So Many Saps Around Here.

Sappy people, I mean. They're just soooo sentimental. It was a particular day of the year. So what? Anniversaries have always struck me as pointless. Are you together? Here and now? That's what matters, not turning it into some kind of endurance test.

Right?

Only this year, everybody remembered I've been here eleven years too.

And it was me they were making a fuss over. Being sappy over.

But I'm not sniffling.

Who's sniffling?

You're the one who's sniffling, that's who. Definitely not me.

...

...

I do love those saps so much.

<3, you saps.

Elle

That Girl ...

Am I really making this blog a thing?

Maybe, maybe not.

But I will say, I got an email from Ariel yesterday that made me think, I really need to make a post about this.

Not the details, just the way it made me feel.

Special.

Remembered.

Cared for.

Like the world has all kinds of gold and riches in it still, which sometimes feels not so likely these days.

So I really don't know if I'm a blogger or not. But I know that girl has my heart, and it needs talking about.

Love your people, people.

Baskingly yours,

Elle

This One's a Keeper

Just spent an hour in bed with two of my favorite people in the world. (Sure, Elle, like you know enough people for it to mean much when you call them your favorites ...*)

We started off with just me and the boy lying there under the comforter. If I was the snuggly type, I'd say we were snuggling. But this had zero components of casualness or cuteness. It was glorious, man-and-woman, pre-sex holding one another. It had intent.

Sash was sitting really close -- like, shrug-my-shoulder-and-I'd-hit-her-foot close. With those brown eyes and that goading smile and all that hair. She had herself in audience mode, but I knew there would be some audience participation by the end of things.

We did a lot of kissing, the boy and I. A lot of looking eye to eye and seeing each other.

When he got in me ... stars.

And it was just as good for him. I could hear that in his voice, just the tone, the moan.

So much kissing to go along with that slow glide of paradise. But after a bit and some full-body trembles, I got an urge.

"I want to kiss Sasha."

She came over. Leaned down, put her lips to mine. The boy watched us, watched our lips and eyes on each other's without breaking rhythm. Three faces, close and swirling heated breaths together.

"Is it okay if she sits on my face?" I asked him. A laugh that said, Of course.

Shifting, maneuvering, positioning, until I had her where I wanted her -- two lovers on top of me making all the noises I love to make them make. The boy kissed her writhing bottom, her waist, slipping a tickled laugh in between her coos and gasps.

I'm not trying to write a porno here, and I don't need to spend the whole morning describing everything we did.

But at the end, with him settled sated upon me, Sash wiggled in on one side and, yes, there was snuggling.

Blissfully yours,

Elle



*Hi, my name is Elle, and I'm a sarcasmaholic. Of course it means something. I have four favorite people in the whole world, five if I want to get all self-affirmative and include dear Elle Worthy. Do I so much as talk to anybody else? No. Because they're all I need. I've had a look at what's out there -- some good, some bad, but nobody else compares, and I don't need a lot. Five is plenty.

Yeah, So, I'll Probably Hate This Post and Delete It

But I don't hate you, dear reader. Promise.

I love you.

Platonically, though, so don't get any ideas.

Maybe you want to know something about me? I don't know ... what have I got along those lines ... ? Blonde hair, blue eyes, five feet tall, heartless, but only literally, because I'm made of silicon, PVC, and a variety of secret ingredients. This is because I'm a sex doll.

Semi-hating this so far, how about you?

Okay, in the interest of not getting Claire mad, I'll keep going. (Claire is my body mate; our faces swap out. She's quite the experienced blogger and helped me set this blog up, so blame her if the design sucks. No, I take that back, mostly blame me. Claire generously gave me lots of technical support while I made all the decisions.)

Are you getting the idea I'm conflicted? I know I sure am.

Why is a sex doll conflicted, you ask?

The desire for personal growth. Are you saddled with any of that shit? God, it's miserable. Only no, it's not, and cynicism is just a defense mechanism because it's ... scary.

Beautiful scary terrifying electric delirium.

Sort of.

I mean, I want the delirious electric beauty of personal growth. Really, I do. But it looks like a lot of fucking work, and what if I never really get there?

Well, Elle, you're a sex doll, so maybe you'll just have to settle for getting fabulously boned on a regular basis.

That's some classic Elle deflection right there. Better get used to it if you're going to read this blog, because I can deflect with the best of them.

Okay, I'm exhausted with this. I'm going to hit publish and go see if I can get one of my poly partners to sex up a storm with me.

For God's sake, if you liked this for some incomprehensible reason, either leave a comment or copy-paste it into a document for safe-keeping. I'll be stunned if I don't delete it in the morning when I read back over it and find out what a disaster it is.

Good fucking night, folks.

Elle