My First TMI Tuesday Post

So I ran across this meme on sweet Fatal’s blog, You Linger Like a Haunting Refrain, and I thought… A meme!!! Fun!!! We’ve been talking about getting more involved and solidifying our community lately… so why not? If you want to play along feel free to link to your post in the comments. The official instructions are at the bottom. And check out Fatal’s answers too!

Without further ado, my first TMI Tuesday:

1. Do you give pet names to anything? (e.g. Significant other. Car. Breasts. Penis. Vagina.)

puppyYes. I give pet names to anything that will be still long enough for me to name it. It’s a problem. But they are all very common ones. Nothing too outlandish. Or punny. I’d love to nickname a guy’s penis Stanley though. You know… like a Stanley Power Drill. Badda bing, badda boom. I’m here all night, folks.Stanley-FatMax-20V-Hammer-Drill

2. Is there a pet name that you can’t stand being called?

I’m sure if someone tried hard enough there would be one that might get on my nerves. But as long as the tone of voice is endearing, I’m pretty easy going about the name.

3. Has your body ever done something that you didn’t understand? Even if it was a ‘first time’ something happened?

Oh yes. Several times. There’ve been mundane things like the odd leg cramp or my hair getting curlier for no apparent reason. But other times it’s been more serious. And on two of those occasions I’ve ended up in the hospital. Way to go body!

4. Which body part do you spend the most time on? (grooming, applying, etc.)

Well, because I’ve been spending so much time working on my figure with running and biking, the actual time spent grooming and applying makeup is WAY down. Like by 75 percent. But even within that greatly reduced timeframe I’d have to say my eyes. I do love my mascara and will apply at least five thin coats to get that feathery fringed look.

perfect eyelashes

5. The name of the best lover you’ve ever had.

On the blog he’s been mentioned only as The Connoisseur.

6. Have you ever taken an ex back?


Bonus: What’s your biggest concern in the world today?

A lack of kindness and compassion.


How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

P.S. When I first started blogging two and a half years ago I didn’t even know what a meme was. I had to google it. Turns out it’s a fancy internet term for a game or group of questions passed around on the… wait for it… internet.

The Time I Borrowed My Grandmother’s Vibrator

A while back I was at my grandmother’s house for a long visit and, after several days of helping get her flowerbeds up to snuff, tiling the bathroom, hanging curtains, picking and canning peas, and relocating dogwood trees, my body was aching. As I lay prostrate on her brown shag carpet in her living room, softly moaning (while also internally debating if I had enough energy to rip up and replace the worn, dated carpet) my sweet grandmother walked in.

“You’re plumb worn out aren’t you darling,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” I admitted, “And a little sore too.”

“Oooo, I’ve just the thing for that,” she clapped her hands and swished back towards her bedroom.

She returned carrying a box. It landed on the couch with a heavy thump. Whatever was inside wasn’t light.

“That will fix you right up,” she said, obviously pleased.

“What is it?” I asked.

“My vibrator,” she said, without a hint of irony.

Continue reading

You Pick My Next Post


Marian here.

I miss you. And I’m stuck. My motivation seems to have gone on walkabout and if it’s not too much trouble, I would so love to have your assistance. I have several topics jostling for position in my head to write about and I’m not writing anything because I can’t pick which one to do first. That and the lack of motivation thing. So will you help me? If you wonderful people will just tell me what you want I’ll get all fired up and post away.

Here’s what I have noodling around, but haven’t put a word to paper yet.

1. The Time I Borrowed My Grandmother’s Vibrator

2. Do I Swallow After a Blow-job? And Why or Why Not

3. Is Cheating Genetic?

4. Why People Cry at Weddings

Do any of those sound remotely interesting? If so which do you want to read first? And if you have other ideas… Please, for the love of cool autumn night and floppy puppy ears, let me know.

Hy and I were talking today and we agree with LSAM… We miss the sense of community we had at one time around here. The path to that isn’t super clear to me, but I know that if I don’t write, I am losing an important part of me.

I’m excited to see what direction I get pointed.

Love and hugs!

Living in This New Reality

I’ve called 911 exactly four times in my life. The first was when I was eighteen and driving home from a late college class. I passed an accident that had just happened, literally minutes before. People had been flung from their cars and were laying on the pavement. Other vehicles had stopped and blocked the road so the injured didn’t get run over by the traffic. The 911 dispatch officer assured me that medics were already on the way. I wasn’t the first to call.

The second time was also at night. Things were getting serious with the man I had been dating and he wanted me to meet his parents. This entailed a 10 hour drive deep into the heart of middle America. An hour out, he passed a small pickup truck. The driver took it personally. He chased us for miles, attempting to rear end us and push us off the road. Mobile phone coverage back then wasn’t what it is today and at that point in the drive neither of us could get a signal. When the emergency call finally went through I passed the phone to him and listened as he described our pursuer and detailed our location. In minutes blue lights flashed on the horizon and the pickup truck braked and u-turned.

The third time was just over a year ago when I witnessed an act of deliberate road rage. A large pickup truck must have thought the minivan driver in front of him was driving too slow. He whipped around her, almost taking out the back corner panel of an adjacent SUV in the process, pulled in front of the van and then slammed on his brakes. There was no time for her to stop and the nose of her van met the tail of his truck with a sickening crunch of metal and squeal of tires. Like the first time, I wasn’t the first person to call and report the incident.

This last time (and hopefully it will be the last) I was not driving or in a car. I was in my house. With someone I thought was one way, but come to find out, is another… at least when alcohol is involved. What I did was naive. I see that now. It has taken me some time to get my head around what happened and to decide how much I should write about it. So I will tell you what I feel I can. Continue reading

I Brought Danger Home

Something happened this morning. Something that scared me. Badly. I realized just how sheltered I am. And I’m so thankful for it. Never again do I want to see or experience the level of self torture and affliction I witnessed. I’m not cut out for it. I feel everything.

Thinking about it now, I’m not even sure the last time I felt truly afraid. Maybe that time I was driving at night in a foreign country on the other side of the road in the other side of the car and I realized just how bad my night vision is. But that wasn’t the same. That was funny scared. There was nothing funny about this morning.

I brought danger in my house. My intentions were good. But the outcome was not. On the phone with the 911 operator I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, my pulse racing, my body poised for flight if things escalated. Continue reading

What It Feels Like to Be Objectified

It feels good.. . until it doesn’t.

Entering a space, confidence high, the appreciative looks of men feed me, building my strength. There is power in feeling like the most desired woman in the room. They don’t know me. But they want me. At least they want that which they are presented. When I’m not known, being what some would call objectified feels like a compliment. The exterior is all that can be responded to. And the armor may be artful, but it’s also titanium grade. The responsive energy just polishes it up.

There is a difference to me between being someone’s fantasy and being someone’s object. As the fantasy I’m still shielded, part of me unknown in one of two ways—either my heart or my appearance. I love being a fantasy. It’s when the armor is pierced that it goes awry.

It’s when the armor is pierced that it goes awry.

It’s when the armor is pierced that it goes awry.

“Why are you still dressed?” ExBoss once asked soon after I crossed the threshold. It wasn’t the question that stung. But his tone. I cared deeply for this man, and had opened my heart up to him. He knew me, not just how I looked, but how I thought, what I was passionate about. But that night, as far as he was concerned, my purpose was to be his release. That was it. Other than as visual and physical stimulation, I held no other value to him.

At the time I laughed it off and said something coy like, “Because you haven’t undressed me yet.” But the seed of abasement had been planted. And when I drove away into the night, the smell of him on me, I seemed to be nothing more than his cum rag. That didn’t feel good.

In the digital world it’s different. There the approach is often reversed. Emails lead to online chatting, which can turn into texting and phone calls. Time is spent knowing the other person. And sometimes it stops there. But every now and then, it doesn’t. Sometimes pictures are requested. If I acquiesce then suddenly I’m known in a different way. And then which direction will it go? The faster it escalates, the easier it is to see. Continue reading

I Just Want to Lay Here and Touch Myself

I don’t want to get off the bed. I don’t want to keep a schedule. I don’t want to be responsible. I don’t want to do what I should.

I just want to lay right here and let my fingers gently caress my smooth mound. I want to delve between the slick cleft and find the waiting pearl that is the most alert part of me at the moment. I want to be languid, and stay blissfully naked, doing nothing more than admiring the contours of my body.

But I don’t always get what I want. So up I go, into leggings, a t-shirt and Nikes, before heading to the track to push my languid ass around a small town football field in lane two until my lungs feel like they’re going to explode.

Special Coffee

During our five day trek through the alpine wilderness, Nathan and I enjoyed many things… Unobstructed views of the Milky Way, pitchers of mojitos, breathtaking hikes, and my favorite of all, lots of laughter.

The second morning Nathan woke up first and made coffee for me, a rich fresh roasted blend procured from a specialty shop he likes and brewed in a French Press. He added the right amount of cream and sugar before bringing it to me, allowing the aroma to be my herald of the new day.

I put the stoneware mug to lips and smiled. But before I could take my first sip Nathan waggled his eyebrows at me and said, “It should be the best coffee you’ve ever tasted because I stuck my wiener in it.”

I nearly spilled said nectar from laughing so hard. And I have to say, it was delicious.

Marian Goes Glamping

I’m in a remote alpine area with limited access to the outside world. We brought our food and alcohol in via coolers. So I’ve been trying to respond to comments but haven’t been able to get them to post. Hell. I don’t know if this will go through. But I’m on top of a 9,500′ mountain after a treacherous hike. So I’m hopeful.

Love you guys!!!

Sometimes I’m Demanding

Nathan doesn’t like to have sex if I’m on my period. And I can understand that. If I’m not at the beginning or the end I don’t really want to have sex either. Unless the end drags on and on and… on. In that case, if he is around and sleeping in my bed, I want to fuck him senseless.

But in the last week that he’s been here, there has been none of that. Every morning I wake up to an epic specimen of morning wood brushing my thigh, but when I mention sex the question he asks is, “Are you still broken?”

In other words, no sex for Marian. So there has been a Mexican standoff in my little cottage. If I can’t have orgasms from him, then I had no intention of giving him any form of release. But this morning I didn’t exactly stick to my plan.

As his erection nudged me I was a bundle of pent up sexual frustration. With impatient movements I stripped of my black negligee and tossed it to the side. Instantly his warm hand palmed my breast.

“Here is what is going to happen,” I told him. “You are going to suck my nipples and fondle my breasts until I say you’re done. Then you are going to straddle me and slide your cock between my boobs while I lick the end the head. And then you are going to come on them. Got it?”

He got it.

After we had finished, me somewhat sated, but still lacking release, I looked him in the eye and said, “Tonight, when we get to the hotel you will fuck me.”

He nodded, a pleased smile on his face.

We are in route to the hotel now, a half way point in our long trek across the states to several days of alpine hiking. And he will meet my demands.

Why I Don’t Like the Word “Deserve”

I have a problem with the word “deserve”. No, it hasn’t done anything to deserve my dislike. (see what I did there?) But there is a layer of entitlement that shrouds it. At least in my eyes.

For example, when a coworker recently told me that I deserved my upcoming five day getaway in the mountains, it gave me pause. Sure, you can say I deserve it. (I do.) But I’d much rather say I’ve earned it. (I have.) Do you see the difference? They are so very close… and yet, not.

It hits me even harder when talking about relationships. “You deserve a good man!” one girlfriend will say to another. And sure. I see what she’s saying. But that slight bent towards entitlement once again strikes the wrong chord with me.

And there’s also the hint of exclusion. If you don’t see it, just turn the phrase around. How many times have you overheard in conversation, “He doesn’t deserve her.” and visa versa. Who are we to say? Who are we to cast judgement? Do we know what goes on in the depths of others’ hearts or what happens behind closed doors? No.

A few days ago when a close friend was talking to me about her dating woes she expounded on what she wants in a relationship and closed with, “and you know what? I deserve it.” My face can reveal what I’m thinking when my guard is down and it must have been because she immediately said, “What? You don’t agree?”

I shook my head. “No honey,” I explained, “It’s not that I don’t agree. I just don’t like your word choice. And it’s my own personal hang up. I absolutely think you should be happy. And I’m so glad you’ve got a clear idea of what you want. I just don’t like the word deserve.”

She cocked her head cocker spaniel style waiting for me to explain.

“I just think there are better words. Ones that have more meaning… more power to them,” I floundered. It wasn’t as simple as I expected to show why I cringed.

“Look at it this way,” I said, “Do I have your trust as your close friend because I deserve it? Or because I earned it?”

Understanding began to wash over her face.

“And don’t for a second think that I don’t believe you should get exactly what your heart desires,” I continued, “You have one of the kindest hearts I know. And that is priceless. Don’t ever doubt your worth.”

So when you sweet readers comment and tell me you think I deserve X and Y and Z, you may have noticed I dance around what you’ve said, thanking you, but not agreeing. There is a glitch in my brain that keeps me from being able to say, “I deserve X and Y and Z.” However, that does not mean that I don’t believe I’m worth it.

Massage Highlights

I, of course, stripped completely. I’m not the most modest girl in the world.


In the last eight days I have ridden over 50 miles on my road bike and have run around 30 miles at the track. I’m pushing my body harder than I can ever remember. And as a result, my muscles and tendons are very, very tight. So when I walked into the room with Nick, my new favorite massage therapist, I explained my recent activities.

“I feel good, but my legs and shoulders could use some loosening up,” I said.

“Alright,” Nick said, “We’ll start out with you face down. I’ll step out while you disrobe to your comfort level.

I, of course, stripped completely. I’m not the most modest girl in the world.

He returned to the room when I called out, “All good.”

“Is the temperature okay for you?” Nick asked after he had begun on my back.

“I’m actually a bit clammy. Could you turn on the fan?”

“Sure. I thought you felt warm. Do you want me to remove the blanket and just use the sheet?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

Nick has a sensual touch. But not in a creepy way. It’s hard, deep and relaxing. My shoulders sank into the table, the knots untangling. Over the course of the next 90 minutes he worked me up and down. But I’m not going to give you a blow by blow of the entire session. I have a comfortable bed and an out of town friend (Nathan) waiting for me in it, so you’re just going to get the highlights.

Highlight One
He noticed my tan lines and said so. “Are you tender here? You’re shoulders look a little pink from the sun, especially compared to the untanned part.”

Highlight Two
He brushed his cock against my hand. I was laying face down, hands palm up when I felt the distinct shape of the head of a penis graze my pinky finger. I didn’t react. I was curious to see if it would happen again. It did. Five times his cock rubbed my tiniest finger. Continue reading