IHOP, YouHOP, Let's all Hop on...

It's been very international at Tabu's lair this week... a splendid opportunity to get a taste of so many different cultures, don't you know. And culture maven that I am, I simply lapped it up.

Which led me to think about my own personal U.N. While I can't claim that I've visited all these counties, their countrymen have visited me... so I feel just the tiniest bit of kinship with...

Austria, Italy, Spain, Germany, Greece, Norway, Canada, Wales, Mexico, Brazil, France, Colombia, India, England, Israel, Venezuela... and then the various states, of course... the state of horniness, the state of eagerness, the state of arousal and the state of bliss.

But who hasn't gained at least temporary citizenship within my borders? (That's a rhetorical question, in case you didn't recognize it.) I love the idea of traveling the world on an infinite Eurail Pass... hop on, hop off, wherever a sidelong glance seduces me to stop.

Might I have a secret yearning for a Yuri? Is there a Sven lounging in my future? Ahhh....so many horizons, so little lube.

I'm still waiting for you to stamp my passport!

This Orgasm rated "R"

for retail!

Yes, I succumbed to my inner diva (a rare occurrence, actually) and I went shopping for a hot new dress to wear to a very special occasion. When the local TER boys hold the first S FL meet-and-greet on Dec. 4th, I want to be there in style.

Well, a trip to Betsy Johnson snagged this little vixen a killer dress. And I mean KILLER.

For those of you who'll be there, I want to hear if you think it suits my penchant for old-school glam... because I know I'm going to feel just like Rita Hayworth.

Does the dress make the woman? Or does the dress make you want to undress the woman? I'll be happy either way.

The Boink Button... push it if you dare!

Gosh, I'm learning to love technology. Since I got my new flat-panel TV with high-def and all the other sexy features I'd been yearning for... well, recreation at the Tabu household has taken on a whole new dimension.

Yesterday the handsome young Comcast technician came over to hook up the new DVR system. It was hard not to notice broad-shouldered Xavier, his dark skin setting off a gleaming white smile... and of course, as he squatted in front of my TV, his strong butt was very nicely outlined in his UNIFORM pants. (you know I love a uniform!)

Well, anyway... I managed not to jump him. But after he left, I had to explore all the capabilities of the new system. Soon it was time for the Patriots vs Bills game, and the SO and I settled in for a little NFL action. A lot of kick-ass developments by the boys in the tight white UNIFORM pants, and Tabby was getting frisky. But at the same time, I didn't want to miss the game.

Enter my DVR! I found the "Live" button and hit pause. Oh my god-- Tom Brady, frozen in mid-throw... and the whole game awaiting my god-like power to re-start time.

I giggled and glanced at the SO.

"Want to boink?" I offered. "I've just stopped the game and we can do anything we want. You know, make a sandwich, walk the dog, get a blow job...."

Well, for my red-blooded American hornster, boinking beats football any day. And for this red-blooded American vixen, the good life means squeezing the best out of every moment.

Stealing time for stolen pleasure... and then getting it back again. Score one for me.

Has anyone noticed?

That I renamed my blog? (I know, you've got bigger things to think about -- especially the gent I met last night from LA-- wow-- ) but seriously now....

I was ready to give the ole girl a little different flair.

Votes yes/no?

Turning my back on my blog?

Never!

Thank you to the friends who have called and written in the past few days to check on me... I'm extremely flattered that anyone noticed I've been slightly AWOL from the boards and my blog.

I'd love to report that something dramatic has rained down on Tabu-- the FL lottery, perhaps?-- but alas, it's simply my real-world business taking a time-consuming turn.

Am I still luring new victims into my lair? Well, this week I'm entertaining friends from Texas, California, Kentucky and Florida... so there's no shortage of succulence in Hollywood!

Can't wait to see my usual suspects and the new friends traveling down to Paradise!

I'll be watching your back. Will be watching mine?

Being treated instead of tricked... priceless!

Yes, I celebrated an early Halloween at the swing club on Saturday night... but on Oct 31, Halloween night, I had a hot date on South Beach.

What a scene! On my way to the Ritz, I spied three queens and a king (will disco or Elvis ever die?), a punk rock diva and at least four hookers... one of whom was sauntering into the Ritz.

After slipping out of my jacket to reveal an elegant silk blouse that draped the girls invitingly, my eyes were caught by a flash of white-- my date, smiling as broadly as a Jersey boy can.

A warm, welcoming kiss later, we were off to renewing our friendship. As we strolled down Lincoln Road, arm in arm, I was struck by the ease of it all. Twice a year or so, my friend schedules our date months in advance... and we both look forward to spending the evening together.

Dinner at Emeril's? Why not? For a girl who subsists on quick eats from local joints, it was sheer luxury. Even better, we caught up on his life and mine. We've achieved that sweet balance of affection and understanding that makes our relationship exciting, yet still maintains the necessary boundaries.

After dinner, morphing was the name of the game... and evil Tabu reminded my enthusiastic boytoy that it had been far too long since he had submitted to my sweet discipline.

Midnight approached, and it was time for this girl to ease back into her coach and her life. As I navigated my way through the masquerading streets, I smiled a secret smile. Being Tabu is a trick of my fertile mind. Being me, a pure treat.

Jailhouse Rock!

It's a tough job, but somebody has to screw it.

Saturday night was Halloween at the swing club, and it just seemed right that I unveil my latest Tabu persona for the amusement of my prisoners... I mean, friends.

And among the angels, pirates, schoolgirls, nurses and gladiators, a redhead in black definitely caught some eyes.

"Oooh, officer, please handcuff me!" one middle aged tryster pleaded. His wife, a buxom brunette spilling out of her witch dress, shoved him forward for detention.

"Yes, take him in!" she laughed. "He's already been a bad boy!"

So many victims, so little time. My trusty nightstick ended up persuading some nasty little vixens to ride off into the sunset with Sgt. Tabu... while others watched with envy.

It was clearly a case of following my instincts... because you know there's nothing I like better than taking advantage of a willing suspect.

So if you see this officer out on patrol, I have a few word of advice. Spread 'em, put your hands behind your head, and let me pat you down.

If I don't find your concealed weapon, I'll provide one of my own!

My fantasy? Real clients.

I'm completely a fan of fantasy. I mean, what's better than spinning a sexy scenario in your mind? You can lovingly concoct every last detail, every nuance, the taboos, the timing, and ultimately, the explosive conclusion. For highly enjoyable "alone" time, fantasies really can't be beat.

Then, there are the people who get off on displaying their naughty fantasies to someone else... preferably someone who will appreciate it as a magnificent display of sexual imagination, I suppose. There's no real intention to carry it out-- they simply want a "Oooh, that's so bad!"

Well, guess where I come in.

This week I received another in my ongoing series of "Just Tell Me I'm Naughty" emails from prospective "clients" seeking my approval. They're all worded similarly: tell me what you think, is this too far out, blah blah blah. Unlike emails from real clients with a specific roleplay request, who actually want to book time with me for a sexy session, these are unmistakable both in their tone and their lack of supporting information (such as my booking form.)

Here, edited down from its original, mind-numbing length, is a sample.

I have this crazy fantasy of being humiliated by my wife being with another man... You still really love me, but I no longer satisfy you and you met someone else. This has started to come out by you being verbally abusive to me over time. You begin to tell me about your lover. I see your eyes darting around the bar as if you're looking for someone, but I see you definately are openly flirting.. It kinda of excites me too.. And that time you had me go down on you... Well, I knew you'd been with someone, but it was so exciting... My heart was pounding... I knew what I was tasting. So, once I started... After that, I'd secretly go into your hamper to pull out your dirty panties and I would relish its wetness. You've been suspicious of this for a while and now of course, I'm your "panty boy".... you begin to whisper in my ear..."Panty boy, I know you know that I'm f*cking other guys... You perv, you love it too don't you? You're pretty pathetic, knowing that I'm with others, but geez, smelling my wet panties after... god you're a wimp!" You sit on the bed and lean back, gently rubbing yourself through your jeans. "You know hon, I still care for you, and at that same time I think you're a pathetic wimp. Well, panty boy, it's out now... I"m going to f*ck who I want, when I want and you're going to keep paying the bills." "Look at your little cock panty boy... no wonder you can't do it anymore." You straddle me, here panty boy, use your tongue that's all your good for now.. You cum. etc etc etc

Sigh. What's sad is that this cuckold fantasy is quite common-- and enacting it wouldn't be difficult. But I'll bet you a thousand dollars that the writer will never come through with anything more concrete, like a booking... and if he does, I'll bet you another thousand that he'll cancel before it happens.

I've been down this little road too many times now to take him seriously, poor thing... so I had to write him the following response.

Dear John- I've discovered an interesting fact through my going-on-four-years of escorting. The more elaborate the scenario that someone presents, the less likely they are to actually book a session and show up. Isn't that odd?

Maybe they really just get off on the idea of a professional reading it and considering it, then responding how it turns her on.... or maybe it's all about writing it out for their own titillation.

Either way, I've learned that very few letters like yours end up in appointments. So if you're serious about enacting this roleplay, I'll merely ask you to get in touch with me, through my website booking form, a week prior to your visit. We can get all the details straight then.

Maybe he'll surprise me. That really would be fantastic.

Seven and... Oh!! (My day at the Pats game!)

Well, thanks to my new friend from the west coast, I got to sweat for 4 hours today. Yes, my stamina's pretty good for a old lady in her 40s... but I can only wish it were in service of a prettier cause. The Patriots, in case you were otherwise engaged, simply decimated the hapless Miami Dolphins at Pro Player Stadium. And like the little girl in the Shake and Bake commercial, "I helped."

Since I was only mildly sympathetic to the local boys-- who seemingly came on the field already mentally composing their post-loss locker room soundbites-- I had a grand ole time rooting for Tom Brady and his crew. And what was even sweeter-- my seats were among a gaggle of NE fans in their blue and red jerseys. The portly gent sitting just below me with his pals- all having traveled from Boston for the game-- truly appreciated the way I jumped up and down when the Pats scored again and again. (As a woman, this is when you wish the Jumbotron would catch your boobage making its play for fame.)

The SO- who's only mildly interested in the antics of the NFL- watched bemusedly as I alternately dabbed sweat from my ladylike brow and careened to my feet, screaming "Get him!"

By halftime, it was obvious that even the perky Dolphins cheerleaders were working hard to maintain their spirit. (And by the way-- are hair extensions a prerequisite for being a pro cheerleader? Half of their choreography seemingly consisted of them throwing their manes to and fro. But I digress.)

The highlight of halftime was not the Air Force Band- whose rather stolid performance reinforced my ideas about creativity in the military- but the moment they introduced the pilots who had blasted over the stadium in their F-18s after the National Anthem. The camera zoomed in on the crew in their modest brown jumpsuits-- strong jaws, keen eyes and a gagillion horsepower at their fingertips-- and as they made their "Aw, shucks" waves, I thought, "Aw, yes!" But then, I'm a sucker for a uniform. (Just ask my UPS man!)

Well, a girl can only glow for so long, and by the beginning of the 4th quarter, Miami's fate had been cast. It was time to go.

On the ride home, I counted up the firsts. My first game in Miami. My first Tom Brady jersey. And my first game day courtesy of my left-coast client, and, of course, Tabu.

Let the celebration begin!

From a universe of words, a single language

Slowly he lifts the hem of her burka. Her slim brown legs part, beckoning his tongue to explore her hidden recesses....

From the floor-to-ceiling window of their high-rise, the Sydney Opera House glistens in the sunset... she turns and catches him staring, mesmerized by her silhouette, her filmy dress barely concealing her thighs....

Giggling in delight, she disappears from view as she pulls the Shetland wool sweater over her head; in the chill Scottish air her nipples harden as he watches....

And in south Florida, a writer smiles secretly at her laptop; today her words have lured a small universe of readers who dream her own dream: a vision of silky skin in shades of clam shell and bronze, salmon-pink and cafe au lait, and breath rising and falling in the deepening hush of release.

Solitude is a luxury. In the hours that I slip not away from the distractions of the world, but so deeply into them that I emerge into a pure conviction of what's universal, I send a version of myself across time lines, datelines, and oceans.

Often silence echoes back. But sometimes, Yes, I hear from the waves. You have spoken the wisdom of my body.

From that distant witness, my afterglow is earned.