Magical Dreaming

Design is copyright of Missy Rose Fabrics

I recently discovered a delicious fabric supplier that is Australian based. I am currently working with the design pictured. When I read the Wicked Wednesday prompt “Magical Power” this weird idea popped into my head.

“If you could have anything in the world what would it be?” The smooth timbre of the creature’s voice broke through the magic of the clearing. 

Sally stirred, turning to feel the sun on her face as it filtered through the trees. The creature nuzzled her neck, making her wiggle against his sift velvet skin. Without thinking she lifted her hands to cup her naked breasts, lifting them upwards as her fingers explored the smooth skin and her fingers toyed idly with her erect nipples. 

“How could I want anything more than this?” Her voice sounded strange in her ears, kind of sleepy but deeper and huskier, and somehow more satisfied than she had been in a long time. 

The creature gave a satisfied rumble from deep in his body. “You are right, how could we want anything more than this?” He moved downwards stroking Sally’s breasts with the smooth skin of his forehead. Sally felt a stirring between her thighs. It was truly magical being here with him, everything about him was perfect. The creature continued his descent over her belly, leaving a silvery trail of desire as he caressed and teased. Sally’s knees fell apart in anticipation. The creature gave another rumble of desire.

“You are such a greedy girl,” he admonished her, all the while moving closer to the centre of her greed. 

“How can I not be greedy when I have something as delicious and perfect as you.” Sally responded, running her thumb over his forehead, smearing the clear fluid of his arousal over his skin before she lifted her digit to her mouth to taste him. She sighed in delight at the sensation on her tongue. The perfect blend of salt with a tiny bit of sweet. She could drink this nectar all day. 

“You know what they say, too much of a good thing is dangerous.” The creature admonished her, his voice slightly muffled as he began to nuzzle between her legs. 

“Never!” Sally’s statement ended in a sigh as he began to work his magic. Warm waves of pleasure travelled through her body and her back arched sending her breasts jutting high into the sunshine. A butterfly fluttered down from the trees and landed nearby watching, mesmerised by the beauty of the woman abandoning herself to the attentions of her creature. Birds twittered softly in the canopy, tittilating themselves with stories of other creatures that lived in this forest and the women who came to visit. 

The little clearing became alive with the sounds of Sally as the creature teased out her pleasure, stroking her folds and sucking gently on the swollen nub at the top of her slit. A stream of juice rewarded him and he drank greedily, pressing his face firmly against her. 

“Please,” her voice was strained with the urgency of her desire, “I need you, all of you.” 

As always the creature responded to her perfectly. His smooth skin slipped deeper downwards seeking out her opening. Sally held her legs wide. She gave a groan as he penetrated her. Diving deep inside her, like he had so many times. She never understood how he managed to be so perfect but he always was. No matter what he filled her exactly how she needed to be filled. She squeezed her thighs close around him, driving her deeper and he responded swelling just a little to fill her out. The sensation of stretching sent another jolt of pleasure through her body. The forest filled with her cries of pleasure. 

Around the clearing other forest creatures gathered, honouring the bond between the woman and her creature. In the trees the birds were silent, watching, committing every detail to memory to twitter to each other later. The movement of the creature became faster, more urgent. He was nearing his own peak. Sally’s fingers worked the swollen nub he had roused earlier. She was waiting for him, he was waiting for her. Together the reached the peak, filling the clearing with the sound of their release. 

As the sounds echoed away and the two of them lay, curled up in the nest of moss the creatures of the forest began to disperse, each inspired to seek their own clearings. In the trees the birds began quiet chattering, the beginning of a new story. 

Slowly Sally’s eyes opened, sun was streaming through the window of her room. Sheets were rumpled around her and her pillows nestled against her body. Between her legs the moisture of her desire remained. She smiled, remembering her dream. 

“Until we meet again my magical creature.” She whispered to the empty room. 

Wicked Wednesday
Every Damn Day in June

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 27

What is your favourite sexual position and why?

There was once a TMI Tuesday question that asked “if you could only have sex in one position for the rest of your life what would it be?” Or something like that. Being a practical person I responded with missionary because it is an easy go to. I guess I was cheating because there are variants on missionary that make it more exciting but it is still two people facing each other one with his penis inside the other. 

Often this is a go to for me. Legs on his shoulders, his hands on my body, maybe even my boobs, and dick penetrating just the right amount. I used to love deep penetration positions like doggie and similar but these days for some reason if a man has any kind of length and he goes in really deep I feel as if he is moving my uterus around my belly and not in a fun kind of way. As we get older our bodies change and adjustments are necessary.

When I am playing I like to have sex in multiple positions. I have a relatively short attention span I guess and so If I stay in the one position for too long I get bored and then my interest / arousal wanes. Don’t get me wrong. I love fucking. It is one of my favourite things to do but there needs to be variety. This I guess is why I am struggling with the idea of having to choose ONE position. 

I guess, as I said in the opening paragraph missionary is a catch all that can describe a number of variations. I like to watch a man fucking me. If I can almost see his cock going inside me all the better. I also find it easier to position myself to ensure maximum stimulation when I am in a missionary variant. Plus there is this thing that happens when his cock slides out and he taps me on the clit……

Yep. As cliche as it sounds nothing beats being able to look someone in the eye as they cum inside your pussy. 

mmmMondays
Every Damn Day in June

Unwind Part 1

The Morning Before

The shower was warm. Soft liquid comfort washing away sleep and waking up skin for the day ahead. Shampoo poured down over my body as I rinsed my hair clean. The morning was full of anticipation and maybe a little excitement. Somehow it seemed hard to be excited about anything right now. There had been too much of everything in these last few weeks. I felt as if I was a spring that had been coiled almost to breaking point. 

But this morning was different. A promise of release was in the air. As I stepped out of the shower the top of the tea chest looked at me from the corner of the room. Usually it was covered in stuff but today it was bare. The perfect place to recline and capture this moment and mood. 

Looking back at the images I was happy. I felt awake, sexual, sexy. With a smile I sent one to Captain Kirk. It wasn’t our normal thing. Or it hadn’t been until this point. But he was a man. What man doesn’t like a nude on his phone in the morning? It wasn’t until later I noticed the droplet of water under my breast. Somehow this seemed more sexy than anything else. I wonder if he noticed it as well? 

A Day of Wondering

The traffic gods were good to me that day. As I drove I received responses to my image from Caption Kirk. Sometimes I used Siri to send messages while I was driving but somehow the profanities I liked to type were hard to say out loud to myself and harder to hear repeated back from the sanitised voice of Siri. 

On arrival at work I had a moment of clarity. I was tense. Not in the immediate way of something looming in front of me but in the way of being wound up from weeks of events and busyness. Receiving dirty texts was a welcome distraction from the grind of every day life. 

I would love to lick you all over, nibble your neck. Suck on your nipples. Taste your pussy. Tease your asshole. 

And we had only agreed to meet for a drink. To see each other in person before deciding if we wanted to go further. It seemed like we were doing a dance. Going through the motions of a ritual that was prescribed by someone else. All the while our eyes were focussed on what we both wanted. 

The Dance

When you see someone for the first time it is always weird. Very few times have I met a man and thought, “You look better in person,” or at least, “you look like your photos.” More often I meet someone and feel some kind of magnetism. That subtle attraction that makes me want to dally in a dark corner and explore their mouth. That makes me slide my hand up their thigh to feel if they are as excited as me. 

This time I wasn’t sure. He wasn’t as tall as I had hoped. Despite his texts I didn’t get the feeling of attraction. We both were holding back. Waiting to see what the other offered. In some way unsure. I was used to men who were vocal and touchy. He was neither. But he was respectful. There was a glimmer. I sensed that he was holding back, careful not to be pushy. 

We drank our drink. All the while chatting about our experiences. Our rules. What was allowed and what wasn’t. How our respective partners felt about this meeting. Not for the first time I found myself reflecting on the transactional nature of this lifestyle. From an abstract point I could see our conversation sounding like; “I have A and B but I don’t do C…. I see you are offering P and Q do you want to get naked together?” By the end of our drink it seemed there was nothing left but to complete the transaction. 

TMI Tuesday – The Good The Bad and The Ugly

1. What made the best sex partner you’ve ever had so good?

At this point in my slut career (I just invented that term but I kind of like it) I am not able to identify the BEST sex partner I have ever had. A few spring to mind, The Traveller, Johnny, Pet, Mr Jones. There have been other events that have been stand outs but at 5.30am on Wednesday morning I can’t think of them.

2. What made the worst sex partner you’ve ever had so bad?

Again, at this point in my life, some things like this are a bit of a blur. One that sticks out at this moment is a man I met a couple of times. The first time we got hot and heavy in the back seat of my car. It was fast paced and sexy as fuck. Then we met, I thought, for a more leisurely exploration of each other.

It was very short lived and he didn’t apologise for being a fast finisher or even offer to make up for his shortcomings. Just kind of said “I told my wife I would be home soon” and left.

He didn’t get asked back.

3. Who was the most physically attractive person you ever had sex with?

Again, blurry stuff. One that did happen to pop in my head was not penetrative sex but sexual you can read about it here. Of late I have been reminiscing about Johnny. He was one sexy mother fucker.

4. How was it?

Well if you clicked the link you would know the Random Blow Job was like my own personal power trip. A very I told you so moment.

Sex with Johnny? Well it was fucking amazing. You can read about one encounter here, There were others. Too many to list.

5. Who was the least physically attractive person you ever had sex with?

I can’t really answer this one. There just isn’t a stand out. When I looked up my answers to these questions the first time they were posted I found this answer;

Before I met Jake I had a fuck buddy relationship with a guy who was quite over weight and very unattractive.

6. Why did you do it?

Continuing with the above thread this was my previous answer.

I am not really sure why I did it. I had just come out of a long term relationship. I think I was just cutting loose and experimenting a bit. This guy was brave enough to ask so I thought why not?

7. How was it?

My previous answer to this one was that at the time I thought it was pretty good but compared to these days it was very vanilla.

Bonus: Describe a bad sexual experience that you believe was your fault.

There is never an experience that is entirely the fault of one person. In my life most bad experiences have happened to me because I have not given clear direction or avoided saying no.

The Traveller – Part 2

You can read part 1 of this story here.

Over the next two days The Traveller and I fucked. Many times. I was amazed. He never seemed tired or unable to respond to me. My own response to him was also surprising to me. I never failed to respond to his touch. One moment we would be enjoying some sunshine and the nest my dress was pushed up and his fingers were exploring me. Drawing out my juice and making me almost beg for his cock. 

We weren’t completely nude. But clothing was minimal. The days were warm and I enjoyed the sunshine. I was keen to enhance my tan as the last warm days of summer faded. Whenever I could find a warm sunny spot out of the wind I stripped down and lay around like a siren luring men to me. For the most part Mr Jones was amused. He watched us dancing around each other and me teasing a response from this man. He watched us fuck and then reclaimed his wife as much as he wanted. 

I was never tired of looking at him. I loved the hair on his body. I loved to run my fingers through the rug on his chest. The silvery hairs seemed to make him more attractive. Like a silverback. Strong, virile and experienced. When he was fully naked I peeked at him around corners. Taking in the strong lines of his body and his round arse. Whenever I looked at his arse I wanted to grab it. I was reminded of how it felt to wrap my legs around it as he fucked me. 

I am unsure of how I managed to walk on the last morning we were together. Or sex that morning was more leisurely. I was reflective knowing that I had to go back to reality and that this was probably the last time he would fuck me. We dragged ourselves out of bed and prepared for the day. I took the opportunity to be a lady of leisure as The Traveller took on my regular duties as a crew member. We sailed back towards the city line, leaving behind the quiet bay where we had spent the night. 

As we sailed back to our home port I began to tidy our cabin and pack up clothing and washing from our trip. As I was pottering I became aware of him in the cabin that Mr Jones and I shared. Of all the places we had fucked Mr Jones’ and my bed was off limits. It wasn’t something spoken but something we agreed to. Over our time together Mr Jones and I have invited others into our own bed at home but for the most part we play somewhere else. A hotel a club, the play room or the guest cabin on the yacht. 

The Traveller’s attention was unexpected. Our time was coming to an end. We had fucked so many times I was sure he had his fill. But then he was there, putting his hands on my waist, pulling me against his body as he nibbled on my neck. I sighed in pleasure as his hands reached inside my dress and cupped my breasts. My nipples hardened between his fingers and I reached back to slip my hands inside his pants. His cock as always was ready. He was a freak like that. Always ready. Always horny. 

“How do you want me, Mrs Jones?” His voice was husky against my neck. 

I smiled remembering being teased the night before about how greedy I had been. The Traveller insisted that I had initiated every one of our encounters. As much as I didn’t want to admit it he was right. But I told him that today was about him. He was the initiator. 

“You are in charge today,” I replied. Attempting to fold clothing. 

He moved me towards the stairs. “Here looks good,” He positioned me so that I was leaning over the staircase. I had never thought about using the stairs this way but any stray thoughts of dust and practicalities were banished as he entered me. Even after the last two days I still felt that thrill as he slid inside me. I was still transported by the sound of his breathing and the slap of his belly against my arse.

As always my body responded to him. Excitement rose as his pace increased. 

“You are so fucking sexy,” his voice was strained with excitement. “Are you ready for one last load?” 

“Yes,” My voice came out as a whisper. 

“Here it comes,” I could feel the intensity and my own body responded. 

With the now familiar grunt he climaxed. I could feel him pulsing inside me. I was never tired of that feeling. For a few moments we leaned against the stairs and he rested against me. I was really aware of the feeling that I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to live like this forever. Reality was too hard. 

We made our way back to our home berth, everything was tidy and packed away. As we said our goodbyes there we all expressed a hope that there would be a repeat in our future. As much as I want it to be that way I am not sure. He is a nomadic person. His wanderings don’t bring him to my little corner of the world much. But maybe, one day, the planets will align. In the meantime travel well sexy man. Enjoy life and be happy. 

Wicked Wednesday

Wet

At first there is a gentle touch

My skin responds

Gooseflesh raising the hairs on my arms

Your breath is warm on my neck

You give a gentle nibble

Strong fingers penetrate me

You bend me over the stairs and pull down my panties

There is no waiting just penetration

The thrill of feeling you inside me never gets old

Fucking me slowly

Hands gripping my hips

Fucking me faster, harder

Until you release

It is satisfying

But I want more

Wicked Wednesday

Table

For Boobday on Friday I posted an image of a table I had been restoring. As I was working on this project a germ of a story was planted.

“Look at this!” Shelli exclaimed as she pulled the drop sheet away from the table sitting in the back of the shed. Dust billowed into the air making Pete sneeze as he came to investigate her find. Even in the dim light of the dusty shed the table seemed to dominate. Pete ran his fingers over the wood admiring the solid construction. 

“You don’t see furniture like this anywhere these days.”  

The wood was dark with age and grime from years of use. Years of being part of the family that lived here before the farm was abandoned after a long drought. Like everything here, the table held stories of better days and dreams for a future that never eventuated. 

“This will look amazing in the dining room,” Shelli’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“I agree, let’s get it outside.” 

Together they lugged the surprisingly heavy table out into the sunlight. “Man I didn’t think it would be THAT heavy,” Shelli leaned against the furniture breathing heavily as Pete inspected their find more closely in the daylight.

Despite the dust and grime Pete could see that the timber was unusual.

“I wonder what it is made of,” he mused as he brushed away dust and scratched the surface with his fingernail. A layer of oil mixed with dirt filled his nail but he was unable to make an indent in the timber itself. Close inspection revealed evidence of saw marks indicating that the planks may have been hewn by hand. 

“It is definitely hardwood,” Shelli concurred. 

“I think it is home made.” Pete continued his inspection admiring the solid way the table was constructed. “Whoever made it wanted to make sure it lasted.” 

Over the next few weeks the table became one of the many projects Pete and Shelli tackled as they worked to bring order and life into their new home. They knew a little of the sad story. The farm was owned by an older lifelong farmer who had inherited the property from his own father. He had lost his wife to cancer and continued to live and work in the only place he had ever known until a tragic accident had taken his life. His adult children could not agree about how to continue running the farm or how to arrange finances. In the end a long drought had decreased the value so much that the family had been unable to sell and had simply walked away. They had stripped the house of anything of value and piled unwanted furniture into the shed. Everything else was left where it stood. Fencing wire and old machinery rusted in the paddock. 

As she scrubbed and sanded the table Shelli reflected on the history of the table. She imagined the original owner constructing the table specifically for the dining room of their newly built house. Her mind wandered to meals shared by the farmer and his wife after long hard days of work. Of stories told and games played with children who followed. Of Christmas dinners shared and birthdays celebrated. How this table saw the children grow up and perhaps even bring their own children to sit at the table to be part of family celebrations. Deep inside she wanted to honour the family by following this tradition. To make the table the centre of her own family and her and Pete’s dreams. 

Eventually the table was finished. The dining room was cleaned and painted. Pete and Shelli lugged it up the steps and through the door. Finally the table was back where it belonged. To mark the occasion Shelli cooked a roast dinner with meat from their own cattle. The first beast they grew. The whole evening was symbolic of a new beginning. New life being breathed into the buildings of the old farm. The air was filled with possibility. 

Pete sat at the head of the table. Perhaps the farmer who had died had sat in that very spot every evening. When the meal was finished Shelli cleared away their plates stacking them neatly to ferry them to the sink for washing. There was no money or spare electricity for dishwashers here. Pete’s hand slid up Shelli’s thigh as she leaned forward to remove the salt and pepper. 

“Someone is frisky tonight,” she smiled back at her husband. 

“How could I not be?” He responded with his own grin. “Fantastic meal, beautiful wife. Who is hot as fuck.” His fingers slid under the elastic of her panties. “And I believe she is as horny as me.”

Shelli leaned further forward to retrieve a teacup, “I swear I have no idea what you are talking about.” Her skirt lifted higher as Pete’s fingers dipped into her wet opening. 

“Really?” He asked as he moved his face close enough to inhale the scent of her.

“Absolutely! Unnff,” She collapsed on the table as his fingers stroked her opening. Her legs spread wider as he pushed his fingers deep inside her, finding the places he knew would make her weak at the knees. Groans of pleasure filled the dining room as she writhed in pleasure, completely at his mercy. Liquid trickled down his fingers sending a jolt straight to his cock. 

Without speaking he stood up from his chair and unzipped his pants. His cock sprang free throbbing with desire for his wife. With his tongue touching his lips Pete pulled aside Shelli’s sodden panties. There was a sound of stitches tearing but he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was burying himself deep inside her.

As his cock touched her she backed against him eagerly her desire matched his as he gripped her hips pumping hungrily. From the first thrust he knew he would not be able to last. She was so amazing, her arse was so full and round, slapping against his belly. He could feel the familiar pressure of his seed pressing against the base of his cock, clamouring to fill her. He held as long as he could but it was not long. With a loud groan he pumped his load into her. His strong fingers gripped her hips, she held herself against him eagerly welcoming his jizz. 

His body collapsed over hers, a slight sheen of sweat formed on his back as he revelled in the warmth of her body and the smell of their sex. After a few moments he started to worry about his weight on top of her and he stood up to free her. His cock slid out of her and a dribble of his cum formed on her leg. Shelli squeezed her legs together.

“I don’t want to lose any,” she whispered against the tablecloth.

Pete smiled fondly and caressed the line of her back making her shiver, “Why not?”

“I want to grow more than just cows.” She looked at him with a sly look on her face, “This table is too big for just two people.” 

Wicked Wednesday
mmmMondays

Only Boring People Get Bored

Short sharp and to the point. It is TMI Tuesday time.

1. What did you last savor and when? 

As I was preparing to write this I enjoyed eight squares of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut milk chocolate. It was my valentines gift from Mr Jones and it is delicious.

2. Athletic mind blowing sex or slow sexy romantic sex, what do you want right now?

After a weekend of athletic fucking I am very much in favour of the slow romantic type of sex.

3. You are being interviewed and asked to comment on sex-work. What do you have to add to the discussion?

This is a bit hard to answer because it has no context. But my general opinion on sex work is that it can be a completely honest and legitimate way to earn a living.

4. Should sex-work be decriminalized?

I believe yes. It is the best way to protect sex workers and remove some of the elements of the sex – work industry that make this kind of work dangerous for the workers.

5. Fill in the blank. Don’t _____ .

Don’t feed your cat too much or they will get fat like this one.

Bonus: Are you bored with people who are successful and unhappy? Why?

I frequently tell my students “Only boring people get bored”

Do I think people who are successful and unhappy deserving of my disdain? No. I think if a person is unhappy then, they are, by definition, not successful.

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 21

Source Brigit Delaney

We are on the final ten questions!! I WILL finish this one day!

In your opinion what does it mean to be good in bed?

When I opened this question to start writing I had the best of intentions. Then it all went out the window. Early morning, Lots of competing ideas and issues, not enough time the list goes on and on. So I asked the good people of Twitter. This method of finding information may sound a little haphazard and to be honest it hasn’t always been successful in the past. But in these days of @MrsJonesMT50 (as opposed to the much more popular and suspended @MrsJonesMT45) my followers are of a much higher quality. Their feedback was probably what I should have known all along. 

The key is connection. 

And this helped me to crystallise the whirling thoughts in my head. Over my life I have had sex with many people both male and female. The quality of the encounters has varied widely. Many factors have been at play. Things like what is going on in the background, how much alcohol has been consumed, the state of my relationship with Mr Jones and my own mental health. All of these factors can mean fireworks or they can help to create a fizzer. All of the fireworks events involved a connection. Some kind of spark that is hard to describe but is definitely easy to spot both when it is present and when it is absent. While it takes two to create a connection there are some factors that seem to, for me a least, make a person more likely to form a connection.

Firstly manners. A good lover is generous and considerate. You don’t have to tell them they are going to hard or too deep. They can see when you are comfortable and when you aren’t enjoying yourself and they make adjustments accordingly. Sadly women are conditioned not to make a fuss and this makes many of us terrible at correcting a lover if they are not hitting the right spot but nothing kills the mood quicker than having to forcefully tell someone they need to move a bit to the right! 

Secondly hygiene. A person who smells good is sexy as fuck. You don’t have to be scrubbed to within an inch of your life but being clean and keeping things trimmed will go a long way. Something I find super sexy is going away from an encounter and still being able to smell their aftershave or perfume in my hair or on my body. That little waft of scent triggers a twinge of a memory. 

Lastly, a nice cock. It doesn’t have to be overly large. In my experience large, especially long, can be painful. Small has its challenges but I have had some encounters with men on the smaller side that have been very very sexy. But there is something about an attractive cock. I can’t define what makes one look better than another. It isn’t size or circumcision or the amount of veins. There is just something that makes me take a second look. 

All of these things are one part of the puzzle. A fireworks encounter doesn’t require all of them. Sometimes one is enough. Sometimes all the boxes are ticked, sometimes one or more are not and this isn’t an issue. As I said earlier there are factors on my side of the fence that don’t always line up and it is a more of a “It’s not you it’s me” situation. So being good in bed is not about a specific set of skills or attributes. It is about being able to roll with the situation and make things work with what you have. 

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 19

Source https://brigitdelaney.com/2020/10/30-dirty-questions/

A couple of days ago I was reading a post from Marie Rebel linking to Brigit Delaney’s January Erotic Journal Challenge. I got excited and thought it would be fun to participate until I remembered that I have not finished Thirty Dirty Questions. Despite starting them quite some time ago. So I have put a pause on that new project and decided to put some effort into finishing this one.

What do you look like and sound like when sex feels good for you?

A play friend once took some images of me while I was fucking him. He wanted some mementoes and as a FIFO worker no doubt he was keen to add some material to his stash for use when alone in his camp room. He shared them with me as a matter of courtesy. I know I enjoyed the encounter but I have to say that looking at myself in that moment later was a little weird. I don’t think I am attractive. Other people don’t feel that way, clearly and I am happy for them to feel that way and use images that they have taken of me during our encounters for stimulation at a later date. It just isn’t my thing.

Sounds of sex however are a completely different matter. I love the sound of my partner enjoying themselves. If someone is very quiet I find myself worrying that they are not enjoying themselves. If they are making happy and satisfied sex noises then I am all up for that. I have a short video on my phone of JB ejaculating into my mouth. While I don’t necessarily enjoy the vision I have listened to the sound of his climax many times and it still gives me a twinge. 

Me personally. If I am quiet during sex then there is something wrong. Even when there is a reason to be quiet, like there are people in the house or something like that I find it hard to be quiet. Most people know I am having a good time. Our next door neighbour at our marina actually commented on the people having a party somewhere once. He indicated the noise he was referring to was sexual. Which is more a reflection on him being a Nosy Parker than anything else. 

Two things came out of that conversation when Mr Jones and I discussed it later.

  1. I didn’t think I was being that loud. Mr Jones maintains that I was. Which makes me wonder. How loud am I when I think I am loud? 
  2. Was he asking about this because he wanted an invite? I am really not sure. I am also not sure if I DO want to invite him. Maybe if he has a shave and doesn’t talk too much.