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HeraTeleia
Over 90 days ago
Straight Cis Female
Canada

Forum

Oh goodness. Thank you, Rach.

Lush is a lovely, wonderful, delightful site and we are all, as a literary community, blessed by its existence. I'd like to clarify, I joined Lush January 25, 2014. The year is not noted in Rachel's lovely post.

There are so many more members so much more deserving of this particular badge. So many people who contribute so many more pieces. I've only posted 13 pieces in just over three years--there are members who post that many pieces in six months or less.

A minor request? It would be lovely if one of the many, many mods who donate their time and energy to patiently sorting through the story queue or combing through threads that pop up like winter crocus, all at once in the wee hours of the morning, could be awarded a concomitant badge each time an Awesome Award badge is awarded. It would be equally lovely if the concomitant award could be instituted retroactively.

I know that there is a Moderator of the Month badge, but perhaps my suggestion could somehow be incorporated in some other way? No member, no visitor could enjoy Lush for the superb site that it is without the constant,
unpaid, and not infrequently maligned toil of these mods and story verifiers.

Oh, and this owl is exactly me right now.

As in, me performing fellatio on him, and then kissing him with his semen in my mouth? No. I'm swallowing all of that deliciousness down. I worked for it, it's mine and mine alone.

Now, if the question is, do I like him kissing me with his semen in his mouth, as would happen when he is cleaning me up after well and thoroughly fucking me, then the answer is a very enthusiastic yes, yes I do enjoy him kissing me with a mouthful of our mixed fluids. Yes, please.
Quote by Burquette
Oh, Dear.

I think I may have to pay closer attention to "things". Now that I know others notice....

So, what if you like panty lines but what you're seeing isn't a thong? Is it still sexy?


My head still hurts from realising that there's actually a thing called Visible Bra Lines. I have somehow struggled through life without the knowledge of this term or even this phenomenon, and now I can't un-know this information. Not that I particularly care; it's not like going from a standing to prone tactical shooting position without a bra to secure my unfortunately ample breasts would be a particularly comfortable proposition.

Instructor: Get down! Hit it!
Me: *hitting it* FUCK OW FUCK OW FUCK OW *sitting back on haunches, dropping my firearm and clutching my breasts*
Instructor: *blinking in awestruck bafflement*

Yah, that'd surely enhance my times.

I thought the whole point of thongs were that they aren't seen, that they don't create panty lines? I don't know, wore one once and hated it.

My love is for ruched-back tanga cut panties, which both a) achieve the no-VPL thing and b) do not end up horribly uncomfortable as thongs are wont to do. That particular cut and style is difficult to find, though--the last time I found a manufacturer (I think it was Cacique, might have been VS) I ordered ten pair. Also love boy cut all lace panties by Hanky Panky. Expensive, but you find them on sale in the oddest places--my most recent purchase was at my hospital's gift shop, where they were on clearance at 40% off and I bought every single pair in my size.

Who knew that a hospital gift shop would carry not just panties but high-end panties? Not me, and I freaking spend a solid half of my life in the same building.
No, I shop online. No, and no, I don't even know what the last one is, so pretty sure I've never been to it.
Quote by Metilda
Some women are humiliated by it and just cringe, hoping it'll never happen.


Like me. Still am humiliated, and still do cringe, really.

It's not something I can control or predict. I find myself sometimes--rarely now, but sometimes--fighting against reaching climax because I can't believe that my partner can possibly be taking the amount of pleasure he appears to be taking in my sudden flooding (literally--it can be upwards of probably ~10mL in a single gush, and that's a conservative estimate). Even though I know that it's not urine, I'm terribly embarrassed. Every. Single. Time.

Quote by latecomer91364
I could have removed the comforter or had sex on a raincoat or something.


So get yourself some damn stain remover and if that doesn't work, maybe just buy a new damn duvet? Additionally, as a man, how in the actual fuck could you possibly know that "...many women do give a heads-up..."? Could you cite your sources please?

As if women didn't have enough demons to deal with regarding body image.
Have it. The sex. Don't read about it, don't study it, don't work out the chemical structure of nonoxynol-9. Just fucking go have a fuck.
Quote by Verbal


It's code of some sort, I'm pretty sure. There's chocolate involved, it might be Easter-bunny related. Perhaps 22.7 is a partial longitude/latitude where he geo-cached some Easter candy!


I'm going with the code theory here...cryptic, maybe it's the key to solving the Taman Shud case?
Quote by browncoffee
Crap. i look like a fool.



No, I'm kind of dazzled by Honeydipped too. I am just too Canadian to burst out with...you know, anything. *passing Prosecco to Ms. V.*
Quote by browncoffee
I don't see a question.


I don't even understand the title. 22.7? 22.7 what? Millimetres?
Field of Dreams
The Natural
Bull Durham
Eight Men Out
Major League
A League Of Their Own
Oh look, the doors are locked...*digging in purse for bump key set, muttering*...okay, SOL kit, CPR mask, ouch! safety pin, Leatherman...bump keys!

Give Terrence the Tarantula a pet on your way in, Lyfbuz. I'll be behind the bar looking for whatever the Hell passes for prosecco in this place. Gillian is breathing, we're good.
In the eastern sky there was a yellow patch like a rug laid for the feet of the coming sun...~The Red Badge Of Courage, Stephen Crane

I tell myself it doesn't matter, your name is like your telephone number, useful only to others; but what I tell myself is wrong, it does matter.~The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood



Aaaand proof that I'm a lot of things, but not a writer, as seen (or glimpsed) in Beribboned and Bowed:

The endless softness of her thighs...her skin of a pale translucent nameless colour to put milk to shame.
Roses are red
Lilies, so very white
Bring a bouquet of both
And lie with me tonight?
Being able to hold up his end of an intelligent conversation. Among other things.
Jiao-zi, fried rice with shrimp, some kind of chongqing hot pot. The jiao-zi are made, the fried rice is easy, it's deciding what to put in the hot pot that's tricky. I think I'm going to do fried shrimp balls and call it good.
12. *shrugging* I like to be off the charts good.

I wrote a whole story about fellatio--well, irrumatio, fellatio's cousin. Fucking love having my mouth and throat fucked.
Never have worn shoes in the bedroom, but I kind of instinctively take them off. No shoes past the foyer.

Socks? Yes. On him, on me, hardwood floors are cold!
Hannah needs to stop complaining about her story. It's lovely and complicated and perfect.

Meanwhile, I just realised that it's April and I've not yet submitted anything in this calendar year. *squinting at poem* The poem doesn't count.
Well, now that we've had the use of the "c" word (cat? Cupertino? colander? the mind boggles) mansplained to us, the world can sit right on its axis.
Helping other people shouldn't be something that requires a mental exclamation mark--it should be something that forms the sentences that write your life.
When the Mariners make the World Series, I am selling a kidney. Or kidneys--turns out if you get lucky, you end up with three. It's a thing.

The Zags lost. I'll have some bourbon to chase this apple cider. There's a bar here (Lot 3--see Tension) that serves a boilermaker called The Cider House Rules, and that's what I'm drinking, in copious quantity, tonight.