Well I didn't think I'd be the first one to break cover and be back at the keyboard. But since it's the middle of the night and my youngest son has woken me up and I've run out of emails to reply to and I tired chatting but didn't find anyone who took my fancy on dalnet and there's nothing on telly ... well here I am, a bit daunted since it's ages since my last proper post.
Obviously, just a the moment, I'm in the same wobble-tummy state of excess as everyone else. Well, everyone in the western world. I guess if you are reading this in Pakistan or Japan or somewhere that doesn't really go in for Christmas, you're probably feeling pretty slim and slightly smug for not having over indulged in all the sins of the flesh.
I'll put my hand up to gluttony, greed at the sales, sloth most the rest of the time, and, before christmas at least, lust. (I can't get excited about pride, eny or anger - if you want to know my vulnerability to the other three "deadly sins" ... why "deadly", how many people do you know who died of lust rather than, say, cancer?)
Question: What is one of the most popular christmas presents a person can buy for themselves?
Answer: quality time with a whore, of course. Note I say "person". Back in the late eighties, when I was a fresh faced young sex worker in London, it was all blokes - I think I had two female clients in the four years I worked the escort scene. And they were very dykey who wanted to stick clothes pegs on my nipples while pissing in my mouth - which was quite a specialised area of the market in those days. But now, about a quarter of clients for Dan and my services are women.
Mainly (but not always) professional women in their thirties or forties who want to feel their sex lives are "on the edge" and so are attracted by the sort of good cop / bad cop basic non-fetish service Dan and I do. (Dan is the well endowered hard fucking beasty bad boy, and I'm the soft lush tender girlie lover - if that wasn't obvious.)
Of course, it can be all a bit fingers and thumbs with some of the women who are doing this for the first time, or doing it with us for the first time. Just like a lot of blokes, they can be terribly shy in asking for what they want (to pay for). A lot of people find it hard to say the words that they'd like to be sodomised by a man and a woman (with my strap-on ... the head strap-on it quite popular for buggery ... or my fist). And we're talking New Yorkers here - not the most backward people in the world in stating their demands. Still, with a bit of coaxing, they usually confess.
Now if you think it's a bit rotten I haven't written this up in loving detail a la Emily, here are the headlines for the last couple of weeks work:
Saturday 15th > woman (30s) enjoys multiple anal treament from Dan and me, including buggery, rimming, fisting and an enema.
Saturday 15th > woman (50s) helps Dan "rape" me, she using vegetables to penetrate me, he being more traditional.
Tuesday 18th > entertainment at party (men x 10 - 20s-50s), strip tease, demonstration fuck, party goers jack-off in my face.
Friday 21st > man (20s) fucks me as Dan buggers him.
Friday 21st > woman (40s) is our full toilet-pain-pvc subbie.
Saturday before Christmas > Dan and man 50s took it turns to fuck and bugger me.
Sunday before Christmas > man 30s buggered me while Dan buggered him.
Sunday before Christmas > couple (30s) in toilet S/m session, with Dan as the subbie.
Chritmas Eve > father / son (50s - teen) wank over me as Dan fucks and fists me. Dather and Dan urinate on me (son too shy).
Chritmas Eve > man 30s is buggered by my strap-on while Dan sucks him off.
Chritmas Eve > man 40s (in Santa costume!) buggers Dan and fists me.
Chritmas Eve > man 60s is buggered by Dan while I suck him off.
so you'll excuse me if i keep my legs crossed till New Year.
Well we had two birthday's yesterday. My Laura took another small step to being a grown woman. We took her out for a big slap up (veggie) meal. Half way through my mobile rang. It was Patrick. Lindsey had gone into labour and pretty smartly popped out a girl. So happy birthday to Juliana (Jules) Nuttall, zero years old yesterday. We'll pop in over the weekend so I can do that full baby holding thing, which brings on that mellow post-orgasmic feeling (so long as you give it back when it starts to cry).
It's all going to be a bit family rich till Boxing Day. So it'll be the other pork stuffing for the next few days. Happy Chritmas, preverts.
It should of been simple. Laura was going to spend the weekend with Tess as a treat for being such a good girl with her studies. Anthony was going to work nights. So Lindsey would sleep with me and her boys would sleep in Laura's bed. But, Tess wanted to come and stay with us and Lindsey's blob wanted to born at bit early (and then decided it couldn't be bothered) and my Anthony had to leave work to take her to the hospital, her Patrick had to race over to be by her side. So everything got completely jiggled about.
Tis the season to wake up in a stranger's appartment and not know how you got there, or who she is, or where your panties are, or how did you got some much cash in your purse, or who is looking after your kids, or why you feel so dehydrated???? Though at least I could take a stab at that last one ...
OK, so I know I said yesterday that Rita and I have settled on a friends-only, mummsy-daughter relationship, and that's absolutely true. So today's tryst is just one of those things that happen, and is not a trend. I didn't ask Rita to come to my class at breaktime. I didn't expect to go with her to our old haunt in the upper Maths block girl's toilet. I didn't have any intention of having my knickers pulled off. I didn't think Rita would want to flood me with firm hugs, soft kisses, and delicate fingers massaging my tender spots.
There was a part of me that said, "no no no, this isn't the way forward, this isn't being fair". It just wasn't a very loud part. Besides, I was the picked, not the picker. It was Rita who wanted to explore my body and suck the tender lovingness out from my heart. It was Rita who sat me down on the toilet and plonked herself on my lap, facing me.
We didn't have long to together. The bell would sound all to quickly. Rita rubbed herself up vigorously every bit as much as she rubbed me. She wanted to cum, but she wanted to cum by making me cum, piggie-backing her orgasm on my arousal. I absently played with her chest. Her boobs are growing, firming, becoming more womanly.
My lap was suddenly wet and warm. I looked down. Rita was pissing on my pussy. It was a light soft trickle. It wet my thin pubic strip and flowed over my cunt; her fingers, tracing small circles round my clit, mingling the pale cream of my arousal with the watery yellowness of her urine. I came.
Collapsing into Rita's body, my head nestling into her neck. Rita pressed herself against me as my body convulsed in orgasmic shudders. When I stopped, I realised that Rita was shuddering too. I hugged her till she couldn't breath. And then, for a long moment, we sat together - the heavyness of her girlish body pressing down on my thighs.
The bell rang. Hurriedly we wiped ourselves clean with toilet paper, washed our hands, snatched a final kiss, and went off to our different lives.
I don't know about Rita, but I struggled to return to Teacher mode. I talked equations and wrote formulas on the overhead projector, but a load corner of my head kept on shouting "....... ohhhhhhhhh, bitch, your pussy is burning!". That can be quite distracting.
I realise that many of you think I'm a Goddess, but actually there are a couple of things I can't do - and singing is one of them. I'm with the mumblers at the back, making silent fish mouths but not actually polluting the air with my high wobbly voice. Unless I'm tipsy, of course. Then I'm like some English Bjork in front of the mic. well, that's how it sounds to me.
All of which means that helping organise the Christmas carole concert is either (a) an opportunity to showcase my angelic voice or (b) act as police officer doing crowd control at the back of the hall, making sure none of our little darlings are taking liberties with their extra-curricula activities. Naturally, it's been a chance for me to enjoy my own naughtiness too.
I've had so little time for Rita that it's almost unfair on the darling little poppet to say we have a relationship. But she still idealises me and was thrilled to ride home in my car after school. We went via the shops and I bought her a cute sexy little top for the spring which she picked out. It was nice to be together.
I felt surprisingly motherly, and liked it. We kissed and cuddled in the car, but it didn't lead anywhere. We've sort of moved on from being lovers, into a soft friendship. And I'm comfortable with that. You can't have a life where the ranchy sex meter is turn up to max all the time ... well I can't.
Just before Year 11 (15-16) slide dispondently into their Monday morning class, I thought I'd catch up with you. Since last weekends double robbery in the family, it's been a dealing time - or going out and getting completely shit-faced, depending on how you look at it.
I'm told by those more responsible that me that I didn't make a complete fool of myself as I boogied Saturday night away fuelled on Vodka. Though I suspect the emphasis should be on "complete" rather than "didn't".
Apparently I did have rather atheletic sex with my husband when I got home. Which explained some of the arches and pains I was feeling on Sunday. But slightly distressingly, I have absolutely no memory of this. I also have no memory of what happened to the lacy scarlet thong I started the evening with. Which is annoying, as I rather liked that pair.
So obviously yesterday was a walking wounded sort of a day ... and so might today. I'm not sure, I haven't had my third cuppa to kick start me into teaching mode yet. Which is all rather unfair, as Laura is at home on stand-down revising for her exams (ie, sleeping untill noon) and Jack is at home because there's a training day (for the teachers) at his school (ie, glued to his playstation), and I'm having to face Monday morning full-on, in the raw - with all the madness that involves.
Bored of studying. Bored of daytime TV. Even bored of my vibrator. I need to escape. I need to see my Tess. I need to do something faintly irresponsible. But everyone is at work, or meant to be studying like me. So I'm off. I'll travel over to Tess's place, let myself, and suprise her when she comes home from work. She can worship me from real close up (not at the other end of a phone like she's been doing these past couple of weeks). She can take me out. She can organise some FUN for me.
Well my poor darling sister, you are in the wars against life just now. I hope you're using those relaxation tapes I gave you last Christmas. Or perhaps you should go with Jack to Judo classes and hit something! NYC is as normal as things get in these funny times: Robert is in Switzerland closing a deal and snowboarding, and I'm looking after a sickly Owen - home from school with his second cold of the winter. So it's wall-to-wall Thomas the bloody Tank Engine vidoes and (non-sexy) three-in-a-bed at night (unless you think mastrubating between two sleepy little boys is sexy). So I've retreated into the kitchen (not my natural home) where Ii've been reading Herortica 7 (a collection of erotic stories from women writers) - and honestly Emily, you do better than some of that stuff.
I've had to pass up a couple of jobs with Dan - iI think he's a bit pissed with me - but you can't dump sicky kids on your friends ... and still have friends. Shame. iI did fancy getting out a bit. Christmas is the busiest time of year for escorts and brothels. So I've pencilled in a job tomorrow. Fingers crossed.
Also mum has twisted my arm and Ii'm coming over to Enlgand next half-term - so that'll be in ten weeks or so. I'm looking forward to it already.
So the whole family were Christmas shopping on Saturday (and birthday presents for Laura). It was rather nice. My little nuclear family all together and not squabbling at all. All very "it's a wonderful life" ... till we got to car and found the back window smashed and our CD player knicked. At least the immobiliser stop it from ending up in a field burnt out. So we get it home, and the nice insurance people send a chap to fix the window that night. Hubby was in and out of the house to give him a hand / cup of tea / etc.
So at 4am Laura came into our bedroom asking what was the matter ... she'd thought Hubby had been into her bedroom for something. But actually, Hubby had forgotten to lock the front door, with all the tooing-and-froing, and a burglar had come in, stolen my purse and both my and Laura's (brand new by 6 hours) mobiles - then had gone into Laura's bedroom - presumbly not expecting it to be a ground floor bedroom. They switched the light on and disturbed Laura, semi-waking her ... so they turned the light off and ran away. Leaving Laura a little dazed, thinking it was her Dad who'd come in for something (you know how confused you can get when woken from a deep sleep).
So we've changed all the locks, got new phones, (and my mum and sister & brother-in-law all got together and gave me the several hundred pounds Christmas money that was stolen - what a loving family is that!).
None of which is very erotic ... but is more "it's a wonderful life" for me than I'd expect from being robbed, twice, within twelve hours!