It's in the details

I received a request to elaborate on an encounter that I touched on in an earlier post. Here 'tis.

We slid into the first empty seats we saw, me with my hand over my mouth to stifle the giggles and she squeezing her lips together until they turned white. Leave it to us to get there so late that we interrupted the wedding party as it began its traipse down the aisle. She leaned into me, shaking with laughter, her bare, sweaty right arm pressing into mine.

Avoiding eye contact at all costs, we got the giggling under control. I had to consciously try to slow my breathing, so I matched my inhales to hers, my arm barely brushing her arm every few seconds or so. Goose bumps rose up.

Then, she jerked up, mumbling, "Oh! Crap...my bra!" as she slipped away, leaving me laughing again and fidgeting through some singing or something until she returned to my side.

"Couldn't fix it, think I'm going to have to go without it. Maybe you can help me when we get out of here."

I could, yeah, I could.

I believe it was a longish ceremony, but the memory of the particulars is a blur.

I guided her back to my car and got her settled in her seat, her back to me.

"Turn around and let me see what's going on here." I thought back a couple of hours, to when she'd come over and asked me to help her dress. She'd held her hair up, exposing the white nape of her neck, and I'd stood behind her and fastened the clasps and tied the halter top that I was about to undo. Oh man. I worried that my shaking hands would prevent me from undoing the safety pins I'd placed alongside her shoulder blades to hold the misbehaving bra in place without stabbing her. Squeezing them together for a few moments between my legs steadied my nerves. The pins came out without any bloodletting, but brushing the backs of my hands against her soft back brought the shakes again. Could she tell?

Not trusting myself to speak clearly, I patted her shoulder to indicate that she should slip the bra off and leaned back. Her raised arms formed an elegant curve and she tossed the still-warm garment backward, hitting me in the face. My nose flared at the scent of her musky perfume. She laughed. I cleared my throat and fanned my face, sure that it was bright red by now.

"So...is this going to work or do I look like a slut?"

Wriggling around, she faced me and spread her arms, inviting me to look. Perfection, but she didn't need to know quite yet.

"Just let me tug this a bit..." I grabbed hold of the fabric, first tickling her to make her laugh again. I pulled this way, then that, til she was both giggling and jiggling. Delightful.

I raised my eyes. "Your face is flushed," I told her, holding my hands still, finally, my thumbs pressing into the soft skin at the edges of the halter. "You look beautiful. Totally slutty and beautiful."

A new view

Last night, I dreamed that I was a man. A man having sex. ALL kinds of sex. For a long time. I'm still dazed. What the? I don't... wow. That's a new one. It answered a few questions I've wondered about. Now I wonder if I can manage to have it again???

Butterscotch

I was lying down, worrying a problem that has been preoccupying my mind incessantly. I'd gone through every possible scenario, come at it from every angle, but it's an unsolvable riddle. Or one that has no satisfactory resolution, anyway. But still I think about it, trying to figure it all out. I'm smart, I can do it, right? My mind started to slow down and all of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with a crushing craving. For butterscotch pudding. Did my mind just want to stop the worrying and obsess on something attainable?

It has to have been years since I've had butterscotch pudding. It's not an especial favorite of mine. But I could see the spoon breaking the surface and pulling out a triangular wedge, and then I could feel the cold pudding dissolving on my tongue, comforting me. It's too, too sweet.

I went to the cookbook. Aha, I have brown sugar, butter, milk, flour, salt, eggs and vanilla. It will take just a few minutes of mixing, boiling, thickening. I guess today I can have what I want, after all.

Things I've been called today

Stylish
Skinny (twice!)
Crazy
Nut

Love it. Love it. Love it. Love it.

Mom is coming to visit tomorrow. The last time we saw each other, I was a basketcase, 'bout ready to be thrown in the woodchipper. She took care of me, like mom should, until I could start to try to take care of myself. I'm nervous to see her; I don't want to give her anything to worry about because she has enough difficulty dealing with her medical problems. The very good news is that dad's not coming. It'll be just us girls for the weekend.

Want a piece?

I've been in Iowa for a few days, helping celebrate a family member's 40th birthday. First, I had to bitch: hundreds of dollars (close to a grand) for plane tickets, airport parking, dog boarding, gift? Take time off work at an awkward time? Flying w/o lip gloss AGAIN? "Happy" family time for FOUR days? Christ. Yup, all of that, and I was told to suck it up. Bah. He's turning 40. I'm only surprised he's lived that long.

The trip was almost worth it, though, for the cock cake. We found a picture of him from when he was 11. He's sitting on the floor, watching TV. He's got his legs spread way wide, and he's wearing teensy, tiny yellow shorts. It's a beauty of a crotch shot. You can see everything. Took that baby and put it on the cake.

We also found a dumb card that had a rooster on it, and wrote, "Nice Cock!" One of his favorite stories to tell is when he was walking down the street wearing tight, little shorts (what is it with this guy?) and a woman passing by said, "Nice cock!"

I believe this story to be apocryphal but he's quite proud of it and it makes him happy and not much else does, and he's old, so I don't question (to his face).

Oh, and the party was a surprise. He lurved that and he lurved that everyone was talking about his cock all night. I do believe it was his best birthday ever.

I do like Iowans. They're funny and such.

Girl, please

Half of cell phone conversation overheard, 9/13, 9:00 a.m., parking garage elevator, with seven other people.

Shawn, I love you. We'll work this out...
I do give you what you need...
You need to give me what I need...
All you need, Shawn, is money and cleaning the house...
What about what I need?...
I wouldn't DO that if you'd think about my needs!...
Shawn, that cat has to GO when we have the baby!...
Well, then, I'm going to leave you!
CLICK

Getting back on the horse

So girlfriend Bridezilla is now Wifezilla. This was her second wedding, and we all wondered why exactly she was going whole-hog (again), but it's what she wanted and I have to say she pulled off one of the most fun, beautiful weddings and receptions I've been to. It started off a little nuts, with E and I making wrong turns, hitting a roadblock, missing the church (no sign) and running in so late that we cut the wedding party off mid-march and the groom had to yell at us, "GO, GO, GO!" We slid into our seats just in time. Always make an entrance.

Don't know where they found a funny priest, but his gift to the bride and groom of a barrel of monkeys during the ceremony was hilarious. Every Catholic wedding should have a barrel of monkeys from now on. According to me. E's bra malfunction in the middle of the ceremony made me laugh even more -- and then I got to half-undress her in the car (yes, I redressed her). Anyhoo, the reception/food/wine were amazing, up until the point where I broke my camera, accused some unknown person of stealing my guest gift out of my purse, and had to be dragged home. Like I said, good wedding.

Next weekend, my brother is getting back on the horse. He's been through basically hell the last couple of years, but I really, really like his new woman and she makes him happy. They're going down to the courthouse to get the legalities out of the way expeditiously, and then having a big party with their friends. No wedding. Unfortunately, I cannot be there, but I'm crossing my fingers that they also get exactly what they want -- Saturday night and on and on.

I know why I'm here. Why are you here?

Have you ever felt that you were being followed? Or watched? Maybe I've developed paranoia, or maybe it's because a friend has been teasing me about it, but I'm seriously starting to wonder. There have been too many strange occurrences lately. And strange comments, like attempts to draw me out -- to say something in particular. ???

I'm on alert.

Random KC

A little of both










Chilling










Spooky



























What a big shuttlecock