I confess…I adore my own pussy.  She’s small and looks great trimmed.  She gets compliments all the time from people who have seen her, yet she remains remarkably humble!  She loves it when I sing to her and pat her satiny lips in the shower.  Lately, I’ve taken to reciting poetry to her.  Her favorite is an excerpt from the Edward Lear poem, The Owl and the Pussycat.

‘O Lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

Here’s the whole poem for those of you that haven’t read it.  It’s a popular kid’s poem, probably not meant to be used to serenade pussies of a different sort in the shower.  I think it’s important, however, that we honor our parts!

I may have mentioned already that Ruthie is moving…we’re gonna miss ya girl!  Anyway, as her parting gift, Ruthie left me most of her porn collection, many of which are classic VHS tapes that she purchased for $.50 each from a video rental store that went under.  Unfortunately in this case, I don’t own a TV or a VCR.  I just watch DVDs on my computer every now and then.  Some of the tapes I’ve pawned off on Silver (that’s why they were in her backpack), and the rest of them I just threw in the trunk of my car, hoping my 6 year old wouldn’t find them.

“Throwing shit in the trunk of my car” has become a pathological ailment with me.  I put stuff in, I forget that it’s there, and then one day I open the trunk and find it again.  I’m notorious for hauling books, recycling, and random sundries around for weeks on end.

Well, now I’m hauling around a broken Roland keyboard, a box of recycled law books, and a shitload of old porn VHS tapes.  I had forgotten about the porn until yesterday.

I went to the grocery store, and in an unusual fit of laziness, decided to let the bag boy accompany me to my car.  He was probably about 15 or 16 years old, and clearly not a social butterfly.  He followed me to my car with my groceries, I popped the trunk, and THEN I remembered that I was carrying around a small video store full of porn.

“Shit!”  I said to myself.  “I have got to remember to clean the trunk out!”  His eyes got as big as saucers, and his pimpled lips gasped in astonishment…this probably seemed like gold at the end of the rainbow to him.  I kept a straight face, though, and in fact reverted to my college teacher demeanor.

“Is there a problem young man?”  He shook his head no.  I pointed toward the groceries and motioned him to put them in the trunk.

“I’m not sure there’s enough room,” he said meekly.

“Yea, my husband and his broken keyboard…he won’t get rid of anything.”  I slammed the trunk shut, and opened the Saturn’s tiny third door.  “Just fill up the back seat then, young man, and make it quick…I’m late for a date with my girlfriend.”

Ok, so I wasn’t really going to push forward with the joke about Silver’s backpack, but I did get my hands on its contents the other day…and, well, let’s just say I can’t resist!

1.  flashlight

2.  pee pads (she’s always prepared for potentially messy sex)

3.  bag of make-up

4.  toothbrush

5.  book (something on martial arts, I believe)

6.  highlighter

7.  pens

8.  2 bottles of sunscreen

9.  2 bottles of lube (she must be planning on sex in the sunshine)

10.  the RocketChick (a G-spot toy and vibrator all in one…beautiful shade of purple)

11.  the strap-on (I’m touched that she carries around my purple penis)

12.  dirty movies (on loan from our dear friend Ruthie, whom I’m sad to say is moving)

13.  3 mini-vibrators (that’s preparedness!!!!)

14.  2 cookbooks

Honestly, I’m not making this one up…she’s a walking kink shop.  Lucky me!!!

I’m a nudist at heart.  I love being nude by myself and I love being nude with other people.  As a matter of fact, I don’t think I really bond with friends until after we’ve been naked together.  That doesn’t necessary have to come in the form of sex, but hell, even changing in a locker room can be intimate!

As a swimmer, I’m in and out of changing rooms all the time.  I enjoy the secret thrill of seeing women naked in a locker room.  Some are obviously more attractive than others, but I truly believe there’s beauty in every body’s body.

Take Sylvia, for example.  Sylvia is a patient at the aqua therapy center where I spend my lunch hours.  She’s in her 70s at least, and, as a product of her generation, is in poor physical health.   After doing her water exercises with a therapist, Sylvia parks her hefty frame in the handicap shower stall.  She leaves the curtains wide open and chats with whomever is in the locker room, while taking her time drying and getting dressed.   It’s hard for some of the women to talk to a naked 70 year old woman who so blatantly disregards their sense of Southern propriety.

I love chatting with Sylvia, though, and I love the fact that she’s forcing  everyone to look at her aging body.  We don’t do that often enough.  I got accustomed to seeing older women naked when I used to frequent the Russian bath house in Manhattan.  Admittedly, it was a shock at first.  “That’s someone’s grandma!” I would think.  But familiarity took away the shock, and gave me a new perspective.   An older body, especially a healthy one, is just a different kind of beauty.

“Lordy, girl, I need help hookin’ my bra again!”  Sylvia can’t reach around and snap her own bra, so she asks others to do it for her.  Knowing that I don’t hesitate, I’m always her designated Bra Hooker when I’m in the locker room with her.  The bras never fit, so it’s purely out of habit that she even wears them.

“Don’t get old, ” she tells me laughing.

“I don’t intend to, ” I counter.  “Old is just a state of mind.  But rest assured I plan on always leaving the shower curtain open in public!”

Juxtapose (in all it’s forms) is one of my favorite words; it joins a list that includes serendipity, juggernaut, and onomatopoeia.  They all just roll gracefully off the tongue.  The juxtaposition of two seemingly incongruous things fascinates me.

A few weeks ago I found myself engaged in two conversations at once, with two very different people.  I snapped to full attention and declared the moment an odd juxtaposition!  I was talking (verbally) with TJ the maintenance man, whom many of you may remember from my last Schooling Andy episode, and chatting (digitally) with my friend who runs a sex toy business.  Her and I were contentedly typing away about dildos and sex toy parties, when TJ waltzes into my office, Swiffer in hand.

“Morning, E.  Don’t mind me, I’m just going to dust.”

I followed his advice, and finished my sentence without looking up.  I tell her that I now have company, and that I might have to pause periodically.

“Dammit, is it a student?”  she types.  “Get rid of him.  Don’t they know you’re busy?  We have a party to plan!”

“No, it’s not a student.  It’s the maintenance man…he’s Swiffering my office.”

“That sounds sexy!”  she sends a laughing emoticon.

“Yea, you know, Swiffers are soft…I rubbed one on my pussy once, just for the sensory experience.”  I couldn’t resist teasing her.

“E, do you know why God made me a maintenance man?” TJ started his monologue.  I looked up, curious as to where he was going with this.  “I mean, I’ve done a lot of different things in my life.  When I took this job, it was because of all the nice people.  It’s important to go into work every day with people to talk to, you know.  But then as I’m cleaning one day, you see, it occurred to me things always dissolve into a mess that needs fixing…there will always be dust!”  he waved the Swiffer around to punctuate.

“What’s he doing now?”  she typed.  “I was just wanting to tell you about this new lube that I tried last night.”

“That’s true, TJ!” I said, while replying “Go ahead!” to her.

“And here’s the thing, ” he continued.  “It doesn’t bother me that the dust always comes back.  I can count on it…hell, I actually enjoy it!”

“I really enjoyed it!”  popped up on my screen.  She was referring to the lubrication, he was referring to dust.  They both serendipitously made the comment at the same time.

“That’s why God made me a maintenance man.”  He finished Swiffering as he uttered the word “man” and walked out of my office.  I returned to the sex party plans.

Yes, E managed quite well through the fishnets but as usual one of our dates could not be without a wardrobe malfunction! So there we are in the back of the van, her fingers deftly massaging my clit as I grope her hungrily. I went to throw my head back in ecstasy and youch…my big beautiful hoop earrings were caught in her glasses (which she was still wearing to keep an eye out for intruders). So we had to completely readjust ourselves before I could come.

I was sad that due to our top secret location, I didn’t see or taste her new shave/trim job, but it was very enticing to touch.

This would definitely inspire me to rub her legs!  I like the way elastic fishnets sound when you run your fingers over them, snapping the individual strands.  I also like the thought of ripping them off a woman.

Happy Monday everyone!  Silver and I went to an Underwater Equinox party Friday night…we were actually on dry land pretending to be underwater in a black-light, psychedelic kind of way.  As usual, Silver went all out with her aquatic themed outfit, and looked quite smashing.  She wore white fishnets that glowed under the black-lights.  In an ultra sexy dance floor moment, another woman at the party came up to Silver and started rubbing her hands up and down Silver’s fishnets.  I have the same tactile response to fishnets myself.  They just scream “Rub me!”   I frequently obey, so I found it very hot to see another woman give in to the same urge, with a total stranger no less!

Fortunately, Silver’s darling husband cleaned the van out for us, so I was able to feel the fishnets up privately after the party.  We moved the van to a quiet parking lot, and made out in the back seat.  The night air was chilly, so we had to leave most of our clothes on.  Maneuvering through the fishnet holes to find her clit was a challenge, but my tiny, ambidextrous hands managed.

I’m sorry to say that Silver won’t be able to confirm or deny anything about her fishnets until further notice.  She dumped an entire venti iced coffee on her laptop yesterday, and is officially offline for a while.  I’ve often feared that her coffee and computer habits would some day collide, and alas, it has happened.

On the bright side, my husband finally has a complete shave.  He thinks it makes his dick look bigger.  He did some of it himself, but when I caught him trying to see if he could pee and shave at the same time, I took over.  Now if we can just control the after-itch…

Silver picks me up on Wednesday for our usual Italian lunch (I order eggplant parm and she gets chicken parm).  She drives up to the college in her little red stick shift.

“Where’s the van?”  I ask, having just gargled in the bathroom in the hopes of making out in the van.

“We need to retire the van for the spring,” she says.  “It’s full of mulch and gardening tools.  There’s no way I’m going to be able to clean it up for sex.”

“What!” I gasp.  “Since when did you get all utilitarian on me?  The van is about love!  Even you yourself have called her a MILF!  You keep her full of mulch, and she’s going break down…I’m just warning you.”

“But how am I suppose to haul the garden stuff if I don’t use the van?”

“Well…I don’t know…what do you need a garden for anyway?”  She rolls her eyes at me.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I got to thinking, though, that perhaps my lifestyle had advanced to the point where I needed my OWN love van!  I mean, people bought vans back in the 60’s and 70’s as a place to have sex all the time.  Admittedly they were probably teenagers, but what the hell!  My super suave Saturn is paid off, so I could afford a cheap van.  In retrospect, I should have bought the van with the flat tires that someone left parked near my apartment last year.  It was a cruiser with a couch AND tables in the back.  It probably wouldn’t have ever run, but who cares!  I could have turned it into my own private love nest on wheels!

Ok, so I’ve been playing with the beard trimmer for the past two nights, and I still haven’t managed to complete the task.  The first night that I swore I was going to shave my husband’s pubic hair, I was thwarted by the fact that the trimmer had to charge for 16 hours before it could be used.  Ok…so I just fucked him instead.

Next evening he comes home, though, eager for his shave!  Apparently the wait had upped the excitement level.  I experiment on myself first, giving my bush a nice post-modern crew cut down to the clit level, and shaving everything else smooth.  It looks great!  But the power used for my trim exhausted the supply.  He comes up to the bathroom, champagne glass in hand, and asks if it’s his turn.

“Well,” I replied, “we have a problem.  It needs to be charged again!”

“What?” he groaned.  “What’s a man gotta do to get shaved around here?”

I apologized for sucking up all the power, but he still had to taunt me a little, saying that he guessed he was just going to have to put an ad on Craig’s List for a woman who could shave him.  In rebuttal, I plugged the trimmer back in, and fucked him senseless again…this time sitting on his face and making him lick my freshly shaven pussy.  I can be very forceful when provoked!

After we were done, I went to check the trimmer, and behold…it started working again!  Thinking that it was fully charged, I commenced the operation on his pubic hair.  He submitted quite easily, as the champagne and sex had mellowed him out.  As fate would have it, though, I only got half way through before the trimmer died again.  Oops!  I tucked him into bed with promises of finishing tonight.