Do Men Like It When You Aren’t a Sure Thing?

Nathan’s hand crept under the sheets to my breast and he gently twisted a nipple. I wriggled out from under his touch. Something he had said shortly before bed had irked me, sending my often-raging libido into cold hibernation. I felt him reach for my tits again and this time I firmly moved his hand before rolling over onto my stomach.

The man gets points for persistence. It wasn’t long before I felt a gentle caress on my ass. As he stroked the peaks and valleys of my body I considered spreading my legs and encouraging him to dip his fingers inside me, which would inevitably lead to sex. And then I thought, no. I am tired. Actually I’m beyond tired. He’s been here for several days and we’ve had plenty of sex. Plus, he was rude earlier and I don’t feel like opening up physically to him. In the midst of this internal debate, I felt his hard member press against my thigh.

“Nathan,” I said, deciding it would be immature to not talk it out, “It’s not happening tonight. You hurt my feelings and I’m in no mood for sex right now.”

“How did I hurt your feelings?” He said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“You basically called me lazy,” I pouted, “And I’m not lazy. I’m just exhausted. And being so worn out that I forget to do something doesn’t make me lazy. It just means that my brain is completely shot. So you were just plain rude. And yeah, it hurt my feelings.”

“You forgot? I thought you said you just weren’t going to do it. I didn’t hear that part about you forgetting,” Nathan explained.

“Okay,” I said, the pouting diminishing, “You still can tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said smiling, “You are anything but lazy.”

“Thank you,” I said, leaning over to kiss his full, sensuous mouth, “You’re still not getting sex. Not because I’m still mad. But because I’m just too damn tired.”

“Okay baby,” he said chuckling.

I fell asleep with him gently massaging my back and just before I entered dreamland I heard him whisper softly, “You’re kinda cute when you’re exhausted.”

The next morning daylight broke through the sliver of space between my bedroom curtains, filling the room with a soft glow. I felt Nathan move beside me and once again his hand went to my breast. I didn’t discourage him this time, but there was no encouragement either. I just lay back and let him explore.

When his meandering fingers reached my crotch, I remained motionless, letting him use all the tricks he knows to arouse me. The buildup continued, with my body only occasionally betraying my heightened awareness of him, his fingers, his expert touch. It was a good twenty minutes later before I finally allowed my hips to stir.

He responded by attaching his mouth to my nipple and began flicking it with his tongue while his fingers continued to tease my ever-moistening channel. As I reached the edge of my orgasm I jerked off my panties and pulled him on top of me, spreading my legs as he mounted. He thrust in deeply with a significant moan.

“Oh Marian,” he breathed in my ear, “You feel so good.”

The coupling was sensual, slow and tender. But when he came, it was with a groan and shudder like I’ve never heard from him before. He collapsed like a rag doll on top of me and just lay there… breathing.

After several minutes I spoke, “Nathan? Darling? Are you okay?”

“Mmmmhummm,” he murmured, “I just didn’t know if… and then you… and we… and… it was really good.”

So all this made me start thinking. Is there a heightened level of pleasure when a man succeeds in having sex that he wasn’t certain he was going to have? Does the challenge make the release more powerful? Is it more exciting when a woman isn’t a ‘sure thing’?

A Perfect Morning Quickie

“Darling,” I called into the kitchen as I perched on the antique stool at my vanity dabbing a dusty rose blush onto my cheeks, “Would you please get those boxes out of the trunk of my car?”

“But I’m making you coffee,” Nathan called back.

“Yes, I know… And thank you! But can you take care of those boxes too?”

I heard the rumblings of faux grumbling mixed with the clinking of coffee mugs and cabinet doors shutting.

“Can you believe that?” I heard Nathan say in the voice he only uses when addressing my cat, “She wants me to do both! That woman of yours… so demanding!”

The door to the garage opened and shut. And then it opened and shut a second time.

“Coffee is made and boxes are moved. What will she want next, Cat?”

He walked into the bedroom holding a steaming mug of morning’s elixir, still conversing with my large black cat that padded behind him, occasionally meowing responses to Nathan’s questions. I stood at my dresser, pretending to ignore him, and put on a necklace and gold earrings that coordinated with the simple pink lace summer dress I wore.

“Yes Cat, I do all this for her and I haven’t even had a decent blow job this visit.”

My eyes caught his in the mirror and I smiled before saying, “We’ll have to put that on the list for tonight then won’t we.” Continue reading

The Irreparable Space Between

2005-03-07 Avalanche Crk Glacier NP 1200px for Marian Green

Did the cleaving hurt? It’s still obvious how the pieces fit, how it was meant to be. But something came between. Was it a gentle eroding, done over so much time that you weren’t aware it was happening until it was too late? Or was it sudden and more violent… a splitting with an ear-shattering crack that could be heard for miles and miles?

And now, with the irreparable space between, do you look across the chasm in longing? Do you strain toward each other, trying to bridge the gap? Is there a calm acceptance that the split came, and now is a part of the landscape? Or is there quiet resentment, a stony silence louder than any shout, sadder than any cry?

No matter, the connection will forever exist, living in the very membrane of the memories that flow between, whispering and gurgling, singing of the happy times, the soaring highs, the unspeakable joy. And here, in the dancing fluid of remembrance, we find that it feeds the one element that springs eternal… hope.


A Words and Pictures Project

This is the icon for the upcoming new thing on Creative Noodling! The beautiful image that inspired the prose in this post was captured in Avalanche Creek Glacier National Park, Montana by Bruce “Chippy” Chipman of Concept Exposure. You can see more of his fabulous work on his website or follow him on Instagram (@conceptexposure). He and I connected on Twitter, so if you enjoyed this collaboration and have a moment, please give him a shout out there. His Twitter handle is @conceptexposure.

Drunk Blogging

I’m afraid I was that girl last night. You know the one. She gets loud and silly. And starts hugging everyone. And making new best friends. And forming plans for future good times that she won’t remember thinking up the next day. And at the end of the night her friends help her wobbling ass to the car and drive her home.

So that was me.

After my friends got me safely tucked in, the high of the night came crashing down. As I lay curled up in bed, my demons of years past came clawing to the surface. Old wounds I thought had healed began seeping.

And I must have written about it. Because I checked my phone this morning and, low and behold, I posted last night. I sort of remember reaching for my phone in the dark, the blue glow offering some semblance of connection. But I did not remember writing anything, much less posting it!

So the words that came forth last night can only be classified as drunk blogging. Reading in the bright light of day I see how many insecurities I mask daily… and I hide them so well I’m often able to fool myself.

Looks like the recipe for stripping all that away is a bottle and a half of wine on an empty stomach.

Trade Me In

Trade me in for the shiny new model. The one with that new car smell. Swap me for the better version. The one guaranteed to sell. Get the upgraded version to impress your friends. So they will know for sure you’ve “made it.”

That’s right. Trade me in. I’m just what you’re used to, what fills the space, what pays the bills.

So get what you want. I hope it satisfies because I don’t know what else I can do. No. I’m not perfect but I will keep trying because that is what you want me to do.

Oh this pain is too great. My fear is showing. Someone close the gate. I can’t go on… The unknown is too much. What you want is beyond my reach.

Or is it? Turn around and see me now. Is this what you’ve been missing?

Shameless Plugs

The main reason I have kept blogging for almost two and a half years is the community we have formed here. Through my ups, my downs, my craziness and my silences this amazing group of readers and other bloggers has been with me through it all. A dear friend of mine and I were talking several months ago about the magic in the little world we have created. And he was right. It is something special.

So for those of you new to our little nook in the universe, I want to take a moment and do some shameless plugs for other bloggers who I personally enjoy… and you just might too.

Bloggers with Books I’d Like to Read 

The Hook
The Hooker with a heart of gold… oh… wait… wrong profession. The Hook is actually a bell man with more than a few funny tales from the trenches of the hospitality industry. And as a blogger he is doing a wonderful job fostering a community of involved readers, sprinkling his words of encouragement far and wide.

Theo Black
I love Theo. And hate him a little. Because I wish I had even a third of his writing talent. The man just pours page after page of the some of the dirtiest, sexiest tales I have ever read. And makes it beautiful. I walk away feeling uplifted… even if I just read about him cleaning off his cock after burying himself in his lover’s ass.

Sean Smithson
If the well-written miss-adventures of a charming, but wrong-place-at-wrong-time male amuse you, then a pop over to Sean’s blog is in order. He gave me a sneak peak of the cover of his new book and I have to say… I’ll happily judge this book by its cover and give it an A.

So why haven’t I read their books? Because I haven’t gone and purchased a prepaid credit card so I can order the digital versions and not burden them with my private information. But I’m going to. In the mean time, I just lap up their blogs.


Bloggers I Feel Like Are My Kindred Spirits

Hyacinth Jones
Yes, this beautiful blonde has had plenty of plugs around the internet, but I KNOW how fabulous she is. You see… I’ve met her. Her warm heart and easy way of loving drew me in. Her turn of phrase and fabulous descriptions kept me around. And now, thanks to her, “rutting like animals” is part of my everyday vocabulary.

Ann St. Vincent
The first time I happened upon Ann’s blog I felt at home. And then I realized why. She reminds me a lot of… me. I dare you to not get drawn into her honest posts as she works through what it means to be single again and partakes of all the adventures to be had. And fingers crossed I’ll be meeting her sometime in the near-ish future.

Cara Thereon
Cara’s blog header states that she stimulates and more than just your mind. And boy does she ever. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been actually fanning myself after reading one of her posts.

Alice Theirry
Alice is a flower who continues to bloom no matter what she faces. Her sexual journey is rich with metaphor and poetry and I have noticed she is loved by men and women alike. They have good taste. Her French kisses aren’t too shabby either.

Jayne at Jayne Ayres
If I remember correctly Jayne began her blog only about five months before me. When I first read her I was like, “Wow! Someone else is blogging to work through some shit!” I didn’t know at the time that that is how a lot of us began. But her open rawness touched me. And still does today. And I’m proud to call her my friend.

There are more sexy, awesome bloggers out there who I love. So if you aren’t on this post… please understand I just can’t list you all. And I’m really enjoying this shameless plug thing, so there might have to be a round two!


Blogger Back from the Dead

Bimodal at Only Partly Erotic
He was gone… like FOREVER. And now he is back and I am hooked again. If ever I get a chance to meet this man… well… wish me luck keeping my panties on. Ladies… you will love him. Men… you will shake your head in wonder.


Bloggers I Hope Write More

Dave at Normal Deviations
He is taking a break from blogging right now, but it was he and his tribe who coined the phrase Gutter Bloggers, a term for those of us who spill our lurid thoughts and tales. He is missed.

LSAM at Love Sex and Marriage
LSAM was one of the first to welcome me into the fold so very long ago. And I have never forgotten that. She has a loyal following and we all love it when she has time to post. Hint. Hint. Hint.

Beatnik at Beatnik Du Jour
This man seems to have abandoned his blog for the quick satisfaction of tweets. But there is so much more to him than 160 (is that the right number?) characters. I hope this friend of mine takes my gentle scold as it is meant (in fun) and gets to work on some more juicy posts.

Fortune Cookie Predicts Sex


When I cracked open the hard shell of my future-telling dessert on Saturday, it was with no expectation of good news. Things in my world haven’t been all sunshine and roses lately, but who can resist a fortune cookie. Not me. So when I read “Someone from your past will happily re-enter your life soon.” I didn’t give it a second thought. I tossed the paper in my cup holder and kept on driving.

But the next day I received a surprise. A text. From Ex Boss. Looks like he might be around to happily re-enter my life (and other places) soon. I know when to accept what’s been given and just say thank you.

Yes. This is just a bandaid on my heart. Yes. This is not a healthy way to heal. Yes. I have issues. And this is what I do.

Mid June can’t get here fast enough.


I’m Just a Hole


I’m just a hole. A warm place to land. A pit-stop in the interim, but not for your continuum.

The razors on my fingers are itching to slice. But I threw it all away with a roll of the dice.

The anger is bubbling. I’m holding it back. Control is my forte; I won’t make an attack.

Things were said. Things were done. Where there once was comfort, now there is none.

The sidewalks are empty. Just framing the street. Scorching and writhing in the blistering heat.

Where to now? No path is clear. But it’s no longer the darkness I fear.

You see, I’ve been down this alley. I’ve heard the screams. I’ve walked the land of broken dreams.

Tomorrow I’ll be better. Tomorrow I’ll be fine. Though bruises and blood coat my hide.

My anthem sounds strong. Don’t believe the lie. I’ll fake it forever, until I die.

In truth I’m drifting, my anchor lost. I cut it loose, not knowing the cost.

I’m just hole. A warm place to land. Won’t you come, and rest your head.



True Story


Once upon a time a wind blew through a small, quiet town. But this wind was different from other winds. It didn’t come from the east, the west, the north or the south. In fact, the townsfolk were baffled by the strangeness of the warm, constant breeze. It came from all directions. And none. At the same time.

Was the wind dangerous? The authorities didn’t know, so they arranged independent studies to find out and set in place evacuation plans in case it proved to be harmful. The people frowned and stayed indoors, keeping their children close. The shopkeepers put up signs selling goods to protect against it—might as well turn a profit and all that.  It was unknown, you see, this non-directional force of nature. And in this town, the unknown was always to be feared.

The youth of the town detested the prison made for them by their fearful parents. “Stay inside?” they scoffed, “It’s just a little breeze. What could it possibly do?”

A very old, very wise and very wrinkled old woman who bravely kept rocking away on her front porch overheard their jeers. She rocked a little faster and then stood letting her cane support her as she addressed the teens stomping home from school.

“I’ll tell you what this wind can do. No one else living remembers the wind. But I do. The wind can numb you, turn your heart to ice, your brains to slovenly mushes of addledness. The wind can blind you, and bind you. The wind can steal your dreams.”

The teens shuffled from foot to foot, with only nervous chuckles as their response, waiting for one of them to speak to the woman. But none craved the leader’s role. The woman raised a shaky hand and pointed an arthritic finger at a gangly, ginger-headed boy with buttermilk pale skin shockingly free of freckles.

“You,” she said, “You have dreams. You want more than a place in the cycle, a slot along the assembly line.”

The group parted, looking at Quincy. He’d never been one for saying much. And even now he only nodded at the woman.

“Aye,” she said in reply to the question he’d only thought, “This is not the first time the wind has come. It stole most of my generation. They floated away on the wind, mindless and dull to the world.”

Quincy nodded once more, turned and walked away from his peers, cutting through backyards and down alleys to get home. He ran up the back steps and inside, slamming the door in his haste.

“Dad!” he called, “I have the answer!”

His father came around the corner followed closely by Quincy’s ten-year-old sister.

“The wind, Dad,” he said, authority in his voice, “The wind… we have to drive it out. But here’s the catch, it comes from within.”

Dearest readers. I’m struggling right now. And my words are coming out in a jumble. This is something I wrote weeks ago, but was saving it to post with a separate, partner version crafted by The Woodsman. We won’t be posting together any more. I feel I owe you all an explanation of what happened. But at the same time, I want to protect his feelings. There is still so much love there. I’m working on how to reconcile these two conflicting needs.

Lyrics Speak

I would speak if I had something to say. Lyrics seems to be the only way for the emotion to manifest. Bits of songs run in and out of my head. Blending, merging, to speak for me.

Do you remember how I searched you out?
How I climbed your cities walls?
Do you remember me as devout?
How I prayed for your calls?

But nothing. A deafening silence.

Out in the street it’s 6 am, another sleepless night
Three cups of coffee, but I can’t clear my head
from what went down last night.

I could have warned him. Knowing there was nothing I could do to change me. But I didn’t speak.

If you’re worried that I might’ve changed
Left behind all of my foolish ways
You best be looking for somebody else
Without a foolish heart, a foolish heart

Because try as I might, my mercurial nature catches up to me.

If I could
Baby I’d give you my world
Open up
Everything’s waiting for you

But no matter how I open up, my very nature is the ultimate saboteur.

I gotta take a little time
A little time to think things over
I better read between the lines

In case I need it when I’m older
In my life there’s been heartache and pain

I don’t know if I can face it again

But I’m facing it. Again.

Lyric are from the following songs: I Was a Fool by Tegan and Sara; Blue Morning, Blue Day by Foreigner; Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac; I Wanna Know What Love Is by Foreigner. 

broken record