So, I noticed this picture on my Facebook
And, firstly, I hate inspiration porn. A lot. It’s always some random picture, usually of a child, with a disability doing something simple like playing or running, etc. And see, it’s inspiring cuz look at those poor poor…
if he did Donna would see it on television, recognize him and thus her mind would burn up.
Eleven has realized this and thus he’s now carrying it to save her life.
He’s got it under control.
Let Donna live on and imagine what her commentary would be as she watches Eleven with the torch.
Thank you, Donna Noble. I love you.
I want to spend this morning looking out on this weather with you.
Let us be naked and snuggled in blankets and let there be soft music in the background.
I’ll get up and make the coffee if you’ll tend the fire.
Later we’ll open the window and snuggle by it to listen to the snow.
Those odd moments when you discover that friends of yours in different directions know each other. I’ve known Jonathan Coulton for years, and Amanda and Sara are old friends. And here they coincide, singing STILL ALIVE.
(Via Scalzi’s excellent interview series at tor.com)
happy birthday, dicea.
Best Still Alive EVAR! Thank you, lovey
My heart races when I watch someone talk about something they are passionate about.
I absolutely can’t help it. When they are excited and talking a mile a minute and you know that nothing can take them down from whatever cloud they’re on at that moment, I just fall in love. I love their voice…
I’m so lucky to live a life where I get to see people shine when they share their passions so much. Or maybe… I’ve lived my whole life to make sure I get to see people shine when they share their passions.
Beautiful.
the sound of my palm on her skin rings out like a tiny thunderclap.
That sound echos in my sex and I feel new heat and wetness flooding my lips.
I chase her around the room, slapping every bit of skin I can find and directing her to undress, fold her clothing, pick things up and put them away properly and get the bed ready, fluff the pillows, turn down the blanket, fetch a towel, get out the toys that I want. Eventually I pause and take the time to look at her reddened face and the palm prints about her skin.
The urge at this point to take her in my arms and praise her is almost overwhelming, but I know how long she has been waiting for this. I know how long I’ve been waiting for this. This won’t be to the kind and cuddly phase until after she cries.
I grab a handful of her hair and one breast and help her kneel down. With one leg up on the bed I bury her face against my cunt and press myself against her. I admire the dedication and attention she shows to trying to pleasure me while I grind her face in gracelessly. Pulling her head away I slap her cheeks and then pull her back in, my body pulsing with heat and need.
When my climax begins to distract me I pull her off of me and push her at the bed, striking at her breasts and watching them move, hearing the sounds of hunger and confusion she makes. I grab her face with one hand, middle and ring fingers sliding into her mouth, pinching at her lips and cheeks and chin. My fingers spread her mouth open and stroke her tongue hard as I slap her thighs apart with the other hand.
She is so wet and ready. I get my hand wet with her natural lubrication and set to slapping the inside of her thighs, her labia, her ass, and smiling at the way her hips buck and beg for more. I pull my hand from her mouth and break every contact with her skin before I grab her clit and pinch it hard between thumb and the side of my forefinger. She cries out and arches her back, arms grasping at the bedding, knocking the toys awry with a swing of a careless fist. I continue to hold on and pull slightly and her cries take on a musical cadence.
Eventually I release my grip and step back to watch her body process the sensations and savor the moment. She slides through the moments of panic that the touch is gone, the pleasure of the energies and feelings flying through her flesh, the hunger for more, the fear that this might be over, the fear that so much more may yet happen… and slowly she sinks into just being in this moment.
I lick my fingers and smile, feeling my own heat settling in and becoming richer and deeper. Some days we crave cuddling and kissing, other days we crave touch.
Today it’s touch.
What I miss is the way he used to walk up to me, shove his fingers into me, and just hold them there.
We’d be watching tv or reading or just hanging out waiting for food to cook and, bam, he’d shove fingers in and hold me in place or move around with me.
It wasn’t really sexual, I don’t think it was intending to feel good or to get me off, it was a grotesquely impolite invasion of my space. It was reaching out and touching me somewhere that nobody can just shove up into without my permission. It was simply finding home for his hands and making a game of sticking with me.
There was no fancy technique to it or discussion about what need it filled, but there was just his hands in my cunt.
I miss that.
Sometimes when things get me down there is nothing nicer I can do for myself than just settle in, clear my mind, let everything go and masturbate.
There are many ways of self soothing, so many things that are temporarily pleasant, lots of potential sources for ephemeral joy.
Touching myself does make me feel better, leaves me with a few more good chemicals in my brain, gets my heart rate up and then lets my blood pressure drop, helps my muscles relax, and really improves my outlook on the day.
If nothing else got off right today, at least I did.
I wish I had something more to offer you this morning, but all I’ve got is my everything.
If I close my eyes really tight and reach out very slowly with my hand maybe I’ll feel your fingers against mine.
