great playmates for my Jack. Her Nigerian born husband IS the tall dark (very dark) handsome (ex)stranger that lives inside the sexual needs of every woman. And she's a great laugh too boot. So
any trip down the motorway to see her is always pregnant with anticipation.
Doubly so, since she is actually pregnant again ... the fertile little minx. Which of course means that in a few months time she is soooo not going to want sex (as opposed to, say, sleep - see our poor Kate in the blog below). So I was pretty determined yesterday to get down be dirty with Lindsey, and had some difficulty keeping my mind on driving.
So when Lindsey answered the door in just her dressing-gown I nearly pulled it off there and then, I was that keyed up. Lucky I didn't, as Lindsey spoke the leaden words, "I don't think you've met my Mum". Now I know you're all thinking, Wha-ho!, Granny sex! And Mrs. Nutall was not without a pretty face and a vast G-cup bosom that was more a portable shelf than a pair of titties. But she's also a product of the 50s, and while - in principle - agreed with Women's Lib and all that - in practice she thinks kissing with tongues is risque. Nice girls didn't put "thingies" in their mouths, let alone swallow ... so fetish sex ... I think she'd have had a heart attack if she knew what her daughter enjoyed.
Obviously my face fell a couple of miles - but I hope it wasn't too obvious. Anyhow, we settled down to chat (pleasant) and we had some tea - in which Lindsey's Mum tried to make us eat for all the starving children in Ethiopia, as Mum's do. And then she went. Wha-ho!!!!
Our eyes shared the same question: here (the living room) or go up to the bedroom? We kind of feel into each - which answered that question, and as I pulled off Lindsey's flimsy dressing-gown, she pushed me down on to the sofa, and unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled down my shorts without her tongue leaving my mouth. Her fingers mashed through my pussy, mine through hers. It was full volume teenage sex - and late thirty something women can't keep that up for too long!
Eventually, I got the better of Lindsey, and pulling her down on to me, I got her to sit on my face as I furiously tongued her arse and fingered her pussy. She liked that. She liked it a lot.
As my tongue explored the contours of the rim of her arse, she strained and puckered her arse for me, while her fingers mixed with mine sliding around her fat wet pussy lips and into the hot neck of her vagina. Suddenly my tongue touched something that made me realise we weren't alone: Lindsey and I had been joined by something hard and large, and getting larger by the second ... not to mention VERY smelly.
Lindsey was shitting in my face, and I was struggling to find
places to put the ever increasing turd. It was firm and fibrous (and she'd been eating sweet corn the day before ... if that isn't one detail to many). She rubbed her arse up and down my face, using me as her own toilet paper, but it wouldn't really spread very well. Till she lifted her glorious pooy botty off my face for a moment, and softly pissed on me in short warm squirts.
It was disgusting. I loved it!
She reached behind me and smeared my shitty face with her hand, as I smeared her round pink buttocks. I slowly slid a hand up into her anus, gradually working a slender finger until three fingers were inside her. She quickly climaxed, tickling her own clit as I slowly fisted fucked her arse. And then she quickly climaxed again, as I tried to get my other hand up inside her sweet juicy cunt. But two hands inside her pressed on her pregnant squashed bladder even further and she pissed herself across my chest and tummy.
And she came a third time, semi-falling off as her knees gave way, slowly dragging my hands out of her bloated body as she went down. I climbed on top of her, and dragged my pussy across her face until she brought me off.
It was enough for us both. We showered. We cleaned up. We sat and chatted. Waiting for Laura to come back from her new friend.
Robert's bogged off to New Orleans for a conference on Hispanic marketing - like his Spanish doesn't get passed ordering a meal - so I'm putting it down to him avoiding his quota of child care. So that'll be another free weekend for me in the piggybank for later. Which just cunningly leaves the problem of how to amuse myself and two hypo boyz now. Done central park. Done McPuke. Done visiting a patient good friend. And still hours before bath time. Almost tempted to drop in on Jurgen and rope him into being the mad "uncle" to entertain them. But only almost.
So it's just me, the boyz, Nick Jr on the telly, and Dalnet IRC to find a grown up to talk to (which is harder than you'd think). Help, somebody, I'm a slut trapped inside a mother's body!
Credit to "Lorelord" for being the first to send me an email full of wit, charm and extensive use of the Page Down button. He points out that the quality of some emails might be adversely affected by the one handed typing that generated them. Duh, why didn't I think of that. (Perhaps because Kate gave me this cute little vibrator that just fits inside my knickers, nestled over my pussy, allowing me to masturbate and type with two hands at the same time ... and to think the person who invented that hasn't had a Noble Prize.)
Can't blog much today. I seem to have been volunteered as a taxi-driver delivering Laura's pussy to this new friend of hers who she doesn't want me to meet in case I don't like her (or in case I do - Mother-daughter jealousy, let's not go there). So I'm having tea with Lindsey, so I have to do my chores right now. Boo hoo.
So Tess rang me up! Ha! Not comfortable with underage chicks, hey! Aaaaaaaaaaand she spoke to Mum first. Weirdness. I do hope they don't become friends. I couldn't handle it! She wanted to come here ... but I said oh no no no. So Mum's going to see Lindsey tomorrow, and I'll walk round form there. We'll see.
... monosyllabic cretins, rather often.
Don't get me wrong. I DO enjoy it when you email me. Really, I do. And Kate and Laura are both fine with receiving a bit of Goddess Hero Worship too. But! But! But! Don't just thumb off one line to me - without punctuation, capitalisation, and often without content (unless you include grunting - which some of you do). So here are examples of some messages (these are the whole message) which aren't going to get a reply (less person details, of course):
> i would like to fuck you email me at www.xxxxxxx@.com
= What, no "please", or name, or Dear Emily, or idea of how we might fuck (or why), and no idea how to write his own email address (Clue: AOL user).
> hi im XXXX a 21 yr old male in the us and if you would like to have some erotic chat about anything e mail at XXXXXXXX@xxxxx.xxx thanks
= Well, better. A lot better. A least a name, a thanks, and a realistic expectation. Just no attempt to think about me (I see what he wants, but what do I want?), or to demonstrate just how damned erotic that chat may well be. So not attempt to seduce me into replying.
> [Laura sent me this] Hey Laura I like your stories is the murder one real?
= Huh!? I wonder if Stephen King has this trouble? ("Hey Stephen! What's Lucifer, Prince of Darkness like to talk to?)
Now, it's not that complicated. Just write in sentences - a whole paragraph if you can manage it. Be polite. Be witty. Be imaginatively dirty. But above all, give some of yourself so I have something to write back to - as I'm very happy to do.
Hi Kate! I got picked up in a club last night too! Though I guess the ones in Manchester aren't as glam as the ones in New York. Especially with the footballing mongs dragging their knuckles cross the floor and chanting their one-note songs. But we avoided all that - and concentrated on some serious boogieing (well it's one way to stop being pestered by the boys).
And to my surprise, I got picked up by this really nice girl, Tess. She's Irish, with a voice which sounds as if it's going to giggle as she speaks - smallish, but with big fat hanging titties. Now I know what you're going to say: older woman (late 20s) and teacher. But there the obvious Mum similarities stop.
Tess isn't as sex mad as Mum, or as perverted. She is more committed to the whole lesbian lifestyle. And she's majorily embarrassed when I told her my age. She absolutely assures me she never ever picked up a schoolgirl - and always avoids any of the tempting treats at her own school. But by the time I confessed being 15 the damage was done. I was already laying naked on her pink satin sheets in the small hours of the morning and we'd already made love a couple of times. So all she could do was glare crossly for a bit.
Of course, she could just be spinning me a tale and she might hoover up teenagers every night. But I don't think so. It was really funny being with another woman after being with Mum so much lately. You really notice the little things: Tess bites, Mum sucks. Tess rubs herself up against any firm bit of you she can find, Mum flows over you. Tess likes to use a vibrator on me and watch the effect it has, Mum likes to get her face right into the action - eyes shut tight, "watching" me by feeling me move against her tongue. Tess loves to rub essential oils across our bodies, Mum loves to rub in piss.
What a great night. But the funny thing is, in the morning I realised the area of Salford that Tess had taken me back to is just round the corner from Lindsey's place. So I gave her a call and walked round to hers for morning coffee. Lindsey's really beginning to show - even though it's her third. Guess because she's so petite. Jack would have loved to have seen her (and the rest).
Her boys were out. Which was kind of lucky, as I think Dylan has a bit of a thing for me. So it was nice to just have a girlie chat with Lindsey - you know how if Mum had been there they'd been diving into each other's knickers. I told her about Tess.
Lindsey knows her, well, knows of her - from the local scene and because Dylan, who's now in Year 8, goes to her school. Small world or what? Lindsey was telling me all about being pregnant. How she was being to feel uncomfortable with it, and her boobs were enlarging (more!). And how she only really found it comfortable being fucked in the arse.
I asked if she'd been with many women but she said the local lesbians often got a bit weird with you when you were pregnant. Like it's not really part of their life, so they completely ignore it.
Anyhow, Lindsey gave me lunch and then sweetly dropped me off in the middle of Manchester so I could get the train home. So it was a really nice 24 hours out of the house! I've arranged to see Tess again when I go to Manchester next, but I doubt much will come of it. I don't think see feels very comfortable parading me in front of her friends. And she does live a long way away.
New York isn't as sexy as it used to be, thanks to the mayor. I'm the last person to be interested in politics - the very last - but it is all very ungroovy. Anyhow, I met up with a few girlfriends at the MOMA (not my choice, but good pose value). We had a bite and a few drinks. Carl's partner, Trudy, was being a bitch to me - wondered if she knew or if she was an all-terrain bitch. Luckily she left (or I'd of gone).
The rest of us went down to a club called True. I thought it was a bit dykey myself. But the music was good in a hyper-power feverish way, and the couple of go-go girls leading the dancing were hot. Apparently it has a bit of fetish crowd - but not last night. Did some coke to help my old bones move up a gear. and then allowed myself to get picked up by this cute little dyke - 5' 0" in height and 7' in attitude.
Misha had a pixie face and a button nose that made "tough" a difficult face to pull - but she pulled it off. Attracted by my long blonde hair, cute "British" accent and spankable botty, I enjoyed letting her seduce me. I went back to her place - tidy Boho apartment - and let her tie me to the bed (very good with ropes) and whip and wax my pussy. Pissing in her face was a mistake - as she'd never done watersports (I just assumed - Ooops) - but she laughed it off, after whipping my tits and pussy really rather hard - both have quite clear stingy marks this morning.
Anyhow, I'm blogging from Misha's pc this morning, so I have to rush back to my place and stop being such a bad Mother - Robert'll be pissed if I make him even later for work.
Perhaps it's been the rain and overcast skies, but it's not been great to be a Mum with two small boys trapped in a city apartment. Sam has been a headache with a snotty nose. Owen has been a headache wanting to go outside. Jurgen has been a headache wanting to cum inside (me). Robert 's off on business again again again . and he took Carl with him.
So I've decided to give the whole boy thing a rest - so I put my boyz in with the baby-sitter, didn't return Jurgen's calls, and ring up some of my friends and see if they fancy hitting the town tonight.
Thanks to my former slave puto for explaining about "Greek Lessons" - it's an anal worship thing, for those of you who are as innocent as I obviously am.
So I practiced on my daughter. She enjoyed it - but preferred something a little more strong stimulating - so instead of my tongue, I stuck a tube up her peachy botty and gave her an enema. Boy, was she, in a very real way, full of shit. So I gave her another one. Which sort of left her all kind of washed out and limp.
Luckily, some lip-to-clit resuscitation brought her round, and then brought her off. Think of it as a more erotic version of The Big Flannel, which all Mums use to clean their little darlings.
So, having chased Laura round the house with a strap-on shouting, "so you want it hard and deep do you?", Laura would like to concede that being gently "mouthed to death" is a joy. Which I'm pleased about, and if she's a good girl, she just might get the benefit of my tongue tonight.
Well of course I'm delighted that the prospect of fame as winkled you out of your lazy-lump stupor, Laura darling. Though I didn't expect a critique of my lesbian love making technique! Remember, I've seen you do everything a person can do - and mopped it up.
Well mum's all happy that loads of you are reading this, and she's been on at me to do a bit for it. So, here I am. Obviously, being a teenager means never having to apologise, never having to explain why I've been too lazy to write anything. Or, may be I pricked my finger on this spinning wheel and fell asleep for a whole summer, till the Prince of Eyeballs woke me. Whatever.
So, what have I done on my summer holidays (gawd, I thought I was too old to be writing such stuff)! Well, sleeping quite a lot, actually. My typical day has me tottering to the loo about 9am. I go straight back to bed and very lazily play with myself till I have a sleepy cum, and roll over and drift back to sleep. But I do make an effort to get up by 12pm ... usually. Have a bath (with the risk of playing with myself again) or a shower (if I'm in a hurry).
The afternoon would be for either: shopping (meeting up with friends in Liverpool or Manchester or York), or some sort of beauty thingy - waxing, hair appointment, stuff, or flopping about the place feeling ugly and probably a bit hung over. Then the evening would be over to a friend's place, then pub, then club, then bed - though which bed sorted of depended on how the evening spat me out. Not that it's been a summer of a lot of sex.
I sort of decided not to work at the escort game (or I was too lazy to get it sorted, and I didn't really need the money - though I'm a bit broke now - and there was a big noise about underage stuff after a brilliantly funny comedy TV programme, so Mum didn't want me working anyhow.)
I kinda reckoned that there would be some hunk I'd meet in the clubs or when I was in Ibiza. But no one swept me off my feet.
Actually, thinking about it, I've probably had more sex with my Mum than with anyone else this summer - which wasn't Plan A. Well, Mum is always always always there, and can always be hugged and cuddled. Actually, I think Dad's had more boyfriends than me or Mum - so how weird is that! Especially Barry, this sweet 25 year old theatrical make-up artist, whose been mincing round the house a lot. He's more girlie than me! Luckily he's several sizes bigger than me or he'd have had half my wardrobe.
So when Dad's had Barry or one of the others round, Mum comes and snuggles up with me in my bed. Which is lovely, except when I'm out clubbing and I don't score and I have to come back home at 3am and tip-toe tipsy (or completely pissed) into my own bed where my Mummy has been sleeping for four hours. Still, snuggling up to a toastie warm Mum in the middle of the night is dreamy.
If we're together, we usually make love in the morning. We'll get up to go for a pee, but instead of me playing with myself alone, I have my Mummy to play with me. My Mum is a very mouth person. She makes love with her mouth; kissing and licking and sucking and nibbling. It's so lovely just to lay there and be mouthed from head to toe.
Sometimes I get frustrated because my Mum is so gentle with me that I think she's never going to make me cum, and I plead with her to be rougher, harder, deeper, quicker. But she hardly ever rough, and doesn't like to fist or do that hard pussy-to-pussy mashing. She usually just carries on slowly mouthing me, driving me crazy, making me madder and madder, till her constant gentleness makes me explode inside. And I feel liquidised - and fall back to sleep, and Mum gets up and does Mummsy stuff.
So now is the last week of my holidays, and this year is the serious one: I do my GCSE exams next summer, so Mum's trying to get me into serious routine of homework and practicing my piano. She wants me to at get least good grades in my Maths, English, Drama, Music and History. We'll see.
But now I have to get back to bed, thank you, I have an itch that needs stimulating.
Every week those sweet people at asstr-mirror.org send me a weekly log file of hits per page on my site. Since my site is quite large the log is quite long and so I usually just read the top figure - just to check it's not down, which usually means there's been some outage. Anyhow, I glanced at today's, and was staggered to see my blog page is now the most popular page on the site!
The last time I paid any attention to it, back in May or June - it was getting just a few hundred hits, which was nice, but didn't press down with the heavy responsibility of popularity. So imagine my surprise when there's actually thousands and thousands and thousands of you hanging off at least some of my every words. Even the archive pages are attracting thousands of hits. I had no idea. Golly. Well, thank you all, I'm all flattered and rather chuffed :-)
Well haven't progressed much on the new version of the site this weekend, and wasn't noticeably successful scoring with a hunky bloke. So I went would to Lindsey's - see how her Pregnantness is getting on. She wheeled out the Peach Schnapps for me - so I'm a bit light headed now.
We had a bath together. Nothing to athletic - I gently fisted her pussy while she brought herself slowly off. She fingered my arse and mashed her pussy against mine. Her fingering made me have a little poo in the bath, and Lindsey played with it, rubbing it round my pussy while I quickly brought myself off. Kind of comfy friends sex. Just right for a Sunday afternoon. Pity about the site though - and the correspondence I didn't get round to righting and reading.
Took my three boyz out for Sunday Brekkie - parked next to this pick-up where this guy was having a piss up against the wheel. He had this huge cock and he pissed until I put him off - watching him and smiling. Or perhaps it was the not moving, as the river of pee snaked its way towards me, and it flowed around my shoes. And I smiled even more. I think he was a little freaked!
5 -1 hey, Dad would have been absolutely thrilled. I've told Sam all about it, but he's only 18 months and more interested in sucking the juice out of my fat little titties. Well, it keeps him quiet.
Saw Jurgen yesterday - begged me to come back to him - I was actually just on my way to have lunch with Carl and was looking very saucy in my dinky little white cocktail dress. He is becoming a bit of a pain.
Carl was great, charming, funny, and had booked a room in the swanky hotel we met for lunch in. So we had fantastic sex. My thighs have been well pulled apart, all the muscles in my body are feeling exercised. And my bum is still tingling. So now it's the middle of the night and I'm feeding my baby and suffering a bit for burning the candle at both ends (and then having it stuffed up inside). But hey, Em, you know it's worth it.
OK, so I just thought, I could cruise into any local pub, attach myself to the hunkiest bloke I took a shine to, and that would be it ... what man could fail to be seduced by my feminine whiles? Except of course, being a woman, I'd completely failed to notice that tonight was the night of the biggest football match of ... well, since the last one, anyhow ... England versus Germany: "Two World Wars and One World Cup" as the English chant has it, quietly brushing under the carpet the umpteen defeats England has had at the hands of the German footballing machine
[Note for Americans: the World Cup is similar to the World Series, except that countries from all around the world play actually in it].
So I was surprised to find every male eye glued to the telly, watching "our lads" give the Germans an incredible stuffing, 5 - 1. So you have lots of happy lads getting very drunk and not paying me the slightest attention.
So I've come home - to find Anthony and Jack dancing round the room, beer bottles everywhere, and not making much sense. So I've retreated to my PC. Ahhh, Poor Emily ... oh to be a Goddess without a worshipping congregation.
Well lucky old you, Kate. My Anthony's been stopping out the last couple of nights with his new beau. So I've been sleeping with Laura for company. Which, of course, is a joy. Being ssssssssssssssssllllllooooooowwwwwwly masturbated by your dreamy daughter in a scented, candlelight bedroom is almost zen like.
I always bore Laura by making comparisons back to when we were a couple of naughty teenage girls doing our "naughty cuddling" thing. Still, I think I fancy getting myself a bit of hunk this weekend. Time to slap on a pretty face and wiggle into a cocktail dress, I think