My Massage Therapist Got an Intimate View

I knew, without a doubt, that not only was my most private of areas exposed, but also that because of the position I was in, nothing would be left to the imagination.


This guy was new to the practice and surprisingly attractive. Of average height, he had a muscular build, capable looking hands and a winning smile. When questioned about what areas I needed him to focus on I explained that I had recently taken up running and was feeling some soreness in my lower back and legs, especially my shins and calves.

“Are there any areas I should avoid?” the massage therapist asked as his hands, warm and covered in lavender scented massage lotion, slowly loosened my back muscles.

“No,” I said into the horseshoe-shaped headrest, settling in to enjoy an hour of relaxation. Continue reading

How to Get a Perfectly Smooth Pussy without Waxing

I love to be silky smooth between my legs but I do not enjoy the pain and time necessary to go get my peach waxed. So I’ve found a two-step process that leaves me just as
smooth without having someone yank my pubes out by their screaming little follicles.

Yes. This is a different sort of post for me, but I just finished doing what I’m getting ready to describe and am now laying in bed, not sleepy, fingers occasionally brushing my silky skin, while I peck this out on my phone. (Forgive the possibility of more typos than usual.)

To achieve a smooth-as-waxed pussy you will need two products. One is a bottle of Nair. Yes. Nair. Yes. They still make it. Yes. It still smells… Nairish. Don’t get the fancy kinds. Stick to the basic bottle like the one below.


The second product you’ll need is a Schick Intuition razor. These bad boys are great. No shaving cream necessary. Just zip zap and you’re done. Yes. The giant moisturizing stuff around the razor is a tad different at first, but the results are amazing. And I have removed the razor and used the end as a sex toy when traveling and in dire need of an orgasm.


Now for the fun part—getting smooth.

Generously coat your bikini line and vajayjay with the Nair, being careful to not get it on the inner labia. I’ve done that. And trust me, you don’t want to experience the sensitive three hours that followed. A good rule of thumb is to keep the Nair about a 1/4-inch from either side of the center “slit”. Then wash your hands throughly and grab your phone and comment on blogs for the next eight minutes. Less than eight minutes and it doesn’t all come off. Go higher than ten minutes and your skin could be a tad tender later.

Once eight minutes has elapsed, wet a washcloth with lukewarm water and squeeze out excess. Then just wipe the hair away, rinsing the washcloth as needed. At this point one’s pussy should be very smooth except for the remaining hair around the center slit. So it’s time to adjourn to the shower.

Here’s where the Schick Intuition really shines. After letting warm water beat down on your nether regions to wash away every last trace of the Nair and to soften the remaining hair, separate your pussy lips and just run the razor down the lip in the direction of the hair growth. Rinse the razor and repeat on both sides until smooth. And viola! You’re done.

So why not just shave the whole thing? I’ve found that the Nair leaves me smoother for longer and I don’t end up with pesky, unattractive razor bumps when doing it this way.

So this completes my impromptu how-to guide. My smooth-as-silk pink peach and I are gonna turn in for the evening.

Cheers y’all.


I hate showing weakness. I have a very clear vision of the image I want to project: a strong, smart, confident, quick-witted, attractive, kind, attentive, sexy, powerful woman. But that’s all it is—a projection—elements of myself polished and turned to their best possible angle in the hopes that they will mask what I don’t want everyone to see.

Because what if they don’t catch the light just right and you see past all the barriers I have in place? What if you see my jealous nature? Will you see it for the shortcoming I believe it to be? And what about all the things I’m terribly insecure about? This terror I have of never being enough, my deep-seated fear that, once the surface level is breached, I won’t be desired as I long to be, my doubts that anyone can truly see past my physical imperfections… do all those insecurities scream “defective”, “inadequate”, “flawed”?

I must believe so. Or I wouldn’t work so hard on the projection, would I?

blonde sunglasses2

I Met Another Blogger

Sometimes one doesn’t see always see a person clearly until they are contrasted with another. And that is what happened during my weekend visit with Ann St. Vincent. The first night I had my first impressions… physically she’s beautiful. Tall, with ungodly naturally blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, a high forehead and a nose that quirks in the cutest of ways when she smiles. Her personality is one of quick wit, extreme confidence, and an inner calm that I believe comes from her admirable self awareness. When there’s disagreement Ann tends to push her side of the argument in the attempt to convince others of her rightness and this sometimes results in extended conflict. Comparatively, I avoid conflict like the plague and will put my highly developed diplomatic skills to work to keep the peace while also (hopefully) getting my way. If nothing much is at stake I meander down the path of least resistance. I’m not sure Ann even knows where that path is. And I admire this in her.

However, we had enough similarities that it wasn’t until I met her friend Katherine on Saturday night that I truly saw Ann. Katherine, a tall leggy brunette, is in a place in her life where she is angry at men and at the exact same time desperately wants their attention. This dichotomy of emotions resulted in multiple trips to the bathroom to scope out the males as she went to and fro, long stares across bars in the attempt to lure a hapless victim her way and frustration when neither was successful.

In contrast, Ann, who wasn’t on the prowl, got plenty of appreciative looks that I’m certain could have led to more had she been receptive. I felt for Katherine. Her emotions sit barely below the surface and she envies Ann’s contentment. She doesn’t understand it. She questions it. Katherine didn’t know me well enough to compare us. I downplayed my career and life so that in no way was I her competition. She had me pegged as Ann’s quirky Southern friend and that was just fine with me. Path of least resistance, remember?

But it bothers me to see someone not having a good time. Especially when by all accounts, one should be having fun. So when the men at the über chic club were paying the cool Katherine no mind, I suggested to Ann that we find a dive bar. Dive bar men are the best for doling out lavish attention. And I adore them for it.

“Doesn’t this town have one?” I pleaded.

“Sure,” she said, “It’s got lots! But I don’t know if Katherine will want to go…” Ann had been easy going and following Katherine’s lead all night… the perfect friend.

I decided I’d put my diplomatic skills to use on Katherine. As she was finishing her drink I slipped an arm around her small waist and said, “I’m dying to go to a dive bar! Do you know of any good ones? Would you be willing to step it down a couple of notches?”

“Yes!” she cried, giving me a tight hug, “I know just the place.”

So Ann, Katherine and I departed chic-ville and headed to parts a little dirtier, a little darker and a lot more fun. As we approached the unmarked door Katherine turned to us, “Neither of you can ever tell anyone I love this place.”

With that we crossed the threshold into another world.

Music I knew blared through the dark room with a strong base beat. Lights flashed overhead giving the space the atmosphere of a 1980s skating rink with a BDSM complex. It was perfect. I bought my first and last drink of the night… vodka soda if you’re wondering, and set in to dance the night way.

There was attention a’plenty for Katherine and, once getting her fill, she caught a cab home. That left Ann and me free to completely let loose to whatever 80s rock song or 90s grunge hit played next. And let loose we did. Ann dances like she knows what she’s doing. Her legs move gracefully, right in rhythm with the beat; her arms sway and bend with elegance. Me… I just let the music move me. Watching me completely let go and dance without a care in the world can’t be too far from watching me have sex. It’s a visceral experience. One that leaves me a hot and sweaty mess.

I think it was during our time as dancing queens, one of us tall and graceful, the other shorter and gyrating, that I saw Ann in bloom. Cheeks flushed, a smile on her face, just soaking up the moment. The night wasn’t about the appreciative looks being shot her way, or how many free drinks one could score. It was about the pure joy of moving to a good song under flashing lights in the wee hours of the morning without a care in the world, knowing that some how, some way everything will work itself out. Even how to get back to the hotel at 3:30 in the morning with two useless phones and not a cab in sight.

Sitting with My Back to the Room

Right now I’m in a large restaurant, sitting alone towards the far corner with my back to the room. This is profound in ways that could seem minor, but aren’t to me. You see, I don’t sit with my back exposed, unable to see what’s going on around me.

I feel like this represents a shift inside me. My shifting, changing outlooks, positions, this is nothing new. But somehow what I’m feeling now is new. Perhaps it’s the result of the intense focus I’ve been putting on my health and body.

Last night at the track, in the dark, on lap seven I experienced what Nathan has called “the gazelle feeling.” As I rounded the corner a burst of energy exploded inside. And for a full straight, I flew. It was as if my feet weren’t touching the ground. That’s never happened to me before… an euphoria from pushing my body further and harder that I believed possible.

I called Nathan afterwards to share my joy. But he was distracted, focused on work, and the conversation left me feeling empty and alone. He tried to sound enthusiastic. He really did. But what he truly wanted was for me to stop talking so he could solve a major work issue and go to bed. And that’s okay. I don’t need to depend on him for my happiness.

Over the years with lots of trial and error I’ve become pretty good at seeking out my own happiness. And in this moment of my life I feel strong. Unbelievably strong. Things have happened that have pulled back some of the curtains in my mind. I’m not interested in free and easy sex. It leaves me emptier than I was before. I feel gross and disgusting afterwards. I don’t fault myself for seeking that out in the past, but it simply isn’t good for me anymore.

So is it this strength that causes me to choose the seat facing away? It is what’s allowing me to pick at my salad, blind to room behind me, and write this post without feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up? Perhaps. Whatever the cause, I’m so very content with who I am and more accepting of my unconventionality than I ever have been before. And my willingness to step outside the traditional, the norm, the expected, may just be what results in my contentment being long-term rather than fleeting.

back to the room

Self Examination (naked in front of the mirror)

Something woke me in the dark, wee hours of the night. A thought, a sound, I’m not sure. I lay in bed for a while, trying to get back to sleep, but to no avail. So I swung my legs over the side of the bed, got up and padded into the bathroom for a drink of water.

I flipped on the lamp and examined my face for blemishes. Other than my residual sunspots, all was clear. Backing away from the mirror I turned sideways, smoothing my gown against me. I stripped off the black fabric to better see the results of the last six weeks of healthy eating and work-out efforts. Facing toward the mirror, completely naked, I ran my hands over my flatter stomach, enjoying the strength I felt in my core.

I frowned at my thighs, smaller, but still far from my ideal and then smiled at my lower legs, firm from the hours of biking and jogging I’ve been logging. Then I turned around and looked over my shoulder at my ass. It stood out full and white, framed by the tanned skin of my legs and back, larger than I want, but firmer and slightly perkier.

Facing the mirror once again, I cupped my breasts in both hands, feeling the smoothness of the skin, the round weight of them. They too are creamy white and set off by skin I’ve allowed to brown in the sun. I stretched, holding my arms over my head, stood on tiptoe and turned from side to side, giving my body a long look from top to bottom. And I was pleased—a different feeling from the typical self-criticism I experience. I have a ways to go before I reach my goals, but seeing actual progress and feeling stronger turned my middle-of-the-night-reflecting into motivation to keep pushing… even harder.

How to Prepare for an Important Business Meeting

While there have been numerous columns and blogs written with advice for the best ways to plan and prepare for important business meetings, I’m positive this real-world, out-of-the-box example of how I helped one man get ready for the biggest meeting of his career (so far) is definitely the most enjoyable way to make sure one’s head is in the game.

Nathan had been at my house for several days and the night before his big meeting he sat at my kitchen table, notes spread about, legal pad in hand, in complete concentration. He would occasionally jot down a question he expected to be asked and then diligently research the answer. I kept his glass full of sweet iced tea and quietly cooked a simple dinner of seared sesame tuna on a bed of baby spinach and kale. Every now and then he’d ponder something out loud and I’d ask him to clarify, attempting to help him make certain he had thought through every angle.

He cleared a space on the table for us to eat while I dished up dinner and brought plates to the table. As I removed my flower-print apron Nathan looked up at me and smiled.

“This really helps, you know,” he said.

“Not having to figure out dinner?” I asked.

“Well, that too,” he chuckled, “But I really meant you bouncing ideas off of me and just being here and taking care of me.”

I preened. Nathan, for all the things I respect and admire about him, is often lacking when it comes to meeting my main love language need: words of affirmation. I don’t think I’m overly complicated. Just tell me you think I’m wonderful and I tend to be putty in your hands. Get even a little bit creative with how you tell me and… but enough about feeding my narcissism. We were talking about preparing for a meeting.

That night we went to my room, turned down the bed together, stripped of all our clothes and climbed in. The soft whir of the ceiling fan combined with the hum of air conditioner were the only sounds. Nathan’s hand rested quietly on my thigh and before long I heard his breathing even out and a soft snore escape.

Suddenly there was a freight train in the room. Or an 18-wheeler… I couldn’t be sure which. I just knew it was something loud with an incessant blaring that wouldn’t stop. I curled up on my side, pulled my pillow over my head and then felt Nathan stir and shut off the alarm. I came out from hiding under the pillow and blinked in the still darkness of the early morning. The bed shifted as he got up and walked around toward the bathroom but on the way he stopped to brush the hair from my face and bent over to kiss my forehead.

As I nuzzled against his lips, in my still-sleepy state, I realized he was still naked. And his morning salute was at full attention. I opened my mouth and, like a hungry fish going after an appealing lure, had his cock between my lips before he realized what was happening.

“Oh my gosh,” he moaned, arching his back in pleasure.

With him still in my mouth I rolled over so I was on my back, pushed the sheet off my body and began running my fingers around the edges of my nipples. My tongue circled the helmet of his cock slowly, savoring the feel, the taste of it. In no hurry I eased him down my throat, taking him that way over and over again.

“I need to be in you,” he whispered.

Pulling away, I looked up and smiled, “Darling, you were in me.”

“Yes, but I need to be here,” he said, gently touching my glisteningly wet labia.

No other words were spoken. Our bodies joined and it wasn’t long before I felt him pulsing inside me, on the verge of coming. Wrapping my legs tightly around his hips I pulled him in even deeper and reveled in the sensation of his seed pumping into me.

“You ready for that meeting?” I murmured.

“I am now,” he said.



Fortune Cookies Lie

At least how I interpreted this fortune cookie turned out to be a big let down. As I let you all know in this post, Ex Boss was coming to town. And as far as I know he did. But I didn’t see him.

We had everything set for Thursday night and then I had a conflict come up. A legitimate couldn’t-get-out-of-it conflict. I texted him to let him know and asked if we could aim for Friday instead. After all… he was supposed to be in town until Sunday.

He never texted back.

At all.

Yup… all I got was the mocking chirp of crickets.

I was tempted to text him and ask what the deal was, tempted to stew over it, to wonder what’s wrong with me that he wasn’t itching to see me even if was a day later. But I didn’t. I’ve been letting so much go lately… what’s one more thing.

So no blog fodder. No tales of hot, rough coupling. It’s just me folks. Just me.