Sisterly Specifics

My sister is exquisitely beautiful, with an almost exotic look. She does not always realize her own beauty, but recently is becoming more comfortable in her own skin. The evidence is in the tactful, but semi naked, pictures she sent me. It is just not the curve of her hip, the swell of her beasts, the deep dark eyes, the long and almost always perfect hair.
She is intelligent, quick witted, humorous. She has a loud voice and an even louder laugh. She quirks up an eyebrow that conveys a whole paragraph in meaning. She excitedly talks with her hands. She loves, hopes, optimistically. She's always up for adventures and very often creates chaos that she miraculously escapes from unscathed. She's impulsive. Caring and considerate. She has a great "O" face that she displays when drunk for giggles, that she disliked immediately upon seeing a picture of. She used to say her makeup was her best asset, refused to believe it couldn't be an asset.
She refuses to bow down, to be judged, to be swayed. She's opinionated and feisty.
She may be taller than me (by just a smidgen) but she's my little sister, my cohort in crime, and my first experience taking care of (BTW, I failed miserably at it) another person.

Silverdrop's Meme Mention

SilverDrop's Meme of the Week

SilverDrop's Meme of the Week



 

 

SilverDrop liked the photo that we submitted for Sinful Sunday. Her and her husband both contribute to her (their?) blog, and participate in a number of memes. What's awesome is then they pick their favorite from the week. This is an fantastic idea! Thank your husband for his service, from us. And thank you so much for liking the photo!

TMI Blogging

1. Do you write/manage another blog?
No, this one and reading so many others, takes up enough time and creativity.

2. Pick 3 random blogs from your blogroll and tell us why they are on your blog roll.
TMI Tuesday normally because I read these and think of my own answers, and if I'm already thinking it, why not answer and participate?
Wicked Wednesday A great resource for inspiration, and to discover how other people used the prompt.
Sinful Sunday Just a fun contribution, and visually creative to explore.

3. Look around your blog, tell us about two pages or links you want us to visit, be sure to provide a link to them in your answer to this question.
Postponing the Inevitable Because the writing was incredibly challenging. Not just because the memory was from years ago, but also because the reactions and actions of that night are still misunderstood and confusing - still to both of us.
Anal: The Final Frontier How do you take an awkward and nerve-wracking moment and change it to a positive spin? A high-five certainly helps, and so does humor and a "can-do" attitude.

4. Do you have any unique interests that you have never shared before? What are they?
Hmm, I like throwing knives...normally at my sister. Just kidding, I haven't done that to her since she was little. Thank goodness we outgrow adolescent angst, eh?
We're both avid readers, and we both suck at golf.

5. What’s your current obsession?
Completing my sex list. My partner and I came up with a hard/soft/curious/love list and and our working our way through (or will once we see each other, and he's out of a cast).

Bonus: Has blogging helped or hurt your sex life?
I don't think it's changed much. Only noticeable thing is that after great sex, I immediately feel the need to get up and write about it.
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How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Postponing the Inevitable

A continuation from Breaking Walls

The breath on my neck made my skin burn, so why then did goose bumps appear like I was cold? Next, the soft feel of your lips, increased the heat, followed only seconds by the tip of your tongue. It dipped against the skin, as if checking the temperature, before it plunged against the back of my neck, where it darted a path made by lips that moved slowly, sensually up and then around my neck.

I turned around and gazed at you in a direct way. You appeared startled by my look. But I couldn't hold your eyes, those liquid amber pools that reflected your desire and curiosity. No, my gaze was drawn to your lips that had just caused me to shiver and melt. Both lips were soft, the bottom fuller and keeping my focus. I found I wanted to suck on that lip, felt drawn towards it before remembering who you were and where we were, feeling a jolt in disbelief at my lack of control to the point where I almost caved into my urge.

Desperate to bring myself under control, I leaned over and grabbed your drink, shoved it towards your face, unable yet to speak, not knowing what to say. How do I turn down a dear friend?

Your eyes widened, and you grinned despite yourself before taking a drink, not removing your eyes from my face. There was a sexual magnetism about you that I just wanted to fall into. I had always found you sexy, and laying in bed, with your lips recently enflaming my passion, I felt that I would lose control quickly again.

You seemed to be assessing me, and almost as if making a decision, reached over me with your long arms and put the bottle down on the nightstand. Still leaning over me slightly, you were only inches from my mouth, and my gaze again focused on that bottom lip. My heart beat erratically and I couldn't tolerate the wait and anticipation and impulse any longer. I don't remember if you closed the space or if I did, but suddenly I was tasting those lips, the taste intoxicating as a drug, as sweet as innocence. I kissed you with my entire being, daring and bold, pulled your large frame further against my smaller one, molded us together.

I wrapped my legs around you, trying to leave no space between us, and felt your arousal through my pajamas. My breasts tingled and nipples tightened where your hard chest pressed against mine. The sudden tightening deep down inside of me made me hesitate. What in the world was I thinking? I lacked control and gasped, rolled out from under you so swiftly that you froze. We sat, faced each other. Eyes met eyes, your sensual full lips quirked upward, and I felt drawn again, and had to remind myself to not notice your lips.

"We shouldn't," I whispered, and again brought your drink to your face, stalled, thought. The heat coming off from your body was unsettling. How could I be so aware of your heat, even sitting upright facing you?

You smiled. "Okay," you affirmed, leaned slowly around me to put your drink back. But I forgot what we were discussing as you moved close to me and threw my arms you, pushed you against the mattress, tried to cover your body with my own. Again, you froze, your arms spread out helplessly, didn't hold or encourage me. I could understand if I was confusing you, my strong reaction to you confused me. But I didn't need any other encouragement other than the desire that you sparked. Hot, scorching passion that I was captive to, that made me melt into you.

But your arms still not being around me made me aware of who you were: my friend, and a man that doesn't have casual sex. As I moved my lips from yours and went to suck on your neck, I muttered, "the pants aren't coming off." There, that took care of casual sex, didn't it? I was proud of thinking of it, to have come to a logical conclusion of where this was going - no casual sex. You went to mutter, another okay...I think, but I thrusted my tongue deep in your mouth, and became aware of your arms finally around me. I was satisfied that apparently you found my solution agreeable.

I moved down to your neck, nibbled softly, felt you shudder, and then your hands grasped the bottom of my shirt and tugged upward. I offered no resistance, after all there was no rule against my shirt coming off, moved upright to make it a little easier to come off. I immediately moved back to your neck, felt your calloused hands on my smooth shoulders. My tongue moved onto your chest, tried to kiss every inch of the broad expense, your fingers caressed my arms, shoulders, back, so softly. My hands shook as I moved them against your bottoms, gently pulled the elastic waistband away from your skin, and stroked your hardened length with one hand.  

No longer gentle, you hauled me up against you, kissed me deeply and wildly. Twisting, suddenly underneath you, you returned the sentiment and covered me completely with your body, leaned up on elbows, cupped the side of my face, and just stared for a moment. I didn't want to think, felt panicked for a moment that I would stop us again, when you leaned down and softly kissed my forehead, the bridge of my nose, before returning to my lips. Next, you tasted the side of my neck, teased the lobe of my ear, shifted slightly and grazed the side of my breast with your fingers. I moaned, wanting to encourage you, and felt your hand cupping my breast, fingers sought out nipple and teased to hardened points. Your mouth closed upon the nipple, hot heat on sensitive flesh, and I arched into your mouth. Those wayward fingers of yours followed the curve of my hip, down the outside of my thigh, back up again, followed the path of my waistband, gently stroked my belly, making me suck in my breath with anticipation, a warm knot settling underneath your touch; but you moved up and stroked the other breast that you weren't kissing. After you sucked and licked both nipples, you moved lower, tracing feathery kisses down my stomach, your hand sliding over the thin cloth, almost touched my mound, before teasing fingers grazed at the inside of my thigh, lightly stroked up, almost all the way up, and then down, and back up, up, almost there, and back with the same pattern to distraction. Your tongue followed a path along the top of my pajama bottoms, and I suddenly hated this cloth barrier, this would-be solution that I concocted.

A solution we both tried, for hours upon hours, to horrendously honor, but couldn't remain loyal, as we had a deeper calling to finally and blissfully answer to. 

How to even begin to describe that torturous night, with sins and satisfactions, is intimidating to me, so much like that night, I suppose I'll postpone the inevitable and wait just a bit longer.

Read other's Somethings for the Weekend

Kiss this

 

 And be sinful with me

The dark night

A bit darker than the norm...

The itch, it's burning inside of me. I'm restless. I'm anxious and angry. Lonely, depressed, and enraged. I'm pacing the floors of my head space, trying to get around everything.

I want you. I want you for so many reasons but tonight they are selfish. I want to fill me up with you until there is no room for these thoughts, these hateful emotions. I want you to use me. I want you to treat my body with no regard for anything except pleasure.

I want you to be rough like the tides in my head right now. I want to feel the sting of your palm and the power of your hips. I want to feel as though you have a tenuous hold on keeping me safe, like the safeties that feel so absent in my head.

As I get lost in the madness of my thoughts and the insanity of your arms I feel the shift. As pain becomes pleasure, the jumble of my thoughts become more cohesive. As I focus on your body and the heat, and the coursing of my blood I feel the calm of the stormy seas in my mind coming.

As I feel my self, my control, unraveling in your arms, it's there. The peace. The light in my night of darkness. The spark of sanity amidst all of that madness. I lay in your arms, sweaty, tired, satiated. Protected at last from the things I cannot control.

You are desire. You are love, soothing, lust. You are my anchor and my drug. You are home.

Wretch

I knew he couldn't come and it was killing me.

"I know, I'm a wretch," the silly little pet name we have for him.

"It's not your fault, and you're MY wretch," my usual rejoinder.

It feels like I never get to see him. I KNOW I never get enough of him. That afternoon, a day before Valentines Day, the doorbell rings. I'm handed a package and it's the most beautiful chocolate covered strawberries, with a card that said simply: "Wretch".

He is so good at this, somehow making me feel better when I am becoming so despondent. I am very good at twisting the screw, making him miss me more in the hopes he'll find more time... I reach for my red lipstick and my camera. It's time to show my appreciation.

As always he loves the photos. He loves me, and even my bratty screw twisting. The day goes on, colorless without him or the hope of seeing him. It's starting to sink in, maybe not at all this week.
I go out with the girls, try to find some cheer in a glass of vodka and a random flirt. Still colorless, but now I've bought myself a headache for the morning.

It's 1:30 in the morning. I get a text. No one texts me this late.

"I don't suppose you'd be wroth with me if I came over, would you? Go hop in the bath like a good girl."

It's him. This is how he got called a wretch in the first place. The man allows me to fall almost to the bottom just to catch me, to get the adrenaline up, to make me feel the heights he brings me to that much more keenly.

I hurriedly hop in the bath and figure I have about 30 minutes to get pretty, the bath only takes up 5. Turns out he encouraged me to my usual routine of a bath beforehand so I wouldn't hear the door (he'd come sweaty, straight from the gym). As I walk into my bedroom he is there, the key I had given him being used for once.

I'm ready to cry in joy as I leap into my lover's arms, more intoxicated by him than by the alcohol still coursing in my veins. I grab his precious face and stare into his deep eyes and am once again astounded by the depth of feeling I have for this man, this wretch.

My hands fumble, grasping, tearing to get his clothes off. My towel has been long since discarded. My exuberance, made more intense yet less focused by the imbibing I've done that evening, is boundless. I cannot wait to touch, to taste every inch of him. To have him in my mouth, on my body, I'm already going mad with want.

His desires to be gentle or rough, fast or slow, lay in waste at the force of my insistence. There is no stopping. My passion and haste are catching and that wretch, that incredible man who has brought me to this sense of urgency and desperation, is more than capable of matching me and keeping up.

The flick of his tongue on my skin sends me reeling. The smell of him, of our sex fills me and delights me. I ride him with the skill of a courtesan, and the enthusiasm of Siren leading sailors to their doom. To feel him driving inside of me, to stare into his eyes and reach orgasm again and again, is ambrosia.

I'm sending a silent apology in my head to the neighbors as I cannot control the writhing, moaning pleasure I am immersed in. His name tears from my throat and it is a benediction, a cleansing, a cry of love and lust and need. We toss each other around the bed as in a stormy sea and cannot contain the power in the explosion between us. I tighten around him once more in bliss and he fills me with his own climax.

Sated, sweaty, unable to catch our breaths, we are found. We are whole once more and have found deliverance in each other's embrace. Passions cooling, he holds me in his arms and I am home.
He places a kiss upon my brow and squeezes me in surety. As I drift into slumber cradled on his chest, he brushes a stray strand of hair from my cheek as he softly wishes me a happy Valentines Day...

The mumbled reply: "You wretch".

 

Wicked Wednesday