Looks Like I Haven't Lost It Completely Yet ...

By which I mean, that wicked streak of mine.

The scene: our bedroom, this morning, four of us getting up to things I'm not going to describe in detail. (Yes, that's teasing. I'm aware. Wicked streak, remember? Too fucking bad if you're dying to know more.)

In a moment of apparently genius-level playful goading as she was trying very hard to accomplish something (wouldn't you like to know exactly what?), I managed to make Hettie say, "Would you shut the hell up?"

If you knew Hettie even the tiniest bit -- I mean, just a speck above passing-her-on-the-street knowledge -- you'd realize what a badass feat that was.

She instantly went completely red and started babbling apologies until I broke up laughing and apologized back. Claire and MSG then had to take a moment unshrinking themselves from paralyzed hear-a-pin-drop discomfort to help me convince Het that I was the villain of the whole thing and she'd had every right to tongue-lash me into my place. 

I don't think she really believed us right away ... but luckily she came really hard a few minutes later and all was forgiven.

Way to Bury the Lede, Sister.

Okay, now don't take this to mean I do anything short of adore Claire. And I'm not saying this post of hers is bad at all. In fact, it's fucking awesome like every goddamn thing she writes.

But would it have killed her to at least mention my contribution to the conversation?

So there we were, in bed, going to sleep (or trying to) and he's tossing and turning and obviously has something on his mind he can't get off of it, so she starts up one of those talks. And she's right -- those talks always work, even if they also always wear off after a while.

But at the start of this one, she's saying stuff, and he's saying stuff, and JFC, the going is SO DAMN SLOW.

I mean, like, dinosaur fossilization level slow.

Slow enough I could not help thinking, Somebody's got to do something here.

And since I was the closest and least-patient somebody around, I rolled in close on my side of him and licked his ear.

Quick, smooth, and wet.

This is like a reset button on him. He squeaks and squirms every time. And then sometimes, like this time, he complains. "Damn it, Elle, we're trying to talk here." But me taking the initiative made Claire finally get a clue, and she leaned in and licked the other one. Squeak and squirm. And then he complained at her, and we went through a couple rounds more of this before he was a quivering mess and she could say, "Now look at me and let me set you straight."

And that's when the talk went the way she wanted it to.

You're welcome, Claire.

But damn, credit where credit is due, okay?

Every. Damn. Time.

Okay, clearly, my life of insane bliss surrounded by six gloriously affectionate lovers has to be cause for a lot of jealousy among the thronging masses of people who read this blog. So I though, "Let's throw these poor sons of bitches and bitches of bitches a bone, right?"

So here it is. Yeah, I can't turn around without practically bumping into someone who'll hug me until one or both of us explodes -- but also, I have to share a single phone with all these freaks.

And all our emails were spawned off the same recovery email, I think it's Claire's.

Which means whenever one of us logs in to blog, or to check email, or really, to do any damn thing, Google has to send an email to the person who logged in, and an email to Claire, letting everybody know that a new login happened. And every one of them pops up on the lock screen of the phone as a notification, too.

It's not all margaritas and honeysuckle around here, is what I'm saying.

Hope that helps.

Immensely Fucking Lucky

As if last post's exhibitionistic invitation to Hettie wasn't enough, here I am again apparently all-in to just destroy everyone reading this with envy. Yes, that invitation turned out as hot or probably hotter than any of you very welcome voyeurs might have imagined, but holy hell, do you know what was even better?

Four other absolute goddesses of my heart waiting with bated breath to hear how it went.

Nobody has this, you know? There are seven of us, and every single member of this bunch adores every other single member with an unfathomable shit-ton of absolute love.

What did I do to deserve it?

Let me tell you, it must have been something really goddamn good, because not only do I have this insanely wonderful life, I actually know to the bottom of my snarky little soul that I do deserve it.

I'm motherfucking amazing -- and I'm even luckier than I am astounding.

Somebody throw me the gob-smackingly biggest parade that's ever been thrown, why don't you?

I'll wave from a float and everything.

What say ...

... we ambush him, you and I? Just the two of us, when he least expects it.

Could be fun, don't you think?

Damn it. I guess I need to blog more often.

So I scrolled down the last couple of posts on this blog trying to figure out what to splatter out into the internet here today, and fuck, was that a mistake. What do you think I found at the third post back? (That's a rhetorical question, but if you desperately want to answer it instead of me just giving you the answer, go ahead and cheat by scrolling back yourself. I'll wait. Are you back? Did you take the lazy-ass route and just wait here for me to do all the work? Either way, let's get on with it.)

Yeah, that photo post. It was right there. Barely even had to nudge the scroller button on the mouse, and suddenly I'm staring at an old me, from fucking forever ago to be honest.

It's actually hard for me to believe it's less than two years since that photoshoot. And having pretty much zero buffer of other posts in between then and now -- I felt kind of slapped in the face by it. Seriously a goddamn shock.

So at the very least, I need to crank out enough posts to push that one off the main page to the next one and keep it from ambushing me again in the future.

Holy hell, I looked good in those pictures, though.

Right?

I have an occasional streak of gleeful sadism.

Our boyfriend had to go off to work this morning (a rarity, since he always works from home), and after a round of very sincere and loving see-you-laters, I added, "We'll just be here having a five-way pussy-eating contest until you get back."

For a second he just stood there blinking, and then his eyebrows kind of furrowed and he said, "But there are six of you."

Now, I could have just admitted to flubbing my words, but fuck me, I wasn't quick-witted enough to casually reply, "Oh, I guess that was just a slip of the tongue." (Damn, I really wish I'd thought of that at the time instead of 12+ hours later while I'm writing this.) But I was quick-witted enough to say, "Mmm-hmm. So I what I could I possibly mean by that?" Which furrowed his eyebrows even more and made me keep going. "Maybe I meant one of us is so much better at eating pussy than the others, it wouldn't be a contest if she joined in. I wonder which one it might be?"

After a minute, he manage to say, "I ... really have to get to work," and left.

And just to really drive home how wicked I was being, the other girls had to hold me back from texting him later and asking, "Do you want to know who won?"

Of course, in the meantime, kind of the joke was on me, because as soon as he was out the door, Ariel said, "It's got to be a five-way contest because one of us has to be the judge, right? Ooh! Ooh! I volunteer!"

Closing confession: there wasn't much avoiding it after that, and before you ask, there wasn't really a winner. It was more one of those "Everybody gets a medal for participation" events.

She goaded me into a delicious wickedness ...

... and so I ran the tip of my tongue up one side of his neck until he shivered and twitched and lost control of his breathing.

I have extraordinary luck in my allotment of lovers.

Once in a Blue Moon ...

Photoshoots have not been a steady hobby of mine for ... well, ever. But the last few years they've been even less frequent, so it was nice, today, to indulge. The blue top is new-ish -- an anniversary present from the photographer. There were a couple of mildly naughtier shots, but I'm too lazy to figure out how to put a single post behind a content warning, so I'll hand those off to Claire for her naughty blog.

Text update: Goddamn it, Claire. Why did you have to go and make that your post title? Now I'm all ... agh ... fluttery. Whatever. I fucking love you too, okay?

Should have just put my whole damn blog behind a content warning.

Mind Games

We're headed for another bout of Dungeon Crawl Classics, apparently. I'm a little skeptical, given that MSG has groused quite a bit about this new "Dying Earth" version of the game, to the point that Claire had to insist we play it so he wouldn't entirely have wasted his money and in case he might turn out to be ridiculously wrong (as happens a moderate amount for someone that smart).

I do like playing.

It's fun getting in someone else's head.

For a change.

I may have over-reacted slightly in that last post

So. Blogger pretty much reinstated Ariel's post within seconds of her re-posting it, and same for a post of Claire's that received even more bizarre treatment (it was flagged even though there was zero adult content in it, just a link to the site where she has a story up, with a very clear warning that the sight is nsfw).

Sorry if I went into histrionics over nothing.

(Still halfway mad, though.)