This Blog Has No Title...

Just words and a tune...

The revolving door that seems to have taken the place of my heart is at it again.

I adore Ace- I truly do. I'd drop everything at his insistence that he needs, wants, and misses me. My brain tells me he does- a catch in his voice when we phone says he does. I miss him badly- my heart is missing a huge part of it because we're apart.

Yet, I still carry on flirting with other people. Am I self destructive? Or does part of my brain already know something and won't let the rest of me in on it?

I've been phone flirting with a friend of mine from before (before being before marriage) for about a week now... through txt messages mostly, and a little bit of myspace messaging. This makes Krysta happy. It's fun to have an odd little text waiting for you... and not knowing if it's gonna make you blush or not when you're reading it.

How did people communicate before texting and messaging and phones? I can be ever so much bolder in a text than I can in a face to face conversation. I can say so much more in a little message than I can sitting across a table from someone.

________

"Get on the bed, damn you!" He growls this almost under his breath as I try to slow my beating heart. I slowly get to my feet and move over to the bed in the corner, resting my head against the pile of pillows at the top of the bed.

We'd been watching Spaceballs with the commentary on as he played one of his MMORPGs. I was sporting nothing but a towel from my very hot shower (one fit to boil the skin off of a lobster, but I love them so), and that laid loosely in a pile on the floor now. He'd rubbed me almost to climax with his rough worker's hands and positioned himself between my legs to bring me over the edge. This was for my gratification, not my own, and I was so close. He pushed in and in and in until I felt my legs were about to split wide open there on the bed... and I couldn't feel anything but that warmth that was permeating my lower regions... and then sweet release came quick and hard. My skin shown with sweat, and his face strained with exertion as he felt me come. Once again, we were together, and all was well with the world.
_________

I love my life. If I ever say I don't, please smack me.


By the way, if anyone can name all the songs and artists that I have used this year for my blog titles and references, they get an e-cookie.

Queen of Bling, you can't play this game, because we live/eat/sleep/fuck/love together and you know me way too well.

Shot Through The Heart

And he's to blame!

Ace is free. No more doppelganger girlfriend. No significant other... free!

Notice that I am ecstatic.

I am coming to the realization that I may be in love with him... and that doesn't lessen my love for King or Queen. He's my best friend, and I went to him when I needed a shoulder to cry on.

Please, goddess, let him realize he's the best thing that's happened to me since my breakup...

Chelsea Hits a Chord...

Chelsea Girl of pretty dumb things writes today:

The bad girl.. She’s generally inappropriately dressed, or dressed incompletely. She’s the one in the upskirt shots, playing all faux-surprise flashy-flashy with her panties or her naked nethers with the paparazzi. She might be the one who is admitting some truth a bit too titillating to be wholly healy to Oprah, or whomever. She poses in the nude. She admits to doing drugs. She steals other women’s boyfriends or husbands. She steals other women. She is not above neither saying “fuck” nor doing it. Gleefully.

She’s Lindsay Lohan. She’s not Mandy Moore. She’s Angelina Jolie. She is not Reese Witherspoon. She’s the old drinking short-short wearing Madonna. She is not the new world-hugging, duty-free accented, garden-mummy Madonna.

Bad girls of the past include spy, dancer and prostitute Mata Hari; spy, playwright and nominal prostitute, Aphra Behn. Dorothy Parker was a bad girl. So was Jean Rhys. Mae West is probably the ultimate bad girl, the bad girl to whom other, lesser bad girls like Pamela Anderson, Ariana Huffington, Sarah Silverman and Jenna Jameson should kowtow, toast with their glasses of expensive champagne and name their pets after.

P!ink is a bad girl, and so is Paris Hilton, whom P!nk has joyfully skewered in song and video. Bad girls can be smart as a dominatrix’ whip, and they can be dumb as a box of hair extensions. It’s not intelligence that makes the bad girl. It’s not something as simple as a lack of class or manners, either. Lauren Bacall is a bad girl, and the woman oozes class from every scotch and cigarette-soaked pore. Audrey Hepburn was not a bad girl; one could make a strong argument that Katherine Hepburn was. She’s on the fence, really. She was probably a reluctant bad girl. A really healthy, country-walking bad girl.

Bad girls are not without their contradictions. Being contradictory, actually, is one of the things that makes a bad girl bad.

The public imagination holds Marie Antoinette to be a bad girl. She wasn’t, really. She very much conformed to the culture at hand—she was even considered to be a bit of a prude by her contemporaries. However, she was queen, and anti-monarchists excoriated her for multiple fictive transgressions. She wasn’t a lesbian. She didn’t have multiple affairs—only one or two, which in the court of France was a positively puritan track to tread. She never said, “let them eat cake.” She didn’t play dairymaid to a stable of randy faux cowherds. In the light of a real bad girl, Marie Antoinette was a bit of a bore.

Being a bad girl is something that our culture has castigated women with, as much as we enjoy the bad girl. We love the bad girl. We crave them. We hold them close to ourselves, and we are use them to feel better about ourselves. Whether we’re comparing ourselves favorably with the hott mess that is Tara Reid or Britney Spears, or whether we’re identifying with the life struggles of Abby Lee or Elizabeth Wurtzel or Anna Nicole Smith.

We need the bad girls a lot more than we need the good ones. The good girls—the Katie Courics, the Doris Days, the Gwyneth Paltows, the Linda Evans, the—gasp—Anne Coulters—are just less necessary. They may be talented, they may be pretty, they may be smart, and they may even be inflammatory, but at the end of the day, they’re a bit tiresome. If a good girl reveals herself to be bad at the core, and perhaps just acting the bad girl, as Elizabeth Taylor did when she stole Eddie Fisher from Debbie Reynolds, she becomes infinitely more interesting (so too does the good girl. Debbie Reynolds gets a big blank check for bad-ass irony, and you really have to love the woman).

When a formerly bad girl goes good, like J-Lo in her recent matriarchal make-over with the zombie-esque Marc Anthony, it’s just tragic. Nothing’s worse than asking the entirety of pop culture to take an oath of oblivion and forget your bad-girl past. Plus, it’s mind-boggling why after treading the tortuous course of bad girldom any woman would choose the torturous course good girldom.

Because good girldom is, let’s face it, hard. It’s tough to say which path is harder: that of the good girl or that of the bad. I recognize the reductiveness of my argument here, for there are as many different paths of bad girldom as there are bad girls (George Eliot and Marilyn Mansfield were both bad girls, and they have little in common beside that trait), but there is only one way to be good.

Good is definitely straight and narrow. If you are good, you are monogamous. You probably have children, or adopt them if you can’t. You dress nicely. You comport yourself well. You keep yourself attractive, and you do what you need to do to conform to the cultural standard of attractiveness. You do your best to recycle. You don’t go too badly into debt. You tend not to have addictions, but if you do, you twelve-step and repent. You do not advocate radical points of view. You probably think PETA is going too far. You are good. Good. Good. Good.

You are Rosaline Carter. You are Betty Ford. You are Lady-Bird Johnson. You are not Eleanor Roosevelt. You are not Mary Todd.

There are girls who elide, escape, evade the boundaries. They play in the dark like cultural ninjas. Hillary Clinton? Good girl or bad? Charlize Theron? Good girl or bad? Virginia Woolf? Good girl or bad?

And clearly no small part of the problem is our incessant will to categorize women. We don’t put men in the same categories. A bad boy is charming. He is just being naughty. He doesn’t decimate the culture at large with his badness. No senator’s wife will ever call for Colin Farrell’s death as one famously did for Britney during her husband's 2004 campaign. A bad man is very bad indeed, but a man has to be really bad to be called “bad.” Idi Amin was bad. Mussolini. Hitler. Bad, bad men.

We women get very little cultural latitude. It’s really no small wonder, then, why so many of us now are venerating the bad girl, perhaps more than ever. It’s really pretty overdetermined to be a good girl. You have to be so much to so many; you kind of have to wonder when you get to be what you want to yourself. Good girls are allowed to like sex now, and that’s a new phenomena. However, they still have to like it only in certain prescribed regulated ways. Girls still wonder how many sex partners are too many, as if there’s a golden number and past that you are forever emblazoned with a big baroque “S” for “slut.”

Good girls can work. They can suffer life’s slings and arrows. They can emerge, maybe beaten slightly, but still smiling and they are still good (see Berry, Halley and Aniston, Jennifer). Good girls can divorce (see Garner, Jennifer), have children out of wedlock (see Flockhart, Calista), and be lesbians (see Bono, Chastity). Good girls seem to have a lot more leniency than they used to.

And yet, perhaps not. It might be that even in the third wave of feminism the old adage remains true: Good Girls Go to Heaven, but Bad Girls Go Everywhere. If you want real movement in this culture; if you want to be able to kick up your heels and enjoy your life on your own terms; if you want to speak your mind, good, bad or ugly; you’re gonna be a bad girl. Or you’re just going to look at them wistfully, wishing that you too had those invisible balls that makes all things—from the nadir of the upskirt to the apogee of art—possible.

What can I say that she didn't? I loved this post, and felt the need to share it with those who may not know of Chelsea and her greatness. I only wish I could write half as well as she does.

Time To Play The Game

And I don't mean Triple H (though I'd play him, too).

The Game is something I invented today to amuse myself at work. It simply consists of my privately assessing most of the adult males that I come in contact with as to whether they'd be a hard or soft fuck.

It's interesting to look at customer or co-worker and think to yourself, "What kind of a man is he in bed?" Some people just exude hard fuckability. Your bikers, mechanics, and athletes- most of them look like they'd enjoy grinding you into dust on their bed. Then you get the soft lays- the ones that send out that gentle vibe that usually reminds me of Angel from Rent.

Every now and again you get surprised. Some of those tough guys, once you talk to them, seem like they'd be the romantic softie type. And some of these geeky boys that I love to look at so much, once they speak, make me practically want to scream, "Take me to your house now and make me turn to mush!"

Amazingly enough, most of our techs seem to fall into the soft lay category. They all seem buff and tough, but once you watch the care they take with another person's property, you know that they'd treat you like a queen between the sheets....

Don't Let Me Be misunderstood

I decided, after thinking for a while, that the recent infiltration of my blog by undesirable people will NOT stop me from posting. I'm screening comments now, and that's an unfortunate thing. Ah well, what has to be done will be.

I was browsing other blogs yesterday and I ran across this wonderful entry over at AlwaysArousedGirl's blog, and I wanted to address the same issue over here.

I love being a girl, and I love having hott passionate sex with members of the opposite sex. I love having a big hard cock shoved deep inside me, driving me to insane amounts of pleasure. There's not another feeling like it in the world. Don't misunderstand me, I love sex with my girlfriend, and she's amazing at it (and so am I, she tells me.)

But one of my fantasies, just like AAG's, is having a cock of my own. I guess it the fact that I don't KNOW what it feels like for a man. I have the kind of personality where I have to KNOW everything about everything. I have to be able to tell you what the opening match of WrestleMania 1 was (Tito Santana vs The Exectutioner), or who played what role in what movie.

Not knowing things bothers me. Not knowing what an orgasm feels like for a guy bothers me. I mean, I can read the signs on him as to what it feels like, but I'll never experience it. And that bothers me.

Plus, if I had a cock of my own, being a bisexual girl would be ever so much more fun! No need of a strap on then! Just get hard and go! I'd need to wear skirts even more then, though, because I know I'd walk around with a constant hard-on.

My Imaginary Cock would be just about six inches long, and thick. Just thick enough that I'd know it's there all the time. Not too thick- I'd want someone to be able to suck it. I'm not talking salami here. Maybe a nice thick pepperoni, though. (giggle) It'd be softskinned, and easy on the hands. I've had my hand on at least one poor abused cock in my time, and it didn't feel that good. So definitely softskinned, but with those big veins that stick up just a bit to show you where they are. The head of My Imaginary Cock would be fat and sensitive, and just a little bit bigger than the rest of it. And I'd be uncircumcised, too. Ace is uncircumcised, and he's (as I've stated before) one of the best people I've ever had between the sheets. Or on top of the sheets... or without any sheets at all.

That's My Imaginary Cock. I'd hope to be as skilled with it as King is with his own- and I'd hope to be able to make Queen squeal just like he does. I'd just hope that I'd never embarrass myself with it.

*cluck*

Looking For Trade

Well, it's been an eventful day in the relationship category.

I agreed to go out on a date with a co-worker this coming Friday night. We've barely passed three conversations, and it took me by surprise. Had I thought about it, I'd probably said no on general principle of me not really being ready to get back on a dating scene, especially not in a town like this one. But my mouth works faster than my brain, and I couldn't take it back after I'd said it.


I also got the news that the ex and his whore had their precious ball of slime today. It threw me for a loop, but I should be okay. Here's hoping my papers get to me on time, or else there's gone be hell to pay. I'll make a scene like you wouldn't believe.

After I got the news, I got kind of depressed and called Joker in Newport. He brought me back up, and dropped a bomb of his own on me. It looks like I'm never going to get to satisfy my curiosity of knowing what he's like in bed- he's gotten serious with his girl. Ah well, you can't have them all.

Hanging up with him, I called Ace. Ace proceeded to tell me that his girl has been urging him to sleep with me. I don't know how I feel about that, but hey, if I can get a piece of him again, I'll go for it. He'll always be without a doubt my number one hey in my heart. I know that I can fall in love with him instantly, and that's power he wields over me like a club (albeit unknowingly). I knew that when I showed up on his doorstep nearly a year ago, I was starting something irrevocable.

Flashback: Two (or is it three?) years ago... In Ace's jeep, in Beaufort. Driving back from somewhere to our duplex- where he, I , the husband, and another friend stayed.


Conversation had gotten melodramatic, turning to his situation with his then-freshly left ex. He was depressed and sad, and I couldn't stand to see my best male friend (strike that, my best friend) in such pain. I was driving for some reason, and I turned to him and looked him straight in the eye as we were parked at a stop light.

"If anything happens between **** and me, you know it's you I'm going to go to, right?"

He stared at me from his hazel eyes (so much like my own) and was for once in his life, speechless. He nodded and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I think we'd have been great together, Ace."

"You're right."

Conversation turned to another subject and we let that lie for a long time.

Then comes the destruction of my marriage and life as I knew it. I got in my car the morning after it happened and told the car to take me where I belonged. I don't remember driving to his apartment, but I must have, for 5 minutes later, I was standing on his porch in the rain, banging on the door to be let in.

In conversation we had earlier, he told me that he knew at the moment I'd said what I did in his Jeep, that we'd end up sleeping together, and he was right. We did sleep together for nearly three months with no formalized relationship. It was a comfort to me to know he was there beside me. He also said that I was the best blow job he's ever had, and he finds it hard to believe that King claims I've gotten better. I told him that our sex had been good for me, and he said that it had been excellent for him. He also stated that he plans to come up here next week for a few days- and there's only one place in this house for him to sleep- next to me!

So I'll keep you posted...

I plan to cry on Mister's shoulder tomorrow (if he comes in) about the ball of slime situation. I'll keep you posted on that too.

A Quick One Before He Goes...

Well.

Well, well, well.

I hear so many stories from the other two about their goings on before Queen has to go to work, that I decided to do the same favor for King today.

I'm still a little shaky as I type, so bear with me.

He'd teased me mercilessly last night as we watched Rent... and I do mean mercilessly. I'd been lounging on their bed, and he'd joined me. We'd made it through most of the movie, and we started goofing around as we do. I ended up sprawled out behind him, kind of wrapped around him as he sat up.

Quick as lightning, he turned and grabbed me, turning me so that I laid on my stomach and winding his fingers into my hair, pulling it back just a little.

"I know what you want," he murmured. He turned himself so that he was laying on my back, and moved just a little so I could feel his erectness through my too big pajama pants.

"You'd be right,' I murmured back, just waiting for it to happen. I've had a pretty stressful week, and the night before he'd help me relieve that a little bit, but I ended up falling asleep with my head beside him, and my arm resting on his chest. I was incredibly horny, and I wanted him.Badly. I knew I was already wet, and I just wanted him to wrap up and fuck the shit out of me. But he didn't. He rolled off me and smiled that crooked grin of his.

"You asshole!" I said in the way that I do to let someone know that I'm just playing with them, that I don't really mean my words as intended.

"No, this would be being an asshole." He rolled back onto me, pulled down my pants and stuck his cock in between my legs, which were trapped together by his own. "Doing it so you can feel it is being an asshole." He rolled off and pulled my pants back up. We finished Rent with no more playing around, and when Queen got home, she seemed exhausted. Even after her shower, which usually invigorates her just a little bit. King still got his though, and Queen enjoyed it, and I got to watch. Just watch, which is unusual for me. I'm still breaking down a few of my barriers, I guess. I used not to be comfy with just watching, but this time I didn't even feel the need to run from the room and leave them in private. Good for me.

When they were done, we kinda played around a bit, torturing Queen and not letting her get to sleep, but finally I found my legs and made my way to my room, turning off their light for them as I left. I started an old vintage porn I'd found on limewire and got off before I rolled over and went to sleep.

That leads to today.

I was in a lazy mood today, which for me means as little clothing as possible. I didn't want to be bothered by the feel of cloth constraining me. Just a shirt so I can walk in front of the windows with little to no worry. It's a long shirt, and I've become quite the admirer of my own legs ( at least from the knees down, still working on the thunderthighs!). Plus, if I had my way, I'd be a nudist in the first place. Not because I particularly like seeing myself nude, but because it just frees up so much worry. Skin is skin.

Anyway.

King and Queen went out to lunch together and I took a nap. I heard King come back in and heard Queen leave for her mom's store to spend the day with her. That left me and King here alone.

Time passed. I'd surfed the net all day, watched an episode of MST3K, and played Fish Tycoon for a while, and still time dragged on. Finally I walked out into the main part of the house and whined, "I'm booooooored."

He was bored too.

He put a movie in the dvd player (Hot Shots) and I made some food for myself. After it was over, he stretched out on the floor. Here's my chance, I thought, and settled myself on to the floor next to him.

"I guess I can take a thirty minute nap before work," King said. "Unless you can think of something better to do." His pants were already unbuttoned, because they're just a little too tight, so I started playing around with his zipper, and letting my hand wander near his penis.

"Those're my pants."

"I know." Slowly I worked my hand into those pants, and found what I was looking for. Pulling it out, I commented, "Those pants are in my way."

"Then by all means," he said, moving so I could remove them. "I'm all naked."

"Yeah, you are." My hand was rubbing over him gently, and I moved to take him into my mouth. Mmmm, he said. Slowly, I moved up and down on him, taking my time and enjoying myself. I knew he was enjoying himself too, because he reached over and started to play with my already wet clit. "You're getting better at that," said he as he ran his hand up and down me. "Lots of practice," I replied, taking a moment to pause for air. "Feel freee to practice on me any time you want." "But I I did that, you'd never get to work." That's true." I tried to go back to what I had been doing to him but unfortunately for me, my hair kept getting in the way of having full enjoyment of what I was doing, so I said, "Don't move." I went to my room and quickly found a hair tie. I walked back into the living room, looked at him all sprawled out on the floor, and said," Why don't we move this in there?" I pointed to their room, and added, "Rug burn sucks." He agreed, and sprawled out on the bed.

"Where was I?" I took him back in hand and leaned down a little.

"Somewhre about there."

'I think I was a little closer to this," I said, wrapping my lips back around him. He moaned a little. He doesn't moan.

As I lifted my head back up to get my breath, he looked at me and said, "I think I teased you yesterday." I nodded, saying,"Yes, you did..." I turned over onto my back. He positioned himself in between my legs and wrapped himself up. I lifted myself a little so that he could enter me, and...oh, words fail me at time to describe what happens when he fucks me. I lose all sense of what's going on. I used to be quiet in bed, but no more. Now he makes me moan and yell, and whisper and sigh. King is very good at what he does.

He pushed my legs together after he'd made me come once, and put his hand around my neck, thrusting deep and hard, applying just the right amount of pressure on my neck to make me come again, then I felt him go right after.

So, for once, it got to be me sending someone off to work in a good mood...

Interesting little tidbit.

ConglomoMart now sells cock rings. That's right, cock rings.

I can't believe it. I saw them the other day in the condom aisle and nearly died in gales of laughter. How are we getting away with this? How has the religious right not gotten wind of this and not tried to shut us down?

It's just too great. They're made by durex, my preferred brand of condom, and they're just a vibrating ring that slips on over the condom, and they're like 5 bucks. Isn't that cheap for a thrill?

Now... do I buy one?

Dian's got a dick on his head!!!!

Can someone PLEASE explain this to me?

Chin dick.

I don't freaking get it.


(Points to those who get the reference.)

Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2.

I can't stop thinking about Hot Boss, who from now on shall be called Mister (mostly because that's easier for me to think and type). Tensions are at an all time high, and I can't do anything about it! It's driving me mad. My only relief from it is these blog entries, in which I release everything my sordid mind thinks up during the days and nights.

I want him so badly I can taste it. It drives me mad that I can't have him, which in turn makes my fantasies that much wilder. So I impart to you, loyal readers, my Fantasy of Dirt and Oil, one that began so many months ago at our old store and shall continue to grow here in the new one....

It's closing time for our department and it's only Mister and I left. All the technicians have gone home and I'm closing down the computers and putting up the day's paperwork. He's still out in the shop, cleaning up the messes that the boys didn't think important enough to finish. As the manager, he feels it's his duty to leave the shop in pristine condition for the next morning's open. I stare out the window at him as he sweeps and looks incredibly wistful. He turns suddenly and notices me standing there. My face flames crimson, for I was wearing the same expression that his had been.

We both had our problems, this handsome man and I. Our problems were similar, and we could talk together without worrying that the other wouldn't understand. It was one of the reasons I'd been so eager to get back to this department after I'd been transferred back to the front. Others could claim they understood, but the didn't- not really. The profound sadness in his eyes as he leaned upon the broom gazing at me wrenched my heart. I could feel it rend as I stared back at him.

Laying the broom aside, he walked quietly to the door that led back in from the shop and leaned his head in, beckoning me to join him out there. Gladly, I went.

“It's terrible, isn't it, the mess they leave this place in? There's no respect there at all,” he spoke bitterly, handing me a broom to help with the sweeping. Taking it, I nodded. I had made it a point until now not to get caught alone with him, because I didn't trust myself not to spill out the innermost desires of my heart and body to him. The last thing I wanted was for him to know...

“Krysta...” His soulful brown eyes stared into mine.

“Yes?”

“You missed a spot.” He laughed a soft laugh, and dutifully I swept the last of the dirt into the little pile we'd made. “It's amazing, isn't it?”

“What is/” I leaned upon my broom, hands crossed over the handle.

“That we should be standing here now, together and alone. Alone in more ways than one. You and I, we're the same. You've got your divorce, I've got mine. Your heart breaks a little every day- I can hear it in your voice. Is it ever going to stop hurting?” Anger tinged his voice as the conversation took this turn, one which we both had avoided while there were others around. “Can a broken heart ever completely heal?”

I shook my head, and my hair floated around a bit before coming back to settle on my shoulders. “I don't think so. But it can beat again for someone anew.”

“And then that person takes your heart and wrenches it, too. The pain of relationships sometimes seems... not worth the struggle.” He laid his broom aside, and I followed suit. Quickly, he changed the subject.

“Let's go check the pit. I know they didn't clean that right. They never do.” Leading me down the stairs, he continued talking. “One of these days, one of the guys is going to slip and fall and break something on these steps. Please be careful. I don't want anything else of yours broken.” I could hear a smile in his voice.

“Nor do I, boss.” Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I could see that he was right- only a rudimentary cleaning had been done. No attempt to hose the oil off the floors or the catwalks had been made. Dirt clung to everything. Mister caught my shock and dismay out of the tail of his eye.

“Disgusting, isn't it? I should write each and every one of them up for leaving this place like this...” As he spoke, I was venturing a little deeper into the pit. I'd never been down here and was fascinated by the equipment and the utter filth... and then I slipped. My feet went right out from under me, and I fell.

My head cracked hard on the concrete floor, enough to make spots dance in front of my eyes and tears of pain flow down my cheeks. In a flash, Mister was right beside me, cradling me in his arms, supporting my neck, and checking me over to see if anything was broken. “Oh, my god, Krysta, are you all right? Can you hear me?” I nodded. As I did so, he began to check me over for injuries. Then he did something unexpected- he leaned down and kissed me.

Taken aback, yet not willing to let this moment slip by, I leaned into his kiss. His arms went around my shoulders and brought me close, practically crushing me against his lean form. He was amazingly strong for such a small man, and I felt my own arms encircle him. My head stopped throbbing as our kiss deepened, but then I noticed that the throb had only relocated itself further down my body. I could feel his heart beat against his chest as he sank down beside me there on the floor, letting go of me.

“I didn't mean to do that...” He helped me sit up.

“It doesn't matter. No one will ever have to know. I certainly won't tell anyone.” I drew my legs up and circled them with my arms.

“Your clothes are ruined.” Apology was in his eyes and voice.

“They're just clothes/ Easily replaceable.” I turned towards him, smiling. “How long has it been for you?”

“Too long.” He reached out for me again, cupping my shoulders in his hands. “But, we can't...”

“I said, no one will have to know.”

“Then you're saying...”

“I'm answering an unspoken question. The one that's in your eyes whenever you look at me. The one that's in your voice whenever you speak to me. And the answer is yes.” I leaned forward on that filthy floor and I kissed him full on the mouth, allowing him once again to crush me to him. Our fingers worked at the buttons on each other's shirts until we were free of restricting cloth, and they were being used to pillow my injured head against the hardness of the floor. My fingers dug at unyielding leather, his dug at resisting cotton.

Finally, we were free of constraining garments and our fingers found soft, warm flesh. He pressed against me, and slowly I opened for him. I felt his hardness hover at the entrance of me for just a moment, then he pushed against it and he was there, inside me. I felt every move he made as he twisted my body to do his will. His face was buried against my neck. My hands found his back and I clutched as the pure force of his thrusts drove me over the precipice of my climax. His groans were only matched by my breathy squeals. I brought my mouth to his ear and whispered. “Harder, please.”

Gladly did he oblige my request, sending me again into throes of ecstasy. He shoved himself up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him in as deeply as he could go. He moaned and shuddered as he came inside me.

Exhausted, he rolled to the floor beside me, reaching out to turn my face towards his own.

'Tell me you enjoyed that.” A smile played upon his full lips as his breathing slowed to a normal pace. I nodded, unable to speak.

After a few moments, we were able to make ourselves presentable. He held out his hand to help me up off the floor. Grateful, I accepted it. My head had taken the opportunity to start ringing again, and I winced.

“You cracked your head pretty badly, didn't you?” I nodded a little. “You might have a concussion...”

'I doubt that. Not after...” I gestured to the floor.

“Still, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be left alone right now. Tell you what... I'll go clock out, and you can follow me a few minutes later... meet me in the parking lot.” We headed up the stairs, and I allowed him his head start.

A few minutes later, I joined him in the parking lot of the store, where he was talking on his cell.

“...for one, that's right. Thanks. I'll be there shortly. Goodnight.” Turning to me, he hurriedly explained his plan. I was to meet him at one of the local hotels, one that was many miles away from the store and where we had little chance of being discovered. I nodded, and walked to my car. What was I doing? Was I really going through with this?

Yes, yes I was. I had let it start, and I needed to see it through to it's end, no matter how it ended...*

*I would like to take this opportunity to remind all my loyal readers that the work contained herein is fiction, created by a sex-crazed mind, and any resemblence to actual persona is completely incosequential and doesn't mean a damned thing. Thank you!!!!

Confusion Cleared Up.

So, many of the candidates that I mentioned are now clear and out of the running in the fierce combat for my heart.

Xavier shall be mentioned no more, for he decided that I wasn't worth his time or something like that. It's long and complicated, and I don't feel like getting into it.

Ace and the other friend from Newport can be written off on account of distance and the fact that they're taken. Ah well, c'est la vie.

The co-worker, I'm not even going to attempt to touch. Harmless flirting is fine, but I would never break up a marriage, no matter how unstable it is anyway.

Hot Boss is, and will remain tops on my "I want to fuck you!!!!!!" list, but as I've stated before, I'm not going to pursue that anywhere but in my fantasies and in my dreams.

So, that really leaves just Queen and King right now. At least for the tangible real world at least. I can always reach out and touch them, can't I?

Land of Confusion... or

Tempted by thr Fruit of Another.

Those two song titles seem to apply best to my brainwaves at the moment.

Here's the thing:

Divorce countdown is pulling into the last month- I'm soon to be a free woman again- as free as I ever am, anyway.

I've been in deep conversation and webcam sessions with my dear dear friend "Xavier" from Florida, but my mind's been wandering away for the last couple of days. I care deeply for him- I really do, but the fact of the matter is we've never met in person and my heart won't let me become as attached to a voice on a phone as I want it to be. Hopefully that'll all change after he comes for a visit (which always seems to be impending but never here).

Then there's a friend of mine from Newport that just recently broke up with his girl- whom I also care deeply for. Very deeply- he's the best girlfriend a girl could ask for (and now Queen knows who I'm talking about. I've not even let her in on half of this, so reading this will be a shock for her, I think). But I'm not in Newport now and I can't get him out of the fringes of my mind.

Then there's Ace, whom I also left behind in Newport, and who I could fall for instantly whenever he walks in a room I'm occupying. It happens every time, and I can't help it. Him I know I stand no chance with, and that hurts a lot.

There's also Hot Boss, the subject of much daydreams and many late night fantasy sessions- his is the sexual tension of being unattainable and still right there in my face at least once a month.

Now there's YET ANOTHER ELEMENT to what seems to be the revolving door of my libido. One of my techs at work has been heavily flirtacious with me lately- I've only made passing mention of him to Queen and Xavier, but it's been pretty obvious ever since Inventory Day that he's interested in me... sexually. Here's the rub: married, albeit somewhat unhappily, with FOUR little girls, the oldest being seven, the youngest being three months. That means she was born just before I moved here to great big old Greenville. Married to me means off limits, no questions asked. But still... a girl can fantasize, can't she?

Ah, thank the gods for the one fixed star in my whirling galaxy of relationships: My Queen. I don't think I could survive the days if it weren't for her and King.

Settled in... and hott.

So, we're settled in now, and I'm more or less used to things. King, Queen, and I have settled into routine, and the new ConglomoMart is seemingly devoid of anyone even remotely good looking (with the one exception of me! That's a joke.) A lot of this is gone be recap and repeat of some things that I've already said, so please bear with me.


Hot Boss ended up at my store. He's not there all the time, but he's there enough that I know it. As I've stated before, I go all weak kneed when I see him- mostly because I know that he's even more unattainable now that he was in the old store, being higher up on the Congolomo foodchain.

One day last week, he called me into the little office that the support manager uses for his paper work. I was immediately on guard- I know that he knows that I know how I feel, and a little part of me hopes that he reciprocates. Even though I know it's useless to hope for it, because of our positions in life.

Anyway-

Hot Boss called me into the office, setting my heart off into that pitapat motion that denotes a soon to follow tingle in my legs and other parts. I went in and he closed the door behind me...

Then he grabs me by my shoulders and roughly pushes me against the door. "This is what you want, isn't it, Krysta?" His hands move from my shoulders to cup my face and my breast. "You know, I've always thought you were quite desirable. I was hoping to be able to get away from you when I left Morehead, but you followed me, torturing me with you very presence and the knowledge of knowing I could never have you." his hands rustle the fabric of my shirt.. and my breathing starts coming in waves of heat and confusion. I want this, I do, but I also know that discovery in this position would cost us both of our jobs. Ours was a forbidden desire. But just the very forbiddingness of it makes me sweat and shiver. I want this, I truly do. Slowly, oh so slowly, he leans in towards me, pushing his body up next to mine and pinning me hopelessly against the dirty door. I feel him so very close to me, and I can feel his hardness stretching his work pants and straining to get to me, in me. He brings his face up close to my neck and I can feel the stubble from his shave brush my cheek. He runs his finger along the lines of my neck and face and leans down to touch his forehead to mine. "I'm going to have you. No use fighting it. Even if it costs us both our jobs, I'm going to finish this." He moves away from me and I shiver involuntarily. Was this encounter worth losing everything I had? "Yes...," I breathed. It was worth it. After months and months of innuendo and concealed glances, and a rather embarrassing incident where one of my favorite skirts got ripped, the mounting tensions would break and we'd give into the fleshly desires of man and woman. Did I love him? No. Did I want him? YES. He began taking off his shirt and I saw there the chest hair that I'd only glimpsed before in Morehead. The gold chain that I'd seen there before after he'd unloaded a tire truck lay nestled against his skin like I wanted to be. Placing it and his tie together on the sole chair, he began to clear off the desk for me to sit. I tried to fumble my way out of my shirt, but he lightly slapped my hands away. "That's for me. Sit." He indicated the clear spot that he'd made and I did as commanded, moving wordlessly. I had no more control over my body or my own desires. He locked the door, and came to stand in front of me. My pentacle necklace hung pendulous in the air, and my hair cascaded down my shoulders as he undid his belt and placed that on his pile of clothing. How lucky of me that I'd worn one of my shorter skirts to work today. Moving towards me, his hands found my legs and pushed them apart, so that he could settle himself there. My hands came alive, and in one deft motion, unzipped his fly... revealing what I'd always wanted to see and more than one time had glimpsed the outline of as we worked alongside each other in the old store. I wrapped my hand around it's soft yet unyielding bulk and he groaned slightly... a groan that only encouraged me. Deftly, his hands found their way under my shirt at long last and cupped my breast through the bra that I wore, fingers tracing light circles around my nipples as they contracted and hardened beneath his skilled touch. I threw my head back with the shock of it all, and he brought his lips to my exposed throat. All words of protest flew out of my mind as he worked to shape me to his carnal desires. My hand grew frenzied on his throbbing shaft. His hands like spiders all over me. I wasn't even trying to mask my moans any more. Discovery flew from my brain as my body responded to all the things he was doing to it. I was clay in the hands of a master potter, I couldn't help but grab at his back and leave a long series of scratches there. He laid me back on the desk and pulled my hand from him. My eyes closed, wanting yet not wanting to know what was going to happen next. I heard the small crackle of his knees bending and then I felt his hot breath on my clit, followed quickly by the feeling of his well-versed tongue working my most private area. My hand found the close-cropped hair on top of his head and pulled him in deeper. As he drove me so close to the edge of my orgasm, he stopped, and stood back up. I dared not open my eyes... Then I felt him enter me.. and I came hard and fast right then. He drove into me at a frantic pace, my orgasm drawing him in deeply and entirely. I could feel him stretching me to a proportion I'd never been before. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the one worth waiting for... the forbidden passion made me come again, and then I felt him shudder and fill me with the hot seed that was his and now mine. He collapsed shuddering on my exposed chest. His sweat felt cool against my hot skin. His breathing came fast and hard, then gradually slowed to a pace that seemed safe again. When he had the energy, he pushed himself up and off of me. Together, we put our clothing back on, and I tied his tie for him. He looked at me longingly... I looked at him with satisfied desire. Neither of us spoke. We knew that what we'd just done had endangered our jobs and our livelyhoods, but neither of us cared at that moment. All we knew was that passion and desire had been somewhat sated. Not fully sated... oh, no, that could never be done. But for now the tension was cut down to a minimum and we could look at each other without guilt and fear in our eyes....

"Krysta? Are you listening to me?" Hot Boss's eyes bore into mine, and he laid a hand on my shoulder. "I said I wanted to help you get a raise..."

And with those words I was jolted back into reality... Oh what a dream..

A Picture.

To demostrate the differences in the body sizes between Queen and I.

Sitiuational Update

Is situational a word? I don't know. If it's not, then it is now.


Anyway...

We're all settled into our new home in G-Vegas, and we're getting used to things. I'm working hard. Meeting the people of the town. Getting to know the locals, if you will. I am of course still at ConglomoMart, and Queen got a job at the local McJob to help with the bills and stuff. King's still looking, but we'll be all right. I've gotten a few looks from my co workers when i mention 'my roomate'. It's as if they know, even though i haven't told them. Let them know. I am fully open here. I don't have to hide anything.

Guess what else? Hot Boss is here too! I got to see him today. As per usual, my legs went all weak when I saw him. I missed him a lot during the time he wasn't around. That reminds me, my old department manager want me to kick his butt for not coming back... I might, or I might just try to cop a feel instead, like he did today. He missed me too, I could tell.

I have internet!

Three of a Kind shall return full force!

Be Back Soon with a full post!

Until then, enjoy this link to Eros Blog, and remember, I love you!

Greeter at MY CongolomoMart don't get to do that!

Decidely UnSexy

I haven't felt very sexy for the past week now... mostly becuase I've been sick. Turns out I had an abcessed wisdom tooth that had to be taken out with an emergency extraction. Had a good conversation with T R on Wednesday night after weeks of him missing me online or I missing him online.

THE MOVE is coming up shortly, so I won't be able to post as much as I'd like to for a few weeks. After August 3 or 4, I'll not even be online. At least not until the move is done.

Late HNT

Erosblog makes me snort.

Eros Blog always has a way to make me laugh. This week it's this particular post and accompanying pic:

It’s amazing the pictures that roam around on the internets. It turns out making things out of balloons can be more entertaining that we ever imagined:

Webcamming and other stuff.

Just a little observation here: Since when did owning a webcam make someone a slut? I mean, I have the cam so that people I chat with can see what I look like, to reassure themselves that I'm not some fifty year old pervert behind the anonymity of a computer screen.

I understand that when you enter a Yahoo!Chat room in the 'romance' section, certain things can be inferred. One thing is that you're looking to talk to some one about *gasp* sex. Another thing is that you're not afraid to talk about sex.

But it should never be inferred that you're a slut with a cam just for being in a room.

It's not nice.

There are parasites out there in the chatting community. They're like leeches, really. They scent blood and hang on for dear life see that little cam/mic icon next to your name and assume you're going to give them a free show. They always want to view you and if they have a cam they 'allow' you to view them, and expect you to show them more than you want too right away.

This scenario happened to me today when I went into Yahoo!Chat, just looking for someone to talk to. Maybe to advertise the old blog a little. But immediately I'm bombarded by "wanna see your cam", "let me see your bewbs", or "hey baby what's up".

And the bad thing is you can't shake these leeches off with a simple no.

They just keep messaging.

Sometimes you come across one particular person that strikes your fancy and you strike up conversation with him/her. That also happened today. Like my newfound chat-buddy t r. He's close enough to me that I could get to him if I wanted to, and he's interesting. Not to mention fun to talk to and cam with. He wasn't demanding... he didn't tell me to 'show me your bewbs, dood.'. He was kind and courteous and playful. And for that I'm thankful. Talking to a guy like him shows that there are still some decent men out there who aren't just looking for a show.

Thank the gods for people like him.

HNT

The Half Nekkid Thurday pic will be a little late this week.

As a small update, I'll briefly mention that Hot Boss has moved to Greenville's Conglomomart already and I'll have to continue to indulge in my Fantasy of Dirt and Oil without him.

Also, I'd like to point out that Queen got her own blog! Read her mind at A Little Bit Rock And Roll.

A Shared Moment

Tensions between Hot Boss and I are getting tighter and harder to handle the closer our respective transfers get. The good news: He's going to the same store I'm going to in August. The bad news: He's going to be even higher up ont the Conglomomart Chain of Command, so that makes him even more unattainable for me. I'll just have to deal with the stress of being strongly attracted to someone I can never have. It makes for a fun working environment, though- especially when I know he reciprocates the feelings towards me (even though they remain unspoken, except for the offhand comment or the refusal to move when I have to get an envelope that just happens to be at his crotch area level). So the saga of Hot Boss and I shall continue to intrigue and amaze here in the pages of Three Of A Kind!

The shared moment: It was late in the last part of our respective shifts, and we were both more than a little bit tired. It's a hectic week at Conglomomart with the Pepsi Americas Sail going on and 4th of July weekend and millitary pay weekend, and one person leaving early today. That meant it was just me and Hot Boss together all night long, not counting the boys in the bays. So he's rushing around trying to get things together, and I'm rushing around trying to sign people up, ring people out, cut keys, answer questions, and still keep calm and composed.

Finally a lull hits... it's just Hot Boss, Queen (who has come to pick me up from work), and me clustered around the computer trying to get a look at what we have in the system.

It's here that it strikes me to use my position with him to influence him a little. In my best begging voice, with my head cocked at the cute-little-schoolgirl angle and my skirt swishing around my ankles, I looked at him and said, "Can your last act in this store pleeeeeeaaaasssseeee be to grant me my two weeks vacation times?" Blink, blink, grin, swish swish.

Hot Boss blushes and turns his head away in the shy and awkward way of a nerd on prom night, and agrees. Hot blood rushed to his face and you could just see (or I could from my vantage point, anyway) that my swishing had done its trick. I had embarrassed him again- had him in the palm of my hand and he knew that I knew that he knew it.

I'll be honest- a lot of my day is spent fantasizing about pulling him down in the oil pit and ravishing him. I plan to write about that at a later date.

IceWater Veins

That's Ace's new nickname. This boy slept through a blowjob and a handjob.

HNT

My first entry in Half Nekkid Thursdays!

It's pretty dark, but it's still me naked!

I'm not the only geek out there!

A brief quotation from Chelsea Girl, a blogger over at Pretty Dumb Things (one of my favorite blogs, btw):

I have had a heart-to-heart with Britney Spears. I have sung drunkenly with Keith Richards. I have lazily twined daisies into the springy pubic hairs of the gameskeeper. I have fed from the blue fingertips of Dr. Hank McCoy. I have meditated long and hard on the carnal possibilities of Stretch Armstrong.

And now, I want to fuck Fred and George Weasley. Together.

I am a great big Harry Potter geek. I have read each book no fewer than four times, and some of them more like six or seven. When I am depressed, which has been often, though of late, rather amazingly, less and less so, I have soothed my fractured self with the calming balm of Hogwartian fantasy. I know the characters well. I have lived with them for endless, looping months at a time. I can tell you the quirks, the likes and dislikes, the relative merits, foibles and faults of them all.

And I love them, love the whole swarming herd, love Harry, love Dumbledore, love Hermione, love Lupin, love Sirius, love them, love them all.

But I don’t want to fuck any of them but the Weasley twins. (Actually, I would totally fuck Sirius. I just wouldn’t fuck Gary Oldman.)

I also have had many liasons with fictional characters- that's why I read in the tub.

A Short Entry...

One: My boss now knows that I'm bi. That was a fun little conversation.

Queen walked back to my department to show me her new underwear that she was buying (rainbow colored), but I was really busy and not able to pay her the attention she so rightfully deserves when she walks into an area. She usually antagonizes her supervisor at her job, but he's been strangly absent lately, and so she decided to torment mine.

Over the din of people, I heard, "Look at my cute new underwear!" And out of the corner of my eye I saw my boss turn a color that can only be described as fire-engine red and stutter out some reply about how nice they were or something like that.

That night we celebrated Queen's admission into ECU with the Orgazmo drinking game, accompanied by Commentary While Intoxicated starring Trey Parker.

She drank a little too much too fast.

She got sick.

It happens.

Next day my boss and I somehow brought the conversation around to the previous day's conversation between him and Queen, and he asked me how the underwear looked on her.

I felt the following words hit the floor as though they had physical form.

"They look bettter on the floor beside the bed."

THUNK.

I blush, and he gives me the all knowing OMG I KNEW IT look. So now he knows, and still flirts with me. Yesterday his skin brushed my arm and I nearly drenched myself. My hand accidently brushed his crotch and I did drench myself. I had to excuse myself to go clean up.

What am I gonna do when he's gone?


Two: Quote of the day. "I hope I get reincarnated as a siamese cat." Queen:"But that means you'll have to lick yourself clean." Me:"That's okay. You know I like licking pussy."

The Things I Find At ConglomoMart

I was perusing our Home Health Care section the other day and came across the ConAir Touch n' Tone Massager. My back and shoulders had been hurting lately, so I decided to go ahead and buy it. It was only ten bucks.

I brought it home and took it out of the box, and immediately my mind boggled at one of the attachments. It comes with six discs for different massages, but one of the attachments is this soft round point that can only be described as phallic in shape. I went into perv mode, and showed it to Queen- who completely agreed with me. After reading the instructions and making sure that there was no shock hazard or anything like that, I decided I wanted to try it as a sex toy for myself.

I wouldn't exactly call myself a connoisseur of sex toys, but I'm pretty well versed in their use- being single and sad will do that to a girl sometimes. My favorite toy that I own is my Sue Johansen Royal Majesty that I've nicknamed Viktor. He's seen me through some pretty difficult times, and if he were a real man, I'd monopolize all his time.

So I digress. I attached the 'accupressure' attachment to the ConAir- who I think I'll name Nick- and turned it on to it's low setting. It was quite pleasurable. Curiously, I switched it to high.

Wow.

It's not the mind blowing orgasms that King or Queen or even Ace have given me, but it was quite a feeling. I was shaky when I was finished, and just sort of dazed. Who knew that a personal massager from CongolomoMart could work so well?

Flirting Barrier, et al.

So I need to add a new part to my list of people I might want to do: my boss.

That's right, my boss.

Who totally broke the Flirting Barrier today.

I probably don't need to explain the flirting barrier, but I'm going to do it anyway.

The Flirting Barrier is that little area where you KNOW it's wrong to flirt with a person, either due to age or sexual orentation, or-as is my case- it's against ConglomoMart policy.

It all started yesterday, when I went to ConglomoMart to drop Queen off for work at FastFoodLand. We've been sharing a vehicle lately, and I decide to utilize some time to just shop, and enjoy myself for once. I ran into a coworker and we decided to walk around together for a while and scope out the guys (which is why I love living and working at the beach, because most guys here are topnotch and burnished bright brown). The conversation came around to which employees we thought were worth looking out. I, of course, stated that Ace is the best looking guy to me at the store- just like a faithful girl should. Because he is. He's the one guy at the store I want to FUCK my brains out. Not just have sex with me, but to FUCK me until I walk on legs made of jelly and I can't speak. I want him bad. That's a fact that goes without saying most of the time. After stating the obvious, my attention turned to other stockman and my friend Joker, and other people.

Then we take the turn into automotive- my department, where my hot boss is reclining in the office talking to one of the techs. I pick up something that I needed and my co-worker and I continue on our way. Conversation turns to said hot boss. Co-worker says that he's cute. I say, "He's kinda cute." giggle giggle

From behind me, I hear- "Thank you." HOT BOSS WAS RIGHT BEHIND US!!! He heard every word. I turn a furious blushing red and hurry on my way, thinking to myself, "Great! Now I'll never be able to face him at work again."

Today comes. 6-6-6. The end of the world. Also know as the day the Flirting Barrier was broken. It started innocently enough. Queen took me to work, we walked around for a few minutes. I did my daily worship of the Triple H picture over by electronics, and then clocked in for work.

It was sllllooowwwww back in the automotive department. So slow that Hot Boss sent one of the workers home early and some of the techs started complaining that they wanted to go home, too. I was standing maybe a foot away from Hot Boss, and joking with him and the techs when he grabbed this feather duster thing that I usually have attached to my hand (it's a quirk of mine, I can't stand dust) and thrust it in my face, tickling my neck and face with it. I'm extremely ticklish, so I giggled. The techs had by this time made their way back into the shop and Hot Boss and I were quite alone. He reaches out, lightning fast, and draws me close- and then gives me a noogie! I know how silly that sounds, but he at that point broke the Flirting Barrier that I'd set up so carefully. I'm not the kind of person that likes to be touched but by a few people. By touching me, he broke that comfort zone I had- and also bumped himself from kinda cute to totally hot. I felt that old familiar feeling that usually signals having to go to the bathroom to relieve a little stress. I repressed that, and twenty minutes later I was bursting at the seams to tell someone- so I called Queen and let her know.

So now a new facet has been added to the workplace. Me, Queen, Ace, and Hot Boss- all together under the same roof. Will the squishiness ever end?

One thing I have to say...

Listening to King and Queen go at it always turns me on. Always. They're at it right now, and I'm in here at my computer because I'm off limits at the moment... and one thing about Queen is she's never quiet when it comes to sex. I usually am, at least up until recently. I'm learning to be loud. God, I'm so hot... and I can't do anything about it... damn Mother Nature.

Anatomy of a Blowjob

If there's any one thing that I can pinpoint as the pinnacle of my sexual evolution, it's my ability to give a really good blowjob.

I've only just recently learned how to give exceptional head in the last year or so, and my first forays into this particularly tricky part of active sex lives were less than stellar. Accidental scrapings of teeth, a highly sensitive gag reflex, and the inability to breath were all road block on the highway of my sexual achievement.

I remember my initial reaction to being asked to "go down" on my guy at-the-time was, "You want me to put my what where and do- huh-uh, no way, buddy." It took coaxing and a lot of it, and the first time I did it, I honestly felt that I was going to choke or vomit or both. It was a horrible experience for the both of us, and I vowed (to myself, anyway) that I would never repeat it.

I, of course, was lying to myself. I did do it again- after much more begging, pleading, and a few outright threats of withholding sex from me. I got nominally better at it, but I still didn't enjoy it. It was mostly the taste that turned me off of it. I would later learn that all dick didn't that like that- it was just his.

After he and I broke up and I emotionally moved on, I took to sleeping with my new roommate and my best friend, who I will call Ace for the purposes of this blog. Ace taught me many things during my short stay at his apartment and in his bed- one of which was how to give a really fantastic blowjob.

He taught me that the secret of a blowjob wasn't speed or suction, or any of those things you see in really bad downloaded porn, it was the sensuality of it. It had to start at a slow and gentle speed and build to a rising crescendo of passion and heat and need. Once started, no blowjob should ever be left unfinished. It's not fair to either party involved.

A really fine blowjob should end with the man quivering, wanting more but not being able to take it, splayed out, limbs akimbo with a look of muted pleasure etched onto the features of his face.

Of course, the eternal question is: spit or swallow? I personally have found myself unable to swallow as of yet. Maybe one day I will, but for now, it's best for me to have a towel nearby to aid in the cleanup process.

Queen expressed the sentiment the other day that she wants to see me give King a good sober blowjob (that particular phrasing is another story in and of itself) one day. It's a role I'm more than willing to fill- over and over again. I no longer cringe at the idea of having a man's most private part in my hand and in my mouth. In fact, these days I revel in it.

Erector Set, Indeed!

Today over at Eros Blog, there's a mighty fine product being showcased, available from JT's Stockroom.


A little scary, a little interesting, but holy crap, is it expensive.

Evolution of a Tease

I've mentioned that I work at Conglomo*Mart, I believe. I love it there, even if I am feeding this nation's obsession with consumerism.

I now work in the Automotive department, entering cars into our systems so they can get various tire and oil work done to them. It's a job I begged for months to get. I belong in that section of the store, it's where I'm happiest.

Now, in the last six months, I've grown up a lot, and I've learned that men like to look at me. Why, I don't know. I don't consider myself that pretty, and I probably never will. However, I do know that other people do, and I'm not above a promising smile, a flirtatious flick of the wrist while handing a customer their keys, or a provocative lean over the counter while I'm getting their information from them.

I wear mostly long and flowing skirts to work these days because I enjoy the freedom and comfort of them. I have long legs, and pants don't let my stride be as wide as I like it to be. I'm like a gazelle at times.

Let me explain about the tire racks at my store. There's an upstairs and a downstairs. Downstairs is where the smaller tires go- the ones that fit the Geos and the Volkswagens. Upstairs are the bigger tires, the ones that fit normal size cars and the ones that fit the big trucks. Most people that come in, they need tires off the top racks. The flooring of the top racks are metal grating that if you look up you can see right through. Two guesses what that means when I'm in a skirt, and the second guess shouldn't even be needed.

A year ago, six months ago, this would have bothered me. Now, with my newfound confidence levels and a bit of a better body to boot, I revel in it. If the technicians can't control themselves enough not to look up when I'm on the top racks, then they deserve their peek. And maybe, just maybe, the new cute technician will look up one of these days...

Good Morning...

I've taken to sleeping in King and Queen's room most nights. I enjoy the company, and there honestly isn't much worse in this world than having slept every night with someone for the better part of two years, and then not having that person there anymore to warm and share warmth with. Sometimes I think that's all there is to life, the pursuit of warmth.

King and Queen both work for the same company, just in different stores of it. I work at Conglomo*Mart, and Queen's store is in my Conglomo*Mart. We get to see each other fairly often throughout the day, and that cheers me up no matter how bad my day is going. My boyfriend also works at Conglomo*Mart, outside in the lot. He's cool with what he knows of my relationship with King and Queen, and that makes him awesome.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the pursuit of warmth.

Queen had to midshift this morning, because the person who makes the schedules forgot to schedule a midshift manager today. Yay for brains. I had all kinds of plans set up for Queen and I today, starting with waking her up. In my humble little opinion, there's nothing more wonderful than being in that little area between sleep and awake then being pulled into total awareness by the hands of your lover nudging your most sensitive areas. Now it was a moot point, and she had to work.

So she got up and went to work, and immediately, the heat from her body dissapated into the cold air of the early morning. I was covered in a knitted afgan and I could tell a difference almost instantaneously. I wiggled around until I came to rest against King's chest, then fell back into the bliss of dreamless sleep.

Some time later, I was woken by the feeling of King's nails dragging their way down my skin, producing that pleasurable tingle that I love so much. It seemed my plans had gotten turned around on me. No complaints here. Sex is a wonderful thing, but it is nothing without love driving it, and I love King and Queen dearly. They are my best friends, and I know that I am safest when I am with them. They understand my moods, and my needs. I hope things never ever change between us three.

Three Of A Kind beats a pair any day.

Blossoming...

I've been a pretty straightlaced girl all my life, up until now. I never wanted anything more than to have a family and a job that I could be proud of. I thought I had that, but then it all exploded in my face one cold night in November last year.

But that's neither here nor there now. That was the beginning of my sexual re-awakening, and as much as the pain hurts, the pleasure I've derived since then makes it all almost worth it.

I was a good girl. I gave my virginity to the man I planned to marry. Though that fell through, I felt no guilt about it. After we broke up, I looked back on our inept sexual escapades with fond memories and more than a little laughter. Looking back at that girl now, one wonders how she managed to even fit a guy in between her legs, much less have full blown sex with someone. She seems so ill-advised, that little girl of 20 in my mind. Someone should have taught that girl a thing or two about masturbation before she ever let a guy touch her.

It's funny that I've started this blog tonight- with the sounds of King and Queen pounding away in their room. I envy those two. They've been together forever, it seems, and their relationship is the strongest thing I've ever seen. The secret to it seems to be the open policy they have- which is where I come in. I'm Queen's girlfriend- since about a week ago. I'm completely new to this whole bisexual thing, and I surprised myself when I found out that I liked it. I'd always thought of myself as a straight girl, without even an inkling of thought about that kind of thing. I certainly didn't think I had that in me. Bisexuality was always Queen's territory. I'd joked around and said that if anyone was going to turn me, it was going to be her, but I was never serious about it.

Until April 28th, that is.

That was the night EVERYTHING changed for me.

Three double shots of Jose Cuervo brought the gay out in me. One minute I'm going down on King's magnificent, glorious cock, and doing a damned fine job of it, the next the room is spinning, and I'm done. After watching two of our other friends go at it, Queen gets up from her position on the couch and proclaims that she's going to bed, and who's coming with her? In my golden haze, I feel myself crawl on hands and knees through our kitchen and into their bedroom. Next thing I know, I'm being introduced to the concept of straight up lesbian sex. No man involved. I'm being stroked and rubbed, and I was practially purring in her hands. Before I knew what I was doing, I was reciprocating with fervor. I was, in Queen's words, a natural. I petted and stroked all the right places, and making her come as I did. It was wonderful. As I drifted off to sleep that night held in my best girl-friend's arms, my last thought was, "I wonder if I could do that sober..."

Of course, now I know that I can.

Welcome

Welcome to Three Of A Kind, a weblog documenting the sexual evolution of me, Krysta.


Why's it called Three of A Kind? Mostly because there are three of us in my household; me, Queen, and King. The three of us have been friends since high school, and have grown together as people through marriages, break ups, suicide attempts, and general strife.


I'll do my best to make this blog interesting, and it should be, considering how my brain works.