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


Hot Chocolate

Snowstorms ideally mean snuggling all naked under a warm duvet with someone you love.

That's my favorite type of snowstorm.

That's not what I'm having today, though. While a massive storm blankets the center of the country with ice and snow, I'll be snuggling naked under the duvet with a device I dearly love. My children have a Snow Day today, which doesn't preclude my wanking, it just means I get to be creative about it.

I'm bribing the children with lots of movies, outside play and my famous Mexican Hot Chocolate. I'm hoping that the warm milk will cause them great sleepiness. I'll let you know how it goes.

14 November 2006



His fingers in my hair were electric, tiny little shocks from their tips to my scalp, my spine. Kisses burned over eyelids, lips, throats.

His tongue on my clit was delicious, swirling and flicking and tugging and pressing that wave of pleasurepain into my core.

His cock in my mouth was insistent, hips driving up, hands on my head, sighs from his mouth. My name.

His hand in my cunt was merciless, twisting and coaxing and releasing a flood of wetness, a gutterral roar from my belly.

His cheek against mine was gentle, cool, holding me steady in the swirling, sparkly bliss, leading me up the steps.

His eyes on my body were adoring, watching from the bed as I undressed and fitted myself beside him.

His arm over my torso was warm, shielding my bare shoulders from the cool air.

His voice in my ear was smooth, yanking at my heart, quieting my breathing, curling my lips into a smile.



"Another one bites the dust," I whispered as I carried Jack into the guest house. Miles had gone to bed an hour earlier in their room on his own accord. Lillie and Collie had gone upstairs in the main house and Jason was still up watching cartoons with his cousin.

For the duration of our stay the television was on Nickelodeon and Disney rotation: SpongeBob, Jimmy Neutron, FairlyOdd Parents and occasionally, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody. My kids were in television heaven. Back home they never see any of this, as I am a fiendishly strict mother and we don't have cable. But this was vacation, and Miles and Jack had spent the last two weeks adhering to a tight schedule of vacation activities with their dad: Day camp at 8 AM, amusement parks, aquariums, botanical gardens and major league baseball games the rest of the time. I figured they could stand to veg out.

The presence of so many other kids was a welcome change for the boys; they could blend in and when adults were around it wasn't just the two of them under surveillance. We were a big group, and they thought that was really cool.

The children also served to deflect attention from Jefferson and me. So far, during the afternoon swim, photo shoot, dinner and evening boat outing for 15, we'd managed to avoid nosy questions about our relationship. It helped that there were so many kids to keep track of. It also helped that Honey wasn't on the boat.

Papa, Honey and Nanny had turned in by 9 PM and kids were dropping off one by one.

Jefferson poured our bourbons and met me on the big back porch overlooking the lake. Frank was sitting outside, drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette.

"Porch swings?"

"Hell, yes."

Jefferson led the way down the wooden steps

We sat on the swing, on a deck halfway down the 53 steps to the water, just far enough from the house to muffle our voices. Frank had was sitting on the swing opposite ours. He stayed and talked until it became clear (my feet tucked under Jefferson's thighs, his fingers toying with the fringe of my cutoff skirt, my hand stroking the hair on the back of his neck) that he should leave us alone. He joined Rachel, Lynn the Girl and Tracy the Boy for smuggled beer and cigarettes.

Frank and the teenagers were sitting on the roof of the boathouse behind us. Occasionally their laughter would carry over and I'd be distracted from our discussion of the book I was reading on Roosevelt and Churchill. That discussion gave way to our making out, which ended abruptly when Frank's loud "Well, I guess we'll go upSTAIRS now," warned us that the group was on its way toward the swing.

We sat back and continued our talk about Franklin and Winston.

"Y'all comin' up, Uncle TJ?" asked Lynn the Girl.

"Eventually, sugar. We're still catching up," said Jefferson.

"Alright, well, see you in the morning!" sang Rachel.

"'Night, baby girl. Love you."

"Love you, too."

"Love you, Uncle TJ! 'Night, Maddie!"

"Don't stay up too late, TJ, these babies are sleeping above you tonight and you know how easy it is to wake them," Frank chided.

"Yeah, yeah. Go to bed, pervert. Love you."

"'Night, Frank," I called.

We sat on the swing, pushing back and forth with the balls of our feet, talking about our kids and listening to the serenading frogs. I looked around at the outlines of trees that surrounded us, almost indistinguishable against the dark sky. It was a quiet Saturday night. Tomorrow would be a crowded day on the lake.

He took my face in his hands and kissed me.

"I adore you."

We stood and walked down the rest of the steps to the boat and stood in the center of it, hidden from the people upstairs.

07 November 2006



Jefferson's mother, "Honey," as she is called by her grandchildren (and everyone else, near as I can tell), was more reserved than anyone when we were introduced. She politely shook my hand and welcomed me, asking how my flight was.

To be fair, Jefferson hadn't given her much to go on, as heavily as he guards his privacy when his mother is around. I know she had very little knowledge of me--just that I was a girlfriend of his, divorced with two small children who would all be extremely close geographically on that particular weekend. Since our paths were coming so close to crossing, he'd invited us to join them.

From the first mention of the invitation his mother was interested in my children and, by extension, me. She forwarded a photo of the three of us to family members, smugly challenging them to guess who we were:

"I bet y'all are wondering who this is. These little boys look a lot like Jason and Collie to me. Hummm, I do wonder who this is."

It's true that Miles has dark, shaggy hair like Jason, and that Jack and Collie are blonds. I found the immediate insertion of my children in the family tree sweet, if a bit silly. I was also aware of Honey's nosiness and her mother-need to know intimate details about her children's lives. I was prepared to reveal only what was necessary and to deftly change the subject to her new litter of puppies should a tricky topic come up.

I worried that she'd press me for specifics.

In Jefferson's life his mother had met two of his girlfriends, one of whom he married and who Honey refers to as "The Bitch" when children are not present. That's not daunting or anything.

Divorce is painful for the couple. It's painful for their children. It's also painful for their parents and siblings. Honey is protective of her son. I got that. I thought about how I would feel in her position.

She was being guarded and careful. I would be careful, too.

Jason, Collie and Lillie had been watching TV when we arrived. They came out to the porch and I introduced the kids around, eventually throwing up my hands saying, "Oh, they'll sort each other out."

Jack quickly befriended Jefferson's niece, Abby, who couldn't remember his name and kept referring to him as "Little Boy" and insisting that he call her "Miss Abby." Within an hour they were in four-year-old love.

Miles hung back, half hiding behind my skirt shyly saying hello.

Our bags had been brought to the guest house by Frank and Jesse. Someone suggested we hit the water. In five minutes we were in our suits and heading downstairs to the dock. Introductions continued to be made on the way. I could tell by the glances that Jefferson had been talking with his brothers about me.


I should mention that I have even more brothers than Jefferson, and that I am the lone girl. I can hold my own with boys. Especially boys who like to show off.

Jesse and Frank were in Impress The Guest mode: Offering me beer, chatting me up, testing my ability to bullshit with the best. Each of their questions was answered rapid-fire. Each facetious remark was met with one of my own. I teased and cajoled them as they did each other and Jefferson.

I lost track of how many times I heard the phrase, "TJ, does Maddie know about the time you (fill in the blank)? Aw, now! Hey, Maddie, you'll never believe this!"

I liked them. A lot. It was just like being home.

More family arrived. Rachel, Jefferson's oldest, came sauntering down to the water in her bikini.

"Ray-chullllllll! Hey, y'all! Rachel's here!"

The calls rose up from the dock in unison. Wolf whistles from her uncles and my "Good Lord, she's gorgeous," met with a nod and a "Told you so," from Jefferson.

I'd had an online friendship with Rachel for several months, ever since she'd requested a webcam introduction while visiting Jefferson last winter. She had taken it on herself to vet me out as a good match for her dad, one of the criteria being my shoe size. I have no idea why.

I walked over and hugged her hello. She was a hotter, girl version of Jefferson. Bullseye. She made herself at home with her cousins and siblings. She spoke to my kids like adults. She was so in with me.

Rachel was joined by her cousins Lynn The Girl and Tracy The Boy-- teenage siblings and more combined hotness than I wanted to think about. I hoped my mouth didn't hang open much.

Papa, Jefferson's father, cut open a watermelon and kids dove for wedges. This would become a daily happening: Watermelon on the dock.

Once everyone had arrived it was time to take the family picture. I'd volunteered as photographer and stood off to the side with Miles as the twenty family members chose positions on the stairs.

"Jack! Come on, baby," My accent was growing twangier by the minute, "come over here and stand by Momma. You don't get to be in this picture, honey."

Except that he did.

Because Honey said that he could.

Twenty people sitting on the stairs. Twenty-one counting the tiny blond boy in the front row. The one who knows that grown-ups will totally cave when he smiles. You know, the one sitting in front of the grown-up blond they all call TJ.

03 November 2006



I ache in all my muscles, my head feels like it weighs about 20 pounds (which it may, given the quantities of tissues I'm using up), there is that tightness in my chest and the rattly "oh, fuck, don't let me cough now because it's going to hurt like a bitch" sound and sensation when I inhale.

When I cough, I spit brown into the toilet.

(I didn't tell you this would be pretty.)

But this morning, while navigating the tisues which had missed the basket on the floor beside my bed, I caught a glimpse of my Dynamic Duo on my nightstand. I seriously thought about wanking.

I didn't, thinking that an orgasm might very well lead to spontaneous combustion or, at the very least, my head would explode. I worried that I might not be able to breathe if I were to achieve bliss. Because sometimes that happens. And my nose doesn't really work anyway.

Also, my skin hurts. Like, it's extraordinarily sensitive to pressure. I was putting on lotion after my shower and it hurt to smooth it over my body. My body, which is swollen and sensitive because, along with my upper respiratory infection, I also have my period.

I thought about fucking this morning. I've been writing about it and reading about it and so I had a brief thought interlude about me fucking. About me being fucked well: Slowly, and with great tenderness and love. Let me just say that the thought of this left me feeling a not a little scared. The aching muscles are not just in my neck and back. Envisioning a cock invading my pussy makes me shudder. Which is weird.

It's because I'm sick. Because I feel like ass. I want someone to take care of me. That's why I was having disturbing thoughts about wanking and fucking. I don't want sex. I want closeness--that closeness that happens when someone knows what you need and you don't have to tell them. The closeness that lets you exist together easily. That is what's missing. That is what I need today.

I drink tea and blow my nose and feebly fold little-boy-underwear and write and help my friends with their projects. I fantasize about sleeping.

I want to lie on my new mattress (I don't have one yet, this is my dream, folks.) propped into the most comfortable position and be lulled to sleep by the warmth of a hand on my head and the sound of even breaths going in, going out.

I want to fall asleep knowing that someone is here to care for me, making soup from my kitchen and holding the cup for me later as I drink it, steaming hot and salty.