Interesting Dream

 I had the oddest dream this morning.

It was a brief dream as I was just waking, but quite vivid. I was in the great room of my little casita with a few friends, including Trouble, my teen, now 18, crush. A new girl entered the room, someone I had known in high school. She was wearing only a black lace bodysuit, but it was form fitting, and wide open in the front completely exposing her nearly flat chest and a flat tummy. She came to me, sat on the floor in front of me and began chatting away as we did in high school. Her tiny breasts were exquisitely small, with little nipples as well. She was nonchalant as if she went about dressed this way all the time and that it was perfectly acceptable. I was fascinated.

As you might imagine, I woke up wet. I'm not sure what Trouble did in the dream, but it seems like she just just left as I have a vague image of her walking through the casita in a pretty skirt and blouse.

The dream left me in a warm and randy state. Perfect for a dinner date I have tonight with Trouble.

The two photos here express a bit of what the dream images were.

Trouble's Friend Thinks I Am a MILF

 

At the Festival of Books last weekend my young friend, “tutorette,” and not-so-secret teen crush Trouble were walking together among the huge crowd and constantly getting separated by people shuffling this way and that almost shoulder to shoulder. Trouble finally grasped my arm and took my hand to keep us close together. I have to admit, being close to her again made my heart race a little. She’s been busy with classes, university activities, and some dating. She has generally not been around the neighborhood much despite the fact that she still lives with her mom and aunt down the street.

Wandering among the book stalls and tents, we occasionally encountered friends, said hello, and simply enjoyed being together. At one point, we met a handsome young man, a junior at the university, who had become friends with Trouble. The three of us decided to have lunch together at one of the food trucks at the mall and spent a happy hour or so munching tacos.

On the drive home, Trouble told me about a conversation she had with her friend while I was taking a break at the porta-potties. The line was long, so they had some time to chat alone. She said he thought I was, “a really hot MILF.” When she told him I was not a mom, he said, “Okay, a cougar then.” My reaction must have been clearly apparent.

Trouble added, “I don’t like labels, but he meant it as a compliment. He thinks you’re really attractive. Everyone does … especially me.” She seemed to sense the boy’s compliment caught me off-guard.

Yes, I’ll be turning 40 years old in the not-too-distant future. I’m fit though. I go to the gym almost daily, and I hike, bike, swim, dance, and participate in outdoor adventures whenever I can. I’m petite and have somewhat of a boyish figure with small hips and breasts, so that lends to my younger appearance. I don’t think I look old enough yet to qualify as a MILF or a cougar.

But there it is. A 21-year-old college boy, who could be one of my students, called me a MILF and a cougar.

As we drove past a small desert park that adjoins our neighborhood, Trouble said, “Let’s stop at the park for a while.” I parked the car and we strolled down a small nature trail we’ve both enjoyed many, many times. After a few minutes of small talk about the book festival, Trouble stopped, took my hands in hers, and said, “You know I turn 18 next month.” I nodded, of course, I knew.

“A few of my friends are throwing me a party, but I’m not inviting you. Instead, the day after I want you to take me out to dinner at The Grill at Hacienda del Sol. Will you?”

I had to pause and take a deep breath and consider what her request might or might not mean. Still, I couldn’t hold back a big grin, “I will.”

Looking terribly sincere, “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Holding hands, we finished our walk in silence, exchanging glances that said far more than words would have.

Just for reference, here are two women I admire who are my age.

Of Course, I Do!

Well, shucks. A very good friend of mine -- those who read this blog will likely know who -- thought the nude photo I posted was not particularly a good one. She feels it was too "in your face" or "not very artistic." So, down it goes. The photo below was the teaser I posted on Facebook.

I'll replace this photo with a better one in the not too distant future.

Festival Courage

I haven't been inspired to post lately, but I have been thinking about the coming spring, warmer weather, and festivals. With the return of sunshine and temperatures back to 80°, I look foward to finding fairs and fests where I can shuck my clothes and celebrate my body with like minded others. So, in anticipation of that, here's a collection of photos of women who have the courage and confidence to show off where it is appropriate. And yes, I am in the group somewhere!

Early Chirstmas Giving

 

Sam stopped by this weekend to scout locations for a western that is in pre-production at an indie start-up that is specializing in streaming services. I got to know Sam when I had a PA gig for a film about cowboys and aliens. Yes, that film.

Anyway, we've been in touch off and on for over 10 years now. When I am in SoCal, we sometimes get together for coffee or lunch. He was married up until two years ago when his wife left him for a super-rich producer at one of the majors. Sam still hasn't quite gotten over the shock and sadness of that. He's a sensitive guy who has been healing slowly.

Anyway, last night Jenny and I cooked Sam a hearty home-cooked meal, filling him with steak, potatoes, wine, and chocolate cake. We topped the evening off by getting into our 'jammies and watching the classic Howard Hawks western Rio Bravo. It was shot just over the mountain from my casita so Sam thought it might give him some ideas for his location search.

We stayed up later than we probably should have, sipping cognac and swapping stories of the film projects we had worked on since first our first meeting. The laughter lasted until about 1 a.m. with all three of us fading fast. Saying "good-nites," Sam retired to the guest room and Jenny and me to our bedroom.

Jenny and I snuggled up under the covers and, I swear, she was asleep before I told Alexa to turn off the bedroom lamp. I lay there for a while, thinking about Sam. He seemed happy enough now, but I knew that he hadn't been seeing or dating anyone since his wife left him. And that made me sad.

I got up and went to the guest room. Knocking on the door, then peeking in, I saw Sam was still awake tapping on his laptop.

"Sam?"

He looked up and closed his laptop. "What's up Sparky?"

I sat on the edge of the bed, close, and unabashedly, but gently, asked far too many personal questions about how he was doing with no partner. As ever, he was laconic in his responses but eventually opened up. He shared that it was taking far longer than he thought it would to get over what had happened. He had been on a few dates that were no more serious that a tryst here and there, with a couple of generally unsatisfying sexual encounters.

Sam took my hand and said, "You know, I thought about calling you a few times, but we're such good friends I didn't want to screw that up."

"I thought the same thing, once or twice."

We sat there in silence for quite a while.

I was trying to tune in to my feelings as best I could, when I looked at the covers over Sam and noticed a significant bulge in the blanket.

I looked at the bulge, then at Sam, then back at the bulge, then back to Sam. He was blushing brightly.

"Sam!"

"Sorry, Sparky, it's your fault for being so damn cute!"

Silence again. I put my hand on the blanket over his erection -- hard as rebar.

"Okay, Sam, here's the deal. We're friends, fine, that's as far as it goes. As far as it will go. But it's almost Christmas and your cock needs attention now. I'll suck you if you promise not to make a big deal out of it. Deal?"

"Deal!"

I pulled the covers back, lubed him with saliva kisses, and took him into my mouth and down my throat. Sam has the nicest man moan! We talked and teased as I sucked, both of us enjoying the moment tremendously. Finally, as he was about to climax, he looked at me, grinning a boyish grin, and gasped, "May I cum on your face?"

Oh my god! How did he know I love it when a guy asks me that?

After cleaning up with warm, wet towels, we shared a quick “peck” goodnight and “Merry Christmas.”

At breakfast this morning we happily sipped our coffee with Jenny, cautiously keeping from smiling at each other too much.

Christmas at Petra 2017

 

 

Shooting a promotional video for a major tour company, I found myself in the ancient city of Petra in Jordan on Christmas Day. The tour group I was with hiked to the city but did not want to make the arduous climb up to the Monastery (Ad Deir).  Only Terri, a younger woman about my age, wanted to make the trek up the mountain. The group headed back to the hotel while Terri and I began the long trail up.

We had become quite close during the two previous weeks of the middle east tour. Hiking together and chatting happily, we only met people coming down the trail as the afternoon was quickly slipping away. Terri was fit, smart, and funny. I liked her a lot.

 

We arrived at the Monastery, a giant copy of the “Treasury” building featured in Indiana “Jones and the Last Crusade” with the sun still high. We discovered that six American men were the only persons there. They were part of an Army unit stationed in Jordan that had been given a day pass to visit Petra on this Christmas day. All were enlisted men led by the eldest of them, their platoon sergeant.

 

The men seemed quite pleased to run into us. Truth is, Terri and I looked pretty good that day in brightly decorated pants and Arab shemagh head scarves we found in Egypt. We felt confident flirting a little because the guys were polite, respectful, and eager to talk about their adventures in Jordan. I had a giant chocolate bar in my pack I planned to share with the tour, but decided our new Army friends might enjoy it more. We divided up the chocolate, munched, and marveled at having the amazing Monastery to ourselves.

 

While the guys couldn’t tell us exactly what they were doing in Jordan, they hinted that it was a “just in case” kind of thing for 12 months. They were all buff with giant pistons for arms and shoulders and backs that would normally melt me into a puddle of “oh, hell yes.” It occurred to me I could duck into one of the small caves around the Monastery with any of the guys and give him a little Christmas present. Terri told me later that night she had the same naughty fantasy.

 

As the sun was setting, we all hiked down the cliffs to the main trail and slot canyon that was the entrance and exit to Petra. We laughed as we wished we had the horses Indiana Jones rode in the movie. It took us two hours to get back to the town and parking lot where our vehicles were parked. It was genuinely hard to say good-bye to these soldiers stationed far from home, serving our country, separated from friends and family on Christmas Day.

 

The sergeant was the only married man in the group, so he didn’t get heartfelt and sometimes lingering “Christmas Kisses” from both Terri and me. He did, however, get hugs and sweet pecks on the cheek.

 

Our tour group, waiting at our mini-bus watching us say farewells to the GIs, lost no time playfully harassing us about the guys calling them our “harem of men.” Terri laughed, “Hmmm… three for Sparks and three for me. That’s about right, I think.” I gave her a high five.

I'm Not Bad, I Just Like To Go Slutty Sometimes

October has been a crazy month for me. I was going to wait until after Halloween to post to this blog but friends asked me to embellish a quick blurb I wrote on Facebook regarding a night out with friends.

 

Several film and theatre friends joined Jenny and me in attending a play described as "A visceral blend of classical mythology and real-life stories told by street kids." Being so close to Halloween, it seemed the perfect venue for wearing my “street slut” look. The outfit is simply a super short and tight little red dress, thigh-high fishnet stockings, and a pair of acrylics “fuck me” heels.

 

My outfit earned me many salacious stares and a copped feel or two. Jenny wore a black silk jumpsuit, unbuttoned to her navel, and black strappy heels, so we were, if I say so myself, the sexiest couple in our group. And that is saying quite a lot as all of us were dressed as naughty as we dared as that was the order of the evening.

 

After the play, we dropped by a great little bar in the university area that is totally solar-powered and caters to the astronomy culture, associated science types, and a few geeks as well. It’s a wonderful little place with an open and liberal-minded clientele.

 

Our group made a beeline for our favorite patio table in a corner that is somewhat private, at least more so, than the rest of the tables. We knocked down two pitchers of margaritas in short order and were feeling a little buzz, just enough to make us warm and fuzzy, and flirty.

 

I’m a bit unsure how it happened, but the group decided that I was the “sluttiest” of the night and therefore deserved a good spanking. I think my friends were being generous as most of them know I like a gentle, loving spanking from time to time.

 

Jenny took the lead telling me to stand up, put my hands on the table, and bend over, which I did eagerly, ensuring my tush was pointed away from the main area of the patio. Each person at the table was allowed two or three swats at my partially exposed tush and an inch or two of zettai ryouiki between the tops of my stockings, the hem of my dress, and the flimsy lace of tiny bikini panties. Most spankers were kind, offering mostly gentle swats between a few zingers!

 

Finally, it was Jenny’s turn. She gave me a funny wicked look and pushed my head down a little to emphasize my raised rear end. I think she looked around the patio to make sure no one was paying too much attention (some were, but not overtly) then lifted my dress just enough to pull my panties down a few inches.

 

She laughed out loud as she discovered I was wearing a little red jeweled butt plug. She gave me three quick, hard swats. Still giggling, she thumped my plug a couple of times and pulled my panties up declaring, “Happy Birthday” for the benefit of the onlookers on the patio.

 

I sat down, warmed by the love of understanding good friends, a naughty, public spanking, and a couple of margaritas.