by Mia Natasha
I said, “Hi, you must be Kai. It’s so good to meet you. I’m Dannika Elinopoulous, soon to be Zepkos.” I extended my hand for a shake. He politely put the rose aside and swallowed my hand in his.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Because I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.” I think he might have seemed a tad irate too, just like Mrs. Helios, who happens to be our church secretary. What was the dealio with all this negativity today? I thought maybe my hormonal swoosh had made me mentally sensitive as well as to the physical. Boy, did I need this fuck-a-doo – pronto. “Batteries died in my cell or else I would have left another message.”
He’d left messages? He must have left them on the phone at home, although I didn’t check my voice mail at work, as I was too busy attending to my red cuntessa then trying to hurry. I really need to work on my time management skills. For some reason, I sometimes think I can time travel. You know how pilots say they can make up the time in the air or whatever? What if we can all think positive thoughts, and make magic happen on a blink and a prayer? The next time I get drunk, I will make a note to ponder this mind-paradigm. Had I been a smidgen earlier, perhaps Kai would have been in a better mood. No matter, I thought, because I had hoped to win him over with my Madonna-like confidence and charm.
I said, “I’m super-duper collossally sorry, and Toto too.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” he asked with what appeared to be a scowl, although he had such a handsome face, it looked like more of a comical reaction. One eyebrow menacingly down, but the other rose in a he-likes-me pose. Which was it? Wow, I mean because, even though I knew his body language revealed a bit of hostility, this was a place of business. I’m sure Irv would never approve of inappropriate conversational interactions between workers at Flower Power and a customer, even if Kai is just a twenty-year-old kid that lacked retail experience.
I couldn’t believe that he used the f-word at work! I always secretly replace my fucks and shits and god-damn-its at work with fudgie-pops, shrinkie-dinks and gosh monsters. So I used my brain, used it to my benefit, thinking perhaps it was an omen disguised as a rosy-pinkerson relaxation remedy thingy. It was time to fucky-wuck.
I said, “You just said fuck in the presence of a lady.”
“Oh, woops,” he replied with a bit more sarcasm. Gheesh! I was surprised because Irv is such a gentle fellow. And he’s won so many awards from the Better Business Bureau for service and all. Didn’t expect his son to be a dirty-mouther. I was a little shocked, but in a good way, mind you. I stared him down with my pearly white smile and my raised eye-browed innuendo that matched his half-faced one.
“Well?” I asked. “What do you think?” I leaned forward and placed my hand on my chin, my boobsies plummeting forth, which caused the tit-tats to engorge against the counter the way a match lights up when struck.
“I’m sorry?” he said, as he stared at my cleavage. He seemed to be talking in riddles in a way, like checking for understanding, I guess. Catching my drift but, clearly, he was making me work for it. Such is the job of a cougar, I thought. I really needed this fucker, not only to fulfill my destiny, but to relieve the cramps, which were jittering around my uterus like those Mexican jumping beans I bought at the dollar store out of curiosity. Oh well, I thought, two could play that game and even better if we played putting the Madge in Danna. I’m rarely the instigator when Zeus and I play house. And so, I figured, the direct approach would be best. This cougar stuff was really a bit of a challenge, but what isn’t?
I enunciated so there would be no misunderstanding. I said, “Do you want to fuck? And I love the boutonnieres, by the way.”
“What did you say?”
I said, “I said, I-LOVE-THE-BOUTONNIERES.” I thought that maybe he was deaf, right? Maybe that was why I’d misread his face before. It might have been a communication error – because I felt I’d been very clear the first time.
“No,” he said, “before that. Did you just offer to fuck me?”
I said, “I sure did.”
We looked at each other for what felt like a very long period of time. It was like tension in a soap opera when you think two characters who have been separated by drama for ages and such, are finally going to be together, and you are rooting for them so much. I sure do love my stories.
Kai’s angry half-mask melted into an all out smile. He has a big mouth full of teeth with plump-a-licious lips – his bottom one juts out come-hither-like. I felt a powerful Mexican bean jump inside me like a baby kicking up a slam-dunk. My young florist slid up and over the counter with a basketball star’s whoosh. Kai picked me up like a bride-to-be or my cougar-slut equivalent – I’m not sure which since the look on his face now held an almost bride-groom appeal - and whisked me off to the greenhouse at the end of the parking lot.
He set me down on the metal table where Irv cuts the flower stems and readies them for bouquets and such. I could smell the roses and other fragrant flowers surrounding us in their pristine white flowerpots. Since I was wearing an easy-on-easy-off DVF wrap dress and my trusty Candies mules, I let the shoes slide off my feet as my legs swung back and forth from excitement. I was about to unleash my Kraken-puss but stopped myself due to my difficulty with the knot in the wrap-around string at my waist and his interest in my feet. He began to massage my right foot. Boy, he was good at it.
“You like that?” he asked.
I just nodded. I swung my other leg up as he proceeded with the toe jamming, and placed my other tootsies up to his nose, linking big toe and the one with the toe ring into his nostrils. It seemed funny and I think sex should be fun. I started laughing the way I do when I’m with Zeus. Kai did a Matrix-like maneuver, bending backwards gracefully and slow motion-like, and dislodged them. My foot slipped to his chest. I continued to laugh because I was in a bit of a silly fit, which is something I know I need to control before the wedding, as I’ve mentioned before.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said.
I said, “You’re tickling me.” He was too, and I’m seriously ticklish. I shouldn’t tell you that, bloggers, in case we run into each other someday, and I end up at your tickle mercy. When he tickled my right foot again, I burst into giggles. Then a little more forcefully, he grabbed my left foot and shoved my tootsies in his mouth. It was just so sudden! He started sucking on them, as though this was a common denominator of his fuck repertoire, like sex hors d’oerves before the hooey-pricker main course. I wondered if they felt like little cock digits in there, like those mini hotdogs you eat at cocktail parties do except without all the sodium.
He seemed to like my left foot a lot. I envisioned a retelling of Cinderella where the prince steals Cindy’s shoe just so he can seek out fair maidens, have them remove their stockings and set about a tootsie gobble fest until he finds his perfect fit. I laughed some more, although, it was pretty fucking sexy, I must say. Kai sucked my manicured toes eeny-meeny-miney-moe style. Did he think I was a tiger? After all, I considered myself his cougar. That still makes me laugh, I’m sorry. Catch a cougar by the toe. I literally laughed all the way home, using one of the boutonnieres as a smelling salt to keep focused as I drove.
Kai Goldrodblum is a giant-sized college kid, almost a foot taller than Zeus is. He could have taken my whole foot in his mouth if he’d wanted. He would have made a great gay-lover had he that inclination, although I can’t comment on his gag reflexes. If he and I had performed the missionary-man, my head would have aligned with a nip. Zeus is only 5’10” tall, but he’s really the perfect size for me. Our lips touch during traditional sex. We are nearly the same height when I wear my Choos, which I like, and he fits comfortably in my (soon to be our) bed. Because I like a bed with a headboard and a footboard. I wouldn’t want to sleep with a guy whose feet dangled off the edge of the bed like a Lurch, at least not more than once, I thought, as I pondered what it would feel like to have Kai’s pricker in my hoo-ha.
This tootsie suck lasted a while, that is until he mastered the sw
itch. Then my right foot entered his giant African orifice and took the treatment. I was afraid to look at my fucked toes. I thought, what if they’d gotten all blue and hickey-like? I’d have to go out and find some white pumps to wear on the big day to hide the nastiness, which would most likely cause me to need a re-hemming of the Alexandre gown. Zeus has given me some pretty impressive hickeys in private spots. Thank god, he’s not in town this month to muck me up before the wedding, right? I ventured a look-see at my tootsies and they just looked a little wet and shriveled up, no biggie.
I wanted to offer praise to Kai, because I saw myself as a teacher in a way, me being so much older and all. I said, “Me like-y.” This encouragement must have worked. He continued for like a million years or twenty minutes.
I began to get a little bored, truth-be-told. Finally, I said, “This feels so good but I need a cock to finish me off. You know, in my hoo-ha.”
He slid my wet foot out of his mouth and responded. “Where?” he asked.
I spelled it out for him. I didn’t have time for any miscommunications. I said, “You know, My C.U.N.T. My hoo-ha.”
He understood. Kai spread my legs about a shoulder’s width apart. Then he cupped my booty with his giant hands. He fiddled with the knot that kept my dress on, quickly freeing me from it. The leopard print panties I wore for my cougar adventure came next. He eased them off and observed the offer. He leaned in, about to put nose to the grindstone – and suddenly, after a nose-scrunch followed by a frown face reaction, he aborted his mission.
“What’s this?” he said as he tugged gently on the little white string dangling from within. I know, bloggers. I should have taken a time-out and pulled the plug, but I’d forgotten about it, quite frankly. In my defense, the sensations of the toe suck took me to a parallel universe. One where time stood still, and periods didn’t exist. “You on the rag?”
I tried to salvage the situation. I said, “Indeedy-do. Why, is that a problem for a big, strong man like you?”
“It is, actually,” he said. He grabbed the fly of his navy trousers the way Michael Jackson, R.I.P., always did when he sang Billie Jean is not my lover. “Mini-Kai don’t play that,” he added.
I said, “What do you mean?” I bent over like a yoga swami to perform my own nasal inspection. My juicy-hooey didn’t stink, not like lamb or feet, that’s for sure. It just smelled like wet cookie to me.
“Mini-Kai NO-LIKEY raggy cunt,” Kai said, enunciating the no-likey part while still clutching his mini-Kai through his pants. We never call Zeus’ pricker mini anything because it’s the big kazoo.
I said, “Oh, well, sorry and a thousand pardons. It’s just a part of nature, after all. Zeus loves to blast his cock into my pink playhouse during this time of the month. We love all kinds of sex, but period sex is our favorite, mine especially, because it helps with the cramps.”
“Uh, TMI alert,” Kai Goldrodblum said.
“Since Zeus is out of town, I was sure you wouldn’t mind helping a damsel in distress. You’re a regular Prince Charming, you know, with that foot fetish of yours. Can’t you please finish me off? It will be just like the Scarecrow’s e-plurabis-unim, you know, the smart thing to do. And the Scarecrow’s kind of like the prince in the movie, at the end.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. One or both of us was the Scarecrow, because I didn’t get it either.
I know, bloggers. WWMD, right?
Comments: 5
You are extremely blunt, young lady. Sir Isaac Weston, London, UK
Try again. You’ll never go back. Tyrone, Atlanta, GA
I’m going to take you deeper and deeper, my love. Rob, NY, NY
I love a good toe sucking. Anonymous
Kai doesn’t know what he’s bloody missing. I love to put my cock in a tight menstruating pussy. R. Jeffries, Sherman Oaks, CA
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Birthday Guidance
Sunday, August 16, 2009 - 4:00am
Madonna and I are sharing the luxurious bathtub in my parents’ master bedroom. It’s a spa tub with water jets that can make you come if you position yourself correctly against them. Mom and Dad had their bathroom renovated last year by a team from the Rye area - Wallace Construction, something like that. Did excellent work, although this is the first time I’ve ever been in it. They’d waited until we had all moved out to live out their big tub fantasies. I never imagined this as a fantasy of mine, so I am sure it’s real, although I don’t remember inviting my pop-idol over or how we’d found ourselves here, naked and dirty.
I’m soaping up Madonna’s nipsey-russells and she is doing the same to mine. Oh, it tickles - and as everyone knows, I get very giddy when that happens. When I flinch, she splashes me with water and we both laugh. I love her hearty laugh. It sounds so genuine, like the girl she portrays in Desperately Seeking Susan, a confident transient, at home anywhere.
“Happy Birthday,” I manage to say through my giggles.
“Thanks,” she replies. “This is the best birthday present you could have given me. One-on-one time with my lucky star. Do I look good for a woman over fifty?”
She absolutely does. Today is her birthday – August 16th. She’s officially fifty-one, although I don’t know the actual hour of her birth, but it doesn’t matter because there’s no window in here so I can’t tell what time of day it is anyhow.
Madonna is a Leo, a true lioness, and I am her cougar cubbie. Not really, of course, because Zeus and I are the same age. I’ve only been a cougar twice, when I attempted to fuck Madonna-style. And unfortunately, a certain personal trainer (Zeke Feathertoe), as well as a certain basketball star (Kai Goldrodblum), never found the cubbie in me – and by cubbie, I’m referring to my hoo-ha.
I shake off that disappointment and admire my bubble bath companion. Come to think of it, Madonna looks much better naked than my mom, who’s only forty-eight. But I think Madonna is a little too skinny. A man wants to see a bit of jiggle in the tummy because it shows that a woman is fertile. I saw that on a sex show on the Discovery Channel. No, really. It’s science. That’s why I don’t say no to desserts. I need my jiggle back.
I say, “You are perfect. I wish I was just like you.”
“Aw, nuts,” she says and moves a hand away from my tit-tat. She pinches my nose between her fingers. I know what it means – that I am a good protégé. I’m on the verge of tears. The way she’s looking at me with those sparkling blue eyes – it’s as if she wants the best for me, and it makes me feel so loved. It’s a different kind of love than the one I feel for my mother or for Yaya. This is the kind that speaks of truth and consequences, if that makes any sense. Because I’m daring myself to delve further into this unorthodox world of fucky-wuck with lez-lez on top. It’s what I want, and yet a part of me fears what will happen if Zeus finds out. Will he understand? I’m trying to be a better person for him and Madonna is helping me get there. Her smile says it all.
“Zeus is far away,” she says. “This is our time, ‘cuz I’ve got something to say about it.”
We start kissing, and I feel like Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera all rolled up into one. Really more like Britney, because I do not remember seeing Madonna kiss the other Mouseketeer due to the fact that the cameraman had missed filming it on the live broadcast of the VMAs that time. No matter – it is still a soft and supple merging of orifices, and ooh-la-la, it’s like kissing Margot, the seamstress, only better because I’m not drunk this time. She smells like that bubble bath I bought Mom for Christmas from Sephora. We both do, and I’m thinking that I love citrus fragrances more than patchouli any day of the week, especially this one, which is like a lemon fruit candy sugar scrub. We are candy perfume girls!
My nip-naps are turning into conical cones like in a Gaultier bustier from all the continued manipulation of them that has not completely ceased since we made our rainbow connection. It’s a little scary watching them grow like that, but it doesn’t hurt so much as it makes my pinkie-pinkerson vibrate i
ts desire.
Her parts look exactly the same, but Madonna can take the pull, and I’m kneading hers the way Dad taught me how to make phyllo dough – pulling up then pushing down with my fist, and finishing them with the bottom of my open palm. Instead of complaining or directing me, as I’ve heard she likes to do, she just closes her eyes and hums one of the rhythms from Ray of Light. She must be used to all sorts of prodding and tweaking, and sexual pleasuring, that it would take extreme measures to shape-shift her into anything less that the magnificent self-actualized being that she already is. Needless-to-say, I’m the one going through the transformation. My hand gets tired, so I’ve stopped kneading, which is also probably the reason I don’t bake well, now that I think on it. Instead, I’ve decided on a different approach. I’m treating her boobsies the way I play with the whipped cream I squirt on Zeus’ balls during dessert night. I’m stretching them up then running my finger through them until they both look like softie ice cream.
I think I could cum just from this – no pricker necessary. I love having my titty-titty-bang-bangs tweaked! It makes me want to sing aloud – in the key of E, like I’m in a porno musical of some sort or the raunchiest version of a Madonna concert. I really mean it because I can hear that song from Ray of Light that sounds spiritual – Madonna was humming it before and now it permeates the air like white light from heaven. But I don’t utter a sound because I don’t want our lips to part.
Her lips are soft, but she’s a rough and tumble aggressive kisser, so much like Zeus that it’s really so extraordinary. I start recollecting how the other fuckers’ kisses didn’t offer that same perfection of lip. This is why she is so special to me. I slide backwards from the pressure, all the way against the most powerful jet at the far end of the tub then slip-slide underneath the bubbles.