According to maverick1255, my Cake Personality reveals:
"Lemon Meringue - Smooth, sexy and articulate with your hands, you are an excellent after-dinner speaker and a good teacher. But don't try to walk and chew gum at the same time. A bit of a diva at times, but you have many friends."
Scarily accurate, apart from the fact that I'd never try and chew gum any time, let alone while doing something else. I'm so poor at multi-tasking, you know, that I forget to talk during phone sex if my hands are busy....
Now, before that distracts you completely, don't forget to check out my blog (especially those filthy, filthy stories ) ...
Oh, and if you're thinking about sex, please read Just fucking fuck me, already.. It encapsulates my thoughts and wishes very clearly.
This is a drama-free zone. Fakes, multiprofilers and people who write nasty comments about other people will not find a forum here.
Sep 28, 2007 7:36 am Mood: Sighing in recognition, 585 Views
My parents told me about Mr. Common Sense early in my life and told me I would do well to call on him when making decisions. It seems he was always around in my early years but less and less as time passed by.
Today I read his obituary.
Please join me in a moment of silence in remembrance, for Common Sense has served us all so well for so many generations.
Obituary Common Sense
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.
He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge).
His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.
It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a student, but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.
Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.
He is survived by three stepbrothers: I Know my Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I'm a Victim.
Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.
OK, this is a bit of an off the wall one, given the nature of this site and of the relationships we form on it...
I am a trusting person by nature. I am not naturally suspicious of people or of their motives. This is because I was raised by the maxim "do as you would be done unto". And as I would never attempt to deceive or hurt anyone, I find it incomprehensible that anyone would wish to do the same to me.
When I get into comunication with someone on Adult FriendFinder, I don't look to prove they are a fake, and - as far as I'm aware - I have not met up with any fakes. Or maybe I have, and just been oblivious.
But the thing is this: when I get to the stage of meeting someone, effectively I have to trust them. If I agree to meet them in a hotel lounge and later go to a hotel room with them, I am taking a risk (obviously I do always tell someone where I am going; I'm not stupid!).
Yes, I will have spent time assessing them as a person, and I think my radar is pretty good. But I do not require a full CV or personal references.
I am going out on a limb in trusting someone.
Is it too much to expect them to trust me in return?
I must stress that I am not upset about anything or anyone at the moment. I am just pondering.
Take Ray and Jayne for example. These are not their real names and when we meet we do use real names. That's fine.
But I only know their first names. Ray "proved" his identity to me by showing me the first name on his credit card, carefully concealing his surname with his finger. Perhaps he thought I did not notice that. I did, and the implication that he does not trust me pisses me off slightly.
I know only his mobile number and have no idea where he lives. Or her. Talk about covering your tracks.
When I was seeing mainstexile (I think I can mention him now, as he appears to have left Adult FriendFinder), he only told me his first name, and as it happened I discovered his surname by accident when I once left a message on his phone. He never told me where he lived except in the most general terms - we once met up in a layby somewhere near his home.
A layby, for heaven's sake! We had been seeing each for a few weeks by then. We had shared the most intimate moments two people could share and discussed how the future could be. Yet he was not prepared even to tell me where he lived.
I realise there are bunny boilers out there, and I realise that married men are especially paranoid that they have left a trail leading to their wives.
To be fair, though, I have even been involved with single men who have no reason for such paranoia yet make themselves untraceable. Even my lovely FWB sudorific did not tell me his real surname for quite a few weeks.
But I get really annoyed that I as a woman am expected to trust them first, when in fact surely, if there is any physical risk, it is me that ought to be worried about protecting my safety?
Sep 26, 2007 12:28 pm Mood: Still chortling, 541 Views
Resimay
Deer Sir,
I waunt to apply for the secritary job what I saw in the paper. I can Type real quik wit one finggar and do sum a counting.
I think I am good on the phone and no I am a pepole person, Pepole really seam to respond to me well.
Im lookin for a Jobb as a secritary but it musent be to complicaited
I no my spelling is not to good but find that I Offen can get a job thru my persinalety. My salerery is open so we can discus wat you want to pay me and wat you think that I am werth,
I can start imeditely. Thank you in advanse fore yore anser.
hopifuly Yore best aplicant so farr.
Sinseerly,
Peggy May Starlings
PS : Because my resimay is a bit short - below is a pickture of me. . . .
One day a guy with premature ejaculation problems went to a doctor. The doctor said, "Whenever you feel the urge to ejaculate, startle yourself."
So he went out and bought a starter pistol.
When he got home, his wife was naked in bed, ready for him. So they got in the 69 position and started at it. Soon he felt the urge to cum, so he fired the pistol.
The next day he went to the doctor. The doctor asked him how it went.
He said, "Not too good. My wife bit off three inches of my dick, shat in my face, and my neighbour came out of the wardrobe naked with his hands up."
Sep 26, 2007 8:08 am Mood: Musing and reminiscing, 574 Views
I gave you a brief commentary about my date yesterday, but clearly I failed to answer some essential stuff, as Chas asked me whether it was a good date or did not live up to expectations.
So, some more feedback, until you're all feedbacked to death...
Yes, it was a good date. Not quite as wild as the first one, but a lot of fun.
Ray and I had about an hour to ourselves before Jayne arrived - we met up at 4.30pm and we all went our separate ways about 7.45pm. So, a shorter session, but a satisfying one.
What did we do that was different? Well, before she arrived he had his fingers up inside me and his tongue on my arse (can I just mention, by the way, that you are the biggest bunch of pervtastic voyeurs I have ever come across, wanting to know about such detail! ).
It ended with me having an absolutely massive orgasm which could probably have been heard in a ten mile radius. Wow, that was really something. I have never had an orgasm that intense before, but hope to do so again, and often.
Of course, then I lay stretched out on the bed, grinning into the pillow like a Cheshire Cat. He asked if I was going to be absolutely useless for the rest of the date, now that I was purring so loudly. Got to admit, I could easily have rolled over and gone to sleep at that point.
But he, not surprisingly, was very keen to get back to my arse. And who was I to deny him, after the very great pleasure he had just given me? So I didn't (not that I was going to, anyway ).
And he is so considerate - I asked if he would come in my mouth, so he went and washed off the condom taste beforehand. How nice is that? Guys, I know it interrupts proceedings a bit, but that kind of thoughtfulness gives you a Nice Man = Repeat Fuck kind of bonus point. Well, it does for me, anyway.
Of course, insisting on weeing on me (although he did do it over the bath, because he knew how much grief I would otherwise give him on behalf of the chambermaids!) lost him an equal amount of bonus points. But at least I got a quick shower to wash it off afterwards (I tried to enjoy a proper shower while I was at it, but he dragged me out and towelled me dry!).
I think he's convinced that one day I shall see the light and beg to be pissed on..... errr, unlikely. I am happy to indulge him, but I doubt very much that it will ever become my fetish - he asked me to wee on him, and I simply couldn't. Not frozen with embarrassment, but just unable to wee. I needed to sit over a toilet bowl before my brain would release the essential switch.
Surreal stuff!
Then out came the projector and the porn films I've already mentioned. So we kind of lazed around watching them for a while, until Jayne turned up.
I don't think she and I did anything new - snogging, going down, fisting, comparison of post-delivery vagina experiences (sorry, guys, but you can never escape gynaecological discussion entirely).
Then they decided to use the handcuffs and anklecuffs on me, as I mentioned before. Travelodge beds aren't really geared up for the bondage experience, it seems to me. Perhaps I should mention that in a customer satisfaction questionnaire?
I don't think any of the three of us took the bondage stuff very seriously. I certainly giggled throughout. But I'm guessing the next time the kit comes out, he'll take it more seriously. I have this feeling that I am being educated very gently and they think I don't know.
The two of them went to work on me while I was trussed up, but I didn't come a second time until after I had told them one of my favourite dirty fantasies and then Ray carried it on until my grand finale.
Although I very much enjoy writing my stories, I'm not very good at telling them (but, then, I'm hopeless at any vocalisation during sex). I feel slightly stupid at outlining the plot, because all my stories do have proper plots, whereas fantasy telling usually just involves focusing on describing dirty actions. Sort of like macro-photography versus a normal photograph, if you know what I mean.
I think I need to train myself to listen to the sound of my own voice during sex, so that I can actually start to use it. Perhaps the first step will be to record some of my stories onto CD and listen to them while I'm masturbating. And maybe I could play them when we meet up, as an accompaniment to the projected (but silent) porn - far better than listening to the radio.
Anyway, all in all, a fun afternoon. Not sure yet whether my purity score has dropped any more, so I'll just pop over and check...
Can't resist posting this. Hope I don't offend too many readers. But it just had to be shared.
Two Muslim mothers are sitting in the cafe, chatting over a pint of goat's milk. The older of the mums pulls out her bag and starts flipping through pictures and reminiscing.
"This is my oldest son, Mohammed. He would be 24 now".
The other mum replies, "I remember him as a baby."
Mum says, "He's a martyr now."
"Oh, so sad my dear."
Mum flips to another picture. "And this is my second son, Kalid. he would be 21."
"Oh I remember him. He had such curly hair when he was born."
Mum sighs, "He's a martyr, too."
"Oh gracious me ," says the second mother.
"And this is my third son. My beautiful Ahmed! He would be 18". Mum whispers.
"Yes," says her friend enthusiastically, "I remember when he first started school."
"He's a martyr also", Mum says, with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photos and says...........
My concentration level is totally crap. This is true in general - I can be halfway through writing the address on an envelope, only to break off and empty the rubbish bin. It explains why so little ever gets achieved in our household.
But it also seems to apply to sex. Ray has pointed out that I am completely unable to concentrate even on my own sexual pleasure for more than a few milliseconds. And he's right.
He very kindly brought along a projector and some 3 minute porn shots that he had edited for our viewing pleasure - set it up so we had a big screen on the wall and everything (I asked where the pop corn was, but apparently he forgot that).
Half way through one, while the three of us are entwined on the bed doing naughty things, I pointed out to Jayne that the woman's eyeshadow and nail polish exactly matched thebedding (trust me, that's major observation for me). When Ray sighed in exasperation, we brought our attention back to the task in hand.
A few minutes later, while we were engaged doing other naughty things, I glanced over at the film showing on the wall. "Why is there a bike propped up at the window?" I asked, before being quelled by a look from Ray.
"Any chance you might want to focus on having an orgasm, M?" he asked. (see, I told you guys I didn't try too hard!)
So then he got out all sorts of bondage stuff and tied me up. Though I refused the ball gag, as I knew this would make me claustraphobic. The idea was, he and Jayne would have their wicked way with me and I wouldn't be able to escape.
Though, as it happens, I'm obviously too nimble-fingered for them. I did manage a couple of hand escapes, till Ray had the bright idea of cuffing my hands behind my back rather than above my head. Dammit.
I did get a blindfold and a pair of extremely effective headphones (through which they kindly played some music, so I had my own personal disco).
Eventually, after much squirming on my part, he lifted the headphones up. "You need to give us feedback, M, or we won't know what works." "But I can't!" I complained, all trussed up.
"M, there is no gag in your mouth. You just have to speak."
Ahhhh, good point. I don't know about anyone else, though, but I find it very difficult to talk when I'm having sex - the idea of saying "up a bit, left a bit, harder, faster, gentler" etc seems quite foreign.
Anyway, they have definitely found out my guilty secret. For the second time, Ray made me come by telling me a very dirty story. And for the second time it was about a dog.
I can remember when I were nowt but a bonny lass and I always wore a petticoat under a skirt (mind you, this could be because my parents were too tight to have the heating on for 9 months of the year).
Can't remember when I last wore one.
It only came to mind because I caught a few minutes of The Graduate on TV this evening, and I thought Mrs Robinson looked pretty hot in her little black petticoat.....
The other day, my latest purchase arrived. It's called a Hitachi Magic Wand, as recommended by sex therapists the world over.
Obviously, it can be used in the way demonstrated in the picture accompanying this post.
However, it is a lot more fun to place it over your naughty bits and set it to high power. Madrigyl and husband were quite surprised when I demonstrated the position over the breakfast table the other day
All I can say is, forget your battery powered toys....mains electricity is the way to go!
3. WHY DOES IT TAKE 1 MILLION SPERM TO FERTILIZE ONE EGG?
(they don't stop to ask directions)
4. WHY DO MEN SNORE WHEN THEY LIE ON THEIR BACKS?
(because their balls fall over their butt-hole and they vapor lock)
(You're laughing aren't you?!?!)
5. WHY WERE MEN GIVEN LARGER BRAINS THAN DOGS?
(so they won't hump women's legs at cocktail parties)
6. WHY DID GOD MAKE MEN BEFORE WOMEN?
(you need a rough draft before you make a final copy)
7. HOW MANY MEN DOES IT TAKE TO PUT A TOILET SEAT DOWN?
(don't know.....it never happened)
( C'mon guys, we laugh at your blonde jokes!)
And the personal favorite:
8. WHY DID GOD PUT MEN ON EARTH?
(because a vibrator can't mow the lawn)
Remember, if you haven't got a smile on your face and laughter in your heart...Then you are just an old sour fart !
One for the ladies
One day my housework-challenged husband decided to wash his Sweat-shirt.
Seconds after he stepped into the laundry room, he shouted to me, "What setting do I use on the washing machine?"
"It depends," I replied. "What does it say on your shirt?"
He yelled back, "University of Oklahoma."
And they say blondes are dumb...
-----------------------------------------------
A couple is lying in bed. The man says, "I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world."
The woman replies, "I'll miss you..." -----------------------------------------------------------
"It's just too hot to wear clothes today," Jack says as he steps out of the shower, "honey, what do you think the neighbors would think if I mowed the lawn like this?"
"Probably that I married you for your money," she replies. -----------------------------------------------
Q: What do you call an intelligent, good looking, sensitive man?
A: A rumour -----------------------------------------------------------
Dear Lord,
I pray for Wisdom to understand my man; Love to forgive him; And Patience for his moods. Because, Lord, if I pray for Strength, I'll beat him to death.
Tomorrow is a big day here - my 6 year old has finally decided he wants some Godparents, and so is being christened. At the same time, it is a celebration of the 50 year anniversary since my parents moved here and my Dad became organist and choirmaster at the Church the christening is being held in.
After much political wrangling (which I tried not to be involved in, but failed to escape completely), both events are happening on the same day - which everyone except the woman organising the choir reunion thinks is a great idea. She, on the other hand, feels her thunder has been stolen, or something.
Some people are determined not to be happy, it seems.
Anyway, tomorrow is the christening, and two of our visitors are friends from France, who have decided to take advantage of the huge savings offered by 24 hour returns on the ferry. Their crossing tomorrow is costing only 20€ return, which is fabulous.
On the downside, they will arrive at our house at approximately 4am.
I therefore offered for them to sleep in my bedroom downstairs when they arrived, and I would sleep upstairs with the boys.
Only trouble was, I almost forgot about this - it was only a chance comment from my Dad before he went to bed about another French friend that reminded me.
Good job too, otherwise they would have sunk into bed at 4am only to find it already occupied by me!
A few minutes ago, I logged on and a handle I wasn't expecting to see was about third from the top of my recent visitors listing.
I went off and read some blogs etc. When I came back 20 minutes later, the handle had completely disappeared. It is nowhere in the first page of the listings (which goes back to something like 11 September). Trust me, I have checked and checked again.
It is as though it is only visible when they are physically on my blog, but disappears when they leave, leaving no trace that they have been there. The person involved works in IT, so it could be some form of IT black magic...
How on earth can they do that? Jay? Arti? Anyone else got the secret?
) ...
