I’m sorry. Really. I apologize. I didn’t mean to do it. Honest, It’s just that…. No. I shouldn’t. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done. I’m…. I’m….. I’m such a bad person (small sob. followed by hopeless blubbering)….
Oh, I know, I know. Girls in bikinis!? I mean, what’s more cliche than that!? I’ve prided myself all this time on my originality. Sure, I was just assembling Flickr galleries of hotties for me and for you. But I was original: girls in hats (wasn’t that clever?), trucker gals, wet & wild (OK,OK, that one was close to the line…), lady in red, etc. etc. etc.
Yes, I was so original till now. Fuck it. I couldn’t think of anything else. Shake you head in sadness as you enjoy the lovely young ladies in
Now these are probably the funniest ballet heels I´ve ever seen and I was glad to discover I am not the only one to like something beyond of classical balletheel style So here some Pony Shoes, pardon, Zebra Shoes, for your enjoyment, LOL. thanks to Cheenoah for the nice pictures, (c) www.fevision.com
I’ve seen a few people wearing fingerless gloves this season. It is bitterly cold at the moment – at or below freezing – so most people are bedecked in scarves, gloves, hats and winter boots. I don’t have a hat but I’m wearing that thick padded/quilted jacket I bought a year or so ago. It’s very warm and has a hood. It was snowing on the way to the station this morning so the hood was up. Not really ‘work attire’ but that’s fine.
I still don’t have the kind of warm winter boots I would like, instead I’m wearing hiking boots (the ones bought for Snowdonia earlier this year). They do the job but they’re rather clunky. I wish UGGS did boots for men.
So back to fingerless gloves. They’re sooo 80s. I have a thing about the 1980s. A kind of obsession, of sorts. Not because it was a ‘great decade’. For very many reasons it wasn’t. But it was hugely formative decade for me in so many ways. I have vivid memories. Something about the Zeitgeist of that decade I can’t ever forget. I’m hot-wired to remember it. Of course, fingerless gloves possibly didn’t originate in the 80s, but I associate them with that decade.
So I have a thing about fingerless gloves, the attraction to which I can’t quite nail. Mostly rooted in my 80s obsession, but it’s also perhaps a fetish of sorts.
When I think of fingerless gloves I think of:
Boy George
mobile soup kitchens
New York
fetishists
the homeless
building snowmen
school
holding soup or a hot drink outside.
Anyway, I’m wearing big, black, boring Thinsulate woollen gloves that someone gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I’m going to try and buy some fingerless ones at lunchtime. Want to reminisce.
To see sexually explicit photos on Visions you must be a Flickr member with safe search off.
One of the more regrettable trends on Flickr is the refusal of more and more members to put any biographical information in their profile. So all I can tell you about Gorka Vaderetro is he’s male, taken and may be found in Bilbao, Spain. Many of his photos have a nice, witty sense of style. His set Girls, Girls, Girls boasts over fifty often kinky images of, well, …girls.
the-Fetish-Mistress is more forthcoming in her profile, she tells us: “My name is Diana, I love wearing kinky fetish-outfits in leather, latex, rubber and high boots in my daily life publicly! I enjoy all the guys looking at me. I love the dominant power this gives me over manhood! Please visit my blog fetish-mistress to see more of this! Enjoy my stylish photos!”
In case you can’t guess, she’s German. She list her occupation as “fetish lady”. I perhaps should not have included her, but I have a weakness for really good leather. I suspect her Flickr site is merely a promotion for her business.
Gakrid, like Gorka, is an enigma. He lives in Belgium, is male, has been on Flickr over three years, and shoots with a Nikon D3. What he fails to deliver in his profile he more than makes up for in his photostream. His portraits of women are stylish, well composed and lit, and sexy. These sets of his are more than worth looking at: Julie, Annelien, and a touch of concept.
After sixteen days of denial, C relented two days ago and we made love. Usually, she is very generous after a denial period and tends to focus on me. Not this time. This time it was all about her. She had me go down on her and lap her to orgasm then immediately insisted that I enter her and came again as I exploded inside her. She had a bloody good time and snuggled up afterwards commenting on how much she had enjoyed it.
I lay in post-orgasmic sleepiness and wondered why I felt vaguely dissatisfied. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed coming and it was as intense as always after a couple of weeks of anorgasmia but I didn’t feel quite right. I think there were two things that troubled me. The first is that I love licking C and get very turned on when I’m doing it. This may not seem like a problem (and usually it isn’t) but to move straight from cunnilingus to intercourse, with no break, meant that I was on a hair-trigger and came very, very quickly. C was, pretty much, peaking when I entered her so the swiftness of my orgasm didn’t bother her (and, in fact, we came together which she loves). My problem was that it was all over too fast. After being in the desert for so long, I quite like relishing the oasis for a while.
The second problem was a little weird. I felt that I had almost done something wrong by coming and that I should have stayed chaste. This seems bizarre because I was certainly looking forward to coming. The feeling was a mixture of guilt and disappointment with myself. I felt that I could (and therefore should) have lasted longer in chastity. The last time, I went for three weeks so this time I should have gone for longer (said the little voice in my head). I appreciate that this way lies madness – where do you stop? However, it was a seductive voice. I begin to see how people can enjoy, and even relish, long term chastity. Considering that, three months ago, a period of four days of chastity seemed like forever, I may be in trouble.
Last night, drifting off to sleep with the helpful cocktail of weed and sleeping pills, my mind ran a movie of my affair with the coffee shop girl who shall from this point on be known as “Veins”. It was a dirty, sweaty, sexy movie that appeared to take place in the south due to copious amounts of sweat and small amount of clothing. Over and over again, me placing my finger in the divet in her chin, her pushing me against the counter of her coffee shop…and so on and so on.
I’d love to follow Lila’s advice and hit on Veins. Perhaps she is one of the lesbians that love to fuck girls who love cock. Though she does not strike me as a game player or a braggart. But here’s the thing, I don’t know how to hit on girls.
Years ago when I was a young pup of 18 I would go to “gay” night at my small town’s only night club. “Gay” night was really just a night for everyone who couldn’t go to the club on regular nights without getting beat up. It was a mix of actual gay kids, goths, punks and geeks. We all came together because we wanted to dance and this shitty club playing bad top 40 hits was the only place within 6 hours to do so. I would swagger in wearing thrift store men’s dress pants cinched low on my hips and a little boy’s T-ball shirt. A vast expanse of flat midriff exposed, stretching between jutting hip bones. (Speaking of which, what i wouldn’t give for that fucking stomach again!) I’d dance with my friends, drink in the parking lot, hunt for straight boys or cute girls that didn’t look super butch. One night, this statuesque goth girl in a vinyl corset glided up to me and shoved a strip of condoms into my hand.
“One for every time we fuck,” she whispered into my ear while clutching me to her. Then she strutted away, laughing and glancing over her shoulder at me while I stood there dumbly staring at the condoms. My little 18 year old brain was spinning uselessly. Why would we need condoms? Was she a dude? Did I need to put one on my hand? I ran to tell me friends what had happened and they were equally dumbstruck.
The point of that story? Is that I was too busy trying to figure out the logic behind the pick up line to go chasing after this hot piece of goth action. (Though for the record I’ve never been terribly attracted to goth girls. But seeing as there were probably about 30 gay girls in town, beggars couldn’t be choosers.)
I don’t know how to react when women hit on me. Nor do I have the slightest idea how to hit on them. Men are so easy. I’m a funny girl, all I have to do is banter and occasionally insult them and bring them down a peg or two. But hitting on a girl is a horse of a different color, isn’t it?
I try to think of the ways that I’ve been hit on by men that were successful but can’t think of any. Generally being hit on while at work is very awkward. If you shut the person down then they most likely will go out of their way to avoid your establishment forever. I like that coffee shop and I’d like to keep going there.
So, how, dear readers, do I go about striking up a friendship with Veins that will lead to rabid making out in the bathroom of the coffee shop? Suggestions?
You know I’ll gladly make a fool of myself for you guys.
Oh and on the cock side of things, Hipster Art Fag (the nickname he requested) and I have been texting our thumbs off but we’ve yet to meet again in person. He somehow found my blog through some internet sluthing which is hilarious because I never told him I had one. He magically found it through stalking me. Cute. The boy gives damn good text, I’ll give him that. And his last GF was 37 so him being 25 doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. It’s at the point where we’ve been texting for two weeks without setting up a meeting and now it’s do or die. You can only text for so long. That whole getting fired thing threw a wrench in the works though. I had to take some time to completely fall apart, pull myself together, come up with a brilliant plan, scrap that plan, come up with a shitty plan, scrap that one and then finally come up with a decent plan and stick to it. It’s been an exhausting week. I’ve been a total hermit. I haven’t been out at all. It’s time to get out there and get some blog material!!!
So here some Pony Shoes, pardon, Zebra Shoes, for your enjoyment, LOL. thanks to Cheenoah for the nice pictures, (c) www.fevision.com
After sixteen days of denial, C relented two days ago and we made love. Usually, she is very generous after a denial period and tends to focus on me. Not this time. This time it was all about her. She had me go down on her and lap her to orgasm then immediately insisted that I enter her and came again as I exploded inside her. She had a bloody good time and snuggled up afterwards commenting on how much she had enjoyed it.