Author Archives: Miss Dyyna

The Gent: Birth of a Panther

As my relationship with PhD was imploding, I decided that after I graduated culinary school I would go by myself to my family’s beach house in NC. I hadn’t been there in more than five years. The ocean was calling me as a place of peace amidst the turmoil of PhD, being fresh out of school with no job and the acceptance that most of my culinary school friends were going back from whence they came. I needed to sit for hours on the porch rocking, watching the waves and hearing them crash just like I did as a little girl. I needed wet sand between my toes and to feel the last push of a wave grasping at the shore rush over my feet. I needed to close my eyes and feel my skin suck the sun’s warmth in as I turn a healthy golden brown. I needed crab cakes served in a crab shell, fried flounder, sweet hush puppies and watery mayo coleslaw, buttery biscuits and fennel-laden sausage patties. But what I needed most, what I craved, what I could practically smell the moment that salt air hit my nose after I arrived and parked under the house was one pound of beer and Old Bay-steamed whole shrimp served on a styrofoam plate, lots of napkins and a cold shitty beer in a can.

And that’s the first thing I did.

I dropped my bags, took a deep breath of the inside of the house, said a fond hello to the ocean and headed right over to the restaurant on the mainland side of the bridge. It sat right on the intercostal waterway. A two story rickety white and red painted wood structure with outdoor picnic table seating. I went through the line, ordered my pile of shrimp and a beer and waited on a bar stool.

It was better than I remembered. By the end of that pound, I had a thick layer of Old Bay under my nails and shrimp legs stuck to my fingers. It was divine.

I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to drink any more since I had driven. I took the car back to the house and walked two blocks to a neighborhood bar and restaurant. They had a live band playing and I slid right into a bar seat on the corner. It was mid-September and so sparsely filled by locals who live on the island year-round.

Before I got the bartenders attention, The Gent, who was sitting two stools down, asked me where I was from. He quickly moved next to me and we talked easily for over an hour. He lived two doors down from my family’s house.

The Gent was about 5’8″, 59, owned a construction company in town that built three-story monstrosities all over the island plowing down dunes, native grasses and animals in the process of covering every inch with beach houses.

Hairy, beer chubby, thin gray spikey hair, naturally spent too much time making out with the sun over the years, a footlong band of white skin wrapping around his nether regions.

But damn am I a sucker for a southern accent, smile and charm.

He was funny, always cracking jokes and laughing at them. Smiling with a can of cold beer in his hand living in swim trunks.

When I announced I was turning in to a pumpkin, he walked me home. It was on his way.

Over the next ten days, we spent a lot of time together. I would get up, go to the little local gym in town, make eggs, sausage and a biscuit for breakfast while I stared at the ocean from the kitchen table. Then I’d spend a few hours working on the house. I recall many days sitting on the cement carpark floor under the house, listening to music, repainting the rocking chairs, crying over my conclusion that when I returned to CA I was going to break up with PhD. I drank hard sodas at 11AM. Then when it was time for the paint to dry, I would suit up and head across the street to the beach to get my daily two hours of sun.

The Gent came by often wherever I was. Sat with me on the beach talking until he starting snoring.

I went over to his house for dinner nearly every night, except on the ones I needed to stay in and have a pity party.

On one of these nights, after dinner, we sat on his front porch listening to the ocean, to music, drank and talked until it was AM. I got up to say goodnight and head home. I walked to the end of the porch and turned at the top of the stairs to hug him. It lasted just a moment longer than usual and when I pulled away I saw it in his eyes.

I walked home past the house in between ours and had the first thought that he wanted me. I was naive and obviously off in my own world consumed by thoughts of what was going on with PhD that I had completely missed it.

The next few days hanging out with The Gent I was a little freaked. He was twenty years older than me. I had never done anything with a man so much older. The idea of it was no where on my radar screen until literally just then.

He took me out on the waterway in his boat. He stopped at a few docks to say hello to his local friends. He didn’t introduce me, but seemed quite pleased to show me off in my yellow string bikini, tatted golden skin. He caught a young, sexy thang.

After awhile he stopped the boat so we could drink and fish. I was so nervous that he was going to make a move. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if he did. But I was curious to know what kissing an older man would be like. Maybe I should make the move first to find out.

Nothing happened.

We went back. I went home to clean up and we planned on dinner at his again.

We did the usual routine. Bad wine, a selection of Costco cheeses while he grilled something – mostly whatever was caught that day at the fish market within walking distance.

Instead of going outside after dinner, we settled in on the couch. I sat, he moved in closer. He’s absolutely going to kiss me. I was so nervous.

When it happened, I was shocked. I don’t know what I was thinking it was going to be like – as if older men kissed like aliens or something. But it was normal and quite nice. His lips were thin, but soft. His hands on me were big and strong. He moved with purpose and confidence.

It was getting heated. I had never felt an older man’s body. His biceps were thick and strong. His chest hair was full and soft. He had a round belly and love handles. Wide shoulders and fuzzy hair. Pecs that were slightly boobs.

I was enjoying it all.

It was exciting. A new adventure. I loved it. I wanted to fuck.

I pulled away for a moment and said…

“Do you think you are ready to see my birthday suit?”

A wide grin took over his face as I stood up and pulled my sundress over my head revealing a tight light pink bra that even made my small tits heaving and full. Matching thong.

“You’re beautiful. Lordy so sexy.”

We had a magical evening. He took charge and I liked it – a lot.

He didn’t let me sit down, but grabbed my hand and walked me to his bed. I laid down on my back and he climbed right on top. He was heavy on me. I could feel his chest hair rubbing on my tits and his hard cock pushing up against my pubic bone. The head was teasing my lips.

His hands were wild grabbing my tits, rubbing my thighs, cupping the outside of my pussy with a finger pushing in between my lips to check my wetness. I was soaking.

He kissed my neck, my ear lobes. He was hungry. It must have been awhile for him. His energy was winding me up into a frenzy.

He slid himself down, bent my legs and spread my thighs apart. He ate my pussy with confidence and I could feel how pleasurable it was for him as well. He moaned nearly as much as I did.

It didn’t take me long to finish, but he wasn’t at my first orgasm. I had to ask him to slow down as I recovered a bit. My clit was swollen and very sensitive. He was patient and I came thrice more.

I was sopping wet. I could feel it under my ass and all over my inner thighs. In one fluid motion, he came up for air, wiped his mouth and plunged his long hard cock inside me.

My lips felt pursed so when he entered it was extraordinary. Sliding in and out fast. I looked down and caught a glimpse of his rhythmically disappearing cock. His moans quickly crescendoed and he collapsed on top of me. That heavy feeling I liked again.

I toweled off my vagina, light-headed and smiling all over. Wow, what the fuck just happened?!?

The next day I decided to extend my stay by a week. I didn’t want to leave the ocean nor his mouth on my pussy.

We played like we were newlyweds on honeymoon except I slept in my own bed at home. We took more boat rides, fished, spent hours laying on the beach together, made dinner, drank and listened to the ocean at night and fucked a lot.

As the third week was coming to a close, I had thoughts of staying. I had no job, few friends and a relationship on the way out the door back home. I could rent the house from my siblings and live a cheap ass beach life for some time. But CA called me home.

The very last morning he came over to say goodbye. It was a little teary for me. I did not want to go home and face the awful task of breaking up with PhD and the terrible, painful fall out that would follow. I wanted to eat shrimp and live at the beach and fuck The Gent.

Looking back seven years later, I am more than glad I came back to CA and faced the pain. Life did get well worse before it got better, but The Gent opened the door over those three weeks and a baby panther slinked slowly out of the darkness.

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My Trips to Cougar Town

Since 2015 I knew I liked older men, but a year later I was still just at the beginning of my personal sexual revolution. The dating app world was my oyster and I wanted at least a dozen to try with mignonette, lemon and all the fixin’s! My previous sexual experiences up until then were pretty plain, not all vanilla, but age appropriate, monogamous-focused, it takes two-kind of stuff. So as I embarked on my exploration, I felt a few trips to Cougar Town was imperative.

I first rode in to Cougar Town while I was in culinary school – this was 2014. I fancied this tall, troubled gent from New Orleans. I’m at absolute sucker for a Southern accent. He had been stationed in Iraq as an 18 YO fresh out of high school. He was in the cool crowd at culinary school and we barely talked except when necessary during class. When everyone would hang out in the evenings, he definitely got the shittiest. Lots and lots of Jameson. I admired and was empathetic from afar.

One night deep into the drinking evening with the class, I was talking to his best friend. He and I had not been seeing eye to eye in class – that’s the polite way of putting it anyway. After our little tiff where I’m pretty sure I told him he was a fucking dick, I can’t actually recall how or why I mentioned I had a wee little crush on his friend. The next thing I recall is New Orleans sitting on a bar stool, me standing next to him and him with his arm wrapped around my waist.

After the bar closed at 2AM, I went back to his – a room he was renting in a house where the owner was asleep. We were both clearly inebriated, but then he started smoking weed.

When we came back in to his room, I was talking off my boots when, standing in front of me, he threw a pillow on the floor and without a word, starting taking of his pants. I obliged, I mean what a gentleman – so thoughtful of him to put a pillow on the floor to comfort my knees why I swallow his dick!

After that night, we went back to not talking to each other.

I took a two-year hiatus from cougaring. Until Darling Nicky – see Part I and Part II.

Left disappointed again, I moved on to the next town with hopes of better sites…AND pleasure.

Then when a 29 YO (I am nearly 41 YO at the time) messaged me about a year later on whatever dating app I was on then, I said WTF, maybe third time will lead to an orgasm??

Cougler was first generation Jordanian, short, light-skinned, broad chested and thick with muscles and dark hair. His parents owned a casual restaurant in a town about 30 minutes away and as a traditional family, they all lived together in the apartment upstairs. He helped them out on the busy weekends, but M-F drove about an hour away to work at a big Bay Area company HQ.

A drop of young drama commenced.

“I’m here, but I’ll be waiting outside. I just noticed by ex bf brother is working the bar. Rather not see him.”

We chose another bar and I actually had a great time. As we drank margaritas, he taught me about tequilas and his family history from Jordan. I was intellectually stimulated! Amazing and so fucking hot! But one rule I still have not broken is no sex or coming home with or inviting home on a first date (well…see Prison Dyke – Part I and Part II). I walked to the bar, so I let him drive me home (also kind of a no-no).

But with all that brain activity going on in my head, I know my pussy was not far behind. We parked outside my apartment for a make-out sesh. His lips were big, soft, wet and he kept his tongue in check. Leaning over the console, he put his hand on my thigh over my jeans and inched closer, gripping firmer.


I was able to pull myself away and end the evening.


“You are an extremely beautiful and sexy woman. I’m looking forward to exploring your body. As you got up out of the car, I got a small glimpse of your tattoos. It was a bit of a tease.”

“I like to be a bit of a tease. Your hand on my thigh almost did me in though…”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back next time.”

The next day he sent me a 3 minute unsolicited video of him stroking himself. Hot, but ugh.

We continued the sexually tense chatting as I headed on a birthday trip with Nerdie to Reno.

“Happy Birthday! Maybe later next week you can unwrap your bday gift. <winking emoji>

“Thanks for remembering…so sweet! Let me guess…this gift is in your pants??”

“LOL yes maybe I can send you some more teasers in the meantime.”

Just ugh.

This round included a full nude in the mirror – face, cock and all!

“I want to lick you all up and down. I’m dying to get a taste. The anticipation is driving me crazy!”

I was losing slight interest – not that I didn’t find him attractive and nice – but the youthful, lack of nuanced approach was softening my dick. Still, I wanted to try him to hopefully erase my previous lackluster cougaring experiences.

“You know I’ve been thinking about you plenty over the past couple of days. I would love to see you tonight.”


“Why don’t you just come over? I’ll have some snacks and drinks handy, but I’ll warn you since I’m moving soon, my apt is pretty sparse…”

“No worries. There’s really only one thing that I’m looking forward to eating tonight. <winking emoji>”

<Eye roll emoji> with hint of cautious optimism??

Yes, we didn’t do much eating and drinking before he pounced. I was into it. I was routing for him.

When the make-out and dry heavy petting became overwhelming, he just stood up, literally threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the bed. Ok, hot.

I was looking forward to a good tongue lashing and that’s exactly where he went first – hooray!

He got going, I was getting comfortable. Closed my eyes to cut off visual sensory so I could appreciate the touch. He worked his way down from my breasts to my inner thighs, kissing, rubbing, licking. The anticipation was now driving me crazy.

He finally settled in between my thighs and roped his arms around my legs for leverage. The first touch of his tongue on my clit sent shivers running through me. Oh the spell will be broken tonight – Cougler is it!

Before I could enjoy my excitement at the upcoming orgasm or even concentrate on getting myself there, it was over. Could I even have counted to 10?

The rest of the evening was fun, way more than New Orleans but my disappointment was on par with Darling Nicky – what a let down. After he ceased focus on me, it was all about him. I did enjoy his hard, hairy bod! I even said so the next day.

“I loved every inch of your hard hairy bod! 😉 So you mentioned there was a girl who really helped you up your kissing game, interested in addl lessons??”

“I’m good with constructive criticism.”

“I just find guys in their 20s rush, and that’s why I’m not interested in second rounds as much as I like to touch and admire. If you are open, I’d like to alter that scenario. If nothing else in my life right now, I’m open and honest…”

“I appreciate your honesty and much rather you tell me the truth than have me keep going about it the wrong way. I promise to be more patient and attentive to you the next time we meet.”

Well, ok, Cougler.

So we picked back up with our sexually charged texts. I got excited again. It would be fun to teach a young buck better tricks. That’s part of what you read about why young men go after older women, right? To get a lesson or two?

But unfortunately life got in the way. He kept trying – would text me when he was in my town, but my interest fizzled. Do I really want to spend the time, patience and energy being a teacher or get some instant gratification in my typical form – not as a Cougar, but rather a sexy Panther!

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Let Relationships Be Where They Are

Over the last seven years I’ve developed what I call <insert my real name here>-isms – long thought over, sometimes painfully learned, life lessons distilled into a mantra I consider and try to live by as I move through life. Let relationships be where they are was partly born out of my conclusion that monogamy was not for me – maybe for now, maybe forever.

I had cheated. I had been cheated on. What if there was a different way? A more honest way. A way where there was no reason to hide or lie. A way where I could be myself.

I found ENM (ethical non-monogamy) to be the answer – for me.

If practiced properly, and well ethically, you would be honest with your primary partner (or partners – whether primary, secondary, tertiary, or beyond) about your other intimate relationships, about your emotional, intellectual, sexual and physical desires and needs. There would be no reason to lie or cheat because your partner(s) understood you and even supported you in your other relationships – in some cases also getting excited emotionally and sexually about those other partners, or even still, meeting your other partners and developing their own friendships and relationships with them – whatever that may look like.

I have not been monogamous since 2015 when I separated from PhD.

Becoming non-monogamous, in practice, I have found, is not as easy as I describe above. You cannot flip a switch from monogamy to non-monogamy and everything is unicorns and rainbows. It definitely takes work, and communication – a lot of open, honest, sometimes painful, hard to talk about, stammering to find the words and then actually say them hard ass work. But so very worth it in my experience.

Nerdie, my now husband of 2+ years (together for 6), is my first non-monogamous relationship and we continue to do the work – although it isn’t as hard ass as in the beginning.

The other end of all that work in the beginning (and maintenance work continues) has been that I am myself for the first time ever. I am loved, supported and I won’t say ‘allowed’ to explore myself by dating outside our marriage, but rather in a safe space with Nerdie where, with time, trust, communication and a few agreed-upon boundaries, we can now safely explore ourselves, wherever that exploration may take us as individuals, and feel good about it. (NB: Please do NOT get me going on men who say – “Wow, it’s so cool that your husband lets you do this!” Deuces and fuck all the way off to that!)

To me, ENM is an approach to sexual and intimate relationships with partners outside my marriage. But these partners and relationships are not always about sex. In fact, for me, they can’t be just about sex. I’m too old to fuck and run, and I was never good at it when I was younger besides. Plus there is a lot more to do sexually than inserting a penis, or penis-shaped object, into a vagina.

I want something connected, intellectually stimulating, adventurous, silly – and sexy. I also want to care about my partners.

But instead of just seeking out these relationships on a dating app, what if I turned all my relationships from monotone to grey? Not black or white – you are fucking or you aren’t – but grey – letting the relationship be where it is. Letting it evolve organically without categorizing and stuffing it in a box.

Here are two examples in my life.

My best friend that is a girl (not girlfriend) I met on OkCupid. Our first meeting was a date. She’s super cute, funny and irreverent (like me). She loves to drink and eat and laugh. She’s got beautiful big natural tits that I love to grab. She’s emotionally intelligent in a way that I am not. She’s spiritual. She challenges my way of thinking. I love her smile and that she tells me she loves me.

We didn’t go out on a second date, but rather became very close friends – with sexual tension.

Five of us went to Cabo for her 40th. After a long day of day-drinking, we got sappy while sitting on stools at the swim up bar, and started crying at how much we loved each other, how amazing it was to have our friendship. Shortly there after, I’m guessing, we were standing in the pool discussing whether we should make out. Of course, an absolutely natural flow to the day.

“But maybe it’ll mess up our five year friendship.”

No discussion that we had just cried, been drinking all day, and, god forbid, that we were in a public pool in the daylight!

Nope, we just went for it. Add she’s a very good kisser to that list above.

After that, nothing weird happened. Our friendship didn’t implode or explode. The next time I saw her she asked when we were going to make out again.

Let relationships be where they are. That’s where that one is.

My best friend that is a guy (not boyfriend) I met in the wine industry. A friend of a friend of a friend. The valley is small. I knew he found me attractive the first time we met. He’s smart, generous, funny and irreverent (may be a pattern here). He loves to drink and eat and laugh (yup, there’s a pattern). He’s well-dressed. I love his smile and his laugh, that he says fuck a lot and that it is a zillion percent judgement-free zone while drunk.

He introduced me to the owners of the winery I now work for, and then taught me a shit ton about the industry. I will forever be grateful to him.

Our MO now is 3-4 hours of heavy drinking, usually 3-4 bottles, sometimes more, gossiping about people in the industry, listening to music, sometimes he’ll grill up a snack. If his son isn’t home, we invariably end with a make-out sesh – on more than one occasion before he’s heading off to an evening date.

Let relationships be where they are. That’s where that one is.

Earlier this week I was contemplating what I was going to write about for this Sunday’s post. I have a list of past lovers I may write about scribbled down on a piece of lined paper, listed chronologically since 2015. Many I’ve already written about. I folded it in half and taped it to the wall in my office. I have a second list of posts most likely destined for the LIFE category kept as a note on my phone.

While thinking about a proposed topic, I was on a plane so no access to the written one taped to the wall. I opened the note in my phone and read through the list. Of all the topics I read through this one resonated. Let relationships be where they are.

As I walked through the terminal on the way to baggage claim, I had a fucking duh, look at palm and slap one’s self in the forehead moment.

I recently met REO – the Recently Enlightened-Emotional One. When he walked up to the table for our first date over lunch, I didn’t feel much about it – not excited, not immediately impressed.

We ended up talking for over three hours.

He’s extremely thoughtful, intelligent, and his thinking challenges mine. He’s on an emotional, sexual and intellectual journey of self-exploration. He’s generous, expressive and selfless – sharing everything he has in life, or had, even when he didn’t seem to have much, with the people he cares for. I love his smile, his insatiable curiosity, his height, and his white hair. We can easily talk for three hours. Left without time constraints, I feel like this could easily be three days or more.

He had a late-night FT recently. After about an hour, I was listening to him tell me that he doesn’t think one of the women he has been seeing, that he had hoped would be someone long-term, is going to work out.

I started crying.

I had already started feeling scared about my new relationship with REO – really just another way of saying I am starting to feel vulnerable because I care about him. It’s not a place I want to be right now after two painful break-ups this year.

He had told me he wanted me to be someone long-term. Would he one day decide I wasn’t going to work out?

It was 2AM and I was drunk and exhausted and also crying so we said good night. The next morning I wrote him.

“I had fun talking to you last night, as usual I feel like I could talk to you for days…it was super nice to see your face…I just kept thinking how cute/handsome/attractive you are to me, in so many ways.

That’s why I got upset at the end. You scare the fuck out of me. I’ve put my heart in to several people who walk talk and act like you – genuine caring really into me fun an intellectual equal – everything I want. But then I get fucked and not in a good way – get my heart stomped on for one reason or another.

Tbh I want to love you…eventually with time, but I can easily see it happening. I want all the LT things you describe. But again scary as fuck so…I guess I’m just scared to do it. Not rocket surgery…but that’s why I’m keeping you at arms length.”

Walking through the airport terminal that was my fucking duh moment. Let this relationship be where it is.

That doesn’t mean necessarily that I jump in with both feet, but I also need not keep him at arm’s length or put up unnecessary walls. Create the space for us to let our relationship happen organically. I have been preventing that out of fear even though I’ve done this before. I have two best friends because I lived true to let relationships be where they are.

A wide grin came over my face and I audibly laughed while walking my bags to the car. I felt immediately relieved and lighter that the answer was right there in front of me, and it was familiar.

Not that it’s a flip a switch scenario. However, I am now confident that that space will be created and that we will both feel safe in it. First, I have work to do to let it melt away – all the baggage and boundaries I’m carrying into the space we share. Sometimes it doesn’t come together until it breaks.

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A bi-curious fellow who had recently opened his marriage with his wife of 25 years to be able to explore his sexuality. Late 50s, balding white wiry hair, muscular bicyclist legs, slim frame. He spent the bulk of his career working in county and nonprofit homelessness organizations. Routinely rode his bike on weekends 30-60 miles or more. His legs reminded me of Champion’s – the main character in the anime film Triplets of Belleville – so big they were slightly out of proportion with the rest of his body, but oh so fun to grab on to during sex and strong enough to carry me to the bedroom. He was a Champion at work and on the bicycle – respectful of my primary relationship and a genuinely lovely person to have a glass of wine with and talk about life before trying out a new thing or two in the bedroom from his thoughtful sex to-try list.

One evening Champion came over after work. We had been seeing each other for a few months so it was familiar and comfortable. I genuinely enjoyed spending time outside of the bedroom with him so quite looked forward to his arrival. I popped a decent bottle of Cabernet, set out some local cheeses and crackers to nibble on.

When he arrived, he was chatting away at me about his day and followed me into the kitchen as I went to grab the wine glasses. As I turned away from him, he reached out and grabbed a belt loop on my skinny jeans and pulled me hard right back into him. Surprised, I instinctively laughed as he put his arms around me landing a soft, full-lipped kiss on top of my grinning mouth. Adorable. I was happy he was happy to see me.

Over the bottle of wine on my long, deep couch, we spent several hours talking life, dating, work, local gossip and recent bicycle rides.

Dating conversation led to sex conversation. His sex to-try list was always top of mind for him. He was excited and comforted I was game to be his exploratory partner – sane and safely.

At the top of his sex to-do was bi-curiosity. I thought this may be on the list because in a previous session he asked me to stroke below his balls and use my finger in between his ass cheeks. I sensed he wanted to go further, but waited for him to feel comfortable enough to discuss it with me. Tonight was the night.

We discussed my pegging him. With bright eyes and a wide grin, he committed to researching a “starter” cock I could wear that would not make him run for the hills with his tail between his legs protecting his ass at the first look of it.

We had a longer conversation the possibility of a threesome with another man. I shared my one MFM story with the Pro and the Addict. It was hot, but disappointing as the two men stood on opposite sides of the bed – never shall their swords cross nor be glazed at by the other! I was on the bed having fun with each of them separately while the participant on break would watch porn playing on the TV or masturbate and watch the live show.

If I was going to try this again, I wanted all of us to interact – a big pile on the bed of hands, legs, lips, pussy and cocks. A sex ball of pleasure where I would not know who was where, but all the sensations were exciting, erotic and organic.

Champion was in.

We both got quite turned on by our adventurous conversation that during a pause in my MFM story, Champion slid over close to me on the couch, grabbed the back of my head and with intent locked his lips to mine. Hands started moving quickly over each other’s bodies. His hard cock pulsing in my hand through his jeans. His hand running back and forth over my pussy temporarily locked in my jeans.

We worked ourselves into frenzy, pulled away and then removed our respective clothing as fast as possible. I beat him to naked and took the opportunity to cast some porn from my phone to the TV for background entertainment. The sounds of sex fuel me.

We jumped back on the couch, and picked our make-out frenzy back up where it left off.

I started rubbing my clit with my right index and middle fingers – just softly so I would be sure to be wet enough to accept him at the first attempt.

He nudged me on the shoulder to turn my body and sit with back to the couch. Pulled my legs down so I was slouching, facing the TV and spread my legs open. He knelt between them, put his arms under my thighs so he could pull my pussy right to his face and began kissing and licking my lips.

I was able to watch the woman on the screen get fucked from behind bent over the arm of a couch. His hands grasped firmly on her hips, he thrust quickly but with long strokes so I could see nearly all of his cock disappear and reappear – sliding smoothly back and forth. Penetration is such a delight to see.

I could feel my vagina pulsing under his lips and tongue.

He moved back and put my right hand on my pussy to take control. I immediately picked up exactly where he left off so not to lose momentum – pulling my lips apart with my left fingers and rubbing my clit with the right.

Champion jumped up on to the couch and straddled me – a leg on each side of my thighs, hard cock in my face.

With my hands otherwise engaged, he squatted slightly to position his cock to slide into my mouth. His thighs could have held that position indefinitely. He cradled each side of my head, and with my head stationary, began fucking my face.

I could no longer seeing the TV, but the sounds of the man’s upper thighs slamming against her ass, her coordinated moans and his grunts kept my attention. I closed my eyes and created the related visuals.

I was so stimulated by all the sounds and sensations – keeping my eyes closed, not only because I had a face full of cock, but to intensify them. I felt soft skin, wet clit, his cock sliding through my pursed mouth to the back of my throat and out again.

His breathing quickened and his motion intensified. His grip on my head tightening slightly. His voice got louder until during one back stroke he exploded in my mouth. He slowed. I loosened my lips as he pulled out. The warm cum dripped down my lips, my neck and onto my tits lingering. He jumped down off the couch and licked it running down my left breast and filled his mouth with it.

I quickened my own pace at the result of his pleasure.

I could feel the orgasm gaining energy until I could not stop the wave from breaking. I screamed out “Fuck!” as it washed over me – pulled my body in and tensed up everywhere to hold the climax. Once the wave receded, I opened my eyes to Champion sitting next to me staring intently with a big smile and satiated look.

I smiled and laughed – oh, yes, he was still there.

“I guess we both like the idea of an MFM! Time to get to work on finding a male contestant.”

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My oldest niece recently turned 25. After the HBD texts on her birthday, I waited a few weeks to check in on how she was feeling. Twenty five was a particularly difficult birthday for me.

I feel a little silly looking back at my 25th birthday now 21 years later, but I was really sad thinking I had nothing left to look forward to. I felt like I had done all the things – got good grades in high school, went to a good college, got two undergraduate degrees for fuck’s sake, started a career in the nonprofit sector raising money for at-risk youth then adults with mental illness, had a serious BF going on 3 years.

All I saw ahead was adulting, work, responsibility, routine and getting old.

It scared the shit out of me and made me depressed.

In the last 21 years, yes, there has been a lot of adulting. From time to time, however, I still get depressed about the boredom of routine, of responsibility, of work. But I also could never have imagined where I am today, which is partly why I think I have been obsessing over this song (of the same title as this post) by Maren Morris.

The first time I heard it, I was immediately connected to the lyrics. I just described my straight path – school, career, boyfriend. I was going somewhere – I went somewhere. By all accounts, from the outside, I was there. I had arrived at the destination I sought – I was successful, productive, self-sufficient. But the only things I saw left to do were marriage, house, kids. And actually maybe that’s why I didn’t do the marriage and house until more recently (kids are still a hard pass for me). Then what possibly could be left?

The place I was in had its blue skies. The puffy white clouds were floating by. But the view was disappointing. After all the hard work, this place was disappointing.

So I moved to Manhattan. Then to California. I quit my job. I went to culinary school with no plans to be a chef. I threw the map away.

Before I could enjoy the new blue skies from all that excitement and adventure, it became night. My BF, of then going on 16 years, cheated and it exposed broken pieces in our relationship that had there for years.

My detour became lost.

When I first heard the song, it naturally felt like my life story and finding my way home to Nerdie (who is now my husband of 2+ years). I took the straight path, it made me unhappy, I threw away the map, I found Nerdie and it didn’t matter that I had to take a long ass detour to find him.

I kept listening to the song – sometimes three or four times in a row. It felt emotional, familiar, validating, but the puzzle pieces didn’t fit quite right. Then on one listening my eyes opened and I saw that the song was not about finding my husband, but rather about finding myself. (God, that makes me well up every time I read that.)

I quickly hit the restart button on the song and heard the words completely anew. I burst into tears. This song is me talking to myself.

I was disappointed at the view when I was 25. I threw away the map. I created a detour, but then became lost. After years of pain and struggle, I dug myself out of the darkness and into the skies of not just blue, but of red, yellow, orange, purple, pink. I unlost myself. I brought my heart out of the darkness. I ‘stumbled’ into you – meaning the real me.

I am more proud of my accomplishments in the past seven years than of any seven years previous to that. I am mine now. The detours I created, and the ones created for me, forced me to decide whether to stay lost or find myself. Oh believe me, my pity party did not get shut down for well over a year, and it was the fucking scariest thing I’ve ever done to unloose myself. I was totally unprepared. Sometimes I didn’t have enough energy to worry about what was around the corner, sometimes I was excited to discover it as it came.

I am now home in that I found myself – the real me – the me I always thought was there even when I was lost in the dark. But I am not truly home. I have more wrong ways, more long ways, more detours, but through it all, I get to be mine.

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Jersey Tomato Pie

No matter your opinion of New Jersey, it is, after all the Garden State. That’s where I grew up – farms just miles away with summer bounty of fresh Jersey corn, peaches and tomatoes. My first job at 16 was actually at a farm store selling fresh fruit and veg with a bakery that made this amazing savory pie. I replaced the usual call for 1/2-3/4 cup mayo with a mix of silken tofu, lemon juice and a tablespoon of mayo. This is New Jersey. 

Servings: 6
Time: About 25 minutes active; 90 minutes total
Original Recipe with additional photos:


  • 1 cup flour
  • 1/4 tsp salt
  • 3 Tbsp cold butter, cut into pieces
  • 3-4 Tbsp ice water
  • 1/2 cup silken tofu (or mayo)
  • 1 Tbsp mayonnaise (omit if using mayo instead of tofu)
  • 1/2 lemon, juiced
  • 1/2 tsp SnP (salt and pepper)
  • 4 tomatoes, cut into 1/4′ slices
  • 1 medium onion, cut into 1/4″ slices
  • 1/2 cup basil, chopped
  • 4 oz sharp cheddar, grated (for a traditional pie, it must be yellow 🙂


  1. Pulse flour and salt in the bowl of a food processor. Add the butter pieces and pulse 5-6 times more. Then with the motor running, slowly pour in water through the spout just until the dough pulls away from the sides.
  2. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead to bring together. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.
  3. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
  4. Meanwhile, whisk together tofu, mayo, lemon juice and SnP, and set aside.
  5. Lay tomato slices on paper towel to drain.
  6. Turn out dough onto a lightly floured surface. Roll out until you have a crust that is about 2-3″ larger than your 8-9″ pie pan. Fold the dough in half and in half again, and transfer to a cooking sprayed pie pan and unfold. Push up the sides and repair any holes. Prick several times with a fork. Bake in the oven 8-10 minutes and remove.
  7. Layer the onions in the bottom of the pan, then tomatoes, then basil. Top with tofu-mayo mixture and lastly the cheese. Bake 30-35 minutes until bubbly and golden. Remove from oven and let cool slightly before serving.

Nashville: Part 2

After my 150 minutes of sleep, I drug myself through the shower, into some new clothes, to breakfast with lots of black coffee and then to the conference by 7AM.

Since my client was selling to the attendees, I did not need to attend the conference sessions, but rather be available to talk to people during the breaks.

I slapped on a cheery smile and outgoing personality as people arrived before the first session of the day. Once they went in, I had 45 minutes on my own. I needed a place to nap pronto, but my hotel was too far away.

I wondered the furthest away from the conference and people as I could find. A women’s bathroom two floors up where no conference or meetings were happening.

Thankfully, there was a lounge area in the bathroom with a few chairs. I tried to get as comfortable as possible trying to get any amount of rest, but one unusual symptom of my hangover, in addition to the typical headaches and nausea, is that I get horny.

I can recall countless mornings after a bingeful night – sleeping late, rushing to get ready to go to work with a sloshy brain, and having to stop minutes before leaving the house, already running late, to masturbate. Somehow my brain could focus on an orgasm. Two to three minutes later, panties and wheels were up!

I couldn’t fall asleep because I needed to masturbate. Not exactly convenient at this time, but could not hold myself back.

Just in case someone walked in, I went into the last stall at the far end, pulled my panties down and sat my naked ass on my long dress on the floor.

I leaned back against the wall and with my left index and middle fingers spread my lips pulling the skin underneath taut and exposing my clit. With the opposite index and middle fingers I came in from my right and pressed into the side of my clit to trap it between my fingers and my pubic bone.

My mind went to Nashville and imagining watching his dark hard cock disappear between my legs, going in and out, seeing just the beginning of the bottom of his head before it plunges right back into me. His rhythm would get faster and harder as we both got more excited. The hard slap of bone on bone when he was all the way inside.

I could barely last a few minutes before my back arched, my legs closed around my right hand fingers, still rubbing vigorously up and down. My left hand moved between grabbing my mouth to muffle my heavy breathing and my neck, which allows me to hold the orgasm as long as possible.

Fuck I feel better. Fuck I have to get back!

I went back to the client booth just a few minutes before the session let out. I chatted away, then they went back in for another lecture.

“Well I’m at work now, 2 blocks away from my hotel. I can always get away though if you’re ever free with your gorgeous self.”

“Well they are in a session now until 10:30AM…”

“Are you free? Now?”

“Yeah, I could get away…”

“I have to run to my room besides…can we meet there? I’m 425. If you’re ok with that of course.”

“On my way!”

I walked two blocks to his hotel in the light rain, stepped into the elevator to go to floor four and barely knew what was going on around me as my mind raced with excitement. Spontaneous, slightly dangerous, definitely risky.

I knocked. He welcomed me in. Two neatly made double beds with a grey view of neighboring hotels and office buildings.

He sat on a chair, I sat on the bed, we played small talk. In a moment in between sentences, he looked me straight in the eye and then leaned over to run his hand over the inside of my right calf. I didn’t say a word. He stood up and took a step closer as his hand moved under my dress and onto my inner thigh.

I moved back slightly on the bed so he could sit next to me and his big, soft lips swallowed mine. His hand at the top of my thigh, thumb pressed up against the outside my panties. I could feel them starting to just slightly stick to my lips from the wetness on the other side.

He stopped and asked me to stand up and take off my dress. He turned me around to stare at my ass and legs. Asked me to take off my panties, sighed, then knelt down, grabbed both my ass cheeks and buried his face. It pushed me forward and my hands on to the bed.

He began stroking my pussy with his right thumb without removing his face.

He grabbed my hip, flipped me over and fully clothed began grinding his rock against my pussy moving his face to my neck. Buried, his breathing was frantic as we moved back and forth together.

I sat up and pulled his shirt off while he undid his pants and slid them off. I pulled him down on the bed to lie on his back and after biting his fat bottom lip grabbed his pecs with both hands and went right for his cock. I took the whole thing right into my mouth and slid it all the way down my throat.

As I came up, I wrapped my left hand around and took his head into my mouth. In rhythm I went down and up keeping my hand and my lips in contact for maximum coverage across his entire cock. Just enough pressure everywhere to feel the veins protruding and the skin sliding over the blood filled meat underneath.

It didn’t take him long either. He exploded into my mouth and I let the warm, white cum run out and over my hand. I sat up, glanced at the clock.

Fuck I have to get back…again!

Pulled myself and my clothes together, rushed the two blocks back to the conference.


“Thank you and you’re welcome.”

“When are you free again? I want to make out with all your lips.”

“That’s a tough call. I might get stuck here this afternoon. I just went to the bathroom and I was soaked! You made me crazy!”

“What made you soaked?”

“Grabbing on my ass with your face buried in it. I love hands on me. And watching it all in the mirror.”

“What about you? What turned you on so much?”

“Your amazing body. Your legs, how soft your ass is. Your tits look amazing. I can only imagine how great you taste.”

“I think I taste amazing. Another thing I love is to taste me on your lips.”

“I can make that happen. I know you’re sitting there wet as fuck right now. I want to lick it. I’m soooo hard right now. What time do you get out of the conf?”

“I have to go to this conf party, but shouldn’t be as late as I thought.”

“What time can you come over?”

“Kinda whenever I want, it’s a big open party…already talked to my biz partner and my client isn’t coming. When do you want me?”

One hour later…

“You don’t want me?? lol”

Five hours later…

“Been knocked out all fucking evening! You probably think I’m lying but seriously I just woke up.”

The next morning…

“No worries, I was asleep by 10:30.”

And with that Nashville flew home. My masturbation fantasy never materialized. Left with my own blue balls, but exceptionally fun first memories of Nashville.

Nashville: Part 1

For those of you who have overindulged in Nashville, you will understand that the title of this story does not need a subtitle. ‘What happens in Nashville’ is just as true. In this case, I will name my ‘what happens’ well, Nashville for simplicity’s sake.

Nashville was actually from Kansas City. He was a glass of dark chocolate – smooth, thick and sweet. Early 40s, closely trimmed dark hair and beard, full lips, nice tight little muscles, cologne and swagger.

I was there for several days for a conference with one of my culinary consulting clients. I met a few jovial attendees on the first day and as we were walking out at the end of the day they asked if I wanted to join them for a drink…or 12.

We started out at the hotel’s restaurant bar. Me, a younger engaged woman from San Diego, a nerdy, 30-something fast casual restaurant manager from Georgia and a heavy-set, mid-50s married restaurant consultant from Chicago.

After several rounds, we walked downtown to the main drag and bar hoped based on the group’s musical interests judging from the band’s style reverberating into the street. The Chicagoan was spending more and more time trying to get next to me as the night moved along.

We ended the evening at the typical dark, dirty, loud band Nashville bar. After grabbing our respective drinks of choice, the three of them went off to dance. I needed a break so slid onto a ripped black leather stool at the end of the bar toward the dance floor to stay close since those strangers were the only ones I knew.

Nashville came behind me, took a stool, leaned in to my ear and made his eye-rolling introduction of ‘Hey Gorgeous.’

But the near brush of his skin on mine, the weight of his breath in my ear and the smell of his cologne instantly piqued my interest.

I did not leave that stool nor his eyes for an hour. Our conversation flowed along with the strong, throat-stripping well liquor cocktails. Periodically, one of my new stranger friends would come and attempt to coax me off my butt to go dance.

He invited me back to his hotel. I politely declined not only because he was a newer stranger friend, but because I had to be at the conference at 7AM the next day and it was already after midnight. But I gave him my cell number before he departed.

I looked up and the only one left on the dance floor was the married restaurant consultant – now officially named Chicago. He was now dancing with a young, tipsy blonde.

I interrupted and asked him to share a cab stressing the keen desire not to make my way home alone at 1AM. I wasn’t staying at the conference hotel so he called two cars. We went outside to wait. It started raining. He pulled his large dark blue suit jacket over his head to cover mine. I thanked him and laughed nervously now being chest to chest together. I looked up at him and he moved in for a kiss. The first thought that flashed through my mind was what a cliche this night had become.

As the car pulled up, I pulled away from him and said good night.

Before I turned off the light to attempt 3 hours of sleep, Nashville texted.

“Maybe we can grab a drink today without any interruptions?”

I crashed hard, woke up, struggled but was successful at arriving at the conference on time.

“I’d like that but not sure when I can break away. I’m here with my biz partner and client for a conf, it goes until 10PM. And I went to bed at 3AM, going on 2 1/2 hours sleep, there is no way I’m going to make it all day! But OMG what I wouldn’t do to be in a squishy hotel bed with you right now!”

“You’re making me blush over here. I think you might get super weak if we were to cuddle. You’re sexy as hell! So what type of guys are you attracted to?”


“That’s right! Only if you knew what was beneath the surface you would probably go crazy.”

“Pls don’t tell me that you mean by beneath the surface is your dick, cause I need more story than that!!”

“Oh no, that’s not what I mean at all. I’m a very passionate, patient person. When are you free today?”

“Well not exactly sure of my timing, maybe 4-5PM, conf is at the Omni right down the street from you.”

“So I just might get to spoon with you lol.”

“You may indeed!”

“Well I’m at work now, 2 blocks away from my hotel. I can always get away though if you’re ever free with your gorgeous self.”

“Well they are in a session now until 10:30AM…”

“Are you free? Now?”

“Yeah, I could get away…”

“I have to run to my room besides…can we meet there? I’m 425.”

Bon Vivant

You may have already guessed that I enjoy taking a little risk from time to time. I want memories at the end of my life, not dreams.

Bon Vivant (Bon for short) has the classic stupid wealthy, sexy af, 50-something look with one attribute that would manifest a WAP in a hot, wet second. Tall, fit, salt and pepper hair producted into a spikey point, black rimmed glasses, financial mogul…and fucking South African. Good lord accents making my pants fall off!

He’s a very kinky guy trapped in a boring sex marriage. Threesomes. Moresomes. Bondage. Gay Porn. Gang Bangs. Trans Porn. Anal. Guys sucking cock. Lingerie. Bi-Friendly. Big cocks. Muscular legs. And he wants his tongue over, on and in all of you.

He has a second home nearby, but primarily lives in SoCal. On one trip up north, we met for lunch at a local restaurant. I brought a few select vintages for him to try and explained my fantasy of having sex with a wine club member. The danger of combining business with pleasure was such a turn on. He readily complied.

It was the first covid summer and we sat outside on a hot afternoon. The backs of my legs got sweaty underneath my dress. I wanted him to shut up, bend me over the table and use his tongue to lick my legs clean, including my ass.

Our conversation connected immediately – international travel, soccer, wine, food, sex – some of my very favorite topics.

Despite it being broad daylight in his second home’s town, he walked me to my car and kissed me in the parking lot. His lips looked slim, but they were full in my mouth. When he had mentioned that he once fucked a woman on a first date in the parking lot up against his car, the feeling of his mouth on mine told me exactly how that would happen.

“Still thinking about that kiss.”

“You have amazing lips!”

“I need to taste your pussy.”

“It’s delicious I assure you. One of my fav things to do is kiss you after you make me cum with your mouth.”

The fall wine club shipment was announced about a month later, and instead of shipping we arranged for me to drop the wines off at Bon’s house in town. The problem was we only had about 30 minutes before his friends and wife would arrive home.

I drove up to a beautiful wine country house surrounded by vineyard. He came out and greeted me as I was walking up to the front door with the wines. We engaged in a little small talk. Thinking there wasn’t time for much more, I started to wrap up the conversation and make my way to the door.

Bon came behind me and pressed me up against the door. I felt the cold wall on my left cheek and his breath in my hair. His hand went down the back of my jeans and, with no panties on, directly over my ass. He started kissing my neck and reached further underneath to get his fingers on my pussy. It was already a slip n’ slid – wetness flowing, his fingers sliding in and out effortlessly.

He pressed into me harder, his concrete cock up against my ass, his chest against my back, and moved his fingers around to the front of my pants. He started teasing my clit. It was already swollen and sensitive. In my mind, I thought this was fucking hot, but I could count on no hands how many times I have come standing up. But he kept at it and it felt amazing.

I spread my legs slightly so he could get better access, and he did not stop applying firm pressure on the right side of my clit rubbing in circles. He grasped my neck with his left hand both for leverage and because he knew I enjoy being choked.

Bon knew exactly how to touch me without offering any direction.

I closed my eyes and my mind and body left the planet. After a few minutes, I could feel I was going to climax. I screamed, “Fuck! On my god, fuck!” My body started convulsing as I came.

I returned to the room. He pulled his hand out of my pants and licked his fingers. I immediately licked them too and then swallowed his lips with mine. I was so fucking turned on, I wanted to rip off both our pants and fuck him right on the entryway floor. But I hesitated since there wasn’t much time remaining and I wanted to respect his life.

He walk out of the room and came back with a wad of cash that he put down my shirt and into my bra. I smiled, thanked him, and quickly made my way out.

“Well that was my most favorite wine delivery ever.”

“Lol, me too!”

“I want more.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I love your pussy. I love how wet is gets.”

“I’m glad! You turn me on so that’s what you get…”

“I masturbated thinking about how wet your pussy was. You coming against the front door.”

That sexy wine delivery was more than two years ago. I have not seen Bon since, although we check in and sext from time to time. I don’t think either one of us will give up on our fantasy to fuck each other one day. When a freak meets a freak, they want what they want.

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Wolverine: So Much Talk

Wolverines are shy and fierce as fuck. Muscular. Solitary. Flesh-eating carnivores. I wanted this Wolverine to eat me up the second he sent me a pic of his back.

Wolverine is tall, 6’2″, ripped as shit, pale with a goofy grin, a motorcycle, a weird ass stuffed animal collection and a day job as a computer nerd at the local university.

I melted into the phone when I saw his back. So fucking tight. Muscles popping. A woman needs at least one of those type of men in her life. Well I do, at least. Just flesh-eating carnivore.

But the detail that got my panties soaked was his tattoo. A series of abstract black lines and shapes folding over this right shoulder, draping down his upper back. I wanted him to lift me up off the ground, put my pussy right into his face and hold me up with those big biceps while he eats it.

Owing to his shyness, we talked pleasantries for way too many days before we made a date. He decided to ride his motorcycle out to meet me at a local restaurant in my town.

High table. Low light. Wine and small bites. I drove the conversation. He drove me crazy after he took off his plated leather motorcycle jacket. His baggy long sleeve left too much to my imagination. I wanted to see muscley bumps and hard curves bulging out.

But that innocent smile, short black hair I longed to grab a fist full of, and flirty shyness kept my attention. I am definitely hanging on to get him behind closed doors to see how fierce this Wolverine could become.

We walked around downtown a bit before we came to his motorcycle. Such a G-rated, pleasant date. I knew I had to make the first move.

After he zipped up his jacket, and with helmet in hand, I moved in. Put my left hand on his chest, leaned up and in, and put his bottom lip between mine. Wet, soft, full. I slowly pulled my lips away, and then got what I wanted. He grabbed my back with his empty hand, flat hand pressed me hard into him. He drove his tongue into my mouth, and our lips moved frantically together. There’s that fucking fierceness!

I felt his cock get hard, pressing into my upper thigh, and my panties get wet. I am definitely going to get him to fuck me on his motorcycle one day. But for tonight, I was just left with a nice make-out sess, wet panties and blue balls.

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