Lady Linda's Intimate Black Book and Dorset Social Diary

... or how many wrongs help to make it right.

Saturday, January 09, 2010

My top tip for surviving the freeze is to find a young man's body to hold closer than close. The delicious getting-to-know-you feeling of adventurous fingers, indulgent lips, savouring tongues and an unfailingly willing libido is all a girl needs. There's nothing more warming than being desired mind, body and soul and, when the temperature drops below zero and there's snow on the ground, this girl will settle for 1 out of 3 every time.

If you're in the Dorset area, here's a little tool from the lovely boys at the Met Office that will help you plan sharing the coldest nights with the hottest bodies.

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All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Monday, October 02, 2006

Wild Nights

Back in the UK and thankfully back in my own house in Dorset. Having slept most of the day, I'm now wide awake - hate jet lag. Gerald said I should try and stay awake for as long as possible - he was probably right but i'm not going to give him the satisfaction by admitting it!

I think I've picked the wildest day of the year to return - the flight was very bumpy for the last hour over the UK and the wind and rain was battering and tugging the car all the way down the M3.

Whilst its wonderful to be back home - its also a sad day fore me. Today Harry moved into his Halls at Southampton University. He sent me an email giving his new address details - seems he's at Glen Eyre Hall along with 1500 other students. He's looking forward to the cheap bar, freshers week and the student union bar. Just think, my poor boy a fully fledged student - if you're reading this Harry - good luck and don't forget your Aunty Linda.

Time to kill some dark hours at PlayNaughty..

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Saturday, September 30, 2006

SexyB - Playing Naughty Transatlantically

I'm pleased to say my US stay is coming to and end and I’ll be flying back on the 18:40 flight out of Dulles tomorrow. I can't describe how much I'm looking forward to getting home to the familiarity of home, the late night creaking of the beams and the floorboards, the bubbling of the fridge and the comfort of my own bed.

Whilst I saw Rebekah once more after I wrote I already sensed that passionate spark that drives so many new and rekindled relationships beginning to wane. I could probably analyse it to death but I think the truth is that we've moved on, unfortunately in separate directions and lust for a flawless body can only take a relationship so far. I must be getting fickle in my advancing years.

I've been feeling quite out of touch with the UK, the American news doesn’t recognise the world exists beyond its own boarders (you wouldn't believe their recent fixation with spinach that was causing food poisoning) and I'm indebted to the members of PlayNaughty.com for keeping me up to date on what's happening back home - and for "entertaining" me in such imaginative ways through some of the longer hours!

And talking of flawless bodies.. special mention goes to PlayNaughty's SexyB who I met a couple of nights ago and who I kept from her bed until the early hours. She was very refreshing company to spend time with; beautiful, educated, eloquent, enthusiastic, imaginative and the owner of a smile so mischievous and hot I’m sure it could melt steel.

I thought I'd exhausted my on-line dirty talking phase but with SB's encouragement I discovered a renewed sense enthusiasm and together we took the time to explore the touches that indulged her senses. Touches that traced the elegant sweep of her neck, celebrated the proportionate curves of her breasts, revelled in the gently feminine rise of her tummy and savoured the rich sweetness of her moistness.

She was a enthusiastic participant and her underlying joie de vie made her great fun to be with and satisfy and the memories of our encounter will keep me warm on the long flight home.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Rebekah: verb - captivating, enchantingly beautiful

After a frantic couple of weeks of short notice travel plans, long queues in airports and running for departure gates I find myself in Washington DC, gazing from the 8th floor of the Marriot hotel along the Potomac river as the air craft approach low in single file for Regan Airport. To my left is George Town, in front I can see the top of the Washington monument and the back of the Lincoln Memorial and to the right is the edge of Pentagon and the Arlington Cemetery.

And behind me, dozing gently in a nest of hotel grade sheets and quilts, her bare honey skin blending perfectly with the corporate inoffensiveness of the décor, is Rebekah.

It all started 10 days ago when Gerald called and asked if I wanted to go to New York with him – he was supporting a series of briefings at the UN and would be there for at least 5 days. I think I’d finished packing before he’d finished his sentence. I love New York; it’s brash, unashamedly in your face and shoots directly into your soul.

As with so many things where Gerald is concerned, the reality was somewhat different to the promise. We landed early evening and were taken directly to diplomatic accommodation. The next day he disappeared early in the morning only to remerge tired and grumpy late in the evening – jet lag and stress don’t mix well in Gerald. I didn’t mind, there are plenty of ways I can keep myself busy; not least the shops that are fantastically cheap with the current interest rate.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have access to the internet and wasn’t able to keep up with my e-mails nor the blog. So I’m sorry for the silence.

After 3 days guilt got the better of him and he asked me to meet him for lunch beside the East River near the UN building. I was surprised when he arrived with a companion who cut a very confident and very familiar figure. Rebekah. A 100% all American girl, super slim, extra blonde, perfect skin and bone structure and very, very confident. We first met at a party 6 years ago when she was posted to the US Embassy in London. It was lust at first sight, she looked so perfect and self assured and I desperately wanted to corrupt her.

And corrupt her I did, or maybe she corrupted me. Who cares? I know that behind closed doors her pageant queen persona slipped faster than her falling clothes and we spent a breathless month of urgently synchronised diaries and hastily contrived opportunities to entwine our impatient limbs. It ended abruotly when she was posted back home and, despite the relationship’s drawn out tail of dwindling emails and phone calls, the London air hung heavy and oppressive that summer as I tried to fill long afternoons alone.

She smiled when she saw me and the years just fell away. I knew then the subconscious source of the growing need to indulge my bi-side again.

She was here as part of the US team at the UN but would be leaving for Washington at the weekend.

“Oh, meant to say – so are we. Special talks” added Gerald mysteriously.

“Maybe we could meet up?” she suggested “I’ve some holiday due and I’d love to show you town like you showed me London”

Though I didn’t see her again in New York, the sense of anticipation was almost unbearable over the following days.

I was unpacking on our first morning in DC when her call came and, despite the awkward words we agreed to meet at 2 in reception.

I was early – 15 minutes early. She was late – as she always was – and I spent half an hour sitting in the wood clad reception waiting for her to arrive. Just as I was beginning to worry I would be mistaken for a hooker she breezed through the door looking very business like in heavily tailored pencil skirt and semi-sheer white blouse. She was followed by the eyes of the porters and the reception staff.

We hugged and swapped politely pecked cheeks and then there was a long silence,

“Can I be blunt” she fnally asked. She’d never been anything other than blunt and direct.
“I’ve missed you – we only have a few days before I leave again – I want you.”
“You haven’t changed” I laughed, content that I wouldn’t be bored that afternoon and I led her upstairs.

We were kissing before the room door clicked shut. I felt her hands impatiently removing my clothes and then she was standing naked in front of me. She hadn’t changed. She curved where a woman is supposed to curve and elegantly slender where they’re not.

I cupped her small, almost conical breasts in my hands and kissed them hard and pert as the years fell away and we fell onto the bed, our hands and lips urgently seeking out those distant, but never forgotten, pleasure points until we collapsed glowing and panting into each others arms, happy then just to rejoice in each other’s softness.

I’ve seen her every day since – managing our diaries (well HER diary) just like the old days – and now I hear her in the shower, washing me and that just shagged look from her and soon she will the efficient politician again, fitting me into her schedule.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Monday, September 11, 2006

Harry's Leaving

Today my darling young Harry leaves for University (well he's going to stay with his father for a couple of weeks before term starts) and I've just got back from his leaving party at the village pub. It was quite a send off - everybody was there (I was even invited as relations with his mother are finally thawing following the champagne incident) and the poor boy got horribly drunk.

I feel as though I've failed him - not only have not completed his education, I haven't even started it! He was showing so much promise as well - I haven't forgotten the impatient hardness that pressed against my thighs that fateful afternoon.

He's only going to Southampton. He said he'd still maintain my blog for me and he's going to send his contact details as soon as he gets there. He says he's got a proposition for me. I'm intrigued but know that as soon as he's tasted freedom on his terms I will soon be forgotten.

We'll see - but I hope he does. I'm going to miss him terribly - he's one of only 3 people that know all my secrets!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Cum As You Are

At 7pm exactly the door bell rang and there was Gerald in his dinner jacket with a huge umbrella to lead me to his car that was parked with its passenger door closest to the house. He’d texted me in the after noon telling me to dress formally and I’d hurriedly found a cocktail dress to wear – not ideal but this is sleepy Dorset not cosmopolitan London and I knew I’d get away with it.

Gerald drove through town and out towards Yeovil. He sped past the sleepy villages of Stratton and Grimstone – ignoring the speed restrictions (most unlike Gerald) and then climbed out onto the south Somerset Downs. The weather was still pretty wild and I could feel the car being tugged violently on the road until we curved past the Clay Pigeon peak and dropped down into the relatively sheltered valley.

"Whats the rush?" I asked.
"I want you" he replied impatiently

We finally dropping out of warp speed as we turned left into Evershot at the bottom of the hill.

Now Evershot is a beautiful and classically English village – all thatched cottages and picturesque views – the ultimate photo opportunity but not when it’s blowing a gale.

The car finally came to a halt outside the Summer Lodge and he smiled when he saw the obvious look of excitement on my face. I’ve only been the Summer Lodge once before for a wedding and had been completely seduced by the luxury. I am so shallow!!

So I could easily write pages on the luxury touches and the endless pampering and comfort at the hotel – but I’ll spare you the travelogue, and the fine food, and the bathroom and the huge bed.

After dinner Gerald led me upstairs and watched as I undressed and removed all the clothes he had sent me. He watched me unroll the opera gloves and he eyes followed them as they fell to the floor. I unrolled my stockings; making a point of resting my foot on his chair between his legs his eyes had to follow my hands along my legs and thighs. You don’t need music to do a strip tease, just an attentive, adoring audience and a bottle of red wine.

I left my pearls on - I’ve always wanted to be taken in pearls – turned my back to him and slipped off my remaining clothes and let the night gown fall over my head so it’s coolness caressed my skin - seduced by gravity!

Immediately he was behind me, his arms round my waist his lips on my shoulders. I felt him stop, restrain himself and he led me to the bed where we sat cross legged looking at each other.

“I’ve another present for you” he said offering a small box wrapped in gold paper.

Ok, I admit it, I’m like a child when it comes to presents and I ripped the paper off in seconds. Inside there was a wooden box and inside that were 2 long silk ribbons, one black one white. He just smiled when I looked at him quizzically, lifted the white ribbon and wound one end twice around my right wrist before tying it with an extravagant bow. Ok, so it doesn’t take a rocket science to work out where this was going and I felt a wave of apprehension sweep through me – I’m no control freak but I find submissive difficult. Fighting back a sense of panic – if I couldn’t trust Gerald who could I trust? – I watched his face very carefully as he wound and tied the black ribbon around my left wrist but saw no malevolence, only concentration.

He leaned forward and I felt his lips softly on mine as he laid me back his hand in the small of my back. For a while we stayed close, our lips gently caressing each others, I felt him twist my hair between his fingers and his hand cup my breasts. Smiling he sat up – astride me now and again I watched him warily as he tied the ribbons to the finials on either side of the head board. This time I saw him tug briefly on the ribbons and watched as they tighten around the pale wood.

He sat back. I felt his weight across my hips. His fingers traced around my lips, I kissed each one in turn. They followed the curve of my neck, across my shoulders to the thin spaghetti straps of my night gown which he lifted and slid down my arms. I watched as he hands glided over the rise and fall of my breasts, his touch cool through the fine fabric, pausing to briefly circle my hardening nipples until they stood firm and proud and clearly visible. He sucked at them through the fabric until the gown was stained dark and wet from his eager lips.

He smiled. His hands met between my breasts. A sudden rip tore through the night and a flourish of fabric fell through the air as I recoiled from the violence and the cold air that stung my damp exposed breasts. Two shorter tugs rent the gown down to its hem and I lay breathless, unable to move against his weight and the ties. He kissed my belly and traced a long meandering track back up to my breasts where he gorged himself on their full firmness.

He parted my legs, his fingers parting me again and I felt him relishing how moist I was becoming under his touch. I watched as he licked his fingers dry before gently rubbing around my increasingly eager and swollen bud. He smiled as I sighed to his touch – all my worries about his intentions and whether I was witnessing the resurrection of a primeval instinct now disappeared. He grinned as I squirmed to heighten the pleasure, moving my hips to his beat. He laughed when I tensed - frozen at the intensity of climax - not wanting him to touch me for fear that I might explode, not wanting him to let go for fear of losing the sense of perfection.

Silence. A silence only interrupted by the pounding of my heart and the sound of his breath across my stomach. Now it was my turn to lick his fingers dry and I tasted my sweetness. Like nectar Gerald said – only in paradise I replied. He laughed and I felt his weight on me again as he slipped inside me, hard and eager. Stroking himself to a reciprocal climax, he withdrew and shot like bullets across my body until it glowed with and almost unearthly milkiness in the sparse room light.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Monday, September 04, 2006

Guilty

It’s been a while since I’ve be able to sit and update this journal. Strangely I feel as though I should apologise and explain my absence – that can’t be healthy can it? Bear with me, my entry goes from the mundane to the surprise to the guilt stricken!

My sister and her 2 boys, Toby and Harry, have been to stay. I finally managed to tempt her out of London! They were no trouble, but the boys are 13 and 11 - old enough to find their way around my PC or find Aunty Linda writing her blog and young enough to ask their mother for an explanation.

They left on the 7pm train back to town on Friday and I spent the evening in a long hot bath laced with the last of the duty free Molton Brown Relaxing Yuan Zhi bath bubbles and a large glass of red wine. I don’t know if it was the bubbles or the wine but I woke at midnight, shivering and looking as thought I’d aged 20 years in 2 hours. I staggered to bed and slept until Saturday’s storm woke me at 9am.

Saturday. Jenni and I had planned to spend the day at the Dorchester Show but the appalling weather meant we changed our plans. Mid morning there was a knock on the door and a courier stood outside with a pile of boxes. After I’d helped him in and dealt with the paperwork I turned back to the kitchen table and the tower blocks of boxes. Unwrapping the first, revealed a further box, then another and then a gift wrapped flat rectangular package. Opening this revealed an ornately engraved sliver box and inside that a string of antique ivory white pearls, double knotted with a white gold Art Deco fastening snaking around on a cushion of velvet.

They were heavier than I suspected but wonderfully cool around my neck. Instant sophistication.

Each box revealed something new, all with Russian Doll build anticipation, and soon I was surrounded by a pile of exquisite accessories from some of the big London stores; a silk night gown that oozed 50’s glamour, stockings, matching back lingerie (in the right size) from Rigby and Peller, scented candles from Heals, toiletries from SpaceNK, even a pair of 16 button silk opera gloves.

My neighbour appeared at the door and found me sitting bemused amongst piles of paper and boxes, pearls around my neck and long gloves covering my upper arms whilst the wind raged behind her. She looked equally bemused, almost embarrassed as if she’d uncovered a dark secret. She gave me a letter that had been delivered to her by mistake and hurriedly makes an exit. The letter was a simple, almost stark, greetings card with a simple stark message.

Can't spend another night without you. I want always and all ways – pack a bag – I’ll pick you up at 7.

G


He said he was in London all weekend. What's he got planned? He’s really trying. I was racked with guilt – how could I have been so weak so quickly?

It’s getting late and my typing, slow at the best of time, is getting worse by the second. I’ve so much to tell, but haven’t got the coordination to finish tonight. Sorry. Don’t be cross. I’ll finish the description of the next whirlwind 24 hours in the morning.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Frequently Asked Questions

I get a steady flow e-mails from the blog, all asking similar questions, so I’ve created a Frequently Asked Questions list from those that appear regularly. So here goes..

Are you for real?

Very much so.

Your blog mentions lots of places in Dorset – where do you actually live?

I live in a village outside Dorchester but, given the intimate nature of the blog, I won’t be any more specific than that.

Who are Jenni and Kate?

Jenni is a dear and old friend – we met at university when I was a new under graduate and she was a researcher. We lost touch and then met again about 5 years ago. When I needed to move out of London, she was one of the reasons I chose Dorset. Kate is her daughter.

Will you answer my mails?

I will answer all reasonable emails, however it all takes time so there may be a delay when I’m busy and I concentrate on updating the blog.

I don’t have time to reply to emails of the “fancy a shag?” variety so please don’t send them!

Why are you writing a blog?

Two reasons;

  1. I hoped it might be a release from the demons that lead me astray – and it has, to a degree.

  2. I have indulged my shopping urges too often and was hoping it might help me pay off some bills before Gerald finds out. It isn’t working but blogging has turned out to be fun.

Is your profile picture really you?

Unfortunately not – though I flatter myself that there are similarities. I have similar hair, figure and complexion but can’t claim the same levels of all-round perfection as the model in the picture who is probably 10 years my junior! But I’m a childless woman in her mid 30s, reasonably fit and curvy in a feminine way and still defying gravity in all the right places. I still can indulge my lingerie addiction without feeling a fraud and feed my sexual desire without inhibitions.

Can I meet you?

I never say never, but will only rarely say yes - never blind and only after I've gotten to know you. I may seem easy prey to you testosterone rich men, but I'm very selective - only the best for The Lady! lol!

I think you’d say yes if I asked - what do you look for in a man?

Masculinity, generosity and hygiene! I like my men fit, malleable, tasting sweet and smelling fresh.

What is it with you and lingerie?

Hard to explain; some women swoon for shoes, some for handbags, with me it's lingerie and stockings.

My first set of fine lingerie was a present from my grandmother (I had a very modern and liberated grandmother!) on my 21st birthday when she bought me an ivory silk camisole and french knicker set from Harrods. I was hooked from the moment I was the pink tissue paper falling out of the box and felt the coolness of the fabric caress my skin as I let it fall over my body.

Nothing, no clothes, no fabric, no man had ever touched me as sensuously as that. I've widened my taste over the years, become more daring in my outlook and something of an expert in assessing beauty against practicality, but the addiction to highly glamourous, highly spohisticated and highly feminine lingerie remains deeply engrained in me.

Are you connected to any of the advertisers on your site?

Only in that I am a customer and have been impressed with their service or products. I will praise the companies in my blog that are consistently good and quietly remove those that fail to reach or maintain my high standards.

Whilst some of the companies are of an adult nature, I feel they offer a more sophisticated approach to adult shopping than that provided by some of the harder core stores on the net.

I am currently trying out a Sex in the UK account alongside my long standing and excellent Play Naughty account - it promises great things but we'll see how well it lives up to expectation.


What has happened to Harry?

After the unfortunate afternoon with his mother and a champagne bottle, I have seen very little of him – though we still exchange emails and he does maintenance of my blog for me. I miss my baby faced Harry.

What are you wearing today?

Today I have an appointment with my bank manager so it’s informally formal with a hint of provocative.

- white blouse tailored in at the waist - slightly tight across the bust so 2 buttons open should gap nicely.
- black pencil skirt, about an inch above the knee, slit to mid thigh at the back.
- stockings – of course (first outing for my autumn Gios) - and belt.
- white, lace trimmed, half cup (for obvious reasons!) bra embroidered with pale pink flowers, if I see him straining for a glimpse inside my shirt I know I've won!
- black linen jacket, black pin heels and tan shoulder bag.

I shouldn’t play games with him, but he’s young and my bill is large and I need all the help I can get.

And answers to specific questions from emails I will be replying to shortly:

hushpuppy: Yes I have – but when I was much younger.
aphrodite28: Yes, yes, once and sometimes, but only with the headlights off

And finally, to CrumpetToaster

Yes, she’s single again but I won’t give you her email address. I will pass on any messages and leave it her to decide whether she replies. Though after reading the story about your goat you sent me, I hope she doesn't!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Lingerie to Sigh For

It was back in the saddle again this morning and a ride through the heavy wet air that lay on Puddletown Forest like a damp blanket. The demons that drove me back into the arms of R have remained silent and I feel far more at ease with myself and able to satisfy my physical needs alone.

We've had more rain than I'd realised - even with the stormy sleepless nights - the foliage was very wet and the ground slippery underfoot. Our breaths billowed about us in the chill of the early autumn air - summer is fast disappearing.

The rain has come just on time for the berries as the brambles and hedge rows are covered in heavy black fruit waiting to be picked. At the end of the mud splattering gallop back there was just time to watch the holiday traffic queues building on Yellow Hammer Hill before dashing home for a shower.

Back at the house I found 2 externally plain packages waiting for me - one from BeCheeky (well I couldn't let Kate's challenge go unanswered could I!) and one from StockingsHQ with a fresh supply of Gios to caress my legs through the autumn.

The BeCheeky package was beautifully wrapped (my mother would have said it was a shame to spoil it - but I've never had a problem tearing the paper off once its aesthetic virtues had been admired. Impatience I get from my father.) Inside I found the two pairs of the Caprice lace shorty I’d ordered, again excellently wrapped and exactly like the description on the website, and a small free gift (you're very naughty girls). A satisfied customer? Absolutely. (And Kate, if you’re reading this, in no way are they too young, check out the picture – you won’t be getting a reciprocal private strip show from your ‘Aunty Linda’!).

With the StockingsHQ package came a growing sense of expectation - I'm sorry, but I am such a sucker for stockings and I've never had a disappointing order from them. As Gerald (yes he's still London) always says:

"be the best at what you do, don’t be average at anything because you’ll soon be a forgotten face in a sea of mediocraty."
Gerald has his florid moments, but this time he’s right and StockingsHQ are one of the best.

Opening the packages left me late for morning coffee with Jenni in Taste in Dorchester. But she’s used to me by now. I tell her it’s my imperfections that makes her like me. I tell her that a lot. She’s yet to be convinced.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Work of the Devil

We all have demons right?

I don’t mean the Pinocchioesque conscience calmly preaching morality in times of temptation. Anyway..how could a cricket be a demon, even if it’s drawn with Disney’s saccharine tipped brush?

I don’t even mean the mischievous imps that lead a girl astray by whispering temptation at the chocolate counter at the super market checkout or when walking past a shoe shop, or a lingerie website! An imp never causes more than a pang of guilt, a flex of a credit card or another crater of cellulite.

No. I mean the hard core demons that scream around inside my head as if they were Chapter of Hells Angles riding the wall of death with a Valkyrie on pillion. Round and round until the roar of the exhaust and Teutonic angst tortures me into submission.

We all have demons like those, right?

Last weekend was bad. At first it was just a gently nagging voice in the silence every now and then.

“Text him,” two simple words barely discernable from the wind through the trees as I dead headed the surviving geraniums in the wall planters.

So I turned on the radio and kept myself busy; spent the evening with the girls, painted my toes, and the nagging subsided. I thought I’d beaten it. I was very proud and it was a wonderful feeling. But Saturday night it was bad, long, stormy and very dark. Insominia amplifies every creak of the house, every whistle of the wind and, inevitably, the voice returned.

Quietly at first, very persuasively,

“You know you want to.” And I did. “What people don’t know…”

It’s time like this I miss Gerald. I drowned the voice and my sorrows with a large gin and tonic on top of the wine I’d drunk with Jenni and Kate.

I wrote on Sunday that the day was quiet and relaxing, though this time my head was bagging with an alcohol induced drumming.

Sunday night my demons were back with a vengeance and I cracked. I texted him. Just a simple “Hello”. But hello leads to “how are you?” And “how are you?” leads to “are you busy?” And “are you busy?” leads to a blanket on Chesil Beach at midnight with R.

It was a beautifully clear night and Chesil is so so dark if you take the time to walk along the road away from the fishermen before climbing over the pebble bank. The previous night’s storm had washed the air clean and I lay there with a glorious view of the Universe as R slowly reminded me again of his selfless dexterity and silenced the demon.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Ooops I did it again

Immorality sure takes it out of a girl..

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Kate's Got Taste!

A quiet relaxing day, some 'me' time to recharge the batteries and get last week's alcohol out of the system.

Checked out BeCheeky and Kate had them summed up pretty well last night - they do sell very sexy (and daring!) and very chic knickers and sets and they seem to do it with a great deal of taste and glamour. She's got a good eye that girl - I taught her well!

Check them out - I've ordered something (yes Kate if you're reading this I'm not as old and they aren't as young as you think!) to test them out, but on Kate's recommendation alone I'll include a banner link on the right as well.

Now, where's that Strawberry thingy...

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Saturday, August 19, 2006

A Travel Bug, a Fountain and a Gamble

Just home from an evening with the girls - Jenni and Kate that is. Kate announced that she was going to ditch her boyfriend and go traveling. Just dropped it into conversation - to be greeted by long silence from her mother (I wish I could have been just as reverent but I'll admit to noisily choking on my red wine).

Seems she's been planning it for a while. She went on holiday with some university friends earlier in the summer and it seems it opened her eyes to a world beyond the beauties of Dorset. The recent demands of her boyfriend seems to have struck deeper than I'd realised and made her mind up. She's spent the last month extracting herself from the relationship, the flat and the inevitable financial web. I thought she'd been spending a lot of nights back with her mother.

"Well, you've shocked me. I thought I was the only one allowed to be outrageously and impulsively shocking around here! You'll be telling me you're pregnant and got a piercing or tattoo next!" I laughed.

"1 out of 3 isn't bad" she replied lifting her top to reveal a recent navel piercing highlighting her perfectly tanned, blemish free, iron board flat stomach and firm curve of her braless lower breasts. Not even a hint of pale bikini lines I noticed - she has grown up. Above the string like waist band of her jeans poked the delicate and lacy scalloped edge of her underware - looked expensive - perhaps she had been listening during my many "Fine Lingerie" sermons after all. There are worse influences I could have had!

"It's ok though Aunty Linda, it's the only one. For now." She smiled cheeliky, she knows I hate being called Aunty.

"Oh and these came from BeCheeky on the net." She'd seen me looking. Her smile broadened as she stood up and pulled open the buttons on her jeans with a graceful flourish to reveal a pair of very sexy lacy knickers encasing a very elegantly tanned body. Still no bikini lines.

This time it was her mother's turn to choke.

"They're a young label" she added with a giggle.

"What you're really saying is that they are too young for me?" I asked with mock sterness.

She just giggled in that completely disarming, you love me really, way she has and I was forced to smile - because I do. BeCheeky is a new one to me, I'll just have to check it out - as a public service you understand!

I'm delighted for her - the world is a large place and should be experienced through young eyes - but Kate is like her mother in one important respect; her addiction to her creature comforts and a strict grooming regime is unshakable. I asked how she would cope with nothing but a rucksack full of dirty clothes when miles from the nearest manicure, hairdresser and expensive beauty products.

She had answers for all of them of course and she proudly told me that:


- she will be staying with friends and family all the way - no hostels, huts or sleeping on the beach for her!

- one of her friends was a training to be a beauty therapist on one of the liners in the Caribbean and she'd get her nails and hair done there!

- she's going to order her beauty products in advance from StrawberryNet at different points around the world and get them delivered to her friends. Simple!

StrawberryNet is, apparently, an online cosmetic store that sells the major brands at very low prices and offers still further savings if one can live without the packaging. "Why didn't I know about this?" I demanded. She just giggled. I'll check it out - she has been busy!

Back at home I've just picked up a mail from Gerald with this photograph of the Trevi fountain he took last week


with the simple message:
Remember that night? I'll never forget how wonderful you were.
Miss you.

Love

G
Of course I remember - that was the night I gambled my self respect for a few hours of sensuality - and won. More of that soon.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Friday, August 18, 2006

And Now Flowers...

He sent me flowers today.

There was a sharp knock on the door this morning and a I found a courier standing outside hidden behind a huge box from John Lewis. Well, when I say a courier, what I actually found was a large green and white stripped box with a couple of Nike trainers just visible beneath and four finger tips stretching round the the edges.

There was a slight wheezing from behind the cardboard and a voice asked "Lady Linda? Flowers for you" before the box, shoes, fingers and voice toppled forward and staggered into the house. After a few short mazey steps and a sharp intake of breath he left the box balanced precariously on the hall table and retreated panting back to his van.

Inside was a large bouquet of white lillies and roses still tightly in bud and, though I struggled at first to remove them from its cardboard container, once out on the side they were clearly excellent quality. Sad to say, but better than I could have bought in the local flourists.

The card just said a simple "Love You Linda, Gerald" which is typical of my ..er.. focused and minimalist husband. Not one for extravagent gestures and overblown sentiment Gerald. In fact, the very act of sending flowers is so very out of character. Still, a girl shouldn't complain.

Or should she?

Of course he's been as attentive as he can be from London and he wasn't to blame for The Lebanon crisis. But the reality is that he'll be away again this weekend - "Catching up" he said - and the desire for his company is reverting back to a desire for any company and I don't know how long the memories of Rome and a little self help can keep my base desires at bay.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Memories Are Made Of This

I woke this morning to the realisation that my Roman shopping bags were still laying where they had fallen on Sunday; scattered across the table in the dining room waiting for me to deal with their contents.

I know I'd been putting off opening the bags, I knew that untying each of the scarlet ribbons still elegantly crossed around the understated black boxes and would bring memories of the previous week come rushing back.

All the highs and the lows would return with vivid detail in memories and emotions. (I didn’t say he dragged me to the top of St Peters did I? I don’t like heights at the best of times, but climbing between the inner and outer skins of the dome in a long tourist crocodile, bent over at a crazy 450 angle was not funny. Sure he laughed, but I wasn’t cross with him, I think I even smiled. The view, I have to admit, was spectacular, if viewed through my fingers and tainted by the dreaded thought of having to climb down again)

So it was with a slightly heavy heart that I delved through the ivory and burgundy tissue paper and reverently lifted the most elegant creations of lace and silk that Roman had to offer into the Dorset light. And as I let the featherweight fabric fall through my fingers I remembered Gerald’s gentle touch as he washed my back that final night and how the Molton Brown wash he had bought at the airport fell from the shelf and ran cold over my shoulders arms and breasts. But I didn’t move because his lips were on mine. I savoured his menthol breath and smiled at the hint of the day’s endless espressos as if it was an intoxicating musk enveloping me.

Even in the reality of a rural Dorset environment, the beauty of the lingerie is undeniable. There can be no doubt that the Italians have a gift with lingerie – it is a shame that the filmiest and sheerest don’t always stretch across my curves but I can live with that, the designer is probably trying to tell me something!

It wasn’t too many years ago that going to Roman or London was the only way to purchase underwear of this quality. Though Dorchester and the south coast do their best, there isn’t any shop with the same range of options or sizes available because there isn’t the demand. Now, with the rise of the internet there’s is no excuse and I use the on-line shops, usually Figleaves for their range sexy and feminine designer underwear or StockingsHQ (there’s no substitute for a pair of Gios on your legs girls!) and look forward to their parcels of glamour and sexy sophistication arriving at my door. I even used to think it was my secret route to luxury and didn’t want to share - I ‘do’ selfish so well don’t you think?.

Jenni was back from her holiday today and we spent this evening catching up with a bottle of wine or 2. It’s good to have her back – but I sense things are returning to normal; the silent house, sleepless nights (like tonight!), the craving for company.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Monday, August 14, 2006

Silence is Golden - Reverting to Type

And now he's gone again. It's just 6 hours since he's been gone and already the silence in the house is stifling and oppressive.

He called to say he'd reached his flat safely and that he loves me but somewhere along the 120 miles of fibre optic "this" and digitally switched "that" man and technology have conspired to deliver clarity at the expense of sincerity.

Of course it was never going to feel same as hearing "I love you" urgently whispered to cut through the candle light and manic night buzz of sticky Rome. Then I could see the sincerity in his eyes, I could feel the adoration in his touch, and watch the yearning in his smile. I knew that after a few short minutes, after a few short steps across the stones worn smooth by the feet of empires, after a few silent and expectant seconds in a creaking lift of elaborate iron work, he would be unrolling the stockings down my thighs, his breath warm against my pale skin, and we would again be entwined as we had been every night.

But where last week there was a whisper to create our own welcome and private silence in the Latin melee, today it just emphasises the distance and is barely audible against the growing wind through the trees that line the drive way.

So I have my memories and bags of designer clothes to keep me warm but I don't know if it will be enough to keep me straying to the warm and comforting arms of R.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Sunday, August 13, 2006

I Second that Devotion

It seems so long since I last sat here, so long since I've drawn comfort rather than irritation from his snore, so long since I've felt this house could be a home rather than a shell of bricks and mortar, so long since I've felt and equal part of a couple, part of a team.

You see he arrived early on the morning of my birthday. Told me - yes told me - to pack a bag and grab my passport and that night I was eating dinner in a pavement cafe outside the Pantheon in Rome's Piazza della Rotonda watching the children play in the fountain, the scooters slalom in and out of the tourists and the street vendors throwing strangely illuminated toys high into the air so they traced crazy blue and pink lines against the dark night.

He was sorry that he'd been trapped in London, sorry he'd neglected me and this was his gesture of penance. He managed to find some embassy accommodation for us; a cool high ceilinged apartment near the Spanish Steps. He was attentive, decisive, funny, generous in all ways, one could even say devoted, and I can't deny it felt good to be the centre of his world again.

There's too much to tell here, maybe you'll be able to piece together the adventure from the occasional paragraph or reference over the coming weeks, and much that I want to keep a memory. I fear committing it to paper, electronic or otherwise, will make my rose tinted memories that cool the terrific heat of the days and lengthen the deeply indulgent nights evaporate into too hash a reality.

But I had forgotten how generous he could be, how gentle he could touch, how deliciously inquisitive his hands were and how imaginative he was when the sun goes down. Think Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck by day and Jennifer Lopez and Geroge Clooney by night (maybe!). He excited me more than the short term thrill of innocent youth and I desired him more than the plentiful, but direct, pleasures of agricultural testosterone.

He even let me indulge my habit and ease my cravings in La Perla - a hedonistic temple to glamorous, sophisticated lingerie, finest silk, sheer stockings and intricate lace that screams seduction from every thread and fastening. I found this on their web, I think it epitomises everything about them and says a lot about how I like to feel - so much so I've borrowed it for my profile. (Now if only I looked like the model wearing it!) Every woman should own something from La Perla at least once in their lives. That it seems to co-exisit happily with the strict moral culture of the Catholic Church is an idiosyncrasy that only the Italians can pull-off.

He's sleeping now and I've been padding round the house after waking early watching the tongues of cloud turn from grey to pink to white against the pale blue sky. The mornings have developed a chilled freshness, a prelude to autumn already.

He goes back to London today - still no cease fire, the government is on holiday, there are terrorist alerts. I don't know when I will see him again. I'm afraid reality with rush back with a depressing irresistibility as the carriage door slams on the 18:00 out of Dorchester and this soft focus glow life seems to have attracted will peel away as surely as the tan on my shoulders.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Intense Dreams and Guilty Secrets

R’s just dropped me off after indulging me completely one more time – it’s as though he can read my mind. If only I had the eloquence to describe how he makes me feel for the short time I’m with him.

This morning I dreamt of him as I woke, the watery sun filling the room with a cool half light but in my mind I was warm to the core. For those brief half-dream half-reality minutes I thought he was beside me, his lips straining urgently against my body. I felt his hands in my hair, curling and twisting, he legs entwined with mine, skin hard on skin, and I feel him filling me.

He rolls me suddenly, but deftly, onto my back and I am held immobile like a vanquished wrestler, my hands trapped by the immense strength of his agricultural muscles, my hips held by his weight, by body pinned like an iridescent butterfly in a scientific display case.

And inevitably at the moment we pause, our eyes meet and with a smile I feel him start to slowly make love to me. And inevitably, something will happen to brings reality rushing to intrude on my private world. This morning it was Gerald on the phone. And inevitably, that moment cannot be recaptured and there’s nothing to be done other than console myself with a very strong coffee to drive away the disappointment.

It’s been a quiet few days; the weather certainly seems to have broken, Jenni is away in France with her menagerie of a family, Gerald is still stuck in town and my dear Harry is still banned from seeing me, though he sends the occasional sweet email when he can.

Normally I welcome my own company every now and again; allows me to recharge my mental, physical and social batteries and indulge in a few secret pleasures. You can’t fool me – we’ve all got them! Haven’t we ??? Please say yes!

Lady Linda’s Top 5 Secret Pleasures:

  1. R !

  2. R !!

  3. R !!!

  4. R !!!!

  5. R – yes, he really is that good.

  6. “Mandy” by Barry Manilow (none of this Westlife rubbish) after a couple of large glasses of red wine.

  7. Eating chocolate until I feel sick. Got to be Galaxy though, none of this clichéd phallic nibbling on Flakes or chomping on Cadbury’s squares. Real women eat Galaxy – in my world at any rate.

  8. “Dancing Queen” by Abba. The ultimate getting ready to party song.

  9. The OC – it’s like Hollyoaks, just with better teeth.

  10. Dirty sex on a summer’s Sunday morning with the church bells drifting over the water meadows. There’s something very exciting about being very bad whilst the very good are called to prayer.


You’ll notice that I haven’t mentioned stockings, suspenders, lace, silk, and the other trappings of expensive lingerie. That’s because I don’t feel in the slightest bit guilty – it’s every woman’s divine right to feel like a woman!

Just noticed it’s gone mid night – Happy Birthday to me!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Friday, July 28, 2006

A Work of Genuis!

Went to see C in her full glory in action behind the bar - she's a formidable sight, even with a just shagged blush and through a hedge hair...she can't fool me.

I don't know who's idea it was to put Pimms and lemonade on draught - but I'd like to have their babies! Heaven.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Escape from London

It’s good to be out of the city and back near the coast where there is at least a hint of a breeze.

London was at its worse, the heat just seemed to smother the place in a stifling, viscous shroud that dulled the senses and sapped the energy. The air conditioned shops were sanctuaries to be worshiped with almost religious reverence whilst the remainder were stale saunas. Oxford Street seemed to have the climate of a rain forest; Regent Street was a little more temperate whilst Bond Street was an oasis of cool and style. And yes, I exercised my fantastic plastic to its full extent – after all it would have rude not to indulge my weaknesses a little – but in this heat even the act of shopping became a real effort and the changing rooms were full of fractious women trying on clothes they didn’t really want just to stay in the cool.

The nights were almost worse. With no wind to change the air the day’s heat and pollution seemed to cling to everything and everyone – I felt like I should be spending the nights in the shower (though that would enrage the Water Police) – and instilled a deep seated and heavy torpor. I just sat in our Kensington flat, the sash windows wide open, willing the limp curtains to move, hoping for a draught as a harbinger of a breeze that would turn into a refreshing wind.

I actually though the heat wave would break following 2 intense storms that seemed to circle that capital for most of the night. Counting slowly between flash and thunder I got to 1 several occasions – that’s pretty close isn’t it? – once hearing a sound like ripping fabric following a flash that momentarily lit the room with a brutal starkness. But this morning nothing had changed and I could almost hear the city sigh with disappointment.

Gerald was still heavily engrossed in the Lebanon crisis, doing something to support our contribution to negotiations he said in a manner that clear meant he didn’t think I’d understand.

So I decided to leave London and escape to the South West earlier than planned to escape the heat, my husband’s indifference and beat the planned train strike on Thursday. Needless to say I was happy to be getting on the 11:35 South West train out of Waterloo. Not only was it air conditioned but I felt my heart lift as I saw the canopy of the Eurostar Terminus receding into the distance and the landmarks of Big Ben, The London Eye and the ornate stone and green MI6 (or is it MI5? one of the two) building passing on the left.

The train trip through the countryside showed a country baked brown by the sun, very little green remains. I was surprised at how advanced the harvest seemed to be – it’s surely earlier than usual, field after field had been harvested and its still only July? The remaining fields seemed to have gone beyond the golden straw colour normally associated with the English summer landscape and taken on more of a burnt caramel appearance. Sitting outside Wareham station waiting for the signals to change I could see the several fields being cut – the harvesters barely visible in a cloud of dust. I think the uncut fields close to the line were wheat.

But I’m home now, gratefully sacrificing the supposed sophistication of cosmopolitan London for the simpler (and cooler!) coastal life.

Now, where’s my (hmm.. that’s very possessive of me) R when I need him?

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Monday, July 24, 2006

Sunday was a quiet day...

... and I spent tidying the boarders and dead heading the pots in the garden.

Even I likes some time to myself occasionally - it makes the company that more special.

Off to London early to spend a couple days with Gerald whilst the weather is cooler and the shops are quieter. Who knows what those days will bring?

More postings and, hopefully, bulging shopping bags soon!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Saturday, July 22, 2006

The Mask Slips - Discrete Indiscretions


What a wonderful night! I laughed until my sides ached, danced until my feet were so sore they glowed red, and met a very accomplished stranger.

I have to admit the organisers and the Dorchester Great and Good did the county proud and it looked every inch like the lavish big name charity balls I’ve attended in London.

Everybody wore masks and played their part in creating a wonderfully relaxed and vibrant atmosphere - maybe the little bit of anonymity afforded by a mask released a few inhibitions? I don’t know – whilst I didn’t witness any mass debauchery on scale seen Eyes Wide Shut, people just seemed more ..er.. intimate, but then I’m always a sucker for a room full of men in dinner jackets.

Kate, Jenni and I tried to make an entrance. We were 3 women arriving alone, dressed to kill, hinding behind extravagant masks and showing lots of flesh – how could we fail?. Jenni and I happily conceded that we were completely upstaged by Kate who was attending her first major social event. She did look ravishing and turned heads all night; wearing the Vollers Corset (I don’t how she managed it in the heat!) I bought her for her 18th Birthday last year with her to die for figure she wasn’t going to do anything else was she? I lent her my pearl choker and, by wearing her mask until late into the night, she looked the epitome of mystery and sophistication.

Regardless of all the worry Kate has caused her mother recently, I could see Jenni was really proud at the sight of her young daughter blossoming into a very beautiful woman.

Though Kingston Maurward looks impressive from a distance, and particularly from the A35 approach to Dorchester, it is actually a warren of deceptively small rooms – the majority of it being given over to the agricultural college.

After what seemed like hours of dancing I took a fresh glass of champagne and slipped out of the main hall and onto the back lawn, kicking off my shoes with a relieved sigh and feeling the tinder dry grass crackle slightly under my stocking clad feet. Looking around I saw I was not alone as several couples had also swapped the stale interior heat for the humidity outside.

Looking back I saw Jenni at the door having her glass filled by a short Welshman who’d be taking a interest in her all night. I remember him distinctly; or rather I remember the piece of food stuck to his goatee beard that bounced as he talked as though it was spring loaded.

I wandered away from the crowd and made my way down to lake, sat carefully on the steep bank at its edge and paddled my feet in the cool water – I’d swear I saw steam! Though cooler than it has been recently, it was still a hot and oppressive night, the complete cloud cover concealed the moon and the stars and it got very dark quickly once the sun had gone down.

I adjusted my stockings and bra which hadsurvived the energetic dancing and heat well. Getting up to go back to the house I sensed somebody close behind me and tensed as I felt lips lightly pressed onto my bare shoulders.

“Don’t turn,” he said “I’ve wanted you all night and I know you want me, I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me.”

Now it is true, there was man – young and strong with a proud, self confident posture – with whom who I’d made eye contact through his black leather mask several times whilst dancing. He has smiled and watched as I careered across the dance floor and I, being brought up to be polite, smiled back. But it wasn’t an invitation.

“It wasn’t and invitation” I replied.

“I disagree” he said firmly.

Now I felt his hands gently on my arms and again his lips brushed across by shoulders and neck. Had I misread the signs? Not like me. Maybe I was just giddy with the heat and the wine? Possibly. Did I resist? Well only briefly and I quickly found myself leaning back into his embrace, offering myself willingly into his increasingly urgent touch and his undoubtedly imaginative whims.

He unzipped my dress to my waist, folded down the floral lace of its bodice and then my bra. I shivered slightly as his hands cupped my breasts taking their weight, my hard nipples pressing into the soft palms of his hands. He was kissing me quickly and firmly now, everywhere his lips could reach they touched, and he stood skin close behind me.

I could feel him growing hard against my lower back and it was no surprise to feel his embrace dissolve, hear the ratchet of his zip and the soft command to sit back on him.

I stepped back I lifted the skirt of my dress. It was so dark now I doubt he saw my stockings but, from the soft murmur I knew he could make out the band of soft, pale thighs at their tops, the suspenders forming vertical bars seemingly protecting the treasure benteath. It’s that Guinness Effect again – never fails.

Dropping to my knees, but not falling forward into the lake (that would have made top ten of my life’s most embarrassing moments!), I reached back and took his impressive hardness in my hands – clearly no encouragement needed here I thought – and guided him towards me.

Now, I’ve been with a few men in my time, some big, some small, some wide and thin and I know straight away how satisfying their company is going to be. They’ve all been ..er.. ‘nice’ but only a few have been instantly ‘Wow!’. As my stranger slid inside me I knew he was going to be WOW to a degree that makes Wow seems inadequate.

His hands were now firmly on my waist – this was clearly a dance that he was going to lead – and he steadied my balance lest I fell into the dark waters in front of me. I felt him travel deep inside with a slow considered move that filled me completely, his head seeking and finding every pleasure rich square inch of me.

And there we stayed, slowly and rhythmically exploring, finding and indulging each other’s desires at a slowly increasing tempo conducted by the firm, strong hands on my sides. Each growing thrust adding to the rapidly accumulating pleasure and irresistible impatience until, with a gasp, I could wait no longer. I shook off his hands and drove myself to a climax by rocking urgently and unstoppably with him deep inside me, my fingers deftly playing tunes of their own, until I sank back onto him, gasping and shivering with the intensity of the finale.

We stayed like for a few minutes until I regained my breath and could bear his touch on me again. A distant giggle and “shhhh” told us we were not alone and we scrambled to regain our clothes and dignity – avoiding the awkward silence that always seems to follows sex with a stranger.

“Zip me up please?” I asked but the silence told me he had gone as stealthily as he had arrived and I was left to walk back to the house alone and partially undone.

Jenni met me, asked me why I’d disappeared as she needed saving from a Welshman. I just smiled, my cheeks flushed with the night, and asked her to fasten my dress as she had done back at my house just 4 hours earlier.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Friday, July 21, 2006

Party Time!

Back now – what an afternoon of intense pampering I've had, I think every square inch of me has been plucked, polished, buffed and rubbed and I feel wonderful and fabulous and very spoilt.

Tonight I am wearing a full length, empire line, black floral lace gown. I’ve tried to find a picture or link to post on the net but failed I’m afraid – but it really is quite exquisite. It’s strapless with sweetheart neckline, the lace ruffling to form a delicately feminine scallop edge across the bust. With a full nude lining I'm not even going to shock anyone!

The challenge was the underwear – I'd forgotten how difficult it was to find a bra that was both sexy and strapless. (Much as love my corset, its just too hot to be strapped in that tightly). They all seemed to be feats of structural engineering – must have been designed by a man. That was until I discovered Elle MacPherson’s lingerie range in Jollys in Bath yesterday – it say’s Coranto on the label so I guess that’s the range. Its very pretty, with black lacy trimming around the cups much like the dress so it should match excellently. It also supports and guides my breasts into a pretty impressive cleavage. – just like Elle’s ? Well, maybe, maybe not – but good enough to turn heads in rural Dorset.

I’ve combined that with the matching briefs and added stockings and suspenders of my own. Throw in some black strappy heels I got when I was last in London and, hey presto, The Lady is a lady and ready to party!

I’ve 60 minutes to create this miracle – wish me luck!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

A Girlie Marathon

And so it begins, a day pampering with the girls preparing for tonight’s Ball. I’ve left arrangements in Jenni’s hands so I can’t give precise timings of our marathon tour of local beauty establishments (just in case you wanted to cheer us on) but I’m sure we’ll ‘do’ nails (hands and toes of course), hair and make-up.

Knowing Jenni, there will also be relaxation stops for coffee, lunch and maybe a massage or reflexology. Probably all in Dorchester (with excursions to Poundbury) as town services our girlie needs quite well these days. (Though I’m not sure about the 2 Chinese medicine clinics that have opened, nor how sticking a candle in your ear can make a girl healthy!)

Stiil, a girl’s got to suffer for her art and Jenni’s a professional sufferer when it comes to the art of pampering.

I’m over Gerald staying in town and I’m looking forward to the night – Jenni, Kate and I, without our partners, should ensure this evening is a good laugh. Kingston Maurward – as Harry keeps saying – be afraid, very afraid!

Got a nagging headache – can’t understand where that came from.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Long & cool & with a strawberry

So yes, we did. Go to Bath that is. On the hottest day of the year. That was. We nearly died from heat exhaustion it was so hot – unbearable - I think it must be something to do with the Bath Stone that seems to radiate heat like an electric fire.

It only took about 30 minutes to realise it wasn’t a good day to shop for ball gowns and accessories so we came straight back home again and, though it got cooler as we came south, spent the rest of the day and evening sitting on Lulworth Cove with our feet in the water. A surprising number of people had thought the same and there was still quite a crowd late under the moon.

We even had a short, hard, shower that lasted about 10 minutes. I thought it was going to grow into a major storm but it just faded into nothing. But we didn’t move from our beach haven and shouted at the sky, our arms held wide welcoming the falling drops that splashed hard on us until our clothes darkened as they soaked up the water and clung to us revealing every swealtering curve.

Here are the pictures that Jenni took – she was adamant I had to post it so I have. Apparently she dosen't want me to have all the fun - she's getting so rebellious. Sorry its not the one of The Lady looking like a drowned rat – but I don’t do Wet Shirt Competitions for anyone let alone the world – I’m sure those nice people at Google can satisfy that urge for those who desire it! I hope you like it Jenni! Today was cooler – only 29oC according to the radio – so we went back and, between frequent stops to refresh and watched the world go by, managed to get all our shopping needs.

I treated Jenni to tea at the Royal Crescent hotel – they had a cancellation so it was very lucky. It really is a little oasis of calm, cool and sophistication in the heart of an oppressive city. A complete indulgence, but then so should everything in life.


The waiter was very young and very cute – reminded me of Pete Doherty, all big eyes and baby cheeks, without (I hope) the drug habit. He brought the 3 layer tray of cakes and sandwiches and was very attentive. Jenni said it was only because my cleavage was on display and I kept wetting it with water so that the drops paused briefly on the lace edging of my bra before running down between my breasts . Well, it was hot. What’s a girl supposed to do?

Jenni reminded me I'm not a girl anymore - well maybe not in her eyes but I'm not ready to slide into middle aged boredom and apathy just yet.

Got a call from Gerald on the way back – he won’t be able to make it back to Dorset this weekend, something to do with the Lebanon crisis and the evacuation. I hope he’s not seeing that tart – I’ll take him for everything if he is.

Didn’t want to go home to a hot empty house so I’ve spent the evening with Jenni and Kate (her daughter – keep up!) and a bottle of Pimms. Just got home – its only a short drive to Jenni’s but none of us we fit to drive – so a big thank you Bob’s Cars! (it’s just a shame the driver was the size of a Zeppelin otherwise I might just have thanked him personally ). Funny how life seems more..er..soft focus now.

Agreed to take Kate instead of Gerald to the Ball tomorrow - I should get some interesting looks.

Good night world!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

A Sticky Night

Easily the hottest night of the year and I only slept fitfully.

The sun has now cleared Yellow Hammer Hill, highlighting the village skyline and treeline and throwing long shadows pointing west through the dry, and gold tinged, grass. But there isn't a breath of air, the trees are motionless right to their uppermost branches and the expectation of another extremely hot day hangs heavy over us.

Its good news for the local farmers of course and the harvest is in full swing. This year, wrapping straw bales in plastic seems very much en vogue so the countryside is littered with big cylinders wrapped in black, small cubes wrapped in blue as well as the occasional, and decidedly retro, unwrapped rectangular block. It's as though the fields have been sprinkled with liquorice allsorts.

Jenni and I have planned to go shopping in Bath to finish our outfits for the Summer Ball at Kingston Maurward this Friday. More news later.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Sunsets, Sex and Sunrises

What a wonderful to end and start the day.

Last night I met R again just in time to watch the sun go down from the top of The Ridgeway. I got a late text from him to meet at the golf club in 15 minutes – only just time for me to shower, dress and drive the 5 miles through the back lanes to Came Down.

R’s greeting was unemotional, almost perfunctory, as I climbed into his jeep but, as the crowed car park disappeared behind us, he softened and warmed further as we made short work of climbing the bridle path track leading off the main road and into fallow field just over the rise.

It’s strange how Weymouth almost looks as though it’s blushing as the sun disappeared over West Bay to the west, its fading rays catching the wet pebbles along Chesil Beach, creating the illusion of a 14 mile silver chain connecting the pendent Isle of Portland to distant Lyme Regis. Of course, being a resort and a port for many years, I’m sure it’s seen plenty to blush about!

As I watched the sun disappear and the stars appear in the clear skies, R proved himself to be as generous as ever; delighting in my minimal dress code (a flora summer dress buttoned up the front and ivory hold-ups - well I only had a few minutes to prepare and I felt cleanliness was more important than coverage! And who was going to know?) and indulgently anticipating my every desire before I’d even uttered a word.

Last night I watched the skyscape change from crimson to indigo blue as the remarkably soft and dexterous hands of a Dorset farmer played an intense symphony of pleasure through my body. He’s quite a find is R, and one I’m increasingly reluctant to share.

This morning I managed to rise early enough to meet with Jenni at Studland Stables for an early morning gallop along Studland Beach. I’ll admit to feeling a little jaded – R dropped me of quite late after proving an extremely welcome aptitude for stamina as well as generosity – and it was a while before I felt like sleeping. Jenni’s instantly disapproving look wasn’t very welcoming either – that girl can read me like a book – but she chose not to press it. Thankfully the winding drive out to Studland went quickly and I managed to doze to the sound of John Humphrys.

As usual, my tiredness was quickly forgotten with the extreme exhilaration of galloping through the wet sand, the spray on my face cooled by the early morning air. I can think of no better way to start the day – other than with R perhaps…

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Charitable Causes

Hot again and getting hotter – or so the BBC’s weatherman has just said. Don't forget my tongue in cheek tips for staying warm...

Of course, whilst we may be sweltering – and I was close to melting today, thank god for a secluded garden, a cool breeze – the good weather is excellent news for the local villages and charities holding their summer fairs, fetes and carnivals.

I’ve already written about Puddletown’s Carnival . Yesterday was the turn of Jenni and I to visit the Joseph Weld Fete in Dorchester. The Joseph Weld charity is a local hospice that provides specialist pain relief and care for cancer patients in the Dorchester area free of charge.

We had a close friend who benefited from their care 3 years ago after being diagnosed with a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer and we witnessed first hand how the incredible dedication, care and sensitivity of the staff made her final days more comfoitable. We always do everything we can to support this group – after all, there, but for the grace of God, go I!

Joseph Weld has recently merged with the other major cancer charity operating in Dorset – Cancer Care Dorset and I encourage you to support them in anyway you can..

So sorry, no titillating stories, no laboured description of my lingerie collection - this tart has a heart, so please check out:

Joseph Weld and Cancer Care Dorset

and please be generous!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Harry, Stockings and a 1/4 Cup Bra - a Recipe for Seduction.

People just don’t like to hear the truth do they? It’s ironic that the very value our mothers urged us follow without hesitation is the last thing most people want to hear.

My truth is that I’m a highly functional and sexually driven woman in a highly dysfunctional relationship that affords me freedom and money at the expense of love and affection. I’m comfortable with that truth and, whilst I’m guilty of many things, most of which left a smile on my face and occasionally some aches in my muscles, I’m not guilty of hypocrisy.

Harry’s mother has a similar truth, she doesn’t know it; or rather she does she doesn’t accept it – yet. Yes, it was unfortunate that she found me astride her son on a cool and misty Monday afternoon in the flimsiest of black lingerie and stockings as the iced water dropped onto his naked chest from the bottle of champagne I was holding. I was expecting a gasp of pleasure from Harry and instead the moment was shattered by a shrill shriek from his mother who’s just popped over for a coffee and a gossip.

Up to then it had all been going so well though, of course I’d do things differently if I had that afternoon again – foremost being that I’d lock the door! But would I still plan to devour Harry’s creamy body? Absolutely!

“I need you to think of something exciting if you want me to change your blog” he said staring“I think I can do better than that.” I replied dropping a pack of cards onto the table. “The blog can wait, ever played poker?”

And so it was that I lured Harry away from my PC’s screen and thoughts of web pages, frequently asked questions and search engines and into the opulent upholstery of the lounge. Harry’s knowledge of poker was significantly worse than his knowledge of women and it was relatively easy to contrive losing at just the right rate.

Hand 1: Harry wins with a single King after I discard 2 pairs. The Lady removes her sandals and tosses them nonchalantly across the room and smiles at the disappointed look on his face.

Hand 2: An over confident Harry tries to bluff with a single Queen and I win with a pair of Aces. The Lady unbuttons his shirt kissing each square inch of his pale and perfectly smooth chest as it greets the cool afternoon air and running my tongue along his faintly defined breasts and abs.

“Still half hearted about the gym then…I’ve told you before about building up your stamina for me.”

Hand 3: The Lady holds the 3 4s from the initial deal and easily beats Harry’s pair of 5s. The Lady removes his scuffed deck shoes and throws them into the corner.

Hand 4: Harry wins after I purposely fold my pair of queens. The Lady sighs, unbuttons the front of her sun dress and lets it fall to the floor into a heap around her feet. Harry’s face is a picture as he stares wide eyed at me, his mouth forming words he can’t utter.
Not The Lady (oh for breasts that young!) but she can still carry it off thanks to the wonderful people at Myla
His reaction was pleasing, though I was aiming for un-Godly sexual enlightenment rather than a sinner apparently struck dumb. I had made an effort for the poor boy though and now I’m standing before him in a double string pearl choker, a black quarter cup bra (the way it cups my breast is remarkable - I think it's designed to keep me permentantly and pertly aroused if somewhat on a platter), suspender belt, knickers and long seemed stockings. Not subtle I know but, despite nearly falling out of the bra, I think I still have a childless figure to carry it off - Harry’s mother probably doesn’t agree!

In 16th centuary Venice, home of the Italian courtesan, the rulers of the city were so shocked at the increasingly blatant and open display of the ladies’ sexuality, wealth and beauty that they were banned from wearing jewellery, gold, silver pearls and silks. They thought that by banning the trappings that made them attractive they could stop the trade across the objective being to make them unattractive. It would have been enough to drive me to a nunnery – I could live with the touch of fine lingerie under my day clothes. It didn’t work of course; they failed to (or chose not to) understand that the attraction of these ladies was not the superficial adornments that hung about their necks, but the more profound and accomplished actions of their bodies at that had built an unassailable reputation. But I digress..


“Do you like stockings?” I ask. “I call this my Guinness look – long, black and smooth with a creamy white layer at the top that’s begging to be licked.” (yes, the French fully fashioned stocking from StockingsHQ.com were every bit as good and every bit evocative of 1950's glamour as they claimed - thank-you!)

I let him stroke the length of my legs for a while, feeling the smooth sheerness of the material over my slightly yielding skin, tracing the seem over the long contours of my legs, and savouring my cool, soft band of flesh at the stocking tops. He has developed a very tender touch under my tutelage – the weeks practise and teasing has been paying off. As his fingers start to stray between my legs I feel a surprised pause as he finds the opening in the fabric and the moist welcome that lies beneath.

“Patience Harry- it’s your deal” I said turning back to the cards. I knew he was hard and straining at his jeans and knew I had to win the next hand.

Hand 5: 2 pairs for The Lady, a single 10 for Harry. The Lady unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the belt loops and lets it drop to the floor.

Hand 6: Another win for the Lady – it’s easy to beat a single 7. The Lady undoes his jeans and eases them over his bulging desire.I took him slowly and deeply into my mouth – he had showered before coming to see me like I had asked and I could still taste the faint traces of Imperial Leather, standard issue for every bathroom in Harry’s house, his mother is a creature of habit. I sensed him tense, (I didn’t want him to peak that quickly – honestly the youth of today, no stamina!) and backed off, running my tongue along the length of his shaft.

Hand 7: I dealt and Harry won.

“Time to learn how to un-roll a stocking I think” I whispered to him and guided his hand his hands to the suspender fastening. He struggled. I helped. He struggled. I laid him back onto the sofa and sitting astride him I undid the first of the fastening.

“Its easy once you know how – perhaps this will help” and I reached for the open bottle of champagne I’d opened as he arrived.

“No, not yet – sit up”

Somewhat surprised at the sound of Harry giving directions I knelt up and felt his fingers parting the folds of my knickers, then my lips and there he was, my darling Harry, straining his head forward to drink my wetness directly from source. And you know something? The boy shows promise! He was eager and I felt desired, he was gentle where he needed to be around my bud and I felt worshiped. I’d swear his eyes were afire when he looked up from between my stocking clad thighs. He’s obviously been listening!

And that’s where an afternoon that was going so well suddenly went so horribly wrong. Harry had laid back, his face glistening impatiently with me, my thighs glistening with him. I was about to anoint him with champagne, with a intention licking him dry, when the mood was destroyed with a shriek that could cut steel never mind shatter glass.

Of course it all got very messy and the air hung heavy with accusations and insults that centred on my behaviour. Now a couple of days have passed and a feel able to write about it a little more objectively – I’ve received several emails from Harry and he’s fine and even fixed this blog!

And so where’s the ‘truth’ I spoke of? Well I guess its that Harry has grown and is soon to leave home to attend Bristol University – close enough that he can come home if he needs to but further enough away to deliver the independence he craves. There's the local scandal around Harry's mother, her late birth and its timing against her husband's business trips but that, as they say, is detail.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Monday, July 10, 2006

Stocking Trade and Indulgent Sex - DIY Style

So that's another weekend over and tomorrow I'll have the house and the county back to myself once Gerald takes the early train back to town.

I used to resent Monday mornings; having to get up to take Gerald to catch the 6:06 am train from Dorchester South was a bad start to the day for somebody who didn't wake see a sunrise until she was 27! Of course I'd seen plenty through bleary party eyes as I staggered home after dancing, or drinking, or screwing the night away in some dubious part of town - but actually waking? Christ, the idea still makes me shiver the night before.

Now, though; now I'm more at ease with my adopted lifestyle. An early Monday start allows plenty of time to slink back into a more indulgent mindset before considering how best to tackle the opportunities presented by the week ahead. I'm not a creature habit, not good ones anyway, so the manner of my slide back into corrupting decadence will vary from week to week.

Tomorrow Harry is coming over to help extend my blogsite and I'm planning a special reward for him and there's some preparation to do first - I know his mother is away for the day and I've big plans for that boy. I think that probably calls for a long relaxing bath to wash and shave away the torpor of the weekend and hopefully there'll be time for a little selfish indulgence with my Mari-Ruth Oda pebbles from Myla or maybe I'll break out one of my more ..er.. "obvious" dildos.

The pebble is a work of genius, it's designed by a woman for women and its vibes are subtle and vary in strength varies across its surface - if you've time ladies, or are very sensitive, this can make for a very indulgent and deeply satisfying encounter. But then, if time is short or you can't beat Peter, my intimidating and completely filling dildo - after all there are times when discrete just won't do!

My obsession with glamorous lingerie doesn’t seem to be abating. Late last week I took my first delivery of silk stockings from Stockings HQ. They were recommended to me by Jenni (who seems to be getting more daring in her outlook by the day!) and there's a clear sense of passion for their business (and some unhibited pictures in their discussion boards!). I have to admit I can’t fault their service and I plan to test the quality of their products tomorrow with the help of young Harry. I'll let you know what happens - maybe they'll get the "Lady Linda Inside" stamp of approval!

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Harry's Hot Carnival Encounter

Gerald is back for his weekend break from his job in the city so I don't have time to write very much.

Sometimes I resent his Friday night arrivals and Monday morning departures, behaving as if what I try to make a home is little more a guest house - of course he earns good money and the 5 days of freedom allows me to follow a lifestyle that wouldn't otherwise be available to me, but sometimes it feels a little hollow.

Have I surprised you? Maybe I'm not the superficial tart you thought I was? Only Maybe?

Spent this afternoon and evening at Puddletown Carnival sampling the fun at the ever imaginative stalls around the village – again I’ve failed to win anything in the duck race - before watching the procession. Though not as hot as recent days the weather stayed fine, though the rain has just reached home now.

During the procession we met and stood with Harry's family. Harry is usually part of the procession, helping on the local farm's float but hadn't wanted to take part this year - I think he's become self conscious over the past year - guess he's growing up. Instead I felt him standing close behind me, the warmth of his breath flowing over the back of my neck and, I'd swear I felt the occasional, hesitant, touch of his hand on the back of my dress. I felt him pause as he felt the lacey top of the ivory stockings I was wearing under my summer dress, their change of texture seeming to mark an intimate boundary only to be crossed my following the taut suspenders up and along my thighs.

I knew from his stillness he was hard, aching for me, straining for me against the stonewashed fabric of his jeans. Well my dear sweet Harry, if you're reading this, I find your new found daring very encouraging and I promise to reciprocate when we meet next - remember I still have some work to do on this site and I can be very grateful when I put my mind to it.

Finally replied to R's text, despite the thought of him against me, on me, in me has filled my thoughts since walking away from his car that dark night, I told him I found our evening pleasant (!) and that I'll let him know when I have a gap in my diary. Very restrained and cool don't you think?

Its time to return to Gerald's world and the prospect of 5 long minutes of staring over his shoulder as he pants and wheezes in my ear. What else is a girl going to do on a Saturday night after all? It's the price I have to pay for longer nights of R.

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night

Friday, July 07, 2006

Text Me

Lady Linda has just received this text just…


"L, U were amazing last nite when can we meet again? R"


I have to admit I was rather amazing, surprised myself - there's life in this ol' body yet. As for meeting again, I think I’ll make R wait a while…

All because the lady loves glamorous lingerie that caresses her body, seducing her with the touch of lace and silk, her soft yielding skin encased in rolled silk or nylon seamed stockings, breasts cupped in uplifting bras, basques, camisoles and accessible in open panties. If a man doesn’t take advantage of her delights she always has her vibrator, her trusty rabbit, and toys to pass the night


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