Giggles’ Corner

From glitter bombs to body parts, I don't quite fit…that isn’t unusual. My manner of communication takes time to get used to. That's okay; at least everyone asks. It may take the funny out of the joke, but my connections are understood. I'll take it. The sense of humor does not always travel. I know that. Most people will get used to it; others will fade, and that's the way my life has always been: large groups of people I'm just myself in; it chases everyone off but those who are my people. That's all I need… to find my people. ::insert little shrug here:: We discussed body parts. And i realized i never, not once in my life, decided what I found attractive. I married Hummahkavoola without ever having thought about what I find attractive. Hands were mentioned in chat, and I thought of large, strong hands at the top of my hips holding me together, pulling me back. And yes…that feeling says I like hands.

And I hear my honey saying, "Move toward that feeling."

So I’m stopping to think, hands. Splayed across my stomach as he holds me back against his hardness. Yes, hands are nice…

Shit, now all I can think of is all the things his hands can do. Trailing lines of fire over my sternum down the centerline to slowly separate me, a gently ungentle touch that excites and wets.

Climbing on the bus in a pleated micro mini and having large hands work their way beneath my skirt tracing along the soft cotton panties the other holding the passenger bar above us closing me in in the overcrowded bus…let me lean against you as your thumb works under the panties separating and caressing….fingers slicked by spit work their way inside me, one then two…::breathing heavier:: ….slipping out just long enough to wrap your arm around me and working your hand up under the skirt in front, securely fixing me against you, thumb firmly applied in small circles as you penetrate me with those same three fingers you started with.

This particular fantasy will be flushed out in another post.

I know no completion.

Edge baby! LOL

:)

I went down for my morning cocoa and stayed next to the coffee machine in the lobby to talk with some of my neighbors. They know my work and enjoy freaking out the other neighbors as much as I do. 😄 So they always ask me inappropriate questions when the worst people are around. ::I smile as my brat shows:: One of the people my husband chats with outside our building was getting cocoa and overheard that my husband bought me my collar and leash…yiu have to understand the context…this man is a big city drug dealer. He's polite and keeps to himself.

You know it's been so long since I've been hit on in such a blatant way I told him I had no response but I'm married…and have been for 34 years. And it felt nice to be hit on.

It also made me think about several of my own kinks, one of which is being the subject in erotic photos. I honestly thought I was grieving my days of doing pin-up work. Then, I started looking at bdsm consent structures and my own proclivities and then i got on a few sites to try to find two things…friends to talk sex with and interlocutors for my work. I haven't been hit on so much since I've gained weight. And I figured out that big girls get love too…then my husband decided to support my step back into exhibitionism, and offered to take some photos. :)

He so sick still. He won't really interact about it. And that leaves me, who is healthy enough to do some light photos can't stop collecting. I'm considering g drawing out big girl posing. I know how to show off a very lithe body I no longer have.

So these are the things, the black velvet is a duster. The cat is flint. And I'd like opinions. We have several votes for the first posted shots being the red leather jacket and I'm thinking that's not a bad idea.

I'd love opinions.

Long post

The first time he told me to move toward it, we were first married and working for Party Place. Anonymized name. No longer open. And hell, I think the guy who owned it may be dead too…wow. In any case, it was a warehouse with pool tables and a bar. I'd come to pick him up. We had the truck at the time, and while I knew how to drive a stick shift well, it was still HIS to me, though. I drove it; I just didn't like to. He had it before we got back together, and we hadn't been married a year yet, so I still viewed it as singular. Anything acquired after Christmas Eve was ours. Prior to that day, I smiled and shook my head. I viewed it as his.

The jeans I'd worn were tight but not uncomfortable; the waist, as always when I was young, was too small, so to get the jeans over my dancer's thighs I had to get the waist large. I wore a sports bra with a button-up open, and tied at the waist to try to stop the view down the back of my pants. And those blue cowboy boots. Those were good boots too. Set up to stop snakes. My hair was long, and I wore bangs at the time. I sat and tried to flirt with my husband. ::I blink and press my lips together:: he was not impressed…Well, I don't think he knew I was flirting. We started with eyes and tried the cherry-stem trick. He told me not to eat all the maraschino cherries. Finally I got mad… said nothing, trying to figure out how to catch his attention. I’d never signaled, and how I knew how to signal he obviously didn't see. So very much like me, I waited to see if he was horny. Finally, he asked me why I was angry.

:: laughs a little laugh that says I did something stupid::

I said I wasn’t angry. I really wasn't; I was horny, but I wasn't comfortable with expressing my sexuality. I was 20 with a sexually violent history. Expressing my sex drive had always been dangerous. Still is. I'm just getting to where I don't care anymore. Well, I care; I just can't be vigilant for everything all the time. We talked about nothing for a moment as he finished the cash register. The look on his face said he didn't believe me, and I smiled a little smile just for him, and took another sip of the Coors from in front of me. He gave me a peck and said how I would like to play a game of pool.

All I could think of was fucking him in the truck. He's always denied me that…and that's ok. I understand his reason, but that's all I could think of. And he asked me again why I was angry. He'd missed the stripe and so I walked in front of him and bent in half. ‘I wanna fuck you in the truck,’ I'd told him when he asked me why I wasn't in the mood; he asked what would put me in the mood, and i told him letting me fuck him in the truck, and he started asking why…gods that always drove me nuts, until I did overd he’d answer the same question. What was it about the fantasy that I wanted?

Was it the public or the man…you see I'd been asking for a recreation of something I'd done with another man…prior to marriage. I'll do that one in another post…so he asked me what the fantasy actually was.

I had to think…oh fuck it, I'll tell you here; it's germane. What I was thinking was…

Guy other than my husband….It started with a blow job in the white truck (our truck was red). He'd been ignoring me, and so I decided that he needed to pay attention to me. We hadn't seen each other in several days since we’d seen each other, and he was silent. So I pulled my long hair back and popped the buttons on his Levi’s with my teeth. I found him responsive, hard against my cheek, and I looked up at him with my best babydoll eyes and thought how much he looked like my now husband. Pushing that from my mind, this man I dated for two years. He kept driving and looked down at me, shocked when I took him fully into my mouth.

Was this what I liked?

The salty slick taste? I know, I say slick taste, and I mean it. I now always think of raw oysters. I'm allergic…I've got to fix that particular connection, so that goes on the must-address list.

I skipped ahead in my head to I kept trying to get him to cum and he wouldn't. So I crawled on him where he could still see, after I had stripped my button-fly jeans and panties.

Well fuck! NotYouGiggles has a danger kick. That wasn't my assumption that nigh.

But, yeah, I made sure my hair and head were out of his way, leaned to his left shoulder, straddled him as he reached around me to steer, and I waited until he came to a red light and slid down onto him. The light changed, and he took off, getting on the highway with me riding him. Jesus, he was doing 80 when I came. I knew he'd follow seconds later. He was always good that way. First time I'd ever cum for someone. Hm.

Back with a very ticked young husband who's just watched his new wife relive an orgasm from another man

And i still couldn't place why I wanted to have sex again in the truck so bad. That was the start of the no’s regarding sex. That's why the yes recently meant so much.

I don't really blame him for saying no; that was wildly dangerous, but omg the orgasm!

So there I am trying not to blush as I try to figure out what I find enticing about the truck. I knew the idea we could be caught was part of it, so I went with exhibitionism as the kink…thinking now, that one is the danger and a very specific something that, frankly, at the age I was at and he looked enough like my now husband, it really could have been anyone beneath me. And I tried to explain that. My now hubby ignored it and tried to figure a way to get the need met without having sex in the truck. 34 years later, I realize it was the danger, not the exhibitionist.

We both tagged it as exhibitionist that night; how funny. There are other reasons I tag myself as an exhibitionist, one of which is this evening at the Party Place. He’d kept telling me to move toward the feeling.

We pared down for what we had available and what he was willing to do. We grabbed several clean barrages. (What!? We didn't want to ruin the pool table)

We started in the center of one of the tables. The one that could be seen from the only window in the building. We tried for a minute, and the comfort level was low on the table, so we adjusted to the side of the pool table. We left a little wet spot on the pool table; one he fussed, and so i went to clean the mix of our precum. Bent over the table, jeans still fully unbuttoned…

(why…Im realizing I have hard feelings. That's not a good thing. They are definitely latent. But I know these things build.)

He told me to move toward it, then redirected me…I don't even think he knows he did it. I mean the man was 22 at the time. So, self-aware as we were, the joy with which i wrote that first orgasm I cannot manufacture for the pool tables. I mean, that was my fantasy for years, but that night, before we lost the truck, I wanted to at least fuck him while he was in the driver's seat, even if we were stopped. But he never did do that with me, and i was right; we lost the truck. We no longer have a car, so there's no possibility of ever living the first fantasy I shared with my husband.

I'm both mad and hopeful. Now I'm thinking about how I can pare it down or emulate it. Ha! Open the curtains and strip in front of the TV, move his table and settle to straddle him, letting my moisture settle into his pants before I can unzip him and release him from his pants…run my breasts down the front to around his erection. Licking the tip as the head appears out the top, i lick down the shaft, taking each ball separately into my mouth…

And this time this is where we stop. This is yesterday's post…late, but it did arrive. :)

In an effort to communicate to my husband what I need, we are doing it this way…also ::insert little shrug:: he told me to go toward the feeling. I'm trying to, and every argument, and every non-consensual bit runs through my head. I need him to be strong enough to fuck me anyway. All of my molesters are dead, so there is no possibility of retribution, or apologies; that also means that I have to come up with a way to teach my husband how to accept my sex drive.

We’d fought…I was horny, and he was accusing me of not having a sex drive. This was the day he told me, ‘Either you do, or you don't, and you don't.’ An argument that happens repeatedly, still. This day we argued that I had turned him down for vaginal sex. I had a small tear from the last time we had sex. I needed that to heal. That did not stop the argument, and I found myself defending I had one. I still think he doesn't understand that. I know he likes my exhibitionist side because it means photos, which means sex without a fight for us.

I went to work for a few hours during the dinner rush and came home in the pleated black mini skirt, pressed white button-up, green bowtie, hose over shaved legs, little pom-pom sock, and black tennis shoes. I was dragged out walking to work, at work, and home from work, and we had fought about sex before I went to work. Three guys were removed from the restaurant for reaching up my skirt, and now he was looking at me, still angry. I was torn. I sighed heavily as I entered the apartment and said we needed to talk. I sat on the couch and removed my hose (and yes, I'm specific; these were hose, not stockings. I'm specific. I prefer stockings, but at the time, that skirt would have shown the stocking tops; my size makes most skirts look short on me, whether or not they are. ) and I undo the bowtie and unbutton my shirt, revealing my white sports bra. And sat on the couch in front of our ubiquitous television and waited for his response.

I watched him turn red, and we decided to spar and talk; he’s my Sifu. We had/have rules around that; we never had an issue with it, that we know of…so spar and talk we did. When he finally realized I was saying medical incapacity, he suggested anal sex. :: I smile with dimples and flush:: which is about what I did when he suggested it. Something in me finds it sexy that he finds my dangerousness sexy and cute.

Ok, holy shit. We used to spar before sex. A lot. No wonder my best AI fantasies still include me executing precision martial arts. Neither of us is capable of sparring anymore, not like that… I don't know how to pare that down yet. And yes, my brain always circles. It works like a three-D spider web ball. Yes, all that

I asked him to tie me down for it, and he smiled this smile I don't think I've seen on him since...it was sly and sexual, thoroughly pleased, and he spanked my ass. I smiled like a cross between a little girl and a sire. And started searching the house for any rope. I know we found something black. I think it was the rope we used for washing things by hand. Or the bungee from strapping things to the outside of the backpacks we used to carry out groceries home. No car. I honestly can't remember other than. It was black, and we fed in under the bed and pillowed me to angle my ass better for penetration.

I was giddy. I'd always wanted to try tying me down and had shied because of the way I was abused as a child. I wasn't certain what my reaction would be. And now i knew how to hurt people. The last thing I wanted to do was have a bad reaction and retraumatize myself. So we discussed this; we started with the restraints tied loose enough I could get out, and I asked him to stop me from moving, and he adjusted the ties ::I say, smiling broadly, nipples hard: I couldn't lift but a short lift to be able to rotate my head from side to side.

Much as with every other touch, I flinch before I relax. Yes still. I was brought up fighting a sister 4 and 1/2 years older than I. Grandma used to tell stories of my sister beating me in the stomach as I'd scream and hold onto the side of the crib. That animosity never ceased. We no longer speak.

He walked me through each touch, from the ‘I'm setting my hand on your ass’, to ‘here comes the lube’::I smile just for him::

::I laugh at the giddy memory:: splayed, unable to move on the bed, stretched to the four corners, and I tried to relax and just let the feeling swallow me. My body fought this, so he lubed the outside again, gently pulling my ass apart far enough that I could barely feel his fingers enter until they were already there, and he released the stretch he'd been performing. My whole body went wired, and the bonds stopped the curl my body fought to perform, a delicious denial that made the sensation spread from his fingers diligently applying lube inside me to my fingers and toes. The insatiable tingle spread from the central location.

He breathed he loved me in my ear as the head of his cock stretched me out in the best pain I'd ever been in. Still, I was silenced by the sensation. A common response for me: the more I enjoy it, the more I tend to hold my breath to not make noise. (so much so that my husband recently stopped when I made noise and wanted him to continue; that was an awkward moment) oh! And yes. My sex is always layered like this. The random thoughts…the inability to stop the verbal overlay.

I kept fighting the bonds; I wanted to stay there, and he untied me, had me hold his arm as he chose to fill every hole. Fingers inside me and in my mouth, his cock a quick short beat, careful not to tear me. My legs came together, and I refused to let him remove his fingers. Pressing me into the bed, he warned me he was close and asked how I wanted to handle it. All I could do at the time was nod. Telling him it was his choice whether or not he pulled out to cum. It was one of those successive moments as he pressed hard against me and in me.

There was the second before I came, as he started to cum, the jerk and hold, and I couldn't help but clench lightly as the ripple of the muscles hit me. (ha, pun intended! He, at the time wouldn't spank me that developed over time) I swallowed the moan of pleasure and held my breath as the waves overtook my body, and I relied on the bed to keep me from curling in on myself. After shocks pulsed through me as he trembled and we fed on each other for, I don't know how long, but I was slobbering happily on the sheets.

This post brought to you by the cold the child who sneezed on me in the elevator gave me…

Well, it was, and it wasn't. We, meaning both of us, woke up mid sex once. I remember the dream was a waitress dream, one that, for some reason, I didn't mind the guy reaching up my skirt. That was unusual. Usually I'd auto-react with a thumb-breaking move, especially in a dream, where hitting won't get you arrested, but this...for a body that reacts counterproductively when it comes to sex, it was wildly wet. Not something I ever get. Yet this time it was uniquely cooperative. I was bent backward, over his arm, back arched, and he slid in. I don't know if he'd been there while I was sleeping, and that turned me on more. The uncertainty made me very aware of my body. Splayed beneath him like something tiny to be played with in all the best ways. And he did. He didn't wake until climax.

This memory has stuck with me because I woke to my body's reaction, waves of pleasure, because he didn't stop to check on me. While checking on me is fine, and sometimes even necessary because of my past, he has made a habit of it in a manner that makes me feel like porcelain which I am NOT. Ok so it feels like it recently, it's not a permanent state. And in many ways I need him to stop worrying about me. I know, hell of a problem to have. I know it's not that I don't want him to care, I want him to care enough to understand that my body and my mind don't sync. Not on a regular basis.