March 14th, 2011 Post; Technical Difficulties

I pay close attention to the curve of a man’s neck…the softness of the skin there…the ripple of his carotid artery pulsing above the smoothness of his collarbone.  Sometimes I stare at that spot…lost in the quiver of his body rhythms…fantasizing about tracing the veins resting there and nibbling on the tightness of the skin stretched down to his chest…I brush my teeth quietly against his nipples…blowing cool air across them as they harden to the flicking of my tongue… My desire intensifies as I press my fingers into the strength of his shoulders and pull him closer to me…running my fingers down the arch of his back and trailing them to his outer thighs.  My mouth savors the sweetness of his skin as I hold back the giggle pressing against my diaphragm from the tickle of the tiniest hairs of his stomach on my top lip as I explore my way down his torso…craving the feel of the soft contours of the head of his dick in my mouth…the creamy succulence of his shaft, mirrored in the satin that is the skin in the curve of his neck…the playground of my imagination. 
                

                March 14th of every year is the homage to Fillets and Fellatio.  Valentine’s Day is a month in our memories, the flowers from that romance or pain filled night have all withered away, the chocolate seasonal aisle in the local supermarket has now been replaced with lighter fluid, charcoal, and other grilling paraphernalia…and men everywhere are retweeting suggestions for Steak and BJ day.  

Supply List: (This post is for the last minute celebrators)
                Chloraseptic Spray (reduces gag reflex)
                Cinnamon Altoids
                Ice
                Pineapple Juice
                Steak
There is no need for candles and table cloths… just…a steak…and some mouth love. 

Ingredients

• 1 boneless rib eye steak, 1 1/2-inch thick
• Canola oil to coat
• Kosher salt and ground black pepper

Directions

Place 10 to 12-inch cast iron skillet in oven and heat oven to 500 degrees. Bring steak(s) to room temperature.

When oven reaches temperature, remove pan and place on range over high heat. Coat steak lightly with oil and season both sides with a generous pinch of salt. Grind on black pepper to taste.

Immediately place steak in the middle of hot, dry pan. Cook 30 seconds without moving. Turn with tongs and cook another 30 seconds, then put the pan straight into the oven for 2 minutes. Flip steak and cook for another 2 minutes. (This time is for medium rare steaks. If you prefer medium, add a minute to both of the oven turns.)

Remove steak from pan, cover loosely with foil, and rest for 2 minutes. Serve whole or slice thin and fan onto plate.

Sex with the Ex

It didn’t take long at all before we were wrapped around each other with my ears pressed over his heartbeat. His skin was soft and smooth, and smelled sweetly of the hotel bath soap. It was like green and wood as his fingers trickled down my arms and across my shoulders. Moments later the sweatpants I carefully chose to wear to bed were on the floor and the tips of his fingers were whispering to my thighs. His lips were smooth and cool as sweetly his tongue explored my body and found rest in a tug of war with mine. I nibbled and tugged at his bottom lip, trying hard to restrain myself from drinking in too much of his nectar before we’d be too quickly spent. Instead, I teased and imagined he would become enamored with me once more, playfully nipping at his ears as my fingernails pressed deeper into his back.

Pleasure mounted in our dangerous dance, and tension grew as both of us saw in the other our prey, and yet still a potential predator. My tongue traced the vein rising in the curve of the left side of his neck and up to his ear as again he bit deeper into my neck, causing me to pause as my breath escaped me. Noisily I inhaled as my shirt found its way across the room. My chest heaved and spilled into his parted lips and as I could not control the back spasm that sent me lunging into what should have been a painful arch, I caught a glimpse of painted magnolias on the wall before my eyes rolled back into darkness.

There he waited, poised gracefully above me, arms and shoulders melting into each other and against my skin, watching as his touch rippled and shuddered through me—this King amongst Beasts--as I clawed against his torso searching for the heart that thudded against me with so much power that my every breath strained against itself to restrain any outburst. Again I had lost myself in the past as slowly, he slipped inside and pressed against me deeply, holding himself there before rotating around slowly—deeper and deeper—pulling back and pouncing forward and sending me to ecstasy. My mouth dried as I bit into the pillow, until his lips caressed mine. He drank me and in turn showered me with kisses, deep and sensual, and traced my collarbone with tiny touches that made my body ever sensitive.

Deeper he plunged and face to face, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, our legs intertwined I finally made love to my heart. There he was—this fleeting daydream I had started to wonder was a conjured figment of my imagination. This was my first love revisited. I shuddered as arms clenched and dug into his back, bottom lip was bitten, and I exclaimed into the night and pleaded to God; screaming into the warm air floating above my bed. I released and buried my face into his chest, and with one last quiver I fell into slumber.

I need some put a bitch to sleep kind of sex right now. When I first started telling myself that I just wasn't going to have sex while I was doing this whole creative and informative writing project that is still untitled, I had been having a consistent 2 orgasm a month minimum for nearly an entire year. For the first couple of months, I could remember vividly the slight burn and feel of my thigh muscles as I inched myself down the thickness of Mr.Blonde...sucking in my breath slowly as I flashed back to the feel of my nani struggling to spread and take him all the way in. Slowly...those memories fade...and now I've lost most of what has been keeping me sane.

There's only so much I can take...only so many Hershey's Milk Chocolate with Almonds bars that I can suck the almonds out of before I'm either the size of a small house or immune (the latter is seemingly becoming the issue). I'm doing this for you...my reader...and I hope it's worth it...I need some inspiration...lol

Deterioration of a Daddy's Girl...

I wanted to share a little something about my father. The following post is actually from September 1, 2011...Its been on my mind to re-read it lately...because of a comment made to me that women try to use men to replace their fathers...I wonder sometimes... (Pops passed two months after this post on 11/3/2011)

Watching your father die isn’t supposed to be easy. I know this, and understand it. I guess I took for granted that I was just going to get a tearful phone call from one of my sisters telling me that I needed to take off from work to come back to attend his funeral. In my imagination, it was going to be one of those--he just never woke up-- kind of endings.

One may find it overtly macabre that I had already experienced some rendition of my father’s death and replayed it in memory before. My father was 46 at my birth. All my life I have been coming to terms with the idea that my Daddy may not be walking me down the aisle or holding up my children at their Christening. Taking into account the average American male gains nearly 20 pounds following a divorce (of which my father has endured 2) and the family history of alcoholism, hypertension, diabetes, and maladaptive stress coping mechanisms, I envisioned that aforementioned phone call coming around my junior year in college. A lot can change in a short time as evidenced in the bit of self-honesty in which I no longer consider marriage to be one of the milestones needing to occur by 25, and I’m Muslim so--no Christening coming in any near foreseeable future. These are life facts that have been fairly easy with which to deal and flow. Those were personal ideals, which tend to change with the growth of the person in such a subtle way as to feel natural.

There are few things in this world so designed that completely shake the foundation of identity in people like me. Pancreatic Adenocarcinoma stands to be one of those things.

My Dad has always been the biggest, strongest, meanest MF-er in my world. Even in my earliest memories of childhood that one supreme fact afforded me great Peace of Mind. There was only one person from whom I needed to fear reproach, and as long as I stayed within his boundaries, I was protected from admonishment by others, in that quiet reverence of: My Daddy can beat up Your Daddy. This progressed into the pattern that, my dad was my only real opponent later in life…

The year 2007 came and went, and with it, my junior year in college, during which my father continued to not only survive, but flourish. As such, with every passing year that my father remained nearly frozen at age 48, minus the slight peppering of grey in his hair, I grew to forget his mortality. We have had the most tumultuous of relationships since I hit puberty, but I guess I just assumed we would have time to have that little Hallmark moment one day …when we would sit back and apologize for the hell we’d had for each other…and we’d both be healthy when that happened.

I am now tortured with wondering how, in the couple of days from the last time I emerged from my childhood bedroom before he left for the next appointment, he has lost more mass. I cannot bear to see my father eat because he can’t stomach more than a few bites when he does at least, eat. I am the most rebellious, hard-headed, and willful of his kids…the baby child that had the balls to say what was on my chest with no regards for the feelings of others…and am now running out of ways to hide my tears when he’s around. I search for any excuse to leave the house, but still can’t find the resolve to leave the area and go home.

Watching your father die isn’t supposed to be easy. I never thought it would be a progressive deterioration of the biggest, strongest, meanest being in my world…