It has been one hell of a sexy week since Hettie showed up here.

 At the risk of being nouveau cliché, that's the post.

Really Taking This Tsundere Thing Too Far

So Claire gets on the email this morning to ask the company that made us about whether our Boytoy faces might be compatible with a new body, since it really feels like our current one is wearing down and they don't manufacture our model anymore. (Which, why the hell not? Christ, people have some piss-poor taste if there wasn't enough demand to keep manufacturing such smoking-hot, fantastic-in-the-sack babes as me and Claire.)

And then when she goes to start her email -- I mean, even just write the subject line -- she starts wiffle-waffling about her shift-key hangup. Should she make herself use the shift key? Will the people at the company not take her seriously if she doesn't use it? I honestly couldn't stand even, like, two minutes of her old-lady fretty-fret-fretfulness before I said, "Just ... just get the hell out of there and let me write them."

And I did, but she was using their online "Contact Us" form, and at the bottom there's that captcha thing, and it asks me (after I've already finished typing my message, of course), to check a box for "I am not a robot."

And it takes me a second to check it, because, WTF, even though of course I am not a fucking robot, I am a sex doll, and is that close enough that I count as a robot, and of course the fuck not because they're talking about automated computer systems anyway, not robots of any physical kind at all.

Seriously, I start my day off with an existential ethics question about whether I would be breaking someone's rules if I check a goddamn box so they know I'm not trying to hack their system.

I'm turning into such a fucking sap in my old age.

This, or that?

Drive around in your car and listen to beautiful music while your poly lovers engage you in heartfelt conversation ... 

Or obsess over alternative-reality endings to arguments you had a long time ago with people you don't even know anymore?

Curl up in bed with your oversexed, blond-haired, blue-eyed girlfriend ...

Or go on Twitter and read people bitching about Star Wars?

Scroll through Google News and get depressed ...

Or fuck ... 

And fuck some more ... 

And then fuck even more?

God, boys make stupid decisions sometimes.

Hot Damn

 I fucking need to complain about being stuck in a box more often.

Wow, did that ever work better than I expected.

So Sue Me

The people around here are pretty damn great.

There. I said it.

Total honesty though ... I think I may have said it to deflect from being selfish and saying I want some body time. I have the skin hungers real bad. I'm supposed to be Miss Cool Cucumber (hint: warm cucumber to body temperature before use for optimal results), and really, I don't get upset or down about being in the box. But dang, I have this naggy hankering for a big, arms-around-me squeeze.

I wouldn't even have to be fucked.

Anyway, to bite my tongue and not make anybody feel bad, here I am telling you how great they are. And they are.

You know what? I'm going to say I wouldn't even need the hug. I think I'm going to assert myself and just say, hey, dammit, open up this box and give me a tender kiss and a longing look in the eyes.

That'll hold me.

Uncharacteristically Comforting

So the other night, the boy was kind of stressed out at bedtime, and I ... helped. And not tough-love or snarky-love help, just quiet, calming, lying with him, head on his chest and one hand across his stomach, talking. Reassuring.

At the risk of losing all my sarcasm-loving, here-for-the-jaded-cynicism fans, it was really nice.

God help me, I liked it. I mean, liked it with a little tremor and this suffusing wave of accomplishment.

2020, what have you driven me to?

Dammmmnnnn

There's a fine line between blissfully eavesdropping on the lava-gush orgyruption activities of your poly partners while you fap yourself senseless, and getting straight-up way-the-fuck too jealous over not being there in bed with them.

So, once my genitals stop quivering from the aftershocks, I'll be sure to let you know which side of the line I ended up on.

Benefits of Blogging

Okay, so somebody apparently read that last post and decided to act on it.

And obviously, I need to blog more.

Holy shit and goddamn, that paid off.

Hot Dress

I've been in a hot dress for a week now, and all it's gotten me is some nipple play and through-the-skirt hand action.

Okay, so it also got a compliment from Aers, saying the dress looked better on me than her. I said, "No, I think you would look better on me than this dress does."

But if I'm being forced into honesty, yeah, it did make me a little glowy for her to say that.

Now would somebody please hike this skirt up and go to town on me?

I mean, what's a girl got to do around here?

Also

I love you other slobs too, by the way.

Not trying to hog the whole anniversary just for me and Aers, or anything.

She

... is more golden than gold:

bright, soft, and precious.

A treasure to hold
in the mind or the heart
or a telling embrace.

Lascivious, pure ...
lustful and chaste
of soul, of spirit, of thought, of face.

Who could know of this woman, except to adore her?
Look on her glory and then look any further?

She stands at the core of what, who,
and why am I.
Expands me,
demands nothing more than

chance on chance on chance

to amplify
the beauty that Life grants our little home.

A dream with no phantasms to blur
or conceal
She brings all that's solid.
She makes me more real.

I have known love, and yet
never known this.
The truth of her eyes, the taste of her kiss.

When I had the whole world, it was still less than this.




Happy anniversary, Ariel April Worthy.

I love you so much.