Thank you for a wonderful year.

Tonight and tomorrow: All calls ONLY $1.19 per minute

Everyone welcome:

new callers, old friends & old flames.

xo, Angela

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1-800-863-5478
ext: 0311424

As you who follow me closely know, I didn’t do my usual tra la la for Christmas around this blog. No decorations. No falling snowflakes, which had become quite the tradition.  To kinda-sorta make up for it, you will note that today you have red snow!  I’ll keep it up through New Years Day and then it will be gone as we all buckle down to count the days till spring.

I don’t want you to think there was anything wrong. It was and continues to be a lovely holiday for me. In fact, starting tomorrow, we are going to celebrate in a very big way. You might want to check back. If you don’t check back, you’ll be kicking yourself in the ass. Just sayin.

So about my Christmas …

I got bamboozled (not that I fought that hard) into hosting Christmas for my family this year.   If I would have agreed when it was first brought up, things would have been just peachy, but I kept hemming and hawing and kicking my feet. So pretty much right at the threshold of all things Santa, I finally said yes.  Yes, Virgina, there is a Santa’s Little Helper and I am the chosen one.

So then it was a mad dash to whip up a Christmas to be remembered. And I was about the business of doing so right up until my family arrived Christmas day at 12 noon. Literally. I was just putting the vacuum cleaner away when the doorbell rang. Good fun was had by all, with my Pomegranate martinis being a big hit and my German potato celebrated muchly.  Gifts were exchanged with actual love and appreciation. It truly was a perfect Christmas.

But other things have been heavy on my heart, as I’m sure has been with most of you. It cannot be overstated that the Newtown tragedy is beyond unacceptable, anyway you cut it, from whatever side of the partisan fence you opine.  These  horrendous mass murders at schools and churches and theaters …  what the fuck?

Why is this continuing and what are we going to do about it? None of us should have to fear for our own lives or the lives of our loved ones. Children should be safe in their schools, and parents should be confident that this is the case.  I don’t have the answers.  But like Mr. T recently said to me, “We already know President Obama is a great orator. Now it’s time for him to show us he’s a great leader.”  Do something and do it now!

And now my heart is hurting all over again, so I’ll leave it here for now.

xo, Angela

Angela, you make my cock very hard, and you do so very frequently. Sometimes it’s just the thought of you. In fact, it’s growing now.

By the way, you also make it explode in, well, the most intense way. Such pleasure that my entire body shakes.

An erotic poem inspired by and written to Dennis
(and others who experienced the freedom of the 60’s
and loved a few women along the way)

she is your flower child

your woman-girl

an unwritten sonnet, yet every word in place

the melodia always at the back of your throat

a slip of memory

tucked forever into a corner of your soon-weathered heart

there to unfold

again and again and again.

and you will remember this vixen-child:

her flowing hair, her open flesh

the rose promise of her pink-hued nipples

the tangled flourish of her saporous cunt

you will remember:

her generous desire, her unfettered need, her transparent flame

all of this offered to you

all of this gathered for you

from the chagrined pleats

of your mothers’ ferrous skirts

of your fathers’ flannel suits.

before too long the years will shift

clumsy and dumb, they will take you with them

you don’t even know it

you shouldn’t even know it

she won’t let you know it, at least not yet

so be with her now, in this moment of this night

in this moment of this night that will last forever

because it is all that matters

because it will always matter

mount her, take her, fuck her, love her

forget yourself in her soap-scented yearning

remember yourself in her wide-open giving

save yourself in the clasp of her legs, the press of her breasts

she is your flower child

and you will remember

because she is writing herself onto your heart

________________________________________

Originally published for Sex Kitten

Hope you liked it.

xo, Angela