Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Sweetly helpless millie

I really had just the most wonderful evening last night, thanks in large part to millie.

As you can imagine, she now identifies herself as millie when she calls. (No, it didn't take long, but still, I am pleased with her.)

Guess what we talked about?

No. Silly. Not that.

We talked about how nice it feels to her when I'm pampered.

Some people want phone sex. mille wants phone massage. That is, it pleases her enormously to talk about how she'd love to give me a foot rub. Or a calf rub. Or shoulders, for that matter.

So we talked. her about her day, and her feelings, and how the ones that she was feeling just then, while we were talking, tended to pop up during the day when Milton was wearing his suit and how strange they felt. At first I wasn't quite sure
whether she meant the feelings and how strange they felt, or the oddly heavy weight of the suit jacket and slacks, which most women would find a little constraining. So of course - being all about clear communication - I asked her about it. What was it, dear millie, that felt so strange? Was it that suit - the slightly padded shoulders, the weight of the wool, the button on the collar and the tie? Was that what felt strange? Or was it something else? The feeling that it wasn't quite right, even though it was something she'd worn for years?

Before she answered, she talked about how her hands would cup my heel and her fingers would press gently but firmly into the soles of my feet. How they would knead into the ball of my foot, how one hand would hold my toes back a little while the other stroked the sole and stretched things... pleasurably.

millie in fact became so entranced by the idea that she quite lost track of time, talking about how nice it would feel to have my foot, my calf in her hands. And when I asked her to be quiet, she just listened to me talk about, well whatever. How sweet she was. How lovely it was that she would take so much pleasure in giving me a massage. How much of a relief it must feel for her to talk with someone who understands things that most people don't have the capacity to understand.

We all have different aspects to ourselves, after all. Strong. Weak. Aggressive. Passive. Female. Male. It's just the nature of things, really.

Though of course not everyone is, well, sensitive to all that. They're busy. Involved in one thing or another. The lawn needs attention. The bedroom needs painting. The groceries need getting. you know.

you do know. Don't you?

millie just wanted a friendly ear, someone to let her express herself. It probably didn't hurt things much when i rested my nicely massaged and relaxed foot on her crotch and we talked about how the ache can be so difficult to deal with.

But, well. You know me. All wise, and all knowing. We found a way to deal with that.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

If only...

If only I'd had him here and a nice, beefy dildo. Nothing crass and vulgar.

But BIG.

It was one of those smart ass callers. Oh, alright. He was one of those smart ass callers. You know the kind, or can imagine - the ones who are saying, 'Bet you can't make me say uncle.' I actually said what I'd wanted to for some time: 'No, but if you give Me your father-in-law's number, I imagine he will.'

The fool. He should have just gotten off the phone. But, of course, he didn't.

We chatted. This and that.
What's the weather like there. How fat his dick is. How he couldn't stand those neutered 'guys' who get manicures and hold the little woman's purse at the mall. I think he was too well brought up to actually use the offensive derogatory slang for men who prefer the company of their own gender in intimate settings, the word that begins with F and ends with T.

Sigh. I asked him how it feels when a woman's silky slip accidentally touches his cock. He had to pause for a moment - he wasn't on autopilot any more.

With some guys, that's all it takes. A little sneak attack. (Yes, if I do say so myself, I can be a bit sneaky.) I could almost hear the blood rushing from one head to the other, and what was so wonderful about it is that he just didn't get it. Yes, yes, I described the soft fabric sliding across the tip of his cock and how it must feel just so nice to him when it comes up under the shaft and lingers just beneath the head and runs over the slit.

Gawd it didn't take much. He was
pumped up and all almost hootin' and hollerin' and ready to praise be to, well, You know, and I said, 'Feels so nice, when it slides across the tip, and what's interesting is that the only guys who really notice that - well, they wind up wearing the slips themselves, and I can bet that you'd look just lovely in one.'

He lost it. Yes, his load.

So, I asked him - politely, of course - 'Why did it make you cum when I talked about you wearing a slip - you're not a
sissy by any chance, are you?'

He swore a few times and hung up the phone.

But I know him. Guys like him.

He'll be back. They always are.