body chemistry

September 30, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life

In school, I never found interest in an entire subject area. Today, it remains the same. My interest in science is neglible. Although, in one area it’s the new rising sun.

When I was a girl, my mother told women would pay to have hair as straight as mine. She regailed me with stories, and horror stories, of how women ironed their hair to straighten it to my silky fine texture.

Through school until college, I had boring, glossy straight hair. I couldn’t participate in the 80s game of ‘who has the biggest bangs’ or ‘who has the biggest hair.’ Thank god for it, as well.

Through my 20s, I tended leave my hair shortish, always straight. My 30s arrived and things changed. I went from being a one-orgasm-a-night girl to a creature that adapted over night to multiple orgasms. A few other changes occurred that are not so pleasant, so I shan’t mention them.

The last change noticed: my hair. In the pace of a few months, I noticed that my boring, straight hair changed into a mane of waves. Long rivulets of chocolate and caramel now pool at my shoulders and drip down my back. These waves and rivulets came out of nowhere.

I’ve asked a few hairdressers what could cause this change and they are unable to provide an answer. A friend, a science-geeks, indicated the change in my diet to one high in proteins might be the cause. I doubt that is the case, though.

I know the same change happened to my grandmother. She has rather wavy short hair. My mother’s hair isn’t long enough to determine if it would be wavy or not. She has a cut that’s a slightly longish pixie.

My question is this: can my body chemistry have changed in my 30s to cause this shift? Does anyone know definitively?

Now playing Goldfrapp: Happiness: Seventh Tree [4:16]

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autumnal air?

September 29, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life

Something is in the air. I don’t know about you…but, I’ve been horny all weekend. It would have been the perfect time to molest a lover.

I didn’t want to do anything kinky or have any particular fantasies that I wanted to fulfill. I just wanted to spend the weekend rutting in bed. Actually, it wouldn’t have to be in just bed. We could fuck in the kitchen and over the back of the sofa, too. I’m an equal opportunist, you see.

I don’t know if you can tell, this sense of urgency to rut is still overwhelming me this morning. Over the weekend, if my hand wasn’t in my panties, I was thinking about it being there. My thoughts centered on pleasure, giving [although honestly] most receiving.

I’m in the mood that I just want to be touched. I want to be kissed. I want to be stroked.To me, there isn’t anything that makes me feel as feminine as two strong arms wrapped around me and fingers sliding over me, providing pure pleasure.

I need some of that RIGHT NOW. I might have to slink back to bed for a quick fiddle session. I have a full and harried day ahead of me and I want to start it off with a band and, of course, on the right footing.

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family requests

September 27, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life

I respect and adore my father. It’s fair to say that we are too close in temperment to be in confined spaces for too long. Alas, this afternoon, that is just what happened.

A bit of back story, my mother is known for doing silly things with computers. My father went from cajoling to yelling and berating to the point where she installs nothing. She asks me to do it; then, my father uninstalls it anyway. Nice guy, huh? His reasoning, it makes it too long to load. So, when their [shared] computer gets a virus, guess who gets the blame?

It all started with a call this afternoon. “Coquette*…Are you working? It’s Dad.”

“Nah, I finished up and I don’t work until later this evening.”

“Oh, that’s great. Why don’t you stop by…I made pulled pork. It’s very good. Oh, yeah, and, I’m having some problems with the computer, why don’t you take a look.”

Rolling my eyes, knowing the reason for the call was the computer not the pulled pork**, I agree and say, “Sure, Dad. I’ll be over in a bit.”

So, not all that long later, I turn up. I’m wearing capris and a t-shirt and my father is regaling someone with a story of what he told Democratic Party pollsters***. He hears me walk into his office and points me in the direction of the computer, I sit down and know immediately got this anti-virus malware from surfing porn****.

After ending his call, he sits on the leather footsool, after pulling it up to the desk and watches my every move. Can we say annoying? The conversation starts, “I was just looking at the sports scores.”

Now, let’s keep in mind that my father isn’t a sports fanatic. He only watches sports as a last resort if none of his ‘movies*****’ are on tv. Sports are only a priority if he actually gets to see a Baltimore Orioles or Ravens game.

So, he has malware on his pc. I told him that mom wasn’t to blame. She doesn’t surf sites that generate this sort of thing. She reads the news, checks her email and plays Bejewled.

I fixed the computer. And, I told Mom to chat with Dad about using protection when he surfs porn. He always has a knee-jerk reaction when he catches something after the fact. An ounce of prevention, you know…

Now playing Jace Everett: Bad Things: Jace Everett [2:44]

 

  1. * I nearly typed my given name. I’m glad I remembered to use my nom de plume.
  2. ** Holy crap! The pulled pork is just awesome. Melt in your mouth southern goodness.
  3. *** My father thinks both candidates are awful; he doesn’t believe they have plans for us; and, he thinks it’s all a big conspiracy from China and that they are trying to kill us. Yeah, my dad is going paranoid in his old age.
  4. **** I snuck up on Dad one day, he closed the window too late; I caught him looking at hardcore porn. I couldn’t care less, it’s not like I didn’t know. He always leaves his Playboys out.
  5. ***** My father has god-awful taste in movies. And, he watches them obsessively, over and over. We pitched in to get him his own DVR box so my mother wouldn’t be forced to watch them with him in the family room.

 

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astonished

September 25, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life

There are so many horrible things wrong with this interview I don’t even know where to begin.

Annoying to me, though, is the idea of paying [poor] women for a tubal ligation to stem the tide of generational welfare. Why does this politician see the solution in sterilizing women? The last time I checked, men still donated fifty percent of baby-making-materials to the process. Yet, nowhere do I see an offering for vasectomies for men in this offering. 

Ladies and gentlemen, sexism is alive and well.

Update: Apparently, he did float the idea of vasectomies for poor men. See it here.

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on-going third dates

September 25, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life

I’ve alluded to it several times on this blog and, if I wanted, I would find the referencing posts. I’m moving in the new year. I decided upon the city: Chicago. I’m looking forward to all that the city will provide: arts and culture, nightlife, better restaurant choices and MEN.

Now, you all know that I adore men. Especially bankers and attorneys, there is something about a well-dressed man that intoxicates me. And, the idea of moving to Chicago and finding a lover, well, that sounds like a lot of fun. I’ll definitely need someone to help keep me warm in the winter months.

Now, this might come as a bombshell to y’all; I’ve made a decision. I’m going to have my lover and look for a boyfriend. My recent self-imposed celibacy isn’t working. I need to touch and be touched on a regular basis. And, more importantly, I want a few tiny strings and a emotional connection.

I’m generally loathe to use that word, boyfriend, as it sounds so juvenile and pedestrian. Although, it really is the best word for it. Given my track record, I’ll probably toss out and eliminate more candidates that I am willing to admit. I’m rather fussy, after all.

And, frankly, I see no reason to deny myself the pleasures of the flesh whilst looking for this potential boyfriend. I know it will take some time. So, I’ll be balancing boys. I rather like that.

Now, when I look for a lover, I liken it the relationship to on-going third dates. You go out for a meal or a movie. Perhaps, you meet at either’s house, fuck like bunnies and go out for dinner after. There is always some social interaction and fucking is expected [from both parties].

There are other rules, too. Perhaps, though, rules are too strong a term. There are certain expected behaviors. You have interesting conversations yet you never involve your personal or work drama. The lover isn’t invited to personal or work functions. Noticing a trend here?

Since it’s on-going third dates, that involves not calling every day, boys. It also means do not annoy me with multiple calls in one day, passive aggressive voicemail messages or inane chatter, so you can figure out if I’m into you. We will not delve into personal miseries. Everything is meant to be kept superficial.

Granted, if we continue to fuck, I like the way you fuck and enjoy it. If I’m not fucking you, you’ll be told to move on, you’re lovely and thanks for your time.

Remember, there are no strings between us. We will eventually become friends that fuck. We are not monogamous partners. I’m not going to be jealous if you want to fuck another woman and you are going to be the same.

What we will do is a myriad of things. We shall indulge each other in hedonistic pleasure. We shall indulge each other’s fantasies. We shall indulge each other’s kinks. At the end of the day, we shall have a marvelous time with each other without becoming romantically involved.

Watch out, Chicago men….I can be heartless and I want you to be forewarned.

Now playing Glen Campbell (covering Foo Fighters): Times Like These: Meet Glen Campbell [3:28]

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and i left for other reasons

September 23, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life, work

Several years ago, I left my office in corporate America. Specifically, I was in New Jersey, in the suburbs of NYC. My experiences were mixed. I had great bosses and not-so-great bosses. I was high enough to be considered a management employee, yet still insignificant enough, at corporate headquarters, to be relegated to a cubicle.

One of my colleagues, and at the time I thought friend, Cathy was known for being a loose cannon.She didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. She would argue with upper level management to make her point; or, until someone could sway her…which wasn’t often. More often than not, we left meetings with her looking smug, frowning about a decision as if to ready to say “I told you so” should it not work immediately. Locked in a conference room during team meetings, her language devolved into the inappropriate and some of us [on the team] thought she was flirting with our boss.

My boss always came into the office early and left no later than 3:15pm. Without fail when I arrived at the office at 7:00 am, he was reading the paper, drinking a cup of coffee and gnashing on a bagel with cream cheese. I will admit, in hindsight, that I was naive. One morning, the routine changed. He came over to my cube, chatted then told me something in confidence and added, “If you tell anyone…I’ll know it was you and that I’m not able to trust you.”

Immediately, I perceived a threat. Yet, my raise and bonus depended on this man. I kept the secret of what he said to me and didn’t tell a soul, even though, I knew it was wrong. Brought on board by our district manager, I didn’t feel comfortable skipping my boss and going to him. They had a personal relationship and I knew it would go directly back to my boss.

The week before Halloween, I felt out of sorts and was out of work ill. I returned only to fall ill with laryngitis and nasty head cold that evolved into an upper-respiratory tract infection. I was out of work for the entire month of November after three rounds of antibiotics, cough medicine and then cough medicine laced with codeine.

Given that my return to work was the first of December, my boss [whom I shall call Bob] was out, too. I didn’t think anything of it. I figured he was involved with his charity work or Christmas shopping for his family. An hour later, a colleague rolled in, insisted that I go to breakfast with him. This was highly unusual. Generally, we just chatted over our cubicle wall.

In the quiet, empty cafeteria, we sat at a secluded table. Then he dropped the bombshell. While I was out, Bob sexually harassed Cathy. The details were few and far between; this, however was what was pieced together. At the end of a meeting, Bob and Cathy remained alone in the conference room. Bob kissed Cathy. Cathy, a former team lead and supervisor, followed all the correct protocols. She said, “No, this is inappropriate. You’re married. I’m not interested in you and I do not want you to do this again.” She then fled to Bob’s manager, our district manager and told him what occurred.

Bob was immediately removed as our supervisor. The team was split and re-assigned. Bob was suspended without pay for several days, required to attend all sorts of training and mandated to speak with a therapist. He was no-longer allowed to have direct reports. He was not demoted nor fired. Outside the organization, it looked like a corporate re-shuffling.

Cathy’s greatest wish was granted. She was allowed to work permanent virtual office. The stress of seeing Bob would be too much for her to bear. Mind you, this all occurred a few weeks after Bob indicated she would have to start working three days a week from the office, for a partial day. (She had been in a virtual, home office.) And, every time she was in the office, we could all hear her bitching about being there.

After all this, my past conversation with Bob bubbled out. I said, it all made sense now. My colleague said (and rightly so) that I needed to report the unprofessional and perceived threat to upper management. I did.

I alluded to Cathy’s unprofessional behavior earlier. She flirted with him, made references to cocks and cunts in team meetings, even those of our team members. She flirted shameless with Bob and they were often locked together in private meetings. She dressed inappropriately for the office. She wore come-fuck-me-heels and dresses indecently short and fitted. While perhaps accepted today, there were not accepted in our stodgy atmosphere and corporate culture. She was never reined in.

All these years later, I think the decision to retain Bob and not terminate his employment was the correct one. While I do not believe that any supervisor in the workplace should breach the trust their subordinates have in them, I believe that Cathy led on Bob. This, however, does not excuse his behavior at all. I am sorry that Cathy had to manage the turmoil of being harassed, no one ought to have to deal with it. Yet, in the deeper, darker recesses of mind, I think she played it beautifully, going for and gaining in the end exactly what she wanted so she would not sue the company.

I believe, in part, Cathy’s own behavior, once under the microscope was part of the reason that Bob wasn’t terminated. Our team was grilled incessantly about their behavior. We were asked to recount, separately and collectively, the incidents we witnessed as apart of the team meetings.

I still question the guilt I have over this collective group of incidents. Should I shut down and think only that sexual harassment is wrong in any form no matter the root cause? Am I wrong to think she led him on?

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the last fruit of the season is always sweetest

September 22, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: flirtations, life

Cupped firmly in my hand, my fingers smooth over the soft-fuzz covering the skin. Staring intently at it, my mouth waters, hungers for it’s sweet taste. Teasingly, my thumb rubs back and forth over the firm skin.

My pink tongue slides from my mouth and laps lightly, once, at the resistant flesh. Leaving a slick, glistening spot, I know where to aim.

My lips are pursed in a delightlful manner. Not a pout yet not a pucker for a kiss, my lips, naturally plum, with a small beauty mark in the lower left quadrant, remain posed at the ready. Using my fingers, I pull my prey closer until I can press a small peck against the skin.

I kiss the pre-identified area again. This time, my lips part slightly and I feel the fuzz on the firm, fragrant skin. My eyes close, the target in my mind’s eye, I kiss again. My teeth lightly scrape the skin, a little coquettish taunt. The taunt firm enough to wonder if I might bruise the flesh.

Harder. Stronger. This next kiss is both. My teeth scrape the skin and taste the flesh. My tongue laps at the moistness, sticky and sweet. Moaning in delight as the taste bursts on my tongue, my eyes open.

The last peach of the season, ripened to perfection, is always the sweetest.

Now playing Mikabomb: Sweat Peach: The Fake Fake Sound of Mikabomb [3:09]

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another reason why i enjoy working at home

September 19, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life

When I worked in a very strict office, where bosses passed by subordinates’s cubes to make certain they were there, it was difficult to nip off to coffee bar in the building let alone to the loo. Summer days, much like this one, I would spend grinding and rocking in my chair, trying to alleviate some of my tension and frustration.

Invariably, I failed.

By the time I arrived home after a long day of work, inevitably, I rushed to my bedroom whilst pulling off clothes. I’d fall onto the bed in a heap of hands furious rubbing and stroking shortly thereafter, orgasming.

These days, working at home, I’m much luckier. I’m literally just across the hall from my bedroom. If I’m not in the middle of the call or working on another project, I can just skip across the bay of tiles to the room of carpeting. I can fling myself onto the bed and ravage myself with the assistance of my fantasies.

Of late, I’ve felt this need all the time. It’s ever-present. Sadly, I can’t tear myself away all the time to fondle and tease. I have to sit and think about what I want to do and what I want done to me.

This afternoon, it struck. Luckily, I wasn’t busy. It was the lunch hour and everyone skipped away from their desks in order to sate another need. Thoughts of debauchery filled my mind.

I crawled into my bed, in my darkened room. The sheets remained cool and crisp during the heat of the day thanks to the drawn blinds. I rotated until I was on my back, pillows plump and inviting beneath my head.

Without hesitation, my hand dips beneath the dark blue cotton-lycra blend of my gym togs. Easily, it dips beneath the lace of my knickers, boy shorts today. My fingers, long and slender, pushed between the full, smooth lips of my cunt.

Slick and wet, from my juices, my fingers found my clit and stroked in my favorite way. Round and round they moved. Pleasure coursed through me until moments later, my muscles tensed, my body arched and I came in a cacophony of moans and guttural sounds.

As the waves subsided, I relaxed and my fingers again found my clit. They cajoled and stroked, pulling another muscle tensing orgasm from me. This time, I continued to stroke and rub through the sensitivity, and I was rewarded with the muscles in my abdomen tensing and another shuddering orgasm.

After all the shudders, waves of pleasure and sensations abated, I remained prone, hands tucked beneath my pants and knickers, breathing deeply. I caught my breath, removed my hands and smiled as I sat up.

I pulled myself from my bed and walked the 20 paces or so into my office to sit at my desk. This, my dears, is yet another reason why I adore working at home.

Now playing Jason Mraz: I’m Yours: We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things [4:03]

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i want cake and cupcakes, too

September 18, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: fantasy, life

If you had asked me 10 or more years ago what I thought a relationship ought to look like, I would have succinctly indicated that a relationship involves two partners that love each other.

Today, I’m leaning towards disagreeing with my aforementioned statement. I think a viable case can be made for polyamory. Or, in more layman’s terms, the case can be made for multiple loves.

Since I’m writing about it here, you can guess that my idea for multiple loves is not strictly traditional, if there even is such a thing. For some time, I have pondered this idea and even discussed it with a client or two, perhaps three.

My idea is simple, really. My primary partner, the one to whom I might be bound in some sort of legal state, would be a submissive. Although, not just any submissive. I’d want him to have several kinks in common with me; I’d want him to be a good fit, like a glove.

As I mentioned, his interests need to dovetail (where did that saying come from?) mine: bondage, humiliation, tease and denial, chastity and cuckoldry. Ancillary interests would be feet and shoes, arts and literature, films and music, cleaning and making-me-happy.

For all intents and purposes, to the outside world, we would appear as a normal couple. We’d have our ups and downs. We’d have our tiffs; someone would slink off and sulk and someone would get her way. We would cuddle on the couch watching films or the game. We’d snog; We’d make out. These, however, would serve as tease and denial for him.

In our relationship, he would soon learn that he does not get to orgasm. He’d be kept chaste either through immense development of self control or man-made devices. Or, undoubtedly, a combination of both would be employed. He would be assigned tasks to complete, chores to do. His life would revolve around making me happy.

I, in turn, would see to his needs. Clearly, he has a deep need to submit. Resolved. (Really, it’s like putting a tick into a check box.) Another desire he has, that is not so clearly articulated is his fantasy, no his desire, to be a cuckold. He craves to wear the horns.

Because our desires mesh so well, I’d take a lover. I would pour my passion, sexual needs and desires into this relationship with this secondary partner. We’d gallivant around, wining, dining and fucking. We’d go on dates and, generally speaking, amuse ourselves lustily.

We’d fuck in the marital bed that my primary partner does not sleep in. If he was lucky, he might be allowed to listen to us fucking. If he was even luckier, he might bear first hand witness to our lusty desires. I’d force him to watch as I was fucked by another man. All the while, moaning and whimpering about what a good fuck he is; how much I adore his touch; how much I crave his touch when I sit with my primary partner, cuddling on the sofa.

The idea of my primary partner whimpering and moaning would fan the flames of my desires. And, the humiliation for him of watching another man with me, undoubtedly, would cause arousal. Which, knowing him, would cause him to beg and plead for release. Only if he had been very, very good and if this event coincided with his release schedule, would he be allowed it.

You see, the primary partner would only be allowed so many orgasms per year. Indeed, over time, these releases would grow less and less frequent. Also, I would find a way to turn the orgasm from a pleasureful event to one that is merely for milking, not for pleasure. Imagine the horror of being so aroused that you are begging for an orgasm, only to be milked in such a way that relief wasn’t truly granted.

I could go into many more details about all this. Although, I’m afraid that I might put some readers off and I would truly hate to do that. As you can see, though, I want my cake and cupcakes, too. (Chocolate cake with chocolate icing please, for both.)

Now playing Ours: The Worst Things Beautiful: Mercy… Dancing for the Death of an Imaginary Enemy [4:21]

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some men follow instructions…may ask for directions

September 17, 2008  //  Posted by: la coquette  //  Category: life, men

Laying back against the pillows, chocolaty, wavy hair framing my face, I sigh lustily. My fingers, slick and wet, dip in into my mouth. Through the wires, tubes and digitization of transfer, you hear me lapping at those long, glistening digits, sucking them clean. I remove them from my mouth the soft sounds of my lips parting the only accompaniment.

Closing the gap between us, the inevitable occurs: I giggle. It’s not the childish giggle of school girls when they look at their crush in a teen magazine. Rather, it embodies the joy of release and pleasureful satisfaction. During all of this, your breathing morphs from ragged, lustful gulps of air to the same, relaxed, sated state in which I reside.

As my giggles subside, you say, “I’ve made a mess.”

“If you hadn’t, you weren’t following the proper instructions.” I retort.

Now playing The White Tie Affair: Take It Home: Walk This Way [3:20]

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