so i've had this motorcycle since uh 2001 and i got a really bad deal on financing because, well because it's a fucking motorcycle and every idiot knows not to finance a motorcycle... except me in 2001, that is.

there's a good story as to when and how i got the bike, but i'll save that for another time. suffice it to say that i was in LA and i hated people and traffic and the easiest way to get around all that was a motorcycle. so my boyfriend at the time bought me a motorcycle for my birthday. well, except that i was the only one working at the time so if you really wanna be truthful you'd say that i BOUGHT MY FUCKING SELF a motorcycle for my birthday, but really that'd just be splitting hairs.

anyway where was i oh yeah, so i haven't dated any motorcycle riders since i've been back from LA so the damn thing just sits there. why? you ask, well i'll tell you. 98% of all motorcycle riders are guys. so the thought of me going out riding for a whole saturday with 10 other guys doesn't really please a boy. call it jealousy. of the bike or the boys one never knows...

so now that i'm non-motorcycle-rider-less (very carefully chosen words, mind you) my friend helped me take my bike into the shop to get the carbs cleaned out and get it back on the road. also my friend gave me a jacket and has a helmet that he says i can have. fuck it if i get a pair of gloves i'm all set for the fucking summer.

and i rode the thing home last night and i forgot how freaking FAST that thing is! so awesome. fur-zearw... (that's what it sounds like when i make the fast noise.)

it feels like a part of my personality that i've been missing is BACK! you either get that, or you don't. just sayin' the motorcycle part of me was idle for far too long. AND this sunday we're going to watch motorcycle racing, yay! a very fun summer is shaping up so far.

(p.s. the puppies are due sunday night. i'm saying there are only 3. she's not half as fat as she was last time.)


Kali just needs to go to the store for a loaf of bread. She'll be right back.


Screaming Like A Banshee Archives

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so i broke up with my boyfriend. and there must be a sign on my forehead that says as much. because all of a sudden i'm covered in boys. i can't shake 'em off of me. this must sound really arrogant to people that don't know me (or to people that do) but i'm just telling you the facts. don't get me wrong, they're not all winners. but i mean they're not all losers either.

which leads me right up to a conversation i was having with my friend the other night. i asked her how many guys a girl can sleep with at one time in this day and age without being a slut. not at once. i just mean i'm going to be dating here in the soon time and i like to fuck. so i can only imagine that i would fuck some of the guys that i'm dating. the glitch is that i don't want to be in a relationship. so, let's say i want sex 5 times a week. that seems reasonable, right? but if i start fucking the same guy five times a week, we're going to end up in a relationship. unless he's gay. and really come to think of it that has happened to me too. fucked a gay guy so much that we ended up in a relationship. he's out smoking crack in hotel rooms now so no bother but at least i hope he's come to terms wiht his sexuality.

so, ya. five times a week without a relationship. i'd think i could manage that with three or four guys. but is three or four guys too many? trust me, two is not enough... because somebody in that situation is going to catch feelings (never know it could be me) and it would be down to one quicker than shit and then BAM! before i know it i'm in another relationship.

so i have two ex boyfriends. one's a trucker. you'd know this if you've been reading. he comes through town once every month if i'm lucky, and i AM lucky if you know what i mean. (ya sometimes even i don't know what i mean.) so that really doesn't cover much territory. i have another ex who lives in town. but exes are always kinda tricky. plus they're not as intoxicating as new fucks.

so really, is four boys too many? i think four is good. then i'm not clingy on any one of them. they'll not be sick of me, in fact they'll find my non-interest attractive and they'll try really hard to impress me. seriously, this could work.

sure, i bet some of you are at home judging me. shit, if i weren't me i'd be like crimony what a slut. but i think boys do this shit all the time. i can't afford to get in to another relationship right now. i'm just not ready for that crap yet. in fact, i'm going to try really hard not to get into a relationship. it's harder than it sounds for me. and it's also one of the things i don't really dig about me. i tend to get into relationships really fast. then i'm like dude i don't even really like you. meh. i know i know i don't like myself how can i like anyone else? dude i get it and i can't wait to start liking myself.

but in the mean time i'm going to have to get laid...

Archives

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it hasn't always been wine and song in my bedroom. sometimes it's been in bunk beds and garages… and sometimes it was mad dog 20/20.

*one* -- i'll spare this website the hits of disgusting letches looking for the "v" word by saying that the moment i'm talking about here was when i first started *swimming*, so to speak.

i was in a classmate's "pool house" during a party with a guy who i just *knew* was in love with me. and when i say pool house, you should remember that this was before i got kicked out of public school. so what i really mean is a shed with a concrete floor. (hey don't be sad, he really liked me, i'm sure he put his towel down for us to lay on.)

quote of the evening? "baby can you drive this train?" said while putting his, uh,
noodle,
in my hand.

*two* --when i was about 21 i was bartending at the local bar on the corner of my college campus. we had a regular crowd, nothing spectacular as this was a state school and most students lived off campus.

but across the street was a house in which a bunch of guys that belonged to the same fraternity lived. ("frat houses" had been outlawed due to hazing practices.) the boys used to come over and i'd get them wasted on keg beer for pennies as long as they tipped well.

one night they invited me over to the house after closing. (to be honest, a lot of nights they asked – i HATEd frat boys, but this night i caved – i'm sure drugs were promised.) so needless to say i get shitfaced drunk and end up fucking with the president in the top bunk of a bunk bed and then passing out.

i woke up in the middle of the night feeling something wet. it didn't take me long to realize that it was me pissing the bed. so what'd i do? i did what any good alcoholic would do… i finished!! and then hightailed it out of there and never went back to that job again. heh.

*three* - once when i was in seventh grade i was huffing gas in my friend stephanie's garage. her little brother was out there watching us for some reason. she went to go get something and i finished huffing and just turned around and started making out with him. she was not happy when she walked back in and caught us. he was in 5th grade. i was the talk of the middle school let me tell you…

*four* - when i was in my senior year of high school this new boy transferred in and he was kinda cute and he played football and lacrosse and he had a crush on me. this was news because everyone knew by my senior year that i was

a. crazy

b. a drunk cheating slut

and so no popular boys really wanted anything to do with me. so before any of the other boys had a chance to warn him about me, this guy asked me out. one night we're fooling around on the couch while my parents were downstairs sleeping/watching tv and it gets pretty heavy and he's fingering me and i'm moaning and it's hot.

then he pulls his hand out of my pants and it's covered in blood. oops sorry mr popular football guy looks like i got my period. horror shame embarrassment i'm not going to school on monday. but turns out he was cool about it and didn't tell anyone and we went to homecoming together.

then at homecoming i got drunk and left with someone else and THEN on monday everyone was calling me BLOODY MARY. ha! high school what fun.

years later i run into the guy in annapolis and he's going to the naval academy and i'm wasted and he comes up to apologize for being such a dick in high school and of course i accept and sneak back to the naval academy and have sex on his roommate's bed with him and when i get up to leave at 4 in the morning while he's still sleeping (pro move) i realize that i got my period during the night and the whole bed is covered in blood. bloody mary strikes again.

*five* - wow. hard to follow that last one there. lessee… oh, here's one. one time i go home with a guy from a bar. (this one i happened to know.) we do the whole falling in the bedroom door ripping each other's clothes off thing. screw each other's brains out then pass out in his bed.

in the morning i'm doing the follow the clothing trail to get dressed thing while he rubs his eyes trying to figure out who i am. i hear rustling from the other corner of the room. i hug the clothes to my chest and crane my neck over the bed to see a playpen. with a toddler in it.

"what the fuck is that?" i ask.

"that's my daughter."

Archives

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i sat in the parking lot with my cup of dunkin donuts coffee watching the big rigs pull in one after the other. i had talked to him on the phone just 20 minutes ago.

"hey"
"hey harris are you excited to see me?"
"ya are you there yet?"
"no, i'm about 30 minutes away"
"aw dude, you said ten o'clock, you lied."
"naw, i didn't lie. i may have put myself in a better light than was actual, but i didn't lie."
...
"it's late, boss"
"aw poopie pants, don't be a brat, i'll be there soon and i'm very excited to see you."

so there i sat parked in the TA parking lot at 10:30 at night waiting for my truck driver. the phone rings.

"hey! i'm pulling in right now."
"nuh uh, a bus is pulling in right now."
"ok, after the bus is a white truck and then me... i'll stop and you just hop in the passenger side door of the truck."

he pulls up and i climb up into the cab of the truck, feeling slightly like a hooker from a bad 80's film. at least i'm wearing my boots. we pull up to the gate, he takes a ticket and we go onto the lot and find a parking spot. he's an old pro by now. taking turns perfectly and navigating the narrow rows to find a tight spot between two other big rigs.

"wow, you're pretty good at this."
"430,000 miles, i should be."

he presses buttons and pushes various pedals until the truck sighs and lunges to a slumber. he pulls out a keyboard and types in some information from a piece of paper he takes down from his visor.

"paperwork," he grumbles.
"hA! you don't know anything about paperwork," i say, thinking of the piles on my workdesk that will need to be tended to at 7:30 in the morning.
"let's go sit in the back."

you'd be surprised at how much room is in that back part of the tractor portion of a tractor trailer. it's like a hotel room. it reminds me of the cross country trips we used to take in our various vw pop-ups. those were fucking good times. he and i against the world. driving through texas as fast as 10 would take us. no one wants to get caught driving through texas in a vw bus with a pound of dirt weed.

we sat in the back of his big rig and i remembered living in the back of the vw in los angeles. we would move from parking meter to parking meter on 3rd street in hollywood because we liked to eat at johnnies coffee shop before i put on my hard rock uniform to wait on customers still wearing their name tags from the price is right. after two months of living in the van, the apartment that we rented in koreatown felt like a warehouse loft.

that was 8 years ago. i can't describe adequately what has happened in the time from then til now. but sitting in the bedroom attached to the back of his rig last night made me wanna laugh cry and cum all at the same time.

he holds me tight and kisses my face and neck. he has a beard now, but he still smells the same. i never did like the way he kissed. he kisses like he eats pussy. don't get me wrong, he can eat pussy like a champ, but when he's kissing your face the same way as he kisses your cooch... i can't really explain it, it's just weird.

he puts his hands around my neck and squeezes and then moves down my shoulders, neck and tits. he grabs my hips and pulls me toward him as he buries his face in my neck. i lay back as he lifts my shirt.

the mattress makes a funny muffled squeaking noise. i can't shut my head up.

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ok let's get back to the fucking around here, can we? jesus.

i've been somewhere else in mind and spirit and i haven't been laid in oh my god it's been so long it's embarrassing. i haven't had a dry patch like this since fourth grade when my uncle told me i was getting too old. KIDDING! i kid.

so there's this ad here, the one i've included, that people are all up in arms about. D&G's peeps are calling it "fantasy rape." HOT! so fucking hot. but we'll get back to that later. the ever popular "women's groups" are calling this ad violent. (who are these women in the women's groups, anyway? i picture fat and bearded ladies, don't you? oh wait ya there's tipper and good old stand by yer man hillary... right. just like i said, beards.) drama! (drama said like Dramamine, not like your high school drama teacher.) anyway they pulled the fucking ad. shit those ultra skinny women offend me way more than this does.

i don't know but those GUYS ARE FUCKING HOTT@!#!#@&*# i have no idea why i feel this way. i have heard horror stories from young girls about how they lost thier virginity, i have heard of deplorable things that our young men do to our young women, but STILL i have this thing about fantasy rape.

i lay in bed at night and fantasize about coming home one night from work and going to hang my coat up and being grabbed from behind, a hand put over my mouth, i try to scream but can't, he's so strong he rips up my skirt and pulls down my nylons... i'm struggling struggling but can't break free. i smell his sweat and hear his heavy breathing, i'm struggling he rips open his belt and pants and i fell his rock hard penis against my thigh... holy crap i'm going to have to go to the BATHROOM!!!

ok so ya you get it, right? the rape thing is hot. well, i think so anyway. fuck what's PC i just know what gets me off.

YES, the guy in my fantasy is hot, DUH. and sweaty and muscular... well, kinda like the guys in that ad up there. i used to think i wasn't so hot about the other guys watching, but the more i look at this pic the more i wouldn't mind a bunch of hot men waiting to run the train on me. shit. am i sick?

(oh ya and now i have this thing about nun porn, thanks everybody on the mail list -- like i needed more sick thoughts in this head of mine...)

Sceaming Like a Banshee Archives

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today i'm sick and ignoring it so i thought i would talk about all the times i was sick and ignored it and it turned into something way bigger than it should've been. ever done that? well i'm hoping that won't happen this time, so i'm writing this as sort of a preemptive nyah nyah you can't turn into pneumonia unwittingly because i called it first... ya i like to trick the sickness. can you do that?

so ya i just took care of my sick boyfriend for three days feeling oh so superior because i haven't been sick all winter and he's been sick two or three times. i get ego from the weirdest places. like ha ha my bio-defense system is so much better than yours ahahaha. ya so now there's this green and brown gook lunging from my nostrils everytime i blow my nose. i think i'll be fine. he told me i should stay home from work today and i came back with the "that's not an option" routine. heh. fucking hell if i haven't turned into my father...

so today i'm going to talk about those time when you get a pebble in your shoe and you ignore it and shove motrin down your throat until someone comes up to you and asks why you have one red shoe on and your all like "dude that's BLOOD." heh. oh, you don't do that? shit. anyway...

i went to mardi gras one february. i didn't take my boyfriend because dude, uh you don't take your boyfriend to mardi gras. so he shipped me off with a cardboard heart filled with candy hearts and fat joints for valentines day and off i drove to show my titties to the world. (how i found such loving people while i was trashing my life is beyond me.) on or about day 3 of a 7 day run i'm squatting in an alley to pee when a cop that looks kinda like meatloaf comes running after me yelling "you can't so that!" so i finish peeing as i pull up my pants... (there's no stopping the stream once it starts) and i set off at a trot to outrun the fat bearded OPP officer. (you down with OPP? ya you know me)

as i'm running and tugging on my pants i don't notice the curb and twist my ankle coming off of it. CRUNCH. oh shit that didn't sound good. ah well just keep running. i got away from the cop (no surprise) and was back at the batcave before i noticed how badly my ankle hurt. then it started to swell. but fuck that no twisted ankle is going to ruin my MADRI GRAS PARTY!!! i need to show my tits to fat kids for the FAT BEADS BAYBEE! see ya i was a little carried away. i mean i didn't eat anything but coffee and beer and liquor the whole week. ok and maybe one catfish poboy YUM.

one of the dudes at the batcave has just had knee surgery so he has the serious big motrin and says "take these it will take the swelling down." so.. add motrin to the diet and laissez les bon temps rouler boys! off i went to be completely wasted for the next four days. showing my tits to anyone with beads or a camera. (for years i had to turn the "girls gone wild in new orleans" commercials off when my dad was in the room for fear he'd see my little mug up there sweaty and nakid)

so ya i drive my best friend's car back to maryland because she's off on a mission to key west with the motrin guy and another dide we met in the big easy. when i get back home i think gee i should see a doctor for this ankle that is now three times it's normal size. sure enough. it's broken. been broken for four days. heh. but fuck if i didn't stick it out at mardi gras. some things are just more important than walking...damn ankle still hurts when it snows.

i guess i wait to tell you about the yukon jack night where i dislocated my shoulder falling up the stairs...

now it's your turn. what ailment have you ignored that turned out to haunt you???

Archives

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ok so where were we? oh ya, my dogs are stuck together, the girl dog is weeping and so am i, the boy dog is so confused as to why the bitch won't GET UP OFF OF HIM now that he's had his piece. my neighbors are gnashing their three collective teeth but can't agree on what to do.

dirtball donna is sticking to her "he's to big for her" theory.

mike the dyke is shaking his cane, still feeling like the most prudent thing to do is to pour water on them.

smith of the basketball sized hernia holds that they need privacy.

my landlord, the only one with sense of any kind, seems befuddled. he looks at me and shrugs.

so i go get a cup of water and come back out and pour it on their joined uh sexes. and i guess i figured it would just pop right out, like when you use soap to get a ring off. but, nay, that did not happen. so what do i do? i go get another cup and try it again. the dogs are looking up at me through their eyelids, horrified. seriously, it's been at least 8 or 10 minutes by now.

"GO PUT THEM IN THE BACK YARD AND LEAVE THEM ALONE!@!" frankenballs screams.

finally i concede. i scoop both dogs up in my arms, ass to ass, and head for the house. i am all alone, so i am forced to ask dirtball donna to open my door so that i can transport them to the back yard. more than THAT, she has to come in my house with me to open the back door.

the boy dog's ass is puckering like a motherfucker. fucking 10 minutes later and he still shooting loads up in that piece. amazing. i place them gently down in the grass in the small backyard and it breaks my heart to walk away from that look the girl dog has on her face, but i do it. and i stand in my kitchen spying on them from the window.

sure enough about 5 minutes later (i shit you not it was a total of almost 20 minutes) the boy dog pulls loose and his bare pink thingy whips out and starts flopping all over. the craziest shit i've ever seen. he keeps looking at it like WTF? he tries to get away from it until he realizes it's actually part of him. there are those damn barb like thingies on the shaft that are the reason he was locked in there. at this point it's making too much sense that smith knew what to do and i'm wondering why i didn't make the connection earlier.

the girl dog is just happy to have her twat getting back to it's normal size. at this point she doing a lot of licking but seems to be taking the shock and horror of what just happened in stride.

i call the vet FINALLY who says there's a 99.9% chance that the bitch is pregnant "when there's a lock." and he was right. the next few weeks i spent calling the vet nearly every day to be sure things were normal. i kept calling and asking if i should bring her in. he kept saying to me "is she eating? if she's eating, there's no need to worry." the poor dude must've told me that at least 15X.

i kept calling and asking if i should bring her in. so much that at some point he says to me "i don't need to see her, she's fine. unless you just want to give me some money." hA! he kills me.

i had a million more things to learn about the whelping process and after and god it was SO MUCH FUN i loved it so much that as soon as all the puppies were gone, i was like "let's do it again!" somehow instantly i forgot about the first two weeks of sleepless nights and the last two weeks of wanting to kill just a couple of them so they would SHUT THE FUCK UP!

but seriously, look at their faces... you'd forget too.

Archives

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if you know me you know that I LOVE WIENERS!!! currently have two miniature wieners and my boyfriend has one.  (don't tell him his is a mini though, he thinks his is much bigger than mine.)  they are the cutest things ever and last night my two wieners got locked together.  stuck, as it were.  the last time this happened i ended up with four extra little wieners running around.  as you might expect i'm very, very excited.  like i said, i love wieners.

have you gotten it yet?  i'm talking about my doggies you sick and twisted individuals!!!

my little wiener is knocked up!  at least i think she is.  last time the two of them got stuck together my vet said it was a 99.9% chance that she was pregnant and sure enough 62 days later... 4 more wieners!  this time was not as exciting as last time.  this time it happened in my upstairs living room in front of me and my boyfriend.  last time it happened in front of the gas and electric man, and my neighbor with the basketball sized hernia, and my other neighbor dirtball donna, and her husband mike the dyke , and my landlord.

i was out walking the two dogs -- he'd been humping her for at least a week, she would yelp everytime the lipstick would get close to he swollen goods, so no dice.  so i was used to the continual humping.  i turned the corner to head back to my house and i see that the BGE (baltimore gas and electric) dude is sitting in his van right in front of my house.  my landlord is standing at the window talking to the driver.  as usual smith with the basketball sized hernia was sitting on his porch.  dirtball donna and mike the dyke had just woken up in time to nose around to see why the BGE guy was there.

i stop momentarily to have a conversation with my landlord and the BGE dude.  just then, my landlord's wife drives up and pulls in my driveway.  yes, there is quite a crowd gathering.  the dogs are on their leashes at my feet, i say hi to the landlord wife and she points down and says,

"you better watch out you're gonna have puppies."  there is slight yelping but i've learned to tune it out. 

"nah, " i say without looking down, "they've been doing that all week."

"not like this i bet," says my landlord.

lots of yelping, the girl dog is crying, the lipstick is out the boy is frothing, the BGE man stares open mouthed, the girl dog is screaming, the boy dog tries to back up off of it but, uh... can't.

(i don't know if you've ever seen this shit before but when dogs are mating the boy sticks his thingy all the way in there and when he uh gets ready to shoot his load, there are two barb like thingies on either side of the shaft that go in too but they get all swollen and take hold so that he can't pull it out.  it's pretty fucking insane and no matter whether someone describes it to you or not you're still not ready for it when you see it.)

so a crowd has gathered and my dogs are stuck together.  everybody has an opinion of what to do.

"poor water on 'em" says the BGE man

"he's hurting her" screams dirtball donna

"yelp yelp" winnie the girl dog says.  by this time she's so fucking freaked out that she's literally crying, which, in turn, freaks me so far out that i'm now crying.

"leave 'em alone!" smith with the hernia screams.

"water should work" says my landlord.

"holy shit" offers mike the dyke.

and me?  i don't know what the fuck to do... i think i'll finish this next week...

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as i type this i'm sitting at my new job nearly alone me and the boss and his boss are here but that's about it. the university had planned to open at 10:30 but i decided to come in regular time to see if i could help out. you see i work for plant operations. you probably don't know what the fuck plant operations does at a university but we make shit run.

and when shit breaks, we fix it.

so now that we've have some snow and tons of ice, we're fixing shit all over the place... pipes break, elevators stop working, heat shuts off, etc ad infinitum. oh ya also we have a grounds crew. and they're responsible for snow removal.

so i get here at 730 everybody is duly impressed i'm making a great impression when the university decides to close. which means all non-essential staff gets a day off.

now i'm not an "essential employee" but the dude who is the essential employee got his car stuck on the way here. so guess who's been temporarily promoted to essential. ya. and it's valentine's day. which used to not be such a big deal. like michele said earlier in the week, i used to hate valentines day. now i'm a mush monger. it's really fucking gross actually.

he dropped by my work earlier with a dozen roses. i don't think i've even gotten a dozen roses before. oh ya, shit i forgot! there was that time when i got 16 sweetheart roses for my sixteenth birthday. but those were from my 19 year old sister's 24 year old ex-boyfriend. (reads like a jerry springer show title, doesn't it?)

other than that i've always tried to be the cool girlfriend that doesn't need too much, doesn't want to much, is easy to talk to, and likes sports. you know, the kind that says "flowers suck because they die -- don't waste your money -- diamonds are stupid -- who needs a contract to say you love someone."

my good friend refers to such behavior as wanting to be "the man whisperer." you know, the one that's not like all the other girls. for years being the man whisperer worked for me. i got tons of dick with no strings attached. but recently, much like michele, something has changed inside of me. all of a sudden i like flowers. i like diamonds. getting married sounds romantic and sweet and damnit i LIKE TO BE HELD AFTER SEX!!!

there. i said it. i'm her. that girl. in fact i'm not afraid i always was that girl but was fully denying it until i got a boyfriend who did sweet things for me.

ah well, it was a good run...

but if i start saying shit like "camcorder" and "minivan" someone please shoot me....

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this decade is where i did my growing up. after i grew out of my motley crue phase i started listening to inxs (pronouced "inks" because i'd only read about them in hit parade.) give me a break motley crue was some hard shit back then and i didn't know how else to be bad. until, that is, i heard punk rock. charlie sexton didn't stand a chance. adam ant was closer but mike muir was my voice.

i was just a betty hanging at the half pipe. what i really mean is that i was in middle school and one of my friends lived close to the highschool hangout which was the ramp with the most vert in the neighborhood. wow. so there i heard suicidal and the buttholes and the spermbirds and oh some uh descendants and those innocent type punk rock bands.

i started cutting the sleeves off of my dad's old dress shirts and wearing them buttoned all the way up with some sort of brooch or pin at the top button. i started wearing black eyeliner and long underwear under shorts. i was so cool that it hurt my parents to look at me. i started smoking and stealing my parents' car at night just to drive around and buy cigarettes and show off to the other kids.

needless to say, i wasn't watching a whole lot of tv. (i do remember, however, really digging "moonlighting.")

i was off the hook when i got my own car (yes my parents bought me a car... two, actually but that's a spoiled brat story for another day -- let's just say that the first car was a 1979 firebird and the second was a 1983 oldsmobile cutlass supreme...) in the meantime i drove a bunch of skinheads around in my mom's wood panelled station wagon, but i've told that story before (i believe.)

i spent a bunch of the eighties at the 930 club in DC. funny that i hate underage shows for making me feel old today. but then? how fucking cool was that? punk rock shows for kids in DC! there were matinee shows at the safari club!! and don't forget that your friends' bands are playing at the firehall on friday night. i think i've said all this before, but these were the best and worst years of my life (in that horrible cliche way.)

i hated high school. i mean i fucked up there so much socially that it was just pure hell. when i hung out with the angry kids i just felt like i could do no wrong. i was that rich girl with the car, but hopefully not that annoying one. (i hope not anyway cuz she was a real trick.) i was the private school girl that cared just a little too much about what other people thought. that tried her best to make it home at least somewhere NEAR curfew.

in the 80's i went from hanging out at the mall to hanging out at house parties tripping on sugar cubes. i went from cut off jordache and baseball tees to doc marten's and bomber jackets. a global leap in anyone's book.

the eighties are THE decade for me. i can't explain it and it don't mean it in an "i love the eighties" sorta way. i mean i don't think i owned one pair of leg warmers. (i do now, though... sue me.) it just was the decade that defined my growth. i found punk rock and camaraderie.

i also found blackouts... i'd guess you'd call it a trade-off of sorts. heh.

kali remembers how cool it was to wear long underwear under shorts. Cause it was and is cool, dammit.

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so ya this week being 70's week at fttw i'm not going to talk about sex. i mean i'll probably digress into it somehow (you know me) but since i was born in 72 i never did have 70's sex. (bown chicka bown bown) i waited until the ripe old age of thirteen to pop the proverbial pitted fruit. which would be 1985. so lookout 80's week, cuz here i cum! ahahah ok sorry there i go.

but yes the seventies hold a sweet sweet place in my heart. they were my first decade. i went from skipping lemons to cut off jordache and baseball t-shirts. no, really that's me. last year of the seventies. god DAMN i'm a hoochie mama!

i crushed on boy who wore desert boots and led zepplin t-shirts that did funny things when you hung out in his room with the black light on. (the t-shirts, not the boy -- oh wait... maybe the boy too)

i rode on the front of the bus while the cool 5th graders smoked in the back seats of the bus and yelled at the bus driver to turn up "heartache tonight" so that everyone could scream and bump along the way home. also fond are the bus memories of wailing the word "baltimore" in the boss' version of hungry heart. you KNOW "got a wife and kids in BALTIMORE jack, i went out for a ride and i never went back..." (HEY did you know that springsteen originally wrote that for the ramones? can you imagine??? also it was released in 1980 so again, i'm off in my years, damnit)

anywho, in the seventies i went hunting with my paw. if you count sitting in a duck blind being bored as fucking hell as hunting, that is... i was such a sad dissapointment to him then.

hmm what else about the seventies. i'm sure my mom dressed me in embarassing plaid bell bottoms. didn't everybody's mom do that?

i loved the movie musical grease and donny and marie were the king and queen of cool. i wasn't allowed to watch three's company because it was "suggestive."

i loved john baker more than ponch and bo more than luke. i would have married either arthur fonzerelli or david banner. i longed to be leather tuscadero with all my heart (suzi quatro playing the musician sister of pinky i had no idea)

i had the dorothy hammel 'do and fancied myself a nadia comaneci in the making. i watched the love boat and charlies angels like they were going out of style, which, coincidentally, they were.

so the 70's were a flash in my cathode ray tube. i was raised by the television much to my parents' dismay.

the 80's? well that's where i found my identity. but we can talk about that another day..

kali admits a hell of a lot more about the 70's than I ever would have

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could this new year be any newer? for fuck's sake. so you all know that i've started a new job (remember the pole? ya i still have to take pictures...) and you may or may not know that i've begun a new relationship. (fucking awesome by the way, he's moving in. whaaat? we waited like 2 weeks. wanna hear a joke? what does a drug addict bring on a second date? a u-haul. hA!)

so yah now my grad school program has started up again. and last night was the first meeting of my quantitative decision making class. WTF? quan who? the only quan i know is michelle. cripes. the book is called "introduction to management science." there's a science to management doncha know. ok but here's the bad news. it's fucking math! MATH, people!!! i haven't had a math class since my first semester of college. and just so i seem even more pitiful that was over 15 years ago.

i was a go get 'em freshman in the mechanical engineering program at cornell university. for like a week (the go get 'em part. i did last the full semester. i was on a navyROTC scholarship -- marine option, but that's a story for another fucking day) my first semester read like a "classes you hate" list. chemistry, physics, calculus, computer programming (fucking PASCAL it was so long ago...) and one english class. dude i have no idea. i was away from home for the first time hanging out with marines and yada yada you know the rest. school fell a distant third to drinking and fucking. and mine was not a schedule in which i could "slide by."

we'll just skip to the end of the story at this point and tell you that i ended up sliding by 5 years later as a theatre major at a local state university. hA! my god what i put my poor parents through.

anyway i'm going to try not to let this end up being an "i hate myself" post... and i'll do that by saying that in the past year i've accomplished more and felt better than i ever have in my whole life. and also by saying that if i didn't do all that than what the HELL WOULD I BLOG ABOUT??? heh.

ok so what the fuck was i talking about? oh ya. this class is freaking me right the fuck out. and thursday i'm scheduled to start a macro-econ class. fucking hell, dude. i think i might have to drop that one. perhaps i should have spoken to a counselor about my class schedule before i signed up for these two. nah. too easy.

so let's add up my life and see what the hell's on the agenda. a new job. a new relationship. i'm in my 15th month of recovery (which is a fuck of a lot of work. all this changing behavior is fucking work , don't let them tell you any different.) and now MATH. and it's not just regular math either. there are symbols and letters involved. something called a "sigma" for christ's sake.

so ya i'm scared. but i seem to remember feeling this way after the first meeting of every class i've taken so far.

i'm just amazed at how quickly my brain tells me to quit. that i'm too dumb to get through grad school. still and all, i think i'll stay. i may, however, drop the econ class and concentrate on one at a time.

thought? opinions? experience?

kali is just teasing us now with the pole pics.

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i had dinner with an old high school friend last night. i don't really do high school friends because, well... because i fucking hated high school. i mean i didn't mind school itself, but by the time high school rolled around i was a social leper. i fucking hated the social aspect of it all and just kept getting burnt and steamrolled and talked about and caught in lies and drunk and fucking your boyfriend. ya, that pretty much sums it up for me.

i mean, when those kids shot all those people at columbine? yes, tragedy. yes, horrible. innocent people die and you're not supposed to make jokes about it. and let me tell you that this is not a joke. when parents and other adults were running around crying screaming, wondering why this all happened, i knew. i didn't have to wonder why it was all happening. i fucking HATED those people dude. and some days i could have been those kids. i shit you not. i was bipolar and irrational and i fucking hated those kids for making my life hell. shit i wasn't even the worst of the outcasts and i fantasized about killing some people. thank god i was spineless and without a co-conspirator...

so i have been shamelessly myspacing this past month and i come across a girl i used to hang with. she was the other outcast slut. we both came from public school to this private hell and we knew how to fight and fuck. so we got along until, well, until we didn't. who the fuck knows what happened. if i had to guess i would say that i so desperately wanted to be popular that at some point i ditched her because she was "keeping me down." ya that probably rings pretty true. this girl wasn't (isn't) perfect mind you, but she was a very loyal friend to be sure. and i was not.

but all high school shit aside, thank god, we came out of it pretty unscathed. she's just like me... an extremely smart girl not living up to her potential. we're both hiding in secretarial jobs. neither of us have been married, no kids, one long term relationship that ended. she still drinks, i don't. that's really the main difference. that and the fact that she has more self esteem than i ever did. i doubt she tried to kill herself with drugs. dunno.

so we get into this conversation. man we fucked some dudes. i mean we really did. i remember making a list in my freshman year of college. that list was 80 some long as i recall. and fuck. freshman year of college is when the fucking really took off!

i told her that at some point in any bartending job the topic of numbers comes up. there's always that player guy that wants to throw around the number of chicks he's fucked. that fucking guy is prolly the same dud i shoulda shot in high school. anyway, he doesn't want to get into a pissing match with me or the friend i had sushi with last night. shit. i got laid whenever i wanted to. it's like that for girls. guys strike out sometimes... even the player bartender. me? not so much. i can't speak to the quality, mind you, but i rarely went home alone.

but you've heard about the thing where you take the number a guy gives you and divide it by three to get the real number of women that he's slept with, right? the same thinking says that you take the number a girl gives you and multiply it by three. let's not do that with my number, ok? because i'm no magic johnson. i mean, i had to work.

so... what are your numbers? you can comment anonymously if you want. only a few people will have your ip address. heh.

kali doesn't know your IP address but I do.

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ok so i just started this new gig. same employer, new gig. my employer is the largest private employer in the state though, so... uh needless to say i don't know any of my new coworkers.

thank god that it's wintertime. luck has it that i always need to find a new gig in the winter. and as i've now entered into the 9-5 workforce (another good thing don't laugh) i need to look, uh respectable for lack of a better term. and i have tattoos. lots of them. and long sleeves would look really weird in the middle of summer. so ya, the new peeps don't know that i'm a freak. i've lowered the freak flag as it were.

well... the tattooed freak flag.

i always think that i'm going to be really reserved at any new gig. i mean i always think that i'm going to watch my mouth, fly under the radar, act like a full fledged adult. and this time it worked! for one full day i was the nice quiet new girl.

then they showed me my new office. ok cubicle. but really it's nice. because i am assistant to the head of operations at this place i got a double wide! it's like a long reception desk thingy with lots of room and track lighting. the best thing is that i'm not the receptionist. i fucking hate receptionist duties. i'll personal assist all day long but the meet and greet thing is just not my style.

so.. my eyes follow the desk down the line as i inspect my new abode. and what do my eyes rest upon in the middle of my space? uh. a pole. yes, there is a pole in the middle of my cubicle.

now let's say this right now. i'm not peeved about the pole being in the middle o my space. im not that kinda girl fung shuei? kung fu? whatever. but what is interesting is that I HAVE A POLE IN THE MIDDLE OF MY CUBICLE!!

uhm. how can i stay away from the stripper jokes? the answer? i can't. i just can't. so the stripper jokes started day two and now i've set the tone. and i've set it pretty low as you can well imagine. so now we're painting the pole a different color than the rest of the new space. and the private room jokes have begun! it's... well, it's entertaining. and i'm officially not the nice quiet new girl.

i'm the girl with the stripper pole in her cubicle.

oh just wait until summer comes...

Kali just waits for the summer to let it all hang out.

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so things have been in an upheaval state over here in kali-land. not to be confused with the state on the west coast. this is east coast elitist representing.

ya things are good, perhaps that's why the upheaval. i mean i'm not so used to things going my way. i've done some crappy stuff made some bad decisions. don't get me wrong i've always been blessed. i just never really saw it that way. never really took advantage of the good rolls, ya know.

the only thing bigger than my fear of failure is my fear of success. i know that some of you can relate.

so here i am. i had the best new year's eve that i can remember in a long time. and the other new year's eves that were better? well, i can't remember much of them anyway. i do have a vague memory of riding a bicycle in key west on NYE all hopped up on cocaine and lsd. the bike kept turning into a tricycle and it was really freaking me the fuck out. see? that's my old definition of a good time. RAWR! still and all, i love those memories. it was the explaining to the current boyfriend why my lsd hit was so much stronger than his which was the bitch. i mean he's kinda tripping but my bike is TURNING INTO A TRICYCLE!!! ya. so when i had to tell him that i had just snorted like twenty seven lines of raw cocaine that i was stealing from our drug dealing roommate... that was when new year's ever turned ugly.

so that's it. my "good times" always turned bad at some point. so when things are going well, i have this self destruct mode that creeps in. like fuck it, if i'm going to lose it, i might as well blow it up myself. at least then i'll have a cool explosion... am i making any sense anymore?

let's get back to this year. i knew it was going to be good when i heard CLUTCH was playing on NYE. i mean, they're from maryland, i came up going to their firehall shows. fun fun fun. clutch shows are always a good time for me. i fucking lose myself in the show. kinda like drugs only no i'm-stealing-cocaine-from-our-roommate aftermath. good times.

so then i start dating this guy. this guy who i've been friends with for a while. the first guy i've dated who has similar taste in music in quite a while. the first guy in 8 years who would actually enjoy himself at a CLUTCH show. (ya i know i don't have the greatest track record with men. i choose poorly. shit, why should my love life be any different than the rest of my life.) but this year has been the year of changes in my life. the year of better decisions. a new start and i couldn't be fucking happier.

so on midnight december 31, 2006 i was in the pit with the man i love. i had broken my glasses, (a nice young man held off the pit and lit the ground with a lighter while i crawled around on all fours to find them after they flew off my head,) i had a black eye getting larger and blacker by the moment from a head butt, i was sweaty, my knee was bleeding from a bout with the floor and when neil fallon growled "happy new year" i turned and stuck my tongue down my date's throat....

... and i knew right then. this is going to be a very very good year.

(around 1am me and my man left the pit aching and sweaty and bruised, reminding each other how old we are and patting ourselves on the back for a show well done. we left the pit to the kids for the rest of the night)

kali is getting too old for the pit. Jeez, so are we.

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truth be told i'm a little sick of the suite surrender. don't get me wrong... next week will be the uh er climax (insert rim job shot) but really i'm over it. crimoney at this point i feel like this: she has three holes they have two cocks, you do the math and get back to me, mmm k?

perhaps next week i'll feel a little more motivated to write about a two man/one woman threesome but today? meh. not so much.

last night as my dog was humping my arm i was thinking about sex. not in the linda lovelace kinda way (man did she ever come back from that? do porn stars ever really "come back?" speaking of which, what happened to traci lords' mainstream acting vie? can i use pornstar and vie in the same parenthetical tangent? has said parenthetical tangent gone on too long?) but in the sex=power kind of way.

i mean dogs seem to have the basics of sex=power down. sorta. they fuck to procreate but otherwise it's mostly about who's humping who and who's getting humped. and that, my friends, is how i lived my sex life before i started to enjoy it. just like my dog humping my arm to try to tell me i was his bitch. (before i flipped that fucker on to his back and screamed "i'm not your bitch you little mutherfucker YOU ARE MINE." but, again, i digress...)

i didn't know it until recently but mostly i used sex for power. i certainly didn't enjoy it much. i know this because up until about 10 years ago during sex i would just make oooh aahh noises waiting for "him" to be "done." ya, i know... hot. so why was i having sex? i mean, really, why would a girl put herself in that position? (man the double entendres are zinging around up in this piece.)

so the way i see it there are three kinds of pussy power, each with their own subset: prefuck, fucking and post-coital.

the prefuck power is what i used to get drunk on. seriously. there's nothing like the rush of power that flows in when i know that someone wants to have sex with me. this must be something that ex-strippers have to deal with all the time. i can get high on that shit. blood rushes to my ears (kinda like eating E) and i am in heaven. too bad i could never hold out there for very long. also it becomes another addiction for me. because once i've fucked you? well mostly that power's gone. it moves into a whole 'nother realm. then i have to go find someone else and make them want to fuck me in order to get the high back. (ya i know it's sick i belong in every 12 step program they have come up with so far.)

fucking power is a little more elusive. this is the one that canines have down pat. it took me a little longer to figure it out and then even longer to realize what i was doing exactly. this is about being the fucker. as opposed to the fuckee. i mean, i give a helluva blowjob. i fucking love making guys go out of their minds. i'm also great on top. (that took a while too because us females have mad body issues and being on top... well... there's just nowhere to hide.) so i'm the fucker. usually. and there's power in that. getting head? well... i'm not so great at that. why? well, my guess is that in order to fully lose myself in that kinda of orgasm i have to be vulnerable. (ick... that word creeps me out.) i mean there's no more powerless position than having my legs spread wide open, half sitting up, eyes rolling to the back of my head. easy to see who's in charge in that scenario... and it's not me. so i probably won't let you do that right away. (assuming that you even want to... which is another post entirely.)

then there's the post-coital power. this is pretty ellusive too and honestly a married woman would be better versed on this subject than i. this is where the pussy transactions occur. if you do this you'll get a blowjob. if you make me mad you can kiss the pussy goodbye for at least a week. you know, we've all heard how sex power can go bad for the men. all the jokes about a sex life dying after marriage. i know nothing about this. perhaps it's why i'm not married. either that or my huge fear of committment. either way, really. heh.

so ya, i'm no margaret fucking mead, but those are my thoughts. hey maybe i am the fucking margaret mead. whadya think???

kali learns alot of life's lessons from watching her doggies have sex.

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what seems like hours later, we're sitting at our table, celebration sounds surround us but we truly feel like the only people in the room.

"wow, that tuna was perfect."

"steak was amazing as well."

"anything you can eat rare can't be bad."

stacey did not fail us. better than three chairs at a table, the host ushered us to semicircle shaped booth lit by candlelight, in the back of the restaurant. obviously meant for private dining for two, the booth is large enough for four and holds us very comfortably. you sit on my right and alex on my left.

i spent most of the meal trying to decide where to place my attention. i am totally in love with you. some minutes it was hard to pull my stare away from your gorgeous eyes and infectious smile. but playing referee between the two of you kept me busy. and then i'd lose myself in his greek eyes, his solid gestures with those large hands. a wonderful specimen of a man.

we talked about the girl that left you for him. that early high school romance. her insatiable sexual desire that left you depleted at the end of each date. the way you think about her as your first love, even though your eyes roll when you talk about her now. high school love. she left you for a week and a half. went to him. fucked the shit out of him and then came back. you two laugh and joke about it now. like brothers.

there is a lot of touching going on throughout the meal. loud talking, pushing, slapping, tickling, laughing. it is a roller coaster ride and by the time dessert comes we are full and happy and safe.

we share one chocolate dessert with three forks. three espressos and two sambucas. it is nearing ten o'clock.

"so you wanna talk about this? i mean i know you've fucked the same girl before. and i know that you both think that's kinda hot and sexy but you weren't doing it at the same time. the semantics are a bit, uh, different, wouldn't you say?"

...silence, sheepish grins...

"well you didn't think it would just happen without any talking, did you? i mean lots of men would say that two cocks in one room is one too many... have you two ever, uh... experimented before?"

"no. no we haven't," you say.

"yes, but..." he starts and then stops.

"yes, but what?" i ask. "you've talked about it, obviously."

"yes," you say. "it's been a long standing joke that if we liked men, we would, uh like each other..."

"well, now that's progress," i say.

"so are either of you interested in exploring that this evening? i mean, talk to me a little... what do you expect to get, tonight. just so there are no surprises or disappointments..."

kali is up for any kind of fun as long as it involves more than one...oh you fill in the rest, ok?

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i wink at stacey as we pass by the concierge desk, arms linked as a threesome. she disguises her envy well and waves back with a lighthearted smile.

i unlink my arms from my place between you and alex as we near the host stand at the entrance to the restaurant.

i look hot in my little red dress and fishnets so it speaks volumes when the host with the name tag can’t take his eyes off of you two boys.

“harboe, party of three," i try to grab his attention with my tone.

“ah yes your table will be ready in 10 minutes ms. harboe,” he drags out the z sound in ms. as he continues to look straight past me. “would your… guests care to have a drink at the bar?”

“yes, we would very much like a drink at the bar, stephan,” you drag out the ahn sound in stephan.

he is literally undressing you with his eyes. and then alex. really, who could blame him.

i imagine it’s quite like me walking past a construction site. on good days it’s a healthy compliment but catch me on a bad day and i want to stab their eyes out.

today’s a good day so you enjoy it. so does alex but with more transparency. he lifts his jacket up over his ass and does a runway turn. a straight guy version of a runway turn, mind you.

i glance over at stacey. she’s giggling uncontrollably. he’s a hit, alright.

i step to him and grab his crotch. “great package and good teeth too,” i wink.

stephan rolls his eyes not quite as amused as the four of us who are now trying to contain ourselves like children in 7th grade sex ed. “right this way please, madam.” he drags out the ahm.

i blow a kiss to our little concierge as we head through the dining area to the bar. there are only two purple plush velvet bar stools empty and you offer me one as stephan high tails it out of there. i sit and you stand with your arm wrapped around my shoulders and gesture to the stool for alex with a very stephanesque flourish.

he sits facing us. the three of us share that quiet moment after a joke. the sexual tension is palpable.

we hear the murmur of other people in the bar over top of the croons of the chairman of the board. the fire crackles in the fireplace. glasses clink and a woman laughs.

“barkeep! two single malts and a couple of rocky patel vintage 1990’s,” i say as i bang on the bar. fuck it. we’re going to make a ruckus one way or another, it might as well be fun.

“and bring the lady a bottle of your finest sparkling water,” you add.

“you know what? you should be sitting down, you’ve had a long day.”

i step down off the stool and lean a bit too far into alex. you squeeze in behind me and stand there a little too long.

i stare into his dark eyes, my hands on his knees. his eyes drop to my cleavage, mine to his cock. i feel your breath on the nape of my neck and the warmth of your body behind me. you finally sit down, grab my hips and ease me back to rest my ass on the edge of the bar stool between your legs.

the whole dance lasts less than 30 seconds but i feel violated and fulfilled and a little out of breath…

kali is up for any kind of fun as long as it doesn't involve drarves

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Kali 's coming home alone this year. Good luck, Kali.

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i'm still in my robe. i've put on a red bra and panties and fishnet thigh highs, but the black silk robe is back on and tied around my waist. i'm leaning over the dresser making that funny face to put on eyeliner. alex is in the shower and frank black and i are singing about slicing up eyeballs so i don't hear you come in.

i have no idea how long you were watching me.

"what does that mean?" you bellow.

"holy fuck!" completely startled, i whip around eyeliner held like a weapon but am so scared i end up almost on top of the bureau. "oh my god you scared the shit out of me!"

you let go of your suitcase handle as i fly across the room and pounce at you wrapping my legs around your middle. i hug you tight and kiss your neck and ears and cheek. you turn to face the wall and press my back up against it like last time, kissing my neck in turn. you press yourself into me, body greeting body, hands exploring, kissing necks and faces. necking, one might call it.

soon our tongues are exploring each others mouth and i let my legs drop to the floor as you hold my head in your hands and i hold your hips. after a few minutes of this necking, you pull your body away from mine to get a better look. i pull at the robe and straighten my hair, wiping the saliva off of my face and biting my lower lip like i do.

"you were gonna do some damage with that eyeliner."

"fuck off, you're lucky i didn't put my own eye out. you can't sneak up on a girl like that."

"oh but i just did."

my holy god you're cute when you're smug. can i hate that i love you so much? i can't even act superior around you. you know my game. you've landed on every space of the board. something about that is thrilling. like my fucking skin is being ripped off and my insides feel the cool air and it is the most freeing feeling i've ever experienced. mia zapata tells us about her day. she is dizzy in her brain.

"i just gave your best friend the most incredible blow job he's ever had." i begin to walk back to the mirror.

"oooh, i love those..." you grab my arm and spin me around and pull me in again. you inhale big, burying your nose in my neck. "mmm shampoo and pheromones."

"damn it's good to see you."

"c'mon, if you gave him one of those blow jobs, he's going to be in there a while." you give my ass a squeeze.

squeak squeak squeak of the hot spigot, water slows and then halts. "he already has been in there a while." i smile and turn back toward the mirror to finish putting on my face.

"hey joe, where you going with that gun in your hand?" you bellow as you fix yourself some scotch.

he appears at the bathroom doorway, toweling off his hair. "i'm going down to shoot my old lady. i caught her messing 'round with another man."

you two greet each other like brothers. right hand shake pulls in to a hug. the only thing he wears is one of those little white towels wrapped at his waist. you're in your black armani jacket, jeans and tuxedo shirt. and mia and i can't seem to hold on to a fucking thought.

"alright fags, we've got a hour til dinner and i know you'll want to have a cigar at the bar first."

"damn, she's good." joe walks toward his garment bag. "you wearing that?" he says.

"yup. i'm among friends, right?"

"good i'm wearing jeans too then."

"you'll need a jacket for the restaurant," geez i sound like my mother. "and please, try not to look like twins... wait, nevermind. that's kinda hot."

the two of you shake your heads and smile, glenn danzig swoons about copulating maggots, and i know that this is going to be fun...

Kali 's got some kinda love, some kinda hate

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Posted by Michele Christopher at 12:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (10) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

i hear the door handle turn. footsteps and the sound of luggage rolling across the carpet.

a few steps later he appears in the doorway to the bathroom, suitcoat draped over his left arm and pulling a small suitcase on wheels behind him. looking further down the hall, something stops him in his tracks. maybe it's the heat. he turns his head toward the bathroom floor. i watch his eyes follow the path of crumpled clothes toward the bath in which i lay.

eye contact. "oh. uh... hi."

"hi alex, i'm helen." he's perfectly stunned. beautiful in his periwinkle shirt, dark tie and grey slacks. "why don't you set your things down and then come hand me my towel and we'll have a proper introduction."

shy smile. "oh. ok." he turns back toward the room and composes himself, i imagine.

(you were right about his ass. i bet girls go crazy for it behind his back.)

having gathered himself for a few seconds, alex calls to me from the living room. "i asked joe if he wanted me to wait for him, but he said to go ahead. said something about you and i getting acquainted."

"we'll be fine. i think he's due in at 6:30. better here than at the airport for two hours," i answer as he appears in the doorway.

he is italian. for sure. dark curls escaping from the armani shades perched atop his head. the shirt coupled with the stark white of the room makes his dark skin seem even more erotic. he leans against the door jam. he stares straight at me. yes, he seems to have gotten his bearings now.

"happy new years eve." i'm happy to notice that he likes what he sees so far, though admittedly, not much yet.

"bring me that towel, will ya?"

he pushes himself off the door jam and pulls the towel off the bar. he walks toward the tub and holds it up in his two hands just out of my reach. ready to cover me after i stand up.

oh. he's good.

i don't miss a beat. i push myself up with my arms on the sides of the tub. i emerge from the water into his waiting eyes. suds wash down my tanned skin, over the curves and into the tub. instead of reaching for the towel, i turn and bend toward the latch to release the water. i rest my hand on the wall, arch my back and look up at him. if this were a game, i'd be up a point again.

i flip the latch, straighten up, and step out onto the bathmat as i reach for the towel. he lets it go into my hands and backsteps to his leaning position at the door. he reaches for the knot of his tie and loosens it revealing the neckline of a white t-shirt.

"he was right, i'm not disappointed."

"and neither am i." i dry my face off with the towel. then my arms, tits and belly. my legs, one at a time. i wrap the towel around my body, tucking the end in my cleavage.

i grab my glasses from the counter as i walk past him, just a little too close, brushing his body with mine, ever so slightly, "you want a drink?" i say softly in his ear before donning my specs and heading out to the living room.

he follows me. "sure. what'ya got?"

"scotch. i think it's only macallan's but it could be worse. have a seat." i motion to the chair beside the couch. the sofa looks comfy, but i need access and stability. he's a good boy. he sits in the chair.

"any trouble at the front desk?" i pour two fingers into the rocks glass, dip my own fingers into the pitcher of water sitting on the bar and flick a few drops at the surface of the scotch.

"nope, i just gave them my name and they handed me a key."

"perfect." i walk toward him. hand him the drink, bend down and kiss him on the cheek. "happy new year's eve yourself."

i walk across the room to the sliding glass door and pull the curtains open. it's just getting dark and the baltimore skyline is lighting up. it really looks beautiful from up here. the blue glow of the bromo-seltzer tower colors the room.

i walk over and step down into the bedroom. i unzip my suitcase, and let my towel fall to the floor as i grab the short black silk robe. turning back toward the room, i slip the robe on and tie it around my waist.

i walk toward alex, who has been watching my every move. i pull out the two pins that have been holding my hair up and shake my head to release the locks. i pull off my glasses and set them on the table.

i place my hands on the two armrests of his chair and lean toward him. my hair falls on his shoulder as i whisper in his ear, "now, about us getting aquainted…"

as i kneel down before him i see the bulge in his slacks begin to pulse and my mouth waters...

..to be continued..

kali writes daily at Kalipornia Sux.

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Posted by Michele Christopher at 12:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

the hot water runs into the bathtub as i take my glasses off and set them next to the sink.

i reach down and grab the heel of my left boot. i pull it off and toss it through the bathroom doorway and into the suite. i do the same with the other boot. i unbutton the top button on my jacket, then the second and third. i slip off the jacket revealing the black lace bra and let the jacket fall to the floor. unzip the side zipper on the pants and coax them off leaving them lie on the white tile next to the jacket.

i stand in front of the mirror in the matching bra, thong, garter belt and stockings. i look good for thirty four. damn good. i twist slightly to check my ass in the mirror. thank god for the gym. i would've died for this full ass in high school. god gave me everything just a bit too late. or right on time, depending on how you're looking at it.

i prop my foot on the toilet to unclasp my left stocking from the garter. first front, then back. i slide the stocking down my full, toned calf and off the heel and down the pointed toe. i switch feet and do the same with the right. the stockings pile on top the clothes and then the garter.

the mirror steams up from the bath water so that my figure is barely visible.

i bend over the tub and the tap squeaks three times as i turn off the hot water. facing the tub i reach behind my back to unclasp the bra and i let it fall to the floor. i bend over and slip off the panties, straighten up and let them slide off my finger and drop onto the floor.

i step into the tub and breathe a sigh of relief as my ass and then back ease into the hot bubbly water.

i relax and let the possibility of what is to happen slide into my mind. however this evening works out will be amazing. there is no bad choice. this has been a long time coming. all the players are in peak performance, no ties, no lies. the evening stretches out before me in all it's splendor and if i weren't in the tub i would be able to feel the wetness between my legs. you never have to guess when i'm excited.

i look down at my tits. again, they look fucking fantastic for my age. shit, for any age. thank god i never changed my full b's. they still sit just as high as ever. i brush the suds away to get a better look. it's chilly on the top side of the water so my nipples are in perfect form. quarter sized areolas tilted ever so slightly outward. pencil eraser sized nipples. odd comparison, but that's what they look like. ticonderoga dixon ends. perfect.

i grab my breasts with my hands and smile as i hear the click of the automatic lock…

--

kali writes daily at Kalipornia Sux and is a big proponent of overtipping bellboys

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Posted by Michele Christopher at 9:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (17) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

key card in hand, i click-cluck and swish my way over to the hot young thing at the concierge desk.

"hello there, uh… stacey," i say as she deliberately brushes her long, dark maple hair off her shoulder to reveal her name tag.

"good afternoon, how may i be of assistance?" hmm, no 'ma'am?' maybe she comes from the same neighborhood as i do.

"well, i'm going to be staying at the hotel at least for the night and probably throughout the weekend and i need to have, uh, well, let's call it an accomplice*.* are you going to be manning this desk throughout the weekend?"

"my shift runs 2 to midnight tonight and tomorrow."

"midnight? but it's new years eve." i briefly picture a chiseled young man crying in his champagne this holiday.

"oh i'll just celebrate after my shift. midnight, one o'clock, what's the difference, really?"

"well that makes me happy to hear stacey, because you'll be the perfect accomplice. how are you with attention to detail?"

"i'm a virgo." she says, and i understand. completely.

"perfect."

stacey and i put our heads together for the next twenty minutes or so and she proves herself a worthy accomplice indeed. she understands exactly the feel that i'm going for and helps me set up the perfect evening. my guests and i will barely need to talk to anyone but each other for the next 24 hours. we will put the outside world on a dimmer switch. and turn it down very low.

i reach inside my purse for another bill and i hand it to stacey.

"remember, every detail is important, but none as much as the dinner table," i say as i stand up.

"right. three places at the table. no more, no less," she nods.

"not even an extra chair, stacey. i'm counting on you."

rakesh comes running up just as the elevator is about to close. he holds his hand out to part the heavy brass doors. in his other hand he holds a telephone memo.

"message for you miss harboe," he pants.

"thank you rakesh. see you later." i take the memo, the doors meet again and i'm alone in the elevator. i press my floor and lean against the wall, close my eyes and inhale deeply.

as i exhale i look down at the note in my hand.

"flight has landed, be there right around 5. – alex"

i look at my watch. 3:47. perfect. the elevator doors open and i get to my room just as the bellhop is leaving. he holds the door for me as i slip a bill in his hand. $10 this time. i'm rich, not stupid.

the suite door opens into the living room and it is gorgeous. really. just as i'd hoped. a warm comfortable setting with an amazing view of the harbor. i take the two steps down into the bedroom. once again, beautiful. a california king made up in dark reds and browns. there is a fireplace. it is, after all, electric, but manages to emit that cozy warm glow all the same.

i step into the powder room, bend over the tub, close the drain and twist the hot water knob. i pour the bubble bath under the running water as the room begins to fill with steam.

i walk to the mirror to undress.

--to be continued.

kali writes daily at Kalipornia Sux and is a big proponent of overtipping bellboys

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Posted by Michele Christopher at 9:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

it was almost three o'clock when i pulled up to the valet stand. hell, if i'm going to do this, i'm going to do it right. dude opens the door and says "good afternoon, ma'am." heh. ma'am. where i come from that translates as "bitch." but here? i like to think it means what it means.

i take a breath and swing my feet to the pavement and emerge from the car. it's a dented up civic but it's clean. i know enough to leave the car running at least. i pop my trunk knowing that they'll get the luggage. i've stayed at nice hotels before, i know how to do this.

i don't look at the bell boy. because you're not supposed to look at the bell boy. but he sure looks at me. because he's supposed to look at me. i'm wearing a pantsuit. it is a victoria's secret pantsuit. the pants are tight in the butt and thighs. the highest button on the jacket is just below my tits, leaving my cleavage to spill out over the top. it is a black pinstripe suit. my hair is pulled up loosely with lots of curls escaping. with my glasses i fully pull off 'librarian hot.'

i walk purposefully. in control. not in a hurry, but definitly on a mission. i breeze through the revolving door without issue. it's new year's eve so the lobby is more active than it would normally be on a thursday. regardless, my 3" stacked heel Manolo Blahnik ankle boots echo through the marble room. even the noise is sexy. fathers turn away from
their families to watch me walk toward the front desk.

if there is a line i don't notice.

"good afternoon, helen harboe checking in please."

"ah yes, ms. harboe, we spoke on the phone, i'm rakesh."

"oh yes, thank you for all your help. you've been very accommodating thus far." i reach into my clutch for the billfold of cash. i pull off a bill in the dark of the purse, fold it in half and slide it across the counter. rakesh discretely accepts the hundred. he's done this before.

we do as little paper work as possible, by earlier request. minutes later he hands me a keycard.

"so everything is all set then? three keys, one suite?"

"yes, ma'am." wow. ma'am'ed twice in one day. this is gonna be good.

"i don't want any questions for either of the two gentlemen. they give the desk their name and they get a key to the suite, simple as that. are we clear?"

"chrystal." someone's been watching the breakfast club.

"ok, now i've a couple of other arrangements to make, rakesh. point me to the concierge."

to be continued

kali writes daily at Kalipornia Sux and is a big proponent of overtipping bellboys

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Posted by Michele Christopher at 12:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (14) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

i always say that i've only had one threesome in my life. but that's kind of a lie. ok, it's an out and out lie. truth is, i've only had one successful threesome in my life. successful in that everyone got what they wanted and no one was pissed at anyone else after it was over.

that's fucking hard to do. i mean unless you're living inside the plot of a porno… unless you live in that world where 25 year old girls with fake titties are on high school cheerleading teams and have lingerie sleepovers complete with pillow fights…

Continue reading "the guest star" »

Posted by Michele Christopher at 6:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (17) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

it hasn't always been wine and song in my bedroom. sometimes it's been in bunk beds and garages… and sometimes it was mad dog 20/20.

*one* -- i'll spare this website the hits of disgusting letches looking for the "v" word by saying that the moment i'm talking about here was when i first started *swimming*, so to speak.

i was in a classmate's "pool house" during a party with a guy who i just *knew* was in love with me. and when i say pool house, you should remember that this was before i got kicked out of public school. so what i really mean is a shed with a concrete floor. (hey don't be sad, he really liked me, i'm sure he put his towel down for us to lay on.)

quote of the evening? "baby can you drive this train?" said while putting his, uh,
noodle,
in my hand.

Continue reading "five (not so) glorious moments in the otherwise extremely glamorous sex life of a cyber vixen" »

Posted by Michele Christopher at 6:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (26) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

oh dear reader. this morning you are in for a treat. and in the process i am going to make myself melancholy and wistful. so i hope you appreciate it. i do not look young in "wistful."

this is a story about southie. a boy i met in helLA. ok the story is not about him, per se, but about us. ok and not so much about us as about our sex. well, because that's what you came for, no?

i'll start here. some people are the tie-er up-ers and some are the tie me down-ers. meaning in every relationship (read:fuck) there is someone who takes charge and some one who lets them. some people dummy this down to "dominant" and "submissive" but i prefer the even more generalized "male" and "female."

Continue reading "i got your most wanted right here" »

Posted by Michele Christopher at 2:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

While we are working behind the scenes here, we thought this would be a great time to introduce you to one of our new regular contributors, Kali. You are gonna love her. Kali's sex stories will appear weekly on FTTW in its new format.

when turtle suggested the name scream like a banshee he nailed the fucker. let's just say that i have always been known for my, uh, vocal acrobatics in bed. if you've lived with me, you know this. and if you've slept with me, you've certainly not forgotten.

i'm not even sure how i knew it was okay and even useful to have loud love. it may have been a matter of me finally learning to enjoy sex so much that i just let 'er rip.

the first time i remember someone saying anything was somewhere around my senior year of high school. my boyfriend at the time (i've had somewhere near 50 -- i shit you not, and that's just boyfriends -- heh) and i were descending the stairs from a romp in his bedroom and his other guests asked me how opera practice was. ha ha. oopsy guess i was a teensy bit loud.

Continue reading "if the ball gag fits" »

Posted by Turtle Jones at 2:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It