Tag Archives: Boyfriends

Scrabble

#72 loves Scrabble. He plays against his friends in person, via his iPad and in between, against the computer. He has such a great command of the English language I can’t believe I beat him the second time we played. (Although the word “myriad” was a bone of contention with us. He didn’t think I spelled it correctly. I got over 50 points for it so I’m taking the win).

A few days ago #72 sent me a text with a picture of his latest computer scrabble game. There were four words right next to one another. “Deranged. Babe. Dying. Cunt.” We thought it was hilarious. Of course at first I didn’t see the word “deranged” because that didn’t interest me as much as Babe’s dying cunt.

Is it dying? I think so. I got a little hand job after our swim in his awesome salt water pool, but I had to ask for it and it was a little awkward but it was something. Right? No, not anymore.

It’s been over 2 ½ years since I’ve been properly fucked. I’m going to be 47 in a few months and am worried that in a few years I won’t be fuckable at all. Not that I’m looking much worse than I did last year, but I can’t tell. But I’m sure that I’m not going to look better than I did a year ago, or today for that matter. Time’s a ticking. It’s not a baby clock. It’s a cock clock.

I had to end it. I tried, for a year and a half and he always begged me to give him another chance, that he’d do what I needed him to do AFTER this or that. And I know I picked the worst time possible, two weeks after his surgery, but I couldn’t take it anymore. He was lovingly calling me his girlfriend in his Norco stupor and where we’d go when he got better. And I snapped. I wrote him his morning email of support and happiness and then got a text from #71, I changed my mind. I didn’t want to be his “girlfriend” anymore, I knew how much he appreciated me and cared for me. He said it all the time. But that morning, I couldn’t take it anymore so I ended it. Lynn said fuck this, the deranged babe’s dying cunt was going to get some dick.

It’s been almost 3 weeks and I miss him a lot. I do. He was a great guy and I do love him, but it’s time to love myself more. I’ve already set up a Tinder account and got 40 matches in less than a week. I finally have something to write about. List it as a favorite, tell your friends, Lynn Halsted is back on the market and on the prowl.

Moral of the story, depending on where you put it, “over” is worth at least 7 points.

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Toys

So today was an adventurous day.  I went and got a vibrator to use with #72.  We have talked about it a bit and even though he had said he’d take care of it, but that was months ago.  So I got my shit together and went to The Pleasure Chest.  But not alone.

I went with my lipstick lesbian friend and HER bull dyke friend.  Or is it just butch?  I’m not sure, but she wears a strap on sometimes and her hair was short and her voice, a little on the deep side.  Anyhow, she came along because she is a sexpert apparently and was more than happy to share her expertise.

Even though she was from San Francisco, she marched into the joint like she was a regular.  She took me right to the rabbit section.  She was telling me how to get an intense, mind blowing organism like I’d never had one before.   I felt a little judged to be honest.  She never had a conversation with my snooch and doesn’t know what it’s seen, heard or experienced.

As we walked towards the back of the store, I saw the whips and riding crops and got a little nostalgic and warm between the thighs.  I ignored the nipple clips and spiked cock rings and reminisced about Ex-Husband #1.  Our sex life was a 10 on the richtor scale and never needed a rabbit vibrator to get there.  So take that!

I’m not expecting mind blowing sex with #72, but I can get some mind anything I’ll be happy.   Tomorrow night I’m going to The Hotel with plans to play with my new toy.  I decided not to open it until I see him.  For a couple of reasons; the whole thing makes me a little nervous, oddly enough.  And two, I don’t want him to think it’s used when I get it to him.  I’ll say this much, when we break up, I’m taking it with me.  $60 worth of “let’s really try to work on this so all my friends stop telling me to leave you” is not getting left behind.

The specifics:  it’s slightly soft, kind of silky texture but not in a plastic kind of way.  More in a “head of the cock” kind of way.  And while it’s fashioned after the shape of a penis, it doesn’t look like one.  Those fake cocks are disgusting.  I would not want one in me.  If I want something that looks like a dick in my snooch, it’d better be a dick.   I’ve got a few people I can call if need be.  That’s my threat to myself, I can make a call and get someone over here in an hour.  But I could be delusional. 

I wonder how true that is.  Maybe I should contact #71 just to let him know I’m alive.  I won’t, but I’m thinking about it.  He said he wanted to do whatever I wanted to do, go as kinky as I wanted to go.  It makes me think.  Think about why I’m still with #72.

Maybe tomorrow night, with a little pink/orange, battery operated action, I’ll know.

Moral of the story, not sure how far $60 will get you in the bedroom.  Last I heard, it’s more than $100 a pop for a blow job.

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Head

I used to pride myself on giving a good blow job.  I’m out of practice.  As you know #72 has issues.  Some women would be relieved, but I miss having a cock in my mouth.  Or should I say “hard cock” because a soggy one just feels like having the flab off someone’s arm wobbling down your throat.

The first time I gave a blow job, was really an attempt at a blow job.  In terms of my sex progression I pretty much ran a double from second and slid into home plate.   But #3 was an instructor and after going down on me, he kind of expected something in return.  I was game for something new, but scared.  If memory serves me correctly, he had a biggish cock.  But then I have a horrible memory so it might have been small. AND I wasn’t a connoisseur of cock yet so there you go.  We will never know.

I remember taking his cock in my hands and kind of inspecting it, the way you would for herpes sores.  It was just, I’d had his dick in me but had never really SEEN it.  Or any for that matter and especially not that close up.   So my first time giving head was more of an experiment and I guess I did okay after that.  Not great, but okay.  Since then, I like to see how far down my throat I can get a cock.  I don’t have the gag reflex, but haven’t been able to work out the breathing thing.  I’m a bit of a mouth breather by trade and getting turned on and breathing through your nose is hard.  And when you try to breathe with a dick in your mouth, you start panting and while that might be sexy when you’re fucking, in this case it sounds like a cat trying to cough up a hairball.

I remember #61 once saying that what I lacked in skill, I made up for in enthusiasm.   On one level I was happy with that assessment.  Yes, I am an over achiever and aim to please, but if I really dig deeply, that was an asshole thing to say.  I take compliments where I can get them (oh look that dog is sniffing my crotch, I must look hot in these jeans) so I just ignored the put down.  I think that I do that a lot.  Is it insecurity or just a form of desperation?  I have no idea, I’ve tried to block it out of my mind, but as I go through my list, it comes up a lot.  At least I don’t have any of those problems with #72.  Well, he can’t really talk about my blog jobs anyway since he’s not able to appreciate them. 

Will my skills go away?  Is it worth blowing a dildo?  I mean, it can’t tell you how good you’re doing.  Or how much enthusiasm you have. 

Moral of the story, if someone’s going to complain about your blowjob skills, they shouldn’t have their dick in your mouth.

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#72

Here I am getting all confessional on you, but I figure, jump right in.  So, I’ve been with #72 for over a year now.  I feel awful that I’ve stymied my quest for triple digits, but alas, he’s a good man.  Not good in bed, but you’d never know as we never have sex.  And when we do, it’s so vanilla that I want to add chocolate chips and a waffle cone.  Isn’t this ironic, me, Lynn Halsted, in a sexless relationship. 

I keep telling myself, I’ve had A LOT of good dick in my 45 years (well, the 28 that I’ve been having sex) and maybe it’s okay to be with someone who is just a great guy and good to me.  And then I tell myself that no, it’s NOT okay, but I’m just not ready to break up with him.  I’m actually WORKING on this with him.  I’m being PATIENT which is so unlike me.  And yet, here I am, being that way.

So I’m in this fucked situation where I’m really happy but not getting laid.  I’m celibate and not by choice.  Is this what happens in marriages?  Not MY marriages.  But then again they only lasted 2 years each.

I’m torn by the whole thing.  We’ve tried to talk about it, and he says he’ll do better, but he hasn’t.   Every few days he’ll finger bang me, but it’s just not enough.  I’m going to buy toys, but will he even use them or is that too avant guard for him.  He thinks it’s naughty to slap my ass while I’m getting dressed.  It’s like, get me naked with a collar and push my face into the bed while you do me from behind and THEN slap my ass.  THAT would make me happy.

But he’s interested in making me happy in every other way.  He’s the perfect boyfriend… but kind of a platonic one that I get to kiss and sleep in bed with.   I just don’t know at the moment.  We had a nice dinner last week.  We held hands.  Yawn

Moral of the story, keeping a relationship up doesn’t really work unless he can keep it up. 

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Back to the Basics

The readers of this blog have often asked if everything I write about is true.  Well readers, yes it is.  All of it.  But maybe there has been something lacking in all my exploits, and I plan to share that with you now.  Dare I say it?  A little reality.   Crass, always, funny, hopefully, raw, definitely.  But Lynn is going to become 3 dimensional and after almost two years, it’s about time.

So we’ll start from the beginning and revisit how those actual numbers have affected me.  Not only back then, but today. 

So here we go, I’m Lynn Halsted, I’m 45 and live in Los Angeles with a cat named Ike and a dog named Dave.  I think I look like I’m 37.  (or so I tell myself as I drink a Slurpee.  Do 45 year old women drink Slurpees?  Especially ones that don’t have kids?)  I’ve been married twice and divorced twice.  Thankfully since both guys were cocksuckers and one for real.     

I’ve had some really good fucks but I wouldn’t say they added to my life that much just my Excel spreadsheet.   Not that I feel bad about good dick action, but when I think I’ve only had 4 real boyfriends and two of them turned into marriages, that’s not a good number of actual relationships.  Sigh.

So here we go, as they say on Iron Chef America, “with an open heart and empty stomach, a la cuisine!”   Or as I like to say, “I have condoms.”

Moral of the story, if you open your life, in addition to your legs, you can have more blog traffic.  (or so we hope)

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And She’s Back…

After a little over a month of retirement (or would it be a vacation?)  I’m happy to announce that I’m back online and blogging.  Rest assured, the pancakes have been regular; I’m still seeing #72.  It’s blossomed into a definite “thing”, but don’t’ worry, I haven’t softened that much.  I still have backup plans in place.  #66 has a spot in my phone and on my mind.  Can’t get “too” attached.   I gave up the condoms, not the realism that relationships usually end.

But for now, after 5 months, #72 deserves a more fitting title.   As boyfriend/girlfriend freaks me out, we refer to each other as boyfriend-y/girlfriend-y.   Makes it less scary for me and I like the letter “Y”, so whenever I can add it to the back of a word, I’m happy.

Being exclusive with Boyfriend-y  is an odd thing for me.  It requires patience and a little discretion.  When I start to talk about sex, he likes to say, “less is more”.   He’s not that interested in hearing about my past exploits and gets a little upset when I refer back to them.  Suffice it to say, he doesn’t read the blog.  Not sure if that’s a good thing or not, he could use a few tips here and there.

Perhaps that’s why I haven’t been blogging as much, the sex isn’t the best part of the relationship.   For the first time in a LONG time, I’m more interested in the other stuff he has to offer.  Don’t worry, the snark and stories will continue, I have more than enough of them to last another year (did you know the one year anniversary passed a few days ago?) I just have to go back through my Excel spreadsheet and maybe spend a few minutes under the covers with my hand.

What a great idea.  Is it 6pm yet?  Can I go home?

Moral of the story, getting off work isn’t as good as getting off at home 20 minutes later.

 

 

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