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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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26 January 2007


Pete & Repeat

This morning as I walked Miles into school he asked me again when his father was coming for the weekend.

"Exactly one week," I said.

"Aw, that's so looonnng! I really miss him!"

"I know, it's hard to wait. But we've got playdates with Max and Elijah this weekend, so you're booked up, man! Next weekend will be here before you know it." I pushed the hair back from his eyes. His beautiful almond eyes.

I'd spoken with the school nurse last week about Miles' weight fixation. She spoke with the school counselor, who suggested that Miles was feeling alienated from his father.

Not that I couldn't have told you that.

She suggested we try to involve Daniel more in Miles' daily life. This is, I think, a great plan. Miles can call his dad on our way home from school. We had been trying to get him on the phone for a week and had heard nothing. Miles, ever diligent, called every evening and left halting, six-year-old dreamy-voice messages. He never complained that Daniel didn't answer, but this morning he had a pure frustration meltdown so intense that I had to walk away and count to ten.

Okay, maybe thirty.

After the morning assembly I walked home and texted Daniel on the way. I'd have called, but after a week of orphaned voicemails, my gut told me he was not merely busy, but was avoiding me.

D: Can you pls send your itin 4 next weekend? Miles has been calling. Can you pls call back?

I went out to my clients and returned home to an email from Daniel.

Oh, I think you can guess.

He wrote that due to "challenges in the last couple weeks, both good and not," he would not be coming next weekend. However, he has decided to come the following weekend.

This he informs me.

I hit the table and "Unnnnnh!-ed" in frustration and anger and general seething hate for a person who, despite my continued benefit-of-doubt giving and inner wounded soul-hushing because this is not about me...despite all that, he has remained true to form.

And left me hanging with a weekend full of plans which include travel and event attendance, including tickets which cannot be refunded. Of course I will keep my plans. I will also let him be the one to tell Miles and Jack that he won't be showing up.

Of course my parents will take care of the boys. Of course my family will clean up yet another mess left by the person who sends checks two weeks late with no warning or explanation. Who is convinced that a weight-loss contest with a six year old is a good idea.

Who seems determined to disappoint his children at every turn.

Who writes me unfathomably inconsiderate emails and signs them "Yours."

20 January 2007


Nah, That Ain't Me, Man, I'm From Buffalo.

He has huge hands, no wonder I was so sore last time.

His hand wrapped around my own, bringing it down to his dick. I jerked my fingers away and slapped his wrist. What is this, high school?

Listen, seriously. If I've had your cock in my mouth, and you know I enjoy it, and I've told you I plan on giving you head, please let me do it my way. Or ask me nicely. Don't push me down there wordlessly--expectantly. Admonishment rose in my throat.

However, I am gracious, and he was stoned.

"I was getting you water," I said. He'd taken my hand as I walked past him on my way to the kitchen and pulled me into his chest and shoulders and kisses. That's when the hand-to-dick manouevre was executed.

"Hmmm, you were getting me water. Yes."

I patted his cheek and met him in the bedroom, waters in hand. He was already in my bed, naked under the covers. He sipped his water, "What, no bourbon?"

"Do you want bourbon?"

"I want you."

"Well, you've got me."


I dropped my jeans and pulled off the top. I tossed the black bra onto the chair, leaving me clad in cheeky black boyshorts.


"But these are nice, yes?"


"Oh, all right."

I inched them down and over my hips, wiggling them from side to side, squirming out of them, turning and kicking them over my shoulder with my foot. Of course I caught them.

I slid in beside him. He's a big man. I feel so little when he wraps around me. My feet were cold. My shoulders were cold.

"Your ass is cold."

"I know. . .sorry."

"You have such a nice ass."

"You think? Thank you."

"Yes. Yes. Your skin. Smooth, god, so smooth..."

I giggled and kissed him, "I moisturize daily."

It was stupid banter; we both know I have a nice ass. I like the banter, though. I like the purposeful extension of the moments before we start putting things into each other.

My fingers reached for his right nipple and gave it a tweak. He growled and threw my legs up over my head, diving in with his tongue. He doesn't give the best head in the world, but he is earnest. He is, I think, a little obsessed with making me squirt, and I need more than two minutes of stimulation before that pulling and milking becomes a fun thing to do.

I kept his face there, showing him how I liked my clit played with--how the flicker-fast, barely touching hits of myfingerhistongue make my eyes roll back and my hips push up.

Finally I let him put his fingers in me. Just two. Or maybe three.

"God, I love that sound."

He was up to the third knuckles on his huge fingers and I was growling, opening.

"Rub my. . . my. . . my clit. . . with your. . . uh. . . tongue"

I meant to say "thumb."

He plunged his face down excitedly.

"No, no, no, I meant your thumb. Like this."

He got it. Hallelujah.

"Shit, baby."

I spread my knees wider and grabbed my tits as my back arched. His hand, wet with me, slid up my thigh, over my hipbone and all the way to my mouth. I took the fingers, one by one, sucking them clean.

"You do that so well."

I was on my side. He was on his knees. It only followed that I curl underneath him and suck on something else.

I took his cock between my lips. I nursed on it like a baby. I slid it to the back of my throat and licked the underside up to his balls. I gurgled and he sighed. I looked up at him, blissfully watching his cock slide into my mouth as I grinned.

I think that often people misinterpret what constitutes a good blow job. I think people worry that they don't suck cock fast enough or deep enough or porny enough. I'll fess to head-shaking, ass-fingering, spit-sucking face fucks and gagging on a certain cock while its owner holds my skull flush with his groin until I pound the mattress and blow snot. But here's the thing: I like long, slow, deep, soft wet blowjobs that last for three days. Enjoy that reference if you got it.

That's when I'm in control. I let him fuck my face, but I made him do it slowly. I put his cock down my throat. I made his breath shake and his dick throb and his balls pull up and his mouth gasp, "Unnh, baby, I'm gonna come."

"You're going to come on my face," I hissed, my hand on his shaft, thumb milking his dickhead as he covered my cheeks and hair.

18 January 2007


Hook, Line & Sinker

See, there's an ad over there. One lady submitting to another lady and, well, her tongue.

I've been meaning to write about for a while, because it is one of the first fetish sites I checked when I was writing about porn at FetishFish reviews fetish porn sites and rates them, on a scale of 1-100 for content, updates and wankability.

What I like is that there's nothing kept back; if there's a fetish you thought was too strange to exist, you'll probably find it there.

Here's a sampling of the latest list of reviews:

There's good variety there, yeah? The site is updated daily, and extremely well organized, too, which is a huge factor for me when I'm looking for online smut. No pages and pages of galleries, no annoying popups for "Lesbian Sorority Girls Kissing!"

Though, I'm sure you could find them in the easily navigable index. If you're into that sort of thing.

Click through and visit. I'll bet you find something interesting.

17 January 2007



I alluded to it last week, when you (you know who you are) bailed me out of a jam.

I'll be making some changes over the next couple of weeks, so I ask for your bear-with-me-ness.

I wanted to give you a heads-up about a couple of things, in the month leading up to the second birthday of this site:

1. Madeline in the Mirror very quietly crossed over the 400,000 visitor mark sometime this morning. Thanks to all of you who read at the site. I know there are also lots of you checking your RSS feeds and I thank you, too. It's been two years of very little promotion on my part, so I'm flattered and humbled that you keep coming back.

2. That said, I am determined to not rely on my former spouse in terms of financial support. Oh, I'll still accept his child support, I just don't want to need it so much. So, here goes. I've decided to open Madeline in the Mirror to advertising.

(She cringes a little)

I'm a fundamentally lazy person when it comes to self-promotion and a bit in a quandary when it comes to selling space on this site which reaches upwards of 1000 of you a day, as I sort of hate the whole naked-pictures-in-my-sidebar thing on a site which really began and continues to exist for the stories.

I promise not to clutter up your reading experience, and plan to promote products I use, sites and people I like and things I would recommend to my friends, whether they're perverts or parents or both.

I've joined Blogads, which will allow advertisers and you to buy up space on my site by clicking the Advertise Here link in the sidebar.

Again, just know, I've anguished about this a bit, and I hope it works out, because I am of the opinion that stasis is deleterious and that things should change and shift.

And if that isn't a damn fine allusion, I don't know what is.

10 January 2007


Dearest Readers,

"I know it is trite, but you are rich in other ways. Those just don't pay the rent"

This comment from laurent just appeared in my inbox, and drove the final nail into what I've been thinking and feeling over the past three days.

I am rich. I am healthy and smart and I'm doing a good job as a mother. I know I am.

I have two gorgeous and brilliant children. I have dear friends who make me laugh. I have people in my life whom I love beyond words.

My profession, while it may never make me rich on paper, fulfils me mentally and spiritually. I love what I do. I can't imagine not doing it. For that alone, I am richer than most people I know.

I thank you, all of you sweet people who took the time to help me. I've got Jack back in school part-time and, apparently, a check in the mail from his father.

Speaking of whom.

This has never happened before--that he's not sent the boys' support check on time--but I'm not naive enough to imagine that it will never happen again. I've decided to implement safeguards against something like this catching me unprepared in the future. More on that later.

Telling me that I "need a sugar daddy" doesn't help, now, does it? No, and as I commented in response to that comment on the last post, what I need is for my children's daddy to be a stand-up guy.

Even more than that, I need to take steps to ensure that I can continue being a good mother while doing what I love and setting a good example for my boys.

It sucks that I can't count on Daniel. It is worse that his sons can't.

But I am lucky that I can count on many of you to be sympathetic and understanding with emails and concerned IMs. I am grateful for your generosity, both of pocket and of love.

Thank you.

08 January 2007



You're here. And you're expecting, maybe, a sex story or review of my new fabulous toys. But I can't post them right now, because I'm totally stressed out.

Did you know that child support isn't late until midnight on the the last day of the month? I sure as fuck didn't.

Now I do.

And I had a choice between paying rent and daycare for Jack. Rent won, and he's home with me until I can cough up five hundred bucks. This will, of course, make seeing clients difficult, but I really have no choice but to hope he'll sit quietly (Yeah, right,) and watch a video while I massage naked people in the other room.

You know, I hate being dependent on the money their dad is supposed to send. Hate. It. I hate feeling vulnerable. I know things will turn around and that this is just a bump in the road, but it feels like a fucking mountain.

I hate asking for help, it just seems weak. But I'm going to, because I'm doing everything else I can think of and getting nowhere.

There's a button on the side for "Mad's Mattress Fund." Usually I just leave it over there and don't think about it too much, but today I'm going to use it. I thought of changing the button to "Send Madeline's Kid to School," but that seemed inappropriate and weird, so I'm leaving it as is. Anything you could send would be hugely appreciated. Really. Even if it's a couple of dollars. Even if half of the people who read this blog in a day donated a dollar.

I know I sound like that guy from the Christian Children's Fund. But it's true. Sad, but true.

Feh, I apologize for this, and I know that you all are sweet and loyal readers who don't come here for stuff like this. Sometimes real life takes over. Hopefully it won't last too long.

Thanks to you all.