Rite of Passage....

Outside it’s dark, wet and damn cold. Inside the car it’s dark, and damn cold but at least it’s dry.


“Tell me again how you lost your wipers.”

“I have no idea!” I say with exasperation. “There were there when I arrived and now they are gone.”

Running into you in Sears was a pleasant surprise in an otherwise stressful day of shopping. After a brief explanation of why I was wandering around the mall with a pair of windshield wipers, you offered to help. My knight in shining armor. Of course your chivalrous tendencies stopped short of fixing my wipers in the pouring rain. Hence the freezing wait in your car.

“Well, I guess you’re lucky Sears had an Auto Center.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling real lucky right now! Turn on your seat heaters; I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Give it a minute; the car will be warm in no time.”

“Okay, it’s been a minute but my ass is still cold!”

“You are the most impatient woman I’ve ever met!”

I can’t see you very well; the street light casts only a dim light down this side street, but the amusement is plain in your voice.

I narrow my eyes at you. “It’s been a busy day and my patience ran out somewhere between Toys R Us and HomeGoods.”

You slide your hand between my legs. “See! It’s already heating up.”

Yes, it is. In more than one way. I’m cursing the fact I’m wearing jeans. But I can still feel the heat of your hand through the fabric. And just like that, I’m not cold anymore.

This was not supposed to be a booty call....

All I had wanted was a cup of tea; specifically, a venti Starbucks chai tea latte. The heater in the hotel room kept me up all night and I was not functioning at my best. A good hot, sweet cup of tea would cure what ails me, and let me focus on the work ahead. I texted you, “I need tea”, fully expecting you to tell me to get off my ass and get it myself.


You had, in fact, successfully avoided my room all weekend. Despite our client changing the order of the presentation – again - you chose to do make the changes on a laptop in the bar or the hotel’s Business Center. You told me in no uncertain terms, we would get no work done if we met in either of our rooms.

Perhaps, based on the fact that you are currently straddling my chest, your fingers inside me and your dick in my mouth, you might have had a point. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

Hard and fast and deep

A text: Do you have 15 minutes?


Yes. What’s up?

Ding dong. I open the door and see you, tapping your foot with impatience. I’m confused.

“Why are you texting me if you are on my doorstep?”

You don’t answer but step into the house and kick the door closed behind you. Grabbing my shirt, you yank it open.

“Hang on just a minute!”

Ignoring me, you shove me against the wall and kiss me. I’m still trying to talk, I push at you but you are very strong and quite determined. Your kisses are passionate and demanding. Your hands are inside my shirt, pulling down my bra. Despite my protestations, my body reacts to you. It always does. I feel my nipples harden and that familiar heat begin to spread in my abdomen.

Then you pinch me. Hard.

“Hey! That hurt!” I try to say, but you put your tongue in my mouth to shut me up. Your thumb soothes my aching nipple and I begin to forgive you. Suddenly, I’m on my back and you’re on top of me. I have no idea how I got here.

“Hold on!”

“No.” You pry my legs apart and settle yourself between them. “You’ll catch up.”

I dream a little dream

I dreamed of you again last night. I awoke warm and wet. I recall snippets of the dream. You, naked and pliant in my bed. Relaxed. Happy. Hard.


Time does not exist in a dream. I am free to indulge all my senses; to explore your body, the way you feel, taste, and smell. I’m free to listen to the small noises you make when I do something you like, when I accidentally tickle you; or the way your breath hitches when I stop doing something you like.

The dream started with me being propped against the foot-board of my bed, looking at you. You really are beautifully made. Your hips are narrow, your legs strong and well muscled. Your arms too. I imagine your long fingers interlaced behind your head. I love your hands. Creator’s hands. Creative hands.

Then the sensations slide into one another as they can do only in a dream. All that exists is you, me and this bed.

The 1000 word Challenge

A challenge has been issued. Apparently a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, here are my one thousand words. You tell me if a picture could encapsulate the following.


Picture this. We are stuck in the rinse cycle of the car wash. My feet are up on the dashboard, my legs bent, knees falling out. My hands are between my legs and I’m about to come.

We have been stuck for about ten minutes. Through the water streaking down the windshield, we can just make out the car-wash attendant gesturing that we should be patient. I’m in no hurry for them to fix the problem. We are cocooned in a warm, wet oasis. The water drumming on the roof of the car all but drowns out any noise I’m making. Turned in the driver’s seat, you watch me as I fulfill a promise to demonstrate my new toy.

It’s a silver egg vibrator. Multi-speed. I love this toy. I can hold it against my ‘sensitive parts’, or slide it inside me. Currently, I’m teasing my clitoris with it.

But let me back up a moment.

Keep Your Hands To Yourself!

“I brought you lunch.”


“Thanks. Give me a couple of minutes. As you can see, I’m in the middle of something here.”

That I can see. You are under the hood of your car, doing heaven only knows what. Putting the lunch on the workbench, I open up the containers of soup and unwrap the sandwiches.

“I’m going to get started without you. I’m starving and my soup will get cold if I don’t.”

“Sure. I shouldn’t be too long.”

I wipe off an old bar stool and sit down to eat. “What are you doing?”

“Would you know what I was talking about if I told you?” I can hear the smile in your voice.

“Probably not.” I shrug. While you may find my lack of mechanical knowledge amusing, it is not something that unduly bothers me.

“How long will you be?”

“I’ll be quicker if you quit distracting me.”

I harrumph and open my soup container. It smells good and hot; I’m cold so it’s just what I need. As I eat I watch you work. I like watching you work. Your movements are efficient yet graceful. I like the way you talk to yourself when you are concentrating. And I really like watching you bend over. You have a very fine rear end.

“Are you sure I can’t distract you?”

“Yes.” You shoot a stern glare over your shoulder, “Keep your hands to yourself!”

My soup finished, I lean back on the bar stool and let my legs fall open. “Keep my hands to myself? Like this?” I say as I slide up my skirt and run my hands between my legs.