2012/05/26

What will the neighbors think?

Her moans and screams and exclamations had been growing louder and less restrained, minute by minute, stroke after plunging stroke.

“Fuck me, Sir!!!” she cried, loud and clear. Since I was already doing exactly that, molto con brio, I interpreted the words as: don’t slow down, I’m so close to cumming.

But the words were distinct, her cry visceral and urgent.

A little bit later, while we were panting and cooling down, I glanced at the bedroom windows. Yup. Open.

The block party next Sunday is going to be a little bit interesting.

— Frenulum

2012/05/25

Art appreciation

If you were the woman at the garden party on Wednesday afternoon, with well-tanned skin, wearing white bikini panties under a light-weight white cotton sundress, and standing with full sunlight shining directly upon you like an x-ray spotlight…

Thank you very much.

— Frenulum

Steam

The mechanism of the reclining airline seat hasn’t changed since I was flying Constellations in the early 1960s. In fact, even the form-factor and feel of the push-button hasn’t changed a bit, a remarkable consistency in the face of so much technological change.

What has changed, though, is the economics of the industry. One response by the airlines has been to order cabin floor plans with the rows closer, and closer, and closer together.

What once was a means to relax and enjoy a long flight has now become nothing short of an assault on the stranger behind you. Reclining a seat is an arrogant, selfish claim of importance and precedence. You are an insufferable moron if you attempt it.

Yes, 24C, I’m talking to you and all your insensitive self-centered ignorant kind. The reason you had so much trouble is that my femurs are exactly the distance between my seat and yours. And I have those old-fashioned non-telescoping kind. Jerk.

— Frenulum

P.S. I never call moronic insensitive jerks “assholes” because I quite admire assholes. Many are pretty and all are useful. Unlike, in both respects, 24C.

2012/05/19

Study group

(A sequel to Once begun)

The hardest part for Carolyn…

The first hardest part had been meeting Tabitha after school, tacitly agreeing to help her. She could barely make eye contact with her best friend, let alone talk with her. Just by standing together in the hallway, Carolyn had yielded so much of her privacy and innocence.

The hardest part — well, the next hardest part — had been taking her panties off in Tabitha’s bedroom. She left her kilt on, in fact all of the rest of her uniform; not that it offered any coverage, but she felt less bare. Still: spreading her legs, and knowing that Tabitha could see her… her… Carolyn knew the proper words from Biology class, but she had always just thought of it vaguely: “down there” or “my parts.” Tabitha called it her “pussy” and nearly sent Carolyn running from the room, though she had heard the word before.

The hardest part for Carolyn was spreading her legs, with Tabitha watching closely, and masturbating, the afternoon after the night she had touched herself for the first time. Knowing how closely her intimate act was being watched.

The really hardest part was forcing her eyes to look at Tabitha’s…oh god… pussy… while her friend tried to copy the motions of her fingers. It felt so invasive, far too intimate despite their long friendship. “I shouldn’t know what she looks like there,” Carolyn thought, even as her attention and her gaze grew more steady.

Tabitha tried to mimic what Carolyn did. But as Carolyn started to breathe harder, to close her eyes, to rock her head back, Tabitha said “It’s just not working. Help me.”

Carolyn drifted back into focus. “Um… ok… I — how?”

“I don’t know,” Tabitha whined.

“Here… let me… I’ll…” Carolyn sat up, abandoning her own efforts, and her kilt fell back into place to offer a scrap of modesty. She leaned forward. “Can I… touch your hand?” She looked into her friend’s eyes.

“Um. Ok,” said Tabitha, not without nervousness.

Carolyn reached out, and placed her fingers gently on top of the ones that covered her friend’s vulva. ”Let me…” she said, beginning to move Tabitha’s fingers with her own. There was, inevitably, contact between Carolyn’s hand and Tabitha’s intimate treasures, and both girls blushed fiercely — but did not stop.

After a while: “It’s better,” Tabitha said, somewhat breathless. “I think I get it.”

“Good. Keep going.”

Carolyn watched her friend for a while, discomfort almost gone. “You are so pretty,” she blurted.

Tabitha colored even more. “You mean…”

“Yeah. I never… I mean, I never even looked at mine, really.”

“Yeah. Me either.” Tabitha closed her eyes. “Thank you.” A few minutes passed. “Oh, Caro, it’s so nice, but it’s still not working!”

Carolyn was thoughtful. Eighteen hours after her first sexual experience, alone in her bedroom, it seemed far too abrupt. But. But.

“Well…” she said.

“What?”

“There’s… I mean, I don’t really know, it’s just… Something I’ve heard about.”

“What?” asked Tabitha, searching Carolyn’s face.

“Just close your eyes for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Just close them, Tabby,” Carolyn said, softly but firmly.

Tabitha was curious, but they had a long foundation of trust. She closed her eyes and sank back against the pillows. Carolyn leaned closer.

New to the art, Carolyn had to learn as she went along But her friend’s strange taste became familiar quickly, and soon her tongue was dancing on Tabitha’s sensitive clit.

“Oh… oh… don’t stop… don’t stop… oh my… oh…”

Mmmmmm

“Oh Carolyn what are you doing to me?!?!?!? Oh — Oh Carolyn — it… it’s WORKING!!!”

Mmmmmmmmmmmm

“Oh oh OH OH AaaaaaahhhAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaah!!!”

Mmmhmm.” Carolyn raised her head. “It’s like that,” she said, and licked her lips.

— Frenulum

2012/05/18

Once begun...

(A sequel to Beginning)

Carolyn had no sooner been dropped off at school than she was accosted by her dear friend Tabitha, who grabbed her by the arm and pulled her far away from the crowd of arriving schoolgirls.

“So,” said Tabitha sotto voce. “Did you… you know?”

“Did I what?” Carolyn replied.

“After Mr. C. said it wasn’t wrong —”

Carolyn caught on, and her face flushed pink. “Tabby! You can’t ask stuff like that! Oh my god! That’s so private.”

Tabitha grinned. “You did try it.” Her friend’s deepening blush confirmed the conclusion. Tabitha glanced around once more to make sure they had privacy.

“Did it… work?”

“What do —”

You know… climax.” Tabitha whispered.

Carolyn paused for a beat before nodding her head, admitting all.

“Was it as good as people say?”

“Oh, Tabby. It’s like… like nothing else at all. Wonderful and intense and… it rushes through you, it…” She trailed off, remembering dreamily. Then: “You never…”

It was Tabitha’s turn to blush. “I tried last night, too. And… it was nice, but it didn’t… work. I gotta know what it feels like. So, you need to help me.”

What?” gasped Carolyn.

“Come home with me after school, and show me how. You could maybe do it and I can watch you and copy. Or… maybe you could do it for me once.”

F-f-f-for you?” stammered Carolyn.

“Yeah, like, your fingers, on my —

The morning bell interrupted. “Think about it!” called Tabitha as she ran for the door. “See you in Bio!” Then, from a distance: “I helped you with math homework. You can help me with Biology!”

Think about it? Carolyn though of nothing else. Until the day’s closing bell sounded.

— Frenulum

2012/05/17

Beginning

Carolyn finished her homework, said goodnight to her parents, and headed upstairs. She had been quiet and thoughtful all evening, but nobody had remarked on it.

She washed up, brushed her teeth, went into her bedroom, and closed the door. Slowly, distracted, she took off her shoes, socks, blouse, bra, and skirt. She got a nightie from the dresser and wiggled into it.

Earlier that day in Biology class, during a lesson on reproduction, her friend Ashley — not nearly as shy as Carolyn — had asked “Is it wrong to touch yourself?” At which many girls blushed or hid their faces, Carolyn included. But their teacher, Mr. Curtis, had explained that it was normal and natural and healthy, and even beneficial in certain ways. Carolyn had learned over the years to trust him.

With a little shiver, she reached under her nightie and slipped her panties off. She climbed into bed, and turned off the light.

“Natural and healthy,” Carolyn whispered softly. Then, under the covers, she pulled her nightie up to her waist, and began to learn about herself.

It was so good.

— Frenulum

2012/05/09

Waiting

Her creativity is boundless. Her dedication thorough. Her ability to surprise me… still surprising.

I might wander in, hear ordinary domestic sounds from the kitchen, investigate and find her still in the skirt and blouse from her professional attire (and heels and stockings and garter and lacy panties, yum, just for me underneath), with an apron on, baking something.

Or I might find her right inside the front door. Kneeling, hands bound, eyes lowered, waiting to be taken.

Or up in our bedroom. In heels and panties, facing the corner. Something I need to hear about and fix.

Or on the dining room table, prostrate, surrounded by… a variety of suggestive toys. And my camera.

Or… someplace new, some new pose, a different outfit, another notion.

The point is not that she surprises me, although it’s true every day.

The point is, that as I travel homeward, the plane of the universe tilts. The point is that I know, in that last twenty minutes of the bus ride, that she is waiting, with nothing more important in her universe than that we will be merged again in a little while. The point is to be thought about and valued and desired. There is nothing in the world sexier than that.

— Frenulum