More Pourri for Your Pot!

I’d Love to Verb Your Noun

I listen to books on CDs while I commute to and from work. I go through about a disc per day and this certainly makes the travel time zip by. However, it can be a problem listening to romance books with their soft porn scenes.

Listening to the first Outlander book had me squirming on many a drive home, and attacking my husband as soon as I walked in the front door. Little did I know that Diana Gabaldon’s passages were mild.

Right now, I’m listening to a book about leopard shape shifters. Overall the book is fun, but the naughty bits are certainly, well, naughty. Being summer in SoCal, I have the windows down while the AC gets up to speed. I turn on the player while stopped at a red light. A husky male voice said, “His throbbing cock thrust into her wet velvet sheath.” I look up and see a cluster of teenagers also waiting for the light to change. Their eyes are filled with horror and curiosity. I roll up the windows and pray for green.

Shoes, Glorious Shoes!

I can’t wear high heels. Between weighing more than is proper and having done stupid things in my youth, and nearly breaking the bones in one foot, the pain of heels is not worth it. But I love to look at shoes. It can be the first thing I notice about a person. I do often find myself in meetings where we sit in chairs in a circle. I look at the shoes so as not to stare people in the face. In the stalls in ladies’ rooms, often all I see of someone is a cute pair of shoes. I am struck by the styles some people can wear in a work environment. And a man who cross-dresses? I totally admire that talent.

Today I saw a woman in the stall next to me wearing those “Gladiator” style sandals with lots of thin straps over the whole foot. All I could think of was that if I tried to wear that style, my feet would end up looking like a roast tied up for cooking. Ew! (Actually this looks pretty tasty, but I wouldn’t want one on the end of my leg.)

Ticklish Much?

Yes, I am ticklish. I have been all my life. I can be mad as hell at someone, and if they tickle me, I’m laughing. And that just makes me angrier.

My beloved never tickles me on purpose. But sometimes his hand will touch a sensitive spot too lightly, and I jump and squeal. At least, I don’t think he does that deliberately.

He often teases me about “shrimping,” which has to do with his mouth and my toes. Not while I am still breathing. Not if he wants to keep his teeth. Being diabetic, I have had doctors check my feel for reflexes. If Mike is with me, he tries to warn the medico. So far I have not done any permanent damage to a doctor. Good thing there isn’t a patient version of malpractice.

And Another Thing About Porn CDs

The man narrating the book about the leopards has a great voice and a great range of accents and characters. I am pretty sure, however, at the end of each session, he goes into a padded, sound proof room, and laughs hysterically. Every time I hear him say cock or nipple or womb or wet panties, I think, I hope his mom never listens to this. Or his grandpa. Or his cousin Sadie. Oy!


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