Prowling with Kat

Come on Over to ProwlingwithKat.com

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Tue, 25 Nov 2014 18:22:00 +0000

Hi all,

If you're still reading here, you haven't made the transition with us yet. There's a new post up, some come over to:

http://prowlingwithkat.com

Once you're there, you can subscribe either through email or in a reader and you can be notified of new posts as they come up. There is a lot of new content planed for PWK over the next couple of months, so don't miss it!

See you there!

******************

To my blogging friends:

If you haven't updated your blog rolls with the new URL, please do. I've got my blog roll up on my new site so I'll keep sending you readers, as always.

International Fisting Day

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Tue, 21 Oct 2014 06:47:00 +0000

October 21 is International Fisting Day. Read what I have to say about it at our new home:

http://prowlingwithkat.com

Another note....

Some of you have tried to subscribe to the email feed on the new site and you found that you couldn't. That problem has been fixed, so please make the move with us and subscribe to the feed over there.

Thanks!

Be sure to subscribe!

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Sat, 18 Oct 2014 20:04:00 +0000

When you visit the new site for the first time, be sure that you subscribe to the email feed or subscribe in a reader ASAP. Just look at the right sidebar.

http://prowlingwithkat.com

It's Moving Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Sat, 18 Oct 2014 19:27:00 +0000

Hi, Prowlers! The new site is up! From this point on, all new posts will be posted at the new site.

http://prowlingwithkat.com

I still need to recreate the back pages and add the blog roll and a sew other things, but all the back posts have been migrated. My email is the same as it has always been, so you can send your ideas and suggestions, like always.

Don't worry. This site will remain here for a few months.

Come on over to the new place and sign up for the RSS feed.

See you there!

Even Numbered Years

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Fri, 17 Oct 2014 07:35:00 +0000

I've been saying this all year and people have treated me quite badly for it, but today I am close to vindication! This decade, the even numbered years are owned by my San Francisco Giants.

They won the National League Championship Series tonight and will be heading to the World Series to play the Kansas City Royals.

The World Series. For the third time in five years. Can you say "dynasty?"

I have a good friend who is a Royals fan, and it's pretty exciting for both of us that our teams will be playing each other in the World Series. I don't think either of us thought it would ever happen, but here we are. It's just awesome.

Okay, now that I got that out of my system.......

Don't forget! The PWK migration off Blogger is coming. It will happen this weekend on either Saturday or Sunday, so be prepared.

The official new URL will be

http://prowlingwithkat.com/

If you go there now, you'll see an empty WordPress theme, but over the next few days, it will start to take shape and then on either Saturday or Sunday I'll attempt the migration. By then, http://shackledkat.com should also point to the new site.

Yes, we're really doing this. Our new home is going to be fantastic!

Now, Prowlers, I have a question for YOU. Since we are at a new beginning, we can make this place into whatever we want it to be. Do you have any ideas? What would you like to see more of? What do you like best about PWK that you want to make sure we continue? Is there anything we should let go of?

Tell me in the comments.....

We're Moving!

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Wed, 15 Oct 2014 07:10:00 +0000

Hey, Prowlers! It has been a very busy week. As I mentioned before, PWK is moving to a self-hosted site. Not that Blogger hasn't been wonderful, but Google's restrictions are becoming a bit constricting, and not in a good way.

The migration will happen in about a week or so, but don't worry! You'll be able to find us easily. The new URL is http://shackledkat.com. That's the same URL we have now, just without the "blogspot"in the middle. Http://prowlingwithkat.com will also point to the new site.

My hope is that we'll maintain as much of our content as possible so your favorite archives should be safe. Once we move, PWK will continue to be what it has always been - a place to share my naughty prowling exploits and a place where we can meet and comment and share without judgement.

Other than the URL, the only thing that will change (besides the site design, of course) will be that I'll be able to sell some writings and products if I choose, something that has become forbidden on Blogger. Frankly, I don't have any big plans for that at this time, but it could happen.

However, access to PWK will always remain free.

In related news..... I launched a brand new site today - http://katconfessions.com

Kat Confessions is not intended to replace PWK. It will be much more of a commercial site and it targets a much wider audience than our family of prowlers. I hope that you would subscribe to it as well as PWK and help me get it off the ground. I'd be grateful.

If any of you would like to submit a post for publication on Kat Confessions, just let me know or, heck, just send it to me. The theme is sex. I think most of you can remember that. ;-)

And the final bit of news for today.....

Do you remember my musing about phone sex in my last post? Well, I did it! And....I have Hubby's blessing. I think he might be regretting giving his blessing right about now, but it's too late. Hehe. So, you can find my NiteFlirt profile here. You should know I've got an extra special LOW per minute rate posted until this Saturday. After that, it goes back up to the "You should be grateful you get to chat with Kat" level. 1-800-863-5478, Ext. 1054-5353.

After today, there will be no more mention of that information until after the migration. We want to leave quietly, not because Google chased us out.

Wow. PWK is growing up! In just a week, off come the water wings and we start swimming out in the ocean. I can't wait!

Phone Sex, Anyone?

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Thu, 09 Oct 2014 06:07:00 +0000

Some very interesting things have been happening at home, Prowlers. Unfortunately, I can't share them all with you because, well, I just can't, but I will share the biggest one.

I'll just jump in and say it. I'll be starting a phone sex site soon - with Hubby's blessing!

I know! You are shocked, aren't you? Here's what happened....

Hubby has been bitching at me a lot lately to bring in more money. At the same time, he's doing things that make it nearly impossible for me to do so. Part of the reason we're in this position is because I quit doing the kind of work that brought in obscene amounts of money because I decided to only do work that I actually like. The stress of the other was killing me, almost literally. It's his opinion that I made the change that cut my income (which is the income that supports us, by the way) so I should do something to fix it.

I thought and I thought. I made a list of things I would like to do that could bring in some additional money, in addition to the freelance writing I currently do. Phone sex was on the top of that list.

I'm good at it. I enjoy it. And there is potential to make some decent money, particularly if you open your own business, rather than work for someone else.

I took the idea to Hubby and he was initially angry. Then I told him I was serious and I asked him to think about it. A few days later we discussed it again. He said one of his concerns was that I would use it as a way to meet men.

Hahahahahaha.

I said, "Do you really think I have trouble finding men?" He agreed that was a very silly argument.

Then we started talking particulars - formats, services, costs, earning potential, how we could work out schedules at home (child care, etc.) Of course, I had done my research. He asked a few questions I couldn't answer, so I agreed to do some more research and he was going to think about it some more. When we came back together again, I had his answers, and I assured him that I wouldn't do it behind his back. We both needed to be 100% on board with it or I wouldn't do it. I also told him that if he nixed it, I'd like him to do some research about how we can bring in more cash. Then, he agreed.

So, KatCalls Phone Sex and Text Chat Service should be up an running in a week or so, maybe a bit longer. I'll have phone, SMS, text chat and email services, but unfortunately, no cam. Cam services will still be reserved for my very closest friends, and always free.

As you know, though, I can't advertise through PWK because Google has a policy that no Blogger sites can make money off anything related to sex. The truth is that even though Blogger allows Adult (over 18) sites, it doesn't like us and the day may be coming when you'll all see that sad little "504 - Page Not Found" message when you type in the URL. So, I'll be making the shift to self-hosting within a month or so. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of notice.

In the meantime, if you would like me to email you information about KatCalls (or whatever I may re-mane it) when it is up and running, please send me an email through my profile here, and I'll send you the information and some free minutes. If you are a phone sex operator and you have some advice for me, please send an email, too. I'll take all the help I can get!

Someone asked me yesterday if PWK will continue being free? Of course! Will there ever be a scenario in which I may add a paid, Members Only area? Maybe, but that is not in the works now and I'll be busy enough with KatCalls for quite a while.

PWK is a special little corner of the universe. For many, it's the only place they can come to be reassured that there is not something wrong with them for needing more than they can get in their marriage. Others use it as a place where they can live the fantasy here and stay faithful at home. I met my best friend here, not to mention many other really wonderful people.

Change is a-comin'! But it's a good change. I promise.

Between Jobs

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Wed, 01 Oct 2014 23:40:00 +0000

T and I only managed to find about 45 minutes to meet yesterday. You'd think it would be easier to make time to meet, but sometimes it just doesn't work out that way.

I was hoping to connect with him around noon after a meeting and spend the afternoon together. Unfortunately, the time he had available after he finished up a job in the morning evaporated when he learned he had another job to get to in the afternoon.

Sure I was disappointed, but I wanted to see him anyway, so we decided to meet for a few minutes. I drove into a parking lot shared by a Carl's Jr and a grocery store in the town next to mine. It didn't take long to find his car where he was sitting and reading the paper, shaded by a big tree.

I pulled up next to him and parked. We both got out of our vehicles and walked to greet each other.

He smiled and said, "A van, huh?"

I was a little confused. All I was thinking about was kissing him, but he was one step ahead of me. I had driven the family van that day, instead of my teeny tiny Civic because I had to pick up a colleague at the airport earlier in the day.

"Yes," I answered. "I have the van today." Then I took his face in my hands and kissed him. Yes, right there out in the open in front of all the shoppers and lunch-goers. T slid his arms around me and kissed me again, deeper and more passionately.

After about 30 second of kissing, we decided to get in the van. We sat in the front seat first and got back to kissing. In between kisses, we chatted a bit and I caught myself staring at him and smiling. He had a couple of days worth of stubble (which I love!) and his hair was a bit mussed. He was a man who had been working, and from my perspective, there aren't many things hotter than that. Sure, I like a man in uniform or a tux, but I'll take one who looked exactly like T did yesterday afternoon over the others any day.

And it doesn't hurt that my heart melts when he smiles a me, something that still catches me off-guard after all this time.

After a couple of minutes, T suggested that we move to the back seat. We each got out and opened the sliding door on our respective sides. Then we put down the middle row of seats and climbed into the back. I noticed a man in a white truck parked in the row behind us. He was watching. I blushed a little because I knew what we were doing would be pretty obvious to anyone who was watching. I pointed him out to T who dismissed it by noting that the windows were tinted so he shouldn't be able to see.

The side windows are definitely tinted and didn't worry me at all, but the back window - not so much. Actually, I couldn't remember how much the back window was tinted and I couldn't tell from the inside. We sat down on the back seat and I looked back. There was White Truck, staring at me.

I started to get even more nervous, but then T wrapped his arms around me and started to kiss me and I didn't give a damn about White Truck anymore.

We made out like kids for a while, in the middle of the day in the back of Hubby's van. Did I mention that? The van is the vehicle that Hubby drives every day, but yesterday it was our hotel room.

I was lost in his kisses when I felt him reaching into my pants and sliding his hand down between my legs. He rubbed my clit slowly while I rocked my hips and moaned into his mouth. I came quickly the first time. He slid a couple of fingers inside me and I bucked against his hand as I let the orgasm play out.

As is T's style, he didn't stop once I had come, but he kept going, changing things up a little but grabbing some of the remaining energy from my first orgasm to start the journey to orgasm #2. I don't even try to resist anymore. I know he's going to make me keep coming until he's ready to stop. My job is to go with it, so I did. The second one was much more intense. As I started to let go, I put my head back and T kissed and sucked on my neck. I screamed and opened my eyes briefly, just enough to see White Truck staring right at us. It seemed like he could see, but maybe not. I didn't really care.

After orgasm #2 I was whimpering and wiggling a little, trying to escape some of the intensity I was feeling as T's fingers continued to work their magic. In no time at all, though, as usual, I was coming again, this time looking directly into his eyes. He smiled, and my heart melted right along with the rest of me.

I know he can keep that going for a long, long time because I've experienced that with him before, but were short on time so he stopped after he'd given me three. I snuggled against him purring, and he kissed me deeply. It felt like nap time to me.

But there was more to do. I asked him if I could have a taste. He agreed, but he looked around nervously as he unfastened his pants, talking about the tinted windows again. I glanced back and saw White Truck, as focused as ever.

T scooted over to the end of the seat and I knelt/squatted/sat between the second and third row of seats so I could easily access his gift for me. There was no time to play and tease, so I got down to business. I took him into my mouth slowly, sucking off some precum and increasing the speed and tightness over the next minute or so. I felt his hand on my shoulder and he pulled on my hair a little bit, but not much. He came soon, but it didn't seem very intense. I figured he was just uncomfortable being in public like that.

We talked and kissed a little while more. Then I asked, "Can I have some more?" I looked down at his cock and then back at his face.

What's a guy supposed to say in that situation? T said, "Sure," giving me access again, Then he added, "I know you know how to raise the dead." And I did.

I knew he was more into it the second time because he grabbed my hair tightly and pumped my head up and down exactly as he wanted. I could hear him breathing harder and moaning, and then he pushed and held me down on him and groaned wildly when he came.

As his cum was spurting into my mouth, I thought, That's my T. :-) If I could have smiled at that moment, I would have, but I couldn't do anything except swallow and wait. It was delightful.

I sat next to him again and we kissed for a few minutes more before realizing that he really had to go. We stayed longer than we had planned as it was.

As we climbed out of the van I saw White Truck still in the same place and he was still watching. Great, I thought sarcastically. An audience that won't leave.

We put the van back in the condition it was in before we played. We double and triple checked to be sure that T had everything he came with, like his keys and his sunglasses. Nothing could be left behind because Hubby would be driving that vehicle within an hour and he notices things.

Before he got back into his car, T gave me a hug and another nice, deep kiss. He got into the car and I saw White Truck get out of his car. I scurried to get into the van, and then I noticed that he was just getting something from the back of the truck before getting back in the driver's seat and driving away. Apparently, there was nothing left for him to see.

As I headed home, I drove with the windows down for a few minutes to make sure the van smelled as fresh as it did when I left the house in the morning.

Quite a Mouthful!

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Tue, 23 Sep 2014 02:56:00 +0000

If I Swallow a Couple Loads of Cum, Can I Ditch My Daily Protein Shake?

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Sat, 20 Sep 2014 00:36:00 +0000

I've had the same unusual thought twice in the last 24 hours. The first was yesterday morning as I was swallowing my second load of T's delicious cum. The second was while I was chatting with SNS Guy this afternoon.

How much protein is really in semen? And is it enough for me to substitute it for a protein shake? As you know, I love giving BJs and it sure is more fun and fulfilling than mixing up a protein shake. I've never had a lover groan and pull my hair while watching me down a protein shake, either.

So, I decided to find out how much protein is really in semen so I could answer my question. First, I scoured the internet for information from all the most ~~reputable~~ popular sources, such as Wikipedia, ask.com, men.com, and Yahoo answers. I can tell you that the information from those sources varied significantly. Who should I believe?

So I decided to bite the bullet and look for information among the scientists and the topic specific sites. That means I must issue a Science Alert here, but don't worry, I'll put it into everyday language as best I can so those of you who prefer not to think won't have to worry your pretty little heads about it.

First, the basics.

Semen is made up of sperm, water, sugars, proteins and amino acids, vitamins (C, B12, and choline), hormones, enzymes, and and trace elements of some body byproducts (lactic acid, uric acid, nitrogen). Interestingly, there's almost twice as much sugar as protein in semen, but we're talking about such a small amount that the carbs won't ruin your Atkins diet.

To calculate the protein content of semen, we need to know the typical volume of semen per ejaculate. In other words, what is the average load volume? There is some discrepancy in the literature, but the consensus seems to be that it ranges from 3/4 of a teaspoon to a full tablespoon. That's a pretty big range for average, but there it is. I know for a fact that Webcam Guy's loads were a lot bigger than a tablespoon, but he's not average, of course. Anyway, we'll calculate the average volume at about a teaspoon.

Scientists calculate between 171 mg and 500 mg per load. Yes, that's quite a range, too. As you can see, an exact calculation will be impossible to do using averages, but we can get close. Let's use 500 mg just because it will make the math easier, but be aware that it will be lower in most cases.

There are 20 grams of protein in the brand of protein shake I use. Because 500 mg = .5 gram, it would take 40 loads of semen to replace the protein content of my shake. Clearly, I can't get enough protein that way to replace my daily shake. Dang.

But I sure would love to try.

I know what some of you are thinking. Is the amount of protein the same for the ejaculate of a man who has had a vasectomy? (Isn't that what you were thinking?) Well, because there's lots of protein in sperm, there must be less protein in ejaculate with sperm. However, sperm only make up 1-5% of the stuff in semen and the other stuff in semen also has some protein, so while there is less protein in a load of cum without sperm, there's still a reasonable amount.

So, if I were blowing a guy who'd had a vasectomy, it could take about 60 - 80 loads to replace my protein shake. Wow. That's a lot. It could take me 6 months just to replace one shake!

As long as we're speaking of semen, you may want to know that a load averages 5-15 calories, depending on the size of the load and the man's diet, so you can tell assure your wife (or Lover, or both) that giving you head and swallowing won't ruin her diet.

Now you have inspired me. Look for coming posts on Why Blow Jobs Are Good for You (a tool for convincing your lover to blow you) and How Can You Make Your Sperm Taste Yummy.

Postcoital Comfort

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Thu, 18 Sep 2014 23:41:00 +0000

They lay together quietly

Breathing rapidly, resting

Nested against each other

Legs entwined

Kisses interspersed with silence

Then easy conversation

As droplets of perspiration fall and dry

Laughter

More kisses

A sheet pulled over their legs

Fighting off a chill

Words of love shared

More kisses to seal their private moment

Of perfect postcoital comfort

A Must Read

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Thu, 18 Sep 2014 04:00:00 +0000

I was reading through the recent posts on my naughty blogs list earlier today, and I came across All He Could Do Was Moan. It was written by Victoria Vista and it appears on her Sexual Destinies blog.

I think you should read it because it's beautifully written. Even though it is very brief, you can feel the sense of anticipation and tension. Even if you're not into cock cages (she has a picture on the page if you don't know what that is), you'll still be able to appreciate the beauty of her writing.

As you know, I don't call out good writing on sex blogs very often. That means you should pay attention and go check it out.

Have you read a really good post lately that you'd like to share? Tell us in the comments, and don't forget to share the link.

Writing in the Real World

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Wed, 17 Sep 2014 20:03:00 +0000

As most of you know, I write for a living. I used to do only one type of writing - the most stressful, tedious, boring kind that you can imagine (also the most lucrative), but I've branched out in recent years and now I'll write just about anything I can get someone to pay me for.

What a sell out. I know, right?

The only excuse I have is that I have to support my family. That's a pretty good excuse, now that I think about it.

But trust me. If I could earn a living doing nothing but writing for you guys, I would do it. This is one of the few places where I can be myself, end a sentence with a preposition (without giving a shit), and use the Oxford comma (or not), as the mood strikes me. This is the place where I can be completely honest and know that it's ok. There is no other place like PWK in my life, and no other people I respect and enjoy as much as you.

Recently, I joined a few online writing groups to see if I can make a connection with other writers in the "real world." It has been an interesting experiment. I shared a few sexual-themed poems with my poetry group and waited for feedback.

Crickets. That's all I heard. They were shocked. When the comments finally started coming, they were about the sexual content, not the structure or craft of the poem. I was a bit disappointed. I ended up revising one of them myself and submitting it to an online literary journal for publication, fully expecting it would be rejected as smut, but no! It was selected for publication and my real name will appear in the byline.

Hubby isn't too happy. "Do you have to say, 'As he entered me...'? Can't you make it less graphic?"

"Are you kidding?" I answered. "That's not graphic at all. Graphic would be something like 'I gasped and arched my back as I felt all 8 inches of his hard, hot, throbbing cock slide into my wet cunt.' But that's not very poetic, is it?"

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I guess it's ok like it is."

Yeah, I thought so.

That is exactly what's so difficult about taking erotic writing into the mainstream. People still think of it as dirty.

I'm working on a smutty romance novel right now that has some beautiful lovemaking/sex scenes in it. In my mind, they are anything but dirty. They are beautiful, lyrical, almost poetic in the blend of love and sex that they describe. Ok, poetic may be going a bit too far, but you know what I mean, right? My non-PWK reviewers, though, see dirty smut.

One wrote, "For the oral sex scene, can't you say hardness instead of 'cock'? 'Cock' seems so crass."

"No," I answered. "A woman doesn't want to put a man's hardness in her mouth. She wants to put a hard cock in her mouth. It's a subtle, but important, distinction."

And I didn't even have to put the word cock in quotation marks, like the rest of the sentence needs to be protected from its filthiness. If you can't handle the word cock, maybe you shouldn't be reviewing my writing. I'm just sayin'. I happen to love cocks. They are nothing to be ashamed of.

(See? I ended another sentence with a proposition. Ooooo, I feel so naughty!)

In fact, I think I'll write a poem using as many words for cock as I can. I think the bucket needs more stirring.

On Being 50

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Tue, 16 Sep 2014 07:03:00 +0000

I'm 50. There. I said it. I'm 50.

I turned 50 in June and the day came and went without much notice. It didn't feel like a big deal to me at all. It turns out, though, that turning 50 is a little bit like eating that potato salad at the picnic that has been sitting out in the sun for the last hour. No big deal, you think. It's only been in the sun for a little while, and look, everyone else ate some and they are just fine. So you eat it, still thinking it's ok, until later that night when your insides are telling you that something might just be a bit different than you were expecting.

It hit me one day in July at the doctor's office. The barely-weaned medical assistant was asking me the same question she has asked for the last year every time I see her. She asked for my birth date and age (because apparently, they can't figure out my age from my birth date on their own). I gave her my birthday and then I said, "50." Then it seemed like everything was going in slow motion for a moment and I heard myself saying, "Wait? Did I say 50?" Bambi looked at me, confused, and then consulted her paper. "Yes, 50. Is that right?"

My first thought was, "No! That's very wrong! When did that happen? When did I turn 50? When did I officially become middle aged?" All I said, though, was a simple, "Yes."

It hit me again a week later. I was at the doctor's office again, seeing a specialist I have been seeing for many years. Everything was going as I expected, until he was wrapping things up and he handed me a flyer and said, "We have a class coming for our older patients on tips for managing their condition." I looked at the flyer and it said "For Patients in the Twilight Years" and I pushed his hand with the flyer away and I said, "What the fuck? I saw you a month ago and you didn't think I should go to the old people classes then!" The poor guy looked very confused, and then he said, "But you're 50 now. You can go." You see, he thought of the old folks classes as a benefit, an extra goodie for which you had to qualify. My problem was my own thinking. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that class. I may even go to see if the old folks have any tricks that I don't know about.

For the most part, I really don't mind being 50. It's all of my preconceived notions about being 50 that I mind. Somewhere along the line I picked up the idea that 50 is the official line of demarcation between young and old. I don't remember anyone ever telling me that, but it's stuck in my brain nonetheless. I remember when I was 30 looking at women who were 50 and above, and that's about when I heard people start to add qualifiers to compliments, but only when the person in question was not around.

For example, 40-year-olds can just get the compliment without the qualifier --- Wow, she's pretty! She's a great dancer! She's got so much energy! Once a woman turns 50, though, the qualifier gets tacked on automatically. Wow, she's pretty for a 50-year-old! She's a great dancer for a 50-year-old! She's got so much energy for a 50-year-old! And the tone changes, too. For the 40-year-old, the compliment is just a statement of admiration, but for a 50-year-old, the tone starts to sound like, "Can you believe it!?!?"

So, I'm 50. I have to tell you, I don't feel old at all. In fact, what I feel (and this has been a trend that started 4-5 years ago) is more confident and more sexual than I've ever felt. Even into my early 40's there were some reservations I had about sex that are long gone now, like I need to make sure that he enjoys sex more than I do and I'd better not show that I like it too much or he'll think I'm a slut and If he's not doing it how I like it I'll just stay quiet because I don't want to embarrass him.

In the last decade, there has a been monumental upheaval in my life -- not all bad -- and my life of today barely resembles my life of 10 years ago. But, for the most part, I like my life (and me!) better than I did when I was 40. I have the best friends of my life and, yes, I've had some of the best sex of my life.

If this is what the 50's are like, keep 'em coming!

An Afternoon Escape with T (Part 2 of 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Mon, 08 Sep 2014 10:00:00 +0000

This is Part 2. If you'd like to read Part 1 of An Afternoon Escape with T, click here.

******************************

Looking at T's face is one of my favorite things to do. I've already told you that he's ruggedly handsome, and that's true.

Forget about the shirtless Abercrombie & Fitch models who have never seen a day of hard work in their lives. They have those little ripply muscles that were made in a gym, not the real world, and those will go away when they are older, their modeling days are over and they are not paid to hang out in a gym for 4 hours a day. Their eyes are blue, but they look hollow, and you wonder if the blue is real or from colored contacts. They are a type of handsome, sure, but it's a faux-handsome. Its more like "pretty."

Now picture another guy. Let's say you meet while camping by the river. Dark hair, dark eyes. You watch him move firewood and set up camp. He takes off his shirt and he has a real man's body - strong, a little hairy (but not too much), proportioned. His skin is glistening with perspiration and he rubs a towel over his hair and face. He turns to look at you and you lose your breath for a second when he smiles. He's not a model, but a regular guy, and that makes him hotter, much more appealing to you. He reaches for a beer and you notice the muscles in his chest and arms again. They are flexing in a natural way, moving as he moves, not just sticking out like permanent artificial attachments or growths. He sits down in a camp chair to relax and stretches his legs out. You notice a few scars here and there on his tan skin as you try not to fixate on his sexy mouth, the late-afternoon stubble on his chin and cheek, or the faraway look in his eyes when he thinks you're not looking anymore. The closer and longer you look, the more you think Wow. This guy is really good looking, but it's the kind of attractiveness that you don't notice until you really stop and look. You look around at the other men nearby to check your theory and you realize you're right. This one is different. He's the kind of handsome that comes from living and working and sacrificing and taking care of other people. Nothing about that is fake. The Abercrombie boys are nothing next to this guy, even though he could easily blend in with a crowd without turning every woman's head as they pass by. Those who take a good look, though, will turn and watch him, and they'll notice all the pieces come together until a minute later they realize that they are staring at a very attractive, real man.

That's T.

I was having that realization again - that he's so attractive - when he entered me deeply and pulled all of my attention to that one and only thought. I gasped and my mouth dropped open. Not only did it feel marvelous, but it was the first time. Yes, the first time his cock had been inside me. We had thoroughly enjoyed our oral and manual fun for a long time, but this.....

I pulled my knees up toward my chest and tried to keep my eyes on his while he fucked me, but every now and then I had to close my eyes to focus on the perfect sensation of his cock inside me. He continued for quite a while, which was awesome, but then we stopped for a moment and I suggested we try it from behind.

"Can you do that?" he asked, referring to the same issue he mentioned earlier when I was kneeling on the floor. My answer was simple. "Yes." Not only did I know I could, but I knew it wouldn't hurt and I knew I was going to be feeling so good when I came from doing it that way that I wanted to hurry.

We got in position and I felt him behind me. I spread my knees a little wider to adjust my height and he slid inside me easily, deeper this time, and I leaned back against him. What followed wasn't gently and sweet. It was fast, hard fucking. It took me no time at all to come again, and I screamed, pushing back against him, trying to hold onto the pleasure that was reverberating through me while he was pounding me HARD from behind. He came soon after that, and then he collapsed next to me, covered with sweat and breathing hard.

We just lay there quietly for a bit, holding hands, catching our breath. Then we started talking about this and that. I rolled onto my side and leaned over to kiss him. This may sound silly but I never get tired of kissing that man. I could kiss him for hours. Ok, that's probably not a great idea, but I could.

I'm not sure how much time had passed while we were kissing and talking, talking and kissing, but after one of our prolonged kissing bouts he said, "I want you taste us." I knew exactly what he meant. I scooched down toward the foot of his bed and licked his cock. One little lick. Then another. Another. Then I moaned and took the whole thing in my mouth. Yes, I could taste both of us. I licked and suckled and swallowed until I felt his cock go from firm to immalleable and unyeilding. Even though he had just come 20 minutes before, I felt his hands on the back of my head, his fingers tightening around my hair, and his hips thrusting upward. I matched him, stroke for stroke, until he exploded into my mouth.

I love the groan a man makes when he comes. I really do. When I hear it, I feel victorious, like there was just a little bit of a power swap and I won. He may have thought he was in control, but that guttural groan means he wasn't in control for that moment. In that moment, he was mine. All mine.

I lingered a bit, keeping his cock in my mouth until I was certain he was finished. Then I swallowed one last time and gently licked his cock and balls until they were all cleaned up.

I scooched back up and into his arms. The rest of our time together was spent kissing and talking, and talking and kissing some more, until it was time to go.

We got cleaned up and dressed, and I would be the first to go. He was going to hang out there for a while. I picked up my purse and keys and I turned toward the door. That's when I saw my cane hanging from the chair where I had left it when I came in. I grabbed it and whispered under my breath, "Fucking stairs." T was right there next to me, and he slid his arms around me again and kissed me just like he did when I walked in the door a few hours before. We said our goodbyes and I heard the door close behind me as I walked down the hall.

With every step, I could feel the peace of our afternoon escape slipping away. By the time I was at my car, my mental To Do list had forced itself to the front and center of my mind and I knew that by the time I walked through my front door at home, the last remnants of the escape would be completely gone and I'd be inundated again with chores and demands. The family would want dinner. I'd have clients that would want their phone calls returned. The list would just keep going from there and my life wouldn't be my own again.

Then I shifted in my seat a little and remembered. T's gorgeous cock had been inside me and it was unbelievably wonderful. Then I saw his face in my mind and remembered our kisses, and it occurred to me that all of that was mine. The rest of my life couldn't take away my time with him or the way he made me feel. It was all mine.

An Afternoon Escape with T (Part 1 of 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Sun, 07 Sep 2014 22:25:00 +0000

We arrived at the hotel at the same time. I drove to the back of the parking lot to wait in the shade for him to text me with a room number. He turned the other way, driving toward the office.

I rolled down the windows and closed my eyes. The warm breeze passed through my car, seemingly carrying away my stress and concerns of the day, too. That's how it always is when I'm alone with him - nothing but him and me and that moment. All the stuff I have to deal with during the rest of my life is completely absent. Next to being with him, I think that's what I really love about these times. I get to be truly in the moment for a couple of hours. Oh, I try to be mentally present all the time, but I never seem to master it on my own. My brain keeps piping in with a million things that need to be done. Real peace is rare for me.

But I was starting to feel it as I relaxed into the breeze that afternoon. The silence was broken by the buzz of my phone announcing his text. Room 214. They only had upstairs. Sorry.

Ugh. It's not that I mind stairs, but I'm unable to negotiate stairs without my cane and in the months I'd been seeing T, I had managed to keep him from seeing me with my cane, for the most part. I used simple tricks - park close to the room and be careful, get to his place first and be sitting on a bench waiting for him to arrive. But there was no way I could avoid it now.

Half of you are probably thinking, Why is it a big deal? (The other half of you are thinking, Kat? A cane? What? How did I miss that? You didn't miss anything. I just don't share it much. Canes aren't that sexy, are they? However, I'm starting to think it may be my job to make them sexy! LOL) Anyway, it's not a big deal. It's just my ego and my struggles with my own self-image. There was a time in my life when I would have driven away rather than be faced with this situation. But I'm a grown up now. And this was T in that room.

I made it up the stairs and to the room. He had left the door open so I walked in. He heard me and turned and looked at me at smiled. Damn, that man is ruggedly handsome. Then his eyes dashed quickly to the cane and back to my face again.

Have you ever had a moment in which it seemed like many things happened all within the duration of a split second? That's what I experienced right then. I felt fear and embarrassment and I quickly said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see the cane, but the stairs....." Why was I apologizing? I had nothing to apologize for. Before I finished the sentence, he was standing in front of me, reaching out to pull me closer to him. "It's ok," he said. "No big deal." And he kissed me deeply. I hooked the cane on the back of chair and held onto him instead.

And there it was again. The feeling that came along with that warm breeze, shooing the rest of the world and all my stress away until only the two of us were in that room and nothing outside those walls mattered. We stood there kissing a while and then we stopped for a bit because both of us had just been on the road. We needed a bathroom break and a chance to clean up a bit.

The beginning of a lovemaking (or hot sex, or both, whatever the case may be) session is always interesting, and it changes base on how long you've known each other, how comfortable you are, and how horny you are, of course. Sometimes you just rip each others' clothes off. Sometimes you undress slowly, interrupted by kissing and soft touching. Sometimes, you chit chat and undress while you talk, waiting until you're both naked to get started. T and I were somewhere between the last two options. I often find myself torn between wanting to talk to him, kiss him, stare into his eyes, and suck on his cock. Of course, I can't do all of those at once, which is a darn shame. The good news, though, is that I knew I'll get to do all of them soon.

He lay down on the bed and I grabbed a pillow and threw it on the floor. "Turn this way," I said, smiling. He smiled a knowing smile and sat on the edge on of the bed. I nudged his legs apart and knelt between them. "Whoa," he said. "Can you do that?" He was referring to my kneeling on the fake hardwood floor. I just smiled and said, "That's what the pillow's for," and leaned forward to take his cock into my mouth.

Before I go on, let me say this: It was a lie. It hurt like hell and I knew it would. There's my ego again, my image of myself, my refusal to accept reality. At that moment, something hit me. Not everything from the outside stays on the other side of that door. Some things have to come with us, no matter how much we'd like to lock them out.

It hurt, but I knew he didn't know it. I'm chuckling right now because I know he'll be reading this and thinking, What the hell, Kat? Why didn't you say something? There's only one honest answer. Because I'm an idiot - too proud, too scared, too stubborn. I think he's been those things at various times in his life, too. Haven't we all?

Pain aside, I loved getting his cock into my mouth. I suckled him for a while, alternating between deep and shallow strokes, playing more than seriously working toward orgasm. I knew he wouldn't let me make him come right then. We had just started. He'd want to wait a while so he could enjoy it all more. I considered taking that decision out of his hands, and a couple of times I took him into my throat. I could tell he was getting close, but ultimately he tapped out (tapping my shoulder) and suggested I get up on the bed with him.

I agreed, and I started to comply, but then I stopped. In my exuberance and foolish excitement about getting on my knees, I had completely forgotten about the second half of that project. Getting up. At first, I was struck with panic. What if I have to ask him to help me? Seriously, at that moment, that seemed like a fate almost worse than death. Knowing someone has a disability is one thing. Seeing evidence of it (cane, wheelchair, etc.) is something else. But having to be involved in physically helping with what to others are simple movements? That's way on the un-sexy side of the scale in my mind. Sort of. Only when it's me. Could my perception of his sexiness be negatively impacted if I needed to help him? My perception of a man's sexuality is much broader than any set of physical characteristics. The question I continue to ask myself is this - Why is it so hard for me to believe that he wouldn't be put off my this stuff? T is a good man. I know he, like all of us, has struggles of his own. I know he doesn't judge me.

I proceeded slowly and eventually I made it up and onto the bed. I nestled in next to him and his hands started exploring me as we kissed. My neck, my cheek, the back of my head, my shoulder, my arm, my breast, my hip...... I parted my legs, knowing where he was going next. Hoping.

I heard myself moan softly when he touched me. He parted my lips with his fingers and found my clit instantly. My gasp and little squeal, and the way I pressed against his hand when he touched it might have been a clue for him that he was in the right place. A clue was completely unnecessary, though, because he never had trouble funding the right spot. Never. I relaxed and let him work his magic, surrendering to him and the moment. He brought me right along the trail he was blazing, at exactly the speed he wanted, using more than just his fingers. His mouth and tongue kept me entranced while arm was around me and his hand pulled the hair on the back of my head, keeping my lips in position to receive his kisses. He wrapped his legs around my leg closest to him and pulled it toward him, pinning me down. Sometimes he'd stop kissing me for a moment so he could watch my face as got closer and closer to coming.

I knew the moment was coming when it would feel less like he was doing something to me and more like he was reaching inside me to pull my orgasm from me, whether I was ready to give it up or not, because it was his and he'd come for what was his.

That moment flew by me quickly and I came hard, almost without the normal build up. One sharp bolt that made me scream into his mouth, followed by ripples of pleasure that forced out a series of little whimpers.

True to form, he didn't let me enjoy the final passing of the electricity. Instead, he kept going, stroking my clit through that almost painful period when everything is so intense...and on to another crescendo of delight. I reached down and found his cock, which was rock hard and stretched to its fullest, and I started stroking him. This time, there was a build up. Slow and steady. I squeezed his cock harder as I got closer to coming and gripped it tightly when I released. He kissed me gently, letting me come down this time, pulling his finger off my clit, sliding a couple of fingers inside me.

At one point, we stopped kissing and I gazed into his eyes. I was still shaking, he was holding me tightly, and I couldn't speak. I was feeling things I wanted to say, but I couldn't say them.

After a few moments, he rolled over on top of me, nudged my knees apart, and pressed his cock against my pussy. He slid it up and down against me for several strokes. I moaned, "That feels pretty good just like that." Just as I said that, he entered me deeply and I gasped.

To be continued......

I Need A Hug

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Fri, 29 Aug 2014 13:38:00 +0000

Matthew, Chapter 1

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Fri, 22 Aug 2014 08:29:00 +0000

Just a day after TommyKat noticed the word c-o-c-k in something I was writing, we had another interesting experience. He and I were reading Matthew, Chapter 1, from the New Testament of the Bible. For those of you who haven't read your Bibles in a while (or ever), the highlights of Matthew, Chapter 1, are the ancestry of Jesus and Joseph finding out that Mary is pregnant - and he knows he didn't do it, so he plans to dump her quietly. He gets a visit in a dream from an angel who tells him that the Holy Spirit was responsible for the pregnancy and that he should go ahead and marry Mary. We also learn that they marry, but don't consummate the marriage until after Jesus is born.

That's all simple and straightforward, right? We had a little discussion about what we read and then TommyKat, age 10, started asking questions. He kept asking questions for a very long time. Because I'm a believer that if a child is old enough to ask a question, he's old enough for an honest answer, I answered each question as directly and honestly as possible.

Here's just a sample of the questions TommyKat fired at me over the next couple of hours (in no particular order):

What does "consummate the marriage" mean?
If Mary got pregnant without having sex, was that like artificial insemination?
Is it a normal thing for the Holy Spirit to make women pregnant?
What's an erection?
What's masturbation?
How does masturbation work?
Why to people masturbate?
How do women masturbate?
What does it mean when a girl gets her period?
Why can't men get pregnant?
What is the cause of "morning wood?"
How does a condom keep a woman from getting pregnant?
Do women get pregnant every time they have sex without a condom?
Is masturbation a sin?
What does the Bible say about masturbation?
Why are some kids called "unwanted children?"
When a guy goes to donate sperm, how do they get it out of him?
What makes a man "aroused?"
Do men and women like sex the same amount?
What's an orgasm?
Do women get orgasms, too?
How is a woman's orgasm different than a man's?
So women can have sex without having an orgasm? Why?
How does a condom work? Can I see one?
When is a woman too old to have any more babies?
Are you too old to have more babies?
If a woman gets too old to have kids, does she stop having sex?
Do you and Dad still have sex even though you guys are really, really old?
How do lesbian women get pregnant?
Is it true that there are tampon machines in women's restrooms?

Oh. my. gosh. All I wanted was a quick little Bible reading and discussion at the start of our day, just like we've had on many other days, and instead I was quizzed about sex for over two hours by a prepubescent boy. And I still hadn't had my coffee yet.

Where was Hubby during all of this? He wasn't home, of course. He was safe at the office, far away from ground zero. I did leave a few questions for him ("I think you and your dad should talk about that."), mostly questions about wet dreams, if a guy can control when he gets an erection, and how you put on a condom.

Because Hubby was planning on making a stop at the grocery store to buy milk on the way home, I sent him a text. "Please pick up some condoms at the store. TommyKat wants you to show him how they work."

This was his reply:

This morning, I heard the two of them chatting in the living room. Hubby was answering questions and then I could tell there was a condom demonstration going on. I made sure to keep myself busy in another room until they were finished.

When I was sure it was safe, I wandered into the living room in time to kiss Hubby goodbye as he headed out for the day. I leaned forward and grabbed the banana that was on the coffee table and asked, "Is this your banana?"

TommyKat answered, "No, but that's the one Dad was using to show me how to put on a condom."

"Oh," I said casually as I peeled it. "That's nice."

"Are you going to eat that?!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, that was my plan," I answered.

"But we were pretending it was a penis, and a condom was on it, and you're going to put it in your mouth?!? Ewwww!"

I just smiled and took a bite.

C-O-C-K

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Wed, 20 Aug 2014 10:00:00 +0000

I was writing yesterday's post (The Surprises in Room 139 - Part 3 of 3) when I noticed that my son was reading over my shoulder.

Ack!

I quickly minimized the screen and turned to look at him.

"What's up?" I asked.

He looked down for a minute and then looked at me and pointed at my screen. "I saw the word C-O-C-K. What are you writing?"

On the inside, I was screaming, "fuck, fuck, fuck...." but before I could come up with a reasonable response, he said, "Have you been writing fan fiction? I heard that lots of moms are doing that these days."

I started laughing. "No, TommyKat. I'm not writing fan fiction. That would be silly, wouldn't it?"

"I didn't think you would do that," he said, giggling.

"I was just writing a barnyard fable. I think you saw the part where I was writing about the rooster." Then I tickled him and said, "Cock-a-doodle-do!"

He laughed. "Oh, I get it. Can I read it when you're done?"

"Of course you can! Now let me get back to work, ok? We'll play later."

And he happily skipped away to play a video game.

I took a deep breath.

Barnyard fable? How did I come up with that? It was the only thing I could think of that would include a respectable use of the word c-o-c-k. Fortunately, all he knows about my work is that I do all kinds of writing for all kinds of people.

Relieved that I'd dodged a bullet, I finished writing the post. Then I opened a new blank document and started writing "Trouble on the Farm: A Barnyard Fable." The protagonist is a very proud and handsome cock who picks on the hens. If he's not careful, the farmer's wife may eat him.

The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 3 of 3)

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Tue, 19 Aug 2014 21:25:00 +0000

If you haven't yet read the first two parts of this encounter, here they are:
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 1 of 3)
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 2 of 3)

**********************************

One of the frustrating things about only having a couple of hours together is that you want to do much more than you can do in that amount of time. Ultimately, you just have to let go of plans and expectations and go with the flow. That's what I decided to do at this point.

I had checked the time and it was time to go. In fact, it was about 5 minutes before my "must go now" time. But we were both having such a nice time and I was in the mood and he was hard again, so......

I scooted down and started licking his cock. I was thinking. He came just a little while ago. Could he come again so soon? How long would that take? I started to wonder if he'd want to go for it again, but then I realized I was taking a rock hard cock into my mouth. That's usually a sign that he wants to go for it. I think that's the universal male sign for, "Go for it!" So I did.

I got comfortable, prepared to spend some time. Rushing wouldn't work. The only way this would happen is if I focused on the journey, rather than the destination. I took him into my mouth and suckled him slowly, playfully. Then after a moment or two, I sucked the head into my throat and swallowed, massaging him with my soft palate and flicking my tongue on the base. Every time he moaned, I stopped what I was doing and changed it up, trying different things, exploring, playing.

About ten minutes into it, I felt a twinge in my pussy, then another. I sucked him harder, almost as an automatic response to what I was feeling. Now I wasn't playing anymore. Whenever my pussy twitched I'd press into whatever I was doing with renewed focus and passion. If I had taken him in deep, I'd dive down further. If I was on an upstroke, I'd just suckle the head for a bit.

I knew he was done with my eclectic approach when I felt him grab my head and hold it down while he thrusted upward from below. I pressed my legs together and started grinding, wanting to cum, but trying to stay focused on him. I wasn't very successful until I heard him groan loudly and push my head down, holding me firmly while he came.

I held my breath, then came up swallowing. After, I kissed his cock gently, as I always do. I was about to crawl back up to kiss him when I thought. Wait. What's good for the goose is good for gander. He never stops when I come. He always keeps going. I wonder what would happen if...... Besides, horny is an understatement for what I was feeling at the moment.

I didn't care what time it was.

I looked up at him and took his cock into my mouth again. He smiled and chuckled a little. He didn't get completely soft after he came, and it didn't take long at all before he was as hard as he was before. Every now and then he'd say something, but to be honest, I don't know what he said. His voice had a magical effect on me, though. My pussy wasn't just twitching anymore; it was on fire.

I was conflicted again. I really needed a good hard fucking, but I was committed to seeing if I could get a 3rd orgasm out of him, and I was finding it pretty pleasurable. I could wait. For a little while, anyway.

I refocused on his cock and started with the exactly what I had been doing when he came a moment ago. He moaned loudly. I relaxed and kept going, sliding my hands up his hips and around his lower back, then down to his backside, pulling him up a little on each downstroke so I could get him even deeper.

My mind wandered at times. Why does this guy turn me on like he does? Why does my body respond to him so easily? Why do I like being with him so much? Why does his voice make me feel both calm and excited at the same time?

Every now and then he'd do something that would pull my attention back to him completely - a moan, a word or two, his grip on my hair pulling my head up forcing me to pull against him to get back to his cock. And whenever my attention came back, not only did I go after his cock more hungrily, but I realized how close I was to coming.

It seemed like a long time later, but eventually he groaned loudly again and held my head down. I felt his cock pulsate in my mouth, but very little ejaculate came out. When he released me a moment later, he said, "Damn, you drained me." That made me smile, So, that's really possible, I thought.

My pussy was quivering wildly. Not. Quite. There. Ugh!

I lapped up a few drops of cum and crawled back up to kiss him. I wanted to suggest that we do something more to take the edge off my slutty and needy pussy, but I realized that it had to be late. I checked the time and I was right. I had to go. I was already late. Fuck.

As I was driving home, I still wanted him. Later that night, I still wanted him. Finally, I found some release in the shower, but it didn't relieve my desire for him at all. And we had no date for another meeting.

I hoped it would be soon.

The Art of the Alibi

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Tue, 19 Aug 2014 05:49:00 +0000

The main reason that prowlers get caught is because they get sloppy with their alibis. We tend to be very careful in the beginning and then, if we have succeeded at not being caught, we get cocky and start to cut corners and that's when the disasters happen.

A good alibi needs to be simple, believable, and verifiable.

It should be simple because the likelihood of being caught goes up exponentially with each degree of complexity. Simple means that it doesn't involve more than one other person ("Oh, I was at Dave's house with all the guys from the bowling team." "Really? I talked with Marcia tonight and Steve and Joe were at her house." Oops.), it's easy to remember ("What was the name of that new restaurant you said you went to with Joe the other night? What do you mean you don't remember? Do you still have the receipt?"), and it doesn't involve multiple steps ("I was at the book store, then I went to the gun store, then took the car for an oil change, and...and...and...."). The more complicated it gets, the more chances you have to screw it up.

Of course, everyone knows it needs to be believable. In fact, that's what we spend most of our time on. It needs to be something that you either normally do already or that your spouse would think is reasonable for you. If you never go anywhere, it's time for you to get a life. Not only will this help you become a much more interesting person, but it will help establish an alibi should you need one in the future. If you regularly volunteer at your local homeless shelter (or animal shelter or whatever), it will be pretty easy to peel away a few hours from that activity to use for some playtime. For godsake, don't use going to the library as an alibi if you don't have a library card, and if you hate museums, don't use going to an art museum as an alibi. Use some common sense, will ya?

It also needs to be verifiable. This is the one that catches many of us and, yes, this is the one that caught me. I had planned for my time one day a couple of years ago so I could spend a nice 6-8 hours with JJ. I picked a business trip as an alibi, a client that I had been seeing fairly regularly recently and that was located 3 hours away. The round trip would be 6 hours of driving, plus two hours of meeting time while I was there. There it is. 8 hours. What I didn't plan on was that Hubby would be tracking my mileage. If I had actually gone where I said I was going, I would have logged about 350-380 miles on the car. Instead, I logged 60 miles. I had some 'splainin' to do.

You should have seen his face. He had that, "Gotcha!" look and he was acting victorious until he realized what every newly awakened cuckolded spouse eventually asks. What now? Yeah, he caught me, but what was he going to do then? Anyway, that's another story. (For those who don't know, I didn't try to wiggle out of it. I fessed up.)

The point of this part of the story is that I truly came to appreciate how important it is that an alibi be verifiable. Now when I establish an alibi, I know how many miles I'd log round trip if I actually went there and I make sure that my rendezvous location will be within a few miles of that distance.

If you suspect that your spouse may be tracking your whereabouts via GPS (or if you just want to be extra careful), pick a meeting location that is near your alibi spot, and park at the alibi spot. If you're being tracked through your phone, consider leaving your phone in the car, where you're supposed to be, if you can. If you can't, get a room that is closest to your alibi location.

Also, for an alibi to be truly verifiable, if you say you're going to be with a friend, that friend should know that he/she is an alibi and should be willing to vouch for you. That doesn't necessarily mean that the friend has to know your prowling. For example, I have a good friend who knows I spend most of my time locked in the tower (my home), under Hubby's careful watch. She knows I rarely get out these days and that makes me crazy. So, from time to time, I can call her and say, "Hi Suzy. I've got cabin fever and I'm dying to do some shopping. Can I tell Hubby I'm having lunch with you?" She says yes, happy to be helping a friend, and we agree on where we went shopping and that we didn't buy anything. You may ask why I just didn't ask Hubby if I could go shopping (or tell him I was going shopping, depending on how liberated you are), but that won't work for me because Hubby needs to be able to verify my story, which he can do if I'm with a friend. If I'm going out alone, Hubby hears that as "fucking around" and more deadbolts are added to the tower doors.

There were a couple of times a while back when I said I was going to Cara's house for lunch or a BBQ. To help verify that, Cara texted me a few photos of the BBQ, herself, the food, and I saved them to my phone and texted them to Hubby. Then Cara texted him a picture of herself at the BBQ with a little message, "Wish you could have joined us!" Hubby was happy. Heck, what man wouldn't be happy to get a text and a photo from Cara? :-)

If you use a friend as an alibi, and that friend doesn't know it, you're rolling the dice. What if your spouse runs into him/her at the gym or the grocery store or the park or wherever when he/she is supposed to be with you? What if your spouse asks him/her about your outing a week or two from now and that person just looks back at him confused?

Finally, don't sabotage your own alibi. If you said you were going to share a meal with a friend, don't come home ravenously hungry. Dress appropriately for wherever you are supposed to be. If it's a work appointment, don't wear your jeans (unless that's what you wear for work appointments). You also need to talk about your alibi without looking or sounding nervous. Talking about it needs to come easy to you. If it doesn't, re-think it.

If you feel like this alibi business feels slimy and scummy, that's because it is. Lying to Hubby is the worst part about prowling, by far. I've even cancelled a couple of play dates because I just couldn't lie to him on those days. There was no particular reason except I just couldn't do it. As most of you know, my preference would be to be completely honest and upfront about the whole thing. Unfortunately, that's not what Hubby wants.

Do you have a favorite alibi? Is it simple, believable, and verifiable? Have you ever been caught because you used a bad alibi?

Use Your Teeth

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Mon, 18 Aug 2014 04:28:00 +0000

Random Thoughts on a Sunday Afternoon

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Mon, 18 Aug 2014 00:09:00 +0000

It's Sunday afternoon and I have the house all to myself. Don't ask how it happened, just accept that it is a miracle that is unlikely to be repeated soon. I decided to post because I have a bunch of thoughts running through my brain that need a place to get out. So here I am, taking advantage of the opportunity to write without having to look over my shoulder.

If you haven't noticed, we have 5 new blogs on the blog roll on the right sidebar! Thank you to those who recommended them. I'm familiar with all but one of them, and that one comes with great recommendations. Please visit the blogs you see on the roll. I know you'll like them. If you have any others to recommend, just let me know in the comments or by sending me an email. I love to share with my fellow prowlers.

I'm thinking of starting a Q&A feature. People email in questions and I post the questions and answers. What to you think? I already do half of it. People email me questions and I answer them, but I often think it would be good to share some of those questions and answers with everyone, as long as the person asking the question doesn't mind. They are questions about affairs and marriage and prowling. Right up our alley. Let me know your thoughts.

I was hoping to have some playtime, but it didn't work out. That always puts me in a bit of a funky mood. It's the connection with another human being I crave. Things with Hubby are a bit distant these days, and when Hubby is distant and lover is busy I can start to feel a bit down and cranky. It's not rational, of course. It just is.

When I feel a little down, I'll sometimes search Google for sex news because it's hard to read sex news without laughing. Today, though, I came across an article with this headline - Ohio Man Admits to Having Sex with 100 Dead Women. Ewwww! Apparently, this guy was a morgue attendant and he really did fuck dead people while he was on the night shift. This made me wonder...Can you be a victim of rape if you're dead? In his deposition he admitted to attacking the women when he was drinking or using drugs. Is it an attack if the person is dead? Don't get me wrong, it's bad and it's sick and it's not a good thing, but is it rape? I don't know. I'm not so sure. Of course, families will sue now, and I'm sure they'll collect some damages, but I have no idea how those would be calculated. I also found it interesting how the article made it sound worse that he had sex with a pregnant woman who had been recently murdered. Is sex with a (formerly) pregnant dead woman worse that sex with a non-pregnant dead woman? Is sex with a murder victim worse that sex with a woman who died from natural causes? And exactly how weird is it that I have written over 10 lines about this?

Have a great week, Prowlers! :-)

Make Your Life Spectacular

noreply@blogger.com (Kat) — Fri, 15 Aug 2014 19:32:00 +0000

I know you've heard or seen a million comments or tributes to Robin Williams lately, and you probably don't need any more, but this one is very brief - only one minute long - and it is perfect. It says what needs to be said.

I have some things I want to share with you about depression and suicide and living, but not today, not yet. For now, I want Mr. Williams' own words to speak.

Friends, this is truly what I want for you. Make your life spectacular.

I write here a lot about making your life what you want it to be, living for the moment (Carpe Diem), and living purposefully rather than by default. They are great ideals, but very hard to implement. We usually don't make a serious effort to try until something jogs us out of our daily routine and addiction to all of the distractions that actually keep us asleep and unable to truly live.

The bottom line, though, is that it's a choice. I have friends who desperately need some change in their lives, but they won't make it because they think they can't. They are wrong. They can, but they choose not to for a wide variety of reasons, some of them good and some of them bullshit. Mostly, it's about fear of one kind or another.

It's hard to make your life spectacular if you won't let go of the fear and jump anyway.

This is not about depression at all, or any of the things that may or may not have led to Mr. Williams' death. It's about life. It's about the same 1,440 minutes that we all have in each day and how you choose to spend them. It's about choosing your life one minute at a time.

It's about choosing to make your life spectacular.

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