How I Want It

This song just kinda says it all.

"Love Me Like A Man"

The men that I've been seeing
Well they got their soul up on a shelf
You know they could never love me
Cuz they can't even love themselves

But I want someone to love me
Baby I want one to understand
Won't put himself above me
Who can love me like a man

I never seen such losers
Even though I tried
Find a mind to take me home instead of
Taking me for a ride

Baby, I use someone to care
Believe it when I tell you darlin'
You can love me like a man

Oh they want me to rock them
Like my back ain't got no bone
I want a man whose gonna rock me
Like my backbone was his own

Baby, I want to wait until you can
Believe it when I tell you darlin'
You can love me like a man

Come home sad and lonely
Feel like I wanna cry
Come over here and hold me baby
And don't ever ask the reason why
I said I, I want a lover
Won't have to work to understand

Don't put yourself above me baby
Love me like a man

Happy Halloween

No, I haven't suddenly discovered a great love for Halloween. I did, however, hear a commentary on the radio the other night that I truly enjoyed. It was by a local and formerly legendary DJ who screwed the pooch when he decided he was so famous and wealthy that he didn't need his top-rated morning show or partner anymore and retired. Unfortunately, our Scott is my age. Which means that unless he hit the Lotto for about ninety million, he was gonna blow through the nest egg in about five years. Which is exactly what he did.

Once he had done that he realized he needed to work for a living and, having never actually had a real job before, quickly understood that he was unqualified for pretty much anything. Except being a DJ, that is. So apparently he came crawling back to his old station, which hemmed and hawed and eventually hired him back. But not for the morning slot, of course. Because that slot was held by his former partner and his new partner, the top rated team in Pittsburgh whatever time period you want to discuss. And not for afternoon drive time, either. Because that slot was held by the sex symbol of Pittsburgh radio, the golden son of a pioneer of Pittsburgh television. And so Scott had to settle for the 6-10 slot. Hey, at least it wasn't midnight, right?

Anyway, our Scott does some mighty fine commentary. Even if you should not be taking career advice from him. I highly recommend giving his Halloween memory a glance:

http://www.scottpaulsen.com/scott/HalloweenwithWendell.htm

Happy Halloween to all my friends.

Ghosts

I'm being haunted. By my past. What the fuck?

Just when I think I'm out of the woods. Moving on. Getting a life.

My past, my not-so-good-for-me past, comes back to haunt me.

First, Tom not only shows up at the bar twice in one weekend but somehow gets my new cell phone number (which I originally changed so he wouldn't have it). And calls. And wants to "talk" about things. I told him the only thing I want to talk about is when he's going to give me all my stuff back.

Second, I get two phone calls from Mr. Big (TR) last night. Two. First one I didn't think much of as I had texted him on Sunday about how our teams both suck. Even though he has continued to be angry with me over whatever lie Tom told him about me (apparently and according to Tom, I used TR to get back at him and was bragging about it. Whatever.) I have persistently kept in touch because I value his friendship over all the crap. In that first call, we laughed over our bad football seasons and had the first comfortable conversation we've had together for months. My persistence in pursuing our friendship seemed to have paid off and, now that he'd had a girlfriend for several months, all seemed to be forgiven and/or forgotten. And then he called the second time. This time it was a more serious discussion of how we had gotten into this mess. We still don't agree on the causes, but agreed to just move on. And, at that point, it became more than obvious to me why he really called. I don't know what is happening with the girlfriend, but it's pretty obvious that he considers himself back in the market. Too many hints about a trip to Philly and reminders of our great real and, more to the current point, phone sex compatibility to ignore.

I played stupid. I have other irons in the fire. I hope.

I'm Tired

I'm tired of...

• Working so hard for so little. Little money because they only gave us 2% raises this year. Little appreciation because no one but my direct supervisor ever says thank you or good job. Little understanding because students and parents don't understand that I have to say no so often not because I want to but because I don't have any choice.
• Eating by myself. I grew up in a very large family in which the evening meal was a command performance. Food, for me, has always been as much a social occasion as a gastronomical one. I love to cook on weekends and, when Tom and I were still together, would invite friends over all the time for dinner and fun. In the last year, I have had a guest or guests for dinner exactly three times. And it just doesn't pay to cook for myself very often. I made chili the other night just for me. It tasted great, but it just didn't taste the same as when I have someone with whom to share it.
• Losing friends. More and more, the social circle in which I find myself gets smaller and younger. My couple friends dumped me long ago because I was no longer part of a couple. My boating friends dumped me long ago because I no longer have a boat. My girlfriends of my own age have been dropping away one by one for no discernable reason. Don't get me wrong. I have a wonderful group of friends all over the country who lift me and keep me going, but I only really know them from cyberspace. I also have a small group of IRL friends who get me out of the apartment every weekend whether I want to or not. They're great and I love them dearly but they are all so much younger and less jaded that I sometimes wonder why they even want to hang around an old woman like me. But they do. So, thanks Kristen, Paul, Amy, Joe, Sully, and Chad. Without you, I'm not sure I'd have any friends at all.
• Talking politics. Too many of my IRL friends and most of my cyberfriends don't like to talk about it. They find it too divisive and are uncomfortable with vigorous debate. I'll say one thing for Tom. He was good to talk to about politics, knowledgable and opinionated. We had great discussions about whatever was happening. And we didn't always agree, but we never had hard feelings or real fights over it. Right now, the only IRL person with whom I can have such discussions and who I find to be surprisingly knowledgable is my young friend, Kristen. A big smooch for Kristen for being so smart at such a tender age.
• Sleeping alone. Yeah, I know. I have had an active sex life and it's been great getting the affirmation of my continued desirability from young studs. But...I've kind of lost my desire for fucking young guys with whom I don't really feel an emotional intimacy. I miss feeling real intimacy. The kind you have when you sleep together, not just have sex together. An OT thread about kissing in the morning really put this in focus for me. I miss going to sleep with a male body beside me, feeling the differences between my skin and the rougher textured and distinctly musky smelling man skin. I miss feeling small and protected and warm, encircled by muscular arms around me as I drop off into slumber. I miss entwining my smooth legs with the soft fuzziness of unshaved ones. I miss feeling comfortable enough to be wakened by a deep, deep kiss (and perhaps more) in the morning before I've brushed my teeth. I don't want to fall in love. I don't want to do it every night. But I want that once in a while.

Glow Made Me Do This

A myspace survey

01. What does your Blog Name mean?

Duh. It's the diminutive of geg. I thought that was self-evident.

Seriously, though, geg is my initials. And just in case Monsty is here, the 6 I use elsewhere is how many other people at the University have the same initials.

02. Elaborate on your icon

Again, duh. I'm a fucking huge Steeler fan.

03. What's your middle name?

Eileen. It was supposed to be my first name until my mother was doodling my initials in the hospital while waiting to sign the birth certificate when she noticed my initials would then be "egg." So she switched my middle and first names. Thanks, mom.

04. What is your current relationship status?

Single. And horny.

05. Honestly, do you and ur crush flirt alot?

Oh, yes. In fact, we flirted before I even realized I had a crush on him. In fact, crush is so not the right word. I characterize it as more of a yet-to-be-consumated one night stand.

06. What is your current mood?

Immense satisfaction in all the schadenfreud floating around out there lately. And yes, Glow, I'm talking politics again.

07. What do you love most?

My dear, departed dad. I miss you, Daddy.

08. What makes you most happy?

I don't really know any more. I used to think I knew, but I have found out in the last year that I don't really know what happiness is.

09. Are you musically inclined?

If you mean can I sing or play? Forget it. But I'm great at appreciating music.

10. If you could go back in time, and change something, would you?

Hell, yes. Many things of historical significance for sure. As far as personal things, for sure I'd never get involved with Tom. And I would have found a way to hang on to Mark, my first and still sweetest ex-boyfriend.

11. If you had to be an animal for one day, what would you be?

A dolphin. They're smart. They're cute. And they live in water all the time. My mom and dad used to say I must have been a fish in a previous life.

12. Ever have a near death experience?

No, but my mom swore she did. But I don't believe in that stuff and, due to her fanatical Catholicism, my mom is not exactly someone who I would take as an authority on such things.

13. Name one thing you do a lot?

Read. To the point of fanaticism.

14. What's the name of the song that's stuck in your head right now?

Hinder's "Get Stoned." Mmmmm, make up sex.

Just hear me out
If it's not perfect I'll perfect it till my heart explodes
I highly doubt I can make it through another of your episodes
Lashing out
One of the petty moves you pull before you lose control
You wear me out
But it's all right now
Lets go home and get stoned
We could end up makin love instead of misery
Go home and get stoned
Cause the sex is so much better when you're mad at me
You wear me out
(We could end up making love instead of misery)
But it's all right now
Without a doubt
The break up is worth the make up sex you're givin me
Lets hash it out
Cause your bitchin and your yellin don't mean anything
Don't count me out I can handle all the baggage that you're carrying
You wear me out
But it's all right now
Let's go home and get stoned
We could end up makin love instead of misery
Go home and get stoned
Cause the sex is so much better when you're mad at me
You wear me out
(We could end up makin love instead of misery)
But it's alright now
Lets go home and get stoned
We could end up makin love instead of misery
Go home and get stoned
Cause the sex is so much better when you're mad at me
Go home and get stoned
We could end up making love instead of misery
Go home and get stoned
Cause the sex is so much better when you're mad at me
You wear me out
(We could end up makin love instead of misery)
But it's all right now
(Cause the sex is so much better when you're mad at me)
Lets go home and get stoned
Lets go home and get stoned
Lets go home and get stoned
Lets go home and get stoned

15. Who did you copy and paste this from?

The lovely and beautiful Glowie.

16. Name someone with the same b-day as you?

Katherine Heigl from Grey's Anatomy, William F. Buckley, and Scott Joplin.

17. Here, enter your own secret question:

At what age did you lose your virginity and was it a positive experience?

18. Have you ever sang in front of a large audience? Where?

Lord, no. I might hurt someone.

19. What are the things you notice about the OPPOSITE sex?

Lips, eyes, hands. And I kinda feel snobby for saying it, but intelligence.

20. Do you still watch kiddy movies or TV shows ?

Not since Pee Wee's Playhouse went off the air.

21. Do you have glasses?

Yes, to drive or to watch TV or a movie.

22. Are you comfortable with your height?

I am now because I'm just average, but I was my current height at a young age. I slouched a lot then.

23. Name something funny that always happens to you?

Funny things generally don't happen to me. Disasters do.

24. Do you speak any other languages?

A tiny bit of German and, though I took four years of it, even less French.

25. What's your favorite smell?

I have a few. I love the smell of coffee, especially freshly ground. I have a Yankee Candle in a merlot scent with which I am currently obsessed (this is actually the fourth one of these I've bought). And I adore the smell of Downy fabric softener.

Hot Men

I have already said this on OT, but I just have to say it again.

I am now officially in love with Keith Olberman. Why was this man ever, ever wasted on sports?

http://www.crooksandliars.com/2006/10/10/olbermann-why-does-habeas-corpus-hate-america/

I also said that if I could just have an orgy with him, Jon Stewart, Bill Maher, and Stephen Colbert, I could die a happy woman. Which at least one person simply didn't get (though she is a fan of all three).

So why would I want to be the subject of a gangbanging by these men?

Because they are hot, hot, hot. Not pretty hot like Brad Pitt (gag). But hot in the way that it counts for me.

Smart? Most definitely.

Funny? Always. And in the most serious of ways.

Correct? As far as I'm concerned they are.

And so, I lust after them. I can't help it. I'm a sucker for that.

Oh, and if everyone insists I must add some pretty to that lineup? I guess I could fuck George Clooney.

Parting Words

Was listening to the Retrospective CD of one of my favorite bands, a local one, all weekend and realized that they have written some of the best breakup songs of all time.

So should you ever feel in need of one or two such songs, I proudly refer you to Pittsburgh's own Clarks. Check them out here: http://www.clarksonline.com/

My personal favorites:

Maybe

Maybe I should turn and walk away
Maybe I should run, but I'll probably bow my head and pray
Maybe I'll search the lost and found
Maybe like two boxers bloodied, dizzied by the seventh round
Maybe circumstances make it easier to quit
Maybe in our circle, square pieces never fit
But I want you to know

*Chorus
I've never walked away from the things I've wanted
I've never walked away, but I think I'm going to
This time
I've never walked away from the things I've wanted
I've never walked away, but I think I'm going to
This time

Maybe I'll move back across town
Maybe in a week or two, we can talk, but not right now
Maybe your mind plays tricks on me
Maybe it's the drawer of letters everyday I read
Maybe these tears don¹t look so gallant
Maybe it's a chemical imbalance
Maybe it's the lack of sunlight
But I want you to know
Still I want you to know

*Chorus

Maybe it hurts below the skin
Maybe lessons finally sinking in
Maybe getting in the last word doesn't really mean you win

On Saturday

I'm gonna quit cause it's getting old
And it'll save my life or so I've been told
You see I got this thing that I like to do
But it seems to get between me and you
You won't understand if you gotta ask why
But if it's what you want I guess I'll try

We're breaking up, you're moving out, on Saturday
I'm losing friends, I'm losing face, I'm losing weight
So get your things out of my place on Saturday
On Saturday, on Saturday, on Saturday

I can't find my key I know where it went
Straight out the door with half the rent
But I got this song that I like to sing
You can keep the key I'll keep the ring

We're breaking up, you're moving out, on Saturday
I'm losing friends, I'm losing face, I'm losing weight
So get your things out of my place on Saturday
On Saturday, on Saturday, on Saturday

And she said it's not you I just need my space
I said it is me just say it to my face
All in time it will be fine
Just me, myself and I
Sublime

We're breaking up, you're moving out, on Saturday
I'm losing friends, I'm losing face, I'm losing weight
So get your things out of my place on Saturday
On Saturday, on Saturday, on Saturday

And she it is you and I found somebody new
She said that¹s not the color I wanted I said blue

Better Off Without You

You are sultry, dirty, soft and hard
You are close to me and you’re so far
And I’m thinking of the time we spent together
Now I’ll bury this in my backyard

Sometimes I sit and wonder
But I’ll never dial your number ‘cause
I’m having fun looking out for number one
And I’m doing all the things I like to do
I’m having fun ‘cause I knew it all along
I’d be better off without you

You are guilty, pretty, high and low
You’re a place to stay and a time to go
And I’m searching through the things you left behind here
Now it’s time for me to let it go

Sometimes I sit and wonder
But I’ll never dial that number ‘cause
I’m having fun looking out for number one
And I’m doing all the things I like to do
I’m having fun ‘cause I knew it all along
I’d be better off without you

Late at night you pick up the telephone
Call me up and cry ‘cause you’re all alone
I don’t care
Apologize for taking my cigarettes
Now it’s time to feel all the side effects
Missing the life you had

Body Image

Middle age is a very weird thing. It does odd things to your head. Like when I hear my mother's voice coming out of my mouth (about as odd a thing as can be considering my relationship with my mom). Or like when I hear myself state an opinion on something or other and realize that my far left-wing liberal self of my glorious 20s would have hated me for it. Or when I find myself wanting to watch TV rather than go through all the effort involved in playing with my boy toy. Or when I realize that, although I can appreciate the sexual aspect of him, I really don't want my boy toy for anything other than sex and that my younger self would have thought the greatness of the sex meant it was a great love affair.

But what it has done to my head has been less surprising than what it has done to my body.

Part of it is this whole mysterious process of menopause. I am now constantly aware and monitoring my body temperature, which fluctuates wildly for no discernable reason other than some gland has suddenly switched on to release a flood of hormones for which I no longer have any use (and being childless, I'm not sure I ever did) into my unsuspecting bloodstream. It's damned inconvenient most of the time. I mean, how exactly do I explain to the 19-year-old basketball player in my office that the reason I suddenly have drops of sweat streaming down my temple isn't because I've stolen his student loan that hasn't yet shown up in his account and for which he holds me accountable? Or what do I say to the high school counselor who books me for his high school's financial aid night every year because he and the parents of the students think I am such a dynamic and charismatic public speaker that I can even make financial aid interesting but who says to me after this year's presentation that he's concerned that I may have developed a bad case of stage fright because I sure did seem to "sweat it up there tonight." Just not pleasant. Not attractive. But, thankfully, also not a daily experience.

I find I'm also much more emotional than I used to be. Whether that is hormonal, I leave to the experts. But I believe it is. I, a woman who once was proud to say I had nevereverever cried at a movie, find myself crying in response to movies, television shows, songs, and even fucking commercials. I don't really think I've suddenly developed a deep well of empathy or become less cynical. I think hormones are wreaking havoc with my brain's emotional centers, fooling my crying response into thinking I give a shit. So, if you should see me crying, perhaps during the singing of the national anthem before a Steeler game, don't mistake it for me suddenly becoming a softie. And don't fuck with me, either, by pointing it out. That would be a huge mistake on your part. I might cry while I do it, but I'll rip your damn heart out and feed it to you just like I always did.

A more pleasant side effect is the dramatic increase of my sex drive. Everyone always told me this diminished as you entered menopause. And that always worried me a bit because I've always had a pretty healthy appetite (at least I thought so) and I was afraid to lose that. Well, I can tell you that that particular myth is complete bullshit. It's gone completely off the charts. Out of control. On my mind 24/7. So much so, that my OB/GYN tested me for my testosterone levels (which are normal for someone my age). It was a relief to know that, while I want to fuck like a man, I am not in any danger of turning into one. Whew. Good to know.

But the best thing of all is what it has done to how my body looks. I now have the body I would have killed for at 17. I know that sounds boastful and that all you other women my age are rolling your eyes and thinking, "Whatever, you lying sack of crap," but it's true. I remember well how awkward I was then and how painfully aware of it I was every single minute. And how the trauma of that lived with me ever after, making me loathe my body in whatever form it had taken at that moment.

Picture this: ahead of everyone else, you suddenly shoot up to 5'5" in fifth grade. That made me taller than everyone else in my class for at least the next three or four years. On top of that, I never weighed more than 100 pounds until about 5 years after high school graduation and didn't really need to wear a bra until I was 19. I couldn't wear girls' jeans because my legs were at least six inches too long for the longest ones and I couldn't wear junior jeans because, instead of that lovely hourglass waistline all my friends had, I went straight down from my shoulders to my thighs. No indentations whatsoever. I was called Olive Oyl and Zipper (stand sideways and stick our your tongue...hilarious, no?). It was a great moment when, at age 19, I almost literally woke up one morning and there they were...my magnificent 38Cs. It was doubly great because they took all attention from how weird looking the rest of me still was.

Looking back, I had a few years in my late 20s and early 30s when I first got together with Tom and probably looked pretty damn good. I still had no waist, but it was as good as it was ever going to get. I know he sure liked it because he loved to get me into a bikini for any reason whatsoever. I was still painfully self-conscious, but his admiration muted it. But, Tom being Tom and all, that didn't last long. After we began co-habitating and I had to adjust my lifestyle to his, I gained weight steadily over the years. Which was perfectly understandable since I cooked huge meals most days and, due to his inability to keep to a schedule or to keep me informed of his plans, ate them when he came home at 9 or 10pm (because he didn't like to eat alone). Soon enough, my weight fluctuated between 130 and 145, an incomprehensible amount to me and disgustingly fat to him. I spent the last ten years loathing myself and flinching from the constant criticism from him. If you'd lose some of that weight, he'd say, maybe I'd want to have sex with you. Well, I didn't and he didn't. Instead, 19 years of my life went by and he had it with someone else (actually two: one who weighed more or less the same as I but was considerably shorter and one who weighed massive quantities more than me. But who expects logic from him? Certainly not me.).

Which brings me to this amazing and wonderful thing, this new and improved body of mine. Now that I have dropped all that weight and have kept it off for a year, I can't believe that this is my body. Everything I ever liked about it is still there (granted, it was only tits and legs, but they are still my pride and joy). And suddenly everything I ever didn't like about is how I always wanted it to be. I can't tell you how it feels to finally feel good about that. There simply aren't words for how that makes me feel.

And the last few months, I have taken advantage of that body and my pleasure in it. It's great that very young (I know, I know, that's all relative but allow me my small pleasures) men find me sexy and smoking hot. I've liked it a lot. But it's not enough. I will never be able to have any kind of relationship with any of them, even Kenny, that isn't mainly about sex. And that's just not enough.

But what is enough is how happy I am when I look at myself naked in a mirror. To feel that way just once in my life is like winning the lottery...improbable and incomprehensible. And sweet. Oh, so sweet.

In Other News...

I don't think about sex 24/7. It just seems like it. Apparently, it's what most inspires me to write.

But it's not the only thing on my mind:

• How pitiful is the ownership of the Pittsburgh Pirates? So fucking pitiful that they spent the whole first half of the season saying that Freddy Sanchez was nothing but a bench player. And, so of course, he wins the first National League batting title by a Pirate since Bill Matlock in 1983. This? is just one of the many reasons we haven't had a season worth watching since 1992. And, no doubt, he'll be gone within a year.
• Much as I missed them Sunday, I'm awfully glad the Steelers didn't play this weekend. I don't know what's going on with them, but they need this time to figure out what the hell they are doing. I have no worries about the defense. This extra week of healing time should put Polamalu back in the pink and running like a madman all over the field like a man possessed. But the offense? Scary. My suggestions? First, quit keeping Ben in the pocket. He's not so good in the pocket and never has been. Let him do what he does best. I know the receiving corps isn't exactly setting the world on fire, but at the least we have a tight end who has good hands. May if Ben didn't stay in the pocket so much, he'd actually see him. Second, if Willie Parker is gaining 4-6 yards per run? Let him run. See? It's not so hard. Oh, and let's not have Colclough returning punts. Please.
• Bob Woodward is back in my good graces. I certainly don't know if he planned it this way, but lulling the Bushies into thinking he had their backs through his first two books about this administration sure did set them up for a terrific sucker punch with this new one. And he's backing it all up by providing his recorded interviews with them. Too fucking funny for words.
• I hate to say I told you so, but...I told you so. This adminstration has lied and covered up ever since they were first elected...sorry, appointed. But, as always happens with liars, the pigeons are coming home to roost, so to speak. It's so bad that I almost feel sorry for all my Republican friends these days. Even they are voting Democratic this year. It's possible that PA may actually lose its claim to fame as a swing state. That certainly doesn't bring a tear to my eye.
• And what about that whole Foley thing? Doesn't exactly do much for the Republican congressional leadership, huh? It was apparently so well known among the young pages and for so long that they've been warning each other about him since 2001. You can't tell me that, if that is true, no one in a position of leadership didn't know or at least suspect. And even when they did know, they apparently decided to keep it amongst themselves until after November. So they could pick a safe replacement. Yeah, let's trust them to do that. The same guys who kept this guy on as Chairman of the Caucus for Missing and Exploited Children, in the Republican leadership as deputy whip, and as a member of the Ways and Means Committee. Oh, and he's from Florida. Quelle surprise.
• In local politics, Santorum and Swann are getting their asses kicked all over the state. And little Ricky just doesn't know when to stop. First, he rips off the Penn Hills School District for thousands so he can cyberschool his kids who live full-time in his cushy suburb of DC. A ripoff he is eventually forced to pay back after a court disagrees with his definition of "primary residence" as being the place you buy and keep empty of all humanity and furniture just so you can say you are a resident of PA. Then he inexplicably reminds everyone what a ripoff he is by running a campaign commercial pimping his kids, who then talk about what a great dad he is because he has them in cyberschool because he cares about them so much. And now it seems Ricky had requested some time ago that Allegheny County give his "home" a homestead exemption on property taxes, an exemption available only on primary residences. Now he has magnanimously said that although it is his primary residence and that it definitely qualifies for the exemption, he is voluntarily giving it up. Yeah, I'll bet the county is happy about it for no other reason than they don't want to rack up the legal bills the Penn Hills School District did fighting it. And all so he could save $70. Hell, I'll give him $70 if he'll just go away, quietly.

My Turn (A Gift)

I decide the right moment is while we're waiting for dessert to arrive. It's a small table, a crowded restaurant, and the tablecloths are long. So it's really only a small matter for me to scoot my chair closer, lean over near to you, as if I'm telling you something I want to whisper.

It's a slightly more difficult trick to take your hand in mine and guide it to my thigh to press the fingers splayed over my skin...and then inch it up. My skirt is very short, so your instinct is to pull back when I slide your fingers underneath it. I don't let you. I wriggle my body forward, turned toward the table so the tablecloth hides us, as I push your hand under my skirt and spread my legs a little. I see you register how smooth and bare it is.

I feel your fingertips caress me and I swear, I could come right then. I'm dripping, and that's the second thing you notice. I kiss you, unable to suppress a little moan and a sigh as I feel two fingers sliding into me. Your fingers curve, and I feel you pressing into me as you thumb savors the smooth feel of what I had shaved, your face showing a struggle as you try to remain nonchalant. But I can tell that I've had the desired effect..when I casually brush your thigh under the table, I can feel it.

Your thumb touches my most sensitive spot, and this time there's an instant when I really think I am going to come. I don't...not quite, but I'm close.

"Oh, look," I say. "Dessert's here." The waitress brings our chocolate mousse, and your hand slides out of me.

As she sets down the dessert, I bring your hand to my face and kiss it...a casual gesture of affection to everyone else in the restaurant. But I can smell myself, ripe and salty and invigorating. And I can taste it when I let my tongue drift along the tip of your finger. It makes me want you even more. It makes me want to fuck you. Now. It makes me want to feel you sliding inside me...where I've shaved smooth and pink for you. Just for you.

We've just paid the check when I stand up, walk over, and lean very, very close to you.

"I've got to use the ladies' room," I say, making sure my breath caresses the back of your neck.

"Me, too," you say.

That's one of the things I love about this restaurant...private restrooms. I can feel the moisture running down my inner thighs, can feel the ache where your fingers were a moment ago. I can feel my thighs trembling as I slip into the restroom.

I leave the door unlocked and pull up my skirt. It's tight and so it's not difficult to tuck it over my waist, leaving my lower half bare. I stand in front of the mirror, leaning forward awkwardly on my high heels so I can take a look between my legs, at the way I look as I wait for you...smooth, shaved, hungry. I sit on the toilet and spread my legs.

You knock on the door. When I don't answer, you offer some feeble comment, making a show of suddenly realizing there's no one in here. That means there are people waiting in line for this restroom that we're going to monopolize. Knowing that sends a surge through me.

I lock my eyes on yours when you enter. You are still hard in your slacks. I want it so bad I can feel my mouth water, feel my nipples stiffen painfully. You eyes drift down from my face, taking in the way I've shaved for you. You walk over to where I'm sitting.

I'm on you like an animal. I don't even kiss you; you don't lean down to kiss me, either. I've got your pants open in moments, and I'm bending forward, not even teasing you in the slightest. I've been teasing us both all evening, after all. You slide down my throat, your taste mixing with the taste of merlot. I hear you suppressing a moan as my mouth lingers. I savor the feeling of you thrusting inside me. Then I come up for air and swallow you again, whimpering slightly as I do. I'm hungry for it. My hand rests absently on myself, stroking, loving the way it feels, loving that it turns you on. I want to rub, hard, but I know if I do I'll come. So I don't. I just stroke my lips, caress the opening and suck you.

You have to push me off you to get your turn. You drop to your knees, not even caring that your face hovers inches from the toilet bowl as I spread my legs still wider and feel your mouth descend, your mouth caressing smooth flesh. I run my fingers across your head and tell you that I'm going to come. I'm going to do it fast, so fast...and when your tongue finds me, I know that nothing will make you stop until I do. I lean back on the toilet seat, my hips rocking slightly. When I come, I have to bite my lip so hard to keep from screaming that I'm afraid, for a moment, I' ve drawn blood.

Part of me worries that you'll be satisfied, that you'll be quick to leave now that you've made me come...knowing that other people are waiting. But that seems the furthest from your mind. Instead, you slide your arms under my shoulders and lift me off the toilet, turning me around like a rag doll as you tell me what you want. I'm yours, you know, and you're going to take me. You bend me over, my arms resting hard on the toilet tank. I lift my ass in the air and spread my legs, tottering on my high heels. I wriggle, begging for it. But I know you don't need me to beg...I've been begging all night.

I feel you, all sticky with my saliva. You meet me, sliding easily between my lips and entering me. I gasp as you thrust in; at this angle, with my ass so high in the air, your head slipping in and continuing deep to hit against my cervix. My whole body shivers as I feel it. You don't give it to me slow; you don't want to take your time. Not because time is so short, but because you can't bear to wait another instant. You give it to me hard, fast, demanding, as if you don't care about anything but filling this smooth, bare space. And that is what makes me come, even harder this time, bent over the toilet tank and moaning softly, wishing I could suppress the noise issuing from my lips...but totally unable to do so as the pleasure explodes through my body. I look at you over my shoulder, locking eyes with you, whimper that I want you to come. I want you to come inside of me.

You do, your hips pumping quickly as you explode inside me. I push back onto you, knowing that you're filling me, knowing I don't have a pair of panties with me. That thought almost makes me want to come again, but all I want right now is for you to fill me all the way, pump me full of you.

You slide out of me; your fingers give me one last fleeting caress and you fasten your pants.

Without kissing me, you move toward the restroom door. You give me one final lingering look as I stand there, high on my heels, bent over, exposed as I drip your come.

I'll get the car, you say.