Little Girls

 

Last night I attended The Pageant of the Masters in Laguna Beach, California. It’s a fascinating show where performers and artists recreate works of art blending live performers with intricate set stage settings. When combined with a live orchestra and narration, the productions are thoroughly entertaining.

Before the performance, I was walking through the shopping and restaurant area of Laguna showing off a bit in a tiny, crocheted boho top. It’s soft, with a small shelf bra sewn in that makes my little boobies bounce in a rhythm of bounce-jiggle/bounce-jiggle with each step. The top usually garners a bit of attention and sly glances.

As I walked, casually dodging other oncoming pedestrians, I noticed a cute freckled redhead coming towards me wearing a similar top. I laughed because her boobs were small like mine and bounced as much or more in the same rhythm. She saw me too, in an instant of recognition, and began laughing too. As we approached each other, we both slowed, staring at each other's tits, grinning.

Close now, we stopped. She looked me in the eyes and popped her hand up for a high five, which I immediately returned. We stood there for a moment before she said, matter-of-factly, “nice tits.”

I didn’t think or even glance around as people strode past us, as I lifted my top briefly, flashing my girls for her to see. She didn’t hesitate. She returned the favor and flashed her little boobs. Much to my delight, her nipples were pierced with delicate gold rings.

We both stood there, for a mere second with wide smiles, before she continued on her way, strutting happily away.

My date looked at me, shook her head, took my hand, and walked with me to the theatre.

In Facebook Jail for Meme Two Years Ago

 Yes, Facebook put me in jail for three days because I shared a memory post from almost two years ago. It was okay then, but now much later, it is not?

"...I feel like I should wear a hat."

 

My new pixie cut!

"Sometimes the shit comes down so heavy I feel like I should wear a hat."                        - Ned Racine in "Body Heat"

I feel that way lately. From COVID to inflation, to voting rights, to a woman's right to choose (thanks a lot, "Extreme Court), to climate change, to the "big lie" and the willfully ignorant far right, to the war in Ukraine, I've had it. So easy it would be to turn my brain off, teach my classes on autopilot, and spend my nights dancing at Curves Cabaret or cruising the bar at the historic Hacienda del Sol.

But, I won't give up, or give in, or shrug off the hell of today's utterly polarized and dysfunctional state. I'll keep hitting myself over my head with the hammer of hope that we'll fix the mess our country has become because it will feel so good when I finally get to stop. Yes, I am one of those hard-core optimists who join groups, attend rallies, and contribute to Democrats when I can. I subscribe to the notion that the mainstream GOP has become evil and must be exorcised or put to death.

So I have to balance my life as best I can. For everything that drags my mind and heart down towards the heavy wet blanket of depression, I have to find options that are equal to and opposite the negatives.

So, I am weaving a hat against the rain of shit. Here is how I am doing it.

I jog or walk at least 3 miles after rolling out of bed, early, before the summer heat makes this impossible. Then I shower and listen to music on my waterproof smart speaker. Often, I raise my spirits by singing at the top of my lungs while enjoying the feminine benefits of a powerful shower massage. Next, instead of dressing and reading the newspaper or listening to NPR, I putter about the kitchen naked fixing a light breakfast and mixing sweet ice coffees. If I have the time, I read a few pages of whatever book I am reading with a second coffee.

With exercise, a shower, an orgasm, breakfast, and coffee, I am ready to get dressed and face the day. If the day is one where I work from home, I toss on my home uniform: tank or t-shirt and light cotton shorts (no underwear necessary), and flip-flops. I'd go barefoot, but we do have scorpions about this time of year. If I am going to campus, running errands, or will otherwise be in public, I put on real clothes that are normally appropriate. If I am feeling naughty (my shy exhibitionist way) I will dress to tease: mini skirt or dress, short shorts, open or see-through top, strappy, sexy sandals. Either at home or out, wearing outfits that make me smile, make me feel sexy, or even aroused, contribute to my "hat."

Essentially, I avoid the negative and tend to things that make me happy before I go anywhere near the news of the day. Once I've had a halcyon morning ignoring the current day-to-day hell, I can glance at the newspaper or online news, but not cable. The exception recently has been the January 6th Committee hearings. I allowed myself to watch that.

If I find myself growing negative or angry, I try to change gears and do something that fights the good fight as I mentioned above, supporting a group, a movement, or a candidate that can make things better.

Yes, I watch the evening news. Ugh. I know it is usually negative, but sometimes, there is good news. With luck, I've experienced enough "good" during the day to offset nightly news.

Evenings, when I am not at home alone reading or enjoying a movie, I spend with people of like mind, those friends or lovers who swim, dine, listen to music, watch movies, go to the theatre, a concert, or even dance! All of these activities make my heart happy and quite often allow me to show off, be naughty, and even be a bit promiscuous.

It's all part of weaving the "hat."

Flashing Fun

Most of my friends who keep up with me here and on Facebook know that I am a hopeless exhibitionist, albeit, a shy one. That is, I love to show off, but not for the general public (at least purposely) but for friends, lovers, and at appropriate places or venues like private parties or concerts or festivals that encourage a bit of flaunting one's body.

One activity that I like to do is a photo shoot of myself and friends flashing in public places. We are careful, for the most part, and choose places where a bit of nudity might be fun and naughty, not purposefully lewd or lascivious. We never flash if children are anywhere near.

So yeah, we're careful. We flash the camera and each other. We never purposely flash anyone directly unless they indicate specifically it is okay.

We have discovered in almost all of our photos we are smiling, grinning or outright laughing. How can you not when you're being silly and flashing your pussy? It's fun!

So, because all the news has been terrible this week, I offer this set of photos of women flashing their girl bits with big smiles on their faces. I hope it cheers some of us up, at least a little. 

Click on the photos to view full size. Have fun!

Mind Flowing Free on Father’s Day

 

I’m letting my thoughts flow freely this Father’s Day because I tend to drift into melancholy when thinking about my dad. He was a jazz keyboard player. He took me on tour with him as soon as he thought I was ready, even though I was just a young girl. He let me sing with his band starting at age 10. He’s been gone a while now, a victim of a random pulmonary event. Yes, I miss him.

He knew me. He thought my bisexuality was “convenient” because it gave me more choices. He liked and respected my girlfriends and boyfriends alike. He took great care of my mother and made sure she would never want for anything if he checked out early, which he did. A member of his band said of his early death, “He’s lucky … no growing old, no assisted living, no nursing home, no hospice. He did it right.” I suppose he did. In a way. But then, I miss him and would have gladly helped him live a much longer life. That was not to be.

No Pants Day and World Naked Gardening Day

 

I haven’t been motivated to blog lately with lots of work-related activities keeping me occupied along with a last-minute week-long escape week before last. What is the saying, “I have to go back to work to rest up?”

The last few days have been interesting though. With last Friday as “No Pants Day” and Saturday being “World Naked Gardening Day,” I’ve been enjoying a few public exhibition giggles and some just plain old being naked revelry with friends.

For No Pants Day, I wore a pair of boy short panties and a simple tank top. I had done this last year for an entire week, so it was easy. Some boy short panties look so much like yoga shorts or girls’ gym shorts no one really pays attention. I learned this from young London girls (pre-COVID) who would wear panties just like short shorts to shop, hang out with friends, or even to the theatre. If anyone looked close enough, they could tell I was only in panties, but only a few people did. I rewarded those who noticed with a big smile or a laugh. If a girl is going to strut her stuff, a smile is required so people are included in the fun. One cannot be serious or glum when publicly preening in underwear!

World Naked Gardening Day could have been called Being Careful While Naked in the Desert at Sparks’ Casita. I only have a small potted herb garden among the natural flora of the Sonoran Desert in my small backyard. We had to dodge the spikes and spines of yucca, agave, prickly pear, and saguaro as we cleaned up and weeded the little yard and trimmed my potted herbs.

I got the morning event started off by greeting each person at the door dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. After coffee and pastries, when it was time to garden, I took my clothes off in front of them all, reminded them to wear their hats, and went outside. The girls followed my lead, neatly folding their clothes in the kitchen and emerging buck naked in the backyard.

 

I learned this from a seasoned river guide, “…if you want folks to get naked, don’t talk about it, just set the example and take your clothes off. Those that want to get naked, will.” On river trips, he and his girlfriend led, they would stop at a particular swimming hole and simply drop their shorts and jump in. Most of the time, people assumed this was the thing to do and did the same. His girlfriend, instead of buying swimsuits for river trips, just wore cute panties and went topless when not wearing the required life jacket for padding and rowing. Often, female passengers followed her lead. What happens on the river, stays on the river, you know?

It follows then that, “What happens at Sparks’ Casita, stays at the Casita.” Four of my girlfriends and I lasted about fifteen minutes before we found ourselves slathering sunscreen on each other, all over, with lots of giggles and grins. It was slippery fun for a while.

After the gardening, we slipped into swimsuits and dashed for the community complex pool for the first swims of the season. The water was cool as yet, but swimmable. I yearned to put on a crotchless swimsuit I bought a couple of years ago, but decided the nude gardening was enough exposure for the day. This particular swimsuit works better for evening swims anyway.

 We splashed and played like school girls before each girl finally had to leave. Back at my casita, I showered off the pool chlorine, washed my hair, and slipped into a soft, open-sided t-shirt. I had some grading to do, so I nibbled on a nice Ogeez Indica gummie to extend the wonderful mood of the day. My afternoon was mellow, happy and my students earned some very high scores.

Math Tutoring

 

My good friend and tutorette “Trouble” and I talked late into the night following the Oscars telecast last weekend. She’s 17 years old and about to graduate high school. We’ve been talking about prom, graduation, going off to university, boys, and all the other things teen girls dream about. Her senior year is finally on track post-pandemic and she is looking forward to a future full of excitement.

 

As we talked, I remembered a unique experience I had at her age as a senior in high school.

 

For admission to USC, I had to list “service” work on my application that demonstrated my community involvement. One such service was volunteering to tutor younger students in math. A sophomore girl, named Brenda, asked me to help her with geometry. She was a cute little thing and asked so nicely I could not say no. Besides that, she had a reputation around the school for being promiscuous. The boys flocked to her. I was curious about her because I shared a similar reputation, only, I was swinging both ways.

 

We made plans for a Saturday morning tutoring session at her house. I showed up at the agreed-upon time with a geometry book and notebook only to be greeted by her at her door wearing thin cotton baby doll pajamas. I asked if she slept late. She laughed, led me into her living room, then flipped the hem of her pajama top revealing she was naked underneath. She said, “On Saturdays, I don’t dress unless I am going out.” She held the hem up long enough to make sure I had a good look at her perfectly trimmed girl bits.

 

I sat down on the living room sofa, opened up my geometry book, and asked, “So what are you having trouble with? What do you want to cover?” Brenda sat down next to me, as close as she could without being in my lap, and said, “I don’t care about geometry, I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

 

I pretended to object, but she seemed sincere. I was flattered as she told me I was something of a role model for her, that she had heard I was a “wild child” who did as she pleased, didn’t tolerate bullshit, and fucked whomever I wanted – boys or girls. My head began to swell horribly.

 

Recovering somewhat from the hyper ego boost, I mentioned I had heard she was gaining her own reputation as a fuck toy for the cool boys at school. Wistfully she agreed but said the cool guys were mostly boring. She added she fucked them anyway because she liked the attention. This girl, almost three years my junior, shocked me. Not because of her open promiscuity, but because she was so much like me at 14, but, I thought, on steroids.

 

Brenda cozied and wheedled her way into my lap to where we were face-to-face our eyes and mouths only inches apart. “I’ve never been with another girl, Sparks,” she said, “I want to be, with you.” She kissed me. It was an eager kiss, an urgent kiss with an overactive teenage tongue. I kissed back and pulled her tiny frame to me. What the hell, I thought. Brenda threw herself into me energetically something like an excited puppy. It felt nice.

 

Kissing led to petting, touching, fingers probing. Quickly, and too soon, Brenda dropped between my legs on the floor and pulled my skirt up to pull down my panties and explore. At that moment, the front door of the house opened and her mom walked in on us.

 

Brenda didn’t move. She remained between my legs so I couldn’t close them. I pulled my skirt down as much as I could as Brenda looked up, not fazed at all by the appearance of her mom, and beamed, “Hi, mom, this is Sparks, the girl I told you about.”

 

Her mom looked a lot younger than I would have thought dressed in a pair of low-slung jeans and a t-shirt. She came over to the couch, leaned down, and kissed Brenda, her lips to her daughter’s, softly, almost sensuously, and said, “Hi, baby!” She smiled because leaning over as she did, she could see my full, bald Brazilian up my skirt. Sitting down, she leaned towards me and said, “Nice to meet you, Sparks. Do I get a kiss from you too?” She didn’t wait, she kissed me, a warm sweet kiss that said hello and promised a lot more.

 

I would learn much later that Brenda and her mom occasionally double-teamed Brenda’s boyfriends. I’m not sure, but I think I may have been the first female three-way they orchestrated, but not the last.

 

The rest of that Saturday morning was beyond memorable. Mom was unabashedly open, expertly teasing and thrilling every nerve center and orifice on my body. Brenda was a quick learner, if awkward at the times. Mom’s guiding hands and advice made most choices work. Her mouth was magic. While I was the subject of their attention and activity, there were a few odd moments when mom and daughter would touch, even kiss, for the slightest moment, as they enjoyed making me squirm and squirt with delight.

 

The three of us were exhausted after an hour or so of introducing Brenda to the joys of girl-girl sex. The one thing that struck me as truly funny though was Brenda’s mom making us grilled cheese sandwiches and soup for lunch after we showered. We sat in the kitchen, in various stages of getting dressed, and munched our sandwiches sharing naughty stories.

 

I didn’t have sex with Brenda or her mom again after that Saturday. I’d see Brenda at school and we’d share knowing smiles. She really was a cutie. Brenda’s reputation grew to eclipse mine, especially for her three-ways with the cool crowd.

 

To this day, Brenda swears it was not her intention to include her mom that morning. I never believed her, but that’s okay. It worked out quite nicely.