Tag Archives: funny

Medium Cups

I’m due for some new bras.  I tend to keep the old ones a little too long.  I’m really not a big lingerie person except right now my new thing are character panties.  Like from the teen section at Target.  Cookie Monster and the Paul Frank monkey to name a few.  I feel slightly pedophilia-ish doing it, but I don’t flash 15 year olds anymore, so there you go.  And luckily, I have some bras that go with them.   Like the one I’m wearing right now, my push up red bra.   (is it really little if it’s a 36B?  By LA standards for sure, but it’s a handful I’m happy with) 

I was trying to think about blog ideas and grabbed my own left boob.  I wish I could say, Oh, I was at a baseball game and had my hand over my heart, but no, I just wanted to feel my boob in my bra.  Just to see how much boob there was filling up the bra.  I was disappointed to find not that much.  Truth be told, my tits don’t entirely fill the whole bra.  There’s some gappage.   Like a handful of extra room.  Which goes to prove that 1)  This bra is too big for me and 2)I don’t know how to buy bras.  But the red one is in my rotation and I’ll keep wearing it. 

Now, I like a lot of security in my rack.  Sure, walking Dave at midnight, I’ll forgo the pushup and wear a tank top and a sweatshirt to hide the swinging.  But it’s 1pm and I have to slightly presentable because I’m going to meet my mom later.

Here’s the thing though, which brings me back to my feeling myself up.  The bra is kind of hard which makes me think of fake tits.  I’ve felt a few in my day, more investigative than sexual.  Kind of a poke and wow, that does feel weird.    This bra, I’m wearing, is giving my fingers the same sensation.  And if I do it enough, I’ll have a bruise, which in my mind, is kind of sexy.

I think first of all, I need to go on a bra expedition.  My next vacation destination, Nordstrom Rack (good deals, long lasting bras).  I’ll keep you posted.

Moral of the story, too big doesn’t work for bras or dicks.


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Ice Cream Social

I had a party.  It was called “Ice cream social with a kick”.  Booze and homemade ice cream, what could go wrong?  A lot.  #72 came.  Everyone else that attended knows about our “issue”.  I have a big fucking mouth (obviously) and I panicked.  What if someone said something?  I’ve run into this problem before and apparently never learned my lesson.   So it’s understandable I was more worried about what my guests would say  than if they were having a good time.

I remember what Ex-Husband said once.

“I don’t want to be known as Lynn Halsted’s husband.”

To which I replied, okay, now you’re going to be known as Lynn Halsted’s Ex-husband.  And so it came to pass.

I‘m just glad my friends are old enough to have the discretion that I don’t seem to.  No one got stupid drunk but me, and no one said anything bad.  If they had, it would not just end my relationship, but it would be so hurtful.  No matter how much I bandy the idea that I’m going to end it, I would never do anything to hurt him.  He’s too nice and doesn’t deserve that.

It’s hard because I’m an open book, but how open should I be?  It was easier when #72 and I had a distance in our “relationship”; separate lives.  It’s what we both wanted.  Then I wanted to be more a part of his life and now it’s all blending together.  Beware of what you ask for.

I invited 20 people and 12 showed up, which aren’t bad odds for LA.  But the bummer was, I made 8 quarts of ice cream and had about 5 quarts remaining after everyone went home.  If I thought I was fat before, this just made it worse.  And it makes me wonder, have I let myself go because I’m 45 or because I’m in a relationship?   Maybe I should pretend to break up with him so that I can motivate myself to work out should I need to find new cock.  I’m basically too self conscious to even consider being with anyone new.  Or I can just sit back and have another bowl of ice cream.

Moral of the story, don’t talk with food in your mouth or if there’s a dick in your life.  And please pass the chocolate chocolate chip.

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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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Oddly enough, I’ve been comfortable with my sexual prowess but not my body.    Like, I like being touched and fucked, but standing around naked is not my favorite pastime.  Even now, I get nervous when I’m dressing or undressing in front of #72.  (a good example of why is because it was a little dark and I put both legs in the same panty hole area)  going to a spa is the ultimate in testing my naked confidence.  I do it, but not without some walking fast in front of the mirrors.  I like to go to a spa with fat women.  At least then I look skinny.

That said, I’ve never been that comfortable with my rag.  I started it late and my mother only explained that when the time came I would be using a sanitary belt.   Yes it was the 70’s.  But that wasn’t my plan.  The minute I knew my period was coming, I bought a small box of tampons and was ready for whatever was going to come my way. 

Of course I had no idea how to use one.  Luckily I had a good friend that was a pro.  She’d gotten her when she was 13 so knew what she was doing.  We were on the phone and she told me exactly what to do.  (She’s a lesbian now, so I guess it was like an “in the closet still” turn on for her).  I didn’t get it all the way in the first time.  But after a few tries, success.  I’d say I was good at it by the time I was 25.  Even going “au natural” with OB’s. 

This was the beginning of a lot of embarrassing period stories.  There was #1.   He knew I was a virgin because when we turned the lights on there was blood on the sheets, but when I went to the bathroom the next morning, my period had started.  I started thinking, maybe his cock was so big it started my period.

On the flip side, # 50 had the smallest cock I’d ever been with and my rag started once in flagrante.  I was mortified.  It was full on, “we’ve got to get the sheets in hot water, NOW!”. 

There have been off and on times when sex and periods have been combined, but I try to keep them apart as much as possible.  I won’t even go to #72’s  house during that time.   I still get a little anxious when I have to buy tampons and I’m 45.  (Yeah for Xanax).  It’s like those cultures that make the women leave the house when the gash is leaking.  I don’t go anywhere.  Especially not The Hotel.  Sure I don’t get coffee in bed, but I’m teaching Dave how to use a French Press.

Moral of the story, I’ll only go to a Red Tent if they’ve got cable.





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I grew up a few miles from UCLA so a lot of times, students would live off campus in my neighborhood.  There was one house in particular that had a revolving door of hot guys.   I was in 4th Grade and weighed about 70 pounds, but that didn’t stop me assuming the role of :welcoming committee” where I’d wear short shorts and parade in front of their house.

I’m not sure what I wanted out of it other than attention, and I definitely got it.  At first the guys thought I was funny and cute.   My favorite guy had a bushy mustache.  He indulged me and my friend with joking around and letting us know we were cute, but he made it clear we were not on their list of potential fuck partners.  Not that I even knew what I’d do in that situation, but it was good to know.    It didn’t matter, these were older guys, college guys, thought we were cute so that was good enough for us.

Until they stopped hanging out with us.  They suddenly were too busy with studying or drinking or just not home.  So we started stalking them.   We’d watch for their cars from across the street and knock on their door when the car was there.  If they shooed us away, we came back and hid under the bushes, listening in.

I remember once looking in the guy with the mustache’s window.  He was in his white briefs and walking towards us.  We screamed and took off, dragging half the bush with us.  We were too embarrassed to go back there after that.  I mean, we’d seen him ALMOST naked.   We went back one other time.  We stood on the stoop while mustache said he’d seen us in the window and we had to stop doing that.

We never saw the moving truck or mustache and his white briefs again.  Oddly enough, I’ve hated white briefs ever since then.  Maybe it was my first taste of rejection, or maybe they are just ugly foul things, but if I find out you’re wearing them before I took you home, you’d be taking a cab in the other direction.

Moral of the story, nothing makes me happier to have a naked guy in my bed and a pair of boxers on the floor.  (but they have to pick them up in the morning, I’m not a fucking maid)

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The Next Day

Whether it’s a one-night stand or a longer affair, there is something that every woman appreciates after spreading her legs; the next day phone call or text.  I’m big on traditional chivalry and I think fuck chivalry is just as important.  If not more so.  You’ve just opened yourself up, literally, and that should be acknowledged.  Just a quick thank you to let me know you weren’t that drunk the night before.  (unless you didn’t exchange names or numbers and then you’re excused.)

I realize that this is not the sort of thing you are taught by a parental figure, but it should be passed amongst friends.  I remember #64 texted me after our one night stand.    The sex was amazing and having him recognize that was touching.  Granted, after his text, I thought he wanted a another round but eventually realized it was just a one off deal.  What can I say, I love good sex and always want more.

I was still asleep when #16 departed after our first night together, but he left me a note to thank me for a great night.  He at least mentioned that he wanted to see me again.   His penmanship was structured and simple and I liked it.  Kept that note for a few weeks just to remind me someone had class.

I’m all for gender equality and if I’ve had a good time, I’m not afraid to text first.   A quick “That was fun” is always appreciated.  It’s also important to keep it as light and friendly as possible so as not to alarm the recipient you might be a stalker.   It’s also a great way to show that you’re interested in a repeat performance.  

Of course if the sex sucks, you never want to hear from them again.  That’s when you delete them from your phone and avoid answering calls from unknown numbers.    

Moral of the story, saying thank you is the best goodbye.



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