30 January 2007

TMI Tuesday #3: Putting On My "Depends"

I don't just suck at unequivocation ... I swallow. Case in point: This week's TMI Tuesday responses.

1. Do you think people in general are too forgiving of or too harsh on promiscuous women? Promiscuous men?

I think I will often answer TMI Tuesday questions with "It depends." In this case, the X factor is the community that these promiscuous individuals (promiscuosities?) move through. In the community that you ("Dear Reader") are currently residing, promiscuity is, by and large, accepted ... in many cases even applauded. Slutty behavior makes for better blog entries, right? Meanwhile, in Conservativeville, USA, promiscuity, while probably no less rampant, is a means to castigation.

How do you define "promiscuous?" The lead definition at Answers.com is: "
Having casual sexual relations frequently with different partners; indiscriminate in the choice of sexual partners." But I think a lot of people consider promiscuity something more along the lines of cheating on someone. "Why did they break up?" "Well, she was promiscuous." The assumption there being that she was sleeping around on her partner against his wishes. But what if she's doing so with his knowledge, née his approval? She's still promiscuous, but the promiscuity is acceptable within the community of their partnership. Nothing to forgive, nothing to punish.

Unless she asks for punishment ... and takes it bent over like the naughty girl that she is.

I'm sorry, did I get distracted again? I'm avoiding a true answer to the question.

The general answer here is that societies are more harsh on women than men when it comes to promiscuity. Whether punishment or praise is appropriate for sluts (male or female), one would hope that the treatment would be meted out equally. But we're a long way from equality in so many places in this society; why would this dark corner be any different?

Yes, this is my grand take on gender equality: Women won't be truly equal until they can fuck around just as much as men! Now, if I can work that into an "I have a dream"-style speech, I can become the hero of the sex blogosphere.

2. Suppose you've been dating someone for a year, and they're slowly getting fat. Does this romance have long-term potential?

That depends, doesn't it?

Do I love her for more than her physique? If so, then the weight is going to matter far less.

Is her weight gain making her a more unhappy person? If it is, and if she's not going to actually take steps to improve her self-esteem, there will be some troubling signposts ahead.

Am I also putting on weight too? If I'm an average American, I probably am getting heavier by virtue of aging.

If the increased weight makes the sound of my hips slapping against her ass more deeply resonant, am I going to complain? I don't believe so. Provided the weight gain doesn't curtail the interest in intimacy of either party, I think the relationship will continue to flourish.

3. If you have five VERY successful dates with someone, are you a couple?

That depends ... on which psychological hang-up you have. Are you a hopelessly starry-eyed buffoon who absently scribbles your first name with his last name on your telephone doodle pad, when all he did was hold a door open for you? Or are you the kind who, after a decade together, flips out when he suggests you leave a toothbrush over at his place, demanding to "just fucking take it slowly, okay?!"

Me? I was the buffoon. We were usually a couple after one. I fell hard and fast. Not unlike my sexual performance at that age.

But seriously, in this day: If you're actually able to have five "VERY successful" dates, you are a complete and utter idiot to not be a couple.

4. When you have a "toe-curling" orgasm, do your does curl up, or down?

Wait a minute: That phrase is referring to my toes? Criminy. That explains why every time I get Amy close to climax, she starts screaming at me to "Leave my fucking toes alone -- it hurts when you bend them back to my ankles!"

Thank God I've got this blog to help me learn where I've gone wrong.

5. Can great sex be reason enough to stay in a relationship? (What about just okay sex?)

That depends. Where does the couple want the relationship to go? Plenty of "friends with benefits" setups can last a long, long time. (Sometimes they continue even after the parties involved have started new relationships with others.) But it is our nature for our needs in life to change over time -- and rarely do two people's needs change in consort. When a relationship is based on one element, and that element gets out of sync, you'd better have something else to fall back on.

While I know people who have had long-term relationships based pretty much on the sex, I've never maintained one myself. The relationship that probably falls best into this category lasted about three months (the sex was quite grand) ... but I found so many other things about her to be incompatible with me that I had to end it. Later, we had a FWB arrangement for awhile, and that was actually working much better ... until I fell in love with her best friend.

29 January 2007

Cop a Feel, Show Me the Love.

Amy and I are pretty good at "the communication thing." We talk things out pretty well. But like all couples with a long history, we make our fair share of assumptions without clearly communicating, and we end up in relationship minefields on occasion.

We resort to a lot of "shorthand" typical of marriage ... which is just a different way of making assumptions, I suppose. There is verbal shorthand -- language or phrases familiar only to us. (We refer to our favored way of lying together in bed as "position one.") And there is an emotional shorthand that develops. (Amy calls to me from down the hall, and I can tell from a tone in her voice that she's upset, so I move quickly down the hallway.)

Here's a less obvious example: On Saturday night, I suggested a shower together. Amy paused before answering. A fly on the wall might have assumed she was considering my proposal, but in fact it was being dismissed. To be honest, I knew before I asked -- she had been cleaning up crap around the house all night, obsessing about our home's disorder. Her speech was coming in short, purposeful bursts ("What do you want to do with these magazines?" "I'm getting rid of these socks, they bug me"). She wasn't angry, but neither was her demeanor light. In other words, she probably couldn't have been feeling less like having sex without being in an emergency room waiting area. Still, I had to ask, just in case she was willing to try and shift gears.

When she waffled, I took the burden off of her. What I wanted to do required her full emotional participation. If I didn't have that, I was no longer interested myself. There will be other nights.

Last night, I decided quite spontaneously to break down one of the "shorthands" Amy has built around us. I had propositioned her with oral (of the non-reciprocating variety), and she was semi-interested until she discovered how late it had was. "Sorry to ruin your fun," she said, officially taking sex off the table as she buttoned her pajamas. Already naked in bed, I told her that was fine, that I understood.

After she turned off the lights and climbed into bed, we were having a conversation about something unrelated, and I took her hand and put it on my cock. She didn't move it for a moment or two and we kept talking.

At a break in the conversation, I said: "Play with me for awhile."

"Well ... okay." Her hand moved around a little. The tone in her voice wasn't lost on me.

"Are you reluctant," I asked, "because you think you're going to get me going? That you'll leave me all teased and turned on and frustrated?"

"Well ... yeah," Amy said.

"You know, sometimes I just like being touched. Teased. It doesn't have to mean I want all-out sex."

"Okay," she said, and her hand moved with a little more assurance.

"It's nice to know occasionally that you know it's there, even when it's not gonna get used."

She got it. We talked about something else while she manipulated. My cock was hard. I was happy where I was, just enjoying the feel. This wasn't going anywhere, and that was just fine.

After a few minutes, Amy turned away from me. One might have taken that as shorthand for her being upset with me, but this was not the case. She's just more comfortable sleeping on the side of her body that faces away from me. Every night she does this, and every night I spoon against her after the flip. On this occasion I also thrust my newly aroused shaft against her pajama-covered butt.

"Thank you," I kissed into her ear. "It's nice to have just that once in awhile." Amy sleepily acknowledged.

Not a day goes by that I don't find opportunities to touch Amy in an "adult" way. Usually it involves caressing or grabbing her ass. Sometimes, if the "coast is clear," I'll come up behind her and gently palm a breast. Sometimes the touch is accompanied by a comment, eliciting one of her self-conscious laughs. I'm stealing a chance to fondle my lover -- on the sly, without my wife finding out. The fact that my lover and my wife are one and the same seems immaterial.

Some people would find this touchy habit annoying. Apparently Amy doesn't. In fact, this morning, after dragging a hand across her butt for the third time in less than five minutes as I moved around the kitchen, I apologized: "I'm sorry," I said. "I'll stop touching you."

"You do not have to stop touching me!" she assured.

Well, good, then. I won't!

(Except perhaps I do have to be more careful when I cup her breasts with cold hands. No need to see if she can put a hole in our bedroom ceiling with her head.)

So I have this shorthand with her body as we move through our day together ... but she doesn't return the favor much. She doesn't cop feels. Why is that? Maybe it's just not her thing. She enjoys receiving gropes, but maybe she's not comfortable giving them. Or perhaps it just doesn't occur to her. I'm trying to let her know that it's okay to tease me.

I was thinking about this in the shower this morning. When I got out, I returned to the bedroom where Amy was still snoozing. I woke her with a kiss and then I rubbed her back, which melted her. I reached under the pajama top and caressed a breast. She seemed to be enjoying it, not hurrying to get up. Then she said: "I suddenly need to pee." When she arose, she saw me in my turgid state. "I'm sorry that I'm leaving you with that," she said as she reached down and gave it a couple tugs. She sounded genuinely disappointed.

Off to the bathroom she went ... and off to the bathroom I followed. When she sat down and when she looked up, she was staring directly at my cock. She let out a low chuckle and took the head in her mouth. She sat there for less than a minute, sleepily licking the shaft while my fingers rubbed her head. When she was done peeing, I asked her what she wanted for breakfast, walked out, pulled on my underwear, and started the rest of my day.

Just play. Just fun. A little tease, and another suggestion to her that it doesn't have to go somewhere every time, that we can fool around for a few moments and then return to business as usual. It's hard to find the playful side of our days with the internal and external stresses. And as we go through our days as spouses and parents, it's nice to remember that we are also lovers.

27 January 2007

When in Rome....

Thursday night: I was checking that my last blog entry had posted when Amy kicked off the couch blanket and dropped a foot in my lap.

"Do you want a foot rub?" I asked, almost reflexively. I love massaging her feet, and the foot-in-lap is a practiced move indicating a request. As it turns out, in this case the foot was only meant to distract me from the screen.

"No," Amy said. "I want you to go down on me."

I practically tossed my laptop on the floor. I slid sideways on the couch up between her legs and kissed her.

"That is," she continued, "if you don't mind going down on Annie." Amy had been to the salon that day and had her hair re-permed. It was at its curliest.

"I'll force myself to avoid inserting the obvious joke right here about 'It's a hard-cock life," I said, and she laughed through another kiss.

It took me about thirty seconds to determine that oral wasn't all she was interested in. This was most definitely Amy's "fuck me" kissing style. That, and the fact that she was grinding against me. I slid a hand down between us and pressed against her pussy through her sweats. Apparently in just the right places, because Amy sent a moan down my throat.

"What's gotten into you? You're into it so quickly tonight." I asked.

"Rome got into me."

Ah, yes. Earlier we had viewed two episodes of the HBO series, a lush, expensive program that includes, along with the obligatory pay-cable-station violence, some incredibly attractive people with British accents wearing sexy togas ... or no togas at all when they fuck (which is fairly often). Rome can work on two levels: As a telling of Roman history, or as sensual storytelling. That night, the show had worked on my head; for Amy, it had unleashed something down below. Hey, I have no problem getting on that page with her when I need to.

Removing her sweats and throwing her legs on my shoulders, I began slowly kissing down the inside of one leg. "I would gladly be your Roman servant, doing your bidding," I told her.

When Amy asks for oral so directly, I feel more laid back, because she's clearly not in a hurry. I want to give her something closer to an experience than just an orgasm. In keeping with the signs I'd picked up, her pussy seemed ready for me before I got there ... moist, warm, radiating heat, radiating succulence. I licked, sucked, probed, gently tugged, and savored.

Wetting my middle finger with saliva, I slipped it in for some G-spot stimulation. When I'm doing this, I always wonder why I don't do it more often. There's an efficiency to my technique. Picture this: With my palm facing upward and my middle finger deep in her cunt, my index and ring fingers are perfectly positioned to spread open her lips, exposing her clit. All I have to do is nestle my mouth in between those two fingers, and I have some double stimulation going inside and out. Quite intense for Amy.

Sometimes too intense ... like tonight. Amy asked me to stop. (She told me later it made her feel like she was about to pee.) No worries -- plenty more to be done. I brought her to one orgasm with my mouth, but it was a little ... quiet. If it's a good one, her whole body shudders and shakes, and she usually has to (forcefully) push my head away as every nerve ending in that area sends out thousands of volts. This time she didn't do that -- the sign I could go back for seconds. The next orgasm was definitely more intense, and I was even setting up for round three when she cut me off with three words:

"Where's that cock?"

Thank God. It had been awhile since she'd sucked me. I knelt next to the couch by her head and said, "You're going to have to find it." She obliged, and as she did, I told her, "You don't know how many times this last week I've almost come over to this couch and just put this cock in your mouth." She would have laughed louder, but her mouth was full.

I asked Amy later what she had done differently that night to make this particular blowjob so intense. It felt like her mouth was everywhere. She was taking me deep, taking her time, wet and noisy. If she'd kept it up, I would have come, but she had other plans. As she sucked, she unzipped her top and we worked her bra off, and before long she was pushing her tits around my cock. "I don't fuck these tits enough," I rasped, moving directly on top of her and reaching behind me to continue to diddle her clit while I slid back and forth.

At some point, I said, "Do you want me to fuck your tits ..." and then pulled it from between her globes, stuffing it between her lips and saying, "... or your mouth?"

When I let her talk again, all she said was: "You can fuck me anywhere."

"Anywhere?" I said, putting my cock back in her mouth. "I can fuck this pretty mouth? These amazing tits? I can fuck your hot cunt? Or how about, one night soon, I fuck that ass of yours again?" She giggled and groaned at the same time.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I moved down and plunged into her pussy, surprised yet again at how turned on she still was after a couple of orgasms. We tried some different missionary variations, and every once in awhile, I'd find "the spot." Two things happen when I hit it: I can feel my dick rubbing in this very specific spot deep in her pussy (it feels like I'm way above the G-spot ... or maybe I'm wrong about its precise location ... or, more likely, I'm exaggerating the size of my dick!); also, she reacts with increased volume or adds "oh yeahs" or "ohmygods." I worked that spot relentlessly that night, and she was getting loud enough that I worried a little bit about waking little ones.

Her head is usually at my chest level when we fuck in this position, and I like to look down at her and watch her moan, or I like to bury my nose in her hair and breathe deep. I did both tonight and suddenly felt strange: Since her hair was freshly permed that day, she looked and smelled different ... and there was a mere split-second when I felt like maybe I was fucking a different woman. One would think that this would heighten the experience -- a stranger fantasy being played out right in front of my face. Oddly enough, I found it disconcerting. I told Amy about it later: It's connected to this ... thing that has happened to me now where I have no fantasies remaining that don't involve Amy. I used to masturbate to thoughts of co-workers, ex-girlfriends, retail store cashiers with big tits. Now, those fantasies do nothing for me ... unless Amy is somehow involved as well, in a threesome or in a girl-girl experience with the "stranger." I suppose this is a point scored for monogamy, right?

I turned her on her side once and fucked above her, which is a position I always love in theory but proves not to be so successful in practice without a pillow under her hips. I wasn't about to take that kind of set-up time tonight. Back to missionary, and she grabbed her ankles, which always puts her in an incredibly vulnerable position and feels much more intense for both of us. Intense enough that after a few more strokes in that place, I was shaking, screaming, and filling her lovely cunt with cum. I collapsed on top of her.

Afterwards, she actually had the nerve to apologize. For what? For not orgasming during the fuck. "I always come so close, but it never quite gets there. I don't know what I need to do to finish."

"Sweetheart, you are among the vast majority of women who can't come from intercourse."

"But I'm trying so hard," she said.

"And maybe that's part of the problem," I suggested. "Just don't worry about it. Maybe it'll sneak up on you sometime. Or we'll try something we haven't tried that hits the spot." So to speak. It used to bug me that she has never had a vaginal orgasm, but that was ten years ago. She's extremely orgasmic with clitoral stimulation, and I'll take that. Besides ... it gives us something to keep striving for!

Later, in bed, she kissed me and said: "You're going to watch Rome all the time now, aren't you?"

I laughed and said, "Yeah. That and The 40-Year-Old Virgin."

Oh, you haven't heard that story yet? That's right. I've almost finished that one. Coming soon.

+ + +

Yesterday morning, when she got out of the car to go into her office, she asked: "So, are you proud of me?"

"For what?"

"For initiating last night!"

"Amy," I said, "you probably haven't noticed, but you've been initiating most of the sex recently."

It was something I had only realized as I showered earlier. Going back over the recent few weeks, I noticed that I had stopped asking for sex. Why is that, I wondered?

Could be a number of reasons. One of them, ironically, is probably this blog. I've been devoting a lot of energy here, and I think that in the process of becoming more ... analytical, I guess, about my sex life ... I've actually been sated on some level. Also, I think that I so detest feeling like I'm "nagging" Amy for sex that I've stopped asking her on weeknights or nights when she appears to be thoroughly exhausted ... which, as the old joke goes, is only on days ending in "y" recently.

Whatever the reason, if the balance has tipped a bit the other way when it comes to initiation of sex, I think that's okay for the moment. Things will probably fall back the other way sooner rather than later. For instance, I'm hoping we can shower together sometime this weekend. And if that works out ... who knows what might happen....

26 January 2007

"Wild Card" Coupon Fantasy Options (Pt. 2)

And now, the dramatic conclusion to the two-part miniseries.

Previously, on Denis Perhaps Broadens His and His Wife's Sexual Horizons and Gets Pleasured in the Process (Oh, bite me -- It's a working title):

  • I wrote about some coupons Amy gave me on Christmas Day. One of these coupons promised that, upon redemption, she would basically do anything I wanted to do -- "Just ask." (I'm pretty sure she meant sexually.)

  • A "wild card?" Color me a kid in a candy store. I decided to catalog the strongest fantasies I have about Amy. Six of those fantasies appeared earlier. I'm finishing off the list (at least for now) in this post.

Restrain Amy to the bed, blindfold her, and have my filthy, teasing way with her.

There are few things that bother me about sex with Amy, but one small peeve is the fact that she wants to get to the, um, "punchline" too quickly. I suppose if you were to ask her, she'd tell you that one of the things that bugs her the most is when I'm taking too long to get to the same punchline. Touché. But hey, it's my damn fantasy! And it would be my pleasure to tie her to the bed with a couple of my work neckties, gently kiss her eyelids and slip a soft blindfold over them ... and provide her with a long evening of pleasure. I tried something similar very early on in our relationship, but it was too soon ... and I screwed it up royally. (I know that that statement begs for more elucidation, but that's a separate post.) This time 'round, we're older, wiser, and a helluva lot more trusting. It could be electric. (Swear to God: This one was already on my list before la fille mariée's insanely hot blog entry about a very similar fantasy.)
Fulfillment Probability Meter (the likelihood of this fantasy really happening, on a scale of 1 to 10): 9. She's good, giving and game. There's nothing too challenging here. It would be fun. We could totally do this one, and even if it's not what I end up using the coupon for, I hope we eventually do this.

The roleplay's the thing: Two strangers meet in a bar and fuck.
Probably requires a hotel stay. I depart our room and take up residence at the hotel bar. After Amy preps, and she enters sometime later and sits at another part of the bar. It would be awfully tempting to just leave her there on the other side of the bar for a good long time, just to see if any other men hit on her. Heh heh. But eventually, I amble over and introduce myself (as someone else), and she does the same. We talk. We flirt. A proposal is offered and accepted. And we'd go back to our (her? my?) room and go at it.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. Roleplay is not something either of us have a lot of experience with. (I don't believe she's ever played with it; a college girlfriend and I messed around with it spontaneously one day -- to explosive results, I might add.) I have a background in theater, and to a lesser extent so does Amy. But improvisation comes more naturally to me, and I think she's intimidated by how quick on my feet I can be. It's scary, the tightrope-walking quality of public roleplay: No script, no idea what the other character will say at any point. On top of that, she says she's lost her ability to flirt. But I bet we could find it together. She just needs to practice. (That's one of the reasons it would be tempting to leave her alone to talk to other men....)

A good, old-fashioned fuck in the car.
Preferably in a parking lot, to make it semi-public. This appeals, I think, because of the youthfulness of it. I must not have done enough of this in high school.) Oh, that reminds me of a great story about a car-fuck I had back then. Hmmmmmmm .... Oh, sorry. Anyway. Yes. Amy. Me. A leather backseat.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 8. And the only reason this isn't a ten is because, in her "old age," Amy has demanded more comfort when having sex. The cramped quarters of a back seat may not be her idea of a great time. But great sex isn't the only thing going on here. I would hope the fantasy would help make up for any of the less comfortable aspects of the encounter.

Play around in semi-secret at a restaurant table.
It's a bit cliché, but you can't really help what turns you on, can you? In my version, Amy goes to the restroom and, at my request, returns with her panties in her purse. Hands wander from there, and we both try to play it straight from the waist up. I'm not interested in embarrassing the poor girl: The restaurant would need to have strategically long tablecloths for cover. And possibly a waiter/waitress who would be open and discreet.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 4. This is one that I suspect would be better in theory than in practice. And I'm not sure if Amy -- or me, for that matter -- could get past the publicness of it. I mean, it's not just what you're doing under the table, it's the expressions and activity that would be apparent above the table. The exposed part of the iceberg, as it were. My guess is that this fantasy would test how serious she was when she wrote "anything" on that coupon.

Amy snowballs me.
It's not so much that I love the taste of cum; I'm okay with it. The power of snowballing is the aspect of intimacy, the eroticism of sharing it. I don't come in Amy's mouth often -- and definitely less than earlier in our relationship -- but I also don't ask her to because, hey, an orgasm is an orgasm, right? To some of you, the answer to that is: "Well, yes and no." There is something more powerful ... more accepting ... more complete about a lover taking your load orally. For me, it becomes even more powerful if she's so moved by the orgasm that she wants to share it with me. I don't think I'd even be thinking about the taste of the cum; the power of that kiss would make it the sweetest ever.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 4. Or maybe 5. No, you know what? 6. I'm not sure Amy feels the same way I do about the act itself being incredibly charged. But I always seem to forget how GGG she is. If I pulled the coupon on her and called this one up, she just might go for it. Would she enjoy it? That, I'd put at a 3 or 4. Which makes me wonder if I want to ask for that.

I want to toss Amy's salad.
God, do I ever. And I'm so gonna do this. Such a strong sense of taboo here, and yet rimjobs are becoming more and more "mainstream." They're not for everyone, but they are so for me. But Amy has some hang-ups about the butt, mostly dealing with cleanliness. So the obvious locale for this fantasy is a nice, big tub or shower, where we've just made sure we're both squeaky clean. God, does even thinking about this make me rock hard. I masturbated in bed (as she slept next to me) to this very fantasy a couple of nights ago.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 7. I think I can pull this one off without the coupon too, probably. If the moment's right, if she's feeling sufficiently clean, and I tell her this is what I want to try, she just might be cool to let me try it once. And then I'm going to keep all fingers and toes crossed that the experience sends her into heretofore unseen levels of pleasure.


Okay, so ... Which of these, between this post and the last one, do you think I should ask for? Or, knowing what (little?) you know about my predilections, is there anything you think I should be asking for instead?

Looking forward to your comments.

25 January 2007


Don't get me wrong: I think blogging is, on the whole, a good thing. But for me, something's missing, and I think it's the sense of conversation. A true give-and-take, a back-and-forth, an exchange of ideas.

(There are, of course, other inherent faults and weaknesses to blogging, but for now I'll leave that discussion to critics who wax eloquent on why they embrace/despise the blogosphere.)

The "comments" section of a blog entry attempts to create dialogue, but too often that section ends up being no more than (mostly) lauds or (rarely) condemnations of the entry and its author. Which is fine -- God knows I love praise and criticism, as most of us do.

Some bloggers are really delving, exploring, questioning, pushing your envelopes. And sometimes that strikes a chord with readers, including myself. I'm finding I want to do more than just comment on someone's blog ... I want to "riff off" of that entry on my own blog. I know there are bloggers doing this, but it seems rare. I want to see more of it.

This may become a regular feature of The Concupiscent Husband ... I don't know yet. But at least this week, a couple of items moved me.

Married Exploits: The "Artemis" two-parter (Part 1 | Part 2)

Funnily enough, my first entry of this sort cites a blog entry that does exactly what I'm wishing there was more of! The Married Exploits blog is already a conversation of sorts between a husband and wife, "Odysseus" and "Penelope." And specifically in these two entries, Odysseus was reacting, at least in part, to an entry on the blog The Dark Side of Me. In that entry, Lena briefly bemoans the fact that men must repress one of their most beautiful (in her opinion) qualities: That they think about sex almost constantly. Odysseus "responds" in his own blog:

That's a big reason why I wanted to start this blog. Because there are lots of things that I think about that I feel compelled to repress.... It's kind of backwards to what you might usually think about society and sex. But it's true: men have a lot more thoughts than they are 'allowed' to admit.

Penelope later follows up:

I guess I've always seen it as society and media always bombarding us with sexual images and portraying impossible ideals for women and that in turns creates more lust and sexual thoughts in men. Could it really be the other way around and men are trying to conform to the expectation that they should view women less sexually and it is going against natural urges or instincts? Maybe it is both influences and expectations clashing in male minds.

I think Penelope's on the money here. It's almost as if society itself is operating under its own Madonna-whore complex: Our media and fashion cultures (which, it should be noted, is probably still pretty male-dominated) foists sex upon us at every turn -- because "sex sells" -- and then gets all uppity and pissy when a man is checking out his female co-worker's tits when she's wearing the á la mode low-cut number. There is a built-in expectation of repression.

(And while we're at it: To a lesser extent, doesn't this "syndrome" work its negativity in the other direction? If repressive community mores indicate that a woman is not to be viewed as a sex object, what does this do to the psyche of the woman who sometimes wants to be viewed that way? Is she automatically branded a slut?)

Reading these entries, I realized that Odysseus' motivation to blog is a big part of why I started my blog too. Many of you are led to believe from my entries (so far) that Amy's and my communication is pretty open; perhaps it is, relative to the average relationship. But I feel like I repress a lot of my sexual thoughts.

There are a number of reasons for this, and chief among them is that I don't want to annoy Amy with the already obvious fact that her husband has that stereotypical one-track mind. I worry that an increased discussion of sex in our everyday life would indicate a subtext of wanting more sex from her, heaping more stress on the sizable compost heap she already wields on her shoulders. And while it's true that I do want more sex, just because I'm talking about it doesn't mean I want to jump her bones right then. It's not like I don't feel I can tell her these things; I'm just (over?)sensitive to, you know, when enough's enough already.

I like Odysseus and Penelope's entries because the couple are talking around the fringes of the idea of inviting someone else into their bed. Will it ever really happen? Perhaps. But the outcome doesn't matter much, because the very fact that they're having these discussions is giving a positive sexual charge to their relationship.

+ + +

La fille Mariée: "Beautiful Cock"

Two things occur to me when I read this post.

First, how powerful the word "cock" can be. Almost as powerful, I think sometimes, as "fuck," a word that has been discussed to death by pundit-style eroticists for years. What makes this such a fun read is that you just begin to lose yourself in the poetry of LFM's writing, the sensuous experience she is sharing ... and then you run smack-dab into that word.

Look at "cock." No, not mine, you goof; look at the word. Hard on the outside, and just a little softer in the middle. It's onomatopoeic. It's less exclamation (like "fuck") than punctuation. There's no sweet-talking the word. You can't start to say it and then veer off in another direction, like you can with "fff ... udge." Cock is cock. Right there, in your face, demading to be dealt with.

So to juxtapose "cock" with LFM's prose -- even to juxtapose it with the word "beautiful" -- is a joyous thing. It makes my blood surge, no matter how many times I play the words back over in my head.

The second thing I wanted to say was this: These are the words of (and for) a new lover, on the level of some of the beauty of Song of Solomon. I remember my wife feeling this sort of passion for my body. Maybe she still does, but I'm betting it's not that often. I still feel an incredible depth of passion for hers, but I remember finding more ways to tell her -- ways similar to Mariée's deft post.

This is a new love, I believe, because there are so few loves of many years that can still express this "passion of discovery." That may sound like a forlorn observation, but I think of it more as a melancholy observation -- not melancholy as sadness, but rather as "pensive reflection or contemplation." The early weeks of a new love are frighteningly potent and stimulating. There's no way to maintain that level of energy over years -- embers are bound to cool and will need stoking. Yes, it would be nice if the mercury could be permanently suspended at that higher temperature, but if that were the case we wouldn't appreciate it nearly as much. That's why this kind of "youthful exuberance" should be, I believe, reserved for relationships in their youth.

23 January 2007

TMI Tuesday #2: "Cooking with the Connors"

After a decadent day spent in bed (sorry, I was alone and sleeping -- no good stories for ya), I am recharged and ready to take on the blogosphere! Without further ado ....

1. What is a creampie?

Oh, I'm so glad someone asked. I've been wanting to share a family recipe for the longest time. Carpe diem! Don your aprons, ladies and gents! Time to make a Valentine's Day dessert to impress the most dispassionate lover.

The Connor Creampie

  • 1 11-1/2-oz pkg milk chocolate pieces
  • 1/4 C. milk (plus additional)
  • Assorted fruits, cut into bite-sized pieces (such as oranges, strawberries [can be left whole], pears, bananas, apples, kiwi fruit)
  • Angel-food cake or pound cake, cut into cubes
  • Marshmallows
  • Two lovers of opposite sex, the male of which has not ejaculated for at least several hours (the longer the better)


1. Disrobe partner in kitchen and place on counter top next (but not too close) to stove.

2. Combine chocolate pieces and milk in a double boiler or heavy small saucepan over simmering water. Stirring constantly, heat over low heat. While stirring, use hands or tongue to tease partner mercilessly. Continue stirring until chocolate is melted and smooth, and partner is either "melted and smooth" or "turgid and hard," depending on gender.

3. Stir in additional milk, 1 tablespoon at a time, until reaching desired consistency. Test by cooling a spoonful, dribbling on partner's nipples, and licking or sucking off. If tongue is coated with mixture and you hear audible moans, mixture is ready.

4. Remove partner and chocolate mixture from heat. Pour chocolate mixture into fondue pot; place over fondue burner set on low on dining room table. Lay partner on dining room table, offering a pillow for increased comfort.

5. With fondue forks, dip fruit, cake cubes and marshmallows into chocolate mixture. Alternately feed partner and yourself. Resist being exceedingly careful when feeding, as any chocolate that drips on partner will be removed with tongue. (Chocolate mixture will hold up to 1 hour on low. If mixture gets too thick, add milk 1 tablespoon at a time. Good luck on you and your partner holding up for that long.)

6. Once food appetites have been sated, arrange partner on table so that you can sit between his/her legs. Cool down a scant spoonful of remaining chocolate and apply to partner's genital area. Gently but passionately remove chocolate with mouth. Be thorough with this step, but make certain that no one orgasms.

(Important: REMOVE FONDUE POT FROM TABLE before continuing with recipe!)

7. Once chocolate has been removed and partner is writhing, arrange oneself so that erect penis can be inserted into vagina. Once penis is inserted, smooth wavelike motions combined with friction-inducing massage of inner walls of vagina should commence.

8. Tenderize partner through any skill at your disposal, including (but not limited to) aerating, mixing, basting, pinching, blending, pressure cooking, searing, coddling, drizzling, folding, stewing, grinding (oh, lots of this), whipping, kneading, mashing, moistening, and marinating. Proper tenderization has been reached when partners are incapable of uttering coherent language and ejaculation of semen into vagina has commenced. Allow dish to rest for short time, still engaged. While resting, elicit exclamations such as "Jesus Christ" and "Holy Mother of God" and "That was fucking unbelievable" into each other's ears.

9. Disengage male and arrange in dining room chair. Arrange female on table, with vagina facing male's face. Butterfly female's legs. Allow male to take in the heady aroma and glorious feast before him.

10. With religious exuberance, male will lick, eat, and mash face into vagina, until such time as vagina has been cleaned of all juices or partners simply can't stand it any longer and need to fuck again.

Yield: 5 (1/4-cup) fondue servings, multiple orgasms, and one creampie.

By the way, I've just created the first recipe ever to use the word "mercilessly." You're welcome.

2. Once a cheater, always a cheater. True or false... why?

Damn. I hate getting heavy after transcribing that recipe. I'm going to say, with some reservation, that this is false. To say that the statement is true assumes that humans are incapable of changing, and that's too depressing a statement to put on humanity. I must, as an article of faith, believe that we are capable of realizing that mistakes we've made are destructive and that we can choose to not go down those dark roads multiple times.

3. Where is the female G spot and how do you find it?

Oh, this one's easy. It's on this web page. Click the link and you've found it.

4. Is there a correlation between shoe size and penis size?

Absolutely. I thought this was common knowledge, but for those few of you who aren't familiar with it, here's the formula:

where "n" is penis size and "k" is shoe size.

5. Can women have wet dreams?

Only when they dream about David Hasselhoff and Shar Pei puppies.

(as in optional): Take a wild guess, how many calories are in a man's average ejaculation?

Oh God. I knew this a long time ago. It's low. I'll say ... 40 calories.

Party on, Wayne.

22 January 2007

A Saturday, and A Sunday

The Saturday.

Amy and I were up extremely late, finishing preparation for a birthday party the next day for one of our kids. When we finally got to bed near 3 a.m., I was between the sheets first, in my customary position: On my side, head resting on hand, watching her undress. She glanced at me and laughed.

"What?" I said, all innocent-like.

"You're looking at me with a sense of purpose," she said.

I'm always transparent. And I'm always surprised at how transparent I am.

I decided to be blunt. "I do have a purpose: I want to eat your pussy."

She laughed again, this time more bashfully, and said in a small voice, "Well ... okay."

There was much wrapped up in that response. I heard: I'm not really feeling like it right now, but it has been a long time, and I know you really want to, so I'll let you do your thing.

Even though she wasn't into it, we both knew she'd enjoy it. It was understood, as is often the case for these very late-night sessions, that there would be no reciprocation. I'm really okay with that most of the time. I so love going down on her that it's as much a treat for me as it is for her. Usually we just go to sleep afterwards. Or sometimes I'll masturbate as she falls asleep, or she might put her lips next to my ear and sleepily weave a horny fantasy. Once in awhile she'll decide she's awake enough to finish me off with her mouth. It's all good. All I really want is to bring her off.

And more so tonight than usual. She had been unusually bitchy all day Saturday, short with the kids and with me. She has admitted as much herself through the day. She has been feeling little control in her life, and her response is stress-filled. I said to her as she continued to take off her clothes, "You're problem is that you don't get laid enough!" It was meant as a joke, but there was part of me feeling like maybe she doesn't do enough for herself, doesn't let herself just disappear into the beauty of a good orgasm.

I know that people respond to stress differently. When she is stressed, Amy can't think about sex. (From some of the many sex blogs I'm reading, she's not alone.) For me, stress makes me want sex -- The Great De-Stressor -- even more. So when we are both stressed, negotiations for sex can be tricky. Sometimes I'm left to deal with my stress on my own (Hello, Internet porn!); other times, I can talk her into some oral. She always seems more relaxed afterwards.

After some slow kisses, I didn't waste anytime heading south on Amy. At 3 a.m., she's usually not interested in a lot of foreplay. There's a "let's get this done" attitude, which is slightly annoying but understandable, and I'm okay with it under the circumstances.

When I got to her tits, I felt her tense up. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't want that tonight," she said.

"Understood," I acknowledged simply, and down I continued. Amy is still nursing one of our kids on and off, and sometimes ner nipples are too sore to be messed with. Even when they aren't sore, she struggles with breast play these days. She's simply tired of feeling like her breasts aren't hers. It's another tricky situation for me, because I worship Amy's breasts. But it's not worth the (physical or emotional) discomfort, so I've learned to leave them alone more often than I'd like.

Off came her underwear, and my face descended to her dark triangle. A couple of licks on each inner thigh, but again, we weren't wasting a lot of time. Using my tongue to gently separate the folds, I settled my mouth up against her cunt and brought my tongue flat against the clit. I worked in the undulating patterns that I know work for her.

I looked up. This is one of the most scenic views in the world for me: Over her stomach, I see one hand underneath her breasts. Sometimes she plays with them, but in keeping with her feeling tonight, she was leaving them alone. Those gorgeous globes were lolling, and they began to move more as she got more into it. Beyond them, her head, rocking from side to side. Eyes closed. I imagined her trying to find an image on the back of her eyelids that will help her get to orgasm. Eventually, soft moans escape her lips.

Usually, one of her hands comes down and she starts rubbing in circular motions, right where her g-spot is, but on the outside of her pussy instead of inside. As my tongue finds rhythm and a "sweet spot," her rubbing becomes more frenetic. On this night, she actually rubbed with two hands.

Before long, she was writhing. I had to use my hands, which were underneath her legs and holding her hips, to fight the wriggling a little and help me keep my mouth in complete contact with her pussy. Just as she went over the top, I concentrated my tongue in hard, flat circles right against her clit. She bucked a few times, the moans coming out more as "huh huh huh" sounds.

I finally withdrew. She relaxed with a sigh. I moved back up her body, settled next to her. We kissed a couple of times, but she was already headed for dreamland. I let her go. I was tired too. I fell asleep without taking care of myself. In a sense, I already had.

The Sunday.

We were on the couch, watching something. My head was in the customary position: In her lap. I hunger for this position. On many nights, this contact, her hands on my head and face, are the only intimacy we'll have.

The party was an unabashed success. Amy was less stressed now, though neither of us were happy about having to go to work tomorrow. I wanted to talk to her about her emotional state the last couple of days, so one of the times she leaned over me, I put a hand on the back of her head, gave her a deep kiss, and said:

"Right now, I really wish we were making love, but I know that this is not where your head has been."

She acknowledged that this was the case. "I know this sounds really silly," she started, "but sometimes I just want to be able to shave my legs. You know? Feel a little more sexy ..."

"That doesn't sound silly in the least, Amy," I said. "I want to make love to you, but if you're not into it, if you don't want it, it's no fun for either of us."

She smiled and continued rubbing my head.

"Besides," she said, "it's not like I'm never in the mood ...."

"No, you're often in the mood," I agreed.

"Well ... I think 'often' might not be accurate," she said sheepishly.

"More often than you probably think," I said.

But we both wish it was more. Hey, at least it's a mutual wish.

The Mirror, Crack'd

I don't even remember now what precipitated the discussion. All I know is that I felt like we'd been here before. More than once.

The word "discussion" doesn't quite capture its ... essence. It was 1:30 in the morning on a weeknight, in our dark bedroom. Amy was in bed, I standing next to her. Both of us were on the verge of tears. The tone was sharp, but the words were hushed. Our children were asleep, and we were already exhausted. The last thing we needed was to wake them up.

The next-to-last thing we needed was to have this chat again, the one about our sex life. But here we were, so it was happening. As I said, I can't remember how we got there. All I know is that Amy was annoyed with me for doing this now ... annoyed, until I peeled back another layer of my frustration and gave a short monologue:

"I'm not talking about sex at this point, Amy. I'm talking about intimacy. I want to kiss you. I want to touch you. The sex doesn't even matter at this point, I just want to feel intimate, feel close to you!"

Suddenly she didn't seem "annoyed." She sensed the seriousness.

"Do you know what I mean?" I said, mostly to fill the silence, not really expecting her to respond. She did, though, in the affirmative.

"I mean ..." I struggled for a clearer example of my frustration. "... I can't remember the last time we went to bed at night and you were naked, so I could just press against you, skin-to-skin."

"I'm not comfortable being naked," she said quietly.

"Since when?" I fired back.

"Denis," she said, and she spoke more slowly to get it across, "I've never been comfortable being naked."

Struck dumb. Mind whirring.

Is she serious? Wait a minute, is she right? Is that true? Think, think, think ... when was the last time she was ... Holy shit.

"But that wasn't always true!" I insisted. "I remember ..." Yes, I remembered, but I remembered a long, long time ago. "... we used to be naked all the time." I finished the thought, but my stand was losing its footing underneath.

+ + +

I was realizing she was right. Pieces fell into place. I had often walked naked around our homes and apartments all these years, but she almost always had something on. On nights when we had sex before going to sleep -- with a few exceptions -- she would rightside-in all the inside-out clothes that had been hastily tossed off, re-dressing before going to bed. If we had fucked in a different room, she always put something on for the walk from that location back to our bedroom, lest she be seen through a side window by a neighbor.

I was blessed with good genes in the body shape department. I was the kid who got the jokes about the hollow leg or the tapeworm at family holiday dinners. I swallowed everything and went back for seconds, as my metabolism burned off the calories faster than I could consume them. Now in my forties, I'm still within ten pounds of my weight in college. That mercury-like metabolism has only slightly slowed. A little paunch around the middle, but overall, when I'm toweling off after a shower and catch my image in the mirror, I don't think I look too bad. I'm know that keeping in shape gets harder as I get older, but I'm never going to have the battles that other people wage for their lifetimes. I can sympathize with Amy, but empathy, in the sense of "I've been there," will always be hard for me when it comes to body image issues.

I knew that Amy wasn't quite as comfortable showing her body. But somehow I had completely ignored how deep this issue went. I had missed that she wasn't even completely comfortable naked in front of her own husband.

Initially, the deepest blow from this revelation was to my own ego. Had I really been this clueless? How the hell do I spend almost every day of the last decade-and-a-half with a woman and manage to miss this intensely intimate fact? I create this notion that I'm a sensitive lover, in tune with my partner's body and mind ... and I miss the fact that she doesn't like to be naked? So much for Mr. Metrosexual.

Eh. Metrosexuals are suffering from culture backlash anyway.

As I sit here writing about this, I think back to 1991 ... to my first 24 hours with Amy. It was a whirlwind day, involving much mashing of lips, sharing of thoughts, and soulful looks. Actually, it was the "soulful looks" part where I perhaps first noticed an issue.

We were on her black leather couch, fully clothed but engaged in a sensual bit of frottage. Her legs wrapped around me. My fingers working through her hair. And when I locked my gaze on her, she nervously laughed and turned away. This happened two or three more times, until finally I had to ask her:

"What's wrong?"

She kept her eyes closed and almost bashfully said, "I'm just not comfortable when you look at me."

"Oh my God, why? You are ... so beautiful."

Spoken like a true, head-over-heels boy. You have my permission to roll eyes and/or feel nauseous.

She really was uncomfortable with anyone studying her from such close proximity. And that fact long baffled me. Amy is so stunning to me -- and other men have certainly found her so as well -- but that's a long way from saying that Amy felt that way. And you know, it doesn't matter how many other people tell you what you're worth if you have little self-worth.

If you met Amy in the workplace, you wouldn't suspect these insecurities. She is a presence in every room she walks into. She is a fighter. She's the kind of person that, with her quick thinking and steel-trap memory, makes herself quickly indispensable to an organization. She exudes confidence, and bosses recognize this. They give her the inside info and the power to affect their own careers. When she dons the power suit, she owns your ass.

I know this because I'm her husband; I see both sides of this woman. I call her at work, catching her in mid-project, and she says "Hang on," and I listen in as she gives explicit instructions to a co-worker or puts the finishing touches on a new strategy. And then later, in bed, I sense the vulnerability and near-embarrassment of a teenage girl when I pull back a bed sheet to admire her body. Like most of us (those that are human anyway), she's a dichotomy.

But this doesn't stop me, I suppose, from idealizing her in some way. Perhaps I lock in my head those moments when she strips away all caution and becomes unbridled, wanton, hungry for my body, and hungry to be consumed. I start to (want to?) believe she possesses those qualities 24/7/365. Maybe this is an easy trap to fall into when one focuses too much on the fantasies without checking in with the reality.

So nights like that recent chat are necessary to bring me back to Earth. Yes, sometimes as we're fucking, she whispers in my ear how good it would feel to be fucking another man, or how hot it would be to have another woman in bed with us. But the reality is, there is much to overcome psychologically before such fantasies can happen.

One might think that there's enough baggage here for me to break under its weight, to deduce that the taboos that so arouse me will never be broken. But I'm an optimistic guy, and I'm a patient guy. I still see a slow march of progress. After all, Amy is interested in knowing my predilections, and we discuss them. (I ask her often what her predilections are, and she doesn't cop to them. If she does have sexual needs not yet expressed, she may not realize what they are yet.) She knows what gets me off, and she loves me enough to want to do what she can to make them happen.

Likewise, I know what makes her happy, and I do everything in my power to help her experience that happiness. It's just that her happiness isn't necessarily about sex. She loves it, no question, but it's not a driving force as it seems to be with me. We respect the fact that we're in different places, and we know that being in different places doesn't mean we can't help each other in a mutual pursuit of happiness.

+ + +

Amy got more comfortable with my looking at her as she learned to trust me, and there was an extended early part of the relationship when she was very comfortable being naked around me. You know the time I'm talking about: It's usually called the "honeymoon," when not a moment passes that isn't consumed with thoughts of your new love. At some point -- I can't really tell you when -- she reverted to her more modest self. I'm not sure if it was something I did. Maybe it was her weight gain that came on as we got older.

The issue of weight is such a loaded gun for people's esteem, and for the relationships they're in. At her heaviest, Amy was close to 40 pounds more than she was when I met her. (Not counting periods when she was pregnant. Thank God she cut herself slack then, enjoying her body and everything going on inside of it.) So much of Amy's character is attractive to me that it colors the lens through which I see her. Yes, I knew she had gained weight -- I'm not blind, fer chrissakes. But my desire for her never waned, and that desire would often cloud the awareness that she was struggling ... until her frustration would come pouring out of her in an emotional breakdown.

But that didn't mean that I didn't still get diamond-cutting hard-ons when I walked in on her disrobing.

(I have a favorite thing to do: When I'm lying in bed an Amy comes in and changes into her pajamas, I sit up and watch, remarking: "This is always my favorite part of the day." I love having those tits revealed to me. I feel like a 12-year-old seeing his first pair, every time.)

Through Weight Watchers and a lot of work (on both our parts), Amy is back to only ten pounds above her 1991 weight. She's more confident, more sure of herself. But that doesn't mean that she has difficulty finding dozens of things wrong with her. For example: I remember a morning early on when I was thoroughly engrossed in her boobs, my face buried between them, licking, nipping, chewing. She remarked: "I think my nipples are too small for my breasts." Now, years later, she said not too long ago that nursing children has resulted in nipples that "may be too big."

Is there any winning?

Well, yes. There might be some winning. But it takes devotion to the task. This is a lifelong problem for her, so it's a lifelong problem for us. As often as we talk about fulfilling fantasies, we talk about helping her feel better about herself. The two, after all, are closely connected. I continue to throw every bit of support to her that I can. And she continues to look for the thoughts and actions that will steel her confidence and help her see the woman that I see.

Or at least perhaps accept the fact that I'm not bat-shit insane for feeling that way.

19 January 2007

"Wild Card" Coupon Fantasy Options (Pt. 1)

An earlier post documented the Christmas "coupons" Amy gave me. As I wrote at the time, one particular coupon -- the "wild card" ("Good for one new thing of your choosing. Just ask.") sent my mind (and other parts) reeling.

Lying in bed that night with Amy asleep next to me, I realized that all of my regular mental masturbatory material suddenly had new import. Many of them were a little closer to reality. I was intensely horny, so I tried to "pick a card" from my fantasy deck and get off.

But the coupon had an unfortunate side-effect: I was suffering from SADD ... Sexual Attention Deficit Disorder. Like a spinning Rolodex®, my mind could not settle on a single fantasy. And without locking in, I wasn't able to jack off. (Johnnie Cochran said something like that. What was his famous enthymeme? Oh yeah: "If you're brain can't lock, you can't yank cock!")

I had already been contemplating the creation of this blog, and I knew right then that one of my early posts would be a list of my fantasies that involve Amy. Which is pretty much almost every fantasy. An exhaustive list of Denis' kinks.

Exhaustive? Who am I kidding? No such list could exist. There are probably kinks in my psyche that I don't even know about. Nonetheless, as of today, I have compiled the existing list of fantasies that I might be asking Amy for when the mood is right. It's long enough that I'm splitting it into two posts. After both are posted, I'm hoping that you might help me pick one ... or even suggest others.

Without further ado, Part One:

Watch Amy have sex with another man.
Holy Christ, is the hotwife fantasy ever a potent one. If it's not already obvious from the (ever-growing) blogroll to the left, the dream of sharing Amy runs deep. One variation on this theme involves us encountering a man on a long Amtrak journey. The fantasy, for me, is even more powerful because the man in this fantasy is black. I used to worry about the innately racist undertone of this angle. Luckily, sex advice columnist Dan Savage helped me come to terms with this in a recent column about this topic. But really, I'm not going to quibble about something as trivial as race when it comes to this fantasy.
Fulfillment Probability Meter (the likelihood of this fantasy really happening, on a scale of 1 to 10): I give this one a 5. And that's higher than than, say, 6 months ago. Between the coupons and Amy's encouraging us to explore anal, I just might have underestimated how open she is to new sexual experiences. But two major factors stand in the way, as I see it: Amy's concerns about disease, and the need for her to be attracted to -- and feel attractive to -- another man so strongly that she can get around the psychological barriers.

A threesome with another man.
A slight variation on the previous fantasy: Now the other guy and I are doubling up on Amy. The image that really arrests me when I imagine this is this: She is bent in front of me, my cock in her mouth, our eyes making contact, as every thrust from the gentleman behind her creates Fulfillment Probability Meter: 5. If she goes for the first one, is it that long a trip to this one? (I'm seriously asking: Is there?)

Sharing a cock with Amy.
Certainly a "spin-off" from MFM threesome above, but it crosses into something a little harder to (pardon the pun) swallow for some people -- Amy included. Yes, I have smoked pipe. Even in 2007, I think this is, for some, a disturbing revelation. I guess I'll have to go into more detail on that part of my history at a later date.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 3. Amy's uncomfortable with this -- more than she lets on most of the time. (The topic doesn't come up that often.) It'd be fun, but I'm not likely to ask for this one. The fantasy is less fun if both participants aren't 100% into it.

A threesome with another woman.
The night that I met Amy, I ended up sleeping between her and her best friend. That night more than 15 years ago is still the well I go back to when my inspiration is drought-stricken. And the amazing thing is that nothing happened. At least not between the three of us. (I will share this story in detail later.) Amy and I have discussed the concept of a threesome before, but the wall she always runs up against is disease. In 1992, we toyed with asking a female co-worker of mine for whom we had both expressed an attraction; but before I asked, the woman made it clear (in an unrelated conversation) that her "wild days" were behind her. We've never come even that close since, though we've fantasized about it before.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. Only because Amy once entertained the thought. She'd be more likely to consider tag-team fellatio than actually letting me fuck someone else (mainly due to disease concerns rather than jealousy).

Sex in front of another person or couple.
Playing on my exhibitionist streak. This fantasy would likely be a precursor/"warm-up" to one of the aforementioned fantasies -- a step back from another person/couple participating directly with us. The more potent version of this fantasy is the "couple" version, where I envision friends on the same bed or in the same room, having sex with each other while Amy and I do the same.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. This fantasy has the advantage of "addressing" Amy's disease issue ... by not addressing it at all. The sex stays contained within the already established relationships. It's the equivalent of watching live porn; so how different is that from the video porn we already watch? The two keys needed to unlock this one are finding the "right couple" and helping Amy deal with her body image issues.

A semi-public blowjob.
I've had a specific fantasy in this vein for sometime. Here's the scenario: We've been traveling on the road at night -- Amy's driving, I'm the passenger -- and we stop off at a rest stop (a slight distance from the rest stop buildings) to use the restrooms and switch drivers. When I return to the car, Amy is already sitting in the passenger seat of the car. I walk up to her window, tap it. She lowers it. "This is for you," I say (or maybe it's "Can you help a guy out here?") as I unzip my jeans, pull out my cock (already semi-hard from the contemplation of doing this), my hand on the back of her head indicating what I expect. I can hear her giggle under her breath just before she takes me in her mouth and starts giving glorious head. What do I do then? Simply cross my arms on top of the car and enjoy the bucolic wonders of the highway rest stop: travelers walking nearby; dogs and owners headed to the pet area; truckers pulling in for forty winks; the oncoming and receding headlights of cars returning to the road ... all while my wife services me through the window. The world's biggest glory hole. It's a beautiful thing, the road.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 8. Yeah, this could happen. Wouldn't even have to use the coupon for it probably. A spontaneous action when the moment is right. The only challenge would be devising a road trip without the kids. But it could happen.

I have a few more coming up in part two of this post. Again, after the list is complete, I hope that you might suggest which one I should go for ... or toss out an idea that you think I might be interested in.

17 January 2007

TMI Tuesday #1: One Day Late

TMI Tuesday used the excuse of the holiday for throwing them off ... so I will too! Thought I'd get in on this weekly activity, at least for awhile. Seeing as this is such a new blog and I'm a relative stranger to the "scene," I figured it would be a chance for readers to gain some insight.

1) What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?

Man, it's been a long time since I've dated. But let me imagine this for a second....

Mmmmm ... back seat of the car ... bra hiked up ... jeans pulled down ... feeling that delectable, wet ....

Oops, sorry. Stay on task, Connor. Okay.

a) If she's not well-spoken -- if she isn't able to carry on an interesting conversation that shows education and a knowledge of culture/pop culture -- she's probably not going to have "interest" staying power with me. That probably sounds snotty, but it's true. Mousy conversationalist? Turnoff.

b) If she's rude to service people, I'm outta there. Being an asshole to the waitstaff, or blowing up at an usher ... I don't have time for that kind of crap. She may be mind-blowing in bed, but if I can't stand her outside of bed, why bother?

c) If she lacks any style when it comes to kissing, it's gonna be a tough row to hoe. Lips that just lay there, seem "thin," hesitant, or a liplock without the flair for the dramatic: Better start lining up a Craigslist ad in a hurry, babe.

2) Pick an animal that best displays your personality. :)

Well, I hate to go for the obvious here, but probably the dog. The one always mounting your leg. Not that I walk around doing this to everything that moves (but that does create a hilarious workplace image, doesn't it?) ... It's just that, in my head, that's the way I feel. Quick to distract. Easy to entertain. Plays hard, then sleeps hard (but never for long enough, it seems). Probably a 9-month-old puppy, I'm thinking.

3) If your s.o. stopped having sex with you, how long would you stay?

Probably a long time. It's a marriage -- I'm in it for the long haul. But you could bet that I'd be going about doing whatever I could to fix things. Hell, that's why I'm here, blogging. We're not even at a critical point of danger in our relationship -- I mean, we're not at "go get counseling" status or anything like that -- but I did want to put some specific thought toward the feeling I have of being "undersexed," so I'm working on it ... with her in real-life and here on my own.

4) Are you more passive or aggressive when the relationship becomes physical?

I've been passive in the past, probably responding to my partners' signals/body language and too frightened to "push the envelope" without knowing if they would like the more aggressive approach. (And I was probably not open enough to feel comfortable discussing it with them.) But in this relationship, where I feel completely comfortable, a definite aggressive streak has shown up. Fortunately she likes it. And she will even occasionally show signs of returning the favor, which is a nice change-up every once in awhile.

5) Have you ever been INSIDE a store that sold adult themed toys and videos?

What, do I seem like I'm 16? Of course I have. My wife and I have gone several times. Before her, I'd been many times in my 20s as well.

One particular trip to a store was memorable. It was a visit to an adult toystore with the woman I dated before I met my wife. One of those roadside stores -- you know, the ones just off the highway, with the neon signs, and all the pickups and SUVs parked out front. She was driving, and she decided she wanted to see what one of those places looked like, so she pulled off, and in we went.

The stuff seemed even tackier than the product in most places like that. The toys incredibly cheap, the magazines particularly skanky. We didn't stay long, and we certainly didn't buy anything.

But the experience must have done something to my girlfriend. When we got back in the car, she asked me to drive. Not long after getting back on the road, cuddled up to me, pulled my arm around her, and slipped my hand inside her shirt, where she encouraged me to play with her. Before long, she was massaging my crotch, and then she slipped my cock out and gave me roadhead.

It wasn't very good roadhead, sadly. I don't think she was completely comfortable with the situation. It was also incredibly small Geo Metro -- that might have had something to do with it! I remember having to pull off the road for my climax. She finished me and swallowed -- the only time she ever swallowed. I guess she wanted to avoid the mess on her car seats.

She was strangely distant the rest of the night, even after we got back to her place. Just turned over in bed and went to sleep. I'm not sure if the cum made her nauseous, or if the experience made her feel cheap or dirty.... I haltingly inquired about what was going on, and she pretty much made it clear she wasn't talking about it. This was definitely near the end of the relationship.

Not really an "adult store" story, but a memory that branched off from it.

Bonus: What percentage of women do you think are capable of handling being in a "friends with benefits" relationship? How about men?

Oh, definitely a smaller percentage of women than men. The stereotype is that, for (usually young) men, a FWB situation is ideal; for women, it makes them feel like a tramp. I had a nice FWB relationship with a woman who was definitely cool with that. But she was the exception to the rule in my experience. The FWB ended up introducing me to my wife.

I would say 25% of women are capable of handling it. Around 50% of men could handle it. That might be a lower percentage of men than you might expect, but I believe there are a lot of jealous men out there who, I think, would prefer to "tie up" their partner's interests, and FWB doesn't really allow for that. Still, it's much higher than women.

15 January 2007

Saturday Night's Theme: "NOW."

"I'm so glad you have a penis," she said as we were turning off the lights and going to bed.

I chuckled, quietly, so as not to wake any little ones up. It was 2 a.m., and after the night we had just had, the last thing we needed was to have to get anyone back asleep. I groped in my head for the meaning of Amy's words: Did she mean she's glad I wasn't a woman? That it's nice to have a man around who can do the "man" things?

So, without another option, I responded with a vague, "Oh, you do, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, starting down the hall to our bedroom. "I really needed a penis tonight."

Technically true, but not really the way she felt emotionally. Tonight, what my wife needed was a cock.


The evening hadn't started out looking particularly promising, sexually speaking. During dinner, in a quick moment alone in the kitchen, I had asked Amy if she had some fun in mind for later. Asking this sort of question has become more typical in the last year or so. There have been many nights where signals were crossed and a misunderstanding has ruined the evening. (More on that in a later post.) It's probably less romantic to essentially ask, So ... We gonna fuck or what? But in the long run, we've found that a little clarification makes everyone happier.

Amy indicated that she was, in fact, thinking about that, but everything would depend on how she felt after getting kids to bed. This activity often does her in. The kids are young enough that the bedtime routines are deliberate and exhausting. Often, by the time the last parent (usually Amy) emerges from the last bedroom, even a big cup of tea won't save her.

It looked like this was going to be the case on this night as I read books in bed to our oldest while Amy lay on the other side, eyes closed, seemingly slipping away. When we got back out to the living room, I made a last-ditch offer: Maybe we could get directly into bed, or maybe we could watch some porn in the living room and see if any interest developed. She surprised me with a third option: "Let's watch Last Tango in Paris and see how I feel in awhile. Maybe I'll wake up."

Last Tango is a film we've had "in waiting" for awhile -- waiting for a night we were both in the mood to watch it. I wasn't convinced that this was the night.

"Are you sure that's the one you want to watch?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure," she said. "it's sexy, right?"

"Yeah, but ..." I trailed off.

I wasn't sure "sexy" was the word I'd have chosen. I hadn't seen Last Tango, but I knew it had a lot of sex ... some very famous scenes that I knew a little about, including the infamous "butter scene." Yes, there was sex ... but this was a pretty dark film. It's not like it was pornography.

But we watched it while I gave Amy a foot massage. Watching a 1970s art film requires adjustment when you've grown accustomed to the pace of current TV shows and movies. Even the first sex scene in this one feels laborious. Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider have met after both arriving to look at an apartment for rent at the same time. By the end of that visit, they've had some spontaneous sex on the apartment floor. There's a natural awkwardness to the scene -- this is cinema verité after all. Honestly, I didn't find it particularly arousing. Which probably speaks volumes about how my viewing likes/dislikes have been molded by watching so much traditional porn.

Amy must have felt differently. Not long after that scene, she abruptly announced from the other end of the couch: "Okay, I think I'm a little tired. Turn it off and come here."

I settled in on top of her, on top of The World's Softest Pajamas™ (a Christmas present from a long-distance relative, though chosen by me), and began some gentle kissing and nibbling on her lips, neck, earlobes. It was "kissing with out motive." A sort of warm-up. But very quickly, Amy began quietly moaning. The kissing became more intense faster than I would have expected. Her mouth became more aggressive, her tongue probing my teeth and tongue with strength and urgency. Her hips began to grind. After a few minutes, as "kiss" moved closer to "devour," I felt her hands move slowly underneath me, down the front of her World's Softest Pajamas™ top, unbuttoning. Her arms were back around me, she pulled me in even closer and sighed into my mouth.

I worked my way down to between her breasts, sucking and biting the flesh. Again, the response was more vocal than I usually get. Enveloping the nipple with my mouth stepped it up another notch. Amy's into this tonight.

I absolutely love her tits, can never lavish them with enough praise, lips, tongue, tweaks. I worked them for awhile as her hip-grinding got more intense, and the moans had turned to words: "Yes ... God, that feels good ... Bite my nipples ... Bite harder ... Now the other one...."

I live for these kinds of demands from Amy. She knows this. She probably also knows I'd love her to do it more. I'm usually the aggressor, the dirty-talker. She enjoys hearing it but doesn't always feel comfortable talking herself. That wasn't a problem on this night.

"I need you to fuck me now," she said, and my lips smiled even as they continued to tease her tits. This was going to be nice, I thought. But even taking the time for that thought pissed off my newly impatient lover. She said it again, this time with a tone to make sure I understood she wasn't messing around: "I need you to fuck me now." And she pushed me away so she could get her World's Softest Pajamas™ bottoms the fuck off her body.

This is when it occurred to me that the Brando-Schneider quick-and-dirty scene had flipped a switch for her. She wanted a hard fuck with minimum foreplay. Usually she wants a good bout of pussy-eating, suck on my cock a bit, a liberal amount of lube added to her natural wetness. But it was clear this night that I had better get my jeans off only as far as I needed to get my cock out.

Pants yanked barely below my ass, I was back over her again. I started to guide my cock in, but she pulled my hand away and took it herself. Clearly I was taking too long. She spread her lips with one hand and stuffed me in with the other, wrapping her legs around me and using her calves to push me in as deep as possible.

"Yesssssssss," she sighed. Funny, I was thinking the same thing.

She was steaming hot inside, unbelievably wet and ready for this. I started pumping into her pretty hard, but not hard enough. "Come on," she said, still sounding impatient. "Harder." Harder is what she got. She clawed at my t-shirt, and quickly it was gone. I continued to fuck her as hard as I could, and she continued to talk. "Yes ... I love it when you fuck me this way ... Fuck my pussy hard ... God, your cock feels so good in my cunt...."

For once, I was struck dumb. After all those times where I was the one saying the filthy things to get her going, here she was the total aggressor ... and I didn't know what to say! We laughed about this the next day, how the roles had flipped, and I felt out of my league. But even as I dealt with an unusual awkwardness, I loved having that "burden" lifted from me for one fun fuck session. It was clear that I had one responsibility: To give Amy the cock that she craved. No lover, no husband, no person. Just a dick to be stuck in her as hard and as often as she wanted.

She pushed me off.

"Now you're going to fuck me from behind."


I slapped her ass more than usual as I pummeled her cunt, and she screamed out each time with an abandon that I remembered from many years ago. I finally found some words as I watched my cock disappearing in and out of her.

"You like getting fucked like this?" I hissed.

"I love it," she said when she turned her head from the couch pillow.

"Then come on ... Fuck me back. Fuck back into my cock." My words were almost drowned out by the hammering sound of her ass slamming against my crotch. I reached up and grabbed her hair -- something I don't normally do -- and she hissed a "Yes!" and leaned her head back to let me grab. I reached under and grabbed her tits. "I love your tits swaying as I fuck you so hard." She screamed a little louder.

This was all too much. I was on the verge.

"Holy shit," I said, "I'm going to come real soo-- Oh, fuck!" And boom, like that, I was there, filling her cunt with several spurts of cum. She let out a long moan as she felt it.

"I want to finish you," I said as I slowly pulled my still-hard dick out of her sopping pussy.

"Of course," she said. Oh, that's right, I thought. This is the new Aggressive Amy. "But you need to get a towel."

Another difference: Normally at this point, she would have retired to the bathroom to "clean up." Tonight, she wanted hers and she wasn't going anywhere 'til she got it. An opportunity for me to indulge in something I love to do but don't get enough chance to do: Eat out her cum-filled pussy.

I was torn as I went down on her ... I wanted to keep up the "aggression" theme of the night with an enthusiastic, fast gobble, but I also wanted to savor it. I think I struck a balance, enjoying a nice creamy meal while bringing her off with shivers and screams.

Amy's pussy lips feel so different when I go down on her after a hard fuck. They feel .... unhinged. They move in ways they don't normally move. That sensation, along with the taste of my semen, actually had me hard again. Another rarity, to bounce back so quick at my age. I was tempted to "press my luck" and try fucking her again, but all her body language indicated that she was sated. And this was, after all, all about Amy tonight.

"Okay," she sighed. "Now I'm awake. Let's watch some more of the movie."

We watched another half-hour. Didn't make it to the "butter scene." Damn, if we had before our fuck, there might have been some ass action on top of everything else! Of course, that part of the movie is still coming up whenever we do get around to finishing it....


Nights like Saturday night fill me with hope. Amy and I have come a long way in regards to communicating about sex. She continues to be open to trying new things to please me ... and when she does, she seems to get into it. It is still a challenge for her to vocalize any kinks that would really get her off, but when she "takes charge" like she did on Saturday, I feel like we're a step closer. This night, combined with the (relatively recent) night of anal we had, tells me that even after all these years together, we can still find new things to try.

I love the fact that my lover for the last 15 years can still get me so fucking horny, just at the thought of her. I am truly a lucky man.

08 January 2007

The Coupons.

It was Christmas night, and Amy and I had settled on the couch with the contents of our unopened stockings. The kids were nearby, playing with various items from the morning's spoils. We had been so busy with the holiday hoopla that our stockings had gone neglected, so we took a moment of (relative) quiet to enjoy the few trinkets stuffed into the felt.

Amy disclaimed my stocking up front with a warning that many of the items were "re-gifts." Basically, she'd raided our pantry for little food items that would fit in. I had barely had time to pull together her stocking in one hurried afternoon at a local Cost Plus, and it wasn't feeling inspired: a decorative wine cork, some almonds, a small vacuum-packed bag of French roast coffee, a Toblerone bar, etc. But Amy had had no time to shop so she had really had to wing it at 3 a.m. the night before, after we had finally finished wrapping and assembling the kid's gifts.

Sure enough, there was a Crunchie candy bar, some chocolate coins that must have been from last Christmas, a small kitchen gadget ... stuff that would fit.

Near the bottom of the stocking, I discovered envelopes. Six of them. Solid, dark pastelish stationery that I had seen lying around the office desk for the last umpteen years. And here they were. Numbered one through six. I couldn't even guess what was contained therein.

I opened the one labeled "#1:"

Good for one mind-blowing BJ
(not just your run-of-the-mill blowjob)
Best used when sinus condition is not present

My breath hitched. My cock stirred. This was going to be tricky if this was only the first coupon. What state would I be in by #6? And here were my kids playing, not to mention another relative close by. Suddenly I wished we were somewhere private. At least I had my back to everyone else. Facing Amy, I could smile, look to Heaven, and mouth "Thank you!"

I'll expound on this more later, but it may even go without saying (after all, we are a middle-aged couple with jobs and kids): There has been some occasional tension regarding the frequency of sex. It doesn't exhibit as anger (I don't get mad easily), but more as guilt from both parties: me for my seemingly constant "nagging" for more, and Amy (who insists that I don't nag) for feeling like she is way too often tired, distracted, not-feeling-sexy-enough to give it to me.

There have been some pretty intense discussions about this in bed over the last few weeks. Tears shed, honest feelings discussed in the halting whispers of a couple simultaneously feeling deep emotion and trying not to wake up sleeping children. At least we're both communicating honestly and openly, but some possibly disturbing revelations have come about through these discussions. And we're still not sure what to do about the lack of parity on our libidos.

So the coupons blindsided me, in a good way. They were an amazing gesture. The "sex coupon" is a decades-old stand-by -- you can buy them gag gift stores or find any number of online sites that provide ideas for this way too cutesy idea. I think I even did a set for my high-school girlfriend once (lo those many years ago). Amy's were so special, I think, not only because they were somewhat "personalized" to my interests, but because they gave a sense of "hope" for the future. That we were going to keep working on this. And more importantly, as Dan Savage says, Amy was "good, giving and game."

I opened up the next coupon -- #2:

Good for some ass-action
(Need I say more?)
Ply liberally with wine or other lubricant

Anal has been a recent introduction to our repertoire, though it has been a long-term fantasy of mine.


Good for some morning sex —
even if it makes us late for work
(It makes us so happy while we're there)

Nice to find some good use for my "morning wood" one day soon. Though honestly, I have to wonder when this would happen, since one of the kids usually beats us awake every morning. I guess it won't always be that way, right?


Onward to the fourth:

Good for raunchy sex with
lots of dirty talk
(Pornos require advance notice)

Porn certainly isn't a necessity for me in this case, but it might be for Amy. She's a bit self-conscious about dirty talk, though she knows how much I love it. On nights when she's too tired to fuck but willing to help me get myself off, she knows I come faster if she nestles in next to my ear and spins a fantasy about her fucking one or another of our more attractive friends. With a dirty movie, she can really get rolling. It's taken awhile to work her up to it, but she can be pretty nasty when she sets her mind (mouth?) to it.

Number five had me dropping my jaw to the ground -- at first:

Good for a threesome, or
foursome, with Shelley and
Jon (if they let us)

Sorry, just kidding.

Oh wow. Shelley and Jon are parents of a schoolmate of one of our kids. Shelley has an exotic look to her -- and an amazing chest. Jon has an accent and is incredibly good-looking. We have joked and fantasized before about them, and wondered at first if there would be any interest there. We have since discovered that Shelley is extremely Catholic, so we don't hold out much hope. Still, great fodder between the sheets.

Amy almost apologized for the last coupon -- she said that she was having a hard time coming up with six ideas. So out of desperation, she wrote this:

Good for one new thing —
of your choosing.
Just ask.

Her desperation turned out to be the best coupon of all -- the very definition of "good, giving and game." It was so open-ended that I was immediately hard as a rock (and damned uncomfortable there in our living room!) with the possibilities. It was like having my whole life pass in front of my eyes -- except that instead of my life it was all of the fantasies I've had for the two of us. And one of them was going to get fulfilled.

I couldn't thank Amy enough for this gift. It was by far my favorite Christmas present this year. And not just because it's going to provide for some great, messy, dirty sex, but because of how it speaks to her commitment to find our way through the tricky sexual imbalance we're experiencing.

This is gonna be fun.