Steps. Confession #405

The steps that I take from the bed to the dresser where my box of sex toys live are probably some of the most lively, animated, and enthusiastic steps I ever take. The cadence with which I spring from my perch on the bed after I've just suggested a vibrator to play with is as pronounced as an erection in spandex pants.

And such was my eagerness when I said to Richard, Do you mind if I get my bullet vibe? and he said Go for it.

He could not have predicted just how quickly I would, indeed, go for it.

With bullet vibe appropriated, I climbed onto the bed and scooted backward into him where he entered me with ease; a reconvening of the position that had been working for us just moments prior, with the exception of the lack of stimulation on my clit. I don't need clit stim to cum when I am being fucked from behind, but a vibrator can certainly coerce my cunt into convulsions in a matter of minutes.

Which was exactly what I was going for.

And it wasn't long until I was there as I lie on my side, vibe in place, legs squeezed together and knees bent, my arm bracing the side of bed while Richard's arm wrapped around my waist in order to brace me, so that my enthusiastic efforts didn't send me careening off the bed. No, all it took was a few choice minutes of Richard sliding in and out of me while he nibbled at the back of my neck before I was there.

Sooooo there.

And as I writhed and wriggled and giggled and came, I could feel him getting harder inside me. He let loose soon thereafter with what I presume was a gratifying explosion, and we lie together quietly for a moment, both exhausted from the endeavor. And when I got up to get cleaned up, I also cleaned up my little trusty bullet vibe before I dried it off and tucked it back into the box amongst its myriad friends.

And then I walked softly and slowly back to the bed, the spring in my step gone and replaced by something altogether different than the tempo that had inhabited my feet just a few minutes before. A vision drove my slow and hesitant walk, and one that I would rather not have had at that instant when I should clearly have been basking in the happy afterglow of sex. No, this vision derailed me ... but only temporarily -

An erection in spandex pants.

But as I cuddled up next to Richard the vision receded.

Thank god for that ... and, of course, my trusty bullet vibe.

HNT. Jeans.

I like my jeans ...

But I also like it when it's time for them to come off

Happy HNT!

Sadie's Sex Magic. Confession #404

That's pretty tricky, he said. I was chatting online with a fellow member of a dating site I belong to and he had just asked me what it was I was ultimately looking for. An ongoing, secondary partner, I had told him, and he thusly determined such an arrangement could only be conjured through magic. Which would be more fun to perform, I wondered briefly. Sleight of hand? Escapism? Levitation?

Nooo... definitely Penetration.

But, the fact is, finding someone who is a suitable and willing partner for Sadie's Sex Magic is not all that easy. It is, indeed, a little tricky.

But it can be done.

I just need a few of the elements of a good magic trick in order to pull it off.

First and foremost? Expectations. Magic isn't magic unless there is a swath of expectation. Expectations are the cornerstone to successful tricks because without them there is no frame of reference, no build up, and thus no climax. And what's the point of performing a magic trick without a climax. Right?

Right.

Expectations are generally simple and subjective and altogether self-serving - such as What will this trick look like? Will it be funny? What message will it send? Will it be Successful? Suspenseful? Exciting?

Will it have a nice cock?

Er. I digress.

I will, of course need an assistant. In fact, the interweb has been my lovely, abiding assistant for years. Yes, Miss Net has led me to many wonderful men with whom I developed deep connections (and I mean deep. Fucking deeeeeep, people.) And so now I can only think of my computer as a tall buxom blonde in a low-cut evening gown, arms akimbo, hands upturned, and knees bent slightly as she presents my willing participant (in a box, eyes wide for fear that he might soon be cut in half?)

Ta-da!!!

But, who's in that box? Who the fuck would ever put themselves in Sadie's little magic box? you must be wondering. Why would anyone in their right mind put himself up on a stage with me, while hundreds, no... thousands of people are watching (reading?) how it plays out?

Why would he willingly get in a box and blithely wait for the ax to fall?

Because, silly, it never really does. It's a trick remember?

And he's in on it.

Always.

So, you see, finding a secondary partner may be trickish, but it certainly can be done. With a bit of trust, a little fairy dust, and a whole lot of lust, it can be done.

It's just going to take the right guy; the one who will be happy to lie down in my little hot, suspenseful, and intriguing ... magic box.

Voila!

Facebook Funnies. Confession #403

It's time for another round of Sadie's Facebook Funnies, wherein you, dear readers, can see what it's like to be me, and bear witness to some of the strange stuff that strange men say to me. Every. Single. Day. ~

waoo you are very sexie you like 69 the position sexy with mee if you like it

Waoo indeed, Cowboy. No, I'm not a fan of 69 so I guess that means youuu are out of luck.

hi if u want to see cock pls add me to ur msn

You mean that's ALL I have to do to see cock? Seriously? You mean to tell me that all this time, whenever I have desired looking at a cock, in all its gorgeous, glorious, glory, the only thing that I had to do was add YOU to my msn? I had no fucking idea it was that simple. You must be the cock king. Brilliant.

Wow ... U look like a angle from heaven

Would that be a right angle, an acute angle or a 90 degree angle ... from heaven?

ohhh babe u r soooo sexie babe wanna be bf gf with me babe u look real sexie

What is actually more disturbing than the fact that this sentence is full of text speak and is devoid of punctuation, is the fact that it was sent to me from a child who looks to be no older than about eight years old.

discribe ur wildest fanta-C?

Is that a new soda flavor, a bra size, or are you asking for me to tell you something that I'd like to do to you when I finally get you alone with a book on punctuation and spelling so that I can teach you the components of basic grammar?

i love to make a hot show for you i have a big one

A big one? Awesome, because I can't watch a "hot show" on those small screens any longer, makes me want to squint. Ohhh.... you meant a big one!! Well, then by all means, whip that puppy out and lets see how big it really is.

wat if i carry u.....move 2 ur path...open the warm water.....place u under it.....point the wter to ur senstive areas...ur nipples...ur clit....little massage to them....with sooooft biting under ur neck.....wat will u do ?

Umm ... come again? (yeah, I might just come again)

Hey. your pussy shaved x

My cat shaved MIster X again! Fuck that fucker, I told him the electric razor was off limits!

hello, how are you? you are very sexy and i love sex, i love you and i want you now... please...

What do I say to this one? I'm touched, truly. He loves me, and all I had to do was ... nothing at all. What a guy.

And finally, from a dude named Ary who will occasionally send me a message, write on my wall, or post a comment on one of my pictures with this very simple phrase; nothing more, nothing less~

i like to sex.

Yes, Ary. You, me, and everyone else ... likes to sex.

Until next time, darlins!

Shower Power. Confession #402

We slipped off our clothes and left them on the floor as we approached the water, its streaming force a welcome blanket of warmth from the brisk chill in the air. I was the first in the shower, and he stood behind me, somewhat awkwardly, his cock beginning to stiffen as he wrapped his hands gently around my waist.

He pushed himself against me and I melted backwards into him. I reached for the soap, lathered a frothy foam into my hands, turned around, and gently rubbed it all over his torso and arms. I looked down at his cock, which was begging for attention, so I obliged, wrapping my soapy hand around its girth, starting at the base and working my hand up his swollen shaft in a corkscrew motion, and back down again.

Up. And down.

And up. And down.

He stopped me then and leaned into the water to rinse himself off. I squirted shampoo into my hand and emulsified the slick, gooey substance in between my wet palms. I couldn't contain the thought that came to my mind - This looks like cum. I rubbed it into the top of my head.

And that's when Richard did something I hadn't expected; an act so intimate and sweet, entirely instigated by him, this new lover of mine, that it caught me completely off guard.

He washed my hair.

Starting with the top, he rubbed his soapy fingertips into my scalp and gently, oh so gently, worked his way down the length of my hair. Because the suds were beginning to run down my forehead, I closed my eyes. But he wiped them away with his thumbs and kissed me there, like a father would a child, before he leaned my head back into the warm water stream, sending the soap cascading down my back.

Once we were clean, we dried off and moved to the bed, where we fucked hard and fast and with a strange and silent urgency, our bodies perhaps craving more of the intimacy the shower had only suggested. It was silent in the room; there was no music except for the melody of our muffled moans and the stalwart percussion of skin upon skin.

Dinner was next on the agenda and we devoured our food like it was the first meal after a lengthy fast. Afterward, Richard sat on my couch with my guitar and played it for me, singing songs he had written, and some others whose lyrics he was inspired by. I was struck by how different he was when he played the instrument with which he was most familiar. How a confidence and a poise -an elegance almost- possessed him, one which was somehow separate from what I had witnessed in my limited interaction with him. It's odd how I can be so close with someone, in the literal sense, have someone inside of me, yet I might not really know who they are, what keeps them alive, what moves them to the very core of their being.

But that night, I saw what moves Richard.

And afterward, after he had played the guitar, and after we had fucked again, he said to me,

You know, Sadie, I may meet someone, and if I do, this thing between us will probably have to end.

And I said,

I know, RIchard. I know.

Because I do. This thing between us, whatever it is, is only a stopover for each of us on our journey to ... something else. Something which neither of us can properly define at the moment, because neither one of us happen to be privy to what the universe has in store.

So, until then, Richard and I will have a little fun. Have a little sex. Share a little shower.

And make a little music.

Until it's our time to say goodbye.

The Red Flag Diaries. Confession #401

This guy and I had been chatting for a couple of months, exchanging friendly hello's and what's up's whenever we'd find ourselves online at the same time. We agreed to meet face-to-face this week after he had returned from a month long stint on the east coast.

But there were red flags that had begun to wave almost immediately after we began chatting so many weeks ago, and luckily, they all started to be visible when he came back to town and asked me exactly when we could get together. I had largely ignored the flags until the moments before he popped up on IM, the little nagging questions of my own that I had about his sincerity, his motivations, and his situation, as well as the evasiveness he imparted when I asked him personal questions about his living arrangements with his girlfriend. You see, he is superhot, and I can now shamefully admit I was blinded by his biceptual beauty and his rugged youth.

And thus unable to see the flags waving fiercely in the distance.

Let's meet during lunch. He said, I can't do nights. I work nights.

Ummm ... he's a graphic designer.

And then he said, Should we meet at a hotel?

I have had plenty of hotel sex. Hotel sex fucking rocks. Hotels have played host to some of the best sex of my life, in fact. Hotels offer neutral territory and the setting itself puts into perspective the reason that you are both there, present, and altogether willing - to fuck. Yet after the fun is done, there is no uncomfortable proprietorship over the bed you are lying in or the bathroom where post-coital cleanup is done. The impartiality of the space you have just used to cum with each other creates a relaxing and satisfying atmosphere.

And you don't have to make the bed.

Bonus.

But!

This guy is single. And although he has a girlfriend, and I was aware that he did, he told me from the very first time we spoke that she was okay with him seeing other people.

See where this is going? Of course you do. Red flags are easy to spot.

It just took me a little time to see the fucking things.

So, yeah, as it turns out she's SO not okay with him seeing other women. Or at least, he doesn't think she is. He wouldn't know because he never actually discussed it with her.

Typical, yes?

And ... it turns out she lives in his building, just a few flimsy floors above him. Hence his need for a hotel room during the lunch hour.

(He actually told me he needed to be discreet many weeks ago, and, I caught a glimpse of a little red flag then. I clumsily pushed it out of my line of vision.)

I hate lying. I do. I try to live my life as honestly and openly as possible. I don't care if you lie to your wife or girlfriend about where you are and who you are with, but don't expect me to participate in keeping your secret. And don't fucking lie to me. Of course, it stands to reason that if someone is lying to his girlfriend about who he is spending his time with, it's likely he is also lying to the person with whom he is spending his time.

And, I have been there, and done that. And I am done. With. That.

So, when I finally caught a teensy glimpse of the red flags waving, I asked him to come clean. And he did. Willingly, even. And he quickly acknowledged that it was a humbling experience, being caught in a web of lies by me, Sexie Sadie.

And when I gave him some shit about it (I was not letting him off the hook,) the dude couldn't even take it.

He hung up on me IM-style, disconnected, without so much as an apology or a cya.

Liars don't like it when they get caught, do they?

So, since I did not remember how to properly regard those little red flags -I have been out of the dating loop for a full year, remember- I have now enrolled in Red Flag Recognition101: Making Sure You See Them Before They Smack You On The Ass.

So if anyone is interested in attending with me, let me know.

We can compare notes on lying fucktards who think that we must be stupid.

New Year. Confession #400

I was in bed last night well before Midnight, curled up quietly with my three favorite things - a book, my husband and my daughter- and we were all sound asleep together before the stroke of 12. I awoke briefly to the nearby cacophony of festive fireworks and ceremonious church bells, and silently ushered in the new year before falling back asleep.

This little scenario is a far cry from my New Year's celebration just one year ago.

That was the night that I went to a party and got drunk, yet not nearly as drunk as I'd been on hundreds, perhaps thousands of other occasions, and blew a number so high into a breathalyzer machine brought to the party as a gag, that it caused the rest of the participants to laugh in horror, and wonder aloud how I could possibly be standing there among them, smiling drunkenly, much less breathing at all.

That was the night that I recounted to my therapist about a week later, as I absentmindedly affected that same horror-filled laugh, and to which he responded~

Sadie, you are going to die.

So, that was the night that prompted me to quit drinking and to go to rehab and get my shit together. And I did. Pretty much, anyway. It seems I still have work to do on my proverbial shit, and I will not finish my work until I am done, if I am ever done; which I am beginning to realize is probably unlikely.

Yes, this new year's eve was a much better night than last year, for sure. And 2009 was full of quite a bit of tumult as a result of my decision to make better choices for myself. But I think that this coming year is going to bring with it wonderful opportunities. In fact, this morning when I woke up and looked over to see the two beatific, sleeping faces of my daughter and Husband, I knew this with certainty, and not just in my mind ... but in my soul.

Because I am alive.

Which is a far cry from where I was headed just a year ago.

Happy New Year, y'all! Make it a great one.