After Christmas

The days after Christmas are never a let down for me. I simply enjoy the in-between time after all the crass commercialism and religious sentimentality of the holiday and the beginning of the new year. Some of my friends get “the after Christmas blues,” but not me.

There is something about the coming of a new year, new challenges, and new experiences that enthralls me. My coming year is overflowing with film opportunities, writing assignments, a new course to teach, and so many possibilities for relationships, sex, and and some exhibitionistic naughtiness.

I woke up this morning, feeling this hopeful energy and jumped into my friend’s garden tub — a giant of a bathtub with spa jets! It wasn’t long before there were three of us in the tub splashing happily. No, we didn’t have sex, but we did get a DSLR out to shoot a few quality photos of each other. We all got so aroused we took turns masturbating while the other two watched. Now that was fun!

The French toast and bacon afterwards weren't bad either.

I hope your in-between days are happy and naughty too.

More Fun with Facebook Censors

Facebook would not let me post this picture. I received a "you will not be allowed to post for 24 hours" message, but I removed it, and can still post. Facebook does not allow pictures of girls kissing girls now? Wow. What do you think?

Short and Sweet

Last night I started celebrating the holidays at a party thrown by a neighbor, a doctor, who knows me mostly from my Monday recycle bin antics. Most of our “core group” of young professionals were there, including the aunt and mom of “Trouble,” a 13-year-old heart breaker who has decided I make a good “older girl friend.”

I was a bit self-conscious, mostly in a good way, because I wore a very short sweater dress, bare-legged, and my signature ballet flats. I was exposed just enough to be naughty, but also just modest enough for a neighborhood party.

The doc had built a creative little deck in his back yard that was elevated so it peeked over his fence, to the pool area of our community area. The neighborhood had put up Christmas lights and decorations around the pool, so the deck afforded a lovely view. And the night sky was gloriously dark for the Geminids meteor shower. I slipped out the back door, to the deck, and settled into a cushioned chaise to enjoy the view. Alone and quiet, it was the perfect ending to a hectic week of finals.

After a while, I heard the back door open. Turning, I saw Trouble coming up to the deck, with a glass of wine in her hand. Without waiting to be asked, she sat, snuggled close to me and handed me the wine. She touched my bare leg. It erupted in goosebumps!

“Aren’t you cold?” she said.

Sitting on the chaise, my tiny sweater dress had ridden to the top of my thigh, and more. I tugged it down and said something brilliant like, “No …  no, I’m fine.” She smiled, her big eyes glistening, and teased, singing, softly, “The cold never bothered me anyway….”

We talked about shooting stars, Christmas, travel, school, and, of course, boys. It must have been almost an hour before people spilled onto the patio with us.

Fun with Facebook Censoring System

 

Over on Facebook, a friend offers a theme for posting images on Mondays. Today's was "Women with Pets." So, one of the images I wanted to use is the first one above. I knew it would not pass Facebook's censors, so I edited it, with no hint of nipple showing, but it was still rejected. I can't say I mind. I enjoy pushing the limits over on Facebook, just for fun. The following photo was not rejected.

Dinner and a Movie

Dinner and a Movie

In a conversation a few days ago a friend quipped, “I remember when if you said you were going out for dinner and movie, it meant you were going to fuck.

I had to stop and think a moment.  That’s not the case now, but I remember a time in my life when it could be said that was mostly true, at least, for me.

It was a time when low rise jeans were the lowest, crop tops were tiny, and a girl’s thong underwear, if she wore any, peeked out for all to see. I was 16 going on 21 and most of the bar tenders in Santa Monica, Ocean Beach and Venice Beach knew me for my precocious sexual behavior. They wouldn’t serve me anything but Coke, but they wouldn’t kick me out either.

Hollywood wannabe agents, writers, actors, techies – mostly male, but some female – cruised the beach bars on the weekends because they didn’t score invitations to the posh gatherings in Malibu. I didn’t tell any one I was genuine jail bait, under 18, but oddly, no one usually asked. And I got asked out – dinner and movie – a lot. And I went.

On a warm July night at a punk bar in Venice, I chatted up a cute bartender for a plate of super nachos and a Coke. He was sweet, got me the snacks and we talked, long into the night, past closing. He knew about my reputation, but didn’t hit on me. It came up that I slept with practically anyone who took me out, bought me a nice dinner, a movie, a play, a concert, whatever. Finally, he asked if I’d ever considered charging men money for my favors, instead of “dinner and a movie.” I think he expected shock or indignation. But the fact is, I had considered it. More than once. So, I said yes, I had considered it.

He then explained how he could hook me up with nicer guys, with money, who would happily pay $500 an hour for the sex without the dating game. We’d work out a percentage depending on the John. By the way, in all fairness, he thought I was 18. At least, I have to believe that.

Yes, I thought about it for days.

In the end, I said no. Further, I stopped doing “dinner and a movie” with just anyone and became much more selective. It seemed I could do better, so I moved my panhandling for free super nachos to Malibu. It worked out. I ended up with a full ride to the University of Southern California, on the strength of my high school grades, of course.

Oh What a Night!

Las Vegas has never been a city I particularly like to visit. But, the open sexual attitude of the town and the unwritten rule that “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” is compelling for me. So, when I told a friend in Los Angeles that I had to attend a conference in Sin City, she was quick to offer to drive up from Los Angeles for a night at the Bellagio.

Since the conference was a geek-out for cinematographers, I was extremely careful to wear slacks and a blazer so I wouldn't be mistaken for a booth babe. It’s hard enough for a female director of photography in a still, mostly male world. When my friend arrived for lunch on the chosen day, she acted shocked at my “hopelessly conservative” look.  I promised her an improvement after my presentations and passed her a room key.

When I finally got back to the room, I found my friend in the bathtub with a chilled bottle of champagne. Eagerly, I undressed and jumped in with her. Cuddling and sipping the bubbly, I was informed that she had snagged tickets for “O” right there in the Bellagio and had reservations after at Hugo’s Cellar, my favorite restaurant for dinner in Vegas.

Clean and refreshed, I slipped into an obscenely short, delicate baby-doll dress and a pair of four-inch strappy sandals. The dress was hunter green, complementing my ginger hair and just grazing the tops of my bare thighs while covering my bum. My friend emerged from the bathroom a vision in a Grecian-style cocktail dress that draped from spaghetti straps, to a plunging neckline, to knee-grazing folds of gold silk. Ever a fashion plate, my friend accented the outfit with nude fishnet thigh highs and gold pumps.

How does the old Four Seasons song go?

Oh, what a night

hypnotizin' mezmerizing me

She was ev'rything I dreamed she'd be…

My friend was infinitely confident with me all evening, holding hands, touching, guiding me without effort and utter, but firm, gentleness. During “O,” she repeatedly caressed my thighs and pulled my little dress up, revealing my panties for the couple seated on either side of us to see. Occasionally, she nibbled my ear and kissed my neck, briefly, and whispered wonderful words of seduction.

After “O”, we had to stand in a long line to catch a cab to go to Hugo’s. I stood behind her, compulsively hugging her close, pulling her body to mine. She turned her head, kissed me quickly, and told me to hold tight and not let go. As I obeyed, I felt her hands slide behind her, then to my mons. She raised the inch or two of the fabric of my dress that gave me any modesty at all, and grasped me. Her small hands working gently, she moved my panties aside, and I felt her fingers enter me. She knew I was hopelessly wet. A little panicked and wildly turned on, I looked about. Of course, no one noticed, but standing there, fingered in public by my beautiful lover, my emotions, my ecstasy, sent me into a quaking orgasm. I held on to my date tightly, trying not to let my knees buckle. She laughed softly and didn’t let go until it was our turn for a cab.

Oh, what a night
Why'd it take so long to see the light

Seems so wrong
but now it seems so right.
What a lady, what a night.

I felt a rush like a rollin' ball of thunder…

I’ll finish this story later: our dinner at Hugo’s Cellar.

Recycle Mondays

Mondays are recycling days where I live. I have a silly habit of rolling the bin to curb while bottomless. Sometimes I am seen my neighbors or others, sometimes not. Either way, it's always fun.