I found some lovely temporary tattoos recently that are supposed to be good for about a week. I put this on my chest today for New Year's Eve. I'll go bra less with an open blazer and wear a pair of low rise leather pants that expose just a touch of red and about two inches of tush cleavage.
Happy New Year!
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I posted a cropped version of the photo below on Facebook as a Christmas tease/gift to my friends (photo was only available for a few days). One of my dearest friends asked, “Is the full pic posted on your blog?” I replied “…the original is explicit, one of my most personal, naughtiest ever. I'm not sure I want it ‘out there’ even on the blog.”
When I started high school, around 2001, my exhibitionist tendencies were evolving. I developed the rascally little habit of flashing my panties under my skirt if anyone would simply ask, “May I see your pussy?” As I grew older, that included times went I went commando, which was frequent. To this day, if anyone has the nerve to ask, I’ll flash them. It’s impish fun!
If you’ve read this blog, you know that my virginity was a thing of the past at age twelve. By fourteen, I was hopelessly promiscuous. Porn was easily accessible, so I, foolishly, began to believe that the stuff the women were doing in adult videos was normal sexual behavior. I experimented with letting girls, and sometimes guys, access all of my body’s openings with their fingers, tongues, and toys. It took a while, but I learned, often the hard way, that there are safe and good ways and not-so-safe and bad ways to have sexual fun filling my holes.
I was lucky though. My experiences with lovers putting things in my mouth, vagina, and bum, were often positive. I came to enjoy the fullness of penetration in all my holes as fun and pleasurable with the right partner.
I decided to post this photo to satisfy my exhibitionist desire to share my body – including my holes -- with my friends. I won’t leave it up long, so consider it a short-lived Christmas gift. In a way my friend who asked “… is the full pic on your blog,” said the magic question, “May I see your pussy?” The answer is yes … and more.
Be well, be safe, get vaccinated, and wear a mask this Christmas.
Sparks Bravin, Huntington Beach, CA, December 25, 2021
As Howard Beale says in the film Network, “I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad.” He goes on to explain why (link).
Howard’s words ring true today. We all know the reality and politics of COVID, the big lie, climate change, voting rights, gun violence, police violence, immigration, and abortion laws – along with all of our other personal issues – are out-of-control. So how does a person find peace and joy this Christmas?
Although I am with family and friends this Christmas, I am essentially “alone” in that there is no special “other” in my life right now, and I don’t have children, or dog or a cat, or anything that depends on me. It’s just me this year and I find that liberating, calming.
The Roman philosopher Seneca proposed that finding peace and joy in life comes from imagining the worst that can happen, dealing with it emotionally and intellectually, then moving on (okay, greatly simplified). That is what I have done. During my drive to California and over the last few days I have daily considered the horrid problems of the world and the confusing, but not-so-horrid elements of my life right now. You should know that was shattering at first, yet, it became easier. The more I visualized the potential catastrophes, the ultimate horrors, that might await the U.S. and the world, the more I realized that my fear, my anger, and my anxiety offered no solutions, no peace, and no joy.
As popularized as these words have become, I realize how powerful and true they are: “Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” (Yoda, in The Empire Strikes Back).
I considered what I fear. I considered how angry I have become. I considered what I have come to hate, and yes, I do hate some things with a black heart. Following that path of thought, I again thought of Yoda’s words, “Named must your fear be, before banish it you can.”
I know, I know. You’re thinking I’m an immature Star Wars geek looking for life’s answers in a movie. Maybe. However, when I think of Seneca and imagining my worst fears and how to deal with them, I have to believe George Lucas read him, along with Joseph Campbell, and updated (simplified?) the concept.
To deal with my fear and my anger I took long drives, long walks, did deep breathing, yoga, listened to good music, drank good wine and coffee, put on pretty clothes, and touched myself quite a lot.
I’m alone this Christmas, with my friends and family, close, but not too close. It is exactly what I needed this year. Being with them is helping me find peace and joy as I quietly face my fear and anger. I am stronger and more positive about facing the certain troubles of the next year.
I hope my little story helps you find your way to peace and joy.
One of my girlfriends from California is visiting on her way to see family for Thanksgiving. We have been partners in crime for any number of naughty goings-on over the years, including taking fun photos of ourselves flashing in public. We don't flash anyone except each other and the camera for our own chuckles. Of course, if someone sees us doing it, well, that's just part of the fun. These photos are not us, but will give you an idea of the thrills we get spreading or legs, not hate!
I suppose Star Inara should have known this image would be censored by Facebook. Fortunately, it was her first ever infraction, so she was not penalized.
After graduating from USC, I kicked around Hollywood working my way into any production company or studio that would have me. It was exhausting, working as an assistant for anything I could get, struggling to earn enough to keep from the embarrassment of moving back home. The few times I wasn’t hustling production work or waiting tables somewhere, I’d drive down to San Diego where a few of my friends had landed broadcast jobs in the television market. The trip became my preferred, and cheapest, mini-vacation.
On one such trip, I was at one of my friend’s place enjoying drinks on the little patio of his apartment, when, as usual with this group, we began talking about our sex lives. We had all been close at USC, straight, bi, gay, it didn’t matter, everyone was completely open about their sexuality, a source of pride in our group.
But there was one new guy with us, a friend’s friend, who was in the Navy. He had just returned from a “cruise,” as he called it, to the Middle East. He told us he had been on board ship for about 9 months without a break and hadn’t had sex during the entire deployment.
Murmurs of sympathy followed as we changed the subject.
Two plates of nachos and a couple of shots of tequila later, our host stood up and announced, “I think Sparks should give our Navy man a ‘mercy fuck.’”
I’m not speechless very often, but I sure was at that moment. Everyone laughed except the sailor. Then one of girls piped up, “Why Sparks?”
Our host said, “Because she has already slept with everyone else here.”
We all looked around. It was true. At USC and during the two years since, I had been with each of them, male and female. Most of my friends had been with one or the other, but I was the only one with a full scorecard.
“Well hell,” I said. Grabbing my iPhone and a small packet from my purse, I took the sailor by the hand and led him to my host’s bedroom.
“Sparks, you don’t have to do this …” he started to say, so I cut him off. “I have an idea, just lay down on the bed,” I said, and set up my iPhone on the dresser.
I was wearing a short little summer dress, and was barefoot, so I made a show of slipping off my panties to let him know I meant business. He seemed to be in a bit of shock, but grinned as I straddled him, opened his jeans, and pulled out his cock. A couple of strokes, followed by my sliding a condom on him with a deep dive into my mouth, brought the sailor to full attention.
“Here we go,” I whispered, as I gathered moisture from my wet cunt, and, despite his considerable size, slid him deep inside me in one thrust. It didn’t take long, a couple of minutes at most, of my riding him like a bucking bronco, for him to arch his back, moan loudly and unload his pearl jam into me and the condom. He caught me by surprise, pulling me to him and delivering the most grateful kiss I have ever had.
I scampered to bathroom for quick clean-up and a hot, wet towel for the sailor. As he toweled off, I picked my iPhone up and stopped the recording. We rejoined our friends, all smiles, sharing the warm glow of the silly and sexy encounter.
I never shared the recording, but still have it in a locked folder on my backup drive. Sometimes, when I need a lift or to make myself smile, I watch it. It was my first “mercy fuck,” but it wasn’t, and I hope, will not be my last.
I have the wondrous good fortune to be in Hawaii with close, long time friends. There are now four groups of us who know each other from our University years and work in the film industry. We are reveling in our good health, all of us having the escaped the scourge of COVID-19 and now being fully vaccinated. We're a careful crew. We care. We're safe. We're also wildly sexual on so many levels.
We have used the words promiscuous, sluts, horn dogs, exhibitionists, etc., to describe ourselves in the past; but those terms are generally derogatory and do not express who we are and what we are about properly. We are simply ravenous in our sexual appetites and openly express them with each other. After not having opportunities to share over the past year and a half, our Hawaii adventure is a Dionysian dream.
Over the past week and a half twelve of us have shared our affections for each other in so many simple, kind, loving, and sexual ways. I've personally experienced three men having me at once, several women bathing, massaging, touching, and licking each other, together, at midnight around an ocean side pool. Knowing my exhibitionist tendencies, my friends have teased and challenged me to display myself in clever and thoughtful ways privately and in public, while always, always being careful not to offend. I've challenged my friends too to express their sexual ways and fetishes too. Very often, we have all had multiple orgasms during the course of a day.
Even now, as I typed this, one of our guys walked up behind me and playfullly laid his cock on my shoulder. I turned and kissed the lovely hard on, promising my friend he could have my mouth when I finished this post.
So it goes. I'm not bad. I'm just fortunate to have friends and lovers who share my desires.
Last Sunday I attended a small "patio party" with a good friend (yes, with benefits). A senior professor I know has a wonderful open desert home that is as much patio as indoors. She invited a small group of 10 people over for a sausage grill and feta feast.
She encouraged "considered casual attire" so my date and I wore both wore short, summery party dresses with strappy little sandals. We looked good together as we are both fit and deeply tanned.
As the evening progressed, people and couples grouped and ungrouped here and there for conversations or wandered about the large, lovely patio section of the house.
My date and I were strolling around the patio with cups of homemade ice cream provided by one of the guests. Coconut laced with a dark rum, yum! Sitting on a garden wall with a view of the city lights, I mentioned how the coconut and rum seemed to make the ice cream "colder" than normal ice cream. My date agreed as she took a spoonful of the ice cream and kissed me full on with icy cold lips and tongue.
It was a delicious new sensation that immediately triggered my usual, over-the-top naughty mind. I dropped to my knees and gently spread my date's legs. I wasn't surprised she was sans panties as this is a practice we share when we go out. I took a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and pressed my mouth against her labia and her little clit. She somehow managed to stifle a scream and wiggled with complete delight. Then we heard applause.
Four of our friends had gone to an upstairs balcony overlooking the back patio, had been watching us, and were now clapping enthusiastically in appreciation for our antics.
Over on Facebook I briefly told the story of meeting a lovely older woman with snowy white hair while hiking in my local desert park. She introduced me to "harem pants" that are cut and sewn so that the crotch is open and airy while appearing normal.
The woman, who I have nicknamed "Snow," taught me how to make the pants with an easy pattern on my sewing machine. They are amazingly comfy and, for me, wildly erotic as I thrill in the exposure they afford by pulling the fabric ever-so-slightly aside. Snow wears her pants with panties. I don't!
This week it occurred to me that I could make a pair of shorts using the same pattern by simply cutting the pattern short and using a "tulip cut" on the front. After some trial and error, the shorts came together nicely. The tulip cut perfectly hid the fact that the shorts were open and airy. Wearing them is deliciously naughty.
I gave a pair to Snow during a walk together as a thank you for teaching me how to make the pants, and now, the shorts. She was delighted and said she would give them a try
This morning, on a sunrise walk together, she wore the shorts. She is so lithe and fit, the little shorts hugged her narrow hips and accented her aged and deeply tanned legs. Posing happily, like a young runway model, she turned and locked eyes with me, "Sparks, you are such a bad influence on me!" At that, she pulled one side of the shorts away exposing a delightfully trimmed tuft of snow-white hair.
I admit, I squealed like a little girl and laughed, remembering that when we met, I teased her by pulling up a short t-shirt I often wear, bottomless, while walking in the park.
I quickly flashed my little red patch in return as we both giggled at our exhibitionist antics. And then, we walked and talked of many things. I'll share more about Snow another time.
I've written in this blog several times: Americans are prudes. Seldom do we hear or read about Americans having fun being naughty by going partially clothed or nude just for the fun of it. The occasional nude bicycle ride, rainbow or country fair, Burning Man and pant-less subway riding are rare examples of us having fun showing off our bodies.
In Europe, in the more sophisticated cities like Paris, Nice, Amsterdam, Vienna, Florence, and Venice, girls and guys both can pop about wearing see-through clothing, flashing panties or skin, or even going completely nude (I like to say "nakie") just for the fun of it.
Before COVID-19, when I was shooting travel videos for a major tour operator, during my hours off, I would sometimes sneak away with a member of our tour group who shared my sense of adventure and who was, perhaps, a bit naughty, like me. I know most of the more bohemian or liberal neighborhoods and sites in many cities and would take my fellow adventurer to visit them with the intent of doing a "nakie walk." My sidekick would carry a large DSLR camera with the largest lens we could find. He or she would photograph me in various outfits or nakie as we toured the streets. Europeans simply enjoyed our antics as public nudity - as in a photo shoot - is not a big deal.
Of course, if anything went sideways, as in a guy following us or being caught by a policeman without a sense of humor, we were prepared to run like hell to a predetermined safe place. And we did, a couple of times. Most of the time, my exposure was greeted with smiles, laughter, and the occasional request for a shared selfie!
Here are some examples of the kind of photos we took. No, I'm not posting my photos because sure as shootin', some of my students would find them. Besides, often the huge DSLR didn't have a memory card in it. Safety, you know?
For Maya Monday over on Facebook. The clothed photos were rejected by Facebook. The nude ones I planned to post here anyway. Enjoy!
In the past few weeks, I have spent many, many mornings walking in my special arroyo in a nearby desert park. I call it my special arroyo because I thought for a long time that no one visited it but me, Jeep Girl, and Trouble. I was wrong. It has other visitors who, like me, cover their tracks well. But, they leave wonderful objects, hidden cleverly, among the crags and crannies of unique rock outcroppings.
I discovered these unique treasures as I explored new possibilities for entry and exit to the arroyo from different directions with no paths to give them away. So do at least three others from what I can tell, although, I have yet to encounter another person there except an old cowboy that I have written about in this blog. I don’t think he is one of the three.
Why do I think three people? Each leaves behind different artifacts to indicate their presence.
One person has created a miniature gnome village among the cracks of a rock outcropping. In a large crack adjacent to the village, much lower, is a mermaid village. These are all tiny figures and objects, but they are not too faded by the sun yet, so I know it is recent.
I believe several persons are responsible for painted rounded desert rocks with simple messages of peace and love and greetings like Happy Mother’s Day that have been placed in odd, but not difficult to find places – if you look very carefully.
And finally, I found a geocache object. It is a surplus metal ammo box with a geocache log and a few objects left by geocachers who have located it.
I don’t mind sharing my arroyo with the clever folk who have seemingly been there with me all along. Yet, I have to wonder if they have seen me, secretly, as I have walked there. Have they seen me sunbathing – sometimes nude -- on my flat table rock? Has someone watched me and Jeep Girl during our infrequent naughty moments on a unique rock that begs women to use it?
Honestly, I think probably none of the above has happened. But someday, it could. Someday, I may discover who shares my arroyo and, I hope, meet them. I just hope I have clothes on at the time!
This morning, on a walk to our secret arroyo, my dear friend “Jeep Girl” mentioned how much she misses music and arts festivals. We talked about how COVID-19 has robbed us all of these wonderful social events, from the flower child vibe of the Oregon Country Fair to the redneck ramble of Country Thunder. While some events like these are considering re-opening this summer, the danger of these becoming super-spreader venues is still very real.
Angry, we are, that many Americans are resisting the vaccines and still objecting to wearing masks indoors, even, and especially, in areas with high infection rates. We railed at the fact that the majority of vaccine resisters are Republicans. The Washington Post reports that more than half of U.S. adults have received at least one dose of the coronavirus vaccine, more the 40 percent of Republicans have consistently told reporters they’re not planning to be vaccinated – a group that could threaten the effort to tamp down the virus’s spread. Their selfishness ignores the public good, the public health, and threatens my freedom to "festival!"
So there we are. We’re doing better fighting the virus here in the U.S., but, opening the festivals again is simply too dangerous right now. And that makes me sad. I miss the music, the art, the excitement, and, yes, taking my top off or just going nude with like-minded, happy, peaceful people. “Jeep Girl” does too.
So when we got to our special arroyo early this morning, we slipped off our clothes and enjoyed just being naked together in the early morning sun.
Have been indulging my low-rise jeans fetish lately during short walks in the nearby desert park. Here's a photo not safe for Facebook.
Darby was 15. She was also precocious, audacious, and a tease. Had she been 12 years old, she would have qualified for a Lolita, but as a teen, she was quite aware of her behavior.
Three years ago I was shooting a video for a major tour company on a three-week trek through Europe. My job was to document what a wonderful time trip participants had on tour. Easily two-thirds of the group were women traveling with other women. A few husbands made up the other third. Darby was the exception. She was the niece and traveling companion of a gentle, timid woman of about 60 years. Auntie paid the way and Darby would play.
Our tour leader, John, was top-notch, a fifty-something British gentleman with impeccable credentials who spoke six languages. He made every day an adventure and every city and site exciting. But not even John could keep Darby in line.
Almost everywhere we went, Darby found her way into mischief. More often than not, she would wander off either teasing local boys or searching for gelato, or plunging into the nearest fountain getting completely wet revealing her knickers, and sometimes, her braless little breasts through her summer clothes.
Among the group was an enjoyable lesbian couple that I befriended early on. On a warm afternoon over an aperitif in Paris, I confided in them my bisexuality. They weren’t surprised saying their gaydar sensed this already. We were giggling about this when we realized Darby had been eavesdropping on us.
Darby decided knowing I was bi was something she could use to bug, bother and tease me about. Visiting both the Jardin du Luxembourg and the Fontaine des Mers, on two different days, she took her usual fountain plunges, emerging like a wet t-shirt contestant, parading in front of me, asking me if she’s pretty if I liked what I saw. She taunted me at meals with quips about girls, girls kissing girls, and would flirt pointlessly. And, she began to parade about the hotel halls and breakfast rooms in just to tops to her pajamas. This went on in Paris, Lyon, and Aix en Provence. She was getting to me and was beginning to spoil the tour for me.
On the train from Aix-en-Provence to Nice, I told John that I had pretty much had it with Darby. He let me know he had already talked to Auntie to no avail. He suggested I try to avoid Darby while he again talked to Auntie. I agreed. I had no status on the tour except as a participant, so I couldn’t do anything but complain.
In Nice, there is a playful water fountain in the Promenade du Paillon named Miroir d’Eau consisting of row upon row of water jets squirting from the ground. It’s a great place to cool off in the summer. Children have no trouble getting soaked darting from jet to jet. Of course, Darby, wearing a light little sundress, joined the children. Her dress was so thin, once wet, it became nearly transparent. Our group was accustomed to that. But today, Darby was wearing nothing, absolutely nothing underneath. She approached me, grinning, taunting me with “like what you see, Sparks,” twirling and teasing.
John moved in to help me, but I was pissed off. Before he could intervene, I grabbed Darby by the arm – with a vice-like grip – and dragged her to a nearby bench, flung her over my knee, and got about three hard whacks in before she tried to squirm away. I pulled her arm back keeping her pinned. With my other hand, I flipped her dress up exposing her teen ass for all of Nice to see. I added a dozen more hard slaps before letting her go.
She turned around and faced me, quivering, not quite in tears, but close. The tour group, by now gathered around us, jointly gasped as if they had all been holding their breath. A moment of awkward silence passed before the lesbian couple began to applaud. The others joined in, all smiles.
Darby ran to her Auntie, who stopped her at arm's length. With all eyes on them, Auntie said, “You earned that young lady. Now go put something decent on.”
Darby was much better behaved the rest of the tour and mostly kept to herself. At the Rome airport where everyone shared hugs and warm good-byes, Darby caught me alone just before boarding her plane. I thought she might apologize for her behavior. But no. She smiled the sweetest smile and said, “The spanking was the best part of the trip.”
My sixteen-year-old friend and “tutorette,” Trouble, came over yesterday to talk about going back to face-to-face school and organizing her studies. We sat on my patio in the sun, but a cool front was coming through and there we just the hint of a chill in air. I was wearing jeans with a soft sweater and was, as usual, braless. As you might imagine, the cool air caused my nipples to firm up and come to “full attention.”
Trouble is accustomed to my braless habit, she knows I’m not shy by any stretch. But today, she glanced at my little pokies and said, “Does anyone ever say anything about your going braless?”
I thought for a long moment before replying. “Occasionally,” I answered, “like now. Does it bother you?”
“No, no, not at all,” she blurted, “you’re just so casual about it. I don’t think I, you know, could.”
“Then don’t,” I replied, “when you’re older – out of school – you decide what you wear or don’t, what is right for you.
We talked a little about how I feel about the prudishness of our culture and women’s bodies. But, I did get a bit preachy and said, “At your age, you need to be particularly cautious about your appearance. Especially at school or socially. You know how mean teenagers can be, you’ve told me about it.”
“I just want to look cute,” she said.
So, we talked about being cute at sixteen as opposed to being cute at thirty-something, about how teen girls tend to go overboard trying to look “sexy” and that boys are simply dorks and dicks about it.
Finally, I said, “I have to be honest with you, Trouble. I often go braless at home and in casual settings because it’s comfy, I like the look, and because it makes me feel a little naughty. I seriously don’t recommend it at your age, at least, not in public.”
In a few minutes the conversation turned back to school issues, and of course, boys.
Trouble is terribly intelligent as well as clever. I believe she will make good choices about all of the above.
