Archive for March, 2006

Tag team # 1

Posted in minx with tags on March 18, 2006 by evilminx

I was tagged by the Corporal and ~S~… separately. A two-pronged attack. They got me, they really, really got me.

~S~ wants me to tell you all five weird or interesting (or both) things about me. Okey dokey, sweetpea. Next time.

The Corp, bless his well-defined shoulders and cute little ass, wants me to tell you about 7 songs that I’m listening to at the moment that mean something special to me. Well, sure thing Corp.

1. At Seventeen — Janis Ian
Janis Ian wrote this song about me. Mark my words. She did. If you play the song backwards you can hear “Eeeeevil. Eeeeeeeeevil Minx.” On the album cover there’s even a tiny little inset shot of me, in all my Minxy regalia, walking barefoot across the road in St. John’s Wood. ‘Strue. OK, it’s not. But it could be. Except it couldn’t.

But it should be. Ahem.

2. Sadeness — Enigma
I love this song. Not that I understand the majority of the lyrics, but the music is just dreamy. And that bit that sounds like a woman panting and coming down after a multiple orgasm… just gets me every time. So fucking hot.

3. Sister Goldenhair — America
Naturally, I boast the golden hair of which the song sings. And i just love this song.

4. In My Life — The Beatles
I’ve loved this song since I first heard it, at the tender age of eight. It’s continued to grow on me throughout my life, meaning more and more to me as I grew older. It’s a thing of true beauty, and I’m quite sincere.

“But of all these friends and lovers,
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new”

5. You To Me Are Everything — The Real Thing
Quite simply the most sexy, gorgeous, funky, funny song ever. This song would endear me to you faster than a planeload of thumbtacks. Seriously.

6. She’s Got a New Spell — Billy Bragg
I love Billy Bragg (very few people over on the side of the pond frequented by the majority of my readership know of him, you’re missing out) and this is one of my favourites of his, by virtue of the following lines, which make me laugh every time I hear ’em:

“One minute she says
She’s gone to get the cat in
The next thing I know
She’s mumbling in Latin”

For all my Catholic (lapsed or otherwise) and church-going readers… no offence, but that makes me howl with laughter.

7. You’re My Home — Billy Joel
I have no words to equal those of the master, so I will leave the talking to him. Suffice it to say that right now in my life there is one to whom I would address this song, and mean every word.

When you look into my eyes
And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
It always comes as a surprise
When I feel my withered roots begin to grow
Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
That’s all right, my love, ’cause you’re my home

When you touch my weary head
And you tell me everything will be all right
You say, “Use my body for your bed
And my love will keep you warm throughout the night”
Well I’ll never be a stranger and I’ll never be alone
Whenever we’re together, that’s my home

Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike
Indiana’s early morning dew
High up in the hills of California
Home is just another word for you

Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
That’s all right, my love, ’cause you’re my home
If I travel all my life
And I never get to stop and settle down
Long as I have you by my side
There’s a roof above and good walls all around
You’re my castle, you’re my cabin and my instant pleasuredome
I need you in my house ’cause you’re my home

* * *

Update, 9 hours later, when my brain engaged… Ooops.
I tag: Holiday of The Holiday Life, O of Eros, Logos, Vatum and Vixen of Licentia Vatum, Mermaid Girl, Priest of The Straw That Broke the Camel’s Back and Survivor’s Guilt.



Posted in minx with tags on March 9, 2006 by evilminx

As I sat down
last night
and exhaled
for the first time
in what seemed
like hours
in front of the TV,
I found my mind
to you
and how I
want you
to make love
to me
in all the
different ways,
but I keep
to one fantasy,
I don’t know why:
where you
fuck me
and fast,
and furious,
from behind
as you stimulate
my eager clit,
and kiss my neck,
and whisper
sweetly debauched
in my ear.
Will you do that
for me?
To me?
Will you
make me
at the
same time
that you do?
Will you?


Posted in minx with tags on March 6, 2006 by evilminx

My Muse,

Time creeps on and I’m feeling sicker and sicker. The kids just plain wore me out and I’m a waste of space. I need to sleep, and recuperate — I can barely keep my eyes open. But before I succumb to the fleece blanket of drowsiness and allow it to send me into a semi-permanent stupor, I needed to write to you. It’s been such an eventful couple of days that some serious reflection is unavoidable.

I feel I need to draw a line under what has been happening. The problem is the frenzy with which we communicate and write to each other and yet we never get to talk in real time… and that’s what kills me.

The enforced lack of contact is frustrating. If only I could talk to you, instead of writing one more email and hoping you’d get it and reply soon. The quantity of missed communication is staggering. The nuances, the little looks. If I were sitting next to you, how I’d touch you softly on your arm, or run my hand over your head. A hand squeeze, a kiss to the forehead or a kiss on the nose. Tiny little things that mean everything and nothing — and are so easily overlooked.

The last week afforded me a small glance into how it would be to be able to communicate with you like that. Even from remote, where the touching and the squeezing is still not feasible, the ability to be in almost constant contact was beyond magical.

* * *

I know what you meant when you wrote what you did. Odd though it may seem, the circumstance in which we find ourselves is still very new to me. Being caught up in the Dionysian high alarmed me somewhat. Forgive me my naivete, I’m just not used to it. That, coupled with my neurotic nature caused the fast flying flurry of emails, and the subsequent misunderstanding.

I was not upset. I was anxious.

And then, in your next mail, you wrote:

I love you with all my heart.

Which just took my breath away.

* * *

Sceptics may read this and think me a fool. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Bouncing from one doomed-to-failure extra-marital affair to another. In truth, it would be easy — even facile — to perceive our connection as doomed-to-failure. I can see it myself. As a rational human being I have to accept how unlikely it is that we could or will ever be together in any real sense. The romantic in me would like to believe that this is not true, but for once, the rational side of me keeps bitch-slapping her down, and keeping her there.

But despite all this — I cannot stop being with you, writing to you, reading your letters, talking to you… I cannot imagine you not being there. You are the balance in my life that keeps me sane. You provide all the things that I lack from CH, the intellectual and social compatibility, the sexual adventurousness and freedom, a shared sense of humour. Your proclivities allow me to remain in my marriage (for my children) and yet be physically with my husband so that he is also happy. Yes, I deceive him, I know I deceive him. But there’s nothing he could do to change the things that he lacks; the very things that you provide. And so, bizarrely enough, by being with you I manage to stay with him.

It isn’t ideal, but it keeps things on an even keel, and homelife has now become bearable — even more: pleasant. Odd though it may seem, I am still trying to work out whether I can sustain being me within the confines of my marriage. This is a decision that only I can make. I appreciate that all this seems hypocritical in the extreme, but this circumstance is completely out of the ordinary. For all that I see similarities in in other peoples’ relationships in everyday life, and especially the blogosphere, I am wrong to interpret my perception in this way. As is anyone.

Each relationship is unique, and must be preceived and treated as such.

* * *

And so I close; eyes weary and drooping, head full of sneezles and weezles, nose like a Belisha beacon.

But my mind and my heart are at ease, and I have you to thank for much of that.

Love always

Your Minx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Airborne and evil… Part II

Posted in minx with tags on March 2, 2006 by evilminx

Continued from here…

He stood, allowing me to move past him into his row of empty seats. His row had four seats, which was plenty of space for two to snuggle up together, which we did. My head nestled into his chest, feeling his jutting collarbone beneath my cheek.

I love collarbones… I’m just wired that way. Odd, but true.

He put his arm around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which it was, of course. As I said, in the air, everything takes on a different reality. Especially sexual attraction: it’s a whole new ball game (no pun intended).

The movie started, and the lights dimmed. Being the precocious and forward brazen hussy of a Minx that I was back then (and am again now, heh), I took this dimly-lit opportunity to pull the blanket over us both, and as I did so, slip my hand under his longsleeved tee-shirt, and run it over his chest. Smooth, muscular, hairless… and his nipples already hard enough to cut glass. A small sigh escaped his lips, as he shifted positions next to me so that he was holding me even closer, and his hand was on my breast.

It was the defining moment; the calm before a storm of passion. You all know it, you’ve felt it. The rush of anticipation. Exhaling short gasps of breath. Almost not daring to catch another’s eye until that inevitable instant when you do… and you cannot tear your eyes away. You are poised on the precipice, and the longer you wait, the more the adrenaline flows.

I wriggled myself closer to him, so that my leg crossed his. I was wearing a long, drapy skirt that fluttered and settled around us as I moved, and only when it came to rest did I feel his hand, stroking my bare inner thigh, causing me to catch my breath and crane my neck to look at him. He gazed at me levelly, silently confirming that this was what I wanted. Almost imperceptibly I nodded my acquiescence, and I moved slightly so that I could match fire with fire.

My hand settled on his button fly. Very slowly — agonizingly so for him, tantalizingly so for me — I undid each button, feeling his already hard cock beneath the hard fabric; pulsating, throbbing and eager to escape. As I freed the final button, so I freed his cock; it sprang up excitedly, straight into the palm of my willing hand.

It felt incredible. So hard and yet so velvety soft. It jerked and danced in my palm until I held it tighter; attempting to calm and soothe it, and to redirect its energy into my hand. Delicately I ran my finger around the rim of the head, and I heard him moan audibly. I returned my hand to the bottom of his shaft, and dragged my fingernails up from the very base to the tip, and felt him shudder against me as he murmured my name into my hair.

I looked up at him, as he bent his head to mine and kissed me; long, deep, passionate and sexy. I was so turned on, his hand beneath my skirt was over my pantie-covered mound, and stroking and caressing me around it. It was almost more than I could bear; if he didn’t transcend the fabric and touch my naked flesh soon, I was certain I would implode. His finger then slipped underneath and into my slit, as he broke from the kiss and looked me in the eye.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, in awe. In a swift move he grasped and tugged off my panties.

I was dumbfounded, but so aroused that all I could think of was what he planned to do next.

“Lie back,” he said quietly.

I looked at him to check he was serious. I knew that I was, but I wanted to be sure that we were on the same page. He seemed to sense this and repeated, reassuringly:

“Lie back. Don’t worry, I’ve checked. Everyone’s engrossed in the movie or asleep. No one can see us, and even if they can, we’re just cuddling together under blankets. There’s no law against that.”

He had a point. Although, in my pantieless state, I was fairly sure that “cuddling” would be the very least that was going on.

I lay back alongside him. He lay on his side, with one of his long legs outstretched, the other bent with the foot flat down on the seats. I lay down alongside him, barely breathing, excited beyond belief. He held me close to him, and covered me with the blanket, hiking my skirt up to my waist in the same move, and shucking his jeans down to his hips.

Lifting my leg over him, I guided his long hard cock into me carefully… each of us aware that this had to be as silent as possible in order to not attract unwanted attention. I felt him inside me, still growing harder. We lay as we were for a few seconds, savouring the feeling. I kissed him, and he kissed me back, and started to thrust very subtly inside me. My hips bucked back at him, as we moved in a mutual and steady rhythm.

He felt so good inside me, and our almost static positioning somehow caused him to hit my g-spot almost immediately. I felt my senses soar, and I gasped aloud without thinking. He immediately kissed me again, and wouldn’t move his mouth from mine.. smiling and hissing softly into it that if this was the only way to keep me quiet, he would be happy to oblige.

I slipped a hand into his jeans, and moved it round to the back, where I began to caress his ass… squeezing that soft, firm cheek; guiding him into me deeper and deeper. His mouth was on mine; though it occasionally strayed to my ears and neck; one hand paying homage to my breasts, the other in the small of my back, mirroring the actions of my hand on his buttock.

I could feel the continued assault on my g-spot and began to peak despite wanting to prolong my orgasm; I wanted to wait for him, and I wasn’t sure how close he was. I suddenly found that the waves of pleasure were too intense and powerful to hold back and began a long and shudderingly delicious climax, throwing my head back and biting my lip to keep from screaming aloud.

A mere few seconds into my prolonged and ecstatic orgasm, he whispered into my neck:

“Oh god… so good… oh god yes… ohhhhhh…!”

He climaxed then, tensing and stiffening against me. As we both exhaled and shallow-breathed, we lay entwined and pressed against each other for what seemed like hours.

“God, that was incredible,” he said to me. “Wow..!”

I blushed.

“You were lovely,” I said to him. “Thank you for that.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said. “Will you stay sitting with me for the rest of the flight?”

So I did. We sat, still entwined but less horizontal, for the remaining time airborne. Warm, affectionate — some of the best post-coital cuddling I’d ever experienced, before or since. And as I sat, murmuring sweet nothings in his ear and giggling quietly with him, feeling the stickiness still evident on my bare thighs, I had one recurrent thought, circling round and round my head.

I’d joined the mile high club. I couldn’t fucking believe it.

I had joined the MILE HIGH CLUB.

And loved every second of it.

And the Minx, as you now know her, was born.

Airborne and evil… Part I

Posted in minx with tags on March 1, 2006 by evilminx

I have alluded on several occasions in these pages to my sexual reawakening.

Reawakening. Not a new thing, a rebirth.

This post details an event that took place when I was a mere slip of a Minx… I should be ashamed of myself for such brazen and wanton behaviour. Or should I?

* * *

I travelled a lot when I was younger. I originally hail, as you probably know, from the British Isles, the United Kingdom. London, England, to be exact. Even now, entering the hallowed halls of Heathrow Airport sends a frisson of excitement down my spine. An airborne journey is such an adventure, such a trip into the unknown. It has become so commonplace that we rarely consider the fact that we are in the air.

In the air! No strings. No safety net. No parachute, except the one neatly folded under my seat for emergencies. A self-contained metal tube that is one hundred percent aloft.

It smacks of excitement and untoward possibilities. The average and the mundane become an adventure. I never tire of air travel, and the changes effected after 9/11 notwithstanding, I do not believe I ever will.

Sexual activity on a plane takes on a whole new dimension.

“What are you saying, Minx? You’re a member of the mile high club?”

Heh heh heh.

* * *

I was 21 years old: fresh-faced and full of the arrogance of youth. The same 5″4′ bundle of minxy attitude that you know and love now, just thinner, blonder and younger. Less experienced, and far less knowledgeable, but otherwise pretty much the same Evil Minx who you have come to know and love.

I was flying back to Old Blighty from a week’s sojourn, staying with a resident friend, from somewhere in the Mediterranean. The plane was unusually empty, which was partly what precipitated my scandalous behaviour.

I was seated, as is my wont, by the window. The two seats next to me were vacant, much like the smile of the pretty air steward, who asked every passenger in turn “You alright love?” as he minced down the plane.

He did mince, by the way. I’m not being homophobic. He really minced. It was practically a shimmy, if I’m going to be honest. It was a very attractive sight; the Minx has always appreciated a cute butt.

Across the aisle, I noticed a man, obviously travelling alone. I allowed my gaze to fall on him and at that precise second, he turned and caught my eye. Black eyes, flashing at my brown ones. A mutual meeting of lonely minds. Unspoken ideas and promises flew between us in that split second, until I — flirtatiously, I admit it — lowered my gaze, allowing my long, black, mascara-ed eyelashes to rest on my flushed cheeks.

Man, the guy was hot. Wow.

I smiled to myself. I’d enjoyed that moment of salacious and silent communication, but I doubted anything would come of it. Still, eye-candy is never a bad thing, especially when the scheduled film is not to a Minx’s liking.

Take-off came and went. The days when the ominous words “The first four minutes of a flight are the most dangerous..” resonated with me in any deeply frightening way are a thing of the distant past — even on this occasion they affected me little. The cute-butted air steward wiggled by pushing the drinks trolley, and I gratefully accepted tomato juice, Bloody Mary mix, and two mini-bottles of vodka (plus a bottle of mineral water, without which no one should ever fly).

Seated comfortably, with my back against the window, and my feet resting happily on the two empty cushions next to me, I sipped at my drink, having added a splash of tabasco from the bottle that I habitually carried with me on a flight. Gazing into space, my thoughts on holiday I was just finishing, I drank a silent toast to the adventures of the last few days, and the fun I’d had. And then, like a cool breeze I realized that I was under scrutiny. I could feel that black sparkling gaze on me, sending a delicious tingle down my spine.

It was at that moment that I realized without a doubt that this journey would be quite unique. And I very much relished the idea. I mean: nothing ventured, nothing gained… how else can a person look at life?

I gulped back a mouthful of vodka, narrowly missing choking on an errant piece of ice, and shifted in my seat so I could easily look at him. My eyes met his again, but this time I held them until he looked away, at which I invented a slight choking fit. For conversational purposes only, you understand.

“Are you alright?” he asked, in a lilting South-of-England accent, making me wonder if he was from Cornwall, or Devon. Without thinking, I made this my opening conversational gambit, and he looked at me with amusement, the gorgeous black eyes twinkling.

“Neither, although I am from near there. I see you’ve recovered quite well, there.. erm… ?”

He left the sentence hanging, and waited for me to supply him with my name, which I did. “I’m Minx”, I said, and extended my hand for him to shake. He took it, and his cool, firm handshake gave me goosebumps all over. “I’m Alex,” he said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

And that was how it started. We talked, we laughed, we chatted. We poked fun at the mincing steward, and listened in on his conversation with his colleague about who was flying to Hong Kong with the dishy pilot the following week. We were both served our meals, and struggled in tandem to open the little plastic cartons without spraying the surrounding area with the food contained within. Once the trays from the meal had been collected, we’d even shared a raised eyebrow at the way in which the steward bent down to slot each tray into the trolley, jutting his perky little butt out for all to admire.

He leaned back, sighed in contentment, patted his hard, flat stomach and turned and looked me in the eye.

“So,” he said in a husky, low voice. “Why don’t you come over here and we can watch the movie together?”

I didn’t need asking twice.

To be continued… (very soon, I promise…)