Some days a little thing happens and that's enough.

Today I went to my regular yoga class and for the first time ever, there was a man in attendance. I noticed mostly because when I came in and started setting up, he kept staring at me whenever I walked by like he was looking for some kind of acknowledgment. So when I first came in, I gave him eye contact and a little smile/nod to sort of say, "Hail, stranger," but he didn't smile back, so then I just shrugged it off and let him do his watching thing and I just kept doing my thing till I was all set up.

But here's what. He couldn't have seemed more average. He could have been anywhere from his early 30s to his late 40s; you couldn't really tell. He wasn't noticeably ugly, or beautiful. He wasn't noticeably anything. He had this feel of tired and serious earnestness about him, and that beige, bland air of a government worker. He was tall, and relatively thin, but in every way nondescript, really, a sort of everyman/commuter/middle-class/blank/average/straight-guy feel to him. Nothing to note; just another nondescript person like every other person who usually walks around in the city I live in. I forgot about him as soon as I went to the other side of the room and started working out.

I didn't think of him again until I was done class and could feel him watching me again as I went to put my stuff away. So I turned to look at him out of the corner of my eye as I passed and then I saw it.

He'd been working out barefoot, like the rest of us. And peeping out under the hems of his average-Joe sweats, on his bland, everyman feet...

...full-on, perfect, pedicure-quality toenail polish. A deep, rich, womanly, shade of plum-rose.

It made my day.

---

And, now, here's the Sugasm for this week (I am participating). Have some fun reading the best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #65? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Arrogant Penis (http://www.sex-kitten.net)
“When I start to relax, adrift in the warm comfy seas of a powerful orgasm, my body slackening (and lord knows how my face looks), aware of nothing but how fabulous this is and ready to ride the waves into slumber, he doesn’t stop.”

Bewitch Me! (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
“I’m big enough to pin you down while I move my hands up and down the sides of your body, feeling its contours beneath the black fabrics you so favor.”

Unicorn Sighting, Part II (http://loladavid.wordpress.com)
“There was one man in the very front of the theatre who didn’t give a damn who heard him moan as he came.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
The High Definition Porn Problem (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice
The Two-Client Day (http://thismuse.blogspot.com)

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Fundoshi and naked Japanese males (http://hothardcock.blogspot.com)
Getting Naked For Justice (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Renee Perez Naked (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)
You don’t have to be naked… (http://kitchen-girls.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
10 Reasons Why a Spanking Model is Like a Geisha (but not really) (http://adelehaze.com)
I got this feeling when I heard your name the other day… (http://lustylady.blogspot.com)
Pop Quiz: Dating Myth/Reality (http://sexeteria.net)
Realization (http://thisthingcalledbdsm.blogspot.com)
So Many Sexy Memories (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Thoughts on virginity (http://deliciously-naughty.typepad.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Demented Game (http://eroticjournals.blogspot.com)
Four poster beds (and one spanked bottom) (http://pandorablake.blogspot.com)
Greta: An Erotic Lingerie Story (http://aslipofagirl.blogspot.com)
Happy HNT - Fetish boots and whip (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
I Had a Dream (http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog)
Meeboguest confesses: “I have been a bad boy” (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Plotting My Next Tryst Part IV (http://www.taratainton.com)
Realization (http://thisthingcalledbdsm.blogspot.com)
Red Satin Bustier (http://sweatshopsissy.wordpress.com)

Sex News, Reviews and Interviews
Product Review - iBuzz (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Beautiful Cock (http://lafillemariee.blogspot.com)
Bend Over The Chair Part 2 (http://mandyseroticlife.blogspot.com)
Bewitch Me! (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
Caught in a Dream (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Countdown pt. 2 (http://themilfblog.blogspot.com)
Exploring, Experimenting and Losing Control (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
Forbidden Fruit is in Season (http://sexandtheivy.com)
His Turn Now (Part III)–Driving (http://pick-up-pieces.blogspot.com)
The Itch, Part The Fourth (http://udoj.wordpress.com)
Me, her, and him 5 (http://erotischism.blogspot.com)
Reminiscing (http://edinerotica.blogspot.com)
Squirting like never before (http://plum001.blogspot.com)
Sucking Cock (http://bimale.thumblogger.com)
Unicorn Sighting, Part II (http://loladavid.wordpress.com)

Join the Sugasm

There's a song stuck in my head. And you've been wondering where I've been.

Or maybe the second half isn't true. Maybe you weren't wondering at all. But the first part IS true...there's been a song stuck in my head all day.

So, first, in case anyone was wondering, the story of the second part. And then a story of the first part.

Part the second: Where I've been. Life got weird. There was an accident, and a major endeavor to be undertaken and resolved as a result of it, and a trip far away, and also on the heels of all this, a computer issue that has led me to be unable to blog about any of it. The computer issue continues...I've found a brief moment of stolen computer time in which to post this, but I'm not sure how long it will be before the next time I can do so. I've put out an SOS and help is on the way that, once received, will resolve it. But said assistance has been slower to arrive than expected, and so I must wait, as must you, unfortunately. (Oh, and regarding the accident, I am okay now, so don't worry. No major bodily damage to myself.)

And now part the first. Told as a fairy tale.

---

Once upon a time, there was a girl standing alone on the deck of a ferry, with wind blowing her dark hair all around her face. The sun was bright in the unusually blue sky, and the sky cascaded toward a shelf of distant white cliffs which in turn plunged down into the ocean.

She was coming home, after having travelled to many far-away cities.

It had been a very long journey, and it was extremely early in the morning, and the girl was tired. But she stood on the deck instead of going inside to sleep. She wanted to feel the air against her skin and watch the cliffs grow closer. It was the first time she'd ever seen them. And she knew it might be the last time. Because though in her head she was coming home, in truth, she had to leave only shortly after she got there, for the paper home she'd never really been cut out for.

She watched the cliffs get closer. She thought about the dark city she'd be returning to, only to leave two weeks later. The love affair still seethingly alive there, yet also already so far behind her. About how in only days, everything she'd come to know as hers, everything she'd given her heart to, would be gone. Far behind her, fading slowly away. And ahead of her...blankness. She couldn't say. There was nothing she knew she wanted there. She'd just have to wait and see.

And as she stood there in the wind and sunlight, the spray from the ocean touching its cold fingers against her face, the girl watched the cliffs approach, white and blank and treacherous as the future ahead of her. I need this moment, the girl thought. I need to feel it. Need to remember it, hold on to it, before it's all gone. And so she put her headphones on her ears, and she hit play. And this song filled her.

She felt it. The sadness, the loveliness of it. Of one moment and then leaving, yet not leaving. I'll remember this the rest of my life, she thought. She knew this. And then she thought...I wish this song was about me. I wish someone would feel like this about me. And she thought, I wish I felt like this about someone or something.

The girl is older now. Since that time, some of her wishes have come true. And some days she is glad that girl on the deck got what she hoped for. And some days she wishes she'd never heard that song.

The beast in me
Is caged by frail and fragile bonds
Restless by day
And by night, rants and rages at the stars

We were young lovers; not in love (well, maybe secretly, a little), but at least very in love with being young lovers. We fucked constantly, until one day he told me confidentially he was so raw he thought he might need to take a one-night reprieve just to protect the health of his poor, aching cock. And then, within minutes of having said this, he was fucking me again. And again and again.

He lived in a flat with others, so we would go to his bedroom when we wanted to be alone together. We always wanted to be alone together. And, since the wardrobe and his big bed took up most of his small, crazy-wallpaper-patterened, bay windowed bedroom, even when we weren't fucking, we more or less lived together in bed. We talked, ate, played, read, fucked, dressed, undressed, and did everything else together in or on his bed, surrounded by a floor strewn with books and ash trays and empty Bulgarian wine bottles made into makeshift candle holders. We fucked with the bay windows open, on purpose. And wondered who in the long rows of flats on the opposite side of the street had seen us.

But it is not him I want to tell you about. It's about a moment I remember that happened with him; a moment never completed, and one I've always tried to find since.

We were, one night, as all other nights, in bed. We generally slept naked but in this memory we had on some clothes. He had on some old sweatpants and I had on an old, worn-out t-shirt of his with some punk band logo on it. We were lounging around, chatting, doing nothing in particular, and then somehow, a pillow fight started. I can't remember who initiated; it is gone from my memory. It might have been me who suggested it; he was always far too intellectual and serious and, well, English to click into goofball play mode unless I prodded him a tiny bit--but I knew he was always dying for the prod. So I would prod, and then he was off. This was probably one of those times. "Let's have a pillow fight," I might have said, and I think, after some teasing and goading, perhaps it was he who first lightly, good-naturedly smacked me with his lumpy, worn feather pillow. I grabbed the other and smacked him back. We were laughing; he hit back again, a little harder. I jumped to my knees while he was still half-lounging below me, raising my pillow above my head to deliver a fatal smacking blow. While I still had the pillow raised over my head, he smacked his full into me, across my face.

And suddenly the air became charged. Delighted at his dirty fighting, I howled with the fake anger of wounded betrayal and pounded him with my pillow, seeking revenge. He leapt up out of bed and I pursued. We ran around the room and scrambled over the bed, smacking each other over and over, each time progressively harder. And each time I got hit, I loved it. And each time I hit him harder and harder, I loved it. It was like my whole life had been slow up to this minute, and now, now I finally knew what it was like to have blood coursing--rushing--through my veins. It was a delicious, delighted rage I felt. It was a heady insanity; an intense reverse evolutionary rush that changed us from adult to child to--yes, yes!--animal in mere moments. We ran, screaming and laughing and hitting each other harder and harder. And it was so good. I couldn't stop, now that I had found this feeling. I could feel him fighting and I fought back; it was so good; beyond words.

I hit and hit and hit and hit again, harder, harder, teeth bared with effort, noises coming out of my throat, hoarse and growling with delight... and it was better than orgasm; better than heaven; total release, complete freedom, no sense involved, just sheer rage-filled adoration and arousal---and I wanted to live there forever.

And suddenly he wasn't hitting back anymore...I heard him shouting something....I held back for a moment...and everything zoomed in to a hyper-suspended moment of stillness...

And there we were staring at each other...him barefooted, bare-chested, breathless, on the floor at the foot of the bed, looking up at me as I stood above him on the rickety bed, barely clothed, pushing my hair out of my face, panting, eyes locked with his. My pillow raised and ready to defend or strike, shakily balancing myself, watching him for any sudden move. I stared into his eyes, a strange kind of exhilaration coursing through me. I felt like a wolf, like a cougar, some wild thing, circling another of my kind, ready to run in for the final fight. And oh, I wanted it. I wanted to feel the moment of engagement. I wanted to feel the fight and the rip and the kill. I wanted to feel myself doing it and I wanted to feel him doing it to me. I looked deep in his eyes, ready to howl in ecstatic rage as we leapt at each other. And he looked back at me and I could see...fear.

No, no! I thought. Don't back down! Don't leave me here! Fight back! Stay up here with me in mad animal nirvana! Show me what you're made of! Make me fight you! Wrestle me down and roll with me on the ground, biting and scratching and growling and fucking and fucking and fucking me till we lose our minds.

I tried to say this with my eyes. But I could see the light had gone out in his; all I could see was fear. And then hidden close behind, anger and possibly disgust and...was it humiliation? But above all, a desire--a begging--to turn to back to normal. Not just begging for him to. For both of us to. For me to not be this thing I had become. And the feeling inside me, it was like a balloon slowly being leaked of its helium.

I have never found any man, ever, who wanted to stay there with me at that level of animal savagery; who didn't hold back or back down and stop it before we'd really gotten there--beyond. It is a crossing over, allowing oneself to be in that state, and one needs to be willing to turn certain things off to be brave enough to stay there. Most people are not comfortable with the absence of those things.

This doesn't mean my relationships aren't good. They are; the sex is good and very satisfying within the boundaries of how far the men I am with are willing to take it. I understand that most people don't want to go to this place. And I don't like my lovers to feel afraid or uncomfortable, and I like lots of the other places they do like to go.

But for me, the lack of someone who can understand and connect to this state with me often leaves me feeling like a prisoner who has been kept in seclusion for many years. I long for that feelng of release; but it will take at least one other willing person to make it happen.

No matter how many years you keep a prisoner in the darkness, though, she can still remember what a sunlit garden looks and smells and feels like.

I still dream of the garden. And of someone who also dreams of it, who gets it and who's willing to open the door to it with me.

I hope I can find him so the seclusion can be over. He's who I'm looking for.