In the interim, Chevalier invited me to give it a try as well!

http://chevalierdallas.wordpress.com/2008/03/31/six-words

Alright, so here I go with my six word description:

With a Man … I Slowly Deliquesce

O.K. so it’s not a general description of myself and has a slightly skewed focus, but there you go!

I’m not a big reader of blogs but I will suggest one blog that is unique, witty, intelligent, well-written, fun and completely edgy. Just like her!

thelaughingmistress.blogspot.com

Alright Ava, you’ve been tagged!

And here are the rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post.
4. Tag five more blogs with links.
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

Obviously, I didn’t follow all of the rules and you don’t have to either! Would love for you to play!

Warm hugs,
Elisabeth

2. If you’re a huge man, please do not go under the idea that if you see a larger escort then the experience will be better. Maybe it will and maybe it won’t. What would be best is if you choose a lady that fits your needs personality wise AND what you prefer physically. Nothing is worse then to be with an exceptionally rotund man and he’s an inexperienced lover and attempts the missionary position. It rarely works. It’s like two beach balls bouncing off each other.

3. I just wasn’t meant to be lifted up and tossed over a man’s shoulder. Although I have often fantasized about the “Me Tarzan, You Jane” scenario, I have a low center of gravity and this was true 80 pounds ago. The few times this has happened and I was tossed up over the shoulder like a bag of flour, I certainly admired the man’s strength. I would think that this would be appealing for a guy to do with a petite lady…and goodness, wish it could happen here. But please don’t do it. Besides, you’ll hurt your back.

3. Please do not pick a larger provider because you think that she can “take it” better then a smaller one. This statement it twofold for now: One, no, you cannot be rougher, squeeze harder or bite harder because we’re bigger and you think that we can take it. And two, if you have a preternaturally large cock, please do not see us because you believe that we can better accommodate your girth. I have known very small ladies who have the female equivalent of the Grand Canyon down there. The size of a woman’s vaginal cavity has little to do with her weight.

The above being said, and I believe this will apply to everyone though, please be willing to take direction from a provider. And since I’ve only been a larger provider I really don’t know if a “spinner” has had logistical problems with men. I have. You know, fitting in part B to part A. Generally, if you’re seeing someone who is an experienced lover then this situation is less likely to happen. But if the situation is going South (and we all know that it does at times) chances are pretty good that she can turn it around. Of course, in certain circumstances the reverse can be true as well. Isn’t sex complicated?

I cannot drive by West, Texas without making a pit stop. And getting kolanches.

I’ve worked at the state capital, resided in Jester Hall and lived on a South Austin farm. Didn’t work out. I have tried and failed horribly to live in Austin three times. There will not be a forth time. But Austin does beckon me. The drive back home always includes endorphined-filled pleasure often combined with pain because of the past atrocities that I’ve committed.

I’m going back in September. But maybe not to work. But maybe to work some. This time I’m bringing my parrot. I’m sure the hotels in downtown will go nuts with that but she’s quiet. Unlike me. In getting to Austin one goal is to certainly to meet a few old friends and make, perhaps, one new one. When I start to see signs pointing to Austin, the libido goes into high gear and I see chill bumps start to form on my lower arms. Go figure.

Who knows? That poster who said “Austin was weird” and “What’s wrong with 6th Street?” and I responded to him in kind, probably has something right.

But I have it figured out. Before you arrive? It’s the anticipation of things to come.

Once you’re in town? It’s the water.

Well, the garden isn’t that English nor is it planned. It’s a compilation of perennials, annuals and my poor “will they live past this year?” rose area.

Well, I like to sit outside on my patio and watch the grass grow. It’s a pretty site especially during the full moon when I like to howl.

And I like to watch the little animals mate. Just for something to do.

A few years ago a dear friend of mine left Dallas and gave me a one of her wind chimes. It’s made of pewter, good quality and my GOD, little chameleon lizards like to use it as not only a place to park, hang upside down, but also as a location to do what all animals do. Wish they made those little chimes just large enough to fit 2 adults. Oh, they do. It’s called a swing!

A couple of months ago I had my first sex sighting. Now, I’m not sure if you call them chameleons, anoles or whatever but suffice to say they’re little, and most of the time green, lizards. Sweet, healthy and feeding off my herb garden lizards. One was lying on the top of the other and seemed quite content. Well, hell! Of course that position would feel comfortable! But then I reminded myself that giving anthropomorphic characteristics to a damn lizard was really not appropriate. But they do, obviously, like to lounge. So I watched . They didn’t move but eyed me in a lazy manner. Guess I would have done the same thing in that circumstance.

This morning I went outside to enjoy the sun coming up and looked at the chime once again. I thought that a little stick was there and before I could brush it off, I noticed a smallish green lizard. That green sweetheart was looking to get his groove on.

I’m a pro-sex advocate. By the end of my cup of tea the little lizard was parallel to the ground with his or her butt in the air. (How many times have I found myself in that position?)

I’m guessing that it’s a mating call of such but I’m too lazy to search for appropriate positions of lizard sex.

The lizards in my backyard probably enjoy the giant rosemary bush. I’m sure it’s a pretty view with the Shasta and Gerber daises, the Texas Sage and lantana. And after all, us two legged creatures reading this are the only species that mate for fun. (Well, except for some of the reptiles that resides in Congress)

I almost felt sorry for the guy.

Then I started thinking about summertime. You know, when “the living is easy”.

Probably one of my best memories of summertime (other then childhood ones) was spending a lazy summer with a guy who was writing a play several years ago. We drank copious amounts of gin and tonics (with LOT’S of lime) and I would take an ice cube, hold it over his nipple and see if I could aim it to directly hit it while we were sunbathing nude in my backyard. And then he would do the same. The dogs would sleep with us. I was living on my savings. He had a trust fund. We would use an old fashioned mellita to brew the freshly ground coffee in the morning. Cooking was an erotic experience and we would feed each other. We screwed day in and day out. The parrot tolerated him. And we sweated a lot and walked around wrapped in white sheets while staring out the windows waiting for a storm. Life was fat. And sometimes I still miss him and those days.

Summers are different for me, now. The natural progression of aging and experience is the cause. But it’s still a pleasure in many ways.

I’ll name a few of mine:

Reading. And looking at the pictures.
Playing a game of chess.
Watching my son spray his hair purple and work on his faux-hawk.
Observing the grass grow.
Appreciating the scent of a freshly mowed lawn.
Lighting candles at night when there isn’t a need to.
Watching the moon travel across the sky.
Going to Farmer’s Market and buying the perfect pineapple.
Spitting watermelon seeds over the fence.
Hugs while just speaking of nothing much.
Looking at my garden of weeds and not giving a shit.
A picnic.
Enjoying the warmth of smell.
Of course, sex when the opportunity presents itself!

And strumming the guitar without knowing how to play.

I sincerely believe that we should try, when we can, to be mindful of the simple pleasures that life has to offer. Regardless of how trite this sentiment may sound.

What would you have done? I wrote this as a little story but when it happened I actually started to sweat. And it wasn’t that good type of sweating that I do when we’re together. Quit laughing. I know that you’re going to laugh!

“I can’t believe this happened to me” kisses,
Elisabeth

Although I was VERY content and sated from the trip, also I was tired and sore due to being…hmmm…VERY well loved during my very short time (less then 24 hours) in Houston. So when I finally did get to the airport, I just wanted to get through the lines, get something to eat and get home.

I was flying with a one-way ticket from Houston to Dallas. I THOUGHT that I had thoroughly figured out the logistics for flying home some questionable items. I left the sex toys in my luggage but took a few things, what I thought of as valuables, with me to carry on. While going through the long line, there was a table telling of what could and couldn’t be carried on the plane. Crap. I had forgotten that I had a bottle of KY jelly in my purse. So I leaned over and softly asked the guard if this was a problem. Well, yes it was. So with tons of people watching, I handed over my KY to the officer while a few people smiled. The snickering hadn’t really begun, yet.

The lines were horrific because it was the first day of Spring break. I went through security. “Excuse me mam, would you step over here, please?” Oh God, what had I done? “You’ve been selected for a random screening. You’re not in trouble. Please step behind the glass.” So I was patted down, etc., and everything was fine, I thought.

BEEP. SECURITY BREACH. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Three agents told me in soft and soothing tones that they were going to thoroughly search my belongings. I almost started to sweat.

You see, I had bought a 15” black HARD leather paddle at the Fine Arts Book store in Dallas 15 minutes before leaving town. I thought it would be fun to bring it to Houston and it was a valuable piece. So I had put it in my makeshift laptop bag along with some books. They take out everything and one of the officers found the paddle. She said, “What tha’?” She paused for a moment. “What is this? Are you a teacher or something?” I told her the truth in a very lying sort of way. That sometimes I did teach and it was a gift and it was important to me that I not lose it. And damn, I’m thinking to myself…I have PLANS for that paddle. I gently smile. They thumb through my books while I start to cringe and say to myself, “Oh shit, oh goddamn, oh heck, God I hope that I don’t get into trouble and lose my brand new paddle! Oh jeez, what are they going to do to me?” I started to get worried because I didn’t have my attorney’s number memorized.

The books included titles such as “The Pleasure’s All Mine”, “The Puppy Papers” and “Memories of My Melancholy Whores”. Of course, of the later, I’m thinking that surely they do not realize that a book by Gabriel Garcia Marquez is literature…but I stood quietly with my arms still outstretched. They finally said that I could lower my arms.

They opened my purse and that is when the eight minutes of hell began. I had a small Estee Lauder cosmetic bag in there and when the two remaining security woman opened it they found a cosmetic bag full of condoms of various brands, shapes and sizes. They looked at me in horror and dumped the contents on the table. Oh, there were condoms for smaller penises, larger ones, medium ones, ones ribbed, others for a woman’s pleasure and it was just a smorgasbord of types. One of the ladies asked me what I was planning to do with these? I smiled. “Well, I went to Houston to visit an old friend and go to this party.” The agents gave me dubious looks. All the while people are filing past me and looking at a giant paddle, porn lit and tons of condoms lying on the table next to my laptop.

But they finally found the culprit; A small bottle of Guerlain perfume that I hadn’t found in my junky purse. The bottle only had about five squirts left in it (probably a joke in there somewhere) and when they didn’t toss it into the trash like the previous man had done with the KY jelly, I thought that someone was going to smell very good today.

This would have been comical if this situation was happening to another middle-aged blond. I did pray that while standing with my private items splayed on the table that no one I knew in my professional or regular social life would pass by.

And thanks be to God that I didn’t have my suitcase with me and they searched that!

Now, this is probably a funny story, which is attested to by the roaring laughter by my two friends who heard it. And it must have been funny to the several people who walked through the security gate, gathered their stuff and started to giggle while seeing my array of sexually oriented items while the security people had a discussion and I stood there barefoot with the warning to not move. But they let me pack it all up, including the various condoms that were all over the table and I went directly to an overpriced restaurant, ordered comfort food and a very large beer. Seemed like a fitting thing to do at the time.

I’ve thought of your last essay that you sent about oral sex and I find that when I think about it, I smile. How I miss you.

I have started a blog and am honoring you as someone who started in my “Rule of 54” group and have sent me into arenas that I’ve never visited before. I just adore you.

And it has been too long since we’ve seen each other and with your schedule and mine, it will probably be several months until we meet again.

Missing you my prince.

Elisabeth