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Monthly Archives: May 2014

Yeah, I guess this one will turn out to be three-parter after all! I am currently away from home for research, and I suspect this will pretty much be the norm for me for the next several years of my life, if not all of them. But I have arranged my schedule such that I have an hour or so free every night to write and respond to messages and things.

If you want to be successful at this whole blogging business, you have to be diligent about updating.

The final part of this memory will be coming soon. Enjoy.

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The kiss lingers for several long moments. There is nothing overtly sexual about it–no biting, no teasing, no tongue, just a gentle, sweet moment. I finally pull back, my hands still cupping her cheeks. Our eyes open at the same time. We look at each other. Her lips are parted, surprise and desire mingling in her expression. She is breathing deeply, slowly, but heavily. She smiles.

“…oh my.”

My thumb strokes her cheek. “Sorry. I’ve just wanted to do that for so long.”

She bites her lower lip. “Me too…”

And she presses against me, wrapping her arms around my waist as she kisses me again. A faint whimper echoes in her throat, and that’s all I need. Gone is the anxiety, replaced by overwhelming desire. I embrace her tightly, squeezing her body as closely to me as before. My tongue traces the line of her lower lip, and she responds similarly, our tongues dancing against one another. My heart pounds, and my body throbs in anticipation. I grab her waist and guide her back, toward my desk, and she leans against it, half sitting, half standing. I drop to my knees, my eyes level with the lower hem of the red dress. I lean in and kiss her thigh, over the stockings. I can smell her arousal, and it as close to intoxicating as anything can be.

I need you.

My lips glide along her inner thigh, beyond the stocking, moving upward as I draw the dress up and around her waist. True to her word, she wore no undergarments, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of her. Very recently and expertly waxed, her mound is smooth and lovely. Her labia are swollen and invitingly open, and glistening wet under the fluorescent lighting in my office. She has started to drip down her left inner thigh, and I run my tongue across the wet trail, cleaning and tasting her. She is remarkably sweet with hardly a hint of salt, better than the flavor of any woman I can remember. I follow the trail along her leg toward her pelvis, and lightly press my tongue against her center. Her wetness coats my mouth, and I feel her shudder at my attentions.

I whisper against her, “You were right, clean living makes you taste pretty fucking good.”

She laughs shakily, and begins to say something, but her voice catches and she simply groans as I thrust my tongue as deep into her as I can. I lift her legs at the knees, pulling them up and onto my shoulders to ease access to her. I feel her ankles lock behind me, and I begin stroking her center with my tongue, long, slow movements, from perineum to clitoris, lapping at her wetness, high on the sweetness of her. My hands grasp her hips, shifting her position on my desk, pulling her a bit closer, then move under the hem of her dress and up along her belly, simply exploring the smoothness of her flesh. She squirms a little, suddenly panting, and after no more than two minutes of my attention I can feel her stomach tighten, her hips begin to shake, and she groans louder than before. I feel her tighten under my tongue, convulsing for a brief moment, then I am surprised by the sudden deluge as she cums against me. I groan in my throat, not wanting to pull away for a moment. This flavor is different than before–tart, almost sour, but still not salty, and it drenches my face and chin, my neck, and covers my shirt. She shudders once more, and again, then gasps for air and pushes at the top of my head. I move back obediently and look up at her.

“You didn’t tell me you squirt,” I say with a wry grin.

She laughs again, less anxious than before but still obviously nervous. “Well, it hardly ever happens. I have to be really turned on for it to happen.”

I gesture to my shirt, and the dark patch of moisture that moves from neck to sternum. “I guess you must have been turned on.”

“That sounds like past tense,” she answers. “Presently, I remain turned on.”

I grin up at her, then lean in and lay a gentle kiss on her clit. She shudders and gasps again.

“…me too,” I answer.

This may turn into a multi-part story. Well, probably it will, because there is so much more to tell. But this seemed a really good place to resume my writing after such a long hiatus.

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I sit with my elbow on my desk, tapping my thumbnail against my teeth absently as my eyes move across my computer screen. I don’t know how many times I’ve read the same few sentences because I’m not truly reading. I’m just trying to convince myself that I’m busy, to keep my mind off the cell phone that sits beside my mouse. I turn my head just so, and the reflection of my monitor shining from the tiny glass screen makes my heart leap. I check my notifications. Still empty.

Chill out man. I tap the sleep button and set my phone back down. I hide my face in my hands as I breathe deeply, exhaling slowly through pursed lips. I don’t understand why I’m so anxious. It’s not like any of this is uncharted territory for me. But my racing heart won’t be stilled, and my stomach ties itself into a knot every time I consider my plans for the day, and who they’re with. It’s a strange sensation, not foreign, but forgotten since my days as an undergraduate. I don’t know how I coped with it then, or why I can’t seem to control it now. So I lift my eyes and resume trying to read the journal article on my screen.

Then my phone blinks. Legitimately this time. I can tell the difference even in my periphery. I quickly check the notifications. One new message:

I’m outside.

My stomach forgoes knots for gymnastics.

I rise and step into the hallway. I am the sole occupant of my building because the university is closed for the Christmas holiday. Every step echoes down the empty hall. My clothes brush against my skin, louder than usual. My neck itches for reasons I can’t identify, and rubbing doesn’t help. A shaky hand grasps the handle of the door to the stairwell. I wonder if she’ll notice as I push open the side entrance and step into the crisp afternoon air.

And there she is, standing beside her companion’s vehicle, removing suitcases and boxes from the trunk. A cute red dress that is not nearly warm enough for the weather, and a grey waist coat that certainly is. Black stockings that contrast starkly with the snow and ice and low heels that match her dress. She turns toward me and smiles brightly, blue eyes shining under long blonde bangs swept to the side.

I stop dead in my tracks. Somehow I find my voice. “Hey Tina.”

She races to me and throws herself into my arms. She feels so small, but she squeezes me so hard it forces the air from my lungs. I return the embrace just as fiercely. She presses her cheek against my chest and whispers, “I can’t believe it’s you.”

I rest my cheek against the top of her head. “I understand.” I resist the urge to kiss her hair. “I missed you so much.”

We maintain the embrace for a long moment, then she releases me and turns to her companion. I just catch the glint of a tear in her eye, but she hides it well otherwise. She retrieves her luggage and gives her friend a hug. They say something I can’t distinguish, hug a second time, and part ways. She rolls her suitcase behind her as the car pulls away.

I take the suitcase from her and open the door. “How was your day?”

She steps through. “Good.  Awkward, but good.”

I glance at her. “Why awkward?”

“Wearing a short dress with no underwear while having lunch with my family,” she answers.

I node sagely. “That would do it. But I’m glad you remembered.”

She smiles at me, and we engage in idle chit chat as we trudge up the stairs toward my office. She speaks and laughs as easily as she ever has, her awkwardness apparent every moment. But I can hear the nervousness in her voice, the quavering tones, and I see the unsureness of her steps. She is every bit as nervous as I am. I find that reassuring, but also worrisome. I will need to be careful.

In a few moments, I open the door to my office and hold it wide for her. I set her suitcase to the side as she steps through. She looks around idly. “It feels smaller in here than I remember.”

“New furniture,” I respond, watching her from the doorway.  She removes her coat and places it on the standing rack, and begins examining my bookshelves. Her nervousness is still obvious. I don’t know what to do. But there’s only one thing I want to do.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, and I shut the door, “but there is something I have to do.” She blinks in surprise as I close the space between us. I reach out to her and gently cup her face in my hands.

I press my lips to hers for the first time.

And I have never felt happier.

Two days ago, I went through a culling of the old e-mail accounts, consolidating everything into as few professional and private accounts as possible.  When I opened my oldest, most unused client, one message out of literally thousands stood out to me:

Click here to see your 2013 WordPress blogging history!

It was sent in January, mind you, but then, I have been exceedingly busy these past… what, 20 months?  Damn.

Anyway, it was there, shining at me in its unread bolded glory.  And I just sort of blinked at it.

“….oh yeah, that’s a thing I did.”

I confess, I totally forgot about this.  Oddly enough, I didn’t forget about the people I met, those who continued to e-mail or message or Skype with me about their lives and mine.  I forgot some names, certainly, but the people, and the community, are still there, locked away in the private spaces of my mind.  And when I realized that I had forgotten my blog, I felt like a total shitheel.

Well, kids, that ends today.

I owe everyone an explanation.  Shortly after my previous post, I was presented with a new work opportunity that excited me terribly, and as with all things that excite me terribly, I threw myself into it completely.  It was gratifying work that has produced several new manuscripts being prepped and reviewed for publication, and it opened a few doors for new career paths in my beloved biological sciences.  It was also accompanied by field research trips to the boreal forests, the Serengeti, and Thailand, during which I rarely had access to the internet or even a working phone, so I was basically isolated.  Work became everything, and somewhere throughout that process, I just forgot.

I enjoyed being a part of this community.  I was comforted by the kind words, and by knowing that there were so many other people out there who felt as I did about sexuality and morality.  I felt like I was a part of something, and I suddenly felt like I had abandoned it, and all of the wonderful people I knew through our shared experiences.

You have my apology, one and all.  You may not feel it’s necessary, or you may not care, but you have it, regardless.

I have so many things to say, but those will be reserved for later posts.  The format of my writing will not change, nor will the general theme and content, because I have not changed.  I’ve just gotten busier.  Until then (and by “then” I mean within the next day or so), go read Hyacinth’s blog.  Because I said so.