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comments and replies: Bi-polar

Dear michael, thank you for such a great message. I love making new friends. My videos are poor quality. I can’t overemphasize how much my recorder program sucks. It lags so bad I have to get naked quick and in silence. Even though they suck I’m still glad I posted them. I really only have face pics. I have always thought it looked tacky to hold a cell phone in front of a mirror for a full body pic. I think it looks so juvenile and almost vain. At the same time I know that this is a porn site. I did get plenty of attention when I was a paragraph explaining why I couldn’t go nude and fifteen pics of my face. It didn’t seem right not to have any pictures that showed my size and shape. After I hid my location so I couldn’t be easily found from my cousins who chase local pussy I could finally write a real profile.

In the beginning I was on the verge of being a cam girl. It’s no bullshit story that I’m disabled from being bi-polar. I take hardcore medicine usually used for schizophrenics in order to sl**p. I have no shame in saying I have to take an anti-psychotic to sl**p. I am a rare type of bi-polar. What people don’t realize is the disease is less about erratic behavior and more about the inability to have natural sl**p. The whole ordeal revolves around the fact sl**p just doesn’t occur without medication. Both of my parents are bi-polar. My mother’s side of the f****y is by biggest genetic defect. My grandfather was adopted or simply taken in off the street because my non-biological grandparents were extremely wealthy owner’s of an original florida homestead. They owned part of the town before it had a name.

I don’t tell people which city I live in. Knowing my city and my real name allows any person to google me and pay a small fee for my address. I’ll take the risk and just say it is the perfect weather and land to grow strawberries. Both sides of my f****y grew strawberries. I am a little strawberry baby. There are no adoption records for my grandfather or his s****r. He was only adopted because my non-biological grandparents fell in love with a beautiful little girl. I’ve seen pictures. If i am beautiful it is because both those c***dren were breathtakingly beautiful. All I know about my ancestry on my mother’s side of the f****y is what my grandfather could remember. They were fresh off the boat from scotland. As soon as they arrived in america my biological great grandmother was put in a mental asylum. They were beautiful but they were so flawed it is scary.

Without modern medicine I would also be in an institution. No amount of xanax, ambien, four other sl**ping pills, tylenol pm and alcohol will put me to sl**p. For along time it did. I lived a normal life thanks to sl**ping pills. My parents and the woman who raised me were in a state of denial. Yet they let me have xanax or tylenol pm after I went insane from sl**p deprivation in seventh grade. I tried one time to sl**p naturally. I was up to ten tylenol pm per night and my body was shutting down. It takes five days for me to go insane from lack of sl**p. Even with a sl**p aid my body would still shut down from five nights of insomnia. I talked about it with my mother yesterday. I don’t know how on earth no one easily diagnosed me. I missed one day a week from school my whole life. Getting to school on mondays or fridays was impossible. My aunt was in such denial she allowed me to fake being sick to stay home and sl**p. Most of the time she let me sl**p until the late afternoon and took me to a pediatrician for a doctor’s note for illnesses I faked.

My doctor failed me. Someone should’ve helped me. I even had a bi-polar aunt who was in and out of asylums until her suicide. I was allowed to miss that much school because I was in the gifted program making straight A’s. Some years I was such a fluke it baffled the administration. I got letters warning me if i missed so many more days of school I wouldn’t pass despite straight A’s. I still tend to crash on the fifth day. That is why I can’t work a real job. The issue is complicated more because I’m heavily sedated when I wake up from an anti-psychotic. Without a stimulant like adderall or the medicine for narcolepsy there is no point for me to stay alive. I don’t leave the bed when I run out of legal speed. I don’t get prescribed enough. I warn all new friends that when I run out of medicine I disappear. For two weeks of the month I get shit done. I can write this comment because I have medicine. When I run out I can’t write much. I just sl**p.

I love cam sex. I would do it for fun with or without the need for an income. If I don’t get acceptance from a gallery then I will go to chatterbate and earn money for private mental healthcare. I was denied disability. I have to get a lawyer and fight for it. I don’t even qualify for medicaid because I don’t have a c***d. It doesn’t matter. I know what d**gs I will have to take if I do end up on medecaid. I tried them and I was so suicidal I am willing to sell sex not to go through it again. That is the reason my profile is designed to warn men I may become a cam girl. I made the decision to try art first. I am prepared to do it if that’s what it takes to print the artwork I plan to sell as signed and numbered limited editions. This blog will describe my journey to earn the money i need to buy the medicine that keeps me alive. I want to stick around. I love my life. I’m truly happy. This mental illness is a disability as well as an enhancement. I am in the category of people like ernest hemmingway and marilyn monroe. If you research how many influential people are bi-polar you realize it is a gift and not a curse.

I can function for days with no sl**p. I have manic episodes so euphoric they are like being on heroin, ecstasy and cocaine all at once. I’ve talked to other bi-polar people. We share a secret. Mania makes our lives so fantastic we do amazing things normal people could never accomplish. There is no better feeling. I can handle any depression or sedation because I know with modern medicine I will rebound into mania and make up for lost time. I simply have to think outside the box to afford it. Luckily with an abnormal brain I’m designed to think outside the box. I am ignoring skype to write. I do that sometimes. I will accept your request when I am ready to quit writing in order to chat. I need both activities.

 
   
 
 
 
11 days ago

 
No I have not honey I have been busy working my own issues I have a lovely daugther with issues like you and she is also in a recovery program because of substance abuse so she has my undivided attention and if she says daddy come with me or come talk I do i had been running around thinking of how it was too getting somewhat depressed too at times I am so sorry I donot get on here all the time but I do care .
Love ya XXOOOXXXOOOXXXOXXXO
 
 
linmarris

 
 
United States
11 days ago

 
Dear divedog, I don’t know if I lost your attention. I am so behind with answering comments because of personal and medical issues. I am not the most reliable person to communicate with. I just started a new chapter of my life on a brand new stimulant. Last night I wrote my most personal blog. I’ll warn you it is long and intense. In so many ways I write for my own therapy. I lost a huge chunk of my audience for this blog when I stopped writing about sex to discuss my life. I did it for a reason. My illness means I’m disabled and I’m about to become a camgirl to fund an art career. I want to tell bits and pieces of my life story for men willing to read it. I don’t want men to think I’m your average money hungry trashy whore begging for tokens. That is not my style. If you choose to read my more recent work you will see i’m fighting to portray myself as a hardworking, motivated, determined and strong woman worthy of respect instead of ridicule. Money is not my priority. Art and writing are my focus. I only hope if I lost your interest you will give me a second chance. I will eventually get back to good hardcore erotica. i miss it.
 
 
linmarris

 
 
United States
11 days ago

 
Dear mark I just replied to your last comment and sent you a pm. I think i may have lost your support. It is a frequent event. I have long absences and my illness does not make me the most reliable person to correspond with. However, after a long absence I have written new material that is very personal. I can only hope you will give me a second chance and continue to give me such great feedback. The feedback gives my blog a deeper meaning. I will write if I lose my entire audience. But if I think someone leaves my performance I will stop the play and beg for them to let me get better.
 
 
1 month ago

 
I fully understand you with my family history and the vent is open invitation to you here to write and let it out and I will be here also
 
 
1 month ago

 
interesting.. I was not aware of all this.. some.. not all… good read.. thanks for sharing
 
 
linmarris

 
 
United States
1 month ago

 
I do hope we keep in touch. I’m focusing my attention on responding to comments. It’s probably an unusual approach. It just feels right. I think if some can leave a comment that the time spent responding is time well spent. I know a lot of amazing people with slight cases of bi-polar issues and some people with major problems like I have. I talk about the disease because it has such a bad reputation. people write you off as unstable. sometimes you are. it happens when you don’t get enough sleep. If more people understood the issue with the illness is insomnia they would be more understanding. I was diagnosed as clinically depressed. I didn’t know until I was thirty one that I’m actually bi-polar. I needed the shrink who treated my uncle to finally clarify so many issues. I did have states of mania. They were so rare because my constant insomnia left me depressed. My serotonin levels are severely screwed. I must have an anti-depressant. I’m lucky because I’m poor I have to use an older cheaper drug. There is not an anti-depressant that I haven’t been prescribed. For me Paxil works. It’s cheap it is a simple serotonin re-uptake inhibitor. Some times I think of it as a sugar pill. then i don’t have it for four or five days and I hurt all over and I’m just a sad bitch. Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. My uncle told me to never tell a soul and I could live a normal life. I wanted people to know why I had all those absences. It felt important to explain that I can’t sleep naturally. people hear the word anti-psychotic and freak out that you are a serial killer with hallucinations. It’s not like that. It just allows abnormal brains to shut off in ways no other sleeping pill can accomplish. I joked with my uncle that we took a lethal cocktail to sleep every night that would kill a normal person. That was are sad truth. Each night we chanced an overdose. At the same time for both of us our lethal cocktail stopped working, we both got told we had to take an anti-psychotic. He refused. I watched him take the lethal cocktail and still stay up all night doing brain challenging games. He was a multi-millionaire. He was one of the top financial consultants for the major companies that predict changes in the economy. He was devastated when the economy failed. I don’t know my economics very well. I’ve never been rich. He invested all his money in the one financial institution he thought could never crash. If I wasn’t so sleepy I could remember the name. He lost all of his fortune. He made over 18 million dollars a year for decades. He made it. He came back to our small town and bought most of the historic district and restored it. We shared a bond but he was the most selfish man on earth. He spent fifty thousand dollars a month on wine. My family was so broke we lived on bologna. He could’ve helped us. My parents had a company that was booming in the eighties. My parents were artists. My dad sculpted things and build molds to replicate them. They started with a statuary business. They then made lamp post that were all over town. Then they learned how to make artificial marble. My mom was a genius with an eye for color. My dad was color blind without her he could do nothing. They made marble jacuzzi tubs and marble walls. we were really poor. then we were really wealthy. the eighties had a building frenzy and they had a stroke of bad luck. All the clients they had at one time had worked installed and lost their mansions. Marble can not be ripped out and reused. They begged him for five grand to buy resin to stay a float. He refused. My dad quit being an artist and ended up a garbage man. My uncle refused to take an anti-psychotic like his schizophrenic son. We was dead broke. He blew his brains out this summer. I lost my partner at being ultra-bipolar. Im glad he’s dead. I mourned him at first. I want even tell you the way he abused me. He died too poor for a tombstone. when my parents asked for money he gave us five hundred dollars. It was like a taunt. The irony is my mother and I who are not wealthy pulled our money together to spend exactly five hundred dollars for a tombstone so little it is barely big enough for his name. We pay back are debts. I wish he was alive so i could verbally assault him. but his money and power got me in to see a shrink that knows what I’m capable of when I’m medicated. He did teach me one thing. It’s pointless to try to sleep every night when your in a state of mania. Those natural fluctuations give us more time than a normal person. As long as I have adderall left I do not need to sleep every night. I enjoy it. I get euphoric. Sometimes it takes days until I’m tired enough to break down and take my tranquilizer. As much as he fixated on keeping our illness as secret is the same amount of emphasis I keep to announce it, explain it, and talk about the positive attributes
 
 
linmarris

 
 
United States
1 month ago

 
I am only prescribed enough medicine to keep me awake for two weeks. If i took two pills a day i would still be sedated all month. I need four pills to wake up. so that means I run out of medicine after two weeks of really intense activity. the third week of the month i mostly sleep. tbe final week i can do simple things like go to the grocery store
 
 
linmarris

 
 
United States
1 month ago

 
I loved every word. It was flawless. As you can tell I love all things vintage. I’m addicted to the past. I have been cutting up magazines a long time. It’s my true vice. I must have them and they must be from the sixties or much earlier. I spend a fortune on old magazines. It has given me an education about the way women used to be versus the way they are now. i love really old magazines when there are ads trying to fix a woman from having the problem of being to thin. I love all pictures of fashion trends for men and women. In my twenties that was how I earned a living. I know vintage clothes. That was my style. I stood a part from other girls because they shopped at the mall and i went to thrift stores. I will always have a rather large clothing collection. When I was thinner it was not unusual for me to shop at vintage boutiques for high end luxury. One of my favorite things is a gray cashmere sweater with large decorative buttons. I starred in plays in high school. I played emily from ‘our town’ because I worked so hard to get my body in perfect condition I was able to buy the outfit of my dreams. If you’ve read the play you know it chronicles a woman’s life from childhood, through dating, through marriage, and it peaks as she stands and watches her own funeral. It was not my dream role. Our teacher let the most talented senior girl pick her last play. My only competition as an actress wanted to be emily. When it was time for auditions I didn’t play games. I’m not a big fan of that play. It’s too mundane for my tastes. I think the girl that was supposed to get the part just got cocky. I always do my best work at an audition. I took on the role and turned it into something worth watching. I knew I was the better actress. So did my teacher. We worked as a team. He told me to stay after everyone left. We were both baffled. We critiqued her and judged her. He was at a loss for words. He asked me if I could change everything about my appearance. I was always around a size nine and my competition was a size three. It was not an issue of my weight. It was my jet black hair and my giant tits. I didn’t look like the part. In no way could i pass for a little girl. He asked me if I could change. I didn’t hesitate. I auditioned. I performed better. I was willing to do anything to beat my competition. I told him I could do it and he could trust me. That day I launched a crusade. I knew I had to loose breast size. I have always been busting out of a DD. To get it done I did something dangerous. It’s no joke the atkins diet works. I knew nutrition. From the time I auditioned to opening night I did something shocking. I took in no calories. I wouldn’t eat mayo, gum or candy. The idea of eating bread was absurd. I gorged on mostly chicken breasts all the time. I knew the more protein I consumed the more flesh I would drop. That period of starvation was serious. At times I was so light headed I feared fainting. I was in no shape to drive. I couldn’t think as clearly. It didn’t matter. I was melting. My teacher wanted me blonde. I went to the beauty parlor and told them to take blue black to blonde. She did her best. I ended up with my signature for the next to years. Not many girls could pull it off. It worked perfect with my complexion and my eyes. Instead of blonde I was a fiery orange. My teacher saw me changing and he said I don’t even want to know what your doing. I lost every bit of excess body fat. I went bra shopping. For the first time since elementary school I was a 34D. I wore a minimizer bra that was like an ace bandage. I was still a girl with big tits. But now I was tiny and petite. I could pull it off because I had a baby face. Also with no trace of a belly and being only five foot three suddenly I was shockingly attractive. In my family their is no such thing as too thin. We went to the most exclusive vintage boutique in florida. My mom loved picking out my costumes so much it was our passion. I needed a whole wardrobe to perform that play. I had no budget. When it came to costumes we didn’t look at price tags or flinch. I was pissy because I couldn’t max out the card for a truly vintage wedding gown. I knew I had to find a long sleeved monstrosity from the eighties. It had to be my size and it had to not be tacky. I may never get married but I can’t imagine another woman being that particular about her wedding gown. We went to every consignment shop we could think of. I found my dress. It was ugly but damn it looked vintage and it was tiny. I had two mothers. My mom and my great aunt jonell. When it came to shopping we worked as a unit. We prayed that dress fit. It did. I shrunk so much I was about a three. It was tight in the bust. But I could pull it off. It was seven hundred dollars and we thought we had a bargain. The costume that mattered was for the scene after the funeral. The role has a very silly monologue about what she missed after death. I know I wanted to be dressed in all white. I also knew I wanted something ungodly expensive. I could have pulled off so many outfits. I collected vintage and this was my chance to go as far back as the victorian era. My skirt was not that old. It was just shockingly small in the waist. It was a slip that went to my ankles. It was very delicate. It was perfect. My most valuable possession is the blouse I wore. I have to meet a girl to inherit my things. I can’t have children. It was a blouse that was considered lingerie from the victorian era. It was so tiny because women were so much smaller back then. It is so intricate I can’t describe it. It is so fragile it is like tissue paper. Any fast movement could have torn it. I can never own anything else as beautiful. It was my idea of perfection. It very well may have cost at least one thousand dollars. It didn’t matter. I never looked so beautiful in my life. The girl that lost the role tormented me when we had a class together. We didn’t even give her a small part because we knew she would be too bitter. No one thought I could make such a transformation. I looked like a very young girl. It was that striking orange hair that made me a knock out. I had a serious boyfriend. I loved him dearly. He had no idea for that time frame i had so many men chasing me it was ridiculous. My husband in the play was not my type. He mortified me three nights in a row for our wedding kiss. He absolutely had to slip me tongue. I bitched him out relentlessly. He couldn’t resist it. My teacher told me no other girl could ever play that role as well as I did. He told me I couldn’t be more beautiful. It was the truth. In that victorian blouse I was at the height of innocence mixed with sex appeal. As soon as we finished the last performance I finally had real food. That is the hard thing about atkins starvation. The moment you do resume taking in calories your body holds them and you gain back the weight you lost and then some. The following year it was my turn to pick a role and perform it. I had already asked my teacher if i had a shot at an acting career. He was honest. My tits are too big and even an inferior actress would be cast before me. His advice is ironic. He was right. I have the body for porn. He would get a kick out of knowing I just turned 32 and i got a legit solicitation from a major porn production company to earn 5-30 grand per shoot. My last play I knew was my last chance on a stage. I was told it was impossible. I had to fight the administration to make it happen. We chose to do classic plays for a bigger audience because teachers offered extra credit to attend it. I chose the crucible. I didn’t want to be an innocent little girl bitching at her funeral that she missed sunflowers. I wanted to be the young seductress that turns a whole town into a witch hunt. I wanted to do something based on historical characters. The problem was we were allotted around two hours to do a play. The crucible is not a play. It is a fucking book. It takes over four hours to perform. I had to have nearly every teacher backing me while i begged the administration to pay the security guard we required for two extra hours three nights in a row. With so many teachers supporting my crusade to do such a huge feat I had it arranged. the budget was adjusted and then we started casting. That was the height of my acting in a school play. When it was time to be hysterical and fake seeing witches I went there. I looked like a villain with that orange hair. I looked like the young girl who steals a husband. Thank you for reading my story. I know as I write more I have to turn to fiction. I’m nervous. So much of my writing is the fact that I enjoy sharing my story. It will be hard for me to move from a diary and into a book. you gave me the encouragement to try. Another night I will. Now after days of activity that blend into one solid block off writing I must shut down or lose grammar skills. I spent most of the afternoon writing my final blog on facebook. I wrote a book there. I stopped getting feedback due to length. I can’t make the same mistake twice. My vow is to make short sweet and simple blogs that are written as erotica blended with my real blog which covers daily activity. I will do both things here. I get feedback. I’m blown away. I have a whole new approach to the way I intend to write. Since you shared your story I felt the selfish urge to share mine. I can breath easy knowing this is a comment and it will be missed. Length isn’t an issue if I am writing to one person especially if I’m paying tribute and discussing similar interests. If I posted this as a blog it would just be ignored. I’m learning how to play the game. I intend to get good at it. short sexy and sweet
 
 
1 month ago

 
Good morning Linda, I am barked on a blitz of reading lats night and have finished reading all your blogs, they are amazing, you are a very talented story teller. I am not going to comment on any specifics, not yet anyway, though one thing I will say is that as for your videos I have seen many many worse on this site. A lot of folk don’t have that much discernment when it comes to video or pics, and that includes me.

Not what I wanted to do today was send you this. It was a story I started a while ago but never got round to finish so last night I blitzed it after reading your blogs, and I must admit you inspired me to do it. Hope you will indulge and of course I hope you like it.

The Girl From The Pub

It started off as a simple greeting to a pretty girl serving in a quiet pub. She gave me a lovely smile when asking what I wanted to drink and when she walked away from the bar to pour the wine I ordered I couldn’t help seeing and admiring her figure. Dressed in a pair of denim shorts, black tights and a crop top she was certainly a refreshing sight after the crap day I’d just had. After I had paid for the drink she came back and seemed happy to chat, perhaps she was bored and I certainly needed to distract myself from todays work explosion.

I had resigned my job that day, was annoyed, sad and angry all at the same time, and couldn’t have imagined better therapy than to chat to Teresa. I should say now that I am in my sixties and if I had a pound for every time I’ve heard people say I reassemble Richard Attenborough I’d still not be rich but well able to buy him a drink or two. So I ain’t no oil painting, but I’m polite and can be charming when the company suits.

In this case it did suit, Teresa was a delightfully chatty girl and seemed quite happy to stay and talk, so much so that on one occasion I had to remind her that someone else was waiting to be served. I was most surprised and flattered when, after serving the two women, she returned and continued the conversation. We had been talking, in a lighthearted way, about fashion and I had expressed a liking for retro clothes, forties, fifties and to an extent the dress of post WW2 era. I was discussing men’s clothing as well as women’s and I promise you it was her who brought up the subject of lingerie.

“Do you like retro lingerie Michael?” To gain time I replied with my own question, ” Well perhaps but what kind of lingerie are you thinking of?” Her reply to that was immediate and accompanied with more than a hint of flirting. She talked about basques, suspenders and French knickers, she was happy to discuss the fabrics she liked, mostly silks and satin’s, and the colours, not for her the cliched blacks and reds but pastel shades of greens and pale blues. She described her liking for delightfully free flowing underwear in a manner that was instructive and increasingly erotic.

She was clearly very enthusiastic about her liking for the clothes and not just being a tease, but as I’ve said I’m no big catch so went along with her, to keep the conversation going along the growing naughtiness. I said, basically, me too, that I loved to see that kind of underwear, and though it covered much more than a skimpy thong would, it was, for me anyway, loads more erotic. I then went for broke and asked if she wouldn’t mind me telling her a raunchy tale about my Aunts. You realise that by now I’d had a couple of glasses of decent red wine so inhibitions were a tad loosened.

My mum had three sisters all, like her, had been pretty much femme fatales in their day, still handsome ladies when they aged, indeed the last survivor, now ninety, is quite a rude lady still, with more than a twinkle in her eyes. When I was four or five I remember clearly being in their company playing with my toys on the floor. Perhaps this was where I gained my love for silky lingerie because, as working class as the four ladies were, what I caught regular glimpses at wasn’t your long cotton bloomers so beloved of music halls and Ealing comedies. What I saw were fine nylons and silky french knickers or perhaps cami knickers. Yes I was very young but I swear I didn’t imagine it and I can never recall being told off for looking. Curiously my older brother, who was much more of a ladies man than never had this experience or so he said.
After telling this story I ordered some more wine, invited Teresa to have a drink with me and took a deep breath. I’m not a chat-up or pick up merchant but hey I was enjoying her company so I asked what time she finished her shift, hoping she was just working for the afternoon. Ouch, she answered that question with her own, “Why do you ask?” I almost gave up and retreated but the wine had relaxed and emboldened me. “I thought I might treat us to a meal somewhere, an early supper perhaps if you are off shift soon, and perhaps I can carry on enjoying your company and conversation?”

She cocked her head, smiled and looking not just at me but through me said ” Excuse me a moment Michael I’ll be right back”. She was Indeed, walking back to the bar still smiling that knowing way, I just felt that she was going to say yes, she would come with me for a meal. But what did I know, her shift was going to be over in half an hour and she would be happy to eat with me. However, did I like Caribbean food? If so we could get a take away from a great place nearby and take it back to eat in her flat? Of course I agreed as long as we could stop off and pick up some wine.

Peppered steak with rice and peas is what we chose and a bottle of a cheap if reasonably good looking merlot. Her flat was a 10 minute bus ride away and though we both had to stand we continued chirping away about old fashion, old movies, she apparently loved Brief Encounter and Casablanca, and boogie woogie music Andrews Sisters style. The flat was not large but it was simply furnished and thus seemed more spacious. It was clean and tidy without seeming soulless or sterile, and it was without doubt hers. As I found out later her signature was everywhere, those simple additional touches that elevated a stereotyped style into something with individuality.

Back in the pub when I first saw her in those shorts and tights I had noticed that the shorts were very stylish with proper pockets and just the right side of being snug without being gynaecological. Her tights were sheer and smooth, hole free and not showing those thick tops that so many girls worry little about revealing. Without a great deal of flourish she had changed a very common clothing style into something much more elegant whilst maintaining its practical simplicity.

Taking me into her kitchen she took an opened wine bottle from a shelf and hoping I didn’t mind it being half used and so having been open for a day or so, poured out two glasses. Well Michael, there’s the microwave, the plates are in that cupboard and salt pepper etc in there, I’m off to shower and change, see you in fifteen minutes. I found two shallow earthenware dishes, shared out the food, which smelled delicious, so much so that I have eaten there and from there many times since; seasoned it sparingly, it was pepper steak after all and sat down to enjoy my wine.

I was about to put the first dish onto heat when she walked back into the kitchen. She certainly had changed and amazing quickly too. Her hair was now drawn from the back of her neck and piled up neatly towards the front of her head, unmistakably in a forties, fifties style. The black dress she now wore, figure hugging yes but not overly so, was just below knee length and cut low enough at the front to see she had shapely breasts. Black high heels accentuated her calves and black sheer seamed stockings, or tights, completed her outfit. I didn’t know quite what to say but managed to mumble something about doing the food, taking the dish away from me she steered me back into the other room insisting I sit down and had some wine whilst she brought the food. By now I was becoming a little nervous, this was all to surprising and much to fast moving, the food would give me a chance to slow things up a bit.

I heard the microwave ping and shortly after that she came in with two small trays on which were the piled up the dishes of deliciously smelling Caribbean food. Neither of us stood on ceremony and tucked in with an obvious hunger and anticipation. And it was superb, not that highly spiced but flavoured and enticing. The wine was complementary to the food and a little heady, perhaps though that was more to do with the situation we were in. There was a charged atmosphere in the room which was partly the wine but mostly the obvious sexual tension.

I’m sure we chatted about loads of things whilst we were eating but for the life of me I can’t remember what about. It seemed to be just aimless chit chat to fill in time until we had eaten. We finished the food soon enough and Teresa stood up to clear away indicating I should sit back and relax. She was quickly back snuggled beside me on her sofa with her glass in her hand her head titled over looking straight into my eyes. Leaning further towards me she kissed me full on the lips rolling her tongue gently into my mouth making me gasp with shock and pleasure.

“I believe you were ready for that weren’t you?” and undeniably I was. “You taste really nice do you know that and you’re such a gentleman with emphasis on the word gentle?, I hope though that you won’t be entirely gentle with me, especially when I take my dress off?”

With that she stood up reached behind and unzipped the dress allowing it to fall to her feet. “There, that’s better isn’t it?” for the second time in just a few moments I was shocked to silence. The black sheer stockings were held up by wide cream suspenders straps, unusually four for each stocking leg. These peeped out from under the lacy hem of a pair of cream French knickers, over which she wore a sort of chemise top of the same silky material also lavishly trimmed with lace. It was also very obvious that she was not wearing a bra but she didn’t seem to need one anyway. Reaching down to me she put a hand on my mouth and closed it. ” it’s OK you can talk now but I can tell you approve. It’s pretty much what we were talking about earlier, if you are really good I may model some more for you later, but for now there is something I have been dying to show you”. He took my left hand and placed it on her right buttock and used it to push up the hem of her knickers then turning to reveal a small but magnificently executed tattoo.

“it’s Betty Page!” and indeed it was, dressed as might be expected in black nylons and fifties style underwear. She asked if I liked it and my response was instant, I stood up wrapped my arms around, took a deep breathe and kissed her hard, a kiss she was very responsive too. Moments later we were in her bed and with all the earlier sexual tension working on us both, “Leave my knickers on but please, please lick me now”. She wasn’t shaven, a small triangle of neat hair perched prettily over her pussy and she tasted really fine, not too artificial just the right amount of natural aroma. I’d love to say she had had an instant orgasm but this story is not entirely a fantasy, it’s pretty much mostly true but from the way she was bucking I guessed she was enjoy it. ” My turn now Michael”, and pushed me onto my back. Yes of course she zeroed in on my cock with her mouth and yes I started to squirm as much as she had earlier. I’m sure you can guess the rest, it was amazing for me and she made sure I came when she was ready, and in case you were wondering yes she did have a real orgasm, I could taste it.

More wine and some kissing and cuddling later she shoved me off the bed with instructions to go take a shower, she had things to do. Those ‘things’ turned out to be preparations for a fashion show for my benefit. A whole range of amazing lingerie was paraded before me, more silk French knickers, teddies, a basque or two finally a burlesque bloomer set that was as erotic as it could be and at the same time revealing not a lot. ” Are you into photography Michael, if you are and when I get to to know you better perhaps I will model for you?”.

Another time I’ll write about that and, maybe, maybe, show some of the results of the shoot.

 
 
sourrie

 
 
France
 
1 month ago

 
I am aware, but why two weeks?
 
 
NewportLuvs

 
 
United States
 
1 month ago

 
You seem like a remarkable young woman. I can relate a little bit.
 
 
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About lemerris82

My good friends call me Dirt Fizzle. They also call me by my real name and the name Halina Hawthorne. My real name is Lynn. I'm 31, I'm single, I have no children. I'm obsessed with art and printmaking. I'm in nursing school. I hate it. I'd rather be making art or writing. I write. I write about the commonplace and the vulgar. I wonder if other people have this urge to journal? I want to stumble around other members of fucked up individuals that don't sleep at night.

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