I ran some errands (including a trip to the vet) with Angel on Sunday, and she horked in the car on the way home. I had no idea she'd have that much still in her from breakfast. Bleah. See Badsnake at stoplights, leaning over and ripping tissues out of a three-year-old box that's been sitting in her car and tossing them to the passenger side floorboard in hopes that they would soak up some of the copious fluid that came out of my dog.

Badsnake: *fwip, toss, fwip, toss, fwip, toss, look to see if light has changed yet, look at barf on floorboard, fwip, toss, fwip, toss*

Did I say "Bleah" already? It deserves a second mention.

Luckily, I was in my 1987 Honda Civic, which probably has a negative bluebook value at this point, except that it still runs pretty good. I've had it so long my butt has worn out the velour on the driver's seat. There's a huge dent in the passenger door that happened about seven or eight years ago that I never got fixed. I used the insurance money to pay down some credit card debt, and the dent still isn't rusting, so all for the best, really.

On Sunday afternoon, Deb and Jake and I sat in the back yard and enjoyed the afternoon to its fullest, including the antics of one particular squirrel.

It would poke its head up over the top of the tall wooden fence that separates part of Jake and Sara's back yard from ours, scope us out, pop out of sight, and then pop back up and look at us again. Jake pointed it out to us. Then it would sort of climb halfway down the fence and look at us, and when we'd turn our heads to look back, it would scurry back out of sight.

We started to speculate that we were sitting on top of his acorn and pecan stash. Finally, as we all held very still and I refrained from taking a drag off my cigarette (the things I'll sacrifice for nature), the squirrel inched cautiously towards us, away from the fence. And got himself a big ol' drink out of the little pond. That's all he wanted. We're in a drought still, so no wonder. I need to fill up the bird bath, too.

Dinner Sunday night was home made pizza a la Deb. Yum. And we got to watch The Simpsons and Malcolm in the Middle for the first time in forever. Sara wondered if there was perhaps a little excessive focus on spanking in The Simpsons last night. Seemed like it to me, too.

Sara and I got to have a date on Saturday night, and despite the eager beaver vibes that I was apparently exuding in force to the point of Sara's annoyance, we had a really good time.

First, I got to strip Sara out of her uniform. Ungh, ungh, ungh. She took her own boots off before I could stop her, but I'll get 'em next time. And, bad butch that I am, I failed to notice the matching bra and panties without having them pointed out. I was thinking, "skin skin boobs skin," and was too busy unfastening the bra hooks in back (which I'm pretty good at, by the way) to appreciate the matched undergarments.

Since we used all three on the last date, I'll answer Darknor's question from my guestbook. There may have been a time when I would've thought bedpads, latex gloves and condoms were clinical, but now I just see them as things that make the sex better and easier. The bedpads mean I don't have to strip sheets and do an extra load of laundry. The gloves make sure that I don't hurt anything I don't intend to hurt (especially now in the winter with my dry cuticles). And with lightly lubricated condoms, there's no need for lube at all for regular vaginal sex and the dildoes work oh so much more nicely. I can also change a condom and change orifices quickly. They don't detract from the sex, they add to it. Besides, that little pause to slip on a glove or a condom is an additional moment of anticipation. Mmmmm.

After I stripped Sara out of her uniform, we switched from being just us and moved on to our Julian and Eleanor characters. We're not in a rut, it was research for my ongoing novel.

Eleanor was in a very giving, open mood and Julian was in a frame of mind to possess. She let him into her mind again, gave him permission to do what he needed to do to make her blood "richer" for him, which means adding fear chemistry to the mix.

Somehow she started seeing images from Julian's past. Bad ones from his childhood as a virtual guinea pig for a very sadistic hack doctor. (Does Chapter One make more sense now?) She protested.

"I don't want to see that. I don't want to see that horrible old man and that little boy. Stop. Stop." I switched the focus to some knife play and told her I wanted to mark her in her mind. That the scars I would make would only be visible to her because I was creating them in her psyche. I scratched in deep with the blade above her left breast, three horizontal lines just above her belly button, and an elongated swoop up her right inner thigh. I know it hurt.

We did a lot this before we even fucked the first time. The first thing I had her do was go down on the sucking dick (a small one that's a more reasonable size for that than the others I use). I alternated between my hand and Hank (the leather one�ALWAYS have to use a condom with that one).

She came in great gushes, and at one point told me she wasn't going to push for the orgasm. She wanted me to draw it out of her. So I did. Wonderful.

Then we spent a lot of time trying to coax her ass into cooperating, which it did to an extent. It's way fun just to try. Hee. And she reminded me of some techniques that might ensure better penetration next time. Lots of fun stuff I want to try.

Casualty list: two condoms, one latex glove, two bedpads, three towels, and my jeans were probably a little trashed with lube, too.

It was very hard to get up and go home. And poor Sara had to throw towels into the wash. We're thinking about another sleepover really soon.

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11