the Heart Approaches What It Yearns

Freaking freak fork flick fling finger food.

I’m horney again. I swear, the more I get, the more I want – and it’s not like I’m getting enough. Monsieur and I are supposed to talk about this soon. Hmppf. I can’t wait.

Meanwhile I get these dreams…

…like the one where there’s a Hot Blogger convention in San Francisco, and in one seminar, I’m being held down by Venting Housewife while her randy husband bangs me like a screen door slammin’. Or the one where I’m getting blowjob lessons from Desireous, who lets me practice on Sir (“that’s not right, honey, tilt your head back a little – Sir, can you hold her by the head and just fuck her face real steady? Mmm, that-a-girl – get to know it!”). Or how about the Introspectral Spank-You-Very-Much-Workshop, where you get your Continuing Education Certification in Applied Paddle … I’m face down gritting my teeth, ass in the air as Jack applies the paddle in an endless round of smacks hitting my naughty upturned butt … “I can’t take it,” I protest, then Jill gives me a deep kiss that melts me and gives me the strength to handle another ten, twenty, fifty smacks … then I’m being taken by Passionate Man as he vents every frustration he has on me, naked from the waist up and his fatigue pants around his ankles, my legs locked around his waist – but wait, it’s a hotel room and I’m pulling a train – I see Figleaf and Shyrocket are next in line, and the line goes out the door and down the hall, as my stats counter clicks over, another one joins the line … I wake up, soaking, look at the clock, 4 AM. Shaking my head, then spoon my soaking crotch into a sleeping Monsieur’s, praying that I’ll get some this morning. Jay-Sue, PMS is a bitch.