This is a revised and updated version of the post of nearly the same name. The last post somehow was deleted and with the events that have passed since, I felt an update was in order.
When Rick D*******a sent me a friend request via Facebook I was immediately stunned. Then I became suspicious. Why would he want to locate me? Who put him up to doing this? Why now? Of course my next thought was that his marriage must be in trouble--didn't know if he was married or not butt I figured if he is trying to contact me--something is wrong at home.
Rick is that nice, sweet polite guy who isn't really physically attractive but the way he treats you makes you want to leave your panties at home. He was like that in college. I didn't know he was engaged the night he ended up in my dorm room and in my bed. All I knew was this was my first real man and I asked him to 'go slow with me.' I had never had a man send my clitoris into spasms nor had a man give it a tender kiss but Rick did and in short, I was his.
We had this secret between us that was never revealed. The last time Rick came to my room, he was armed with a Bible. He read James 1: 8 to me about the "double-minded man" being unstable in all his ways and told me that I had made him this way because sleeping with me was interfering with his relationship with his fiancé. Kinda felt a weird sense of pride that somehow I had driven this man to the Bible for answers--but to what?
He was dumping me and I guess feeling badly about it. But he didn't feel too badly for that "one last ride." So we went to bed together 'one last time' and then afterwards, he never spoke to me or looked in my direction the remains years of college.
Thirty years later, I get a Facebook Friend Request from none other than Rick! He made his request in September but I couldn't figure out what to do until May. I was surprised he didn't give up. To be honest, I really don't remember a lot from my college years so I was reluctant to answer his post. But a step at a time I would post to him and to be honest, he was a wonderful distraction during my last radiation treatments for breast cancer. He said he hurt for me when he read I had cancer and he'd thought of me often during the years.
I was fascinated that he was still married to the girl he was engaged to when he was sneaking into my bed on occasion. How is somebody married 30 years? An amazing feat if you ask me!! But you know something? 30 years DOES change a person. Rick would text me "Thinking of you" on the days of my treatment which made me feel better. Then we began sexting to each other. I had never done this before but I must say I can give E.L.James a run for her money when it comes to talking dirty to a man! But this wasn't the 25yr old boy who used to sneak in my room at night I was sexting, this was a 57yr old married man, grandfather and business owner. Ugh
Through a strange occurrence, Rick came to see me right after a treatment. I was excited and nervous because I was about to see in person the guy who read the Bible to me before he "laid and left me" 30 years ago! Wow!
When he arrived, I realized he wasn't the guy in my head. 30 years had worn on him but his eyes were as blue as the first time he was looking up at me in bed. His hair was as white as snow and his hands were as rough as anyone who works in the fields. We did some fast catching up and I held his hand through it all and ventured up and down his arms feeling those muscles I remembered in college. He kissed me as hard and as passionately as he had done in school and I felt his tongue in my mouth flow all the way down to my clitoris--just like in school.
But this wasn't going to be a Lifetime Movie where the college lovers reunite and live happily ever after. This story ended before an affair could begin. 30 years have taught me that woman must be her own person and live or die by her choices. I chose to see Rick that day and even though you could see the 30 years on his face, he was still the sweet boy who read the Bible to, made love to you then dumped you for his then fiancé now wife.
He asked me did I remember the first time we'd made love and I should've asked him did he remember the last time we made love. 30 years later a dream was stopped before a nightmare could begin. Sometimes the fantasy is far better than the reality.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Monday, May 25, 2015
Well I Thought It Was Funny!!
This morning I was shopping for silk stockings when I heard a clerk say, "You look like Santa Claus." I looked back at the voice and sure enough, there was a man who from the neck up looked just like Santa, Kris Kringle, etc., and apparently was "licensed" to let everyone know when Christmas would arrive.
I turned to continue shopping but all of the sudden "Santa" walks towards me with a Smartphone in his hand and in a loud voice for all the other customers to hear verbatim he says,
"Hey Little Girl, would you like to know how many days you have left?"
Never one to miss an opportunity to shut something like this down I said, "Actually, I'm battling breast cancer right now so if you don't mind, I'd like to keep the "days I have left" a surprise!"
Well? What do you think?
I thought it was funny.
In my defense, he didn't ask me if I wanted to know how many days it was until Christmas--he SAID "do you want to know how many days you have left?" Besides, nothing good ever happened to me when the sentence started out with, "Hey Little Girl."
I think I've always been a smartass/comic because of necessity. It's not safe for a "girl child" to be around in the world alone...to paraphrase "The Color Purple." But sometimes Girls, don't you just want to shop in peace?
Apparently, the young clerk first speaking with "Santa" was giddy at the idea that he had actually seen the jolly old elf's license. He said, "I'll be a good boy from now on, ok Santa?" Now we are all grown people here--not a child in the building! Got a bit creepy to be honest.
"You do that." Santa said, "You're going to love your presents in 214 days."
Santa didn't have to say a thing to me--I know exactly what will be in my stocking this year. A big lump of coal! At least that lump of coal will be in silk stockings!!!
So what have we learned?
Today is May 25 and there are 214 days left until Christmas!!!!!
(BTW--my last radiation treatment is June 5th and that will be the day I declare myself as "Breast Cancer Survivor!)
Happy Memorial Day
I turned to continue shopping but all of the sudden "Santa" walks towards me with a Smartphone in his hand and in a loud voice for all the other customers to hear verbatim he says,
"Hey Little Girl, would you like to know how many days you have left?"
Never one to miss an opportunity to shut something like this down I said, "Actually, I'm battling breast cancer right now so if you don't mind, I'd like to keep the "days I have left" a surprise!"
Well? What do you think?
I thought it was funny.
In my defense, he didn't ask me if I wanted to know how many days it was until Christmas--he SAID "do you want to know how many days you have left?" Besides, nothing good ever happened to me when the sentence started out with, "Hey Little Girl."
I think I've always been a smartass/comic because of necessity. It's not safe for a "girl child" to be around in the world alone...to paraphrase "The Color Purple." But sometimes Girls, don't you just want to shop in peace?
Apparently, the young clerk first speaking with "Santa" was giddy at the idea that he had actually seen the jolly old elf's license. He said, "I'll be a good boy from now on, ok Santa?" Now we are all grown people here--not a child in the building! Got a bit creepy to be honest.
"You do that." Santa said, "You're going to love your presents in 214 days."
Santa didn't have to say a thing to me--I know exactly what will be in my stocking this year. A big lump of coal! At least that lump of coal will be in silk stockings!!!
So what have we learned?
Today is May 25 and there are 214 days left until Christmas!!!!!
(BTW--my last radiation treatment is June 5th and that will be the day I declare myself as "Breast Cancer Survivor!)
Happy Memorial Day
Friday, May 15, 2015
Understanding Alice.
I hadn't seen Alice, my biological mother in more than a year. Readers of my blog may recall the "relationship" she and I have. The last time I saw her was March 2014 when I went to the hospital to bring her the glasses that were found out in the yard at her apartment. She hadn't been seen that day so when a neighbor had gotten curious and looked in her window, he saw her lying on the living room floor unconscious--or dead. By the time I was notified, the next day, she'd had total hip surgery and would be going to a nursing home upon discharge. Later that evening, I took her glasses that had been found in the yard--apparently dropped by the ambulance crew that had gotten her the previous day. I knocked, walked into her room and said, "I brought your glasses."
"You get the hell out of here," she said, drawing her fist back at me, "don't you come back and that goes for that bitch Lily and Tommy, too." (Lily is her sister and Tommy is her son.)
I don't know why this exchange shocked me. Oh sure, the little girl in me always wants that "Lifetime Movie" moment when mean old Mom sees the err of her ways and begs forgiveness for everything she ever did or said--but this still "Alice" and to her, I was the reason she never got the life she wanted or deserved. But I understand.
"Mom" was 18 months old when she was sitting in her mother's lap that day. Dad came in and began stabbing her mother with a butcher knife. Aunt Lilly was four years old but got away, ran to a neighbor and told them her Daddy was killing her mom and baby sister. The police arrived to find their mother dying on the floor and Alice beside her unharmed but crying and soaked in her mother's blood. Unlike "Dexter," Alice grew up unguarded, unguided and unloved...but not a serial killer.
It must've been rough growing up with Lily as her sister. Lily was the first-born, the beauty, the "good one," by contrast--Alice wasn't any of those things. So I understand. Lily got pregnant and got married...Alice got pregnant, got dumped. She had me--then I got dumped.
Over the years, Alice let me know that I had her life. "We were getting married and then you showed up." she'd say. "If abortion were legal back then, you certainly wouldn't be here," she'd say. "She doesn't know what she's saying," I'd say to myself. But I understood.
I was a cheerleader from fourth grade to my senior year of high school--she never saw me once. She didn't come to any of my graduations but she did come to my wedding--walked right by me, kissed "him" on the cheek and said, "I always wanted a son." She never married and here was my wedding. Her question was always, "Why did you get everything?" But I understand.
Last June, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and have been in treatment after my double mastectomy. I can't help but smile to think what Alice would say if she knew I'd "had my boobs cut off." She was barely a 32A while I was a 38DD. (My fakes are that size, too!) She'd be very happy. I understand.
I hadn't seen Alice in over a year and there'd be weeks that she wouldn't even enter my mind. Was that okay? Was I hanging onto that sad hope that we'd someday be "Mother and Daughter"? No--but I was missing something. May 10th was Mother's Day and it hit me. I knew what to do.
After church, I went to the nursing home. A woman who looked like her was sitting in a wheelchair draped in a little green blanket. "Alice?" I asked.
"Who are you?" the woman said--it was Alice. So I went to her and said, "I'm just someone you used to know." Then I gave her a box of "honey buns" and a single red rose surrounded in 'baby's breath' tied by a red ribbon with a card that read, "Happy Mother's Day---I Forgive You."
It wasn't done for her, it was for me. Face-to-face, end of an era. She'd be spending the rest of her life in this nursing home, pretending to be senile. She's finally being pampered, waited on hand and foot and at last, rid of me. That's all she ever wanted...and I understand.
"You get the hell out of here," she said, drawing her fist back at me, "don't you come back and that goes for that bitch Lily and Tommy, too." (Lily is her sister and Tommy is her son.)
I don't know why this exchange shocked me. Oh sure, the little girl in me always wants that "Lifetime Movie" moment when mean old Mom sees the err of her ways and begs forgiveness for everything she ever did or said--but this still "Alice" and to her, I was the reason she never got the life she wanted or deserved. But I understand.
"Mom" was 18 months old when she was sitting in her mother's lap that day. Dad came in and began stabbing her mother with a butcher knife. Aunt Lilly was four years old but got away, ran to a neighbor and told them her Daddy was killing her mom and baby sister. The police arrived to find their mother dying on the floor and Alice beside her unharmed but crying and soaked in her mother's blood. Unlike "Dexter," Alice grew up unguarded, unguided and unloved...but not a serial killer.
It must've been rough growing up with Lily as her sister. Lily was the first-born, the beauty, the "good one," by contrast--Alice wasn't any of those things. So I understand. Lily got pregnant and got married...Alice got pregnant, got dumped. She had me--then I got dumped.
Over the years, Alice let me know that I had her life. "We were getting married and then you showed up." she'd say. "If abortion were legal back then, you certainly wouldn't be here," she'd say. "She doesn't know what she's saying," I'd say to myself. But I understood.
I was a cheerleader from fourth grade to my senior year of high school--she never saw me once. She didn't come to any of my graduations but she did come to my wedding--walked right by me, kissed "him" on the cheek and said, "I always wanted a son." She never married and here was my wedding. Her question was always, "Why did you get everything?" But I understand.
Last June, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and have been in treatment after my double mastectomy. I can't help but smile to think what Alice would say if she knew I'd "had my boobs cut off." She was barely a 32A while I was a 38DD. (My fakes are that size, too!) She'd be very happy. I understand.
I hadn't seen Alice in over a year and there'd be weeks that she wouldn't even enter my mind. Was that okay? Was I hanging onto that sad hope that we'd someday be "Mother and Daughter"? No--but I was missing something. May 10th was Mother's Day and it hit me. I knew what to do.
After church, I went to the nursing home. A woman who looked like her was sitting in a wheelchair draped in a little green blanket. "Alice?" I asked.
"Who are you?" the woman said--it was Alice. So I went to her and said, "I'm just someone you used to know." Then I gave her a box of "honey buns" and a single red rose surrounded in 'baby's breath' tied by a red ribbon with a card that read, "Happy Mother's Day---I Forgive You."
It wasn't done for her, it was for me. Face-to-face, end of an era. She'd be spending the rest of her life in this nursing home, pretending to be senile. She's finally being pampered, waited on hand and foot and at last, rid of me. That's all she ever wanted...and I understand.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
My Church Dilemma
I was diagnosed with breast cancer in June of 2014. Proper doctors and proper treatment have given me a pretty good chance of beating this disease but there seemed to be an emptiness in my support system. I wanted to start going to church. I wanted a "church family." I basically wanted someplace to go where I could blend in and hear something else besides cancer talk. But church members don't come knocking at your front door. Right?
Two days after this thought occurred to me, a woman actually did come knocking at my door with a flyer describing a "supper" being sponsored by her church. It seemed like an "Ask and 'ye shall receive" type thing to me so I decided to check it out. Preconceived notions aside, I had a good time. They served spaghetti and salad with very little "Bible talk." I've always heard of a "praising church" but I hadn't been in one and was really surprised at the themes of love, happiness and the "father" God and His love for all of us, not the hateful old man "God" who was just waiting for us to screw up. I started going to this church every Sunday.
The small town church is idyllic and a few people I had known from high school attend there. "James" was the first male cheerleader our high school ever had--his wife and six kids attend as does "Belinda" who at age fourteen was swimming at the neighborhood pool when her "Kotex" decided to detach and float right along side her! Back then, we didn't know about tampons, pantiliners or why swimming when you were having your "monthly" was a good idea at all! "Reggie" and "Tina" were still together after marrying during their senior year and NOT because she was pregnant! Almost every Sunday it seems that someone else from the Class of 1980 re-appears though most of my high school memories don't!
At last Sunday's service, reality hit. The congregation stood up for opening prayer and as the assistant pastor was bringing his prayer to a close he said, "and may God remove the idea of gay marriage."
What the ****??!!
I raised my head and opened my eyes without thinking. Not only was this a surprise to hear, I didn't see the relevance. In all of the time I'd been attending, I hadn't heard anything but encouraging words and examples of how God loved "each and every one of us." Well, that includes gay people, right? God made them, too.
I was very disappointed and shouldn't have been so surprised but what did surprise me was the assistant pastor's unusual reason for opposing gay marriage. According to him, churches refusing to perform gay weddings would lose their tax-exempt status. So he was afraid the church would pay taxes? I began to wonder if I could continue going to this church with it's sudden anti-gay marriage stand. It may have always been their stand but this was the first time I'd heard any anti-gay remarks at all.
It reminded me of the times when closing prayer at Mass included requests for God to end abortion. The priest would use words like "sin" and "abomination" of abortion, some of the same words used to describe homosexuality now that I think of it. I'm pro-choice and pro-"who you love is who you love and it's none of my business--just be happy." Could I "agree to disagree" with this assistant pastor and keep attending? Ignore this assistant pastor and keep attending? Deep in my heart, I think he is wrong, he doesn't speak for the congregation and he may have just taken it upon himself to "enlighten some of the deacons about a potential money issue" if gay marriage is granted to the entire country by the Supreme Court.
I find a family-style comfort in this church and can't let one man make me stay home on Sundays. Besides, Gandhi reminds us that "the only thing wrong with Christianity, at times, is its Christians."
Two days after this thought occurred to me, a woman actually did come knocking at my door with a flyer describing a "supper" being sponsored by her church. It seemed like an "Ask and 'ye shall receive" type thing to me so I decided to check it out. Preconceived notions aside, I had a good time. They served spaghetti and salad with very little "Bible talk." I've always heard of a "praising church" but I hadn't been in one and was really surprised at the themes of love, happiness and the "father" God and His love for all of us, not the hateful old man "God" who was just waiting for us to screw up. I started going to this church every Sunday.
The small town church is idyllic and a few people I had known from high school attend there. "James" was the first male cheerleader our high school ever had--his wife and six kids attend as does "Belinda" who at age fourteen was swimming at the neighborhood pool when her "Kotex" decided to detach and float right along side her! Back then, we didn't know about tampons, pantiliners or why swimming when you were having your "monthly" was a good idea at all! "Reggie" and "Tina" were still together after marrying during their senior year and NOT because she was pregnant! Almost every Sunday it seems that someone else from the Class of 1980 re-appears though most of my high school memories don't!
At last Sunday's service, reality hit. The congregation stood up for opening prayer and as the assistant pastor was bringing his prayer to a close he said, "and may God remove the idea of gay marriage."
What the ****??!!
I raised my head and opened my eyes without thinking. Not only was this a surprise to hear, I didn't see the relevance. In all of the time I'd been attending, I hadn't heard anything but encouraging words and examples of how God loved "each and every one of us." Well, that includes gay people, right? God made them, too.
I was very disappointed and shouldn't have been so surprised but what did surprise me was the assistant pastor's unusual reason for opposing gay marriage. According to him, churches refusing to perform gay weddings would lose their tax-exempt status. So he was afraid the church would pay taxes? I began to wonder if I could continue going to this church with it's sudden anti-gay marriage stand. It may have always been their stand but this was the first time I'd heard any anti-gay remarks at all.
It reminded me of the times when closing prayer at Mass included requests for God to end abortion. The priest would use words like "sin" and "abomination" of abortion, some of the same words used to describe homosexuality now that I think of it. I'm pro-choice and pro-"who you love is who you love and it's none of my business--just be happy." Could I "agree to disagree" with this assistant pastor and keep attending? Ignore this assistant pastor and keep attending? Deep in my heart, I think he is wrong, he doesn't speak for the congregation and he may have just taken it upon himself to "enlighten some of the deacons about a potential money issue" if gay marriage is granted to the entire country by the Supreme Court.
I find a family-style comfort in this church and can't let one man make me stay home on Sundays. Besides, Gandhi reminds us that "the only thing wrong with Christianity, at times, is its Christians."
Friday, April 10, 2015
Almost Assaulted
They used to call him Beanie. He was just a skinny little boy in the neighborhood nobody wanted to play with. My son, Blake felt sorry for him and would try to include him in basketball and baseball while never letting anyone pick on the boy. Blake brought Beanie home for supper many times and that little boy certainly could eat. He seemed to love macaroni and cheese so whenever Blake let me know he was coming to eat, I made sure there was plenty of mac and cheese for Beanie. Then he moved away and we lost touch.
Two evenings ago, Beanie came walking down the sidewalk. It'd been four years since I'd seen the kid but even though he'd gotten a lot taller and his yellow hair was a lot longer--I could tell it was him. "So that's what happened to him." I thought.
About a hour after that, came a knock on my door. I looked out the peephole and saw Beanie standing there on my front porch. "Well, look at you!" I said, "Haven't seen you in a long time--you certainly got tall! Come on in this house."
As he started to come in, my dog Rascal started to growl and seemed to want to get between Beanie and me. Rascal doesn't like anyone to come in the house and he really doesn't like anyone getting close to me. As I was trying to get Rascal to calm down a bit, I happened to notice Beanie locking my front door. I thought that was strange but then thought I was just being silly. "Is Blake here or anybody else here?" Beanie asked. "Not yet, but Blake will be here pretty soon." I lied. Something about this was making me uncomfortable.
Beanie then walked up behind me as I was getting soda for us from the fridge and grabbed me around the waist. Unfortunately, I could feel him pressing himself and his erection against my butt as he was "just giving me a friendly hug."
I pushed his away and said, "What in the hell are you doing?"
"I'm just hugging you 'cause I haven't seen you in so long."
"Well, don't touch me anymore," I said. Now, Rascal had gotten behind Beanie and was nipping at his pants and ankles.
"I'm sorry." he said and he grabbed me again and said "let's kiss and make up." Suddenly, he has me in a bear hug, trying to kiss me. "You have got a great ass." he said and kissed me on the back of my head. Rascal started pulling on Beanie's pant leg and I got away from him. I grabbed a knife and said, "Look, I've got breast cancer, I'm sick and I'll stab you if don't get out of my house right now."
"Oh, did I make you mad?" he asked.
"Yes, you did cause I never expected this kind of crap from you."
"Yeah, I grew up pretty good, huh?"
"Okay, but if you want to live another minute, you'll get out of my house." Then I added, "I have a gun."
I then took a deep breath, pulled away, acted like I was crazy furious, grabbed him by the arm, pushed him out the door once I had unlocked it and told him to never come back.
Afterwards, I did all the extra lock checks around the house, put a chair against the front door, hit all the alarms and for my own peace of mind placed various "weapons" around the house just in case this guy decided to come back.
Authorities are aware but as far as I'm concerned, my safety depends on me. I'll never allow anything or anyone make me uncomfortable in my own home again.
Two evenings ago, Beanie came walking down the sidewalk. It'd been four years since I'd seen the kid but even though he'd gotten a lot taller and his yellow hair was a lot longer--I could tell it was him. "So that's what happened to him." I thought.
About a hour after that, came a knock on my door. I looked out the peephole and saw Beanie standing there on my front porch. "Well, look at you!" I said, "Haven't seen you in a long time--you certainly got tall! Come on in this house."
As he started to come in, my dog Rascal started to growl and seemed to want to get between Beanie and me. Rascal doesn't like anyone to come in the house and he really doesn't like anyone getting close to me. As I was trying to get Rascal to calm down a bit, I happened to notice Beanie locking my front door. I thought that was strange but then thought I was just being silly. "Is Blake here or anybody else here?" Beanie asked. "Not yet, but Blake will be here pretty soon." I lied. Something about this was making me uncomfortable.
Beanie then walked up behind me as I was getting soda for us from the fridge and grabbed me around the waist. Unfortunately, I could feel him pressing himself and his erection against my butt as he was "just giving me a friendly hug."
I pushed his away and said, "What in the hell are you doing?"
"I'm just hugging you 'cause I haven't seen you in so long."
"Well, don't touch me anymore," I said. Now, Rascal had gotten behind Beanie and was nipping at his pants and ankles.
"I'm sorry." he said and he grabbed me again and said "let's kiss and make up." Suddenly, he has me in a bear hug, trying to kiss me. "You have got a great ass." he said and kissed me on the back of my head. Rascal started pulling on Beanie's pant leg and I got away from him. I grabbed a knife and said, "Look, I've got breast cancer, I'm sick and I'll stab you if don't get out of my house right now."
"Oh, did I make you mad?" he asked.
"Yes, you did cause I never expected this kind of crap from you."
"Yeah, I grew up pretty good, huh?"
"Okay, but if you want to live another minute, you'll get out of my house." Then I added, "I have a gun."
I then took a deep breath, pulled away, acted like I was crazy furious, grabbed him by the arm, pushed him out the door once I had unlocked it and told him to never come back.
Afterwards, I did all the extra lock checks around the house, put a chair against the front door, hit all the alarms and for my own peace of mind placed various "weapons" around the house just in case this guy decided to come back.
Authorities are aware but as far as I'm concerned, my safety depends on me. I'll never allow anything or anyone make me uncomfortable in my own home again.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Valentine's Day Fun
While a lot of the world this weekend is using Valentine's Day to venture into the world of S&M, I like using Valentine's Day as a day to tell and show someone how I feel about them in silly and sexy ways. I prefer games that don't have to have an agreed upon "safe" word or signed contract. Being a survivor of domestic violence, I wasn't able to get thru the worldwide phenomenon without long gone scars beginning to sting. I've had my fill of stocks and straps.
Giving your man a nice warm bath is a way to get the festivities off to a good start. I am partial to sitting nude astride my man, coating his chin and neck with some, hot, foamy shaving cream, with my hands on the razor and his hands on my hips--you know, for security. Oh, the illusion of a woman with a razor dangerously close to the arteries of the neck, herself somewhat defenseless in her nakedness. I wonder if there is a man more helpless than one lying under a nude woman.
Then since turnabout is fair play, it is quite a feat to have your man shave "the kitty." If you are able to get your man to "trim" the "trim," keep your eyes on his face the entire time. No man is as tender and then as brutal when given the honor of personalizing "his" piece...then tearing into it later!
Men need reminding that you aren't 100% committed to wearing panties. I haven't worn panties in years but I am quite the collector of corsets, G-strings and thigh-high silk stockings. No matter how high the heel or how short the dress, a lady can be draped in all kinds of naughtiness for her man...and they are the only two that know!
Take this Valentine's Day and live it up! Enjoy him...enjoy her and the day doesn't have to stop at midnight. And to keep Variety going--Take it from a song I love. I think it's REO Speedwagon:
"If you think u miss the thrill of the chase....
Or just get tried of the same old face
I can be different honey,
I can be new...
Want someone else?
I can be them, too!"
HAPPY GOOD LOVIN'--HAPPY VALENTINE"S DAY
Giving your man a nice warm bath is a way to get the festivities off to a good start. I am partial to sitting nude astride my man, coating his chin and neck with some, hot, foamy shaving cream, with my hands on the razor and his hands on my hips--you know, for security. Oh, the illusion of a woman with a razor dangerously close to the arteries of the neck, herself somewhat defenseless in her nakedness. I wonder if there is a man more helpless than one lying under a nude woman.
Then since turnabout is fair play, it is quite a feat to have your man shave "the kitty." If you are able to get your man to "trim" the "trim," keep your eyes on his face the entire time. No man is as tender and then as brutal when given the honor of personalizing "his" piece...then tearing into it later!
Men need reminding that you aren't 100% committed to wearing panties. I haven't worn panties in years but I am quite the collector of corsets, G-strings and thigh-high silk stockings. No matter how high the heel or how short the dress, a lady can be draped in all kinds of naughtiness for her man...and they are the only two that know!
Take this Valentine's Day and live it up! Enjoy him...enjoy her and the day doesn't have to stop at midnight. And to keep Variety going--Take it from a song I love. I think it's REO Speedwagon:
"If you think u miss the thrill of the chase....
Or just get tried of the same old face
I can be different honey,
I can be new...
Want someone else?
I can be them, too!"
HAPPY GOOD LOVIN'--HAPPY VALENTINE"S DAY
Monday, February 2, 2015
At Least He Tried to "Put a Ring On It"
No matter how old your children are, you want the best for them, hurt when they hurt and help whenever you can. You do your best to raise them properly and hope they'll have great lives, few problems and even fewer heartbreaks. There is nothing quite so painful as watching your child deal with rejection no matter what the level.
In previous posts, I "may have mentioned" what I think of my son Blake's relationship with his girlfriend but they've been together for more than two years and last March, they gave me a beautiful granddaughter. Over this past weekend, Blake asked me to dinner to show me the bridal set he'd gotten--and break the news that he was going to propose marriage to his girlfriend. "Don't do it! You're too young!" I thought but decided NOT to say. I chose to be impressed with the fact that he was going to make a commitment to the mother of his child and "put a ring on it"!
Instead of waiting and planning some big Valentine's Day proposal, Blake "popped the question" this past Saturday--after supper and after putting the baby down for the night. Apparently, he asked her to marry him, she said "Yes" but "hates the rings and won't wear them."
I'm stunned. Who takes the man but not the rings? Blake told me she thinks the rings are 'too big, not the right color and ugly.' Now, I'll admit they aren't Kim and Kanye caliber but they are decent, right?
What happened to 'it's the thought that counts'; the effort he put into the pricing, the selecting and the presenting? Whatever happened to loving the ring/rings because "he" got them for you? Wouldn't the gesture itself turn the cheapest ring into something priceless? When you love someone, isn't the ring just a formality? Apparently not.
I've got two sayings at the ready because sooner or later, Blake will ask me what I think about this episode with his girlfriend. One is a common adage and the other is a quote from the late Dr. Maya Angelou: "Actions speak louder than words" and "When someone shows you who they are--believe them." I guess that leaves nothing else to say but maybe:
BRIDAL SET for SALE!
(hand modeling by AnnaB! lol)
In previous posts, I "may have mentioned" what I think of my son Blake's relationship with his girlfriend but they've been together for more than two years and last March, they gave me a beautiful granddaughter. Over this past weekend, Blake asked me to dinner to show me the bridal set he'd gotten--and break the news that he was going to propose marriage to his girlfriend. "Don't do it! You're too young!" I thought but decided NOT to say. I chose to be impressed with the fact that he was going to make a commitment to the mother of his child and "put a ring on it"!
Instead of waiting and planning some big Valentine's Day proposal, Blake "popped the question" this past Saturday--after supper and after putting the baby down for the night. Apparently, he asked her to marry him, she said "Yes" but "hates the rings and won't wear them."
I'm stunned. Who takes the man but not the rings? Blake told me she thinks the rings are 'too big, not the right color and ugly.' Now, I'll admit they aren't Kim and Kanye caliber but they are decent, right?
What happened to 'it's the thought that counts'; the effort he put into the pricing, the selecting and the presenting? Whatever happened to loving the ring/rings because "he" got them for you? Wouldn't the gesture itself turn the cheapest ring into something priceless? When you love someone, isn't the ring just a formality? Apparently not.
BRIDAL SET for SALE!
(hand modeling by AnnaB! lol)
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