Tag Archives: Tennis

8 Degrees of Separation; Part TWO…

22 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in adult category, Adult Expicit, ADULTS, Ashley Madison, Blog, Cheaters, Uncategorized

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And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.                                                                                                                                                  ~ Anaïs Nin

 

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CHAPTER TWO – Lucy

It is an authors prerogative to make literary changes as they create words of interest on a blank sheet of paper. Lucy was originally to be chapter 3, but her story was so compelling, I couldn’t wait to share it. She sent me several emails chronicling her journey through the sites and the hungry men on Ashley Madison. I also felt a kindred with Lucy, a fellow lover of tennis.

A successful real estate broker. Educated. Philanthropic. Enjoying the fruits of her success with an upscale lifestyle, her marriage had taken a serious turn to oblivion when her husband was diagnosed with MS. First came separate bedrooms. Then came long intervals of sex to no sex for several years.

She was on AM long before the publicity hit the media. It was during the scandalous blitz that she met Joe, the social studies teacher, from NY state, a  Brazilian , in her southern town. He was quite insistent, wanting her cell number to text. He wasn’t interested in a cool period of getting to know each other via email. She held him off while she got to know a couple other guys who’d shown interest. Joe was much younger, but he didn’t know that. Brenda lied about her age, by 10 years. He thought she was 4 years older.

When the other 2 older guys became boring, she finally agreed to meet him at a Starbucks. He was handsome, he was a complete gentleman and she could see the stars in his eyes for her. They chatted for a couple of hours, she finally gave him her cell, left him there and headed home.

She heard from him every morning; a hello, or good morning accompanied with  kisses emoji. Afternoons sent text of missing her smile, her eyes,  accompanied with kisses emojis.  Early evenings were the more of the same and nights after 9:30 were longer text with confessions of wanting, needing and more kisses emojis. This went on for over a week. Lucy was departing with a group of friends to the US Open, staying for the semis and championship matches. The text continued and doubled in its frequency.  It was cute, she thought, but were becoming annoying.  She would check them now and then, but he began calling when she didn’t promptly respond to his text. She muted his number, responding when it was convenient by text only.

When she returned after Labor Day, he insisted he wanted to pick her up from the airport and drive her home, by pretending to be a her Lyft driver. She refuted his offers and let his repeated calls go to voice mail. A few day went by and among the many text was an offer to take her dinner that weekend, his treat. She agreed to meet him at a place that was far from her home, after an event she was attending.

It had been 4 years since she’d had sexual contact with a man. As her event ended that warm breezy late Saturday afternoon, she sat in her car deciding if she’d drive home or meet this youngster for dinner. He texted. He wanted to change the restaurant which just happened to be closer to where she was. She agreed and headed to the place. He was there when she arrived, jumped into her car as she pulled up and wanted her to park away from the entrance. She parked half way from the door, he baulked but that didn’t stop him from leaning our the console of her car to kiss her. It was awkward and awful. Hard and full of teeth pressing against her mouth. There was nothing sensual about it.

After dinner, he wanted  her to go in his car with him, she compromised and followed him to an old army fort, historical park with ammunition bunkers, open fields, benches and forest areas.  They walked the paths, found a bench, sat and kissed. The hard kissing was his thing, surmised. While he was kissing deep and hard he slid his hand up her dress and played with her now very wet pussy. She could feel the heat in her belly, she wanted to cum, his fingers were moving around her clit causing her squirm. He pushed two fingers into her very wet pussy. She uncontrollably moaned as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. She’d forgotten about the hard kissing, she didn’t really care at this point, her pussy was wet, her nipples were hard as rocks and her clit was throbbing wanting to orgasm.  Just as she was about to cum, he pulled out and stuck his wet fingers into her mouth. She was so turned on at this point, she sucked his fingers as he thrust them in and out of her  mouth. He took her hand and laid it on his hard cock, bulging through his trousers.

They got up and began walking toward a bunker. These bunker had recessed openings that lead to the doors that were bricked shut. As soon as they were out of sight in the opening, he rammed his fingers in her pussy, bent over and grabbed her nipple with his teeth. She unbuttoned the top of her dress freed her hard nipple from her bra cup, as he bit and sucked her breast, making her wetter.  She was at a point of no return. She wanted a cock in her pussy. She unzipped his trousers, cupped his hard cock and began stoking it like it was in her pussy. The clear cum juice was dripping from his cock…she opened the foiled pack, slid it his cock and licked his now sieved cock head. She turned her back to him, pulled her dress over her ass, opening her legs, she took him into her dripping wet pussy. It felt so good, having him pump her, bounce her, go deep into her. She felt a tinge of pain, but it made her want to cum, she wanted to hold off, make it last longer, but he was about to cum so they orgasm together. She felt liberated! She felt like a woman again. She felt like her old self in an instance.

She put herself back together as best she could. He went in for another hard kiss. She moved away to fix her bra and button her dress. She had finally had a cock and she was satisfied. She made an excuse, it was later than she thought and she needed to head home to feed the dog. She thanked him for dinner. Kissed him on the cheek and began walking back into breeze away from the cover of the bunker’s entrance. As they approached her car a family pulled into the parking lot. Thankful for their arrival, she popped into her car, thanked him again for dinner and lovely evening. Before she could leave the park her phone chimed an incoming text. A line of kisses emojis and words saying he’d text her later tonight.

Once home she took a long hot shower, remembering how it felt to have a cock in pussy. It still throbbed, her clit throbbed and her nipples were a happy sore. Climbing into bed, she blocked his number, went to the AM site blocked his profile, SPAMMED his email address and slept like a baby. She deleted his name and number several months later and now she masturbates remembering that evening of hot sex with a stranger she’d meet on AM.  She was happy with her bite of the apple…

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Next up Part Three…

Thanks for joining me, I hope you enjoyed our time together.                                                                                Addie

adding.blog@gmail.com

 

 

 

How do I stop?

30 Tuesday Jun 2015

Posted by in adult category, husband and wife, people

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I’ve flown by the seat of my pants for some time now. I categorize myself as a lone wolf. It was a way to free myself from the bounds of being accountable, having to explain and a bed partner when I wasn’t in the mood. It was a difficult, heartbreaking decision to break it off, but I felt if I was remotely thinking of doing something so rash, then it had to be done.

I did. He was hurt. I am sorry. But still, it was the best. The relationship was heading in a direction I wasn’t ready for…more to the point he wasn’t the guy. The wedding bells, blissful riding off into the sunset guy. Oh, he was sweet, he had a good heart, but he was just a little too controlling for my personality. No, I wasn’t going to prime him for threesome, adult clubs or private (invite only) sex parties. It wasn’t that kind of relationship. We were normal. It was a normal relationship. Work the week and enjoy our weekends, either at home (my house, usually) or off on a two adventure.

We’d wake, make coffee, I’d feed my girl, we’d change and head out for a nice early morning run. Enjoy cups of my favorite brew on the sun porch reading the morning paper while planning our day. A farmer’s market in out in the country, or a day tip just because. Dinner out or a fest at home of our market selections. He was a wonderful cook and we took turns. It was all so picture perfect. But when I looked in the mirror I saw no sparkle in my brown eyes. A girls knows when she’s happy, if she’s being honest with herself. The eyes tell it all. When men are happy, they tend to block out the other stuff. He was happy.

It’s been a year and I’m getting along fabulously. On a moments notice I decided to attend the 2015 French Open. Just me. I’ve done that a lot in past 13 months. I’ve found an excellent house and pet sitter who has been a Godsend. She’s great with my girl and she is perfect for my home.

Within a 14 day period, I had tickets to the opens last 3 days, a prime hotel and round-trip air tickets. I packed light, I had visions of shopping my way through the rue des Rosiers, the Place des Vosges, Printemps and Galeries Lafayette. And I wasn’t disappointed!

A woman alone, meandering through the streets of Paris. It was liberatice!  The food was fantastic! The Open was…well, the men’s match was very exciting as a new champion was crowned. And Serena didn’t disappoint the crowd of French aristocrats when she gave her winning, thank you speech in French…flawless French!

While my seat was not a nose bleeder, it wasn’t an inner circle-on the court seat either. Sitting in the mid section, I was seated between a British couple all three days, on the second day I realized they were together and married. I offered that the gentleman and I would exchange seats so he could sit next to his wife. As we sat 3 together we engaged in conversation during exchange of sides and in between sets. The wife and I had a couple of ladies’ room breaks together. By day 3, we greeted each other as old friends as we entered the stadium together. There was dinner afterwards. A stroll through the park by the Tower Eiffel. And we shared a kiss, husband and I at the wife’s request. It was a shy peck on the lips until she baulked that we should kiss as they French would kiss. We did. It was spine tingling. We walked and talked until we found our way back to their hotel. We sat in the lobby, at my insistence, I felt they needed to explore their options a little more. I sensed this would be a new experience for both and I wanted to make sure they were sure.

We headed up to the concierge floor, grabbed a bottle of French bubbly and began our exploration of each other. She was older than her husband. He was fairly handsome, with abs and tight butt. Her breasts were soft with evidence of her age, but she was well versed in the art of tonguing my clit making me wetter than I’d ever been. Once she’d gotten me wet while I licked and sucked on his hard as a rock cock, she wanted to watch as he inserted himself into my juicy pussy. She sat in a chair while we made out on the bed, as if she wasn’t there. I glanced over to find her naked, spread legged and masturbating. Pulling on her nipple and fingering her pussy, eyes focused on he and I, as he turned me over to fuck me doggie style. I offered to oblige her, she insisted that I enjoy her husband. He and I came together. It was tense, loud and hard. We enjoyed our post coitus bliss. She was very appreciative, but I felt it was I who should be thanking her. He was awesome. He wanted to shower together, we did, did it again in the shower, redressed and headed out for a late night drink in the lobby bar with some cheese and crackers.

I was beginning to feel a little exhausted. The sun at the stadium, the champagne, the wine, the orgasms, were catching up with me. She walked me to the Valet who hailed me a cab, we hugged, thanked each other and into the cab I went. I left the next day, departing CDG early afternoon for ATL. I occupied myself between meals with my iPod listening to an audiobook. But I could help asking myself several times; How do I stop? How do I stop being the lone wolf? Open and free for adventure, impromptu moments.

As I keyed the door to my garage, I was so happy to see my girl. We played our welcome home game, her bringing me all her favorite toys to play with at once. And in that moment, I decided; I don’t want to stop. I think I’ll get another German Shepherd puppy.

Ask…only if you’re prepared for the answer

26 Monday May 2014

Posted by in Grown ups

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I’ve been way too busy to devote any time to my blog. Between stroking out chapters, being a creative force, captain of a spring league team of 13 ladies, how and when could I bring the goods to this site, in the manner that I’m accustomed. Something had to yield and this fell into the void.
I’m here today and will not promise tomorrow or even the day. So let’s get started!!!
I last talked about being kicked to the curb…being played by love is daunting and painful.
Falling in love is the one emotion a human cannot control. We may be the brightest and the smartest among the living creatures, but when it comes to falling for someone, love has it’s own agenda and the heart wants what the heart wants. You know its’s disaster, but you’re not in control; heart-1, common sense-0!
Playing tennis with a partner over time provides for confessional moments. My partner has been distracted for the past couple of weeks and our scores reflect her diversion. So I finally asked; ” girl what is going on with you?!”
First lesson; never ask a question if you’re not prepared for the answer or in this case the explosion of tears and sobbing. In spite of the quivering lip, blowing the nose, sniffling…I pieced together that her married man-friend was or is having a fling with another woman. That’s easily solved; walk away! Chow! Sayonara! Au revoir! And duh! He’s married, he’s screwing around on his wife, why would you think for a minute he’d be loyal, faithful to you?? Ding! Ding! He’s a cad, in a really big way and those spots ain’t gonna change.
Okay, let it be known I’m a glutten for punishment; asking how did she find out, the wife cheater was cheating on his piece on the side? “He told me.” STFU!!! He told you?!! Is he wanting to end the relationship and being a bigger cad, doing it this way? No, she responded…I put on my best poker face for what came next. He wasn’t going to call her from his cell for awhile, because the lady’s husband has found out and is going to the news media (apparently Mr Cad is a big mucky mucky in the finance world-scandal be damn) and there may be a look into his phone records, for her protection, he doesn’t want her number to be on his bill. STFU!! Really?!! So he was calling from his office phone to let her know that he’ll be MIA for a week or so, ’til this blows over.
She’s heart broken. She misses him. Really, he’s done her a favor, but who am I to judge. Clearly her heart is invested in this cad and her common sense has gone on vacation to Margaritaville. Not sure what to say, I continue to listen. The wife, received a call from the other woman’s husband informing her of the shenanigans of his wife with her husband. There are receipts from a hotel and air travel, restaurant charges on a credit card.
“Here?” I finally ask, interrupting.
No. Miami, late March-early April. STFU!!! They have traveled to the hottest vacay spot for lovers on the east coast!! Spent the night as a couple, in the same bed, shared a bathroom and all the entails!!! STFU!!! I’m about to bust! Do I tell her the obvious? He’s got another and he MOVED on when they boarded a plane to go salsa dancing in South Beach.
I say to her; “Think about this, look outside of yourself, put your heart in check and bring your common sense back from the Conch Republic. If you were his only, minus the wife, technically he’s cheated on you with another on a over nighter. You have to see this. If it were me (and I truly hate using that term), I’d let him call and I wouldn’t answer…emails, text, knocks on my door…be done with this cad!!! He’s a serial fornicator. Buy yourself a cute sexy dress, head over to the wine bar, have a glass or two…flirt your heart out. Let the guys tell you how great you look, bask in it…maybe have sex in the bathroom, call a cab and go home alone. Trust me you’ll feel better in the morning.
Serial fornicators or smooth operators, they know what to say in any situation, will tell you everything you want to hear at the perfect moment and they are pros when it comes to a sob story complete with tears.
I need my partner back…tennis ain’t fun when you’re not kicking ass on the courts.

Wanting it, doing it, making it real

19 Thursday Sep 2013

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I am struck by a quote I came across this morning.
‘Nothing is impossible, the word itself says I’m possible.’
`Audrey Hepburn
 
It’s amazing how you may think of something being impossible to do, to achieve, to make happen…putting your mind to it will usually remedy the task. I am working so hard to be a better player…tennis player. I’m fortunate enough to have been invited to be apart of a team that has accomplished much. I’m not just the new girl, but a rookie to boot. This makes it a steep uphill battle for me mentally.
 
Of course I try to tell myself I would not have been invited by the team captain to be apart of this illustrious group if I had not shown some sort of tennis porousness. I’ve played this sport completively for a measly 4 years, 6 years total. Yet I suppose I’ve accomplished a lot for a rookie, division champs 4 times (3 different teams at 2 levels). If you had told me, last year this time, that I’d be in the midst of preparing for Sectionals, I would have laughed you out of the room.
 
But yet, here I am. Exhausted today after four consecutive days of tennis. Nine sets and two ninety minute clinics.  SHOOT ME NOW, SOMEBODY PLEEZE!!! All in the name of improvement. Next week won’t be as gruesome, but it will be tough, especially since I know how tired I’ll be by next Thursday. 
 
Nothing is impossible. I’ve gone from not being on a team to being on a top ranked team who knows what it’s like to head to Nationals, three time zones away. And it’s entirely possible we can do it again. And this time with me in tow.  It’s also possible that I will be a great asset  wining my court at Sectionals. It’s also possible that I will no longer be viewed as the rookie.  Yep I’m possible…I will drag my ass out on Sunday afternoon and begin my week as I did this past Sunday playing tennis with high caliber players who will give me a run for my money and by some possibility I will win some games and maybe even take a set or two or three. I will sweat my ass off at my clinics running drills and smacking a tennis ball for ninety minutes. I will end the week, Friday and Saturday, running 5 miles each morning at predawn, walking 3 miles in the afternoon and trying not to eat comfort foods like ice cream, cookies and chips.
 
I can do this!  It’s not impossible. I’m possible!

Secrets

04 Wednesday Sep 2013

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What makes a person a mean human being?
Are they born this way? Does the toll of life make them become cynical. Maybe a disappointment along the way has created this disposition. Whatever the reason, they are miserable with themselves, unhappy and no light at the end of their dark tunnel.

Is there a difference between the negative individual and being mean? I ink there is. Some people are quick to show the darker side, forgetting about the good that resides in their lives. this negative energy flows like a virus from them to those around them.

Earlier this morning I gathered with a group of ladies to play a match of tennis. This would be the second meeting for my partner and I with the other two. My partner, a very kind soul, lovely person is most effected by one of the other ladies. This one lady, we’ll call her “T”, has the aurora of a darker cloud over her head. Literally when I look at her I see thunder clouds dancing around her. I’ve been in her presence prior to these two matches and the story is the same. T’s problem is the first word out of her mouth is either “I” or “my”. She doesn’t compliment anyone but herself. She starts her intro to you with a negative story of something or someone who has done her wrong. You say good morning, she chimes into her spill to each person that walks up. If you’re the first to arrive and 3 other people show up, she going to recite the same thing to each. If you try to change the story she steers you right back to her sadness. Woe is me!!!

I personally thinks she’s not getting any at home. No affection from the husband, no banging on those occasions. She lacks tenderness. Some women ooze tender feelings, T is the complete opposite. She’s not shy when you try to compliment her. She will tell you a story about her matching shoes with her skirt, matching her nail polish and her cooler. But hold on, because it will become a sad story about somebody doing something to her.

I usually sit or stand, whatever the case may be, and watch the scene unfold. If you could read the captions over my head, like a comic strip, you would see that I am one step ahead of T’s misery telling, plotting the course she’s going to take next. I say very little. Because I feel to entertain her with comments or questions, allows this negative flow to enter my bright sunny karma. Yellow and black makes purple on the color wheel. And the wheel of life purple is an odd color therefore it throws unbalance and chaos into one’s karma. The same goes for the tennis match. If you don’t buy into her constant chatter, her need to repeat the score loudly when she’s not serving is distracting.

My poor partner has not learned to shut her out. Because if she did, ther score and the match would have a completely different outcome. I tested this theory today. After we loss the first set, I walked up to my partner and said; “Can you shut her out? Not hear what she’s saying? But see her as a target? Hit your ball at her, make her back up or run? ” Well, we ran her ass! The she ran the less she talked! We actually won the second set, easily. I reminded her of the focus during the tie break and damn if we didn’t pull it out.

But oh my goodness! After the match, as we sat and chatted, the dark cloud grew, the storm brewed and the rain burst upon us. She began to dish on Sererna, how mean she was to win a match 6-0, 6-0 on a poor girl’s birthday. And she didn’t like her hair, she didn’t like her sister’s hair. It went on for 5 minutes of her dislikes.

Of course she was unhappy that she’d loss the match…would have probably been the same if she’d won. I try not to verbalized about those that I’d don’t like to play against because of their dark personalities. That shit will always come back and bite you in the ass. I revert to my poker face so as not to revel my true feelings. Once again being the Chameleon, I was born to be.

Women will stab you in the back without a second thought. And if you’re stupid enough to tell a women something you want to remain a secret…well that too will bite you in the ass. I’ve had many women over the years tell me someone else’s secret. When she starts the story with; “…don’t tell anyone…”, so and so did such and such. If she’s told you, trust me, you aren’t the first or you will not be the last. I’ve actually told so called secrets to those who have championed themselves as my “best friend” in order to see how true a friend they are. I’m still waiting for that bestie! I had a reputation in college as a man snatcher because a “best friend” repeated my so called secret and added her spin to the story. When I heard the story again I couldn’t stop giggling as it was repeated to me. It was made more hilarious because my bestie was standing next me, completely mortified. After I stopped laughing, I turned, gave her a look and walked off, never to utter a word to her again.

How dare you tell a friends secret. That’s mean. It’s self centered. It shows your dark cloud. If someone thinks enough of you to confide in you, how could you break that bond and repeat it? Its an act of a mean spirited person. You shouldn’t have to have pledged the priesthood in order to maintain silence for a friend.

If I had a hundred dollar bill for every secret I’ve been told, I’d be a millionaire. I’m not perfect, by no means. I feel a secret that is told to you should remain that…a secret. Unless of course the person tells his or her secret to another and another…

Chameleon