Posted on | August 26, 2015 | 10 Comments
I pondered on the prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday, unsure if I wanted to write or not. But the phrase used for the prompt (“I don’t want realism. I want magic.”) kept tugging at me. Did I want magic? What about realism? Where did I fall on the continuum of magical through to real?
Magic is appealing. It really is (and I read a whole lot of fantasy!). But for everything I considered where magic would be amazing, I could see what I’d lose as a result.
Art by Mejsej
Here’s a few examples:
Magic: Being able to jaunte to Melbourne any time to see Tethys, so we can have lots of amazing sexy in-person times together.
Realism: While those in-person times are comparatively rare, they’re intense and incredible. We’ve also had to work hard on our communication skills as we manage a long-distance relationship, and we’ve both benefited from that.
Magic: My migraines disappear and never return.
Realism: While living with chronic migraine can be challenging (and sometimes downright sucks) I’ve learned to respect my body and its limits, and devote a lot of time to self-care. I am better to myself because of this.
Magic: I have all the time I need to read any book I wish (I wish! There are so many books waiting to be read).
Realism: I still read a whole lot – it’s a self-soother for me – and I value the books I do read. I also value the time I have to do other things. Not to mention that books come out faster than I can read them, always. If I had all the time in the world? There’d still be more books to read after that.
Magic: I can meet in person all the amazing people I’ve gotten to know through blogging and tweeting.
Realism: I’ve met some of them, and it’s been fantastic. But I have a great network of online friends and ways to communicate with them. And I keep buying my lotto tickets…
Which works for you: realism or magic? Click the logo to see what others think.
Posted on | August 23, 2015 | 14 Comments
What are you looking at? Can you tell? Does the click-through help you at all?
That’s right – it’s Hylas’ cock. And it’s thoroughly squished between the two parts of the Electric Bondage Board (there’s no escape!). The more squishing, the better the contact for the electricity… and there’s where I get a whole lot of sadistic pleasure.
A maginally less squished view is below (and for ultimate squish, click on through).
It’s a complete pain to get his balls through the hole to start the process, but well worth the bother. There are so many options for electricity – through the head of the penis, the scrotum, or attached to the buttplug which is also part of the set. Or mixing and matching!
Yes, my inner sadist has a hell of a lot of fun when tormenting Hylas’ penis is on the menu. Possibly too much fun. But the more sadistic I am, the harder he gets… which suits me just fine
Electricity: much less scary when I’m the one playing with the dial!
Posted on | August 16, 2015 | 17 Comments
In Bowentown, near Waihi Beach, there’s an astonishing view that Demeter wanted to share with me. From the clifftops by the holiday park you could look out across Shelley Bay to Athenree (where we were staying), as well as over the inlet to Matakana Island, which was trees as far as the eye could see.
Demeter drove, and we reached there as the sun was starting to go down – and in addition to being very bright and a tad windy, it was also utterly stunning.
We walked to the very edge of the cliff (well, as near to it as we could safely go) and took a whole lot of photos while we admired the view. And, of course, I bared my breasts
To get a better view of the panorama, click on through.
It was a lovely way to finish an afternoon of scavenging and sightseeing – and we finished it off by heading back to Athenree to eat fish and chips in front of the fire. What could be better?
We got quite a few Scavenger Hunts that day!
Posted on | August 12, 2015 | 4 Comments
The Ferrari came to a stop right next to me. I was pretty bad at telling cars apart, but I had no trouble identifying this one – particularly because it was cherry-red and buffed to a shine. The roof was down already, and the tinted window dropped to reveal a grinning face. Obviously this fellow was a fan; all those classic cars to choose from but this was the one he was tooling around in, driving it off the museum floor to the sunny outdoor courtyard.
I hadn’t visited Southward since I was a teenager. Back then it was the De Lorean and the bullet-riddled Cadillac which caught my attention. Now I was all about the shiny and the fast – and that applied to potential partners as well as vehicles.
“Hello there,” he said, looking up at my breasts. I was wearing a very low-cut pale patterned sunfrock, long on the leg and short on everything else.
“Well hello there,” I replied. “You work here?” I checked him out, frankly. Nice face, clean t-shirt bearing the Southward logo. Maybe a decade younger than me – but that was all right.
“You could say that. This place is in the family.” He smiled again, and I smiled back. There were possibilities here.
“Oh really? Show me around, then?”
“Hop in,” he said by way of reply.
In I hopped. Well, slid. The car was low-slung and smelled of polish and perfection. He smelled pretty fine too. I admired his hands as he helped put my seatbelt on, leaning into my cleavage as he did so. Yes, he was definitely fast. I liked it. “So, what will you show me?”
By way of reply he revved the car, turning it, and drove us around the back of the museum building into an open mechanical garage. “I could just show you the cars,” he said. “But I think you have something else in mind instead, yes?”
I smiled and put my right hand onto his crotch. “Yes. Let me help you off with that … seatbelt.” I felt him jump under my hand. A pleasing response.
We both exited the car, and the intense smell of grease and tyres and car hit me. It reminded me of the years I’d spent working at the petrol station after school – but this would be with more fun with any luck. “Come see this,” he said, taking my hand. He pulled me away from the Ferrari and deeper into the workshop. “This is where we work on new arrivals. Strip them back, check them out, get inside and make sure everything’s top shape.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh really? And what new arrivals do you have today?”
He looked me up and down, slowly. “Oh, a really nice piece. Classic lines, plenty beneath the hood. I think she’ll revv hard and drive fast. Might need to strip a bit back to check everything’s in working order, though.”
We stopped, back up against … well, some old car. It wasn’t as shiny as the Ferrari, but it stood higher, blocking some of the view from the entrance. “Guess you better check then, huh?” I lifted my dress, flashing my pale knickers. “Need to strip back further?”
“Not yet. Gotta check the engine first.” He dropped to his knees, hands pressing on my thighs. He sniffed, deeply. “Smells good. Like the oil is running cleanly. Still gotta check further though.” He pressed his chin, ever so slightly stubbly, up against the gusset of my knickers. His tongue pressed against the material. I groaned.
He moved back an inch, enough to murmur:”Ah, there’s that oil. Fresh. Doesn’t need changing.”
I gasped. “Perhaps. It might. Need a dipstick check?” I remembered something from those gas station hours, after all.
“Not quite yet,” he replied, before slipping his tongue back against me. The fabric pressed hard against my cunt, and I bucked against his face.
“Please?” I was ready to beg. For tongue, or cock, or hands, or anything but this underwear in the way. “Please, strip me down?”
He knelt back, tongue swiping his lips. A smile flashed and was gone again. “Oh, you are a fast one.” He nodded. “Okay. Take them off. Just the knickers though – leave on your dress.”
My turn to smile. “How about you?”
“Oh, I know I’m in working order. All I need to do is get out that dipstick and prep it for use.” As I stepped out of sandals and dropped my knickers to the concrete, he stood up again and lowered his zip. I gulped. No underwear, no pubic hair that I could see. Just a long cock that he coaxed out of his jeans leg so it poked free and firm.
We stood in contrast. I was holding my skirt up, half naked and rather bushy. He was fully clothed except for that lovely long …dipstick. I raised my eyebrows at him. “Prepping for use?”
“Oh yes!” He fished a foil packet out of his back pocket. “Care to do the honours?”
Ah. There was a trick I knew – always good for impressing. I took the packet from him. “Close your eyes.” He did so and stood there. He should have looked vulnerable, silly; instead he was like an elegant statue. I could see dust motes in the air, sunshine peeking down on us from the high windows. His cock shone.
Carefully kneeling on the ground, I opened the condom packet, checked which direction it was facing, and then placed against my mouth. I leaned forward, putting my own hands on his thighs. It was the perfect time for another car double entendre, but all I could think was “Sauce for the goose…” My mouth covered the tip of his cock, and I began to use my lips to roll the condom down his length. Slowly, using my tongue, I ensured it reached the base. My hands remained on his thighs, and I could feel him quiver.
“Fuuuuuck,” was his response. Good encouragement. I applied pressure and sucked at him, swiping my tongue back up and across his frenulum. Latex wasn’t my favourite taste, but it was well worth it in this circumstance.
I sat back on my haunches. “All prepped.” His eyes opened.
“You are amazing,” he said. “And I can’t wait to ride you.” His hands lifted me back to my feet. “Turn around.”
He swung me about so I was leaning against the car. I was facing the garage doorway, and I could see the Ferrari, the outdoors, the hedges in the distance. “Hold your dress up.” I lifted my skirt above my arse, then bent further over the car using my shoulders for support. His hands caressed my arse cheeks, then grabbed firmly.
“Guh,” I said, intelligently. “Fuck me, please.”
He lifted me up a little, propped my legs apart with his knees. “Ready?”
“The ‘oil’ didn’t give it away? Just fuck me, now!” No gentle sliding home for this boy. He slid in firm and deep, bottoming out with an audible grunt. I was making noise too, as it felt great. “Fuck, yes!” I pushed back against him. “Revv that engine!”
We fucked. Or he fucked and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. My shoulders banged against the car; my knees buckled as he rutted. His cock slammed in and out, and I moved with each gyration, trying to keep him deep in me. I could feel my cunt juices running down my thighs, and wondered fleetingly if they were getting on his jeans. Not that I cared.
One of his hands grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. I turned toward him with the pull, looked at his face. He was glorious, sweaty and smiling and rough. We came together in a kiss; just as rough and probing as the fucking was. As he let my hair go, I felt the burn, knew my orgasm was imminent. “Harder!” I ordered. “I’m so close.”
He took orders well, holding my shoulders and slamming into me. I lost my grip on my skirt and didn’t care. And then I was there. “Fuck!” I clenched hard and spasmed around him. “Fuck fuck FUCK.”
He didn’t stop for much more than a second, just until my grip released him. Didn’t slow and didn’t gentle. He kept on sliding in and out, crashing me hard into the car door. I went with it, glorying in the ride. The sounds he made were perfect: bestial and needy and full of lust. And then it was his turn. His hands clenched harder; his body shuddered; his cock pressed deep and deeper and then stayed, quivering. “God DAMN!” He shuddered again. “Fuck.”
I chuckled. He collapsed forward, covering me with his sweaty clothed body. “We’re both potty-mouths, I see.”
“If ever there was a time to swear…” I grinned. “So. How’s that new arrival?”
He blinked at me, lost. “Oh yes!” He laughed. “Damn, but she’s one hell of a ride. Definitely one to show off.”
“A shame she’s not for sale then,” I said. “I think you can probably take her out for a spin now and then, though.” I smiled at him. “Thanks for the test drive – it’s good to know everything’s in working order.”
And it was. I knew I’d be back the next weekend, just to check out the museum cars again. How better to spend a summer’s afternoon?
ETA: This was selected as one of the top 3 posts for the Wicked Wednesday prompt!
How could I miss the Ferrari prompt for this week? Click to logo to see what others have written.
Posted on | August 2, 2015 | 14 Comments
This is an older photo, taken back in 2010 on my 32nd birthday. Not as old as I’ve made it look, though! I adore the view of Auckland behind me in this shot, and I’ve edited to make it look like the old pictures in my family photo album. If my parents had been up Mt Victoria in Devonport before I was born and taken a photo? Then this is similar to what the picture would look like, I think.
You can click through for another view…
All hail Hylas for the gorgeous parasol which he gifted it to me that day; Hermes and Metis, who were there to have lunch with us; and Apollo, who took these lovely photos
The theme for Sinful Sunday this week is vintage/retro. Click the lips to see what others have done!
Posted on | July 29, 2015 | No Comments
My irregular roundup of interesting reads, found from all over the place.
Content Notes: discussions of infertility; sex work prejudice; disability
My Own Struggle With Infertility Has Made Me More Fiercely Pro-Choice Than Ever: “Despite what the anti-choice lobby will have you believe, I’ve heard that being pregnant can be pretty taxing. I mean, you’re growing a human and all. It seems like that’s a lot of work for a body to take on” (Cecilia Wharton / xoJane)
By our own hands: society’s fraught and shameful relationship with masturbation: “Masturbation is not an inferior version of partnered sex, rather it’s an entirely different act – one is about my relationship with myself, the other about my relationship with my partner.” (Michelle Dicinoski / Archer)
If You’re Against Sex Work, You’re a Bigot: “Distorting and destroying consent is the foundation of anti-sex activism. It has to be, because otherwise the bigots have no ground to stand on when sex workers state, again and again, they are working out of choice.” (Conner Habib / The Stranger)
Verbal Limits: “If physical domination is a piano concerto, verbal domination – and especially verbal humiliation – is often treated more like experimental jazz. Touch and feel, not rules and discipline. Blurred lines. Intuition. It’s natural to see it that way, but it can also be risky, because unlike when you’re whacking my arse with paddle, the pain isn’t always so obvious; so easy to measure and articulate.” (Exhibit A)
Sex, Lives and Disability: “The fight for so-called sexual citizenship is not confined to the disability rights movement. Campaigners demonstrate how sexual minorities are marginalised, denied equal access and even criminalised in particular nations. But while there is a common aim for sexual rights to be seen as fundamental, the means are in dispute.” (Katharine Quarmby / Mosaic)
Cult of the Spankers: the X-rated artists who turned Times Square into smut central: “These pulp paperbacks were not just rare; they’d been banned. For years, politicians and preachers did everything they could to stamp them out (even though very few members of the public ever saw them). I managed to track down a government list of 72 seized titles. They had names like Raw Dames, European Brothels, Mrs Tyrant’s Finishing School and Cult of the Spankers. It was like dangling raw meat before a lion; I had to find them all.” (Jim Linderman / The Guardian)
Posted on | July 12, 2015 | 14 Comments
When it’s the middle of winter and there’s been a lot of rain, and the claggy clay is threatening to overwhelm everything … naturally putting a heavy digger on the slope is going to fix everything! (I feel a bit sorry for this property owner.)
And naturally I took the opportunity to flash in front of it. Which involved standing on the guttering at the edge of the road, barely avoiding the mess. I was rather delighted though!
I was so pleased Demeter spotted this. We drove back to this spot after taking those great photos by the dam
In other news, it seems my social media presence is also on the slippery slope. Twitter SUSPENDED my account (which I’ve had for just shy of 8 years) on Friday. I have no idea why, unfortunately. So, what should I do? Battle to get it reinstated – I’ve started that process, but it may be weeks – or start another in the meantime? Your thoughts would be welcome.
ETA: You can find me (for now) @curvy_dee. Come say hi!
It’s amazing the Scavenger Hunt locations you stumble across when you’re on holiday!
Posted on | June 21, 2015 | 14 Comments
I felt like playing with animations today, and there was a set of photos Tethys took during my visit last November that I thought would work well.
(This is from the same daytrip to Kinglake as in this post – just a little further up the trail, in fact!)
I miss Melbourne, and Tethys. I don’t miss the heat that was there last visit though!
Posted on | June 16, 2015 | No Comments
My irregular roundup of interesting reads, found from all over the place.
Content Notes: Discussions of suicide; fat negativity
Disposable tampons aren’t sustainable, but do women want to talk about it?: “It seems counterintuitive that despite the explosion of sustainable options for a broad range of products over the past five years – clothing, food, baby care, coffee, skincare, cleaning products – options for this most intimate and inconvenient aspect of women’s lives have scarcely changed in a century.” (Rosie Spinks / Guardian)
What It’s Like Recovering From a Suicide Attempt: “But despite the prevalence of wanting to talk about mental illness, there still remains a murky fear of it, as if acknowledging that we all have a sensitive organ floating in cerebrospinal fluid within our skull may open up some sort of portal into the abyss and make us all lose it. This is, of course, total, A-grade bullshit.” (David Whelan / VICE)
Body, fat, memory and the massage table: “I think about the layers of embarrassment, fear, shame, class identity and lack of entitlement, lack of access that stops people from getting mostly naked and allowing a stranger to touch them. I reflect on how getting massages has been one of the ways in which I have been able to make sense of and make room for my own body.” (Dr Charlotte Cooper)
Casual Love: “But why not have the option of exploring love, too, with or without a side of commitment? If we can agree that our bodies are not inherently dangerous, can’t we do the same for our hearts? I suggest we take a page from the casual sex book here. Let’s lift some of the weighty grandiosity off the shoulders of love, and allow it to be what it is: a sweet, ephemeral, exciting feeling to experience and share.” (Carsie Blanton)
Lessons From a ‘Local Food’ Scam Artist: ” The idea that I might know something about vegetables that they, with their sophisticated-yet-earthy palates and vaunted vegetable-selecting skills, didn’t, was a disruption to their foodie performance.” (Alison Kinney / Narratively)
Women Watch Porn with Porn Stars (Buzzfeed)
Posted on | June 14, 2015 | 18 Comments
When Demeter and I went away last weekend I had no idea what to expect. We were going to a part of the country I’d never been to before, and I was looking forward to seeing what there was to see as a happy passenger.
But as she and I randomly drove around Waihi Beach on the Saturday, neither of us were expecting to find a stunning man-made lake; a dam and spillway, in fact.
It was utterly deserted – we found it at the end of a road up the top of a hill, as we’d been driving up up up in an attempt to get a good view of the beach – so nakedness was mooted and delightedly agreed upon.
(Yes, it was indeed bloody cold.)
It may not be a view of the beach. But it was absolutely perfect nonetheless
Demeter took the photos of me; I took the photos of the water. Teamwork!keep looking »