Facebook is putting me on restirictions for the following photo. I appealed the decision once, and they restored the photo and removed my restrictions. When I tried to add it again to a MAYA MONDAY post "Humorous Hotties," Facebook removed it again (after approving it) and put me on restrictions. Thanks Facebook.
I posted this on Facebook this morning and thought it belongs here too.
I
woke up horribly randy this morning and could not stop thinking about
fashion, style, and urgent sexuality. My mind was racing and in turmoil.
I was exuberantly compelled to write down my thoughts. Here they are.
I found a set of photos of just the dress I want to wear for the "Bare As You Dare" Oscar party March 10th. My friends in the costume shop in the theatre department asked me for all the photos so they can recreate the dress for me. They agreed, this would be an easy design and bulid since there is very little fabric involved! Am looking forward to wearing this. I have just the pair of strappy "fuck me" heels to wear with the dress and, of course, a pair of black thong panties. I'm going to have lots fun come March 10th. Now to figure out what Trouble and Jeep Girl are wearing.
Valentine's Day Happy Hour - Updated
Some friends asked me to this up regarding my exhibitionist tendencies.
There can definitely be some overlap between a kink and a fetish so we understand the confusion. Rosara Torrisi, PhD from the Long Island Institute of Sex Therapy, breaks down the difference as “whether it's something someone likes to do (kink) or if it’s something someone has (fetish) to do in order to have sexual pleasure.”
So my exhibitionism is a kink. (Whew!)To be clear, I do not have exhibitionist disorder. Exhibitionism is described as the sexual desire to be watched, particularly during sexual activity, but shouldn't be confused with disordered behavior, a condition that causes someone to compulsively expose their genitals to unsuspecting passersby, typically in a public setting. I have no interest in that.
When exposing myself to others, I always make sure the people I am flashing are adults and likely to be open to the experience. I choose venues carefully to ensure my activities won't prompt immediate calls to security or the police. I try to gauge the potential audience for openness, fun potential, and either female or male, if the person I am flashing finds me interesting or attractive, or if I find them attractive. Often, I try to ensure people are aware that I am occasionally shooting photos and that my behavior is part of a naughty photo shoot. And, I try to get a girlfriend to flash with me, solo or duo. In any case, if I don't feel completely confident in the environment and the people around me, I don't do it. A girl could get in real trouble is she does not practice this kind of safety.
While in California for Christmas, a long time girlfriend of mine and I took a day to roam the beach areas of Venice Beach and Santa Monica for some public flashing fun. We also shot some naughty video in stores and dressing rooms. Sorry, I won't post our work here -- we both have jobs we could lose if we were identified. But, here's a few photos of the kinds of things we did.
This is not much of a holiday blog post, but I wanted to put something up for the end of the year.
in Tivoli Park in Ljubljana, I rested from a brisk walk from the three bridges of the central city to consult my city map. I tried to concentrate on the map, but the parade of fascinating people through the park kept me peeking over my sunglasses and the map, to ‚ “people watch‚” without being obvious.
It was then I spotted two teen girls, emerging from an apartment building and rushing into the park, hand in hand, in what I might describe as a giggle fit. They were free, entirely happy, and beyond energetic. They stopped just across a patch of grass from me, well out of sight of the apartment from which they had appeared.
Both girls were
probably 14-15 and dressed similarly. One of them, with long dark hair and big,
dark eyes, was wearing a pair of low-rise jeans with a wide belt over the top.
She removed the wide belt, unfastened the buttons of the jeans, and folded them
down to where it was clear she had no underwear on. If she had any, her pubic
hair would have been clearly visible because I could just barely glimpse the
drop of her mons and, maybe, a hint of her slit. She added the belt again,
which marginally met the folded-down top of her jeans.
It was the blonde’s turn to convert her pants to lower-rise. I say lower because her pants were a pair of gypsy or parachute pants already low-slung on her tiny hips. She untied the drawstrings of the patterned pants and rolled the top down several times, so they were as low as friend’s. Tying the drawstrings tight, she turned to model the results and revealed a subtle, but extremely teasing bit of tush cleavage. The dark-haired girl heartily approved.
They held hands, looking at each other, giggling as teens do. Their exuberance became an explosion of mirth and unleashed energy, as they began what I can only describe as a youthful happy dance, jumping and kicking and twirling in a circle together. Their joy, at that moment, was infinite, thrilling and emotionally overflowing with their bodies and how they expressed themselves in their lowest-rise, revealing looks.
When they settled down, they strutted off through the park, holding hands, their long, thin, and youthful torsos exposed and small breasts beaming like their smiles.
The entire incident only took a few moments as they seemed practiced, knowing exactly what they needed to do to go from cute teens to confident teasing teens. Those few moments are burned into my memory though because I remember that kind of exploration and joy of discovering myself, my body, and how I present myself to my world. In my mind, I said,” Good luck, girls. The world is waiting for you.”
And, no, I didn’t dare try to catch a photo of the girls. Had I been discovered it would have ruined the moment entirely.
This summer has been so busy, I have not settled down long enough to do more than think about writing in this blog. Friends over on Facebook have been encouraging me to post something here, so I’m taking a few moments with a frosty cold ice coffee to share two of the most interesting adventures of the summer.
As many of my friends know, I have the great fortune to work for a major tour company shooting promotional videos of their customers enjoying their travels. The job took me to Europe again this summer with a few groups here and there on the continent.
As a member of the company “team,” I try to be good but occasionally find myself intimately engaged with a trip participant. I don’t announce it, but if anyone asks me, I don’t hide my bisexuality. In Italy, an attractive woman in her 30s did ask. She declared she was straight but did find me “alluring.” I took the sideways compliment and tried to sidestep her whenever I could, but she was determined to spend time with me. It was easy to tell her “bi-curiosity” was in full flower and, being on vacation, saw me as an opportunity to experiment. The good news is, she turned out to be quite a delightful, intelligent woman. Toward the end of the tour, I finally opened up to her. Pun intended. I strongly suspect I won’t be her last bi-crush. She still messages me on WhatsApp.
As much fun as the Italy tryst was, the most unusual and interesting event happened in Portugal in a small, medieval walled village. The tour hotel was a converted castle of sorts that was built into the wall that surrounded the village. As this was a rather upscale place, our trip leader provided an afternoon of tapas, wine, music, and dancing that lasted well into the late evening. Everyone on the trip wore their “finest” travel clothes, which in most cases were a light, cotton dress for the women and long pants and a shirt with a collar for the men.
I drifted away from the group as the party was breaking up and went up to my room. Since the hotel was built around the 17th century, air conditioning was non-existent. Even opening the double doors on the balcony did not provide a modicum of cool air. I decided to take a walk along the parapets of the village wall as I was sure there must be a breeze high up there.
The wall was supposed to be closed at night, but since many tourists ignored the rule, some small lights provided enough illumination to barely see the stone walkway. As I walked alone, the breeze did come up. The heat and sweat of the night evaporated magically and I was at long last cool. I stopped at the far end of the wall to gaze at the river, valley, and vineyards under the light of a crescent moon. The soft breeze and the song of a few night birds provided a serene natural soundtrack as my mind drifted to thoughts of travel, fine food, adventure, and, of course, romance. I was a little drunk, happy, wistful, and, well, honestly, terribly horny.
“Sparks?” came a deep, slightly raspy voice that I had come to know from a man on our tour. I jumped a bit, I think, because, “… I didn’t mean to startle you” I heard the voice say.
Ben, in his 60s, was one of those trim-fit older guys that run 8 miles a day before the rest of us are out of bed. He was a widower who traveled a lot with our company because we have so many single female clients. He readily admitted it because, “I love to travel and it’s a way to be around smart, worldly women.” He was a confident, handsome, and genuinely nice man. All the women loved him or would have if he left his hotel door unlocked at night.
I turned, leaning against the low row of stones that created a “railing” that kept people from falling off the wall, and greeted him, “Hey Ben, enjoying the breeze up here too?” He nodded and joined me looking out over the expansive valley below.
“I saw you leave the hotel and guessed this is where you were headed. Seemed like a good idea. Mind company?” he asked.
I cannot imagine what the expression on my face must have been, given that seconds before Ben startled me, I was musing about being drunk, happy, wistful, and terribly horny. I liked Ben. He was a joy to have on the trip. I had spent a lot of time with him, capturing him on video, and interviewing him at length because I knew he would make my videos sing to women. And here he was, twenty-some-odd years my senior, mature and looking dashing under the stars on a castle wall in rural Europe. I mean really? Did I mind? Hell no.
I took his arm, leaning my head on him. I hoped he understood my reply. We talked for a while, about travel, fine food, adventure, and eventually romance. In low tones, not wanting to disturb the subtle quiet of where we were, he shared that although he enjoyed the tours in the company of the older women who took our trips, he avoided entanglements, preferring simple company and friendships.
By then, I was standing in front of Ben, leaning back against him, still gazing over the countryside. He had put his arms around me, holding me gently. I could feel his interest against my tush and the small of my back.
I turned my head to his and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, “No entanglements, just friends.” At that, I leaned forward on the rock rail so I could prop myself on my elbows, and pulled my little cotton dress up revealing I had left my panties in my room.
Thank goodness, Ben was cool, collected, and utterly competent as he spread my legs, and fondled me with practiced hands. He made sure I was stable and comfy leaning on my elbows before he pulled his cock from his trousers and entered me in a way that I can only call graceful.
I believe, I moaned something brilliant like, “Oh my god, fuck me!” I may have said it multiple times. Now that I think of it, I did, I said “fuck me” a lot. Ben talked to me softly as he thrust himself into me telling me how wonderful I was and lovely, and warm and sweet and smart. Yes, those words and more. I never felt more desired.
And just like that, I climaxed with a total body orgasm, shattering me, weakening my knees to almost falling. But Ben held me up and at once filled me, with a warm, then hot eruption of cum. He remained inside me for the longest time, enough to catch our breath, because we were both entirely spent. After, we shared smiles and grinned a lot, but we didn’t say much beyond how wonderful and astounding the moment was. I then noticed Ben’s load was dripping from me and running down my leg. Laughing, I told Ben. He immediately produced a handkerchief (who carries a handkerchief these days) and wanted to clean me up. I’ve never done this before, and still not sure why I did then, but I said, “No … no … let me enjoy it, wear it back to my room.” And so I did.
Ben walked me back toward the hotel, but we separated before we arrived to avoid prying eyes. We stopped and gazed at each other for a moment before we shared a short, delicate little kiss. It was the only time we really kissed. And we never repeated our encounter. We established a wonderful friendship that is still growing.
One last thing. Some folks were wondering why I hadn’t been in Facebook jail lately. Well, I’ve been good – by Facebook standards. But, two days ago I almost got jailed for posting the photo below that I thought was funny. But, the algorithm caught the nipple and warned me my post had been removed. Thankfully, Facebook did not penalize me. Go figure. Not, that's not me. Close though.
