31 October 2007

TMI Tuesday #11: Statistics Are My Life.

Why one day late? Because my sexual peccadillos and observations are so important that they need your complete attention. Yes, I'm that important to your psyche's libido.

1. If they kept stats of your sex life like they do in sports, what would you lead the league in? what all time record would you hold?

I'm currently leading the league in FPPH — fantasy positions per hour. Why, just as I wrote this entry, I fucked Amy on a staircase, one of her legs pointing to the sky; and she rode me cowgirl while simultaneously handling a work-related cell phone conversation with her boss.

And I will undoubtedly make it into the Sex Hall of Fame with my strong hold on the official TCSD. That would be teasing clitoral stimulation duration. Amy hates that I have this record, and believes I should be banished from all major league sex-realted sports for my "bad sportsmanship." To which I reply: "When all is said and done, who loses?"

2. What song gets you in the mood to have sex? best music to fuck to? best music to make love to?

This questionsis so relative to the moment. What would get me going right now? Probably something sung by the more gravelly-voiced singer in Gomez. I have no idea why.

But if we want to go with a more traditional "what would get me in the mood" song, it would probably be Prince's "Darling Nikki." Trés predictable, I know. It has to do with Purple Rain's placement in time during my high-school / college years. The song had this taboo quality — not so much because I was listening to it, but the fact that the nation was listening to it. Even a censored version of "Darling Nikki" got mega-airplay in the early 1980s, and that amazes me to this day. Perhaps memories associated with the song is underwritten by teenage hormones, but it really seemed like there was this secret my generation carried around with us, like a pop-music version of our own pocket-rocket vibrator.

Plus, Prince makes Amy horny. Period. I'm sure that's related to her memories/hormones from that time as well.

Best music to make love to ... Why is that more difficult? Maybe because when we do have sex, we fuck more than make love. But okay, I'll bite. Coldplay's first album, Parachutes, has this magic that, quite frankly, the band has never captured again. (Which is not to say the later stuff isn't good, they just went in a different direction.) There is an intimacy on tracks like "Spies," "Trouble," "High Speed," and the superb, enthralling "Everything's Not Lost" (sorry about the Harry Potter vid link for that last one — just close your eyes and listen) that totally turns me on. Amy and I had a wonderful weekend in a bed and breakfast listening to this record. Ah, those care-free, pre-parenting years.

3. Where is your favorite place to have sex in your house/apartment?

There's a couch in the basement I like a lot, because it's the perfect height to bend Amy over, stand up, and fuck her. Optionally, we can watch porn from this position quite easily.

But the real interest for me is in the places I want to fuck her in the house: let me assure you that Amy desperately needs to be fucked on our kitchen island and on our dining room table. The kitchen counter would be so perfect. A nice, high level, so I don't have to bend over far when I eat her out while her curled-toe feet are hooked under the counter ledge on each side. The bright light just a couple of feet above her would give it this spotlight-on-stage quality — further enhanced by the fact that our next-door neighbors could look down outside their master bedroom suite bathroom window and enjoy the show. (To my knowledge, they never have — the window is a bit high to make that an easy maneuver for them — but the thought still tantalizes.)

And the dining room table, that's all about this common area, this community place that everyone visits on a daily basis. I mean, the couch is the same way, but everyone fucks on a couch. To be sitting at that beautiful mahogany table with my whole family at a Thanksgiving feast, and to lean over to Amy's ear and whisper: "Do you remember when I was pushing your face, your tits, into this surface a couple of weeks ago? How your breath condensed on the wood and you asked me to fuck you harder?"

I mean, come on. Does it get better than that?

4. Have you taken/asked for a girls panties before? What did you do with them?

I haven't. Panties off of a woman don't do much for me. I love to play with panties while they're still on a woman ... pull them up and into her slit ... try to eat her through them ... pull them aside and fuck her without taking them off. But actually doing something with them when they're off beyond throwing them as hard as I can against the far wall in my aggressive passion ... Nah. I've even tried a pair on to see if it did anything. It didn't. Not in my wiring, I guess.

5. What makes a kiss a great to you?

It's all in the approach. The simmering intention behind the eyes. The warm, parting lips that take an extra modicum of effort to separate. And then slightly missing the bullseye target lips, either purposely or not. An imperfect landing for me implies that passion is more important than technique. It's more important that this kiss happen now than it happen in a Hollywood moment.

Bonus: Who pays for a date? If the girl asks a guy out, does she pay? If you are interested in same sex partners, how do you determine who pays?

Who pays for our date? Everyone pays for it. The gas that we expend getting their is adding to the pollution. The food we consume is adding to humanity's reckless destruction of our planet. The movie we attend adds to the belittling of intelligent thought in our popular culture. The noise of our frenzied sex on the sixth floor of the parking garage adds to the noise pollution, not to mention the embarrassment of the ultra-conservative Christian couple who walk by the car and try their best, with small talk about the romantic flick they just saw, to ignore the female voice they just distinctly heard screaming Do my ass NOW, you fucker! from behind the fogging, tempered glass.

Oh yes. We all pay.


I have a little project for November: I'm writing a novel. No, sadly (for you), it's not a sex novel. (But maybe another year I'll try that.) I'm only mentioning it here because, heck, I just showed up again, and now I may not be posting a lot during November. Have no fear: I will try to post occasionally during the next 30 days, but I expect to be more "present" in December and beyond.

25 October 2007

H is for ...

Hi again.


There has been much speculation (in both blog comments and in my private email) regarding what precipitated my disappearance six months ago (almost to the day). Among them:

  • I'd had a relapse of the flu I'd suffered shortly before my hiatus.
  • Amy was upset about the blog.
  • I'd died (!).
  • Amy and I were breaking up.
  • Amy was pregnant (!!).

I'm happy to say that none of these suppositions were correct. (Though if I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, there are fleeting moments when I wouldn't mind if Amy were pregnant again. But don't tell her.)

If I were feeling inspired to be dramatic, I could probably spin a yarn about how Amy and her secret lover kidnapped me (after leaving the kids with the neighbors) and took me to their Costa Rican love dungeon, only releasing me lo these months later after I had achieved a sexual nirvana heretofore unexpereienced by humankind.

But it's not that interesting. In fact, it's not even as interesting as what the rest of you came up with. It was just ... life. Among the "lowlights" y'all missed (all of which contributed, in greater or lesser degrees, to my prolonged absence):

  • deadlines for major projects at work, taking me out of commission for most of May, August, and part of September;
  • two family vacations this summer!
  • a ridiculous number of commitments related to a kid's school and extracurricular activities;
  • numerous visits to our home by family members; and
  • many medical- and work-related issues for Amy

Notice anything in particular missing from that list?

Yep. Conspicuously absent would be Energetic, sweaty, ball-slapping fucking like the feral creatures from which I'm sure we evolved.

Most of the items on that second list will explain the lack of cum-dripping adventures, but none more so than the last one. It's been one of those years for Amy where one medical "event" after another has made her feel much, much older than her years. I know that many of you can relate. And all of this preoccupation with her health has put a severe damper on our sexual activity. It's not that there has been zero orgasms; we did "fit it in" (wink wink, nudge nudge) a few times this last half-year. And some of the sex has been truly awesome. But fun nights have been few and far between, and time to document them simply hasn't been there.

Since I defined this blog pretty narrowly from the outset as being about sex ... well, there hasn't been a lot to write about. But if I'm going to be honest, this wasn't the only reason I stopped. Honestly, with the amount I posted for the blog's first four-and-a-half months, it was going to be hard for me under the best of circumstances to keep up that sort of pace. I was feeling burned out.

But I wasn't expecting to take this long of a break. And I also wasn't expecting that the event that would get me off my middle-aged ass and get writing again would be the "hiatus" of one of my all-time favorite bloggers, La fille mariée. The blogosphere was robbed of an important voice when she decided to type the light fantastic. And while I'm not for a minute believing that my voice can in any way fill the void left by her departure, her leaving did make me realize that I didn't want The Concupiscent Husband to die completely.

So, I'm back, if in a slightly less regular form. One of the ways I hope to keep this blog (and myself) fresh is to not feel the need to post as often as before. I'm not short of ideas: I currently have 26 posts in draft form, all different topics, waiting for my attention. And there is such a good amount of material out there from the sex blogs that are out there that I am certain I will be able to take in your experiences and ideas, chew them for awhile, and spit them back into the atmosphere with a new flavor. If, uh, that metaphor of regurgitated sexual philosophy wasn't too disgusting for you to dwell on. Quick, think of big cocks and tits and get back to what you really want to be dwelling on in your office cubicle.

There's something refreshing from starting at Square One again. Maybe I build a whole new audience. Maybe some of you who still find my posts relevant might give me another gander. But this blog thing doesn't really work if I don't write for myself first, and trust that the audience will find me.

I'm actually looking forward to doing this again. Okay, okay. To be honest, I'm actually looking forward to doing that again . . . and then describing that to you in all its energetic, sweaty, ball-slapping, over-wordy detail.

24 April 2007

Addendum to "Saturday Night Living"

Last night, we're on the couch, Amy and me. (Ya think I should just rename this blog "On The Couch?")

Amy says: "Was the other night alright?"

I say: "What does that mean? 'Alright?'"

Amy: "I mean, did you have a good time?"

Me: "I loved it. I loved the fact that you were the one who wanted to watch porn. [Amy lets out an embarrassed giggle.] I loved watching you and playing with you. It was fun."

Amy: "Okay."

Me: "I mean, I know you weren't really into it. [She seems surprised, as if she's been 'caught.'] It's fine. We don't always have to be teeming with passion. I hope it was fun for you."

Amy: "Yeah. It was fun."

So while I was all worried about Amy not really wanting to have sex in the first place, she was simultaneously worried that I wasn't having a good time.

Do you get the sense suddenly that you're reading the blog of a 17-year-old?

So here's my new bumper sticker for this week: "Less Thinking, More Fucking!" It'll go right next to another (real) favorite bumper sticker I saw on a pickup truck once: "What if the hokey-pokey is what it's all about?"

TMI Tuesday #10: "Hello!"

I like to play. You can too.

1. What one piece of sage relationship advice would you give your child (or niece/nephew or friend).

Above all else, communicate. This doesn't mean just telling your partner what you need, it means asking lots of questions about his/her needs. And insist that your partner do the same. If (s)he is at all uncomfortable with lots of communication, that's a red flag. Don't be shocked when major issues come up later.

2. When was the last time you left a passion mark Or had one left on you? (A passion mark is an unintentional physical manifestation of an act of passion: a hickey left in the heat of the moment; fingernail or teeth marks that last for more than an hour, a bump on your head from slamming into the headboard could even count).

Probably not since high school, when I left "physical manifestations of an act of passion" (who is writing this stuff?) on the inside of my girlfriend's thighs, right next to her pussy. I haven't felt the "need" to do that since. Nor has it been requested.

3. When was the last time you had sex in a car?

Only once — same girlfriend as in number 2 above! It was a Buick Regal, her mom's. We had driven to the other end of the apartment complex from where her place was. We believed this would give us privacy. We were wrong! We also had parked fairly near a very large dumpster, and for some bizarre, completely stupid reason, this car came up and parked right next to us at 3:30 in the morning — just as she was straddling my lap and bouncing on my dick. We dove for cover. She ended up stretched out on the back seat and I was on the floor.

This guy next to us, in a station wagon, pulls the tailgate down and proceeds to sit there next to us and eat lunch while we lie perfectly still. Then he starts unloading trash from the back of the car into the nearby dumpster. At some point, my girlfriend decides to torture me by playing with my dick while I lie down there, unable to make a sound with this guy sometimes no more than two feet away from us. When he finally did drive off, I used all that pent-up energy to fuck her silly.

Oh, I also have had roadhead a number of times. For the story of one of those occasions, go back in time.

4. Have you ever had an orgasm in a public conveyance?

I'm not too proud to say that I actually had to look up "conveyance" to make sure it meant what I thought it meant. It did, though I thought it would be a more broad term that might include time-travel machines, space shuttles, and (in some countries) elephants. Which it doesn't. So sadly, with those restrictions, my honest answer must be: No.

Amy and I have had a LOT of sex on Amtrak, but never in a public area — always in the privacy of our sleeper. (Terrible name, "sleeper." Who sleeps when you'd rather fuck like crazed porn stars, her tits pressed up against the window as you watch the backyards of America fly by?)

5. Have you ever had an orgasm with someone other than your partner (or partners) present?

Okay, not 100% sure exactly what you're going for here, but I'm thinking that you must be asking if I've ever come while someone else besides the person actually assisting in the orgasm was in the room. In other words, have I ever come on the sly?

Hmmmm. No. None of my partners, as best I know, were the kind that found a real thrill with sex in public or "dangerous" places. Too bad, it would have been fun. Apparently, they all needed privacy in order to release their inhibitions.

Now, I've been teased plenty of times by women in public, with a foot or a hand, standing in a crowd or sitting at a table. But I never came from that activity.

Bonus (as in optional): You are strolling along in the mall with your S.O. A young woman is approaching from the opposite direction and will pass within feet of you. She is attractive and has magnificent body. Describe your reaction.

First of all, you need to know this: Seven times out of ten, Amy notices these beautiful women before I do. And she usually comments on them. But whether it's Amy or me noticing, the initial reaction is the same: Either before we get within earshot of the subject or after we've passed her, one of us says: "Hello!" The reaction is usually reserved for women with particularly large breasts who feel the need to share their gifts with the world as much as the law allows. But it can also be used for women who are simply exceptionally devastating.

Amy's cool with this — as long as I don't go on about it for too long!

23 April 2007

Saturday Night Living

"Wanna fool around?"

I was lying on the couch; Amy was on top of me. She responded: "I thought you wanted to watch SNL."

I had wanted to, ever since I'd found out that Scarlett Johansson was hosting and Bjork was the musical guest. That's a lot of hotness squeezed into one standard-definition TV screen. How could I resist?

But then the show started, and Scarlett hit the stage for the opening monologue in a black mini-skirtish sort of number with a neckline that was — and I'm sure this was purely coincidence — designed to accentuate her beautiful, um, tracts of land. And then there were the black stockings. Oh, and pumps with four-inch heels. I barely remember the skit (she sung something with an actor doing Sanjaya). Once Scarlett was on stage, all I could think about was doing Amy.

I explained it much more simply to Amy: "I did want to watch it ... until I saw Scarlett. Now I just want to fool around."

"Um ... Okay."


In case you didn't pick it up from her response, Amy wasn't fully on board. Maybe she felt some innate pressure since it was technically still (for the next few minutes, anyway) the anniversary of when we met.

It used to bug me a lot when Amy would "concede" to sex. "Never mind" would be my passive-aggressive reaction. But my thinking has evolved over time such that I've come to terms with this. I now understand that sometimes — sometimes, mind you — it's okay to go ahead and take when the giver is not gung-ho but still willing to go with it.

It's probably not an apt comparison, but there are plenty of other areas in our lives where I happily concede to do things for Amy that I'm not thrilled about. Shopping for clothes for her comes to mind — but not for the reason you might figure. I love shopping for clothes with her. But these days, my job on shopping excursions is de facto babysitter, keeping the kids from bothering her too much so that she can accomplish something. I happily make dinners she likes that I'm not necessarily wild about. I really have no interest in gardening, but I obediently play her weekend worker-bee as she plants and weeds in our yard. (To put it in more sexual terms, her gardening libido is much stronger than mine.1)

These examples I bring up are, of course, the typical sort of give-and-take concessions that anyone in a healthy relationship regularly performs. So why does sex seem different?

Your response might be: "Well, Denis, sex should be more than an errand, more than a chore." Well, yeah. Ideally sex is an intimate, enthusiastic act that helps people connect on a romantic, or carnal, or — dare I say — spiritual level. But let's face it, for some women (and some men), sex is, on some occasions, an obligatory part of the relationship, performed for the good of the relationship. So while it might be a little pathetic to compare my conceding to weed a flower bed to my wife conceding to fuck me, when you get down to brass tacks, that's just the way it goes sometimes.

I had a good (female) friend once who joked about how, sometimes late at night when her husband was rearin' to go, she'd tell him: "You can do anything you want to me — just don't wake me up." She admitted that there was an underlying truth to the joke: She would occasionally consent to sex when she wasn't really into it. And that was fine. As long as the rest of the relationship is relatively healthy, and as long as it doesn't always seem like drudgery, one-sided sex is perfectly acceptable. (This is probably not a revelation to many of you; for me, guilt-ridden and over-libidoed, it's a relatively new concept for me to struggle with.)

And who knows: Once things get going, maybe she'll like it! In fact, when these circumstances arise, she often does. Which brings me to thought (or "justification," if you prefer) number two: On occasions when I am aware that Amy has agreed to sex with a degree of ambivalence, let it be known that I work my ass off to make sure it's worth her while. Ha — that statement sounds like a distant cousin to that age-old (and hilarious) belief that some men have: "If I could just sleep with that hot lesbian, I could turn her straight!" While I might not succeed every time, my chances of success are much better than those idiots'.


"Did you see if we got a package today?" Amy asked as we tossed the back couch cushions onto the floor so that we could lie side-by-side.

I knew what she was really asking. "You mean, did we get the next movie?" We'd ordered another porn video, but it hadn't arrived yet. The very fact that she was asking indicated to me that she was looking for "assistance," an arousal pick-me-up. "Do you want to watch one of our other ones?" I asked.

"No, that's fine. I just wondered."

We started with gentle kissing. I was thinking momentarily about what it was like to kiss her that first time all those years ago. Either too much time has passed or my brain wasn't up to the task, but I couldn't really recapture that experience in my head. Part of the problem with my failed reverie was that Amy had removed her shirt, and her breasts were now sort of spilling delectably out of her bra. I paid them considerable attention, working along the edge of the bra with tongue and teeth. Then to the neck, then back to her mouth, then an ear ... nice and slow. Amy released the bra's front clasp, and I pulled back the bra with my teeth. Some tonguing of her nipples, and I was starting to hear actual sounds of interest.

She rolled me on my back, sat up, and then laid back on my legs. She kicked in the air as she pulled off her jeans and panties in one motion, and then, lying back, spread wide. There wasn't much I could do with her on top of my legs! Awkwardly, I pulled them out from underneath her (I wondered if this clumsy seduction hearkened back to our first night together!) and removed my own jeans. My dick bobbed and pointed like Dionysus' own divining rod ... right to where my mouth wanted to be.

I sucked and nibbled on her labia, working them open and finding Amy's clit. I began working my tongue flat against her, slow circles, occasionally throwing in more pointed tongue-dances down the length of her slit. I thought she was getting into it when all of a sudden, she said:

"Do you know what I want to see?"

I looked up from between her legs. "What?"

"I want to see that scene from that movie we watched the other night, when he has her tied up."

Her wish; my command. Off I went to retrieve The Masseuse, along with the lube.

Here was an odd situation: I was more interested in playing with Amy than watching the movie. I can't recall her ever being more into the porn than me. Oh, I found ways to amuse myself. Moving slightly to one side, I pushed my dick toward her mouth, and it was willingly accepted and lightly sucked while she watched. She occasionally looked up at me, smiled, and ran her tongue up and down the shaft before returning her focus to the movie.

I went down on her again and then moved into a position where I could tease her clit with the head of my cock. Amy picked right up on this, grabbing the dick herself and "using" me to masturbate. I love it when she does this, when she makes it more about her pleasure than mine. I would occasionally glance at the screen, but 95% of the time, I was watching Amy get into the scene.

At one point, I buried my head in her neck again. I whispered: "Tell me what's happening."

"She's sucking his cock now," Amy said. This was the final shot of the scene: While still tied to her crossbar, Jenna's mouth is fucked until Justin unloads a creamy cumshot on her mouth and chin. Just like the first time she watched this scene, Amy was impressed. She pushed my cock the rest of the way inside her. The scene over, we moved down on the couch and picked up our own tempo.

"So," I asked, "would you like to be tied up like that sometime?"

"Um ... Yeah," she said, as if the thought of it was both revelatory and genuinely arousing.

"I'll make sure that happens sometime soon," I said.

She reached down between us and began masturbating as we fucked.

"Yeah," I whispered, moving up so she could get her hands down there, and so I could watch. "Bring yourself off. I wanna see you come."

She worked herself for awhile as I continued my slow fucking, but then she abandoned that in favor of pulling me back on top of her. I was close to coming already from watching her, and this dramatic move on her part finished me off. I felt my cock pulse five or six times deep inside her.

"You aren't finished!" I announced heroically, and we both laughed as I made my way back down her belly, found her clit, and began a no-nonsense muffing that brought her to a quick and jerky climax.

She sighed. Stretched out on the couch. Accepted my head in the crook of her shoulder. And said: "So .... You wanna go back to watching Saturday Night Live?"

I didn't. I was certain that the show's mediocre quality would interfere with the moment we had just had. (Turns out I was right: I finished watching the episode last night, and it was horrendous.) We went to bed.

At the risk of being too nostalgic over the last 48 hours, I said to her one last time in bed: "I'm really glad you agreed to kiss me that night." She mumbled something affirmative, but she was already falling asleep.

It hadn't been a fireworks-inducing evening, like it might have been in, say, 1991. But really, is that even possible? There's no question that the way we love each other has changed as we've taken on different roles in different chapters of our life together. But there's also no question that the intensity of my love for this woman — and, let's face it, the sheer carnal lust for her — has not abated one iota.

1 Let's stretch the metaphor too far: I'm not a size queen or anything, but my wife has a very large green thumb! [Return]

22 April 2007

50,000 / Tag, I'm It (II)

First of all, my 50,000 hit on this site came on the 99th day of existence — at 11:39 p.m. on Friday, April 20th. So, my Windows XP-using, Firefox-browsing friend in Cupertino, California: You win a new Porsche! Oh, but wait ... You have to be present to win! My apologies. I'll give Amy a kiss in your honor.

Seriously, thanks to everyone for the support over these first few months. I love writing here, but I love almost as much what I read and learn from the great blogs and friends I've found.


This is insanely overdue. It's a 'tagged' post I was working on before I got sick. The sweet (and currently hiatus-ish) La fille mariée tagged me on this one. I am so bad about finishing what I started that I just had to finish this one. Finally, I can close the loop on this. LFM, my humble apologies for my lateness.

A - Available or Single?
Available for weddings, parties, and bar mitzvahs. But that's about it.

B - Best Friends?
I have a few best friends in real life: A running buddy; a friend who hops from country to country with each new job; a friend in an orchestra in Europe; a couple of good friends on the Internet. Friendships have always been tough for me to maintain over long periods of time. I don't know why. After I lose touch with a friend, I find myself desperately searching for him/her on the Internet. I find him/her ... and then that seems to be enough for me. I let 'em slip away again.

C - Cake or Pie?
Pie. Pie. Pie. I really want to learn how to bake a great pie. By that I mean I want to master the art of brilliant pie crust. (Maybe Preheated can teach me. You up for it, Pre?) (Can I call you "Pre?")

D - Drink of Choice?
Tonic water. When I drink it, I always figure people think I'm on the a recovering alcoholic. I'm not. I've just always loved the taste.

E - Essential Item?
Oh, my iPod, most definitely. I live for it. For what? For music? Nawwwwwww! For lectures! You think I'm kidding, don't you? I'm serious. I have a slew of lectures from Yale and Princeton on there, most having to do with politics. I know, I don't get it either. (Okay, there's music on there too — 3,674 songs at last count.)

F - Favorite Colour?
Colour? Colour? I'm sorry, I have no idea what a colour is. Do you want to know my favorite colour in the UK is? In France? In Canada? Oh! You want to know what my favorite color is! Well, why the Hell didn't you say so?

Blue. Especially when it's a movie.

G - Gummi Bears or Worms?
Bears could kick worms' asses. If worms had asses, that is.

H - Hometown?
Springfield. You've seen it on TV. We have a nuclear reactor there. Our home team is called the Isotopes.

I - Indulgence?
I don't have an indulgence. I mean, not something I spend lots of money on. I have a problem with spending lots of money on anything.

J - January or February?
Anything that gets me closer to Spring, I want that one. I'll take February, thanks.

K - Kids and Names?
I like them both. Especially polite kids and nicknames.

L - Life is incomplete without?
You're kidding, right? If you have to ask, you haven't been reading my blog.

Seriously, if my answer weren't "sex," what would it be?


Life is incomplete for me without children. I would never answer that way for anyone else, though.

So let me go ahead and give a more universal answer: Life is incomplete without an ability to be childlike. Okay?

M - Marriage Date?
Wow! Um ... No, I've never had a marriage date. I know they have them in Vegas all the time, though; why else would you need a drive-thru chapel?

N - Number of Siblings?
A sister and two brothers.

O - Oranges or Apples?
I guess I have to skip the predictable "melons" joke here, eh? I have a regularly strong craving for citrus. I'll take oranges, thankyouverymuch.

P - Phobias/Fears?
Flying. This has developed relatively recently. It started when I fell truly, deeply in love with Amy. I'd never had a fear of dying until then. I just wanted to be with her for as long as possible. This feeling got even worse when I had kids. Even if we're all together on the plane, I dread not getting to be here, in this existence, for my full 80 or 90 years. This phobia developed, by the way, at the same time I lost interest in wanting to climb Everest. Same reason.

Q - Favourite Quote?
"There's no amount of work a man can't do if it's not what he's supposed to be doing."
- Peter Benchley

R - Reasons to smile?
When Amy drops a sexy, flirty remark to me on IM at work.

S - Season?
Summer. Full on, baby. Bring on the hot.

T - Tag 3 People?
You know, I'm not gonna do it this time. I just feel like I'm so late on this thing, and I feel like maybe it puts unnecessary pressure/guilt/annoyance on others.

U - Unknown Fact About Me?
What, 100 wasn't enough? Fine, then. I can never keep you happy. Here's one more, to grow on: I feel like I'm missing life when I sleep, so I stay up way, way later than I should on most nights. (This fact is probably tied to my recent sickness.)

V - Vegetable You Hate?
Eggplant. Get that thing away from me.

W - Worst Habit?
I'm always trying to do much more than I have time to do. It makes me late to everything.

X - X-rays You've Had?
Teeth. That's it. (They're gorgeous. Thanks for asking.)

Y - Your Favourite Foods?
Again with the euro-spelling! I'll assume you know about your typos, but you know how that turns me off, don't you?

Favorite foods: Pie comes to mind (can't imagine why!). French fries. Bibim bop. Just about any Thai dish with curry. Speaking of curry, lots of Indian food rocks my boat. Speaking of boats, conch fritters from this restaurant in Daytona Beach, FL, which is probably long gone and whose name I can't remember anyway, we're delectable. And speaking of delectable: Pussy.

Z - Zodiac?
Are you trying to pick me up? You know you don't have to use a line with me. Just be yourself! I'll do ya.

21 April 2007

Sixteen years.

I said to Amy, as we were going to bed last night: "Our relationship is now old enough to drive a car."

I'm getting all nostalgic today, in many different ways. But here, in this forum, I'm getting nostalgic in a particular way.

We woke up in her bed together that first morning, only hours after I met her. I woke up first, actually, which gave me the chance to watch her sleep, so peaceful. Momentarily, she opened her eyes, and the smile on my face was soon mirrored by hers.

Neither of us had any idea what was to come. All we knew at that point that this person whose face was just inches away was pretty cool. I'm sure she thought: "Am I gonna trust this guy far enough to hurt me?" My complex, revealing thought was probably something like: "Goddamn, she's hot."

I'd had to talk her into that first kiss, hours earlier, before we slept. "It's just a kiss," I'd said. "Oh, okay," she said. When we woke up later, her kisses, perfectly quiet, were much more willing. Already, she was believing. Somehow, some way, my hands found their way under her pink t-shirt, and I touched those glorious, stunning, full breasts for the first time. She also slipped a hand into my shorts. I'm sorry, her shorts. Gym-style, elastic waistband. I'd borrowed them in order to have something else to sleep in besides my nice clothes. I wasn't supposed to have spent the night.

How ... careful we were. Proper, in an improper way. Feeling out each other's emotions as we felt our bodies. Exploring, but watching each other's faces to make sure we both felt good about what was happening.

And oh yes, we both felt very good about The Touch.

Later, much later, we wouldn't be so careful, so sensitive. But the love just beginning to take shape that morning would carry us through a lot of water, rough and calm, when we finally got to "later, much later."

We didn't fuck, not for a couple of weeks. We made a decision neither of us had ever made before: We decided to get tested first. That should have been a sign of how serious we must have felt it was.

As Amy fell asleep in my arms last night, her naked body pressed against mine, my hand cupping her breast, her body twitching as it gave up the last slivers of consciousness, I thought about how far we've come, how much confidence this love has lent to both of us.

"It's just a kiss," I had said.

Thank God for my naiveté.

20 April 2007

Return to the Fold. More Specifically, Her Folds.

"April is the cruelest month." - T.S. Eliot

Nothing tailor-made to lose your porn-hungry audience faster than kicking off your return to blogging with a quote from Eliot! But Tommy was definitely on to something when he wrote that. After the first three weeks of this month, I'm convinced that the whole March "in like a lion" stuff we hear is total bullshit. April is the killer.

Especially when you kick it off with a virulent (and particularly late-in-the-season) flu that kicks the snot out of you — literally and figuratively. And then you pass it off to everyone you know and love ... but slowly, so that the effect can be stretched over many weeks. Both my kids had it to a lesser degree. Amy is just now shaking off the last vestiges. And two of our babysitters came down with minor versions, forcing Amy and me to take more time off work to cover.

The symptoms were the same as just about any flu, but one in particular was much worse than usual: the energy depletion. For instance, just when I thought I was past the worst, I took a four-block walk to my car ... and had to take the rest of the day off. I'm no Superman by any means, but hell, I'm not a couch potato! I do exercise! Nonetheless, I'm just now beginning to feel like something better than a bed-ridden old man.

Needless to say, both of our libidos were almost entirely extinguished. I can't recall a three-week period with so little innuendo thrown at my wife, and with fewer hints that I'd rather be fucking (than, say, doing our taxes). Sometimes this was true even when I was horny! I'd think, God, I so want to fuck her.... and that would be followed immediately by: ... But a nap sounds pretty good too.... So I didn't even try. And neither did Amy, whose biggest issue was clogged sinuses. I don't have to tell many of you how fun a blowjob would be for her in that state, right?

And then last Saturday night, I was taken by surprise when Amy took me up on a half-hearted suggestion to watch a video we had procured just before the Great Flu of '07. I think my incredible attempt at seduction had gone something like this:

"We still have that movie sitting around. If you're up for it. Not sure I am, but...."

Really, what red-blooded American woman could resist that come-on? And so, an hour later, apropos of nothing, she said, "Sure!" I was so far past thinking about it that I had to ask what she was talking about it. It was already 11:00 p.m. And she was still sort of sick. Was she serious?

She was. So, down to the basement we headed, not only with the DVD but also with a new vibrator. I still wasn't sure we'd get anywhere — or, let's be honest, if we even remembered how to have sex — but I think we were both feeling that it would be nice to capture a vague sense of "normal" again.


The movie was the 2004 update of The Masseuse, starring Jenna Jameson and her then-husband Justin Sterling. (This is basically a review; if you're not interested, you might want to skip down a bit.) We were interested in this one because the original 1990 version of the movie, starring Hyapatia Lee and Randy Spears, was one of the first pornos Amy and I had watched together. With our relationship being so new at the time, I was wading into risky waters, not really sure how much Amy liked porn — or if she did, what she liked. She wasn't really sure, either. This soft (but still hardcore) "couples" film was a good, safe entry.

The 1990 version is included on an extra disc when you buy the DVD of the 2004 version, so we had a chance to reacquaint ourselves with it. My, how far we've come! The 1990 Masseuse is a painfully slow-moving trek toward a single fuck scene at the end. Along the way, Hyapatia gives Randy (who plays a twentysomething virgin) a handjob, a blowjob, and just about any other safe foreplay as we slowly wander toward the climactic scene where she takes his cherry. It couldn't be much more tame without becoming one of those god-awful Playboy-produced softcore numbers you catch at the SpectraVision in your Motel 6 room just off the highway. That said, there's no question in my mind that Hyapatia was incredibly hot.1 She had a gorgeous body with natural tits, and when the sex finally happens, she was clearly into it.2

The updated version follows an almost-identical plot: Justin Sterling plays a similarly awkward, socially inept virgin, though he's a lot kinkier than Randy Spears was.3 He has no idea how to interact with women — something he shows when a co-worker (Wendy Devine) throws herself at him and he botches the kiss. He eventually turns to the services of a massage parlor and — what do you know! — the luck of the draw lands him in Jenna's room. And of course, he almost instantly falls hard for her. After she shaves his balls and gives him a handjob (both his requests), she finds him adorably endearing and invites him to come back any time.

This is where one encounters the big believability stretch: All masseuses — Hell, let's call her what she is, shall we? — All sex workers have rules, and Jenna's masseuse breaks almost every one of them. She lets Justin kiss her and, fully aware that he's falling in like with her, she agrees to "date" him outside the workplace. Justin's creepiness is somehow filtered as endearing by Jenna. Within minutes on their first date, she allows him to tie her up in his "shed." Even by the end of the movie, when Justin's obsession with her lands him on her doorstep, she freaks out at his "ruining everything" ... and then fucks him.

Now, I realize that porn is rarely believable, but this movie has been heralded for its "realism." Some also consider it a great dramatic accomplishment, and I suppose one has to take into account its competition when assessing that statement.. But I still cringed. While Justin isn't half-bad as the bumbling semi-stalker, Jenna is pretty wooden and vague in many of the "dramatic" scenes. And any plot that has a single sex-worker/mom falling in love with her virgin client has stretched beyond any hopes of being taken seriously.4

Still ... the sex is incredibly hot. (You almost forgot I was a typical male, didn't you?) The opening handjob was disappointing (that's the one scene where Hyapatia blows Jenna out of the water), but everything after is delicious. Especially the bondage scene with Jenna, and a great exhibitionistic frigging that Wendy Devine performs for Justin in their workplace. (Clearly, I'm in the wrong office.) While Amy and I were pretty worried at the beginning, we finally did start to "warm up" a good half-hour into the movie.


When the bondage scene got going, I repositioned the two of us on the couch so that Amy was prone but still able to watch while I frolicked between her legs. Removing her jeans and panties, I discovered that the movie had revved her up: Her pussy was warm and inviting. I took my time licking and stroking her as I moved back and forth from her cunt to watching the movie. It was a lovely, drawn-out laving. At some point, Amy laughed at my reverence and asked, "You've really missed going down on me, haven't you?"

"Can you tell?" I asked as my tongue took another long drag.

I picked up the new toy, a bright orange Lucid Dreams No. 14 vibrator, and lubed it up before rubbing it along Amy's slit. After things were good and slick, I twisted the dial to its lowest vibration setting. The exceptionally quiet vibrator let me hear Amy's own purring.

We really don't use toys very much; they've always seemed awkward, and the arousal payoff hasn't been that amazing. But in the name of fun and variety, we thought we'd try again. It turned out to be worth it.

The vibrator's head has a "bullet" built into it, which is advertised as being good for clitoral stimulation. But it's clear from the shape that this baby is made for the g-spot. So after a few minutes more of letting my tongue and the vibe take turns, I eased it into her. Amy enjoyed this,but wanted to take the wheel: I wasn't quite coming in at the right angle. I gladly let her take over and continued to snake my tongue around the toy as she did her thing.

I could tell from Amy's sounds and movements =that this was a different (read: more positive) vibrator experience. It seemed to keep her at a higher state of arousal as I continued to diddle her clit. At some point, she pulled the vibe back out again and went to serious work on her clit. My tongue stimulation, along with the visual of a bound Jenna getting her mouth fucked (eventually bathing in a gooey facial) sent Amy into an extended, undulating release. She came down almost as slowly as she had built up. A beautiful, gentle climax — perfect for the woman still recuperating.

Amy apologized in advance for not being able to orally return the favor, but I understood. Besides, it gave me the opportunity to enjoy my most recent obsession: handjobs! Amy lubed up her hand and languidly worked my cock as we continued to watch. We took turns stroking me until I told her to bring me off during the final scene, where Jenna and Justin fuck.

All in all, a lovely, mellow evening, considering I wasn't expecting any action at all. It was great just to feel sexual again, and the positive vibe (no pun intended) was a bonus. Amy has been making noises about doing something again, though the sinusitis continues to threaten any plans. But hey, I'm a patient guy ... something I remind Amy on a regular basis. Don't worry, I am properly slapped each time I say it.


A sincere thank-you to so many of you who expressed your appreciation and well-wishes, both on the blog and in email, during my time away. It's good to be back.

1 I'm using past-tense here not because there was some tragic porn-star ending to her life; she just retired from porn. [Return]

2 And really, there's little else I ask from my porn: That the performers be genuinely into getting laid that day. If they don't appear to be enjoying it, neither can I. [Return]

3 I attribute the difference largely to Sterling's character's access to the World Wide Web — something Spears didn't have "back then." And I know I'm overthinking the plot to a porn film. Need I remind you that I'm not making you read this? [Return]

4 The really sad thing is that Paul Thomas, who wrote the original version of The Masseuse and directed both, had two chances to get this right ... and he screwed them both up! [Return]

07 April 2007

100 Things About Me (Pt. 2 of 2)

(Miss the first 50 items? It's not too late to play catch-up.)

Time to kill off the last vestiges of my "mystique."


li. I think Sex, Lies and Videotape was an amazingly ground-breaking movie at the time. I haven't gone back to watch it in years, but considering the way our culture has gone, I bet it seems unbelievably tame now.

lii. I was curious about what a condom felt like -- how sensitive sex would be when I was wearing one -- so before I ever had sex wearing one, I tried two or three brands and wore them while I masturbated.

liii. In 1990, I met up for coffee with a woman through the Internet. (Anyone remember Cleveland FreeNet?) It's the only time I ever did that. I was hoping to get laid that night, but geez, was this girl ever mousy and meek. I'm sure I was as equally unappealing to her. We both downed our drinks as quick as we could and headed home alone.

liv. Fewer things petrify me as much as when I shave Amy's bikini area. (But the payoff is almost worth it.)

lv. Podcasting is a wonderful technological development, but sex podcasts are ... well ... just lame. As of yet. Somebody needs to figure out how to do that right.

lvi. Amy and I did not have sex on our wedding night.

lvii. Sure, I jacked off to Judy Blume's Wifey in high school.

lviii. I normally only have to shave every other day, but I've recently taken to shaving every day (in the shower) to make my face as smooth as possible, hopefully encouraging Amy to take me up on my numerous offers to go down on her.

lix. Okay, had to replace what was originally here before with something new, because I've already revealed that I shave my balls, and this list needs to be all-new info: On my first college winter break back home, I fucked my high-school girlfriend's best friend. Don't worry, the high-school girlfriend and I had amicably parted when we went off to college. (But the sex with her best friend had been a long-time in the making — two years of flirting.) This is the only woman to have slept with me and another one of my siblings. (No, not at the same time.)

lx. My high school geometry teacher was this straight-laced, rather stern woman with short, blonde hair and not a strong gift for teaching. And I so wanted to fuck her.

lxi. In college, in the very first class of my very first quarter, I would sometimes sit in the class and write porn stories to keep me awake. I might still have those spiral notebooks in a box in my basement.

lxii. My high school girlfriend once said to me: "Congratulations, I'm not pregnant. Again." This was the first time she'd said something like that to me. Turned out it was the third pregnancy scare she had had, but she had been keeping these tidbits to herself.

lxiii. After so many close calls with high-school girlfriend, I believed for a number of years that I might not be able to get a woman pregnant. I'm really glad I was wrong about that.

lxiv. I think Coldplay's Parachutes is one of the best albums to fuck to. I also don't think they've made anything nearly as good since, whether I'm fucking or not.

lxv. Christy Canyon drives me wild. Her tits remind me of Amy's, and I come very quickly when she talks dirty. I mean, when Christy talks dirty. Well, when Amy talks dirty too. But right now, I'm talking about Christy.

lxvi. Every time Amy or I go somewhere without the other, the thought passes through my head that it may be the last time I see her.

lxvii. It is my dream to someday have a hair salon-style sink installed in my home. Having my hair washed is one of the most erotic things I experience in everyday life. Washing my wife's hair ain't too boring either.

lxviii. I discovered masturbation when I was 12. We rented a house for a long summer vacation, and a bookcase in the house contained a copy of Grant Tracy Saxon's The Happy Hustler. I snuck it into the bathroom for that whole month and masturbated with lotion. Many, many times.

lxix. I haven't used lotion to masturbate in over 20 years.

lxx. There are few things better after sex than a big bowl of freshly made pasta with butter. Except maybe more sex.

lxxi. If I'm reading erotica and there are grammar or punctuation mistakes, I'm completely turned off. I'm turned off by a lot of erotica.

lxxii. I'm a little bummed that Amy doesn't enjoy wearing thong underwear more often.

lxxiii. I'm a phone sex and cybersex snob. If the other person can't type decently or create a good story, I lose interest quickly.

lxxiv. Girl-on-girl porn does nothing for me.

lxxv. Which is not to say I wouldn't be absolutely fascinated watching Amy make love to another woman.

lxxvi. At the moment that I lost my virginity, Manhattan Transfer's "On the Boulevard" was playing on my girlfriend's clock radio. Hey, I'm not proud of it either, but it's not like I was gonna pause and wait for a better song, you know?

lxxvii. I want to suck cock again sometime.

lxxviii. I have laughed during and after orgasm, but not in quite awhile. I don't know if I should read anything into that.

lxxix. For a short time before I met the woman who would become my wife, I lived with a crazy woman. She just walked away from college one day and showed up on my doorstep. We slept together most nights, but she was too ... whatever ... to have sex with me. When she returned to that college the following quarter, she lost her virginity and became a nymphomaniac. I'm alternately grateful and pissed as hell that I never got to have sex with her.

lxxx. I'm also alternately grateful and pissed as hell that I wasn't old enough to be sexually active in the years before HIV.

lxxxi. My Internet persona (especially in chat) is much more aggressive and arrogant than I am in real-life.

lxxxii. I'd love to vacation at a nude beach or resort someday, if Amy could get comfortable enough to do it with me.

lxxxiii. Like driving by a car wreck, I can't turn away from those truly horrendous B-grade softcore porn films that Cinemax and Showtime show late at night. When my cable company opens those channels up for "free preview weekends," I scan the listings to see which piece of cocktease crap is going to be on.

lxxxiv. I find pearls incredibly sexy. One of my most memorable sex sessions with Amy involved a necklace of pearls gently inserted into her pussy ... and slowly sucked out.

lxxxv. This is way too twee and embarrassing, but: Early in our relationship, when one or the other of us was headed to work, Amy and I had a goodbye ritual that involved me briefly sucking on each of her nipples and she kissing or briefly sucking my cock "goodbye."

lxxxvi. I loved to give hickeys on my high-school girlfriend's inner thigh, right next to her pussy. I joked that I was marking my territory.

lxxxvii. I used to play "You show me yours and I'll show you mine" with two (female) cousins when we visited my grandmother's house. I was more into it than they were.

lxxxviii. I have masturbated so many times in a day that my dick was raw. (Thankfully, not for awhile.)

lxxxix. When I have my best orgasms, it feels like someone has thrown a stone into my center, and I'm experiencing an intense ripple effect that progresses to an earth-shattering "convulsion."

xc. And then there's often an "after-shock," milder but still intense, some fifteen to thirty seconds after the first.

xci. An ex-girlfriend had a kitten. She shouldn't have -- she really wasn't very good at taking care of pets. The kitten would get jealous when I was around. One time, while the woman and I were fucking on the floor of her apartment (in front of a full-length mirror), the cat took a flying leap off the bed ... on to my back. This did not make me find a deeper love for cats.

xcii. As comfortable as I am with pornography now, it's fun to remember how incredibly nervous I would get in high school when, on my way back from my girlfriend's, I would stop at the 7-11 and psyche myself up to walk in and buy a Penthouse. I would practice what I was going to say until the tremor in my voice would cease.

xciii. I masturbate with my right hand.

xciv. I had sex with a girlfriend in her parents' bed, and I think that largely because of the location, it was the best sex I ever had with that woman.

xcv. I own a pair of handcuffs, which I've never used with Amy. Why? Because I lost the keys. I know how to open the cuffs pretty consistently using a paperclip, but I'm petrified that the one time I put them on her, I won't be able to open them. I think I'll wait 'til I have another set of keys.

xcvi. Astroglide. There might be better ones out there, but I really like that one.

xcvii. I can't even contemplate getting a blowjob with a condom. I would have a hard time maintaining an erection believing that the experience was irredeemably unpleasant for her.

xcviii. Amy and I used to watch a lot of porn by Andrew Blake, but at this point, his stuff does little for me. I don't think it does much for her, either.

xcix. I have occasionally had a fantasy of my wife giving a repairman making a housecall a "tip" of a blowjob after he has finished his work.

c. Less rarely, I've had the same fantasy about me delivering that blowjob. Sometimes that fantasy "works" for me, but most times it doesn't.

06 April 2007

100 Things About Me (Pt. 1 of 2)

"The only true currency is what we share when we're both uncool."
-- Lester Bangs, channeled through Philip Seymour Hoffman in Almost Famous

Everybody seems to do these lists. The challenge for me was making all 100 things relate to sex or relationships.


i. Speaking purely physically: It's her eyes first. Her tits second.

ii. If I'm using "external stimuli" for masturbation, it's pretty evenly split between written erotica and video I've found on the Internet.

iii. I experimented sexually with my (male) best friend when we were 6 or 7. We called it "Nasty," but in the presence of the grown-ups we referred to it as "NASA." My favorite activities we did were the oral ones, though my friend was less enamored with those.

iv. I had a girlfriend in second and third grade with whom I experimented sexually. No intercourse, just playing with each other.

v. Amy and I used to make love to that Enigma CD that came out in the 1990s -- the one with the sampled monks and the heavy-breathing woman. How cliché is that?

vi. On a couple of occasions, girlfriends have surreptitiously groped me in public crowds. I found this to be incomprehensibly arousing.

vii. Speaking of public arousal, I have a fantasy about getting blown in a movie theater. I have no intention of fulfilling this one because I am convinced that these days every auditorium has security cameras with night-vision technology.

viii. I have always wanted to spend a night with a paid escort, but I can never get around how much they cost. (Maybe roleplay for Amy?)

ix. As a teenager, I had a sexual relationship with my (male) best friend that lasted about nine months.

x. A former apartment mate who knew of my homosexual experience asked me one night if I would take a shower with him. I softly declined. I didn't find him attractive. That said, now I kind of wish I'd done it.

xi. nip/tuck is a guilty pleasure. Good sex scenes, though I can't bear to watch the surgeries.

xii. Sometimes I resent what my kids have done to my sex life.

xiii. I find Anaïs Nin deadly dull.

xiv. I like going without underwear, but I don't do it all that often -- usually just when I'm out of underwear, and then I remember how much I like it.

xv. I considered for awhile in the late 80s/early 90s doing phone sex. Yes, I realize that, being male, I would have been doing gay phone sex. I was willing to try it. But two female co-workers at my day job warned me that the work would likely send me hurtling into a depression and make me hate humanity.

xvi. As "research" into phone sex, I called a phone sex line once. The girl who phoned me back was very sweet, but this was clearly not her calling (no pun intended). I had to lead the whole way, and her orgasm was obviously faked. Still, the fantasy I had concocted was so good that I made myself come.

xvii. Yeah, I have tried to incorporate Pop Rocks into sex. What a gi-normous disappointment that was.

xviii. When I was a kid, my parents had a copy of John Updike's A Month of Sundays in their bookcase. I would secret it away and masturbate to the sex scenes.

xix. It'd be fun to get into the Mile-High Club. Does anyone actually do that anymore, post-9/11?

xx. I have posed as a female on sex chats.

xxi. I begged and pleaded with a girlfriend to not break up with me 'cause the sex just rocked.

xxii. Well, maybe the sex wasn't that good: I broke up with her three weeks later.

xxiii. I wish I could eat Amy's pussy every day. It totally baffles me why she's not taking me up on this offer.

xxiv. My wife (then my girlfriend) once blew me in an empty classroom at her high-school reunion.

xxv. I am a shameless flirt, especially with women I know well. I'm even worse on the Internet.

xxvi. It saddens me that my wife has lost her talent for flirting ... with me or with anyone else. I think she'd like to regain it.

xxvii. I don't get the Hooters restaurant chain. But then, I haven't actually been to one. I should probably go and see if it makes any sense whatsoever. Amy has said she'd go with me sometime.

xxviii. I worry sometimes that I'm sounding silly when I talk dirty during sex. It doesn't help that Amy often has this nervous, self-conscious laugh when I'm doing it.

xxix. In high-school, my girlfriend and I used to read letters from the Forum section of Penthouse magazine to each other over the phone. She was awful at it. I was fantastic at it. (Her judgment, not mine.) (Okay, maybe my judgment too, a little.)

xxx. I listened to a phone message once from a woman I really wanted to date. She was wondering where I was, since we were supposed to be meeting for dinner. I wasn't answering the phone because I couldn't get up off the floor. I couldn't get up off the floor because I was pinned down at that moment by an ex-girlfriends pussy as we were engrossed in a messy, glorious 69.

xxxi. Though his character is a terrible womanizer, when Daniel Day Lewis says "Take off your clothes" in the movie version of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, I think it is so fucking sexy it makes me dizzy. When I'm being aggressive during sex, this is the character I hope is inhabiting me.

xxxii. I write erotica. I have several stories written, but haven't published them yet. Eventually, they'll be going somewhere on the web.

xxxiii. Ron Jeremy disgusts me. I don't get why he's such a goddamned legend in porn. How can "hedgehog" be a term of endearment for a porn actor?

xxxiv. I had a relationship lasting almost two years with a woman with whom I never had intercourse.

xxxv. And I was prepared to marry her.

xxxvi. I'm sorry that I gave that dancer at the strip club an extra $20 to "do a little something extra" for my friend, who was getting married the next day. I was his best man, and I somehow thought that the other guys at the bachelor party were expecting it. Maybe they were, but it wasn't worth it. Luckily, he has forgiven me. His wife thought it was funny.

xxxvii. I think swimming in the nude is an incredibly erotic experience.

xxxviii. In fact, my college girlfriend and I once had a wonderful encounter in my family's pool while on break that involved my giving her a fun session of cunnilingus ... underwater.

xxxix. I dated this girl in junior high school who was unbelievably way out of my league. Incredibly hot. The only thing that I had that could have attracted her was my intelligence or command of the English language. Her aroma made my tongue tickle. We would go to this hill overlooking a cemetery and she'd let me play with her small but delicious tits. She was 4'11". She handed out business cards that said "Let's get small."

xl. I've never felt a pair of fake tits. I'm interested in doing this, just for the experience. I don't think for a minute that it will be sexually arousing.

xli. Before I married Amy, I had an affair. The woman and I never had intercourse, but we did everything else.

xlii. Because of the distance this affair (and other issues) created, Amy ended up having her own affair. She fucked him.

xliii. Sometimes, when I'm sitting in a public place (like a bus or a restaurant), I will look around at the people within my field of vision and choose the individual with whom I would most like to have sex. It's a fun game, try it sometime.

xliv. Amy and I spent an entire Saturday in bed, fucking. In front of the Clarence Thomas hearings.

xlv. In college, a woman I was mad-crushing on wanted to apply full makeup to my face, just for the fun of it. I let her go at it, because it was an incredible turn-on to have her face in such close proximity to mine. The makeup didn't turn me on at all.

xlvi. I'd rather see my wife fuck Rocco Siffredi than Peter North. North always has that dumb, vacant look on his face when he's having sex. And Rocco's cock has those great veins. I think Amy agrees with me on this.

xlvii. I lost my virginity at 17, and went on to have a TON of sex over the next several months with my girlfriend, before we went off to our respective colleges.

xlviii. But I never used a condom until my senior year in college.

xlix. I admit I'm still struggling with elements of the affairs Amy and I had before we were married. I feel totally hypocritical about that, but ... there it is.

l. I love the challenge of keeping my mouth concentrated on the cunt of a woman who is really bucking as I eat her out.


If you haven't lost all respect for me yet, you can continue with items 51-100.

05 April 2007

Sick Man Walking.

Back in 1989, I was working a job that required one of my greatest talents: My fast and accurate typing. A co-worker of mine, a woman, ate lunch with me one day and went on and on about how amazing sex is when both participants are running high-grade fevers.

This occurred to me last night. It was about the only thought I was able to retain, as at that point I was spiking up above 101 degrees and sweat-shaking with the chills in my bed. And honestly, I can NOT imagine anything less interesting at that moment than trying to sexually gratify another person.

Friends and co-workers with experiences with walking pneumonia reported to me yesterday that my symptoms make me a goddamn textbook for the diagnosis. My doctor will confirm or reject their opinion at an appointment I have this evening.

I miss writing and reading. I hope to get back to this soon.

31 March 2007

The Great Divide

Well, I'm sick. With a stupid, energy-depleting cold, and it's been a struggle to concentrate long on anything. This is particularly frustrating, since a new sex toy and movie arrived in the mail on Friday, but I just haven't had the energy to check this stuff out with Amy. Hopefully you'll be hearing about that soon ... but apparently not this weekend.

Finding the time to write — or the privacy to have sex — is going to get tricky this coming week, as my mom is coming to visit. Looks like it might be a good time to spring the "100 things" list.


A few weeks ago, Dan Savage had a column that took me by surprise. The topic was what to do about differing libidos — specifically, what a high-libidoed male does when paired with a low-libidoed female. The man had recently discovered the existence of Joan Sewell's I'd Rather Eat Chocolate: Learning to Love My Low Libido, and he was understandably worried. "My spouse can now point at this book," he wrote, "and say, 'I'm normal, live with it....'"

Dan's response caught me totally off guard: He first restated the basic premise of the book — "Women have naturally lower sex drives.... [M]en are hornier—and all the Sex and the City repeats in the world aren't going to change that," he explains of her premise — and then ... he didn't refute it.

Dammit. Et tu, Dan?

The column really got my dander up, and I was fighting to write a blog entry here. But work and my natural laziness kept me from ever writing that. This was lucky, because the next week, Dan's true endgame was revealed: His "silence is assent" approach was only a setup to guarantee that lots of oversexed women would write in and unveil their unbridled lust. Really, how silly of me to not see this coming! I've been reading Dan for years — he's a sort of hero for me. Perhaps I was blinded by my empathy for the writer (though let's face it, I do significantly better than his "5-20 times a year" he gets from his wife). Nevertheless, I was happy to see the outpouring of mail that Dan received. Clearly, I was the only one not in on the joke.

An example: "... I wanted to pipe up as one woman who has never—I mean never—met a man whose libido could match mine," one wrote. "If it were up to me, I’d be having sex twice a day. I’ve never met a man who could handle sex once a day (every day) after the first flush of lust."

I'm not afraid to admit, as I read that one, that I thought: You never met me! But the truth is, I don't really know; I've never been with a woman as insatiable as some of the ladies who star in these letters. Which, I suppose, lends credence to Sewell's book's premise. These are probably the exceptions to the rule.

If I feel any sense of "hope," it's the same kind of hope that writing this blog and (especially) reading other sex blogs has given me: That I'm not the only one dealing with this problem ... that others out there dealing with it have seen improvement (at least when both partners want to change the situation) ... and that I've seen little signs for the better right here at home.

And I'm thinking that the start of blogging and the sudden somewhat-more-regular sex may not have been coincidental. Amy's and my differing libidos seemed to be a locked-in reality. But Amy had suddenly expressed a desire for desiring more sex, to be more of the "old" Amy. It's too early to tell if we've really turned a corner, but the will is there, and that's really all one could ask for, right?

If Savage is to be believed, I should be expecting more:

The one thing that hasn't changed in the wake of Sewell's book is my advice to women with low libidos: You can have strict monogamy or you can have a low libido, ladies, but you can't have both. If monogamy is a priority, you're gonna have to put out, i.e., regular vaginal intercourse and the occasional tide-him-over handjob and/or blowjob, cheerfully given.
I understand where he's coming from here, but this is not a message that I believe can be delivered as an ultimatum. This is something that needs to be realized — by both partners. There needs to be an understanding. Perhaps it's a conversation that Amy and I will have one day. The thought of a context in which such a conversation were to occur ... it frankly scares me.

But I'm thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

One of the libido-related issues that seems to keep coming up for us is the fact that simply having sex makes me want more. If Amy fucks me on a Friday night, I'm all over her all day Saturday, trying to set up another tryst for that night. For her, it seems to be more like a "We've done that already!" It's a chemical thing, I think: Energetic, passionate sex raises my testosterone levels, thus making me even hornier. But I can't possibly expect the same thing to happen to her — not as intensely, at least.

A couple of weekends ago, we had amazing sex on a Saturday night. Sunday, I knew, was going to be all about getting "domestic" things done — errands, work around the house, etc. But I woke up with one thought on my mind: If we have an incredibly productive day and get all that stuff done, we could go another round on Sunday night. Amy gently spurned my flirting and groping that morning, easily saw my goal, and warned me up front that this wasn't going to be happening.

I became a petulant child for quite a bit of the rest of that morning. And the only thing worse than acting this way is knowing that you're being an asshole. I was finally able to turn my attitude that day around, but it wasn't easy for me. As we drove to a mall, Amy called me on my pissy attitude, and I admitted that it was this "sex breeds the desire for more sex" thing that I always seem to have.

"And when I act this way," I said, "I'm afraid that you're going to think you don't want to bother having sex with me at all, because you know you're just going to be asked for more right away."

The issue didn't get resolved, but at least it was out on the table. I'm sure it'll get revisited sometime.

I had to laugh, though, when I noticed this letter among the responses to Savage's column:
I love my husband. I love fucking him. I also know that I do say no more often than yes. I’m working on this. I wish he would cut down on the sulking. He’d get fucked a lot more “if only” he would.
Hey! I think Amy wrote in!

28 March 2007

Tag, I'm It (I)

Sweet Bekah "tagged" me recently. I've never been tagged before, so Bekah, you took my tag cherry. I suddenly feel a strong desire to cuddle. Do you still love me? Do you think I'm pretty?

(Sorry, La fille mariée, you missed having that by a coupla hours. I'll be fulfilling your tag request in the next coupla days.)

The gig is this: I have to come up with five things about myself that I've never written (or isn't immediately obvious) here.

One would think this would be a piece of cake, but here's the rub: I completed a "100 things about me" list back in early February, and I'm waiting for "the right moment" to unleash that on you. Since this is a sex blog, my one requirement is that all posts have to be sex-related, so every one of my 100 things is about sex in some way. And that, my friends, took a seriously long time to complete.

Now I had to come up with five more! Thanks, Bekah. You're a peach.

Nevertheless, I persevered. For you. Here are five sexual things about me. Consider it a teaser for the upcoming 100-things list (which, I must say, is even juicier).

1. I've taken purity tests a number of times, dating all the way back to the first 500-question version that showed up on Usenet in 1991. I just took one again, and my score: I am 53.96% pure. I am bound and determined to get "over the hump" and slip below 50% by the end of this year!

2. I have a thing for Meredith Vieira. Shut up. I'm serious. I would totally do her. The way she flirts with male contestants on the syndicated version of Who Wants to Be A Millionaire? makes me want to audition for the show just so I can show her my "lifeline."

3. I don't really masturbate in the shower. I mean, I suppose I have, but ... it doesn't really work for me. It doesn't go anywhere. Considering my love for shower sex, this seems odd to me.

4. Not only was I involved in all the plays during my three years of high school, I was also involved in just about every group shoulder- and back-massage in which the crew and actors engaged in the wings, just offstage. We did this a lot. Like, daisy-chain massages. Looking back on this, it's hard to believe that the grown-ups nearby would allow such sensual activity to continue unabated through the entire run of our shows. I mean, didn't they know that when I was working Hallie's shoulders, I was also looking straight down her black Danskin top? Were they really that dense? I know Hallie wasn't. She loved it.

5. How am I hangin'? Usually to the right. When I'm not, you know, pull-and-sweepin'.

So I'm supposed to tag five more people. I kinda hate this part, but I better do it in case there's one of those Internet curses where if I don't follow through, something bad will happen like my testicles will break off and work their way down my pant leg. My right pant leg, as you now know.

So: amy.elle ... Lena G. ... Penelope / Odysseus ... preheated ... and WM ... You're all on. And your five things dont' have to be about sex — that's just my thing. (But it's always more fun when it is!) If you go for it, the general link above will change to that specific post on your blog.

27 March 2007

Sugasm #72

This was an amazing week of entries in Sugasm. I had a helluva time picking my favorite three from so much stellar (and sometimes important) sex writing. For that reason, I am doubly honored to have received the respect of my fellow bloggers. Thank you. And much love and congrats to my friends Juno and Mandy for sharing this with me, and to the most belle Fille for her Editor's Pick.

I really, really hope that many of you spend some time with many of these writers. Creative thought and great sex: Two things that enrich our lives immeasurably.


The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in on Sugasm #73? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Big-Titted Muses (http://middleurge.blogspot.com)
“In the span of fifteen seconds, these two lovers instantly own the room, the camera, the cock.”

Make it happen (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
“Dip two strawberries in the chocolate, eat one and feed me the other.”

Water, Water Everywhere… (http://thismuse.blogspot.com)
“He pauses there, feeling the weight in his hands, then soaps my breasts, rubbing the nipples between his fingers and thumb.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Nathalie Portman is Naked (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice

Control (http://lafillemariee.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Bathtub #2 HNT (http://stealthbombshell.blogspot.com)
Cockslut Column #8 (http://themilfblog.blogspot.com)
Jamie Lynn Nude (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)
Nikki benz episode 6 (http://boobfixxx.com)
Oh these college girls (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Pretty In Pink (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Always a Junkie (http://onlyamirage.blogspot.com)
The Blind Leading the Deaf (http://talktovanessa.com)
The Early Days of Porn (http://wanklog.blogspot.com)
Fears and Tears (http://lastbreath.wordpress.com)
Female Genital Mutilation vs. Hoodectomy (http://trishwilson.typepad.com/blog)
More Sex Sometimes Leads to More Sex (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
Skin on Skin (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)

Sex Advice
Ask Evil Baby! (http://secretbrain.blogspot.com)
Reader Says: Ack! Ex Wants To Be Friends! What Now? (http://smutandsteff.com)

Sex Work
Sex Work and Society (http://www.principalquattrano.com)
Smooth is good, Smoother is better (http://www.longhairedgoddess.com/blog)

BDSM & Fetish
Amber (Part Six) April Fool’s (http://buttocksblog.blogspot.com)
Big O’s (http://sweatshopsissy.wordpress.com)
Do as you please with me Sir, i am yours (http://pixiepie.wordpress.com)
Exposed (http://www.timidboy.com)
Happy HNT - Hearts and fetish (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Just Rope (http://pandorablake.blogspot.com)
Meeboguest G confesses: “I suck his cock” (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Whispers (http://pick-up-pieces.blogspot.com)

Sex Reviews

A Few of My Favorite Naughty Things Part II (http://www.taratainton.com)
Love Honey Toys Review (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)
Vibrating Feeldoe Review (http://stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)
Web Cam Girls for Live Chat (http://www.connectbycam.com/blog)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
After his date. (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Another moment of promise. (http://celebrateyournaughtiness.blogspot.com)
Ball Games (http://confessions112.blogspot.com)
Catch Me Off Guard (http://designingintimacy.blogspot.com)
Country Bar Bull Pickup (http://watchingmywife.blogspot.com)
First Time pt. 4 (http://kislee.naughtyblog.net)
Fuckmaker’s Paradise (http://ilichenyou.blogspot.com)
A Love Triangle (http://sharedcindy.blogspot.com)
The Soap Job (http://erotischism.blogspot.com)
Three Way (http://eroticjournals.blogspot.com)
A Tiny Bed (http://femmefataleteen.blogspot.com)
Until It Was Time For More (http://bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)

Sex & Politics

Living in Sin (http://deliciously-naughty.typepad.com)
Real Amateur College Porn (But Not How You Think) (http://mikeymongol.blogspot.com)

Jamie Lynn pic courtesy of ErotiCandy Blog.