Sinful Sunday: Running with Friends

Several weeks ago I had an exchange with Exhibit A on Twitter. I’d noticed from his tweets that he’d just come back from running and I had just come back from running, too. He sent me a pic of his running shorts because I have a thing for running shorts. I sent him the following pic back just before I got into the shower.

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I love having friends all over the world who sometimes end up going running at the same time as me, an ocean apart.

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Sinful Sunday

Welcome Home

I was sitting on the porch in my pajamas still, drinking coffee and reading the paper (well, one of the newspapers I subscribe to on my Kindle) and my hand absentmindedly brushed my leg. I was surprised to feel a rough patch along the soft flannel. I looked and didn’t see a stain. I racked my brain for a moment. I’d just taken these pajama bottoms out of the dryer last night before bedtime. I hadn’t had a chance to spill anything on them.

Then I remembered.

An early morning blow job.

Mr. Scott came home yesterday after being gone for several weeks. He woke up early this morning from jet lag. I woke up just enough to realize he was awake.

After, as I snuggled up against him, I felt the cool moisture, the patch of flannel sticking to my leg. But I didn’t move away or clean up. We stayed snuggled in, alternating between dozing and kissing, until we heard our daughter wake up.

They’ve gone out now and I’m still sitting on the porch, drinking my coffee and fingering that little rough patch on the flannel and thinking about what’s to come later tonight.

Sculpture Garden

It’s in the middle of the city but I don’t think many people pay it any mind. Tourists seem to not know it exists. It’s a little too far out of the way for most office workers to visit for lunch.

I’ve kept it my secret but I fantasize about meeting you there, in the sculpture garden. I frequently go out of my way to pass it because of the thrill I get thinking of a rendezvous.

In warm weather the shadows are cool and inviting. In rain a black umbrella in a dark corner wouldn’t be noticed by the few passersby rushing by.

The smooth features of the one sculpture that always stops me in my tracks reminds me of a fleshy jumble of limbs.

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For months I passed by at street level, peeking, until one day I had the courage to descend the steps into the garden proper. Like approaching a crush I’d been too timid to talk to.

Over time I felt welcomed. I began exploring other parts of the garden, meeting its other inhabitants. They drew me back time and time again.

My heart raced when I discovered it. A parting in the ivy appears when you look at Rodin’s “Crouching Woman” from a certain angle, revealing a slight path behind the ivy, a secret welcome for lovers. As if the sculptures had been pointing me toward it, once I’d learn to look at them properly.

I think of sneaking in early, at sunrise. Or at dusk. Darkness would be safest. But I also want to be daring,  at that time of morning after the first wave of tourists has walked by and before any workers break for lunch. In the sun. In the heat of the day. We’ll be looking at “Crouching Lady” one moment, pretending to admire it hand-in-hand as we wait for the garden to clear of anyone else, then we’ll slip away behind the ivy.

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Wicked Wednesday: Strangers and Cake

The prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday is strangers on a train. My first thought upon seeing the prompt, however, was of some notes I jotted down several years ago inspired by a cable-car ride up the Untersberg in Salzburg. I had fun revisiting those notes.

She was riding the cable car to the top of Untersberg. She traveled alone but the car was full with a tour group of senior citizens. Their guide was a young man who spoke English with a hint of an accent. He also spoke perfect-sounding German. He wasn’t much taller than she, with a shock of white-blond hair. Black-rimmed glasses. Gray sweater with blue striped collar shirt peeking out. Jeans. Black walking shoes. Very studious looking. Distractingly cute.

She didn’t know that much about the area so she tried to eavesdrop on what he told the group. She inched closer to listen. He stopped talking to allow the group some time to admire the mountain view.

Caught up in the view herself, she flinched when she heard a low voice close to her. “You didn’t pay for the tour.” She hadn’t noticed he’d moved next to her. His eyes sparkled blue. He was smiling.

“It’s a small, enclosed space,” she said. “I couldn’t help over hearing.”

“Still,” he said. “I think you owe me something.” She couldn’t believe he was coming on so strongly and in front of all the senior citizens. His smile was genuine, though, lighting up his eyes.

“What did you have in mind?” She turned to face him directly. Her cheeks burned. She was never this forward but she was on vacation and trying new things.

“Coffee later? I’m free after I finish this tour.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know the city well?”

“Well enough to not care how touristy it is, but I want a piece of cake from that place on Mozartplatz.”

He frowned.

“I bet you have to take tour groups there all the time.” She smiled.

“Yes.”

“I’m only here a few days so I’m going back for some cake.”

“How’s this?” he countered. “You buy me a coffee while you eat your cake at an over-priced tourist café, then I decide where to take you for dinner for some real local food. Including cake.”

“You already want to make dinner plans with me?”

“Yes, if you’re only here a few days I have no time to waste.”

“How do you know you like me enough for dinner?”

He shrugged. “I don’t but I’m willing to take the chance. It’s just dinner.”

“And cake.”

“And cake.”

The cable car was docking at the top so he had to turn his attention back to the group. She waited in the back to let the group off first. As she stepped off, he maneuvered through the crowd back to her.

“Kurt,” he said, extending his hand.

“Allie,” she said, shaking it. “Have fun with your friends.” She nodded at the group.

“I’ll meet you at that café as soon as I’m done here.”

Allie hiked across the snow pack beyond the group. She watched Kurt from afar, speaking easily with them, smiling when the women flirted with him, nodding patiently at everyone’s exclamations over the view, answering questions, gently herding them away from getting too close to the edge. He was friendly and forward, good qualities in a tour guide. But he knew absolutely nothing about her. She didn’t believe she was breathtakingly gorgeous enough for guys to hit on her like that.

She wondered how often he used his tour guide job to pick up women traveling through town. The glasses were a nice touch, she thought, attracting a certain type of girl. Attracting her.

The group eventually shuffled through the snow back to the cable car, Kurt making sure everyone boarded safely.

Allie waited for the following cable car. She pulled a book out of her backpack but she couldn’t concentrate on reading. He was coming on very strong and she usually didn’t like that. But something about him seemed genuinely sweet.

Try new things, she reminded herself. I’ll spend an hour with him, eating cake.

“You have a little cream on your face,” Kurt said. “May I?”

Allie looked up from her half-eaten cake and nodded. Kurt’s eyes sparkled, holding her attention. He raised his hand to her face. His thumb pressed to her lips. Impulse took over Allie. She licked his thumb and drew it into her mouth. She sucked the cream off, then released his thumb.

They hastily stood up, dropped some euro on the table, and rushed out the door.

“My hotel is three blocks away,” Allie said, flustered.

“My office is two,” Kurt replied efficiently. They crossed two streets against the lights and crashed into a locked door in an alcove. Allie pushed against Kurt and kissed him deeply while he fumbled with keys from his pocket.

In the dim office Allie saw a couch and rushed for it. She heard the click of the door locking, then Kurt grabbed her from behind. They tumbled onto the couch together.

There was no time for slow, romantic overtures. Allie sat on top of Kurt and pulled her t-shirt over her head then reached for his sweater. He reached around her to unclasp her bra.

“Put your glasses back on,” she said when he’d removed them to take his sweater off.

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, then grabbed her tight to flip them over together. They tugged at each other’s jeans.

Naked chest to naked chest, denim-clad legs tangled, Kurt held Allie tight and kissed her hard.

“I’ve never fucked someone I just met,” Allie whispered.

“Still time to change your mind,” Kurt whispered back.

“I want to do it,” she assured him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“You taste like sweet cream,” he replied, kissing her again and sliding into her. She moaned and bit his lip gently.

Later, Allie awoke from a light doze. Kurt’s body on hers warmed her. She touched his naked back. It was cool from the sweat. He mumbled something in German before fully waking.

“What was that?” she asked.

He raised his head slightly and adjusted his glasses.

“Does this mean you’ll have dinner with me?”

“Well, I never did get to finish my cake.”

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The Annual Flamboyance


When I saw this image for fdotleonora‘s Friday Flash, the only stories that popped into my head were also perfect for the EuphOff hosted by The Other Livvy. I’m a little late for Friday Flash but never call me late for a date with euphemisms and puns. z4OkkHaT

“Ah, the Annual Ornithological Flamboyance puts me in such a good mood.” Mr. Godwit clapped his hands together and breathed deeply, the fresh air filling his lungs and invigorating him. He parted the branches to reveal a clearing ornamented with a large birdcage. Groups of people lay scattered on the grass in couples and threesomes. Upon stepping from the path through the branches, Miss NIghtingale saw various states of undress among the ornithologists.

“Come along, my dear.” Mr. Godwit took her hand. “I’ve got a red-headed woodpecker to show you.”

Miss Nightingale was familiar with the activities of the Oneida Ornithological Society but this was her first year at the Flamboyance. Most Sundays they took walks to go birdwatching. But on the first warm Sunday of spring each year, they used a sheltered clearing to explore tits and cocks of another sort.

Miss Nightingale was exhilarated. Watching was encouraged and indeed some folks packed a picnic and brought out opera glasses for better views, rather than joining in the activities themselves.

Bits of chatter flitted through her ears as they wandered through the groups to find a clear spot.

“How about a flicker at your tit, mouse?”

“I’d like to peck at your red-capped boobies.”

“You say you have a cock? Is it a large one? There are few things I find more agreeable to look upon than a proud cock.”

“Would you like to admire my woodcock?” Mr. Godwit smiled as they settled on the grass away from the others. He pulled Ruby down to sit on the grass beside him. After seeing the others, she was anxious to be part of the festivities herself.  She unbuttoned her blouse and removed it.

“Lovely plumage, Mr. Godwit,” she said, rustling her fingers through his hair.

“Put your head to my tufted breast, Miss Nightingale. She nuzzled the down upon his chest.

“Miss Nightingale, would you like to search for my nice, fat worm?” She wanted to very much. She freed his worm, nicely fattened, from his trousers and pecked at it lightly before enclosing it entirely in her mouth.

“Oh, my sapsucker,” he sighed. “My nuthatch! My swallow! My little seedeater!”

Swiftly, she loosed him and rolled onto her back.

“Land your redshank into my nest, Mr. Godwit!” she cried out.

“My beloved Miss Nightingale! My cock will gladly enter your henhouse upon your gracious invitation, to frolic amongst the downy softness and provide you great pleasure!”

Later, they sipped from the nectar of the wine bottle and nibbled on the grapes while adoringly watched the rest of their flock enjoy the same. Miss Nightingale very much looked forward to the next year’s Flamboyance.

 

I have an aunt who is a serious birdwatcher. This story is the result of all the giggles I’ve stifled over the years listening to her talk of her birding. I don’t know how to add a link to a photo, so in lieu of clicking on the coffee bean below for more EuphOff stories, click here.

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Wicked Wednesday: Recollection

Last week I had a painful dental procedure done. It got me thinking about the various dentists I’ve been to and how some of them make me feel more relaxed than others. Going to the dentist is one of those necessities of modern life. For some of us it’s a necessary evil and because I move around a lot I rarely have the chance to settle in with a favorite dentist for the long term. I have a lot of anxiety around dental visits and need just the right person to calm me..

Last week’s dentist was quick and efficient but not necessarily relaxing, except for the relief that came from realizing that it was done in about an hour after they’d told me it would take ninety minutes.

One dentist I’ve had makes me feel more relaxed than any other. I could never exactly put my finger on why or how. He speaks gently. But deliberately. He’s awkward with small talk, but I can tell he makes notes to familiarize himself to make it seem like he’s remembering what I told him last visit. He’s cold in his brevity but warm in his tone.

I was discussing this with a friend who said he’d had a dentist experience that made him feel submissive even though he’s not submissive. Something in this particular dentist had sparked that feeling in him. And I think it’s the same with me and my dentist. He puts me in a trance of some sort. I want to please him by being a good patient. I trust him to do whatever he needs. To my teeth.

Dental erotica is definitely not my thing. Dentists and zombies are my top two turn-offs. But the trust I place in my dentist to handle a sensitive part of my body is similar to the trust of a lover.

 

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