Jenny

 

At the beginning of my sophomore year at USC, I was asked to welcome and “sponsor” a new freshman entering the Cinematic Arts Program. Her name was Jenny and she was a prodigy, sixteen years old, and the daughter of a prominent film editor in Hollywood. She had been making movies since she was a mere babe and already had her short films screened in prestigious film festivals.

 

She was also the horniest and most sexually active girl/woman I have ever known.

 

I had not seen her since I moved to Arizona, so I looked her up this week during my visit to SoCal. We met for lunch in Huntington Beach, where the National Surf Championships are being held. We figured we’d watch some surfing in the morning, then chow down at a favorite Mexican restaurant.

 

I agreed to meet her in front of the Huntington Surf Shop, across the street from the pier. I’m not sure what I expected at seeing her again, but when she appeared in a playsuit with a neckline that plunged to her lady bits and short shorts that caressed her little tush just so. I was not surprised. What did surprise me was an outrageously beautiful full-color tattoo of a mermaid that covered her chest and ended below her navel. This was a true, bright work of art, not a sloppy, faded street tattoo from some hole-in-the-wall shop. This was Hollywood perfection, albeit, a beta temporary tattoo that looked the real thing.

“Sparky,” she squealed and hugged and kissed me as if we were long-lost lovers. And, well, that is as good a description of us as any.

 

Arm in arm, we strutted down the pier giggling like we did in college and found a place to watch the surfers compete. With the wind blowing, the surfing commentator on giant speakers, airplanes overhead, and the general crowd noise, we had to lean close, face-to-face to converse. She was wearing her signature fragrance, brown sugar, which somehow fit her fragile 5’1” thin – okay, skinny – frame. The surfing was not great as a storm offshore was causing awkward swells and rip currents were mean.

 

We lasted on the pier for maybe an hour before we made our way down Main Street to one of our favorite eateries, Avila’s El Ranchito. It was Tuesday so the Farmer’s Market was converted into a pedestrian area. Colorful stalls of everything from fresh fruit and produce to E-Bikes lined the curbs. In the center of the market, a three-piece band was playing A Whiter Shade of Pale. Jenny, a far bolder exhibitionist than me, became one with the music and began to dance about in wide graceful moves engaging young and old folk with her seductive smile, turns and twists. Her tiny outfit with her high-top sneakers, I think, made people believe she was part of the act. The band and the crowd liked her. She danced to one more tune, Hotel California, earning vigorous applause from passers-by.

 

At Avila’s we shared a Taco Tuesday plate and happy hour margaritas. We sat side-by-side like we almost always did at USC, so we could tickle and tease each other more easily than we could from across a table. And we did just that. It was like no years had passed at all.

 

Jenny's career is ferociously successful. She followed in her mom's footsteps and pursued film editing working for several of the major studios. She is in high demand cutting features as well as mini-series on the streamers. Like everyone in Hollywood, she has a couple of scripts making the rounds too. Hearing about her adventures tweaked something in my brain, and heart, so now I'm thinking about and longing for being back in the "industry" full time. Hmmmm....

Time passed ever so quickly until the afternoon wore into the evening and we found ourselves walking along the beach at sunset. Jenny had driven all the way from LA, so had the foresight to book a room because she was sure lunch would lead to dinner and dinner would lead to spending the night together. Jenny always was clever.

 

I was not surprised that the room Jenny had reserved had a small, two-person Jacuzzi tub. We were salty all over from being in the sun much of the day and sandy from our walk, so the tub became our first priority. We sank into the hot water, turned up the jets, and took turns washing each other – you know, feeling each other up – all over with shampoo, soap, and smiles. Afterward, we bundled up in big, soft terrycloth robes provided by the hotel.

 

We weren’t very hungry, so we just ordered a pizza for dinner from ZeroZero39 Pizza (when in Huntington Beach, a must). Jenny decided to dash down the street for a bottle of wine, yes wearing the robe, while I called my mom letting her know I wouldn’t be home. This also gave me some time to think about how I felt about seeing Jenny again.

 

Remember, Jenny was just sixteen years old when I was her “sponsor” at USC. I was only nineteen yet had already developed a particular affinity for girls younger than myself. With Jenny’s hyperactive libido and my desire for teens, we were a match made in nubile nirvana. We simply loved loving each other. We weren’t “in love” or a couple or even an “item” to use a term of the day. Between classes, productions, projects, other girlfriends or boyfriends, or other life stuff that kept us busy, when we had time to be together, we played. Oh my, how we played!

 

Remembering Jenny then and how we played, made me laugh out loud, shiver, and get all goose-bumpy. I wallowed in the feeling.

 

There was banging on the door. I noticed Jenny’s room key was on the table by the door, so assumed she had forgotten it because it was too soon for the pizza delivery. I hopped up and dropped my robe to greet her buck naked. Okay, I know, you saw this coming I am sure, but, yes, it was the pizza guy. Honest. It was a true cliché. I’ve greeted pizza delivery guys naked on purpose, on dares, but never by accident. He laughed and told me I was the second one this week. Go figure. 

 

As I said, Jenny is clever. She bought wine with a screw cap because we didn’t have a corkscrew. We munched pizza in our pristine white robes on the little balcony of the room that looked out over the PCH and the beach.

 

It wasn’t long before we were entwined this way and that and head over heels taking advantage of almost every inch of the California King bed. We’d been down this highway before and knew every road sign and bump in the road of each other’s bodies. Jenny kissed me like no other person in the world. Her tongue was magic, with the light touch of a butterfly and the motion of an ocean swell. I remembered it delightfully as she rediscovered me and my body. Her mouth drifted to my breasts where she did a little lick, nibble, and tiny bite thing that has always made me shiver. She used her slender hands and gentle fingers to slide into my curves, crevices, and orifices with remembered practice. After all the years we have been playmates, this seemed, again, like one of the very first times, new and naughty.

 

I found myself remembering a night only a few weeks after we met. We were exploring the merits of female 69 when Jenny asked simply, almost in a little girl voice, “May I put my finger in your butt?” I laughed, completely taken aback, but was amused at the question. “Sure!”

 

I had dabbled in some ass play before but did not become a fan until Jenny made it playful, funny, and fun. And she was only sixteen then. Over the years she refined the art and this night she was more astonishing than ever.

 

Finally, both of us exhausted from the day and over-the-moon orgasms, we were drifting off to sleep when Jenny whispered, “When I finish the editing project I am working on, may I visit you in Tucson?”

 

“Of course, darling.”

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.