<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703</id><updated>2011-07-08T08:20:10.338-07:00</updated><category term='starting point'/><category term='recovery'/><category term='addiction'/><category term='lesbian erotica'/><category term='lesbian life'/><category term='attraction'/><category term='God'/><category term='etiquette'/><category term='MfM'/><category term='loss'/><category term='right place'/><category term='card'/><category term='growth'/><category term='affair'/><category term='Butchtastic Kyle'/><category term='like list'/><category term='relationships'/><category term='packing'/><category term='freedom'/><category term='lost love'/><category term='passion'/><category term='introspective'/><category term='lesbian'/><category term='concept'/><category term='wrong time'/><category term='loneliness'/><category term='love'/><category term='Online Voyeurism'/><category term='microfantasy monday'/><title type='text'>Random Thoughts of No Consequence</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>27</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-643351178122671835</id><published>2011-01-18T04:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T05:04:24.609-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Firsts</title><content type='html'>The date had gone from strange to stranger with no apparent reason. Since picking me up at work, you hadn't kissed or hugged me. You were oddly quiet and acting nervous. Dread was creeping up my spine. Was it over? Had you met someone new? Someone old? Had I done something to piss you off? The drive was a silent affair. You chose a table instead of a booth and after seating me, you moved to the chair furthest from me. There was little to no conversation as we perused the menu and placed our order. As the waitress was walking away, you called her back and ordered a beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While waiting for our meal, I blurted out 'what is wrong?' then made a mad dash for the bathroom &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;before&lt;/span&gt; I could completely humiliate myself by bursting into tears. In the Ladies room I rushed into the larger of the two stalls and gasped for breath. I heard someone come in the door, then the unmistakable click of the lock being turned on the entrance door. Your familiar boots came to a stop outside the stall. In your sexiest grumble you said 'come on babe...open up. It's not what you think.' after mopping up my face, I opened the door to find you leaning against the wall. You took my hand and almost started to speak but at the last second you pulled me into a kiss while guiding my hand to your crotch. I was shocked at first, this &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; wasn't typical of you, then it dawned on me....you were packing! And it wasn't our usual play toy hidden in your pants. I fondled you through the thick material of your cargoes, feeling the length and width of your new cock. Meanwhile, above the belt, our mouths were fused and your hands were gripping my shoulders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I broke away from our kiss only to be rewarded with your sexy smirk. "Surprise?" You &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;murmured&lt;/span&gt;. "Oh yeah..." In that moment it was like a dam broke and I pushed you back into the corner, your back against the door and went straight for your neck. Kissing and suckling while pushing my knee between your legs. "Fuck yeah" I mumbled as I pushed into your new hardness while fondling your breasts and working my way toward your ear. As if stunned, you rested back against the door, arms holding me but making no move to take over or stop me from my assault on your macho body. I reached for your snap, intent on exploring your new girth. I slid down your zipper and pulled down your pants, sinking down onto my knees before you. I cupped you through your boxers, nuzzling you with a cheek before reaching for your waistband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, before I could expose your secrets a discreet knock at the door pulled me back.  "Is everything all right in there? Does anyone need assistance?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-643351178122671835?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/643351178122671835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/firsts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/643351178122671835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/643351178122671835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/firsts.html' title='Firsts'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-2319119135800138236</id><published>2011-01-17T14:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-17T18:20:19.248-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anticipation</title><content type='html'>The build up to 'the date' started long before the actual day dawned. It started with the plan coming together. At last a night when work or other responsibilities wouldn't interfere, a night when neither of us had to be up early and off to work. The plan...she'd pick me up after work for a light dinner and then some heavy shopping. Her list included &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;phenomenal&lt;/span&gt; amount of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;paraphernalia&lt;/span&gt;. A new strap-on, a new dildos (or two), a better pair of handcuffs, and a little something sexy for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day dawned with a long list of to-dos that did not include masturbation. But my shower was long and slow as I shaved and cleaned and lightly scented every inch. A quick trim in other areas and then hair and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;make&lt;/span&gt;-up. What to wear posed the next problem. Most of my wardrobe is practical and functional, better suited to school than seduction, but a skirt and shirt would have to suffice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All too soon it was time to go. Aware of what was coming (or what was cumming?) my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;heart rate&lt;/span&gt; was erratic and my fresh clean panties were quickly growing moist. Her knock at the door was an expected surprise.. My heartbeat tripled. Our opening kiss had me backed up against the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;door jam&lt;/span&gt; and ready to drag her into my room. Her hand traveled from cheek to breast to hip while the kiss deepened with promise. Pulling apart, her eyes darted down over my outfit. A quick lift of her eyebrow let me know I'd chosen well and the gleam in her &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;eye assured&lt;/span&gt; me that she was excited as well. On the way to dinner her hand slid up and down my thigh while mine rested on her leg. Kisses at stop lights kept passions high. In the parking lot we nearly got carried away. She undid her &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;seat belt&lt;/span&gt;, turned to me and pulled me into a deep, insatiable kiss. Her hands were driving me wild, finding my right nipple, tugging and twisting, pulling at the lower edge of my bra trying to get closer to the real contact. It was so hard to concentrate. Kiss. Run fingers across her breast. Moan wantonly when she massaged my crotch. Pull her mouth to my breast when she finally slid it free. Finally, breathless and very flushed she pulled away and said we needed to eat if we planned to shop before closing time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know we ate dinner. I'm not sure where we ate. I'm not sure what we ate. I know that my foot was firmly pressed between her legs throughout the meal and that she was warm and wet against my toes. I know her hand strayed as far as possible up my skirt. She asked if I wanted dessert and I told her I had something sweet in mind but it wasn't available on any menu and that if I had a say we'd skip shopping and head straight for her bed. Wicked, wanton woman that she is, she said no...and led me back to the car for the trip to the store.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-2319119135800138236?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2319119135800138236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/anticipation.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2319119135800138236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2319119135800138236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/anticipation.html' title='Anticipation'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-2467192482214728811</id><published>2011-01-17T13:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-17T13:41:26.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oasis</title><content type='html'>&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Caffeine&lt;/span&gt; driven, noisy, pushy, frantic life.&lt;br /&gt;Constantly bombarded by the static of the world.&lt;br /&gt;My soul seek peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Struggling, day to day, sometimes minute to minute,&lt;br /&gt;through the sludge of daily life.&lt;br /&gt;My soul desires peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I stumble on a quiet space,&lt;br /&gt;a cool, dark cave away from the frenzy,&lt;br /&gt;an oasis of peace in you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here I can tune out the noise, the smells,&lt;br /&gt;the ever changing panorama of our crazy world.&lt;br /&gt;I sink into the softness of your peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sensing only the soothing silence of this place,&lt;br /&gt;my soul finds solace in this momentary oasis&lt;br /&gt;shared only with you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-2467192482214728811?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2467192482214728811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/oasis.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2467192482214728811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2467192482214728811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/oasis.html' title='Oasis'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-8318812946827123542</id><published>2011-01-17T12:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-17T13:27:22.580-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lesbian erotica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='packing'/><title type='text'>Saturday, Part 1</title><content type='html'>In the afterglow, I offer you a deal too good to refuse. You wear your cock all day and I'd do the cleaning in your favorite nightie. The words were barely out of my mouth before you agreed. We got up. Pulled on clothes (it was so much fun watching you stuff your lovely package into &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;cargos&lt;/span&gt;) and headed for breakfast. It was interesting to watch your walk with your hard cock. Your walk took on a strut I'd never seen. I couldn't help but brush up against you and play with your sexy butt. The walk to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Cloverdale&lt;/span&gt; Kitchen was accomplished briskly. The diner was packed with the usual Saturday morning crowd but we were seated quickly and much to your consternation I chose to sit beside you. The waitress took our orders and walked away to get our drinks. I couldn't resist slipping my hand under the table and stroking up your thigh. I did manage to control myself and I didn't unzip you and pull out that bad boy to stroke until breakfast was served. Your face told me you were decidedly uncomfortable but also &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;intrigued&lt;/span&gt; to know how far I'd go. I stroked and fondled your hardness until our plates were delivered. The waitress smirked when I pulled my hand hastily out of your lap and the flush on your cheeks told us both that you weren't unaffected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Eating&lt;/span&gt; was a hurried affair, I don't think we talked at all. We ate. You paid the bill and all but dragged me out of the restaurant. The walk toward home was double time compared to the walk down the hill. We made it around the side of the building at all but a trot. Once we were around the corner you stopped suddenly causing me to slam into you. You turned and pushed me back against the wall and kissed me with a wave of pent up passion. Your arms held me captive against the brick, your mouth punished mine for my blatant &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;impertinence&lt;/span&gt; in the diner, and your hips drove your hardness against my crotch. Our breathing was ragged, eyes glazed, and bodies straining for more. I think we would have ground out an orgasm right there had it not been for the blaring horn of a passing car. You snapped out of our carnal thrall and smiled wickedly. You leaned back into me and whispered in my ear "you will pay for that" and twisted my nipple hard to make your point. You turn , grabbed my hand and headed up the hill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the backdoor, you fumbled with the key then held the door for me to precede you. This time it was my turn to stop suddenly and push you against the wall. I angled my body against you so my knee wedged between yours, pressing hard against you and kissing you for all I was worth. Hands in your hair, holding your mouth to mine while I pressed into you. After a minute you pushed back,causing me to stumble on the first step and sit down hard. Your body followed me down, trapping me under you. I drew up my knees, finding a foothold on the stairs so I could push up to meet your thrusts. Your hands were everywhere at once. Pushing up my shirt. Unsnapping my jeans. Pulling me up to meet your mouth. Just as I reached for your zipper, your phone rang. Your muttered words were less than nice as you fished your phone out of your pocket but the next, slightly hoarse words out of your mouth were "Good morning, Mom"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-8318812946827123542?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8318812946827123542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/saturday-part-1.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/8318812946827123542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/8318812946827123542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/saturday-part-1.html' title='Saturday, Part 1'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-6037266826762598903</id><published>2011-01-17T09:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-17T10:42:13.494-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Your hand smooths down my back. Slowly, softly, soothing my skin from nape to thigh. My mind rouses to the stimulation. I stretch and turn into your warmth. Snuggling back against you until I can feel your warm breath stirring my hair. You continue to stroke down my side, across my hip, almost reaching my knee with each slow sweep. Up then down until I'm about to move your hand to my breast so you can stroke down the front. Your hand stops on my hip and presses it to the bed so that I am back on my stomach and you start rubbing again, this time using only your finger tips. If you had nails you would be leaving scratches but as is you just barely scrape over the surface raising goosebumps as you go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the next pass you stray down my crack and continue on until you can feel how wet I am. Your fingers urge my legs slightly apart so that on the next sweep you make it all the way to my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;clit&lt;/span&gt;. I stretch slightly up to meet you. You adjust your position, coming up to straddle my thigh. Now, using both hands to rub up and down, your thigh nestled tight against me so I can oh so slightly move against you. You lean away, grabbing something from the beside table. One hand  holds my shoulder down so I can't look up and back to see what you are doing. you lean again, this time I hear the familiar snap of the lube bottle and feel the cool dribble of lubricant as it coats between my cheeks. The liquid warms as it progresses down, coating my ass then sliding down until it blends  into the warm fluid spreading from my core. You ease off my thigh letting me feel your cock as you situate  yourself between my legs. Apparently you had been planning this long before I awoke. Your hands pull my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;hips&lt;/span&gt; up and back so that you have a clear view of all my secrets. You first run a hand down, spreading lube more evenly up and down. Next you guide the tip of  your cock over my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;highly&lt;/span&gt; sensitive anus slipping it lower  until you part my lips. You repeat this motion, up and down from ass to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;clit&lt;/span&gt; several times  as if to decide which is more &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;appealing&lt;/span&gt;. Then, decision made, you slide down and start to nudge between my lips.  You slide your hand around my hip and tickle my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;clit&lt;/span&gt;, encouraging me to open for you, to let you slide further in. I rock back slightly on my knees taking more into me then rocking forward until your hands stop me  before you slip free. This time I push back with more force not stopping until I can feel the cool metal ring of the harness against me. You grind fully into me, letting me know how much you like being &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;buried&lt;/span&gt; so deep. For the next several strokes you pick up the pace sliding almost fully out  then slamming back into me. I am starting to build toward orgasm, letting you know  through both words and moans how much I love it when you fuck me hard. As if on cue, you stop. Completely still. Engulfed totally in me, no movement. Holding my hips so I can't grind out an orgasm without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, you pull out and reach for the bedside table. This time letting me watch as you grab a condom, rip it open and slide it on to you in one smooth, practiced motion. More lube, this time drenching you, sharing only a little  with my crack as you pour it over your length. Your hands push  my knees forward until I am centered and available for penetration. You run the head of your cock over my tight outer ring. Toying with my muscles. Pressing in, forcing lube past the first band of muscles. Pulling out, swirling around the target, again picking up more lube before pushing further in until the head slides past the initial resistance. I reach back between my knees and play with myself as you start to fuck me slowly. In and out you slide, each pass a bit deeper, a bit faster. Finally you are all the way in me. You stop long enough to relax down my back, kissing and suckling along my spine. In a husky rumble you  as if I am ready for this. All I can do is groan out a "yes baby...fuck me". With that you come upright  and pull out until only the tip  remains and then slam back into me. The force  takes me momentarily by surprise, slamming me forward into the headboard. By the second stroke I am ready, braced on my elbows  to push back against you so that force meets force. Your fingers dig into my hips pulling me hard  against you. "oh fuck babe" is repeated over and over. I reach forward to grab the headboard. My orgasm is building. The muscles of both cunt and ass working together to tighten. Waves of pleasure starting to ripple across my womb. In one swift move you pull out of my ass, strip away the condom, and slam into my pussy. Orgasm is instantaneous. I all but scream out my pleasure. Your thrusts slow but you reach down again to tug at my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;clit&lt;/span&gt;, pushing the orgasm to continue until I &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;collapse&lt;/span&gt; on the bed with you following me down to lie panting on me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-6037266826762598903?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6037266826762598903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/your-hand-smooths-down-my-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6037266826762598903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6037266826762598903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/your-hand-smooths-down-my-back.html' title=''/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-7209584933808448233</id><published>2009-12-27T14:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T18:24:19.591-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday surprise</title><content type='html'>This week’s &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Microfantasy&lt;/span&gt; Monday theme is ‘&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Surprise&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;‘.  Thanks as always to Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ang&lt;/span&gt;, the Sweltering Celt, for giving us the prompt and continuing our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Microfantasy&lt;/span&gt; Monday fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was sitting there on the bed, professionally wrapped and tied, looking festive and way too expensive. The corner of an envelope peeking out at me from under the bow. I sat down on the corner of the bed still wrapped in my towel and slightly steamy from my morning shower. I had thought you were gone when I got into the shower but apparently I was wrong. The mature part of my brain said "wait...open it later" but the little kid in me wanted to shred the paper and see what wonder was within. I pulled the card out of the wrappings and saw your salutation...'Open it now!' How well you know me. I slit open the envelope with my thumb and pulled out a beautiful card with roses and curlicues and immediately deducted 10 how-well-you-know-me points. Opening the card I was surprised to discover that rather than the sentimental &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;drivel&lt;/span&gt; I was expecting there was just your all too familiar scrawl. "Open the gift...put it on...and think of me all day. Dinner tonight at 6...dress up!" You left it there, leaving me hanging No 'I love you' not even your blasted name. Fuming slightly I yanked off the ribbon and tore away the paper but I mentally re-awarded you with 5 of your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hwykm&lt;/span&gt; points.  The name of a very famous &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;lingerie&lt;/span&gt; store was embossed across the box. My pulse picked up. Knowing you it wasn't warm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;woolly&lt;/span&gt; pj's but how high up the slut scale had me slightly breathless as I tore into the tissue paper. Pulling back the last layer, I was amazed to see the emerald bustier and matching &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;boyshorts&lt;/span&gt; I had been drooling over on the website. Grabbing the handful of green satin and black lace I hustled to pull on the generic uniform that I wore every day but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;it gave&lt;/span&gt; no clue as to the beautiful undies it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;concealed&lt;/span&gt;. I grabbed your favorite blue wrap dress and my only pair of fuck-me heels and shoved them into a purse that could have doubled as a suitcase, knowing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;there would &lt;/span&gt;be no time to come home before meeting you for dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I went through the motions of my day, helping customers, putting up stock, I'd bend or turn and feel the smooth satin slither that was so unfamiliar to this environment and I'd think of you and feel my body respond to some very "not work" thoughts. Lunch was spent anticipating what the evening would hold. And the increasing anticipation of showing you how perfect your gift was, it pushed up where I needed pushing and nipped in at the waist and made me feel like a lipstick &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;lezzie&lt;/span&gt; in disguise. I knew you'd like the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;cleavage&lt;/span&gt; that was so prominently on display over the cups of the bra. As quitting time drew near my thoughts raced further and further ahead to the moment of the unveiling and the pleasures that waited when you removed your gift. Needless to say by the time 5:30 finally dragged around I was turned on to a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;noticeable&lt;/span&gt; level...at least obvious to me. I wrestled my bag out of a too tight locker and slammed into the bathroom, locking the door as I entered and immediately cutting the tap on to try to coax up a semi-warm stream of water to freshen me up. The uniform flew &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;unceremoniously&lt;/span&gt; into a corner and I was treated to the sight of myself in the mirror, slightly flushed and dishevelled but the warm glow of the fabric gave me hope that later I'd look even more flushed and rumpled but not from work. Pulling down multiple servings of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;paper towels&lt;/span&gt;, I made a make-do wash cloth and swept away the dust of the day and tried to at least wash away a bit of the feminine musk that would give away how much I was anticipating this evening. As I pulled the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;boyshorts&lt;/span&gt; back into place, I knew that it would be impossible to mask that scent from you, so I hastily pulled them off and tossed them on top of the pile of discarded work apparel. I pulled on the dress, pulling it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;snugly&lt;/span&gt; around and belting it before checking to make sure that the no-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;pantie&lt;/span&gt; look wasn't too too obvious. With a final fluff of the hair and a quick slick of gloss to the lips I gathered up my pile and slid on the heels before pulling open the door. And there you were. Slouched against the opposite wall looking sexy as hell. You had been home and showered (you skunk), your hair was still slightly damp but perfectly spiked and your usual work togs had been exchanged for my favorite black jeans and black cowboy shirt. The silver lanyard I gave you for your birthday pointing south over your chest. Your black &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Resistol&lt;/span&gt; casually dangling from two fingers. Except for the devilish glint I caught in your eye, for all the world it looked like you had fallen asleep standing there waiting for me. Not trusting myself to get too close I sent you an air kiss firstly because I'd never live it down if I was caught attacking you in the hall at work and second because you'd discover my secret way too soon if you were within touching distance,  and went to clock out. I could hear you come to life behind me, slowly your booted footfall fell into place behind me and the heat of your gaze burned it's way down my back to your favorite shoes and back up. By the time I reached the door you were moving in step beside me, your naturally long and lazy stride bring you to the door a split second before me. You held the door open and I could feel your hand at the small of my back as you allowed me to pass. Again I awarded you full points for knowing how much I loved your chivilrous side and the yummy scent of you as I came within breaths distance. This was going to be a very fast birthday dinner if I had any say in the matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-7209584933808448233?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7209584933808448233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/12/birthday-gift-smut-alert.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/7209584933808448233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/7209584933808448233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/12/birthday-gift-smut-alert.html' title='Birthday surprise'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-6318329694760844034</id><published>2009-11-30T09:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T10:56:07.152-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='MfM'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='etiquette'/><title type='text'>Etiqeutte</title><content type='html'>Thanks to Ang, the Sweltering Celt, bringer of weekly Microfantasy Monday!  The theme this week is Etiquette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much like a 5 year old for the first being allowed at the Thanksgiving table,&lt;br /&gt;I entered a whole new world.&lt;br /&gt;Everything is familiar, there are plates and silver, but at the BIG table the rules are different.&lt;br /&gt;From the out side it was a typical bar, even at the door there was a familiar vibe...&lt;br /&gt;the room was hazy, features obscure in the neon glow,&lt;br /&gt;the throb of bass driving the dancers into a frenzy of movement.&lt;br /&gt;But this bar was different.&lt;br /&gt;This bar was more than overtly sexual it was raw, pulsating sex.&lt;br /&gt;Womens' bodies (the few that were clad) were covered in leather and chains.&lt;br /&gt;Paddles and whips were displayed prominently in hands and tucked into waistbands.&lt;br /&gt;Leashes tethered submissive to Dom.&lt;br /&gt;Eyes downcast and on my knees, eager to please,&lt;br /&gt;I entered the fray as I had been instructed to&lt;br /&gt;hoping to find an instructor in this exciting new world of pleasure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-6318329694760844034?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6318329694760844034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/etiqeutte.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6318329694760844034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6318329694760844034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/etiqeutte.html' title='Etiqeutte'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-2752526098404460861</id><published>2009-11-02T06:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T06:26:50.083-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='MfM'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Online Voyeurism'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Butchtastic Kyle'/><title type='text'>MicroFantasy Monday: Week 52</title><content type='html'>This week’s &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Microfantasy&lt;/span&gt; Monday theme is ‘&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ang&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;‘.  Thanks as always to Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ang&lt;/span&gt;, the Sweltering Celt, for giving us the prompt and continuing our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Microfantasy&lt;/span&gt; Monday fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last 45 weeks, I've played &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;voyeur&lt;/span&gt; every Monday...ok...maybe not every Monday but every week at least once a week I peek through the window of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;butchtasticness&lt;/span&gt; and peep into the world of Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Ang&lt;/span&gt; and her happy followers. Some weeks I'll post...most weeks I just read and enjoy the imaginative playground that is opened every Monday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until recently online peeping has been my dirty little secret, something I do late at night, once the apartment is dark and still, my daughter safely closed in her own world. But now that the nest is empty my secret isn't hidden...now I can look at will...spending as much time as I want &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ogling&lt;/span&gt; the lives of others and wondering if I'd ever have the nerve to live out loud the life I can only imagine and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Ang&lt;/span&gt;...beautiful, beautiful &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Ang&lt;/span&gt; you have been my window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first glimpse came at week 5. I had just been introduced to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Butchtastic&lt;/span&gt; and the world of Kyle when I read my first &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;MfM&lt;/span&gt;. Following the link I was all a twitter when first presented with the awe inspiring sight of you.  Your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;cleavage&lt;/span&gt; unexpectedly filled my screen, I scrolled down quickly...like catching someone undressing and quickly averting  your gaze, I looked away. But the alluring sight pulled me back over and over again. The beautiful creamy swell of your breasts, the sexy sizzle of a peek of black lace cupping you intimately. Showing enough to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;titillate&lt;/span&gt;, drawing me in, making me want to see more, learn more...to overcome my fears that have kept me hovering in the shadows peeking into your world. Through your window I've watched the world unfold before me. I've read about your life, your loves, and even some of your everyday stuff... But your window has shown me so much more...through your window I've glimpsed into the world of others, seeing their fantasies unfold before me. Thank you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Ang&lt;/span&gt;...for leaving the curtains open and letting me watch. Maybe some day I will find the confidence to step out of the shadows and live a life that currently only lives in my mind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-2752526098404460861?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2752526098404460861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/microfantasy-monday-week-52.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2752526098404460861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2752526098404460861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/microfantasy-monday-week-52.html' title='MicroFantasy Monday: Week 52'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-134321957505801032</id><published>2009-11-02T05:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T05:58:21.055-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Love Lessons Learned</title><content type='html'>In my quest for living a life free of regrets, I strive to see all things, good, bad or indifferent as the opportunity to live a full life and learn the lessons that the universe is teaching me. Each person that has come into my life have come with a lesson. Some of those lessons have been harder to learn than others...some of the lessons I've as yet to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;figure out. In an abbreviated fashion here are the love lessons I've learned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;From: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My parents&lt;/span&gt;: I've learned that love should be unconditional and given without strings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Grandma&lt;/span&gt;: That love is in fact unconditional and able to overlook somethings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Granddad&lt;/span&gt;: That love is undignified...that grown-ups should get down on their hands and knees and play horsie at times, and that love often sits back and watches and does things quietly and without fanfare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My brothers&lt;/span&gt;: That love doesn't mean liking you all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Grandpa Wade:&lt;/span&gt; that love is resilient, that the loss of one love isn't the end of the world and that both spiritual love and physical love are a lifelong persuit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Shaun Cassidy &amp;amp; Farrah Fawcett&lt;/span&gt;: that crushes make you feel alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;David Mc&lt;/span&gt;: that first love is survivable and that one person will always live in your heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dan:&lt;/span&gt;that high school sweethearts are like training wheels, wonderful at teaching us to ride but eventually just a training tool that are left behind when we are ready to fly solo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Robert&lt;/span&gt;: that love should never be on the rebound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Andy&lt;/span&gt;: that my grandmother's truisms weren't far wrong, love should find common ground and that a child can't be that ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chris&lt;/span&gt;: love shouldn't be based on the fear of being alone and that really good sex doesn't make everything ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lynn: &lt;/span&gt;that a brilliant mind is just as attractive as any other physical attribute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bill&lt;/span&gt;: that in order to love truly, first you must be true to yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ronnie&lt;/span&gt;: that love can be adventuresome, and that part of my true-self loves biking!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Kim&lt;/span&gt;: that I love women and that finally...finally I understand that I don't have to put up with abusive behavior...that I love myself enough to not make myself the target for someone else's hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Pepper&lt;/span&gt;: that I'm not too old for the rush of a crush or the pain of being dumped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Maya&lt;/span&gt;: that the love of an animal is just as fraught as human love, I just laugh more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And from Erin&lt;/span&gt;, my baby girl, my heart: that the heart is capable of an infinite amount of love, from the first time I got to hold you....to the moment I kissed you good bye as you head into your journey as an adult that love makes us bigger, stronger and weaker than we ever imagined we could be, capable of both great good and horrible wrongs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There have been others, some great, some small, all have touched my heart and helped me to grow.  At this point in my life there is one thing I know for sure...that life is worth living...every day...every moment...with love and enthusiasm. Without love there is nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-134321957505801032?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/134321957505801032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/love-lessons-learned.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/134321957505801032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/134321957505801032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/love-lessons-learned.html' title='Love Lessons Learned'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-7512421613010702671</id><published>2009-11-02T02:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T05:13:40.407-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lesbian life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='passion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='affair'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It was over. The reality of the statement sank in gradually and no gaping &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;black hole&lt;/span&gt; had opened in the earth and engulfed the world, in fact even tears were &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;elusive&lt;/span&gt;. The weekend of worry and frantic activity that had passed had brought into focus one truth, that if it was meant to be, then it would be. And it was over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole affair had played out in three short but intense weeks. From the first brush of contact, flirty emails, an incredible meal with flashing blue eyes and a fleeting kiss to several incredible make-out sessions and at last two nights of orgasmic sex. The ride had been incredible, with highs so high forever seemed within reach and then the crash of reality, when she had withdrawn and said the dreaded "it's not you...it's me". Who knew that being a lesbian was just as bad as being hetero? But, in the end, always in the end, came the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;postmortem&lt;/span&gt;.  The hope that in the wreckage of the moment that there was some nugget of wisdom to be gained, some THING that made the pain worthwhile...not just a strike at the heart. Pepper had been her first &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;boi&lt;/span&gt;. A whole new world of thoughts and ideas and experiences that had been as foreign as being a lesbian had been a year ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had been more of a gentleman than many of the men in my life. She opened doors and paid the bill without thought. She placed the order at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;restaurants&lt;/span&gt; and took the lead in the relationship. And she had given me roses for no reason other than she wanted to. The feelings had been intense with a twist of desperation. She was looking for something I could never be, something elusive I believe even to her. I had been seeking reassurance that some one other than Kay could want me and someone to fill the hole that was opening in my life as my daughter made the adult move away from me. Tears and heartbreak had been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;short lived&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Work&lt;/span&gt; had called and the dawning awareness had come that this had been an incredible moment but that was all just a moment that added to the flavor of life, just a short chapter in the continuing saga of life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-7512421613010702671?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7512421613010702671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/it-was-over.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/7512421613010702671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/7512421613010702671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/it-was-over.html' title=''/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-3140142933132031520</id><published>2009-10-31T12:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T12:46:02.222-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loss'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Whip</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Like the bite of a whip&lt;br /&gt;coming out of the blue&lt;br /&gt;with no warning&lt;br /&gt;you struck&lt;br /&gt;straight and true to my heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A sting&lt;br /&gt;and then&lt;br /&gt;a wash of pleasure&lt;br /&gt;surged through me&lt;br /&gt;igniting my senses&lt;br /&gt;leaving me&lt;br /&gt;anticipating the next strike&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and like the bite&lt;br /&gt;of the whip&lt;br /&gt;my body will heal&lt;br /&gt;the bruises slowly fading away&lt;br /&gt;but leaving behind the memory&lt;br /&gt;of the kiss&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-3140142933132031520?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3140142933132031520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/whip.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/3140142933132031520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/3140142933132031520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/whip.html' title='Whip'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-5508500270192876090</id><published>2009-10-31T10:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T10:30:53.313-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wrong time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='right place'/><title type='text'>Right Place at the Wrong Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;You came into my world&lt;br /&gt;and I knew you were in the right place.&lt;br /&gt;I love listening to you talk.&lt;br /&gt;I love learning more about you.&lt;br /&gt;I love the way you look at me.&lt;br /&gt;You fit in my heart like no one had before...like it had been waiting for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You came into my world&lt;br /&gt;but it wasn't the right time.&lt;br /&gt;I'm in transition...&lt;br /&gt;From Mom to empty nest.&lt;br /&gt;From knowing what was expected of&lt;br /&gt;every moment of every day...&lt;br /&gt;to living just for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will never regret you.&lt;br /&gt;You take with you a piece of my heart&lt;br /&gt;and my hopes and well wishes.&lt;br /&gt;And I pray that maybe some day&lt;br /&gt;we might find&lt;br /&gt;the right place at the right time&lt;br /&gt;my love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-5508500270192876090?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5508500270192876090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/right-place-at-wrong-time.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/5508500270192876090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/5508500270192876090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/right-place-at-wrong-time.html' title='Right Place at the Wrong Time'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-1996798478936960944</id><published>2009-10-23T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T06:16:55.499-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='like list'/><title type='text'>My Like List</title><content type='html'>You asked me what I like...and I was stumped. No one has ever been overly&lt;br /&gt;concerned by what I like...and most of my time has been spent figuring out&lt;br /&gt;what those around me like and finding ways to make them happy....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I got to thinking about what I like...&lt;br /&gt;I like&lt;br /&gt;clean, soft sheets,&lt;br /&gt;snuggly warm pajamas,&lt;br /&gt;the gleam in your eye when you look at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like being on the water to watch the sun rise&lt;br /&gt;or set or just hang heavy over the earth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like watching birds, and children, and old folks&lt;br /&gt;and how you swagger when you walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like seafood, and pizza, and good company.&lt;br /&gt;I like trying new foods that don't include brussel sprouts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like getting lost in the country going from yard sale to yard sale,&lt;br /&gt;or antique store to country store to produce stand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like live music, especially when it's free and outdoors.&lt;br /&gt;I like music...almost all music (sorry about the most rap maybe next evolution).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like watching movies, sci-fi, action/adventure, and sappy chic flick.&lt;br /&gt;I like holding hands and sharing popcorn and whispered comments in the theater.&lt;br /&gt;I like snuggling close and kissing thru movies at home, then starting the movie over again&lt;br /&gt;to see the parts we missed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like street festivals of all varieties. I love sampling new foods,&lt;br /&gt;seeing different cultures, and listening to other languages spoken by native speakers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like holidays and family celebrations when differences are put aside for a few moments&lt;br /&gt;of peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like learning new things and challenging old beliefs and then reassessing my own&lt;br /&gt;core values.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like waking up in the morning and finding you there, and I'm hoping that this will happen more often!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-1996798478936960944?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1996798478936960944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-like-list.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/1996798478936960944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/1996798478936960944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-like-list.html' title='My Like List'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-887272210212224385</id><published>2009-09-15T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T09:14:54.168-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='recovery'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='addiction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost love'/><title type='text'>Addicted</title><content type='html'>I understand the siren's call&lt;br /&gt;of sweet addiction&lt;br /&gt;I understand how alcohol calls to you&lt;br /&gt;because that is your alluring call to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I'm fine...life is smooth and all is good.&lt;br /&gt;Then I do something...&lt;br /&gt;Cook something...&lt;br /&gt;See something and I think of you.&lt;br /&gt;And your voice calls me...&lt;br /&gt;beckoning me back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far I have resisted it's call...&lt;br /&gt;Avoided it's sweet refrain&lt;br /&gt;that this time will be different&lt;br /&gt;that this time I can handle it.&lt;br /&gt;That I am strong enough, and in control&lt;br /&gt;and won't let you pull me in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I choose to abstain.&lt;br /&gt;I know I'm not strong enough,&lt;br /&gt;with you I have no control and in the end&lt;br /&gt;while my body won't be battered and bruised,&lt;br /&gt;my mind and soul will be...&lt;br /&gt;and I will have to struggle through&lt;br /&gt;the dt's that are left in your wake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-887272210212224385?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/887272210212224385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/addicted.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/887272210212224385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/887272210212224385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/addicted.html' title='Addicted'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-547224732380274939</id><published>2009-08-18T09:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T09:16:31.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MfM-- Hands</title><content type='html'>Thanks, as always, to Ang, the Sweltering Celt, for &lt;a href="http://www.swelteringcelt.com/blog/?p=1158" target="_blank"&gt;this week’s theme… &lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.swelteringcelt.com/blog/?p=1158" target="_blank"&gt;Hands&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hands come to me in my dreams.&lt;br /&gt;They turn me over, stroking my hair from my face,&lt;br /&gt;Rousing me enough to know they want more than a mere snuggle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hands slide my nightshirt up and off, then put my hands together&lt;br /&gt;and over my head, closing them around the headboard post.&lt;br /&gt;You whisper "keep them there...no matter what".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hands slip down my arms, chasing goosebumps as you go.&lt;br /&gt;A shiver of anticipation races down my body ahead of your seeking fingers.&lt;br /&gt;As you move lower they skirt around my breasts, feeling the weight&lt;br /&gt;but not stopping to tease the sensitive flesh that begs for your touch.&lt;br /&gt;Just for fun you blow on one but then move on.&lt;br /&gt;I writhe in wait...wanting more but not willing to stop your journey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your fingers tickle across my tummy, stopping long enough&lt;br /&gt;to let me know that you love me here...even when I don't.&lt;br /&gt;Slowly slinking lower your hands span my hips.&lt;br /&gt;Sleekly they skim over my thighs and calves to my feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hands stop to tickle along the instep&lt;br /&gt;waiting to see how tight is my control, will I flinch and pull away?&lt;br /&gt;Or stifle a giggle and allow you to continue on.&lt;br /&gt;Your hands adjust my legs pulling them apart&lt;br /&gt;and again you whisper..."keep them there".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then your hands, your wonderful, talented, beautiful hands move up...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-547224732380274939?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/547224732380274939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/mfm-hands.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/547224732380274939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/547224732380274939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/mfm-hands.html' title='MfM-- Hands'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-6081376927028609149</id><published>2009-08-11T08:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T08:11:59.128-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='microfantasy monday'/><title type='text'>MfM:Exhibitionism/Voyuerism</title><content type='html'>This week’s Microfantasy Monday theme is “&lt;a href="http://www.swelteringcelt.com/blog/?p=1156" target="_blank"&gt;Exhibitionism/Voyeurism&lt;/a&gt;” .. thanks to the lovely Ang, the Sweltering Celt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking through windows...watching through doors...&lt;br /&gt;Up and down the isles and just about every where.&lt;br /&gt;Young couples caught up in the throws of young love.&lt;br /&gt;Established couples chasing kids, eyes connecting when bodies can't.&lt;br /&gt;Mature couples helping each other navigate a world that isn't so nice any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A simple smile. A touch to the base of the spine. A glimmer in the eye.&lt;br /&gt;I watch and wish and wonder what will happen next.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-6081376927028609149?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6081376927028609149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/mfmexhibitionismvoyuerism.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6081376927028609149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6081376927028609149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/mfmexhibitionismvoyuerism.html' title='MfM:Exhibitionism/Voyuerism'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-2354777147915390136</id><published>2009-06-15T20:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T20:34:59.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MFM---- Cleaning</title><content type='html'>Lost in the monotony of the moment&lt;br /&gt;My mind slipping away from the sink&lt;br /&gt;leaving dirty dishes&lt;br /&gt;and the view of the parking lot far behind.&lt;br /&gt;You walk up behind me...maybe quietly&lt;br /&gt;maybe not...&lt;br /&gt;You slide your arms around me,&lt;br /&gt;nuzzling your chin along the side of my neck.&lt;br /&gt;Whispering promises of wonders&lt;br /&gt;while your hands awaken my soul.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-2354777147915390136?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2354777147915390136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/mfm-cleaning.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2354777147915390136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2354777147915390136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/mfm-cleaning.html' title='MFM---- Cleaning'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-4287935637820101355</id><published>2009-04-13T13:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T13:24:56.187-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='microfantasy monday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growth'/><title type='text'>Microfantasy #23</title><content type='html'>Our feet tangle like roots of a tree,&lt;br /&gt;my leg, your leg, my leg again,&lt;br /&gt;twisted around,&lt;br /&gt;keeping us grounded.&lt;br /&gt;hips straining together before&lt;br /&gt;our torsos branch in their own direction&lt;br /&gt;sometimes touching, sometimes pulling away.&lt;br /&gt;hands splayed and swaying in an invisible breeze.&lt;br /&gt;dreams pass gently, heads turning,&lt;br /&gt;gentle sighs turning to deeper snores&lt;br /&gt;but still we remain bound together&lt;br /&gt;both in life and in sleep&lt;br /&gt;we are entwined.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-4287935637820101355?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4287935637820101355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/microfantasy-23.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/4287935637820101355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/4287935637820101355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/microfantasy-23.html' title='Microfantasy #23'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-3951362464660546418</id><published>2009-04-09T13:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T13:48:09.543-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='microfantasy monday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lesbian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='card'/><title type='text'>Microfantasy Monday (or a little late but we'll fake it)</title><content type='html'>It caught my eye, as I slid into the driver's seat, a neat square of folded paper, the top edge fluttering in the wind while the wiper held the body in firmly in place. Too small for a parking ticket but too plain to be a flier from the school. To leave it and chance letting it fly in the cool April breeze flitted through my head before leaning back out of the drugging warmth of the sun heated car, Reaching across the door, smashing my chest against the window to grab the offending article off the windshield. My mind more on getting in my car and driving away from the hectic week and enjoying the drive home before the reality of a long weekend of grading and planning crept into my reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I entered the flow of traffic, still clutching the folded square, my mind was a million miles away, wishing for more than sad, lonely weekend that loomed ahead. Slowly coming to a standstill I opened the paper and scanned the opening lines gasping as the words seeped into my tired brain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I love to watch you teach and wonder if you make love with as much passion.&lt;br /&gt;     Do you push your hair behing your ear and close your eyes when you kiss?&lt;br /&gt;     Do you use your expressive hands to explore your lover's body?&lt;br /&gt;     Do you rub your sensitive nipples against hers and laugh that husky little laugh&lt;br /&gt;          when you cum?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A horn honks impatiently, my eyes take a moment to refocus, I realize that I've advanced to the head of the line aware only of the aching arousal brought on my an anonymous note.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-3951362464660546418?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3951362464660546418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/microfantasy-monday-or-little-late-but.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/3951362464660546418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/3951362464660546418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/microfantasy-monday-or-little-late-but.html' title='Microfantasy Monday (or a little late but we&apos;ll fake it)'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-3163816566857590874</id><published>2009-04-09T05:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T06:10:53.966-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='concept'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God'/><title type='text'>Thoughts on God</title><content type='html'>When I sat down to contemplate God...&lt;em&gt;Counting Blue Cars&lt;/em&gt; by Dishwalla came to mind:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tell me all your thoughts on God?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;'Cause I would really like to meet her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And ask her why we're who we are.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tell me all your thoughts on God,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Cause I am on my way to see her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So tell me am I very far -Am I very far now?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;For a month now, I've been thinking about my concept of God and how it has changed. But, I really can't remember giving God much thought as a child. I can remember being intregued by the concept that "He has the whole world in his hands" and thinking those must be some mighty BIG hands. Other than that HE fell mostly into the Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Milkman catagory of existance. In other words, he was this mistical magical creature who made cool things happen. As a Christian and a Baptist at that much more time was spent learning about and studying the history of Christ.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;In my early teens I got kind of stuck on the trinity concept, mostly because a friend of mine couldn't get past the whole one-in-three concept. I guess as a woman the concept of one body having three completely seperate functions wasn't all that hard to grasp. Much harder was trying to figure out how you found balance between, wife, mother, and job. It also made it very clear that this god business can't be very easy. In my late teens I became enthralled with the study of World Religions and was fortunate to find teachers who challenged my concept of God and gave me more of a world view on the many facets of God.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;In my twenties I met a man who was a wonderful biblical teacher who focused on the promises contained within the Bible and how the Promise was made in the Old Testament then came to fruition in the New. I also took a Biblical History class at Wake Forest and for the first time read the Old Testament in it's entirity. The God of the old testament was a fierce God. One of burning bushes and smitting (smooting?) and general "vengence is mine sayeth the Lord". Pretty scary stuff until you follow through and meet the God of the New Testament, better known as Papa God, the proud dotting father of the Savior of Man. Then life took over and in my late 20's and 30's the concept never took up a lot of my time. I attended church sporadically and as usual the majority of focus is on Christ...not God.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;The times when I have considered the magnitude of God have usually been when I am witnessing the majesty of his creation. There is nothing as breath taking and awe inspiring as a sunrise or sunset, be it over the mountains or the Atlantic, or just caught as I drive. These two moments set of the thought of what that first sunrise must have been like over a newly minted earth. And until the birth of my daughter I thought there was no moment that held as much promise as the dawn of a new day. And apparently at one point Cat Steven's agreed...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Morning has broken, like the first morning&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Praise for the singing, praise for the morning&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Praise for the springing fresh from the word&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I still hear that song in my mind when I watch the sun rise...no matter where I am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;At the birth of my daughter I gained a new insight to my concept of God. Here was this delicate new creation who was totally dependant on me and who stretched my heart to grasp the concept of infinate love. No matter how tired, how fraught, how worried this was one face that when it turned to me and smiled I &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;knew&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; that there is no greater love than that of a parent for a child. Then my concept of God gained a texture and depth that I'd never expected. How could God look down on his children and &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;not&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; love them all? How could He condemn so many to the agonies of hell that was promised for "non-believers". How could he stomache the involcation of his name in senseless acts of brutality? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;And now in my 40's I know in my heart of hearts that this &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;IS NOT&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; God. These are the concepts of small minded humans, ones who draw limits on love, ones who want to feel justified and empowered by believing that God is his infinate LOVE would agree to the limits that his creation would place on that LOVE because as mere children we are incapable of defining the love that only God is capable of.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-3163816566857590874?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3163816566857590874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/thoughts-on-god.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/3163816566857590874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/3163816566857590874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/thoughts-on-god.html' title='Thoughts on God'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-5326447130353740466</id><published>2009-04-04T15:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T15:59:34.407-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lesbian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='freedom'/><title type='text'>Independence Day</title><content type='html'>How it went from&lt;br /&gt;...Hello again in May to&lt;br /&gt;...I'm interested in September to&lt;br /&gt;...I want to love you in December to&lt;br /&gt;...Appathy in March then finally to&lt;br /&gt;...Please don't ever call me again in April...&lt;br /&gt;Is astounding.&lt;br /&gt;But, I learned a lot from you&lt;br /&gt;...I learned that I am indeed a lesbian&lt;br /&gt;...I am capable of a great amount of love&lt;br /&gt;...I am willing to step out of my comfort zone to change my life&lt;br /&gt;...And that love is worth going thru all kinds of hell&lt;br /&gt;And for these things I am greatful to you.&lt;br /&gt;But, I also learned a few other things&lt;br /&gt;...I am NOT willing to be put down by a partner&lt;br /&gt;...I am NOT willing to be in a relationship with an alcoholic&lt;br /&gt;...I am NOT willing to be with someone whose world starts and stops in front of a tv&lt;br /&gt;...I am NOT attracted to people who spout self-help but are so caught up in the past that they fail to live life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish you well and hope that you will move forward from here and find yourself before you try to find a partner.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-5326447130353740466?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5326447130353740466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/independence-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/5326447130353740466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/5326447130353740466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/independence-day.html' title='Independence Day'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-7009253220738635808</id><published>2009-04-02T20:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T21:03:03.571-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='passion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lesbian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Passion</title><content type='html'>I'm beginning to wonder if I'm too old for passion...&lt;br /&gt;is it reserved for the young and dumb?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there an age limit for expecting to feel passionate about another&lt;br /&gt;and to have that passion returned?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I need to re-examine my expectations?&lt;br /&gt;Should I not expect&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to feel my heart beat harder when she walks toward me?&lt;br /&gt;to think of her and have my thoughts be x rated?&lt;br /&gt;to feel like she is so important that I can't breathe properly without her?&lt;br /&gt;to feel like giving her my heart and know that she will keep it safe?&lt;br /&gt;to want to spend time with her...both in and out of bed...memorizing her every feature?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I don't want passion if I have to change my definitions to make it fit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-7009253220738635808?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7009253220738635808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/passion.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/7009253220738635808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/7009253220738635808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/passion.html' title='Passion'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-9053499497453840271</id><published>2009-03-23T14:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T14:18:04.938-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attraction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loneliness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lesbian'/><title type='text'>Why?</title><content type='html'>Why are we together?&lt;br /&gt;It's sad...I just left you an hour ago&lt;br /&gt;the first time I've seen you in more than a week.&lt;br /&gt;And my thoughts weren't&lt;br /&gt;how glad I was to have been with you,&lt;br /&gt;even though we went out for a good meal&lt;br /&gt;and got caught up and I finally got to say&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday instead all that came to mind&lt;br /&gt;was why where we together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I like you and like hearing about your family.&lt;br /&gt;But you are rarely interested in MY family&lt;br /&gt;and you make it more than clear you hear too much&lt;br /&gt;about my child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like that you are passionate about sports&lt;br /&gt;and I don't mind spending time with you&lt;br /&gt;watching sports...&lt;br /&gt;But do you know what I am passionate about&lt;br /&gt;and are willing to spend time doing things I love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like your apartment and have even gotten&lt;br /&gt;hooked on the reality shows you watch so often.&lt;br /&gt;But I like a different reality, the one going on&lt;br /&gt;outside your door I want to walk and talk&lt;br /&gt;about the real world, watch real people,&lt;br /&gt;and experience life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like to drink and act silly and laugh&lt;br /&gt;but I don't do it often and I don't&lt;br /&gt;drink to get drunk...&lt;br /&gt;I like to be silly and laugh in movies,&lt;br /&gt;on game nights, and in bed but without&lt;br /&gt;the alcohol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And speaking of bed...I love what you&lt;br /&gt;do to me...but I'd like to "do" for you too.&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to snuggle, and pet, and spend&lt;br /&gt;hours exploring your wonderland.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not a fan of "getting it out of the way"&lt;br /&gt;and feeling like I forced you away from&lt;br /&gt;your judge shows just to make me happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why are we together?&lt;br /&gt;Is being alone really so scary?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-9053499497453840271?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/9053499497453840271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/why.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/9053499497453840271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/9053499497453840271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/why.html' title='Why?'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-31760736147117194</id><published>2009-03-20T12:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T12:24:52.823-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='introspective'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lesbian'/><title type='text'>Right Place/Wrong Time? Wrong Place/Right Time?</title><content type='html'>Has it ever dawned on you that where you are isn't where you want or need to be? Sometimes I feel like my whole life falls into one of those categories...and when I finally get pointed in the direction where I want to be a different part of my life falls off the tracks...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example:&lt;br /&gt;Right now I feel like professionally I'm not where I want to be...but I'm in transition to being where I'm aiming. While substituting is not where I want to be, it has gotten me out of convenience stores and most months it pays the bills. Where I want to be is teaching in an exceptional children's classroom either in a middle or high school. Substituting gives me access to schools and principals which I'm hoping will lead to an assistant's position while I go back to school (after Erin has graduated).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, my budding social life has fallen off the tracks. About a year ago I met a woman who fascinated me. I fell hard for her self-confidence and her love of life. Unfortunately we really didn't "connect" until her life started falling apart. She finally had time for me when she got laid off from her job in November, and about a month after she quit AA. We had a brief affair that included a lot of drinking and all the physical "stuff" that goes on early in a relationship. But after a little more than 6 weeks the romance was over. My personal habits drive her to distraction and her drinking gives her license to berate me and be very rude and judgemental. Over the next month we broke up a minimum of 4 times. By this last time I've just grown numb. I want the woman that I met back but it is getting more and more obvious that she's no longer there. I know that I have played a part in this misery and it's continuation is my fault. I wish I had the backbone to tell her how much i appreciate her help in coming out at least to myself but that I don't see a future for us...no matter how much I wish there were one!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know where I want to be. I want to find a woman to love me...one who will accept me as I am but want who wants me to continue to grow and evolve as a human being. I want to desire and be desired. I want to look into the future and see her at my side. Unfortunately I don't think I'm on the right track at the moment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-31760736147117194?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/31760736147117194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/right-placewrong-time-wrong-placeright.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/31760736147117194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/31760736147117194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/right-placewrong-time-wrong-placeright.html' title='Right Place/Wrong Time? Wrong Place/Right Time?'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-6972648694844825332</id><published>2009-03-15T16:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T17:00:01.751-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If it's not a date....</title><content type='html'>If it's not a date...&lt;br /&gt;   Then I don't have to shave the legs&lt;br /&gt;         or any places south of the armpits.&lt;br /&gt;   Then I don't need to put on the pretty undies&lt;br /&gt;         so it's cotton grannies all the way.&lt;br /&gt;   Then I don't need to add extra perfume&lt;br /&gt;         in the clevage or on the backs of my knees.&lt;br /&gt;   Then I won't spend my day imagining&lt;br /&gt;         what the evening holds in store.&lt;br /&gt;   Then I won't mind vegging out on the sofa&lt;br /&gt;         watching reality shows until I falll asleep.&lt;br /&gt;   Then by all means ask another friend&lt;br /&gt;         to come along...and I'll do the same.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-6972648694844825332?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6972648694844825332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/if-its-not-date.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6972648694844825332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/6972648694844825332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/if-its-not-date.html' title='If it&apos;s not a date....'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-9089167170123447091</id><published>2009-03-15T06:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T06:33:29.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Alone</title><content type='html'>In those predawn moments&lt;br /&gt;   trapped between dark and dawn,&lt;br /&gt;I feel you with me&lt;br /&gt;   your warm moist breath on my nape&lt;br /&gt;The brush of your knees&lt;br /&gt;   behind mine&lt;br /&gt;The rasp of your nipples&lt;br /&gt;   against my back&lt;br /&gt;Your arm slips over my side&lt;br /&gt;   sliding along my ribs.&lt;br /&gt;I hold my breath and relax back&lt;br /&gt;  against your warmth&lt;br /&gt;Revelling in this intimate time&lt;br /&gt;   before the day begins.&lt;br /&gt;The alarmclock sounds&lt;br /&gt;   and I awake to find myself alone&lt;br /&gt;Nestled against a pillow&lt;br /&gt;   and I mourn the warmth&lt;br /&gt;   that never was...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-9089167170123447091?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/9089167170123447091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/alone.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/9089167170123447091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/9089167170123447091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/alone.html' title='Alone'/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7784741437104053703.post-2279879254486957732</id><published>2009-03-13T19:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T19:49:00.713-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='starting point'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>After years of keeping journals and writing out random thoughts on any available scrap of paper I thought I'd give this blogging thing a shot....so&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7784741437104053703-2279879254486957732?l=winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2279879254486957732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/after-years-of-keeping-journals-and.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2279879254486957732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7784741437104053703/posts/default/2279879254486957732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://winstonsalemmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/after-years-of-keeping-journals-and.html' title=''/><author><name>winstonsalemmom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05938448401877110695</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
