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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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30 March 2006



Okay, it's out: I'm officially a MySpace Whore. Jefferson, too. He calls it an orgy. I call it a clusterfuck. Either way, check it out. Be my friend. Get all the creamy goodness here.

27 March 2006



“Momma, can I snuggle up?”


It was ungodly early--still dark out-- and Jack was standing beside my bed. I pulled him under the covers and went back to sleep.

What I hadn’t realized was that Jack had turned on the overhead light.

I also hadn’t remembered that Jefferson was sleeping beside me.

Sandwiched between the blonds I felt the larger one swing his legs over the edge and step down. He walked across the room and turned off the light.

“Ah Cain’t Sayee! Hay! Jeyffurrsuhhn! Ah Cain’t Sayee!”

Jack was protesting from under my arm, his accent thick with sleepiness.

I spoke to him sternly, “Jack. If you want to see, you may go to your room. It is very early and I want this light off.”

He climbed down and went back to his own bedroom.

I turned toward the remaining blond, “Hayy…” I smiled.

He wrapped himself around me, resting his chin on my head. We dozed, his erection grazing my thigh. I rolled onto my side, facing away. His hand reached around, cupping a breast, tracing a lazy path down my stomach, stopping and flattening when it reached my pussy, fingers closing over, covering it protectively.

I moved my hips slightly, squeezing my legs together, wanting friction.

His fingers parted and I could feel the slickness between them, the cool air hitting my labia for a fraction of a second before his middle finger began circling my clit. It was exactly the right pressure and speed and I could feel my inner lips flutter with anticipation, moistening and swelling as his finger danced above them and his breath grazed the back of my neck.

I half-turned my torso toward him. He smiled, eyes closed, and kissed my forehead.

I love sleepy morning sex, legs and arms tangled under the duvet, our scents mingling in the warm trapped air, my hands grabbing the headboard, pushing back against him, adjusting our bodies to maximize thrust and minimize noise.

His right hand was under my right thigh, his left stretched behind my neck and cupped my left breast, holding me to him as his dick slid up and down and I pushed our heads together, breathing through my nose, making very little sound.

My orgasm. I shuddered.



Falling back to sleep.



I stumbled into the boys’ room, where I turned off their alarm clock that makes monkey sounds and said good morning. I handed them their clothes and herded them to the bathroom to brush teeth.

“Momma, is Daddy picking us up tonight?”

“Yes, he is!”

“Are we going to see Jefferson this afternoon?”

“No, honey, but you’ll see Jefferson on Monday, after Daddy leaves.”

“I want to say goodbye,” said Jack.

“Baby, Jefferson is sleeping. Let’s not wake him.”

“But it’s light outside! He needs to wake up!” Jack was insistent.

“He is on vacation. That means he gets to sleep late, right Momma?”

“That’s right, Miles. Come on, let’s get you to school.”

“Can we just go look at him?”

They had already opened the door to my room and walked in. Miles reached into his pocket and placed a piece of candy on the pillow beside Jefferson’s head.

“This is for later,” he whispered.

Thank goodness the condoms and foils had all made it into the trash.

I shooed them from the room and out the door.

When I came back from the daycare and tossed my clothes into the chair, Jefferson opened his eyes and smiled. I slid into bed, curling up, with a groan.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I don’t feel at all well,” I said.


“Yeah, I’m kinda shaky.”

“Go back to sleep,” he kissed me, “I think I’ll go read my book.”

“Thanks; there’s coffee in the kitchen.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll manage. Get some rest and feel better.”

I stayed in bed for about 45 minutes, dozing on and off until I had to get up.

I walked to the door, rounded the corner, saw Jefferson reading on the futon and announced, “I am going to be sick.”

I don’t remember what he said as I swept into the bathroom and closed the door.

I was thankful he stayed on the other side.

As a parent I get my fair share of puke. Try as I do to help my kids stick it out when they're sick, telling them to go to the bathroom even if they think there's a chance they might be sick, I usually end up with a bit of puke on me. Seriously, I can’t wait until my kids are old enough to deal with their own vomit. And the last thing I want is for someone trying to "help" me while my stomach empties its contents into a porcelain bowl.

Seriously, please don't hold back my hair.

I washed my face, rinsed my mouth, blew my nose and brushed my teeth.

I cracked open the door and peeked out, gingerly making my way to sit on the futon next to him.

“Poor baby, are you feeling better?” His hand lightly touched my hair.

I nodded, “Still shaky but much better. I really think I’ll be fine if I can eat something to settle my stomach. Like toast. But I’m out of bread. So let’s go to breakfast.”

I had a cup of tea and rallied myself. I would have showered, but I knew that the sooner I got out, the better I’d start feeling. Besides, who were we going to see on a late Friday morning downtown?

The restaurant was packed and we sat at the counter, ordering omelets and splitting an order of biscuits & gravy. That shit was the shit.

We ate, reading the underground paper, talking about a show we wanted to see the next night. I looked up and saw Maya smiling and gliding across the floor toward where we were. I patted Jefferson’s knee, “It’s Maya,” I stood and met her a few feet away. Hug, kiss.

“Hey, honey! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”

“I took the day off! Is that…”

“Jefferson. Yeah.”

She beamed as she walked toward Jefferson, extending her hand. He stood and took it, kissing her cheek in greeting, “Finally…so nice to meet you, Maya!”

I’m sure we looked terrible. Unwashed, unshaven and I’m certain my hair was doing weird flippy things but at least our teeth were clean and we were fully dressed.

We chatted for a bit and then went on our way. We had groceries to buy.

But first, we had to meet my mother.

16 March 2006



I sat on the futon, stunned.

The boys had ‘said hello’ to Jefferson from time to time on the webcam. He’d shown them his kids’ Curious George flashlight and Woody doll. Now my youngest child was requesting a tuck-in from my boyfriend, his new best friend.

Jefferson came back, closing the boys’ bedroom door.

“He still wants me to sleep with him.”

“He has to wait his turn.”

He dropped to his knees in front of the futon, kissing me and pushing my torso back while pressing his hand into the crotch of my jeans.

The anticipation. The delicious sensation I’d had earlier of his fingers on my wrists as he sat behind me on the floor and threaded his arms through mine, acting out a story for the boys. All that chastity. Hours of it.


I pulled his neck to me, his face in my hands, my clit pulsing.

Yeah, this is what I want.

We were slow, alert to sounds of movement from the other side of the door, careful to keep our sounds as low as possible.

I would have been content to make out for hours on the futon, but Jefferson had other ideas. My jeans came off, and my shirt, leaving me barefoot in black panties and a mesh bra. That disappeared in short order, and his mouth made its home on my body.

It is a divine thing, the way he makes love to my skin. And when he is in that place, where he can’t help but lick and chew and suck and bite, it’s all I want: to feel that. To be the one giving his lips and tongue and teeth satisfaction. That’s my joy.

He bit my lips. My nipples. The inside of my right thigh. And, as I discovered two days later, the back of my left upper arm. Hard.

I was reasonably coherent through the kissing and touching and whispering. All that buildup. I always do well until the biting starts and then I slip under. I was in that other place when his mouth found my clit.

His fingers followed and I was soon coming to them and their small but deliberate movements inside me.

Once I’ve come, it’s bound to happen again, and soon.

Jefferson adjusted his stance and set himself to bringing about my second coming. My back arched as I sprayed him and the futon.

“Goddamn, honey,” he whispered.

It was the first time he’d seen me squirt.

10 March 2006


Jefferson. Airplane.

I drove to the airport, all the while thinking how I couldn’t believe that he was coming. We’d laughed at our mutual luck that Viviane was having her apartment remodeled and would need a place to stay for several days. I had a weekend free of children and so did Jefferson. He left his apartment to Viviane and got on a plane.

I’d missed him since December.

I parked the car and walked across to the terminal. I was early, as usual. I checked the Arrivals board and took a seat outside the gate to wait the ten minutes for his flight to arrive. As people started filing out and hugging their greeters I scanned the passengers, watching the doorway for him.

Wouldn’t it be just like Jefferson to be the last one off?

Okay, they were closing the door and Jefferson was NOT on the flight. I panicked a
little, checking the board again.


I’d waited at the wrong gate. If you can believe it there was another flight from LaGuardia arriving within minutes of his. Two gates down.

I set off, totally embarrassed.

I nearly walked right past him and whipped around on my heel when I saw his face.

He was plugged into his headphones and didn’t see me right away. I put a hand on his shoulder and mouthed “I’m so sorry!”

He stood and took my neck, pulling me close. We stood, quietly holding each other in the thoroughfare, our breathing and the muffled strains of Death Cab for Cutie the only sounds I could hear.

When we pulled back and kissed, I asked how long he’d been waiting.

“Hours! Where the fuck have you been?”

“I’m such an idiot! I was at the wrong gate.”

“I was thinking that it is very unlike you to be late.”

“It’s true; I am usually early. Is this your bag?”

He held up the tiny briefcase-sized bag, “I didn’t figure I’d be needing many clothes.”

“You figured right, darlin’. Now, let’s get out of here. You must be starving.”

“Oh, I am. You know, they don’t feed you on airplanes anymore. And that is NOT a short flight.”

“Poor baby. Welcome to the heart of America. We know how to feed our men here.”

It was warm, close to 65 degrees. Jefferson tossed his wool coat in the back seat and we kissed.

“I can’t believe you’re here!”

“I know, and I’m here for five days!”

“Man, I am going to be so ready to be rid of you come Tuesday.”

I’d had several weeks to plan our schedule for Jefferson’s first visit to my home, but I laughed when the things which sounded like the most fun were going to the grocery store, cooking food and taking walks. I didn’t worry about it. I figured we’d decide as we went along. Real easy-like.

Anyway, this was going to be a landmark visit of sorts.

Jefferson would meet my children. He offered to meet my parents. And then, as if to drive the point home that he is the coolest boyfriend ever, he wondered if he’d be meeting my ex, Daniel.

Intense stuff, sure, but we expect those thoughts when we’re together.

I pulled out of the space and merged onto the highway for home.

“There is nothing here! Where are the people? There are no buildings! There aren’t even cars!”

“Oh, hush, you. You’re insulting the cows.”

I rested my hand on his thigh as we drove and sang. He looked tired.

I took him for barbecue at one of my favorite places. We flirted with the server: a cute, plump girl working her very first shift. As we sat by the window and watched people walking past, Jefferson remarked, “I don’t know why you can’t seem to get laid in this’s crawling with hot people!”

“I have impossibly high standards,” I said.

“I wish I’d had time to get my hair cut before I left the city,” he said, “I fear I might not meet your standards of hotness now.”

“You are a bit shaggy,” I said, “But not to worry, there are barbershops here. I’ll take you to the right one.”

We held hands as we strolled on Main street, wandering into shops until it was time to get the boys from school.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Miles and his class were playing in the yard. We sat in the car and I pointed him out. One of his friends said something and pointed to the car and Miles came running over.

“Okay, showtime!” We got out of the car.


“Hey, darlin'! How was your day?”

“Good!” He blushed and looked down, smiling, “Hi, Jefferson…”

“Hello, young man! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

They shook hands.

We all walked inside to collect Jack, who came running when he saw us.

Right past me.

“Jefferson! Yay!”

He practically threw himself into Jefferson’s arms and they commenced a long discussion about rockets and airplanes.

Okay, everyone, let’s go home!

“Is Jefferson coming to our house, Momma?”

“Yes he is, and tomorrow, your Daddy comes to see you! How did you get so lucky to have this much excitement in one weekend?!”

We put the kids into carseats and drove the two blocks to my house. Jack grabbed Jefferson by the hand and dragged him to his bedroom. I hung up coats and set out stuff for the kids’ dinner as the boys played.

I called them to dinner; Jefferson went to change into PJs and joined me in the kitchen. I poured bourbons and we clinked glasses as the kids ate.

I’ve said it before; I enjoy the anticipation of being alone with a lover while we are tending to children. Knowing that nothing will happen until they are fast asleep makes minutes seem like hours and that makes the togetherness explode. It's the little electric shivers when fingertips brush shoulders or linger a little longer on thighs that make me want to prolong the agony just a little longer; just put off pleasure in favor of anticipation for a bit more.

The boys reluctantly got ready for bed and Jack very sweetly invited Jefferson to sleep with him that night, "You can sleep in my bed, Jefferson. My Momma is used to sleeping by herself. She's good at it."

It may have been the first time in history that Jefferson has declined to share a bed with a gorgeous blond.

We sat on the couch, Jefferson and I, intertwining fingers, stealing kisses. Jack came out of his room just once and I stood to take him back in.

“No! I want Jefferson.”

09 March 2006



Yes, I know it's been too long. I want you to know that I haven't just been sitting on my ass (sometimes I type standing up), I've been working on a super-secret project with fellow writers Mikey Mongol, Elizabeth and our beloved editrix, Viviane:

TGP is the baby of Sam Sugar and a part of the SexNotWork y'all may have heard about.

Basically, we're disseminating quality smut to the masses. No need to thank us, that's why we're here.

Listen, here on my personal blog I don't trade links. If I like someone's site I'll link to it. If I see that someone's linked to me, I'll check them out and link back if I like their stuff. I like maintaining control of my personal space and the whole "Hey, if you link to me I'll link back" thing just makes me uncomfortable.


TGP is a different animal, being link-driven and I have no problem telling you that if you are interested in directing traffic to your site, a link exchange with TGP will do it. There's an easy form in the sidebar.

Link to us and we'll hit you back.
With a belt.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Did I tell you Jefferson came for a visit?
I didn't?