The Concupiscent Husband

TMI Tuesday #11: Statistics Are My Life.

2007-10-31T20:05:00.000-06:00

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.

H is for ...

2007-10-25T21:17:00.000-06:00

Hi again.

[restart]

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.

Addendum to "Saturday Night Living"

2007-04-24T23:06:00.000-06:00

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!"

2007-04-24T16:30:00.000-06:00

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!

Saturday Night Living

2007-04-23T23:27:00.000-06:00

"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]

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

2007-04-22T16:42:00.000-06:00

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?

Hmmm.

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.

Sixteen years.

2007-04-21T23:37:00.000-06:00

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.

Return to the Fold. More Specifically, Her Folds.

2007-04-20T11:57:00.000-06:00

"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]

100 Things About Me (Pt. 2 of 2)

2007-04-07T16:15:00.000-06:00

(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.

100 Things About Me (Pt. 1 of 2)

2007-04-06T10:35:00.000-06:00

"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.

Sick Man Walking.

2007-04-05T11:09:00.000-06:00

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.

The Great Divide

2007-03-31T23:55:00.000-06:00

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!

Tag, I'm It (I)

2007-03-28T10:39:00.000-06:00

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.

Sugasm #72

2007-03-27T22:38:00.000-06:00

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.

Detached

2007-03-26T16:32:00.000-06:00

We were on the couch last night, Amy and me,¹ and it was getting on the later side (so what's new). This was how I put it:

"I'm not sure if you were thinking we were having sex tonight. Do you wanna do anything?"

A note to ladies reading this: I understand if my powers of seduction, exhibited in this steamy proposition to my wife, overwhelm you with moist desire. Please, take as much time as you need to "take care of bidness" before continuing with this entry.

"I mean ..." I continue, my libido twisting in the wind, "... I don't want to do anything you're not in the mood for. It's not that big a deal." This is sort of true. But even so: What the hell am I thinking when I say this?

There are two opposite forces at work here.

The first force is a simple, testosterone-based need. It's been a week since I've had any sex that didn't feature my hand in the starring role. Now we stand on the precipice of another work week. The odds of sex before next Saturday are slim to none. Some part of my brain screams: You have to try!

The counterforce is the knowledge that Amy hasn't responded to my overtures all day. These gestures have spanned the gamut, from simple (a caress of the ass, a kiss in the hollow of her neck) to heavy-handed (After repairing a child's toy that Amy [inadvertently] broke, thus silencing a 15-minute tantrum/pouting session, I whisper in Amy's ear: "You owe me an amazing blowjob tonight for this one!").

We had a stupid-busy weekend which included a to-do list that proved size does matter. The only way to gain ground was to split forces. Amy and one kid get a haircut while I take the other kid with me grocery shopping. I take one kid to a birthday party while Amy does yard work. We were detached for the whole weekend. And even when we were together, one or the other of us worked on different chores or dealt with different kids. We weren't spouses these last few days, we were co-workers.

And then there are the examples of the sexual disconnect:

- While watching Rome, I comment: "Man, do Atia's breasts get larger with every episode?" Amy's reply is a question: "Does your mind always have to be on that one track?" She kind-of-apologizes when I point out that such observations about women's bodies on TV usually come from her.

- We hear an ad for a Viagra-style product on the radio, and Amy muses: "How come they don't make a drug that lessens a man's sex drive?" Me: "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Her: (defensive) "It was a joke." Me: "Um, so was mine." This is one of those cases, I think, where that maxim about some truth in every joke might be applicable.

And still — after all this evidence! — "Don Juan" here barreled ahead with a proposition for sex.

Anyroad² ... If you think my come-on was sexy, just wait 'til you get a load of Amy's response:

"I could probably be talked into something."

I'm not sure that she physically shrugged, but I swear I could hear it.

+++
And the red flags just kept popping up.

I got ready for bed while Amy stayed in front of the television, watching cake decorating. Friends, this never happens.

I was in bed when Amy came into the bedroom, and she asked if we could work on a crossword for awhile. It was almost 1:00 a.m. Any sane man would take the hint; any sane husband would gracefully bow out, letting his wife off the hook.

I hate to give away the ending to my story, but you all know where this is going, don't you?

+++
Lights off, we started kissing. And everything felt a little ... off. Like we'd been away from each other, lost our groove. I commented on this.

"I've felt so disconnected from you." I wasn't sure where this was going, but I hoped she could help me get there. But it was a dead end: Amy acknowledged that we've been really busy recently. End of discussion.

My hands worked around her body. My tongue traveled from neck to ear. I was gettin' ... nothin'.

As she stroked my chest, she said: "My hand is hurting a lot from this eczema thing tonight. I'm sorry, but I can't really touch you a lot." I told her that's fine. But the thought that it hurt to touch me dug deeper than I let on. I crave Amy's touch. Often, when she slips a hand under my shirt and strokes my back, there is a physical release of stress. I'm sure she thinks I'm overdramatizing when I react. It's as if I discovered a delicious treat I had no idea I was hungry for.

I slipped a hand inside her panties, and she giggled. "You're tickling me!" she said between laughs.

"I'm not doing anything! I'm not even being that gentle!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "You just went in soft and swiftly."

"Then let me try it again. This time I'll go in hard and clumsily," I joked.

"Well, that definitely won't tickle."

I try again, and again, she writhed in ticklish laughter. "I'm sorry, but your hand is just doing that to me tonight!"

I sit up and roughly start to pull off her panties. "Let's see what my tongue does to you, then."

I stayed knelt by her side, my head lowered to her pussy. A typical "69" position, except that my cock is off to the side. Usually she manually plays with me, but not tonight. My tongue went to work, but momentarily she bucked me off in another fit of laughter. One more try: This time her legs squeezed my face as she laughed into the pillow.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said, a little irked now.

She collected herself and finally allowed me in. I was all business. I had something to prove! What, exactly, I'm not sure. She had a pretty good orgasm. And then I did something slightly passive-aggressive: Instead of backing off after her orgasm, I locked my mouth over her cunt and continued to go at her like she still had somewhere to go. I guess I was trying to give her a second one, show her how good this could be. Whatever I was thinking (and calling it "thinking" is charitable), she finally had to force me off. I fell back on the bed panting.

Amy sat up and pulled off my boxer-briefs. With no preface, she came right down on my cock and went to work. It was really nice at first — some variation up and down the sides and underside of the shaft, combined with taking me deep. I slipped my hand into her hair and did some mild guiding. She winced.

"Gentler," she whispered in between sucks.

"Sorry," I said, and decided not to chance hurting her.

Instead, I slipped a hand between her legs, let a thumb stray into her ass crack. Immediately, she clinched and moved away. "Okay," I whispered, getting the message.

My hand slinked up her sides to her tank-covered breasts. I gently teased one, stimulating a nipples. Again, she flinched.

"I can't do that either?" The words came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I think I was whining.

"I'm really sorry," she said. She repositioned herself between my legs, putting her bits out of reach. I sighed and put my hands over my head, grabbing the footboard of the bed.

I stared at the ceiling, realizing there was no way I was coming now. I was completely out of the mood. What's more, Amy, was totally overblowing me at this point. She was going up and down at breakneck pace on my dick, and the teeth were slowly creeping into play, more than they should. It was getting uncomfortable. (Perhaps she was just returning my passive aggression!) When she came up for air, I slipped a hand onto my cock and started jacking, encouraging her to work my balls instead.

But it was already over. Shortly, she came up beside me. She started licking my nipples as I continued to jack myself.

"Tell me something dirty," I suggested. With a good spate of slutchat from Amy, I could probably come off quickly.

"I was thinking about Cleopatra's small tits," she said, another reference to Rome. "What it would be like to have small tits like those. The kind that are barely there. Where you would just be able to suck on my nipples and really nothing else...."

This was the oddest direction she'd ever gone with such talk. She must have known that, because she abandoned it.

"It's just not my night," she sighed.

"No, I guess it's not," I acknowledged, though lovingly. I kissed her head. "You should just go to sleep."

With little hesitation, she flipped around, putting her head back at the top of the bed. "Are you going to finish?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. Yes." But ten strokes later, my erection was gone. I turned around too.

I tried to talk a little more about the disconnection. I commented on feeling far away from her.

"Well, you stay up late, and I get up early," she said. And all I could think was, I'm not the one falling asleep at 9:00 every night! But saying that out loud would have definitely started a fight, and it would have been unfair anyway. Instead, I redirected my frustration, putting the burden on the child who hasn't been sleeping well. Amy didn't respond. She was falling asleep.

I looked at the clock. It was 1:45 a.m. I stared into darkness. I thought about the fact that there are going to be nights like these; we just hadn't had one in a long, long time. I thought about how borderline-petulant I was acting about all of this. I thought about masturbating again. But all masturbatory fantasies lead back to Amy, and any "fantasy Amy" would morph into tonight's Amy. The only possibility was a raunchy porn video to drown out my overactive head. But I didn't move. I just lay there and stewed.

I looked at the clock again. It was 3:02 a.m.

+++
"It's 6:51," said Amy, cuing me to get out of bed. I showered, the previous evening's events slowly coming back to me. Back in the bedroom, I stood at my dresser, pulling on underwear.

"It's a miracle," Amy said behind me, "that none of the kids have woken up."

"Yeah, that's cool," I said. I reached for an undershirt.

"So," she said, "you want to try again?"

I froze. Laughed. Shook my head. Walked over to the bed. "Bless you for that," I said. "But I have a hard time believing we won't be interrupted."

"But we could try," she said.

"You don't have to do this," I said.

"I want to do this," she said. Convincingly.

So, how cool is that?

I tossed the undershirt on the bed, stepped out of my underwear. Before I could say, "Alright, we can try," she had my flaccid cock in her mouth.

Three sucks later, it was rock-hard. I stood next to the bed as she lay down, encouraging me to fuck her mouth. I kept it gentle. This morning felt like it needed gentle.

"You keep yourself good and hard," she said after a moment, "and I'll be right back." She peed while I stretched on the bed, lazily jacking. She returned with a wicked grin and attacked my dick with gusto. It took just a few minutes before I quietly came. It was the thought that counted.

"Wow," she commented, "they're still not awake."

"Yeah," I said, slipping my underwear back on.

"So you could get me off again."

I turned around, and now she was stretched out, her hand already warming things up. I fell between her legs.

After several minutes of bringing her to the edge, she would fall away again. Finally, she pounded the mattress with a fist. "I don't know what's wrong! I get close, and then I lose it. I feel like I'm a long way away!"

"For what it's worth," I offered, "I'm having a hell of a time finding the pocket and getting a rhythm."

She pulled me up beside her. "Thanks anyway."

"No, thank you," I said. "This was a nice surprise."

She kissed me. "Gotta get moving." She headed to the shower.

"Breakfast?" I asked.

"Oh ... oatmeal or smoothie. Whichever you want."

I headed down the hall to the kitchen. We had managed to delay the start of the week by some twenty minutes, but now it was officially here.

--
¹ Sometimes I think I could rename this blog "A Marriage Held on the Couch." [Return]

² My new favorite word. I picked it up from Rome. Which, sadly, ended its run on HBO last night. Damn, I'm gonna miss that series. Even if there wasn't much of a series left, as all but three of the main characters were dead by the final credits. [Return]

TMI Tuesday #9: Men's Secret Revealed!

2007-03-22T10:53:00.000-06:00

Forty-eight hours late. But it's not about timeliness, is it? No. It's about my brutal honesty when TMI Tuesday puts my feet to the hot coals of truthiness. It's about my bearing my soul to you. And, if you're lucky, it's about some embarrassing tidbit regarding my sex life.

A bonus this time 'round: I introduce a new sex term. Help me spread it like an STD! I challenge fellow bloggers to incorporate the term into their own blogs.

Onward!

1. When you are out in public, do you often get hard/get wet?

Not as often as I used to, certainly. There are many curses to getting older; this one is probably more of a blessing. Junior high was rough for me in this regard (as it is for most boys at that time). It's the age where we all perfect the "pull and sweep" move. (No, that's not the term I alluded to above. Wait for it — it's coming.)

Oh, you don't know pull-and-sweep? Have a seat, ladies. It's time to get schooled. (Men are excused — they know this so well, though most of them have never told their lovers about this aspect of their youth.)

Picture, if you will, Our Hero, sitting at one of those desk-chair combos in French class attempting to conjugate être, when he suddenly realizes that, apropos of nothing, the right front pocket of his jeans is tenting. The dull ache in his crotch reveals the "tent maker." And oh boy, trouble is a-brewin': Monsieur Grastorf is about to dismiss class. Our Hero could choose to sit there and wait for his raison d'être to subside, but the problem is that Phys Ed — on the other side of the school grounds — begins in six minutes.

Oh, one more complication: Ingenue, who just happens to be Our Hero's current love interest (read: masturbatory fantasy), has approached the boy. Clutching her French primer to her budding chest, she asks Our Hero if he would walk to the gym with her.

If he were to stand up right now, Our Hero could very possibly be arrested for inflicting this Weapon of Mass Distraction on the poor, unsuspecting young lady.

What is a boy to do?

Step 1. Misdirection. Our Hero will begin an answer to Ingenue ... an answer that will be a "yes," but first things first. Before a word passes from his lips, he shifts his gaze momentarily over Ingenue's right shoulder, and allows a small smile to almost escape his lips. It's just enough to cause the girl to follow his gaze: She turns her head and looks to the front of the classroom, looking for what distracted Our Hero. (And his parents thought all those books on sleight-of-hand magic were a waste of time!)

Step 2. The Pull. Things must move quickly now — in microseconds, Ingenue is coming back around to complete her transaction. One hand is used, and it needs to be the hand from the side opposite the direction the offending appendage has encroached. The hand grabs the fold of his jeans' excess material — you know, that part that folds up against the stomach when he sits down — and pulls this away from his body. This creates a larger tent of space, leaving room for Step 3 to occur.

Step 3. The Sweep. The hand not currently holding The Pull in place comes down, and with one or two fingers, the pesky erection is pushed to a vertical (or, if you're a flight attendant, the "upright and standing") position. When the "clock hand" points to 12 o'clock, the "Pull" hand releases the material.

Step 4. Business As Usual. "Why, yes, Ingenue, I'd be delighted to accompany you and your gorgeous, hot ass across the school."

Okay, so Step 4 is hopefully uttered with a bit more ... aplomb.

In any case, Our Hero is now free to continue merrily on his way, safe in the knowledge that the deftly executed maneuver has hidden his stiff boy-meat behind the extra material of his jeans zipper. Since that part of any pair of jeans is already thicker than the rest of the pants, no unsightly bulge is evident. The aroused member can even shrink back to its usual pathetic shape (in plenty of time for Our Hero to be thoroughly self-conscious in the gym locker room in 5-1/2 short minutes) without anyone being the wiser.

By the way, the advanced-skills version of this is mastered with one hand: The forefinger and thumb perform The Pull, the remaining three fingers (or some combination thereof) effect The Sweep. If a woman were to witness the adeptness of a skilled Pull-and-Sweeper, it would take her breath away.

Ladies, before I let the men come back in and read the rest of this post, that you will never tell them that I revealed this information. I would sacrifice full faith and credit of all men everywhere. Do we have a deal? Good.

"Come on back, guys! Nothing to see here!"

2. When you masturbate, how long, typically, is your session and what do you think about (other than having an orgasm)?

I have had nights, when I'm particularly tired but still wanting to pull one off, where I will literally fall asleep and wake up again with my limp dick in my hands ... only to coax it back to life and finish the job. I've had times where I've fallen asleep more than once. These are certainly extended sessions, though hardly stimulating.

And there are times where I'm all about the tease ... just bringing myself along slowly with slow strokes, coming close and backing off ... starting again. I usually need some good masturbatory material for these. I usually prefer reading over pictures/movies for this kind of jack. The fun thing about these jackoffs is that there is much more semen involved in the money shot.

And then, there are the "maintenance" tugs: I need to get rid of this itch so I can get back to work. This style is all business. Movies work best in this case. I can get myself off in less than five minutes in these situations from a dead stand-still, if I need to.

If I don't have other materials available to me, I usually conjure up a re-creation of past sexual experiences. The vast majority of these involve my wife.

The fallback scenario — the one that is guaranteed to bring my seed boiling to the surface (and beyond) — is the re-imagining of the first morning I ever work up with Amy. The morning after the first night I met her. The morning I woke up sandwiched between her ... and her best friend. Who also happened to be my ex-girlfriend.

But that's a story you'll have to wait for. It's too important to not be told properly.

3. What is your most pleasurable intercourse position?

Usually sitting across the table from the someone, each of us with a cup of coffee. I can talk for hours in that position! Hmm? Oh. Not that kind of intercourse.

Of course, you're not going to get me to commit to just one. Why else do you think I'm known as The Equivocating Husband?

Missionary has its advantages — the big two being a) my cock hits her in just the right places (if my angle is a little bit higher than usual), the base almost rubbing against her clit; and b) it puts our mouths right next to our ears, where we can weave all sorts of prurient threats into each other's ears. Downside: I'm prohibited from staying close to her face and really letting loose a serious fuck session.

"Furniture" Missionary — Poising her on the edge of a bed, couch, or table, but still essentially on her back — allows for a more frenzied screw, though it does pull me away from her face. It allows me to watch her body, specifically, her tits jiggling to the beat of our dance.

Doggy is really nice for the more raunchy fuck: I grab on to those life-bearing hips and try to make 'em hear our animal applause¹ in the next county. In this position, my cock feels bigger to Amy, so my ego gets stroked. She usually gets a lot more vocal. And it's this position that has brought her closest to orgasm during intercourse. Drawback: A little more impersonal. This position should not ever be used in conjunction with the term "making love."

T-Square is one we don't do often, but it's really nice when we do. She gets to control the speed with her heels, if she wants. I get to look at her body in profile and play with her tits. It's another slow-moving position, typically. I wrote about this recently. It was almost too effective.

There is one position that Amy and I did more than a decade ago, and we haven't tried it since. I would love to try it again. I'm not sure how to describe it, but I'll try: Amy was lying on her back, with her legs up and separated. I laid down on my stomach in the opposite direction, and inserted my cock. It's sort of like a "reverse cowboy," if you can imagine that. Movement in and out of her was extremely limited and slow, but that's part of what made it so effective. The other effective element? Amy took the seven-inch vibrator we had out that night and stuck it in my ass. Whoa, Nelly!

4. How often do you use the word "fuck" (or its derivatives) in casual conversation - frequently, occasionally, rarely, never.

Having kids, I've gotten pretty good at squelching the "wirty dords" when they're present. In a mixed group of adults, I'm also pretty solid, unless there is a moment (like, during a joke, or quoting someone else) when it feels "appropriate." Alone with Amy, I let it fly whenever. She doesn't care.

But here's the thing: When I'm around only guys (and granted, that's not often), I'm much more likely to let the f-bomb go. Which, after the fact, always seems odd, because the guys I hang with, they don't really talk like that. It's like some machismo thing I do. What the f-- um, hell is up with that? What am I trying to prove?

5. Have you ever had a spontaneous orgasm? How when why where?

Never had one. I've been brought to the brink through sheer visual or verbal stimulation. But as Johnny Cochrane would always tell me when we lay in bed on our long weekends together, "to get it to spit, you must touch it!" Man, I really miss that guy. Good times.

Bonus (as in optional): Post a link to a picture you consider a strong sexual turn-on.

This works for me because she's not quite ready. I have to talk her into something. It's fun when there's some work to do.

--
¹ That's the sound of my hips clapping against her ass. I just made that up. Ya think the term will catch on? [Return]

Girl's Gotta Have A Dream

2007-03-21T11:54:00.000-06:00

It was late Sunday afternoon. We had so much to do around the house that we'd given in and let the kids park themselves in front of a DVD. As soon as the movie title was up on the TV screen, Amy grabbed my hand, led me back to the bedroom.

This is too good to be true, I thought.

In the bedroom, door closed, she snaked her hands around the back of my head, pulled me into her mouth.

Waaaaaaaay too good to be true.

I wavered between going with the moment and questioning. When she finally broke the kiss, I asked point-blank: "Okay. What gives? Are you really starting something?"

She sounded deliciously sinister when she giggled. "No, I just wanted you to help me sort the dirty clothes in here."

Told you so.

"You know, I would have been happy to do that without the seduction. But now that I know how badly you want my help...." I started to unbutton my jeans.

"Ha ha," she said.

I was working on a pile of dress pants that showed my neglect via their desperate need for an iron, if not an all-out trip to the dry cleaners. Amy was sorting through lingerie and talking about how good she felt about the recent underwear purchases she (well, sometimes we) have made.

"It's my dream," she said from the closet, "to have matching bra-and-panty sets. Seven of them. One for each day of the week. Wouldn't that be awesome?"

I dropped my pants — oh, the ones I was sorting, sorry about that — and stepped to the closet. I locked my eyes on hers and searched for the perfect tone of voice that would deliver the high level of import I wanted my words to carry. I said:

"You. Must. Do this."

She started to smile, but my look confused her, and she wasn't sure what to do. "Huh?"

"Amy...." I put my hands on her shoulders. "Of all the dreams you have expressed, this is one of your most worthy goals ever."

She guffawed. But I continued.

"This is an exceptionally, egregiously, supreme goal. You must have seven matching bra-and-panty sets."

She rolled her eyes as she squeezed past me and headed back to the bed, where a pile of socks awaited. "I still can't tell if you're being facetious."

"I'm serious. You totally have to do this."

Okay, so I was being a little silly about it. But my reaction was only a slight exaggeration.

So what's the big deal? It's the fact that Amy might be looking at herself through a prism of sex appeal again. I mean, thinking this way outside of when I've gotten her all heated and horny. This may be the first time in ... what, years? Maybe.

Perhaps all my sorties of carnal reverence, my "shock and awe" blitzkrieg of ardor, have finally begun to chip away at the battlements that prevent her from realizing that this woman is smokin' hot. Amy carries herself with such confidence in her work environment; if her sexual self can find the strength to do the same ... well, there's no telling what might happen. Despotic empires could be destroyed. Literacy rates across our country could skyrocket. Reality television could fade from view. Gas prices could fall!

Of course, the concerns of global warming would increase greatly with the temperature emanating from her heaving, barely encased chest ... with the heat rising with the scent of appetite and ambrosia from the coordinated bottoms. But it's a small price to pay for my wife's new sexual esteem.

Not to mention, it'd be fun to get that panicked cell phone call from Al Gore.

"I'm sorry, sir, but if you saw Amy's ass in this sheer black number she slipped on this morning, you'd just ... What's that? You'd like a picture for future Powerpoint presentations? Well, I'll ask her...."

Swinging from My Trial Balloon

2007-03-20T10:23:00.000-06:00

Despite how late Saturday night had gotten to be, the energetic sex we'd had a few minutes earlier had keyed us up enough that Amy and I weren't falling asleep right away. It provided an opportunity to ask her a question I'd been thinking a lot about lately.

"I don't want you to think that I'm killing to do this ..."

An odd way to start this question. It puts me sort of at a weak place. But I was uneasy about pushing the topic of swinging out there. I mean, in a non-fantasy, serious context. I'm sure my discomfort was showing. Even after all these years, the fear of rejection persists!

"... but would you ever consider checking out a swingers' club? You know, we could go to those places and not do anything ... just check it out."

There was a long pause. Somehow the pause actually assured me that she was okay with the conversation. It wasn't that she was so aghast as to be speechless; she was seriously considering my question and her answer. Why do I find myself amazed at her open-mindedness ... over and over again?

She finally said: "I think the hardest thing for me, still, is the idea that someone who didn't love me as much as you do would find me attractive enough to want to fool around."

"Again," I reiterated, "it's not like that would even be up for discussion the first time. I would want to go with the agreement that we'd keep our clothes on. That said, I think you'd be surprised how attractive you are, how much attention you'd get."

"Well, I'm sure that once I was there and I saw what the other people there looked like, I would see that this wasn't as much of a concern," she said. "But I can't help it."

"I totally understand."

We kissed a bit, and then I said: "I have my own misgivings too. I wonder what it's like to be in a world where these people have made it so much a part of their life ... where the lifestyle has become so prevalent to them. I think it would feel strange to be around people who had made sex such the major driving force in their lives."¹

And there's another misgiving I have too, and it's probably an unfair judgment against these kinds of establishments: From the pictures I've seen of the public areas in many of these clubs, they just seem so ... tacky. I've seen rooms that look like they jumped right out of The Ice Storm, circa 1973, and I imagine a lot of somewhat impersonal surroundings. I worry that we (well, Amy, mainly) are viewed as "fresh meat" from the moment we walk in. I worry that there's not going to be anyone at these places to talk to ... who I would be the least bit interested in spending time with outside of the confines of the club. None of which is to say that I'm fascinated to cross the threshold and see what it might be like inside. Maybe it'll help me get over some of these prejudices.

"I think the other big thing for me," Amy said, "is that I'm at a point my life where I'm feeling pretty risk-averse. I think when the kids are a little bit older, I'd be more willing to consider things like that."

The truth is — and I told her — I can't really imagine something like this happening in the near future either. For all my fantasizing about "expanding the marriage bed," when I look at the reality of the situation, I come to this conclusion: Hell, we can't even sleep through a whole night right now! We're a long way from having the "freedom" to head out for a long evening away from home.

I'm sorry, in retrospect, that I didn't plumb Amy's mind some more about what "risks" she was specifically thinking about when she said that. But I will come back to her later on that.

This was maybe a very gentle sort of ice-breaker. But I feel like there's no need to bring it up again soon, after we both acknowledged we're several clicks away from the fantasies involving other people becoming a reality. Thankfully, there are a number of other fantasies still in play! If nothing else, I know that I can continue to explore these threesome/foursome/moresome ideas with Amy in the privacy of our own bed and discover interests and predilections related to these scenarios in the future.

--
¹ Oh, shut up. I know what you're thinking. Your "bullshit meter" just went off, didn't it? But honestly, you'd be surprised how much more to my life there is besides sex. Really. This blog is only about sex. If you read my other blogs, you'd see there are actually other things I think about! But you're not here to read about that stuff, are you? [Return]

Big-Titted Muses

2007-03-19T14:48:00.000-06:00

God bless grandmas — especially the ones who offer your children an occasional "sleepover." Only one of our two kids was out of the house Saturday night ... but that didn't stop Amy and me from tacitly agreeing that it would be a night of raunch.

One problem: The kid taken off our hands was not the one lately having trouble sleeping. It was past 10:30 before Amy and I were the only conscious humans in the house. The bedtime process exhausted us. I assumed Amy was beyond "recovery" for sex, but she surprised me by asking to be woken up with an episode of The Black Donnellys. ("It is St. Patrick's day, after all," she explained.)

"I'm sorry this evening isn't turning out the way we'd hoped," Amy said after the show. She was stroking my head in her lap.

"What were you hoping for, exactly?" I inquired.

"Oh ... I was thinking we'd watch a porno...."

We stared at a muted television playing some South By Southwest band I had lost interest in. I debated internally whether to reveal my fun secret.

"Well ..." I started, "I do have something on my computer that I've been saving to show you. It's the greatest blowjob I've ever seen filmed."

I always feel weird about revealing to Amy that I've been looking at porn, even though she's totally cool with it. She knows I masturbate a lot, and that I use "educational materials" accordingly. Still, it feels a little ... seedy.

"Okay," she said, sounding genuinely interested. "But ... You shouldn't have that stuff on your computer."

"I know. This is the only thing. I just put it on there for you to see, and then its gone."

"'Cause you don't want someone finding that by accident and being forced to fire you."

"No, you're right. It's gone after tonight. So ... You want to see it?"

"Oh yeah, sure," she said. She went to get a snack while I opened the laptop.

The video is a semi-amateur thing — meaning that the women in it are probably in the industry, either as dancers or as low-level porn actresses, but this is an improvised, small-time, Internet-only cheapie, shot with a single handheld consumer camera in a nondescript bedroom. The cameraman talks way too much, making inane smalltalk and frat-boy comments. Most of the videos I've seen by this guy is ruined by his bullshit logorrhea.

But this one video transcends his blathering.

The stars are two (naturally) large-breasted women. ("So it's a real departure for me!" I explained to Amy.) They spend the first one-third of the video playing with each other's breasts, adeptly incorporating baby oil, hands and mouths. I skipped this part for Amy's viewing and cued it to the point where the male is introduced. The women give his (large and very nice) cock a tandem blowjob. Both women are then fucked in numerous positions while they continue to kiss or play with each other's tits or go down on each other. It concludes with a money shot on their tits.

Pretty basic, vanilla stuff. Except ... Except for that blowjob. You see, these two women have sizzling chemistry. I'm not a huge fan of girl-girl, but what these women essentially do, as the guy is reclined on his back, is have an incendiary makeout session ... and the guy's dick just happens to be perched between their mouths. Their kissing is wet, wild, slow ... almost longing. They savor each other. And ... yeah, there's this huge cock that, almost as a side-effect, gets sucked.

The moment this video becomes worth every penny (even if I did download it for free) is when both men — the one in front of the camera and the one behind — unconsciously cease their nonstop chatter. Suddenly, there is silence, except for the moist sound of lips sucking on lips ... lips sucking on cock ... under-the-breath alto moans. In the span of fifteen seconds, these two lovers instantly own the room, the camera, the cock.

Two minutes later, they break with a nervous giggle; they sense the sea-change. "How's that?" One of them asks. The cameraman/director, clearly caught off guard, is almost speechless, outside of a couple of "Holy fucks." He says that he has filmed probably 1,000 scenes, and this is easily the hottest blowjob he has ever witnessed. I've probably watched that many scenes, and I don't doubt for a minute that he's right.

Amy, watching, clearly agreed. The video is broken up into four files, and this amazing head (later continued with the two women on their knees and shot from the suckee's point of view) happens in the part two. When it ended, I asked Amy: "You wanna keep going?"

"Yes!" she said, enthusiastically.

"You know," I added as I get part three open and running, "if you ever want to set something like this up for me...." She laughed.

We continued watching the whole thing, through all the fucking (both of these women have larger-than-your-usual-pornstar asses — it makes it that much better when they get fucked from behind), right up to the payoff. Just for good measure, the women have one last passionate soulkiss as their cum-covered tits rub together.

(For those interested, I've provided a link to the teaser page for this video in the comments section of this entry.)

The video over, Amy wordlessly popped off the couch and walked around the living room, dining room and kitchen, turning off lights. "After that, you probably want the lights on, though," she considered.

"There's plenty of light," I said, knowing outside ambient light would cast the room in a nice, cool blue wash.

Amy sat down on my lap, straddling me, and began a passionate kiss. Shortly, her top came off. "You get to enjoy my new bra," she said. Few things are hotter than a really well-fitted bra. I played with her covered tits until she popped the front closure and pushed a nipple into my mouth. I'm not sure if it was the focus the video put on my predilection for tit-play or if she was just that turned on, but the she was making tonight about her breasts. She and I shared one of her nipples for awhile, semi-recreating the makeout blowjob we'd seen, with a nipple in place of a cock.

She slid down off my lap, pulled off my pants. So typical of Amy: She never takes my pants off and then my underwear — they always come off together, getting her to the "prize "faster. She rubbed one tit, then the other, up and down my shaft. Finally, her mouth enveloped me, and she primed me with wetness and warmth. She wrapped her breasts around my cock and absorbed my hip thrusts. She seemed to want me to fuck her tits, but she kept coming back to sucking on my dick. At one point, she slowed down and tried her best to re-create a solo version of what the young ladies earlier had accomplished. "I'm imagining you teaming up with someone else as you do that," I suggested.

She stood up, pulled off her pants, straddled me again, pressing her wet cunt against my dick, and sliding up and down. "Am I catching your clit?" I asked her. She moaned in the affirmative. "Use my cock," I encouraged. "Use me to get yourself off." She tried, but what Amy really wanted became obvious when she stood up on the couch and pushed her pussy in my face.

I went to town. So did she, rubbing her cunt all over my mouth, and finally collapsing sideways onto her back — but taking care to keep my mouth in full contact with her clit through the fall. From this position, I brought her to an intense, bucking orgasm.

After a short rest, I asked, "More?" hoping to get to eat her out again.

"More with something else," she said.

I got up on my knees and pushed into her, starting slow and building a rhythm.

"Tell me what else you liked about that video," she ordered.

"I loved their asses," I said. "Nice, big asses, made for fucking."

Amy giggled and kissed me. "How come you never see a video where women are lusting after a man with a big ass?" I had no good answer to that. I was laughing too hard anyway.

I continued: "I have to think it was a good thing that guy didn't fuck 'em in the ass."

"He was huge," Amy said, stating the obvious.

"And I know they're passé, but I loved the one woman's back tattoo," I said. "It's so ... slutty."

Amy laughed. "Don't put too fine a point on it!"

"I'm serious!" I said. Our hips were starting to pick up speed. "You know, you can get temporary tattoos like that," I said, remembering the image of Penelope on her and Odysseus' blog. "You should try one sometime. Then you can be my whore." We both laughed, and things ratcheted up into another gear. I reiterated: "I would fuck my whore." She moaned and pushed back against me harder.

I pulled away and said, "Let's try reverse cowgirl, so I can watch your gorgeous ass."

"I love the way you call it by it's 'official name,'" Amy said with a roll of her eyes.

"What? That's what it's called!"

"I know," she said, straddling my legs, lowering herself onto my cock. "But .... Mmmmmmmmm."

This was a very good position for Amy. She really started getting vocal now. But her thighs weren't holding up; she had to beg off long before either of us wanted her to. Instead, she took up on her hands and knees, on the couch. I took a moment to admire the view before sinking into her once again.

At some point, I found the right spot. "Oh yeah," she panted. "Right there."

I really wanted some talk tonight. "This the way you like to be fucked?" I said.

"Yes!"

"I can tell. Come on, fuck me back." Her rocking became more punctuated. Then I held her ass still while I pulled out, just the tip still in her folds ... and I slammed home.

"Oh God, yes!"

Well, that worked. I tried it again.

"Uhhh. Yes!"

I gathered my strength and fucked her hard with those same long strokes, but faster. And harder. I wanted to hear how loud I could make the hollow clap of my hips hitting her ass. The sound competed with her rhythmic screams. I could tell she was on the verge of new territory. I upped the ante, measuring my palm against her ass, and I came down hard with a slap.

"You know where I'm gonna come?" I hissed.

"Where?"

I slapped her ass again. "I'm gonna come all over your tits."

"Yes, please come on my tits! I love your come on my tits!"

That was the last thing she was able to say. This was just about my highest gear. The only reason I hadn't already come was because I had become momentarily preoccupied with the thought of how incredibly sore my already-wobbly legs were going to be on Monday. Amy brought me back to the moment with sounds I'd never heard before — simultaneously guttural and high-pitched. Was this it? The closest she'd ever been?

Her seeming transcendant state put me over the top. I laughed as I shot my load deep into her: There was no way I was going to pull out of her for the promised breast cumshot. My cock needed to be buried right where it was.

And after we'd come down, our panting the only sound in the room, I realized: I would have been hard-pressed to pull out at all. My hard-on was in a vice grip.

"Jesus, Amy ... You're pussy is holding onto my cock."

This never happens. I mean, she doesn't work to keep those muscles toned. But something had happened.

"I can't relax," she said. Funny, because at that moment, she was probably more relaxed than she'd been in ages. Just ... not her cunt muscles.

We finally were able to disengage, and she fell back into my arms, her eyes closed, her hands searching for my face, her lips devouring mine.

I asked: "Did you actually come?"

"I think so," she said. "If not, it was the closest. For the first time ever, I was able to lose myself and let a door open that I never let open before."

"Damn," I whispered. "Let's work on keeping that door ajar."

"It's funny that, after 16 years together, we're still searching for the ever elusive orgasm-while-fucking," she observed.

"I think it's pretty great," I said, "that we still have a goal like that after 16 years. Most couples have played it all out by then."

We hobbled to the bedroom, leaving all our clothes and the couch pillows all over the living room floor. If we'd tried bending down to pick that stuff up, I doubt we would have been able to get back up again.

Why I Will Never Teach Writing to Kids

2007-03-17T20:24:00.000-06:00

My wife and I are in a nationally branded bookstore over our lunch hour, just picking up a hot chocolate. Amy wants to go to the children's book section to look for the availability of a certain book for one of our kids.

I meet her up there, beverage in hand. She's thumbing through the book.

"It drives me crazy," she notes, "that every time someone speaks in this author's books, it's always 'said,' 'said,' said.' Never anything else."

"That's one of the hardest things," I muse. "Coming up with other words besides 'said.'"

"Well, at least the child learns that word really quickly," she concedes. "They've seen it a thousand times."

"I struggle with finding options to 'said' in my own writing all the time," I offer. We're headed down the escalator now. "Luckily, I've found one that works better."

"What's that?" she asks.

"Moaned."

She body-blocks me into the elevator rail.

"Hey, careful with the hot chocolate!" I warn.

"Let me know if you want some," she says.

Long pause. And then I say:

"The hot chocolate, right?"

Her, Um, Cup Runneth Over.

2007-03-15T16:33:00.000-06:00

Against our better judgment, here we were on another late night — it was 1:00 a.m. — with a kid still not sleeping well, and we were starting something. What the hell were we thinking? A night or two in a row like this can ruin Amy, putting her off her game for several days. She really, really needs her sleep. Apparently on Sunday night, she also needed better judgment.

"Think we can each have orgasms in less than ten minutes?" Amy asked. I promised. This would have to be shorter than Friday night, which had put us both at a point of major exhaustion for the rest of the weekend.

So in the name of brevity — and in keeping with my personal vow to make sure she got "Ye Olde Big O" this time (no more of that feinting orgasm bullshit) — I quickly established a good, rhythmic melody on her clit with my tongue. It's empowering to me that, when I want to, I can bring Amy off very quickly. Sure enough, in very little time, her right hand was down by my face, her middle and ring fingers rubbing against her pubic bone in quick circles, not unlike my tongue. There was no equivocation this time when she went up and over the top: Her whole body shuddered, and she "tossed" my head with her involuntary hip thrusts. My neck was gonna be a little sore the next morning. I'll take it, thanks.

I came up and kissed her. She was feeling too tired to go down on me, so she suggested we fuck. "But be warned, my sexual energy isn't very high right now."

"Maybe we shouldn't?" I asked. If she's not gonna be into it...

"No, it's okay," she insisted. "Just ... I need to move down. I'm tired of my head hitting the top of the bed."

I did her one better: I stood up next to the bed, grabbed her legs, and yanked her all the way across, until her hips were on the mattress edge. Her legs up in the air, my cock pushed into her.

"Easy, easy," she coaxed. I was a little excited ... carrying enough sexual energy for the both of us, I suppose. The position was great, because two feet behind me was a wall. I could brace my feet against that, giving me fantastic leverage as I fucked her.

And then I found ... The Angle. That one slight tweak to my position that sent my cock up and against her g-spot. I had flipped a switch: She was ON now, fucking me back. Even throwing in a few "Oh-yes-yes" breaths along the way. This ride had suddenly gotten good and bumpy and a helluva lot of fun.

Shortly, my legs locked, my butt stiffened, and it was my turn to shudder, a rock thrown in the middle of me, rippling outward until even my toes and fingertips were tingling.

Short, but very intense.

"That was ..." she started.

"Nice," I said.

"Yeah, that works...."

+++
The next night: Amy is lying on top of me, on the couch. We're watching an episode of The Black Donnellys and waiting for our caffeine fix out in the kitchen to finish steeping.

"The only problem with the IUD," she says, apropos of nothing, "is that with you not wearing a condom ... You're all free and everything, and coming everywhere. And for the rest of that night, and all the next day, I'm ..."

Oh God, I thought. She's not going to discuss this out loud, is she? We can usually talk about anything, but this kind of thing ... Well, it kind of kills the romance. Ya know? An ex-girlfriend — the one that introduced me to Amy, as a matter of fact — would talk quite openly about bodily functions and fluids, even sometimes in the midst of sex. This is the definition of buzzkill — look it up in the dictionary. I guess I should be grateful that at least Amy had the wherewithal to wait 24 hours or so before bringing up "the juice."

Still, I had to head her off. While she lingered to find just the right word to finish her thought, I offered up something innocuous:

"You're ... dabbing?" I suggested.

"Yeah!" she agreed.

Okay. We avoided that one. Now, moving on....

Well, no. She kept going.

"I'm walking around, and I'm just ... all soupy."

This conversation isn't happening. This conversation isn't happening. I'm not here.

"I wish there was a way to get all this out ..."

Think happy thoughts. Ummmmm ... Baseball season is almost here! ... Ummmmm ...

"What I need," she continues, "is some ... post-coital ... soup ..."

Aw, hell. I can't resist: "... Removal?"

"Yes!" she exclaims. "Someone should invent a way to remove it."

Really, where is this going?

"We could start a business!" She's on a roll now. "Post-coital soup removal!"

"No way."

"We'd make millions!"

I don't want to encourage this. Really. And she senses my ambivalence.

"Well," she says, sensing my ambivalence (transmitted through my uninterrupted focus on the television screen — though for the life of me, I have no idea what I was looking at, I was just trying to make this conversation go away), "at least it'd be a great band name."

"Now, that is a great idea!" I concede. And what we do is just call ourselves 'PCSR' —and let everyone try to figure out what it stands for."

So, there you go. Maybe we can get Hole to open for us.

Sugasm #70

2007-03-15T11:44:00.000-06:00

Thanks to those of you who voted for me. I'm slightly amazed you even read this drivel. It is greatly appreciated. I would repay every one of you with sexual favors ... but that might be considered bribery.

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #71? 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
You’re So Dirty When You’re Clean. (http://middleurge.blogspot.com)
“The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more.”

Before ( http://thismuse.blogspot.com)
“Condoms and lube go into the bedside drawer next to the Bible. Purse into the drawer with clothes, whore-bag into the closet with my street shoes.”

Rude Bits: Tracy Quan on the Raunch Debate (http://susiebright.blogs.com)
“If someone is making money off your body, you should too.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sex Mad(ness) (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice
The art of pegs (some artistic CBT) ( http://mistress160.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Heart Panties HNT ( http://stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)
Hillary scott episode 4 ( http://boobfixxx.com)
Just Teen Site’s Latest Nude Photo and Video (http://www.taratainton.com )
Light’s Out! ( http://buttocksblog.blogspot.com)
Veronika Zemanova Nude ( http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)

Sexual Poetry
Free verse smut ( http://kislee.naughtyblog.net)
Keys ( http://curious-grl.blogspot.com)
Poem: “International Women’s Day” ( http://porno-poet.livejournal.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Confessors and Confessions ( http://aslipofagirl.blogspot.com)
Flesh is Light, Volume One ( http://humpjones.com)
Fuck Me, Daddy and Other Lessons (Part Two) ( http://www.sex-kitten.net)
A Fuck Superlative: Coming Together (http://brooklynrake.blogspot.com)
Hello, it’s Me, Again! ( http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Once a Junkie… ( http://onlyamirage.blogspot.com)
Release ( http://sarawinters.blogspot.com)
Well, at least I have some good sexy thoughts anyways… (http://ladycalliah.wordpress.com)
Why I don’t do Myspace ( http://www.longhairedgoddess.com/blog )

Sex and Politics
GOPorn: Smut and the American Conservative ( http://mikeymongol.blogspot.com)
The Plot Thickens ( http://radicalvixen.com/blog)
Teacher Fired over Porn Pop Ups ( http://deliciously-naughty.typepad.com)

BDSM & Fetish
A Confession ( http://lestatsdragons.blogspot.com)
Fake Spanking Filmmakers ( http://adelehaze.com)
Fetish ( http://lonelyhouse.wordpress.com)
Happy HNT - Nipple clamp torture ( http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
The Ideal Fantasy School ( http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog)
Instant Replay ( http://pandorablake.blogspot.com)
Isabella’s Eyes - Part XV ( http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Sharing ( http://drtycplinva.blogspot.com)
Y is for yes please ( http://redvelvetropeburn.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
5 Questions - A house in the country - Part One ( http://gentlygently.blogspot.com )
Afternoon Delight (part 2) ( http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
A Fish Story ( http://blog.myspace.com/tit_elation)
Just one hour to fuck ( http://lastbreath.wordpress.com)
A Little Anal ( http://ilichenyou.blogspot.com)
The long tease (http://marriageishot.blogspot.com)
Love Runs Hot ( http://dopaminedreamsoverflow.blogspot.com)
Message Received ( http://bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)
My girlfriend the stripper, part 6 ( http://erotischism.blogspot.com)
Snowbound ( http://joeheather.blogspot.com)
A Soft Romance ( http://eroticjournals.blogspot.com)
Vanilla spicy ( http://junohenry.wordpress.com)

Veronika Zemanova pic courtesy of ErotiCandy Blog.

TMI Tuesday #8: Good Cause

2007-03-14T22:45:00.000-06:00

If you're into playing the meme game, you can check out TMI Tuesday and maybe play yourself sometime. Or perhaps just play with yourself. Some would suggest that is a better use of your time. Provided, of course, you blog about it afterwards.

1. What is your favorite charity? Do you you give your time or just money to that charity?

I've always been a huge fan of the work of the Organization for the Research of Genital Arousal for Sensual Mastery. This not-for-profit has two major goals: to alleviate the root causes of dissatisfaction in the supine, open and obedient, helping their purses swell with the bounty of flowing goodness; and to share lessons learned around the world from those who have also knelt at the altar and spoken in tongues. The group brings the benefits of modern technology to those most in need of climactic occurrences in their otherwise seemingly barren lives.

I have very little money to give to them, but I believe in their cause so much that I have devoted literally hundreds of hours of community service to their goals.

2. Describe your bed. What side do you sleep on?

It's an iron bed. Thin rods, rust-colored. Each of the four posts is capped by a pineapple — the symbol for welcoming. The bed has a sense of fragility and strength, all at the same time.

I never told Amy this, but it was important for me, when we were shopping for this bed, that the bed's design lend itself to the possibility of one or the other of us being tied to it.

For years, it was a big issue for me that we not have one side that we always sleep on. An attempt, I suppose, to avoid yet another rut in a relationship. Many nights, when Amy would come to bed, she would find me sleeping on a side of the bed she had normally been sleeping on. She would wordlessly move to the other side. She probably found my need to do this amusing. But since having children, Amy has always slept on the side closest to the kid's rooms. It's a holdover from when she regularly got up to nurse a child.

Often, when Amy comes to bed, she'll find me on her side; as soon as she's ready to get in, I move over. This warms up the sheets for her. Recently, I noticed that she's started doing the same for me on nights when she gets into bed first. That's just too goddamned precious for words, isn't it? And yet I still made you read it. I can be an asshole that way sometimes.

3. How important is a partners kissing ability?

Dreadfully important. Tragically important. The kissing ability of a partner to effectively use — I'm sorry, to communicate with — the lips, tongue, and teeth is directly related to ... well ... everything that leads after. Especially oral sex. And I think I've made my views on the importance of that pretty clear in the past. In the very recent past, as a matter of fact. Like, two questions ago.

I can think of two occasions where I kissed women whose return kiss was ... thin, hesitant, passive, underwhelming. It spoke to their confidence. Now, nothing says they couldn't be brought along to higher level of confidence. But in at least one case, I wasn't really interested enough to be a ... what? Mentor? I guess that's the word, though it sounds too insanely egomaniacal to write it. Hopefully you know what I mean. In the case of the second woman, she was willing to do anything — anything — but I had to be the total lead on everything we did. And that was getting old fast. The whole dom-sub thing is arousing and a nice place to visit, but I ain't living there.

4. Have you ever purposely tried to seduce someone over a long period of time?

*Sigh*

Clearly, if you have to ask, it's not working. So fuck it.

5. Top or bottom?

Oh, no question: Remove your top first. I really must see them. Right now.

I probably naturally incline myself toward being a top (to the extent that any domination stuff is going on), but that's more because I'm the one with all the fantasies and ideas for what I want to do. Amy is an enthusiastic partner, but only occasionally pushes me into more of a bottom position. I wish she'd do it more, but it's not such a big deal that I need to have a "serious talk" with her about it. It's come up before, it's been mentioned. It'll happen if it happens.

Bonus (as in optional): Have you ever shaved your pubic hair?

The twig and the stones are bare. The area around is kept neat. Having my balls laved is one of my all-time favorite experiences, so anything I can do to encourage such activity is done. Amy seems to appreciate it.

Just Needed A Warm-Up

2007-03-13T23:45:00.000-06:00

We had gone almost two weeks without sex, 'til last Friday night.

It may surprise you that, for someone who claims to be as undersexed as I do, I had never really kept track of how much sex I was (or wasn't) getting, or how long between fucks, until I started this blog. I made a decision that I would document all of Amy's and my sexual encounters here¹, and a side-effect of that decision is that I'm now more aware of when I need to ... um ... look for other topics to write about.

So, yes, I knew that it had been a fortnight, but I didn't say this to Amy. Truth is, a lot of recent stress had led to a slight dampening of my own superlibido. That would take some serious stress. I've been sledgehammering at a wall of work in the office, and nighttime freelancing deadlines seemed to entrain with daytime deadlines. So everything has been coming to a head at once. And then there have been "money fears" (thus the moonlighting), which led to a couple of pretty major fights. ("Major" for us, anyway. Probably most people would find these squabbles to be miniscule, but we so rarely fight that it seems like a big deal when it happens.) The arguments dug deep, lingered long. Basically, the last two weeks have been a recipe for an effective anaphrodisiac.

But as we led into last weekend, I began hinting (almost unconsciously) at an encounter. These not-so-subtle moments come in the form of ogling Amy in ways in which she would notice, or stealing a grope, or under-the-breath suggestions of what I'd like to do to her. It might grow out of a totally innocuous comment, like the "mommy sandwich" thing that came up recently. Sometimes my heavy-handedness can add to stress as the night approaches, because she knows the time is coming to either fuck or beg off. As often as not, she's not in the mood and chooses the latter.

On this particular night, she surprised me: Around 11:30, she yawned and, with heavy lids (from sleep, not seduction), announced: "I'd be up for you going down on me. Would that be okay?"

Meaning, Would you be okay if that's all you got tonight?

"Of course that would be okay." It's hard to stress how little dead air there was between her question and my answer. "That would be more than okay. I've been craving going down on you." A fact.

"You wanna do it out here?" she asked. Meaning our living room.

"Nah. Let's go to bed." I was thinking about how nice it would be to just fall asleep afterwards without having to move again, considering how exhausted we have been. "We'll just have to be quiet so as not to wake anyone up."

It was quite awhile before we finally actually made it to bed, and the reason for the delay was probably the biggest point of stress in our lives right now: One of our kids has not been sleeping well. Neither of us can remember the last night we slept through an entire night without having the kid joining us in bed. And true to form, on this night, almost as soon as Amy and I had "negotiated the terms of our engagement," we heard the kid rustling.

"And that's why we're not having sex," said Amy wearily as she walked toward the bedrooms.

+++
Honestly, I thought it was off. But God bless Amy, she actually didn't bring the child to bed; rather, she hung in there until the kid was back asleep again. I was waiting, warming her side of the bed, when she came in and changed to her pajamas. This is usually a sure sign she doesn't want her tits messed with. She climbed in beside me, another sigh. I almost felt bad for pushing this now — it was clear she wasn't energized. But before I could sheepishly suggest that we rain-check it, she leaned over and gently, sleepily, kissed me. Maybe it was out of a sense of duty .... a need to keep her "promise" ... or if she really was looking forward to a good muffing.

In any case, a makeout session commenced, languid and loving. I thought the tone had been set for the evening. But after a few minutes, with a subtle change in her body position, she had "coaxed" me into a more dominant attitude, my mouth coming down directly on top of hers. I heard heavy breaths changing into moans. A spark had caught, apparently. I wondered if she was surprised too. She took my hand, slipped it under her shirt, and encouraged me to play with the breasts I thought were off-limits this evening.

The repositioning continued until I had a leg over hers, my weight on her leg, my hard-on rubbing against her thigh. The moment I let go of her breast to slide a hand down inside her pajama bottoms' elastic band, she was hiking up her top.

"Suck on my tits while you rub my pussy," she whispered. Welcome to second gear, ladies and gentlemen.

The kisses became more intense, and the mouths spread to earlobes, necks, chins, and even armpits. (One of my favorite erogenous zones, in case you're keeping score at home.) My cock, formerly against her thigh, was now in the midst of full-scale frottage, and we both simmered in the tease — until we simultaneously reached a level of frustration that caused us to pull apart and rid ourselves of boxers and pajamas.

I spread her legs wide, and while it was certainly tempting to plunge into her right then ... I wanted to partake in a favorite activity: Sliding the underside of my cock back and forth along her cunt. A most wonderful tease, it stimulates both her clit and my glans. I could do this for a long time. On this particular night, Amy was into it too. Her hands slipped down to her pussy.

"That's right," I encouraged, "play with yourself." One hand continued down there while the other came back up to her tits, twisting a nipple, caressing a swell. She was moaning. "Feel my cock," I continued. "My cock is a tongue." She moaned louder as I continued the tease-rub. The furrow I was plowing was getting slicker. Finally, she pulled my head into hers and, after a deep soul kiss, announced: "I want your mouth."

"Really?" I said. "Where?" Amy only likes teasing to a point. Apparently I'd passed that point: With a sigh, she roughly pushed my head down to her cunt.

Oh. That's where.

Kneeling, I held her legs together, straight, toys pointed to the ceiling. I gently bit her heels, and then slowly kissed and licked my way down her calves ... stopping briefly to suck on that soft, warm area on the back of her knees. I continued holding the legs tightly together when I got down to her pussy. I love the way it seems so secretive, hiding behind the thighs. Partly buried treasure, but reachable with a long enough tongue-reach. Which is exactly what I did. This never fails to tickle her, so I didn't do it long. Instead, I started long licks up and down her pussy, soaking it, driving her crazy. She started pushing her legs apart, but she was working against my hands as they used as much strength as necessary to hold the legs together. She finally won (or maybe I let her), and the thighs were parted. My prize, my flower, awaited, humid and heady.

As I settled in to the serious work, I purposely kept from maintaining a rhythm. (I was a frustrating little tease tonight, apparently!) I got her a little worked up, then backed off, letting things build. Normally, this annoys Amy: When she wants her orgasm, she wants it. Tonight, she humored me somewhat. I finally settled in, though, and worked her clit hard with my tongue, the way she likes, flat and fast, finally getting her to a the point where she pushed me away. That was one, I thought, but I was hardly done — I hadn't eaten nearly enough pussy yet. She seemed to be in agreement, because I looked up at her silent figure and laughed out loud when I saw that she was furiously giving the American Sign Language sign for "more" — a holdover from the days our children learned ASL when they were pre-verbal.

Not to disappoint, back down I went, with more purpose this time, a better sense of rhythm, with only occasional forays away from the clit. I got her to the same place again. I rested my head on her stomach ... for about 15 seconds ... and then went back in for a third time. Again, she came to the point where she was writhing and couldn't stand my tongue there anymore.

I rested my head on her thigh. Her foot went snaking around, in search of a cock. "I need this," she said as she tried to grip it with her toes. Apparently, we had forgotten this was supposed to be a quick gobble-and-goodnight. She pointed to her pussy and said: "I need it right here."

I warmed the lube in my hands. One hand coated my cock, the other rubbed against her cunt. My dick slipped in. All my weight on one elbow — a favorite position, it leaves one hand free to caress wherever I want while still being able to thrust. Tonight it was long , slow strokes, intending for this to last. Amy's eyes were mostly closed, but occasionally she'd open them and "catch" me staring at her. God, I love this woman, and it's hard sometimes not to freak her out with my intensity when I watch her getting fucked. I would feel myself getting close to coming, and again, I'd break my own rhythm to make this all last as long as possible.

I pulled out and rolled her over on her side, pushing her top leg up for better access. I slid back in, and pushed deep. Heavenly. I fucked her for awhile like that, but it's never long before that position gets awkward, so we continued the roll until she was on her knees, legs together, making her feel tighter, my knees on the outside. Something about doggy-style — what is it? — that always turns the situation into serious fucking. I started pistoning hard now, and it was intense. Mindful of the sleeping kid, Amy pushed her head into the pillow, minimizing her sounds. I tried to control my breathing as I grabbed on to her hips a little harder.

All that messing about earlier with the rhythm, trying to stretch things out ... I paid for it now. Now I felt a long way from anything resembling an orgasm. This planned sprint suddenly had the potential to turn into a marathon — and we both knew that we should probably be sleeping while we could. What I really needed was some good dirty talk, but in this room, that wasn't really an option. I asked her to turn back over so we could be face-to-face, mouth-to-ear, and hopefully do some dirty talk a la pianissimo. Unfortunately, after we started in missionary again, Amy realized that her pussy was too downright sore to continue.

"Let me go down on you," she said. She swiveled around and started an enthusiastic blowjob, pausing briefly to look up at me and suggest: "You're welcome to imagine that you're fucking Atia." (Yes, we had once again been watching Rome earlier that evening, an episode that was jam-packed with beautiful British actors shedding togas and gettin' busy.)

I laughed and remarked, "I'd rather imagine Mark Antony fucking you ... while I I lie next to you, watching ... and maybe fucking Atia too."

At one point, she pulled off for a breath, and I suggested she just do me with her hand. It wasn't long at all when that started. My load of cum was testament to how long it had been since we had done this.

"Huh," she remarked with a tone of surprise. She always feels incredibly incompetent when she tries to masturbate me, and she hadn't expected the results.

"I'm not surprised at all," I admitted. "I've never been obsessed with this in the past, but now all I can think about is you giving me handjobs. When you started doing that, I was done for." Let's hope she noted that remark and is eager to "manipulate" more in the future.

Amy admitted that she hadn't truly come that night ... She said they kept hiding or passing her by. I felt a little bad with all the teasing I'd done ... apparently I'd messed with her "orgasmic path" in the same way I'd made it difficult for me to come. I vowed to myself to be more kind and direct next time.

I was astonished to discover how sweaty I was afterwards. And especially sticky the next morning. The kind of stickiness that I never mind, that I almost regret showering off. But plenty of elements of that night's sex lingered with me long after.

--
¹ I'm beginning to have mixed feelings about this decision. The con: For all the wild fantasies and dreams I have about Amy's and my sex life, the fact is that it's pretty fuckin' vanilla sex over and over again. Short of going all Nicholson Baker on ya and getting into the minutiae of every moment, I'm not sure I can keep the writing about it fresh. (Of course, the actual sex always seems fresh to me, but then I'm a stereotypical horndog.) The pro, as far as I can tell: The blog exists as a sort of anthropological document of a typical (?) American couple's sex life ... or at least my perspective on it. I like this idea, because it helps to couch the vanity of a sex blog in a more scientific realm. Even if that is total bullshit. [Return]

BlogMeBlogYou II: Dream A Marriage Drawn with Dotted Lines

2007-03-08T11:50:00.000-06:00

Push (I push ) until U get 2 higher ground
Hey, push - U're never 2 young, U're never 2 old
Yeah push - don't stop until U go
- Prince [taken entirely out of context]

This is the second in an ongoing series of posts about other blogs I read. These words could be stuck in the "comments" section of the other blog, but really this is less a "reaction" to the original entry than an extensive elaboration.

Married Exploits: Confused

Now that Odysseus and I have opened the window into new sexual adventures and possibilities, I find that it affects what I think and feel when I'm with our friends.

That's Penelope of Married Exploits, kicking off a blog entry that is now more than a month old. (I've hit a crazy-busy patch at work, and that combined with some moonlighting work has made steady blogging quite the challenge.)

A lot of the blogs that I read on a regular basis are chosen because I want to live vicariously through their experience. Some of the bloggers who experiment with sharing their bed are so far out "ahead" that I can't imagine Amy and me doing what they do.

But Odysseus and Penelope -- they're a little newer to this experience. And though we have hardly come as far as this couple, when I read their give-and-take on the blog, I can almost imagine Amy and me sharing very similar thoughts. In other words: I can see Odysseus and Penelope's taillights ... and imagine possibly pulling up beside them someday. (Such heady life goals Denis entertains, you know?)

Anyway. Back to Penelope's thoughts:

In bed, Odysseus and I talk about the friends we are attracted to and the possibilities that could happen with them. This begins to create expectation in my mind and I begin to go into social situations with almost the mind set like I did when I was single. "Is this person a possibility? Should I flirt with them? What if?"

I once posted about a party Amy and I attended where we met an attractive couple. After the party, in a response to my query, Amy indicated the couple's positive "potential" for a foursome/swap/whatever. I put potential in quotes for a reason: I'm pretty sure that Amy was not going beyond the theoretical in that short conversation. While we fantasize during sex about such encounters, I wonder if, for her, this is anything more than an indulgence in my kinks.

I've been tempted to put that to the test — to tell Amy straight out that I am considering asking for a threesome or foursome for my wild-card coupon. I think to myself, What's the harm in putting it out there? "Anything ... Just ask." What's the worst that could happen? A "no?"

That is the worst that could happen. And if it did, certainly life would go on. Except that ... a hard "no" condemns the fantasy to Fantasyland in perpetuity.

I would live a very happy, fulfilled, lucky life without watching Amy suck another man's cock ... without watching Amy fuck another man while I fuck his wife ... without even fucking Amy in front of another person or couple. I mean, it's just a silly fantasy, right?

Yes ... on one level. On another level, it's a kink. A big one for me. And a kink runs deeper, is more potent, weighs heavier than mere fantasy. A lot of seed has been spilled, friends, in the dream-pursuit of the Orgy Of Four. So, while it would not be a tragedy to see that fantasy upended once and for all ... it would be mighty sad nonetheless.

So I'm caught in that oh-so-cliché Purgatory of the Meek: Do I push and take the chance of having a fantasy hobbled once and for all? Or do I stay mum and preserve the insatiable power that the image holds?

Of course I know what you're all going to say: Go for it, you idiot. Maybe I will. Maybe I'll surprise myself.

Then I realize Odysseus and I have awakened this whole other realm of possibility to which most people, in general, are oblivious. They view us as married and sealed off. They view themselves as married or in a relationship and sealed off. The sexual energy, and often energy in general, is completely dormant. They are tired working adults.

In my head, I can't accept that my sexual energy is "sealed off." I view life around me in terms of sensuality. Pleasure. My life is a tide, and I have one insanely strong sex undertow. I'm a closeted libertine.

But I wonder if Penelope is describing my wife. On certain nights, in certain situations, Amy might entertain the thought of pushing that envelope. But, by her own admission, these are not dominant thoughts. I'd say, "Well, that's a difference between men and women," except that this oversimplified assertion wouldn't explain women like ... well, Penelope. And so many others I've come to know since launching this blog. Amy is my life partner, there's no question. But it's hard to think of an area in our relationship where we exist on planes further apart.

So what to do with this dichotomy? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps pushing ... gently.

How I long for — how many of my fellow bloggers long for — a world where the borders of marriage are more fluid. Where a couple can reserve certain emotions, certain intimacies just for themselves ... but still feel the freedom to share a sensuality with others who feel likewise. Oh, I know that this world exists now — many of you prove this. But wouldn't it be wonderful to not have to hide behind our anonymity, to be so scorned by fellow members of society?

Okay, I'll get off of this before I lapse into a rewrite of John Lennon's "Imagine."

I do keep in mind something else that Penelope points out:

If we keep the window open to these things and get aroused thinking and talking about it, reality always might be kind of disappointing. If we actually walk through the door, reality might fuck with our heads and be disappointing too.

There's always the fear of reality shitting upon the fantasy. But it comes down to "nothing wagered, nothing gained," right? So you try it ... and it sucks. Great! Now you can put that one behind you, opening up lots of time to obsess about another kink!

+++
Oh, Pen and Odie ... one more thing:

It has to be with the RIGHT couple, and god knows what this couple is really like.

If Amy and I work slowly down that road ... If I ask her ... If she says "okay ..." In a perfect world, Amy and I would be your right couple. It's not just something to think about; it's something to be fierecely aroused by.

Wet Wednesday #1: Rocco Siffredi, Mentor?

2007-03-07T10:46:00.000-06:00

Due to the continuing ... well, questionable quality of the material supplied by the TMI Tuesday folks, I decided that this week I would wait 'til Wednesday to do a meme, deciding between the offerings of TMI Tuesday and the newer, less-known Wet Wednesday. Because Wet Wednesday's questions have been pretty interesting. Until this week. Of course.

So it was a tough decision between the lesser of two weak memes, but I decided to give Wet Wednesday a spin.

Why bother do this at all, you ask? Because I feel like all the other posts that are waiting to be addressed are major issues, and I'm still in a hardhat-work-zone where I just don't have the time to really delve into the issues I want to here. At least the memes are quick-and-dirty posts that keep fresh content on the blog.

Without further ado....

1. Have you ever watched a self-help sex DVD? Why or why not?

I have seen the ads for these many times in the back issues of Playboy and Penthouse, but never for a moment did I consider looking at one. I just assumed that they would be ... well, boring. There are so many other places to go for material like this — I'm talking largely, but not exclusively, the Internet — that I have to think the companies that put this product out aren't really selling much of it at all.

Besides, why would you need to watch this stuff when all the hardcore pornography is just as educational? How do I know this? Well, it says so right there at the beginning of every porn DVD. It must be true.

2. Have you ever read a self-help sex book? Why or why not?

I did read one of these once. Oh shit, I'm not going to remember the name of it now. But I remember the circumstances ... It was this period of time in the mid-1990s when Amy and I were in really bad shape, relationship-wise. On the verge of ending it. And the sex was awful. And I think I got it in my head that rediscovering myself sexually was somehow going to help things. The couples therapist we were seeing at the time was also giving us "exercises" to help us find our way sexually again, and I probably had some insane idea that this book was going to work in conjunction with that work.

The book had been given to us as a joke present one Christmas, and we'd just thrown them in a bottom shelf of an out-of-the-way bookcase. And I found this one one day and decided to delve into it. Here's my great revelation from the book, folks: Studying your genitals in a mirror will not save your sex life or your relationship. There, I just saved you $12.95. You're welcome.

3. If you and your partner were just not clicking sexually, would you ever see a sex therapist to "save" your relationship? Why or why not?

I'm sure we would. Regular couples therapy was really good for us, so I'm sure if we thought that was the best thing for us, we would consider it. But the fact is — I hope this doesn't sound boastful — Amy's and my communication is pretty sharp right now, and we talk very openly about all things sexual. I think we would probably be able to work out any major issues that came up, sexual or otherwise. Some would be harder than other. Sex is not one I'm worried about at the moment.

4. Premature ejaculation, limp erections, frigidity ... What is your biggest sexual frustration (besides not getting any)?

Well, when I was younger, the issue was definitely premature ejaculation. But I haven't had to worry about that in God-knows-how-long. And I've never had an issue with erections. (To answer your question: No, I don't have one right now.)

5. If you could choose a great, healthy, trusting, life-long marriage/relationship with no sex OR a so-so marriage/relationship with someone you had great, awesome sex with, which would you choose?

There's a toughie.

Ever the optimist, I'd probably choose the so-so marriage with the awesome sex ... with the (probably mistaken) impression that over time, we could turn the so-so elment into fantastic. Either that, or I'd figure that I'd find the non-sexual elements that were missing in the marriage, I could find them somewhere else in another relationship ... a sort of emotional/social affair.

... And Could I Have a Side of Lube With That?

2007-03-06T15:15:00.000-06:00

This morning, I'm climbing out of bed, my fingers tingling from hitting and re-hitting Snooze. Child No. 1 is already asleep next to Amy. Child No. 2 walks in and announces that I must read a book to said child. Now.

But I have to take a shower, get ready for work. Amy knows this, so she intervenes. As I close the bathroom door, I hear Amy say to Child No. 2:

"Come snuggle with me. We can make a Mom sandwich."

Now, I know this was meant to be helpful. And I know the sentence was uttered in complete innocence. But my mind takes that utterance completely out of the context where it was used and inserts it into a new context — one where children are far, far away.

The problem isn't working around the raging erection in the shower. The problem isn't adjusting my pants during a meeting later that morning when my mind wanders back to her sleepy proposal. I have 30 years of experience dealing with those two issues.

No, the problem is the fact that I will get no work done today until I can figure out the answer to this question:

What will it take to get Amy to say those words to me someday?

You're So Dirty When You're Clean.

2007-03-02T23:45:00.000-06:00

In the shower, your lover's skin feels entirely different.

Soap up your hands. Run them over her. Slick, light, wanton. A thin sheet of soapy water between palm and chest. Slip behind her. Feel her head loll against your shoulder, catching hot rain from above, wet hair spreading, sticking to your skin. Your arms under hers. Try to hold her breasts, slick, escaping, all the more stirring. Run your slippery hands over them, make her moan softly in your ear. Wonder if this could, in any conceivable way, feel as good to her as it does to you.

On your knees. Newly soaped hands. Massage up one leg. Smooth ... She shaved this morning, she had her suspicions about tonight. Slowly up a thigh, hand-over-hand. Linger near the top, then switch legs, starting at the ankle again. This one will go much faster because, let's face it, your patience is wearing thin. Your cock so hard it barely bobs as you move. You want to grab that cunt. It's the point of water's egress, the rivulets running off and around her breasts, flashflood through the valley, cascading past her stomach, compelled to the same place you want.

The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more. She's wet, but you wonder if she's wet. Look up at her: Water bouncing off her head, with light, making a halo. Smile back at her. Turn her sideways, and now both hands work, one plays in the furrow, one slides in the crack of her ass. Wonder if spending this much time on her ass gives away your intentions. Wonder how much you care if you give yourself away.

Standing again, slick erection pressed against her back. Maybe more shampoo than you need in the palm of your hand, but this is not a moment for economy. Work fingers through her thick curls, deep into her head. From the forehead, work backwards, many fingers pressing many circles, moving to the side of the head. Again. This time, from the base of the neck, up through the thicket, too dense to reach the forehead. More. Above the ears, working hands to the queen's crown until fingers interlace. Once more. No one ever, ever follows the bottle's instructions, but tonight you will most definitely Rinse and Repeat. Hell, you may even do the conditioner twice.

Your slow pace is not sped up in any way when she reaches behind her and plays with your cock, her touch distracted, her intentions anything but.

"What about you?" she finally asks. "Don't you want to get clean?"

You are sure you look smug when you lace your fingers behind your head, spread your legs a bit, lean against the shower wall, and wait for her service ... but you go with it. After all, it's that sense of humor that caught her in the first place.

She rushes to get to your cock and balls, and then spends a lot of time there. Then one hand works underneath, between your legs, back, to your ass; she has to stoop down a little to reach, and she smiles wickedly as she does this. She wraps her arms around you, soaping your back, into scratching your back, into embracing, pushing her chest out and against you. Wet tits against soapy chest. Almost no friction at all, just silky wetness. Softer than the twined tongues.

It's a sensory banquet. Never enough. But you know it's already late. If anything else is going to happen, you'll need to get a move on.

***
We had used the guest bathroom for the shower because it's further from the kids' bedrooms. For the same reason, we moved to the guest bedroom, wearing only towels. Amy tossed off hers when she jumped in the bed. I stood on it, straddling her and instructing her to remove my towel. In no time, my knees were against her armpits and she was hungrily sucking my cock, her hands placing mine on the back of her head, an indication that she wanted me to fuck her mouth. I obliged. "Beautiful," I said. "You suck cock so well. So beautiful."

She pushed my cock between her breasts. Something she's been doing a lot recently. Not that I'm complaining. Tit fucking is one of my favorite pastimes — just like baseball and campfire songs! — and I'm fortunate to have a lover whose tits were made to be fucked. I like to linger on the upstroke, let her take the head back in her mouth, a little added lubrication, before I pull back through her cleavage again.

At some point I couldn't stand it: I had to kiss her deep, experience that hot, shower-softened mouth, lips further swollen from cocksucking, a vague taste of dick and precum. I stretched my legs out, lowered down on top of her, rubbing my cock against her cunt as we chewed each other's lips, lost in lust.

"Where do you want me to go?" I whispered. I wasn't even sure what I was asking, honestly, it just sounded good at the moment. She rolled over, offering me her ass. Really? Down I went, devouring each globe. Nipping, kissing, licking. Working toward the crack, and then away. A rush, a feint. A charge, a bluff.

We were on the verge of new territory here. I was so hungry to eat her ass, I can't even describe it. I wondered if I could control myself. But I knew there was still an uneasiness for her. I made one more move, my lips approaching her asshole. She was surprisingly relaxed. Still, I paused.

"Are you game?" I asked, my lips still partly pressed against her ass.

She laughed, and then let out an overly dramatic, nervous moan. "Mmmmmmmmmmm ... Probably not tonight, I don't think."

"No worries," I said. I masked my deep disappointment well.

"Sorry," she said between kisses, back up beside her again. "I probably gave you a mixed signal when I turned over like that. I'm not sure why I did it."

I whisper in her ear, "We won't do anything you're not ready for." And then I can't help to add: "But something tells me when you finally let me do it ... you're going to love it."

I reached behind me for the bottle of lube.

"Awwww, you came prepared!" she said.

"Slipped it in my pocket earlier tonight." I hoped I didn't sound too presumptuous. I dribbled the lube on her pussy, worked it into her lips with one hand. I encouraged her to show me how to masturbate her. "Is this too soft?"

"A little," she whispered. After a moment: "Now, too hard."

"In between that," I wondered aloud.

"Not hard, but with purpose," she said. An instruction that came off too enigmatic for me in the heat of the moment. Instead, I ask for one of her palms, fill it with lube, and put the slickened hand on my cock.

"I've been thinking a lot about you jacking me off," I said. It was true. Handjobs haven't really interested me in the past. For some reason, I haven't been able to get the image out of my head. I think it's the exhibitionistic/voyeuristic aspect of it: Handjobs, unlike most blowjobs, are delivered with eyes open, and I love when she watches me come. We continued to masturbate each other.

I hooked my arm underneath her knees, and lifted her legs. Pushed my cock into her. From that position, I could watch her almost as a third person. I encouraged her to play with herself while we fuck. She obliged, a breast in one hand, the other frigging herself. The pace was slow. Sometimes, she'd use her heels against my ass to push my cock deeper.

And the sight, the sound, the feel ... it was just too much tonight: I came very quickly, a low-key climax, where she's not even one-hundred-percent sure it really happened. She asked. "Yep, I sure did," I sighed, making no effort this time to hide disappointment.

"Well, you're going to have to go down on me and give me mine," she said. It took me by surprise — both for her bluntness, and because ... well, of course I was going to go down on her. Did she really think I'd miss a chance to eat her out?

After, as she came down off her climax, Amy asked, "So, you really don't mind going down on me with all that lube and cum?"

"You're kidding, right?" I punctuated that with another deep thrust of my tongue.

"Of course," she said. "What was I thinking. You're the guy who eats everything."

TMI Tuesday #7: "Linger" Lost

2007-02-27T10:44:00.001-06:00

I almost bailed on the TMI Tuesday meme in favor of Wet Wednesday. I've been disappointed in TMI Tuesday's quality of questions. But they got a reprieve this week ... I was actually able to work with these questions. So, thanks, TMI, for stepping it up a little bit.

1. Commando: Sexy or disgusting? Do you have a "best" commando story?

I love the way going commando feels. No true commando story, but occasionally on a weekend, Amy would discovered much to her surprise (why was she always surprised?) that I wasn't wearing underwear. (I've also occasionally discovered that she had no underwear on, but it's rare and usually only happens when, say, the panties load is in the washer.) There's a whole "porn star" aspect to going commando: So many male porn stars prove when they disrobe that they have dispensed with the totally unnecessary underwear. Their cocks pop right out, waiting to be serviced.

Sometimes I do it because I like the way it feels, but sometimes I don't wear underwear in hopes that the discovery will start something. The truth is, that never happens. Since I do this on the weekends, that's a time of the week usually fraught with pressure of trying to accomplish everything in our home life that we were too busy or tired to handle during the week. This was hard before we had kids. Now, with weekly classes or activities scheduled on Saturdays, the idea of sexual spontaneity is almost impossible to imagine.

There's a deep-seeded fear I have of going commando, courtesy an old episode of The Rockford Files. Jim is attending (or, more likely, crashing) a high-class suarée when masked gunmen break in and rob the guests of their money and valuable jewelry. Rather than demanding the male party-goers hand over their wallets, the robbers tell them to remove their pants. All trousers are collected, accomplishing two goals: The wallets are stolen, and any party-goer who is feeling heroic is less likely to pursue the robbers when he is pantsless.

Of course, every single male at the party is wearing underwear. In fact, every one of them is wearing boxers. Much less revealing, pretty much just like wearing a thin pair of shorts. (Remember those ten minutes or so in the 1980s, when some women wore men's boxers as their outerwear?) Even when I was 13, this seemed odd to me. Not one pair of BVDs in the group? Was this a status thing?

Anyway, whenever I pull my jeans up over my bare ass, carefully zipping up to make sure not to catch skin, this Rockford Files ep pops into my head. And I wonder: Is today the day that someone walks up to me on the street, pushes a muzzle into my ribcage, and demands my pants? Not that it stops me. But it does give me pause for thought.

2. Foreplay: Is there such a thing as too much?

Considering I was in a relationship (in college) in which there was nothing but foreplay for two years — and I loved it — I'd have to say: Never enough. Though I think Amy feels differently. She gets edgy after we start down the road to Orgasmville. She's totally impatient. She wants me to cut to the chase — or even the end of the chase — a.s.a.p.

Nothing would make me happier than Amy and I having a day where, from the moment we woke up, she told me, "You are spending the day with your face in my cunt." I wouldn't need more than that for quite some time.

3. Oral sex: Good if you are getting? Good is you are giving? Equally ewwwww?

Good if it is happening. And happening slowly. Luxuriously. With a sense that the giver is savoring the moment. When Amy gave me the coupon for a "mind-blowing blowjob," this is what I envisioned. One where she really makes a big-ass deal out of how great it is to suck my cock. Where she makes lots of eye contact. Moans. Whispers. Drools on it. Where her tongue plays with my balls ... endlessly. No goal of orgasm for some time ... Just letting arousal build and build.

This would be truly special. Most times — due to time constraints, or exhaustion, or a desire on her part to get to the fucking, or just other things on her mind — the blowjobs can be rushed. And the truth is, her mindset has invaded mine to some extent such that more often than not, my own time spent going down on her is similarly rushed. The concept of the lingering, unrushed orgasm, sadly, has slipped out of our grasp. Maybe a day will come when it can be found again.

4. Orgasm: Is one per night enough, or does the first one just get your motor running?

I don't get to find out very often. Amy is usually sleepy or moving on to something else after one. Not since the early days of our relationship has she been interested in having several sessions / orgasms in a row. I think this speaks to the level of interest she has in sex in general. She got hers, and now she either wants to get to sleep (if it's late) or get back to doing something around the house (in the middle of the day).

Amy rarely relaxes. I consider it one of my major goals in this marriage to help her find more ways for her to let go and kick back.

5. Morning sex: "Oh hell yes!", "Well if I have, too." or "Just get in the shower and go to work."

It's another time of the day when, from the moment she wakes up, Amy's head is not in the sex game. The times that we've had morning sex are the (all too rare) times when she has woken up without a child already present or without the pressure of a mental pages-long to-do list. I suppose one person in the relationship needs to be responsible, right? Probably an okay trade-off for not having morning sex.

I know, I know: Who the hell am I kidding?

Bonus (as in optional): Have you ever had anonymous sex? Have you ever had an orgasm without at least knowing your partner's last name?

I've never done either of these things. Not that it wouldn't be fun to try someday. Actually, what would really interest me is watching some anonymous stranger having sex with Amy. That would be most enjoyable.

Laying Groundwork.

2007-02-24T01:21:00.000-06:00

I received a couple of comments on my blog entry about our night at a formal party that I found a little disturbing. Not "disturbing" in the sense that I was repelled by them; rather, they sent ripples across the surface of my understanding of my sexual relationship ... and of the purpose of this blog. For several days now, I have been turning things over in my head. This entry is more for myself than readers. I'm thinking out loud, I guess.

The first comment came from the illustrious Tom Paine, who, upon reading the entry, simply noted:

Very nice the way you two are moving along. Good luck.

And then, very recently, Mike of Shared Cindy wrote a similar comment:

I am an avid follower of your progress.

Seemingly innocuous notes, maybe; but to me, they force to the front burner an issue that I need to sort out: What, exactly, am I progressing toward? I'm not sure if these readers intended or assumed with their comments that I have a specific sexual goal ... say, inviting others into our bed, or watching Amy fuck another man. While both of these examples are deep-seeded fantasies — shared to an equal or lesser extent by Amy — they're really beside the point.

I'm writing because I want to "explore the issues that grow out of the aging sexual relationship." (A quote from my inaugural post.) Interestingly, I haven't ended up doing a lot of that exploration yet, because I've (unexpectedly) been writing about all the actual sex we've been having. (A pretty great problem to have!) I imagine this more "active" period is fleeting, and that the underlying issues that brought me to this blog in the first place are still there, waiting to be dealt with.

There's a big part of me that is envious of what Tom Paine (and C.) and Mike (and Cindy) have. But so many factors make that kind of relationship entirely unrealistic for Amy and me. Primary among them is Amy's feeling that sex isn't ... well ... as important to her. While she might indulge me in some of my fantasies sometime, the fact remains that her libido is maybe a tenth of mine. She's good, giving, and game ... but not necessarily looking to push the boundaries.

I will keep pushing boundaries, though, both during sex and through conversation. If it's possible, I want to help Amy rediscover her sexual self, to glimpse the woman I find so stimulating, so electrifying. This can't be accomplished if Amy is feeling uncomfortable in any way, so the whole boundary-pushing thing has to be handled with care. No sudden moves. No unexpected surprises. In short: Trust. Now: If, down the line, through further discussion, we discover that there is a more "non-traditional" activity we'd like to really try — say, inviting another couple or individual into our bed — then I would be more than game (if I was convinced that Amy was truly into the experience).

In reality, my expectations are low in that regard. We are a long way from that kind of play. In the meantime, the increased communication that would be part of this examination of our sex life may naturally improve things. As we discover more about what turns us on, what we're willing to do, and what we really want, the quality of the sex could reach a higher level than we've ever imagined.

Ever the optimist, eh, Denis?

V-Day, Night Two: Movie, Dinner, Dessert.

2007-02-22T11:45:00.000-06:00

A date.

A date!

Unbelievable. Date clothes! A gift from Amy last Christmas, but not worn until I had good reason. That reason came last Saturday night.

A babysitter! We sprung for one! An extravagance, when you figure in the cost of movie and dinner. Reserved for truly special times ... like, say, Valentine's Day.

A movie! One that isn't animated!

Dinner! In a restaurant with nary a pizza or grilled cheese sandwich on the menu! A wine list! Valet parking! Waiters who don't write down your order! Lookatme, Mom — I'm a grown-up!

I had hoped that Amy would be wearing her new Valentine's Day present tonight, but as it turned out, the bra was running a little small. So she'll return it for something that we both like, and in the meantime, she put on an incredibly hot sheer black bra front-closure bra she picked up yesterday ... So delicious that there oughta be a law. I'm talking, of course, about the law that would state she's not allowed to put anything over it when she wears it. Amy wasn't particularly dolled up, going casual (at my recommendation), but she still looked ravishing. Which worked out well, seeing as a ravishing was on tap for that night.

***
The movie was Pedro Almodovar's Volver. It was a little piece of joy. (Thank God! When you rarely go out to movies, seeing a film worth the money feels like a matter of life and death.) Like most of Almodovar's films, it had a strong erotic undercurrent -- though this time there isn't a hint of sex, or even a romance. Almodovar accomplishes the sexual charge through his camera lens' infatuation with Penélope Cruz. Or at least her body. He costumes and films her as if she's a modern-day Sophia Loren, complete with the most delectable cleavage I've seen on screen in ages. (At one point, a character asks Cruz, "Where did you get that chest?... Are they real?" Indeed, it was a question I asked myself throughout, distracting myself into trying to remember what she'd looked like in the other films I'd seen her in.)

On a couple of occasions, Almodovar indulges the audience in extended aerial shots, angles that shoot straight down into a most inspiring open blouse as Cruz does seemingly mundane things like washing dishes or walking up a stairway. And there is a moment in this film when she walks up a cobble street pulling a small shopping cart, her hair perfectly up-yet-tousled, that feels like something straight out of the 1940s. Cruz is so glorious, so delicious that I told Amy afterwards I just might have to drop someone off my laminated list to make room for her.

***
I had kept the dinner location a secret, but Amy asked for one hint and easily figured it out. It's an old, romantic haunt of ours from our pre-children days. A storefront type that opens into a lush, cozy space that looks bigger than you'd think from the outside. The decor is eclectic but tasteful. They've added live music since we were last there too, adding a new element to the ambiance. I dropped Amy off and drove away to find a restaurant with valet parking (It's the only way to park in this neighborhood), and by the time I got back, Amy was already seated, raving about the singer/pianist, who had just laid down a pretty damn good version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Throughout the night, he brought out renditions of Billy Joel and Elton John songs, sung in a lower register than usual, which brought a new facet to songs that otherwise would have been pretty tired.

Fingers were crossed that the food was as good as we remembered. We weren't disappointed. I enjoyed a salmon filet with a light saffron wine sauce on a bed of spinach and some terrific gourmet mashed potatoes. Amy's dish blew us away: a sauteed tilapia with a sauce that included raisins, tomato marinara, and white wine. The waiter gave us a tremendous recommendation on a red wine; if I hadn't been driving, we would have easily finished off two bottles.

We talked a lot about Volver during the dinner, remembering the moments that resonated. We also did a good amount of people-watching (though we didn't scan the room for a fantasy fuck-buddy). Eventually, I couldn't resist bringing the conversation around to ... well, you know.

"I'm trying to decide if I'm going to cash in one of my coupons tonight," I started.

Amy laughed. "You know," she said, "I can't really remember what I wrote. Well, I can remember one of them."

"Would you like me to recite them, verbatim?" I asked.

We ran through them. (It was the anal sex coupon she remembered.) I reiterated the effect that they had had on me. She asked my thoughts on the "wildcard" coupon, and I just said that my I was too overwhelmed by the options to think clearly about it right now.

Amy changed the subject: "I completely forgot to tell you something about your Valentine's Day present: I didn't tell you how amazingly fun it was to try those on."

This was a nice surprise. When I imagined what that shopping experience must have been like for Amy, "fun" was not the word that sprung to mind. Based on my previous shopping excursions with her, the harsh lighting and mirrors in most dressing rooms only seemed to dampen her spirits. Not this time, apparently.

"I was actually getting turned on while I tried them," she admitted.

"That's so cool," I said. "You were there for over an hour, it seems like you tried on a ton of stuff."

"Oh yeah," she said. "The lady helping me really got into it, too, helping me find stuff. I tried on a lot, but the cool thing was that even the items I didn't take, it wasn't because they looked bad on me; they just didn't look as good as the outfits I came home with."

This is an amazing development, on two fronts: First, that she was so comfortable with her body that she had no problem trying on sexy clothes; secondly, that she was actually turned on while doing it.

"In fact," she revealed, "on Valentine's Day, at work, I got to thinking about what we were going to do that night, and I actually got really aroused. For the first time ever at this job, I was trying to figure out where I could go to ... take care of things."

"Did you?" I had to ask.

She laughed. "No, no. But it felt really good to feel ... eroticized again. Like, I'm coming back in touch with that part of me again."

Um ... I'm sorry, give me a moment. I need to wipe a tear from my eye.

Okay. I'm back.

Maybe a corner has been turned. Maybe things are shaping up. But what changed? Was it just her? Or was it something that I did, something I'm projecting, that's changing the equation? There's a part of me that says, Don't overanalyze it. But it'd be nice to know what slight tweak turned up the volume on the sexual dynamic ... if only to understand how to sustain that change well off into the future.

***
On the drive home, out of the blue, Amy brought up a porn movie we'd watched together some time ago. She described a scene she had been thinking about a lot, where porn starlet Chloe gets fucked in her office by her boss, right in front of a vindictive (female) co-worker doing her best to ignore the action going on only a few feet from her. (The movie was Antonio Passolini's Unreal.)

"So, what is it about the scene that turns you on?" I asked. "Is it the office setting?"

"Maybe," she said. "I don't know, really. It just works." Getting Amy to pin down why something turns her on is always a challenge, just like it's difficult to get her to clearly identify any kinks.

At home, when I returned from walking the babysitter to her car, Amy stood in the kitchen. We embraced, kissing passionately.

"You want me to find that movie?" I asked, and she nodded a mm-hmm. We got more comfortable — there would be no tearing off clothes tonight, probably because mine were new! I donned a robe, while Amy put on the second of the two Valentine's Day outfits she'd decided to keep. I was not able to find the video anywhere (which worried me greatly: Had I left it out somewhere where my kids or babysitter might have found it?), so we oped for a movie I had on my computer. Down to the basement we went, with Amy settling in between my legs, her back against me, the laptop on her lap.

It turned out that the movie wasn't our cup of tea. It's what the industry commonly calls a "couples film," which means that it's shot with all beautiful models. It would have been considered "hard-core" (penetration, money shots, etc.), but instead of really getting to hear people in true throes of ecstasy, you get lots of Enigma-like music playing over their slow-motion machinations. It's staged, dressed up, and extremely slow-moving. It's the kind of movie that men just introducing their wives to watching porn together would try ... but we're way past that. We found ourselves fast-forwarding through all the seductive posing and lip-licking to get to some action.

Finally, there was one scene that started to work for Amy — a beautiful woman being lavished with attention by two men. I finally saw a hand disappear into her thong when that scene got going.

"Who would you be doing that with if that were you?" I asked. "Who is joining us?"

She moaned. "Graham, a new guy in our office," she whispered. How very interesting!

"Oh yeah? Is that Graham's cock you're sucking while I get ready to fuck you from behind?" I was playing with her tits through the camisole, and she was starting to writhe. "Or maybe," I continued, "Graham is here, between your legs. He's licking that wet, hot cunt of yours while you and I both watch. He can look up and watch me squeezing your tits while he eats you. Would you like that?"

She groaned. We murmured for awhile about her new young workplace stud. I wondered if she'd ever really fantasized about him. I'll have to ask her another time.

The movie, which was already pretty much a dud, was becoming less and less interesting to us.

"Once you fuck Graham and me, are you going to return the favor?" I asked into her ear. "Will you share my cock with another woman?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Who gets to suck my cock with you?" I asked.

"Who would you like?" she asked.

I have to admit: I was stymied. I spend all this energy fantasizing about Amy that when she asks me what other woman I'd like to do, I'm at a loss. "You can say it," she urged, as if I had someone in my head but was withholding. But there was no one!

Finally, I came up with a couple. "I'd love to watch you and Cynthia go at it," I suggested, indicating a high-ranking co-worker in my department. "Or maybe you and Shelley," the woman who, along with her husband, Amy had suggested (though not seriously) as foursome partners in a sex coupon. "Between her tits and yours, I could be a very happy boy."

The laptop suffered no damage, but it was pretty much kicked away. Amy threw open my robe and got to enthusiastically sucking my cock. Later, I requested a 69: Few things excite me more than her trying to suffocate me with her pussy while she blows me. I was so worked up with all the talk that it didn't take long, once we were in that position, to spray a helping of cum all over her tits and my stomach.

Amy gave a victory giggle as I came, enjoying the fruits of her labors. She crawled into a position where my head was in her lap, as I slowly came down. She hadn't come on this night, but she was fine with that. I vowed to even that score as soon as I could.

We talked for quite awhile, about the night, about the rest of our weekend, about previous Valentine's Days. This one — or perhaps should I say, the two-part celebration — was definitely the most fun in recent memory. It wasn't anything extravagant or original, but when so rarely and get to be a couple out in public, extremes of romantic ingenuity aren't necessary to re-capture that lightning.

V-Day, Night One: Fashion Show

2007-02-20T21:20:00.000-06:00

For the first time in I-can't-remember-how-long, I knew exactly what I was getting Amy for Valentine's Day .... wayyy ahead of time. The gift revealed itself unexpectedly when I sat in our kitchen one morning. I always need to read something with breakfast — can't just sit there — and I was feeling too lazy to retrieve that day's paper. The only thing within reach was a department store catalog, so I randomly opened it up to a page, and boom: a spectacular bra-and-thong set. Department store catalog lingerie layouts don't normally catch my eye. (I prefer my wimmen nekkid!) But this set not only turned me on, I also knew that Amy would like it too. It had been years since I bought her something sexy to wear. I was resolved.¹

Even more remarkable than knowing what I was going to get her was the fact that I actually purchased it a full two weeks before Valentine's Day. Unheard of! While I was at the store, I made the comment that my wife wasn't crazy about thongs, but that the set was so beautiful that I would take the chance. The saleswoman said, "Oh, this style comes with a regular panty too, it's just not in the catalog." Excellent! As much as I love Amy in a thongs, my Valentine's sacrifice was to go with what would make her more comfortable.

My gloating that her Valentine gift was set struck Amy with fear. "I have no idea what I'm doing for you," she whined.

"You don't have to work very hard," I assured her. And I was serious. But Valentine's Day is a big deal for Amy, and on the Sunday before, she enacted her plan at a local mall, forcing me to bugger off for an hour² while she shopped for my gift.

With V-Day falling on a Wednesday this year, we knew we weren't going to truly celebrate the way we wanted on a weeknight. So we decided instead to do the gifts-and-cards thing on the true Valentine's Day ... but really celebrate it the following Saturday. As it turned out, due to work we had to do for our respective jobs, February 14th almost escaped us without our even opening the gifts. It was 11:30 before we tore ourselves from our computers and settled on the couch with two boxes ... from the same store.

"I have a feeling we got the same thing," Amy said with a wicked grin.

"I should be so lucky," I said.

She opened hers first, and loved the underwear. But she didn't try it on; she wanted me to get to my box. At this point, I knew what it had to be.

"I couldn't decide on just one thing," she said. That's textbook Amy: She purchases, on average, three outfits for every one she actually keeps. In this case, my gift box contained not three, but four different sets of lingerie. "I thought it was time I had more sexy clothes to wear," she explained.

"It's nice when we're on the same wavelength," I commented.

I examined and commented on each ensemble. I had to laugh that two of them had thongs, after I had gone to the effort of avoiding them with my gift. I finally said, "How am I supposed to decide?"

"I thought we'd do a fashion show downstairs," Amy suggested.

Off we headed to our exceedingly comfortable basement, with the rarely used but versatile, large sectional couch. When we head down there, it's usually because we want a place where loud, no-holds-barred sex won't wake up the children. Amy told me to grab the Astroglide before I headed down. My high-school brain kicked in and I let out a long Yesssssss inside, stretching the word out from my head to my loins.

Amy's first outfit³ was a straightforward camisole-panty combo in a grey-blue. She emerged from an adjoining room with a tiny, insecure giggle. But once she came around the couch to me, she'd taken on more of the seductress's demeanor, absently running her hands over the fabric of the camisole and squeezing out a wry smile. I spun my index finger to indicate my supermodel to turn around. I appreciated her ass with my hands, simply commenting, "Nice." She turned back around, took my face in her hands, and gave me a deep kiss. Then, off she went.

Number Two was a little busy: A 1960s-inspired psychedelic print of pinks and purples, with a high slit up each side and little faux-ribbons "tying" said slits together. The cups were trimmed with pink lace. We both decided quickly it wasn't working. As she walked away, I yelled: "Hey!" She dutifully came back and gave me another kiss. I wasn't gonna get shorted!

Third up to bat was a fave: a seafoam-green number, a really soft camisole with a sexy thong. And for extra measure, it came with pajama bottoms of the same material as the camisole. Amy liked this one because of the pajama option; I liked it because of what the pajamas hid. I had her turn around, and I inched down the pants. I tasted each globe of her ass. She laughed, turned around while pulling the pajamas back up. Again, a kiss as she held my head, this time lingering to tell me: "I'm not sure I can wait for the last outfit."

"Yeah?" I whispered, my teeth grabbing at her lower lip. "Why's that?"

"I can't stop thinking about all the ..."

"Mm-hmmm?"

"... nasty things I want to do to you."

I kissed her again. "Go ... get ... the last one ... on ... now."

The final outfit was a winner, too, probably for it's simplicity: A solid periwinkle cami-and-thong thing. She looks great in this color. Honestly, I spent less time studying this one than the others; I wanted to eat this woman alive by now. She was similarly worked up. She plopped right down in my lap, straddling me. Our lips and mouths hungrily explored.

"I can't decide between the last two outfits," I moaned into her mouth. One hand was on a silk-covered breast, the other playing with the thong and the crack of her ass.

She worked over to my ear and, with some extra breath, hissed, "Nothing says I can't keep more than one...." She ground her crotch against me. Her tongue probed my ear, causing my hips to inadvertently thrust upward.

She backed off and told me she wanted to suck my cock. But when she started unbuttoning my pants, I stopped her. "I want to see you in another position. Get on your knees." Amy smiled and turned around, ass toward me, arms on the couch. "No," I corrected her. "Turn around. Face me." She did so. "Now suck my cock."

I rarely get her in this position, and it's really too bad. I enjoy the master-slave quality to it ... the fact that she's in a position of service. And service she did. "Look at me while you suck me," I ordered. She's always had a hard time getting in the position to do this, but she gave it her best shot. It was more important for me — and apparently for her too — to voraciously work on my cock.

After awhile, her knees were getting tired, she slid up and sat on the couch without taking my dick out of her mouth. The new angle allowed the opportunity for me to seriously do her mouth, but I wanted more: I pushed her back until her head was against the back cushion, and I crouched on the couch, hovering over her, continuing to piston in and out of her mouth. She was hanging on for dear life, but she was enjoying the treatment. I finally fell back in slow-motion onto another section of the couch, winded — but brought her mouth with me, and the assault on my cock continued: She even used her teeth a bit — a little hard, a little painful, the good painful, increasing the energy in the room, and seeming to hone my focus.

"I think I deserve to have my pussy licked," she said after awhile. No argument from me. I kissed her abused, tender mouth, gently ... and then tore off her new thong as quickly as possible. She was sopping. She was steaming. She was delicious. I could not keep from moaning like a starving animal as I tried to get as much of her cunt in my mouth as I could. I can never get enough. I finally settled down into a rhythm, working the pearl and sensing her movements, finding the motion that worked best tonight. Which, tonight, seemed to be a fluttering tongue tip. She bucked into my face as she came, lost in the fog of her peak.

"I need to fuck you now," I growled, and then ordered: "On your knees." Wordlessly, still coming down off her orgasm, she moved into position.

Once I entered her, I stood up and, crouching down, fucked down into her from above. This seemed to work nicely for her, along with the spanking I was administering (with lubed hands, for extra noise and impact). I spanked her in one place over and over again on her right buttcheek, leaving a clear, red impression of my hand on her ass. Happy with that handiwork, I dribbled some lube down her crack, and thumbed her asshole for awhile. Occasionally, I'd grab her hips and concentrate on deep, hard fucking.

"Not ... long ... now" was all I could muster at this point.

"I'm close!" she said, hoping again for the ever-elusive orgasm-during-intercourse. It was not to be this time either. But all she had to say was "Fuck me ... harder!" and I was there, jetting my cum deep into her cunt. And holding myself in her, as long as I could. Not wanting this to end.

"I think ..." I panted as my spent member slipped from her, "... that the gift was a success."

Later, she came back from the other room with the other outfits.

"So the last two are keepers?" she asked. She also asked me if I wanted her to try on the bra set I'd given her. I told her to save it for Saturday night, when we went out for our belated Valentine's Day celebration.

Because, you know ... this wasn't the celebration. This was just ... a fashion show. Right?

--
¹There another part to her Valentine's Day present, too: The first chapter of a multi-part erotic story starring Amy, based on a fantasy she described to me once (in an effort to get me off). My real-life commitments have prevented me from completing the story, so it'll be a fun thing to surprise her with one evening soon. Sorry:I won't be sharing the story here. I know this may come as a surprise when I say that some things need to be kept secret. [Return to where you were in this entry]

² I ended up in a bookstore, looking at a bargain-book display, when I noticed a copy of Us Weekly lying discarded. The cover story promised proof that Britney Spears was a lesbian. How could I resist? So I'm here to tell you now, Dear Reader, the three indisputable pieces of evidence that prove Britney munches carpet: 1) She was seen walking out of a "known lesbian hangout" with a woman; 2) She kissed Madonna on the MTV Music Awards (3-1/2 years ago, but don't confuse the issue); and 3) most damning of all: a papparazzi took a picture of her looking at a copy of Playboy magazine. And what heterosexual woman would ever do that? So there — it's a fact! [Return]

³ My descriptions of these outfits are hobbled by my Y chromosome. I had to fall back on similar looking items on lingerie web sites to figure out what words to use. Forgive my deficiencies in this respect. [Return]

TMI Tuesday #6: The Truth About (Most) Bloggers

2007-02-20T10:06:00.000-06:00

If you want to play along with the TMI Tuesday meme, head on over to tmituesday.blogspot.com. And while you're there, tell 'em to come up with some better questions! I mean, Mike Tyson? Come on!

1. Would you rather be famous now & forgotten after you die or forgotten now & famous after you die, forever? & Why?

Look at it this way: I have a blog. (Actually, more than one.) Blogs are not the most permanent form of recording one's life experiences and thoughts. I would wager that most bloggers want a certain amount of fame. We'd all just be writing in diaries otherwise, right? By simply having a blog, I've already established that fame (which becomes less and less important as I get older) would be better served up sooner rather than later.

2. Would you rather give blood or read Hamlet? Why?

I never give blood without having something to read (and try to talk them into turning off the ever-present television when I'm there). I would probably kill two birds with one trip and read The Danish Play while the leeches did their work ... and get free cookies, crackers and juice!

What? I have to choose. Fine, then. I'd give blood. I've read Hamlet, and while it's amazing, it would take an unusual set of circumstances to lead a reading of Hamlet to save three lives.

3. Would you rather be extravagantly rich but hated by others, or well-loved and admired, but dirt poor? Why?

Again: I have a blog. I know that part of the reason for sharing what I share here is to work through my issues about sex and my sexual relationship with my wife. But if I'm honest with myself — and if most bloggers are honest with themselves — one reason for a blog is the desire for acceptance, or love, from one's peers. I'll take dirt-poor and loved, thanks.

4. Would you rather be imprisoned for the rest of your life or kill someone? Why?

Oooh. A toughie. I am vain enough to actually consider staying out of prison in exchange for taking someone's life. That says more about me than anything else I've written here. (For the record, I don't think most bloggers would kill someone.)

But in the end, I don't think I could bring myself to kill someone. Looks like I should prepare to be someone's bitch.

5. Would you rather fight Mike Tyson or talk like him? Why?

I'll take the fight. I'm not sure how much damage he can do to me when I'm curled up in a pathetic, whimpering ball in the middle of the ring. The ref would stop the fight before all my ribs were broken. And the whole time I was healing, I'd be thinking to myself: "Yeah, everyone who saw the fight knows I'm a pansy now ... but at least I don't talk like Mike Tyson!"

Interlude

2007-02-19T14:57:00.000-06:00

Last night. We're on the couch. Amy says, "Could you get me some ice cream?"

"Only if you let me go down on you later," I reply.

She smirks. I don't move.

"It'll be good for you," says Dr. Denis.

She gives me a pleading look. I don't move.

"You won't regret it." I say this in a you-know-this-from-personal-experience-so-stop-fucking-with-me sort of way.

She offers: "How about I give you a 'distinct possibility?'"

I lock eyes on her. I give her the impression that I'm studying her, trying to ascertain if her "distinct possibility" is a smokescreen to keep me out of her pants. Of course, this is utter bullshit. I'd take "distinct possibility" any day of the week. She got her ice cream lickety-split ... and I set my sights on my lickety-split later.

Cut to bedtime. It's later than we both wanted, but we had work to do. I'm already in bed, and she comes to me and starts like this:

"It's not like I don't want to...."

Here we go, I think. My eyes think it too, and she reads them. Which gives her explanation more of an edge. It got late ... we have an extra-early day tomorrow ... we've been up really, really late the last few nights, and she'd like to feel rested going into the week. And she really wants to do this, she just wants to be smart about it.

And none of this can I argue with. So I don't.

"I just want to be into it," she says, almost pleadingly, now almost making me feel guilty.

"I want you to be into it too," I tell her. "I'm not interested if you aren't going to be into it." It's hard for me not to get huffy about this.

"Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at the six million things we had to do tonight that are now keeping this from happening."

"How about if I sleep naked tonight?" she offers. Amy, The Great Compromiser. Naked is almost as good as sex.

And all of this over eating pussy! Really, I just want to get her off, down and dirty. I hadn't gotten the chance to do it when we'd had sex over the weekend. All day long, I had imagined a scenario where I unexpectedly yanked down her jeans, pushed her down on the nearest furniture, and ate to my heart's (and her orgasm's) content. No talk. Well, no coherent talk, anyway.

We're miles away from that now.

In the dark, spooned against her, a breast filling one palm, I realize the dichotomy of this situation: I live to have our naked bodies pressed together, but the whole thing has become such a tease now. I whisper, "I'm getting you in the morning."

She giggles. "Okay. Sounds good."

***
It's seven this morning. One child ensconced in front of the television. The other blissfully asleep -- hopefully for awhile, still. I've already showered and breakfast is in the works. I take a break to sit on the side of the bed, gently wake her up.

"I don't wanna get up," she says sleepily.

"Then let me wake you up slowly." Clearly, I really, really want to eat this woman.

"You can do that," she says, even sounding like she thinks it's a good idea.

And it is. It's a glorious, deep, warm, wet, sweet, raw, impassioned, quivering, juicy, session of gobble. She starts by pulling the covers over me, up to her chest, on the off-chance that a child would stroll in. (It hasn't happened yet, knock wood.) But by the end, she's tossed them away, and she's writhing as quietly as she can, and not too successfully. I watch her nipples grow as my tongue and lips bring her up and over the mountain.

It's a quick descent, by necessity. Only ten minutes have passed, but every minute in the mornings is valuable. She embraces me, kisses me deeply.

"Thank you," I say as I head back to the kitchen.

"The pleasure was all mine," she responds on her way to the bathroom.

"That's what you think."

But she's out of earshot.

King's Night

2007-02-18T23:21:00.000-06:00

What's the best thing about The World's Softest Pajamas™? When Amy straddles me and slowly, seductively unbuttons the oversized buttons on the top.

This was a King's night tonight: my chance to lie back and enjoy being "tended to" by my wife. Amy's was "out of commission" for another couple of days, but that didn't stop me from asking her if she would blow me before we went to sleep. As she slipped on those pajamas, she surprised me with a "Sure," considering how late it was.

I liked that she was putting a little thought into it, notjust going for the standard-issue, get-him-off-fast head. Or, perhaps she's smart enough to know that playing the seductress gets the job done faster in the long run, thus getting her to sleep faster.

Regardless, here we were: My wife, now hovering over me, her breasts peeking from behind the opened front of her pajama top, going for a full, soul-exploring kiss while grazing her fingernails over my chest. She silently started to move down toward the bottom of the bed, pausing to suck on a nipple, and then driving me absolutely wild via warm, wet kisses on my sides. (I've never told her what this does to me, by the way. It seems like an odd area to set off such erogenous feelings ... yet it isn't quite strange enough to earn the classification of "kink.")

There is that moment, before she takes me in her mouth, when the anticipation can make me giddy. Some nights, as she did tonight, she kisses around my cock. Or she goes further down and kisses my thighs. Or her nipples trace along my legs, causing her hair to inadvertently tickle my dick. I am in awe of expectancy. This is the moment, if she were on top of her game, when she would ask me for something I might not be giving her. (As if there were ever anything I would give her!) Note to the authorities: If I'm incarcerated and you need the information I've been withholding, bring my wife in, get me to this point, and then ask your most probing questions. I am putty.

Luckily, she didn't stop there. She slipped just the head in, suckled the helmet for a second, and then began the "lip walk" down the shaft. I wish I had a recording of the exhale that escapes me; I'm sure that breath sounds unlike any other I take during my entire day.

There are times that I honestly think I could have survived my entire life without ever having fucked someone, as long as I could give and receive oral sex. On this evening, Amy brought out her A-game: nibbling and sucking up and down the side of the shaft, tonguing my balls lightly, consuming them at times, with an involuntary grunt. Working hard and fast ... backing off slow, seeming to savor my cock. And at some point in the process, that cock always manages to find its way between her breasts, squeezed and massaged, lubricated with her saliva. Groan-inducing, indeed.

It's hard not to sound cliché after a blowjob like this, but I can't help it: As she lies back next to me again, and I feel the fresh deposit of cum on my stomach and dripping down my softening member, I kiss her deeply and say with as much import as I can muster: "God, do I love you!" It always brings a laugh, and I'm probably playing to the humor ... but I do truly mean it. I'm a lucky man.

***
Note: It's been a ridiculously busy couple of weeks for me, and the pressure of keeping up with Real Life and still blog as much as I wanted was too much. The timing was awful, seeing as the Sugasm thing last week increased visitors to this blog tenfold — literally — and then, just as suddenly, new original content seemed to stop. So it goes.

The funny thing is, at the same time that my life got all packed, Amy and I actually had sex three times in a seven-day period. Not an amazing thing for many of you, but for us, it was a truly remarkable feat. Of course, two of those can be attributed to Valentine's Day. But something else has happened, too — something in Amy's mind. You'll get to hear about in an upcoming post. I know I'm champing at the bit to write about it. Until then, you'll have to put up with the above vignette from last Sunday's encounter.

Sugasm #66

2007-02-15T08:31:00.000-06:00

Thanks to those of you who voted for me this week -- this was oh so kind and entirely unexpected.

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #67? 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

Black Tie Optional; Cleavage Required. (http://middleurge.blogspot.com)
“It had been so long since she’d worn something like this, I had to keep checking in and making sure she was really comfortable with appearing in public looking this… well, sexy.”

Don’t Be A Blog Playa (http://marketingwhore.naughtyblog.net)
“Blogging is often treated like dating, where folks fall in love with setting it up, posting some ramblings, and when no one gushes and fawns all over them, they move onto the next one.”

Eclectic Slut part one (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
“As we lay, limbs entwined and tangled, realising that we couldn’t stop touching each other even for a second, the conversation returned to one we’d started earlier… about control and submission.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
5 Ways to Keep Your Blog Off Digg (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice
The Shirt… (http://ellesnovellas.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Green with envy (http://hard-and-fast.blogspot.com)
Judgment Call (http://lafillemariee.blogspot.com)
Originality, Fellatio and the Chicago Bears (http://lostinperversion.com)
Random Things (http://aslipofagirl.blogspot.com)
Smut, politics, and community and a little story called “Auschwitz Blowjob” (http://lustylady.blogspot.com)
Tit-Elation (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
Valentine’s Day Is on the Way (http://www.taratainton.com)
When In Doubt, Refer To #2 (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Bad Girl HNT (http://stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)
Charly & Klara (video) (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Cockslut Column #2 (http://themilfblog.blogspot.com)
Finally Did a Naked Photoshoot (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Half-Nekkid Cleavage (http://www.tarasnaughtyshop.com)
Nora Marlo New Nude Photos (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)

Sex News, Reviews and Interviews
Masturbation Interview (http://sabrinainstockings.com)
Review: Best American Erotica (http://www.radicalvixen.com/blog)
Waterproof iVibe Rabbit Vibrator Review (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)

Sex Work
Outcall (http://thismuse.blogspot.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Breast stroke, cane strokes (http://pandorablake.blogspot.com)
Douleur érotique (http://dopaminedreams.blogspot.com)
Esmerelda (http://blog.myspace.com/tit_elation)
The Foundry (http://blog.atlantabondage.com)
So Good I’m Boring! (http://emiliegirl.livejournal.com)
What you can do to please me (http://principalquattrano.com/blog)

Sex (and Sex Blog) Advice
Cracked Jaw (http://inkserotica.daria.be)
Reader: What’s your take on love? (http://smutandsteff.com)
The Sheep from the Goats (http://alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)

Sex & Politics
Jon Stewart on Ted Haggard (http://dausa.blogspot.com)
When is it Rape? (http://deliciously-naughty.typepad.com/my_weblog)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Awoken by the beast (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Breaking the Ice (http://loladavid.wordpress.com)
First AFF Adventure, Pt. 2 (http://unfetteredcravings.blogspot.com)
Mind Play - An Erotic Poem (http://eroticjournals.blogspot.com)
What Man Turns Down Two Women? (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)
Yeah, it’s a little stiff. (http://gentlygently.blogspot.com)

Flirty fishnet shirt photo courtesy of How About Now?

TMI Tuesday #5: Now with Protection Against Athlete's Foot

2007-02-13T11:20:00.000-06:00

It's a tough TMI Tuesday for me this week. I am just snowed under with work, and though I have a billion posts lined up and waiting for the kind attention of my muse, I'm afraid that The Real World must come first. And no, that does not mean that I have prioritized a shallow MTV reality show ahead of my blog.

Also, this is one of those weeks that the TMI questions show how dreadfully dull my life is, based on the amount of this one that is total b.s.

1. Have you had sex with another person in 2007?

You mean, besides you? No. You're the only person I've fucked this year. How can you know for sure? You'll just have to trust me.

Have you passed on an opportunity to sex with another person in 2007.

Oh, honey. Where to begin? Let me just put it this way.

There's a reason Britney Spears was boozing it up with Paris Hilton, and it has nothing to do with her sorry-ass husband. And the no-panties thing? A pathetic attempt to show me what I'm missing.
There's a reason Pamela and Kid Rock only lasted four months (this time), and it has nothing to do with "irreconcilable differences." Unless that's her new pet name for me.
There's a reason Angelina suddenly up-and-moved to New Orleans with her hubby, and it has nothing to do with how much she allegedly loves The Big Easy.

There, I've said too much already.

2. What is the funniest thing you have ever said or done during sex? (Orgasmic facial expressions do not count.)

Well, not so much a funny thing I did, as a funny thing that was done to me: This woman I was seeing for awhile had a sadistic kitten. We had mutual hate for each other, the cat and I. One night, While girlfriend and I were furiously fucking on the floor (it was as arousing as it was alliterative), the beast took a flying leap off of her bed ... right onto my back. Needless to say, the party broke up.

3. What is the first thing you notice about a member of the opposite sex?

I notice her blood iron levels. And then her cuticles.

4. What is the best pick-up line you have ever heard? Ever used? Ever been used on you?

I can remember my favorite response to a bad pickup line:

Him: How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Her: Unfertilized.

I don't believe I've ever knowingly used a pickup line myself.

And the most effective pickup line a woman has ever used on me to get me into bed: "Hi."

5. Where is the most unique place you have ever had sex?

In my wife's ass.

(Oh, come on. You had to see that one coming. It's not even original!)

Bonus: Do you pee in the shower?

Yes. And some would say that I'm in the minority, but I think a lot of people lie about this. After all, for awhile there, peeing in the shower was de rigeur. Have we all forgotten Madonna's storied visit to the studios of David Letterman several years ago? Allow me to reacquaint you (I'm not making this one up):

Madonna: Did you know that it's good if you pee in the shower?

Dave: I'm sorry?

Madonna: I'm serious! [crowd reacts uncomfortably] No, seriously, peeing in the shower is really good. It ... it fights, um, um, athlete's foot. I'm serious, no, urine is like, is like ... is like an antiseptic. It's all got to do with the enzymes in your body.

Dave: Don't ... don't you know a good pharmacist? [laughter]

Madonna: Ummm ...

Dave: Get yourself some Desenex! Or whatever that stuff is.

Madonna: I wanted to share something that I knew with you.

Dave: Okay, well, thank you very much. Ah, I going to try to wrap this up.

If so, has any SO known that you pee in the shower?

I was really hoping we'd keep this between us.

Has any SO peed in the shower?

Perhaps, but I'm betting most of them are part of the 58% that are too demure about it to come clean. So to speak.

Proof of My Sainthood as a Husband.

2007-02-09T23:08:00.000-06:00

I just got back from the pharmacy, where I picked up Monistat for Amy.

Complete with a pharmaceutical consultation¹ on which formula would be best for her.

In a crowded pharmacy. (Is this where America hangs out on Friday nights?)

With big, burly men standing directly behind me, waiting for their prescriptions. And, most likely, guffawing into their hands.

How did I get through this? By utilizing the spousal equivalent of imagining your audience naked when battling stagefright: I kept declaring to myself: Think what you want, assholes, but I'll bet a paycheck that I'm getting better blowjobs from the recipient of this medication than you'll ever dream of.

The downside for you, of course, is that it'll likely be several days before you get to read about more indisputably intoxicating accounts of our matrimonial copulation.

(And yes, I realize that actually blogging about my "act of heroism" draws so much self-congratulatory attention that my chance at sainthood is soiled. You know what? It was worth it.)

¹ There was this classic moment, after the male pharmacist fumblingly handed me off to the female pharmacist, when she locked eyes on me while holding one box and said with rapt intensity: "As a woman ... this is what she wants." Later, Amy suggested: "You should have asked her: 'But what would you recommend as a man?' "

Sugasm #65

2007-02-08T09:00:00.000-06:00

Mon 5th Feb, 07

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #66? 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

Motel Meeting (http://lafillemariee.blogspot.com)
“As always though, coming together for us meant first holding, then kissing, groping, stroking, and suddenly, there we were, as always, naked, lying together, limbs intertwined on DG’s bed under the cozy, thick white duvet.”

My breasts are not safe for work - welcome to the pink ghetto (http://lustylady.blogspot.com)
“I love to find out things about people’s sex lives and thinking about sex that make me see them, and the topic at hand, in a new light, and often I learn about myself that way.”

Richard Evans Lee (http://www.sex-kitten.net)
“An increase in sexual empathy. Being able to put yourself in the other person’s heart would curb everything from infidelity to homophobia.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sexual Chocolate (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice
Midnight Conversations at the Tick Tock Diner (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Decay (http://blog.myspace.com/tit_elation)
Fuck Me First (http://loladavid.wordpress.com)
Hands (http://onlyamirage.blogspot.com)
Heels, Stockings, Girdle, Bra, Face (http://aslipofagirl.blogspot.com)
Horny… Period! (http://dirtydetails.blogspot.com)
How Hip Swingster Got His Groove Back (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)
Reluctant Mary - Part Two (http://eroticjournals.blogspot.com)
Sex Party Redux (http://plum001.blogspot.com)
Trade (http://turnthelampsdownlow.wordpress.com)

Sex Advice, News, Reviews and Interviews
33 Days, 33 Posts: Prologue, or, This Is Gonna Hurt (http://dausa.blogspot.com)
Apple, sex toys and the genesis of the iPhone Vibrator (http://sextoysinsider.com)
Reader: But Will She Love My Penis? (http://smutandsteff.com)
Taco Tuesday: Toy Review 1 (http://themilfblog.blogspot.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Anxious Fuck (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Caution! The Story You Are About To Enjoy Is Extremely Hot - Part Two (http://stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)
Introducing Prisoner #4228 (http://pandorablake.blogspot.com)
The Itch, Part The Last (http://udoj.wordpress.com)
Little Miss Sunshine (http://sweatshopsissy.wordpress.com)
Meeboguest confesses: “I have been a bad boy again…” (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Quiet The Hum Part Five (http://kissingcorporalkate.wordpress.com)
Spanking on Honeymoon (http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Being Bisexual (http://eroticawriter.blogspot.com)
Cop a Feel, Show Me the Love (http://middleurge.blogspot.com)
Eyes Wide Open for Sexual Possibility (http://www.taratainton.com)
The Feminist Who Wanted to Be Fucked Like a Whore (http://brooklynrake.blogspot.com)
How About Now? (http://thismuse.blogspot.com)
Polyamory: The Great Sexual Alternative Lifestyle (http://www.model-chat.com)

Sex Work
A Lackluster Coming Out (http://www.radicalvixen.com/blog)

Sexy Humor
Meow (http://hard-and-fast.blogspot.com)
Seduction Outtake #17 (http://sabrinainstockings.com)
Who would YOU want to make submit? (http://principalquattrano.com)

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Angela Taylor Naked (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)
Beautiful french maid upskirt (http://upskirtr.blogspot.com)
For Odysseus Love, Penelope (http://marriedexploits.blogspot.com)
Happy HNT - Dungeon Bondage Chair (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
January’s Cartoon Babe of the Month! (http://secretbrain.blogspot.com)
Slaving Away (http://kitchen-girls.blogspot.com)
Stella & Sandra (movie) (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)

French Maid Upskirt pic courtesy of Upskirtr.

Black Tie Optional; Cleavage Required.

2007-02-07T10:47:00.000-06:00

"How are the contacts?" I asked Amy as we drove to the birthday party last Saturday night. She doesn't wear them very often -- they're often more bother to her eyes than they're worth.

"Fine. Of course, I can't see very well at night...."

"Then, you're not driving tonight," I ordered. "Which means you get to drink all you want tonight. Go for it."

Though she was looking out her window, I could tell she was smiling when she commented, "You just want me to get loose."

"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," I insisted in mock shock.

Many impure thoughts had been crossing my mind for much of that afternoon. We had gone dress shopping for this event. Specifically, it was a friend's fortieth birthday, and the invitation said, very prominently: "Black Tie Optional." While it's rare that we go to grown-ups-only parties at all at this point in our lives, it's unheard of that we find ourselves at a party this formal. So Amy and I had spent a few hours at an upscale department store. We had narrowed it down to two dresses, both of which showed off her cleavage beautifully. It had been so long since she'd worn something like this, I had to keep checking in and making sure she was really comfortable with appearing in public looking this ... well, sexy.

"Well," I said, talking to Amy but raising my eyebrows at the saleswoman who had been helping us all afternoon, "you can bet I have no problem with it." The sales associate laughed, only slightly embarrassed. I'm sure she'd heard worse.

She decided on a flashy teal-and-brown number, with some sharkskin-like shimmery material highlighting in places, and some colorful beading. Her final touch, added just before we left for the party, was a necklace I had given her a couple of Christmases ago: a silver chain, with a second silver strand attached, and a black pearl dangling from the end. It worked beautifully, though Amy pointed out that the necklace essentially pointed to "the obvious" below. I noted that it wasn't likely that people were going to miss that cleavage, necklace or not. She didn't dispute me. I'm sure she also knew that I was going to enjoy the view all night. She had even assigned me the responsibility of letting me know if the dress had shifted, showing the strapless bra during the night.

"We should have a code phrase," I suggested.

"Just tell me, if it's alright, that you just checked in and 'the girls are fine.'" Perfect!

I dropped Amy off at the party and went to park the car. The first person to greet her was the birthday boy's wife, who instantly said: "Wow, you've got great cleavage. I'm so envious. I could never pull that off." When Amy told me this upon my arrival, I mentioned: "You have to figure, if the women are commenting on it...." She just smiled, but with an underlying boldness. She was gonna be fine.

As it turned out, cleavage was in no short supply at the party. One woman had been so daring as to wear a very nice navy pant suit with the coat buttoned up to only partially hide a red push-up bra. It sounds more slutty than it actually was ... she pulled it off nicely. Another woman, most definitely falling under the category of BBW, was working her benefits to the best of her advantage as well. But -- and this is a completely unbiased opinion here -- no one had pulled off the "revelation of the bosom" with as much class and flair as my wife.

The party was a low-key affair, held in a space inspired by 1920s France, with wall-to-wall red velvet, period fixtures, and Folies Bergere posters galore. It felt opulent, decadent. Though we knew hardly anyone there, Amy's outgoing personality attracted a couple, Adam and Maria, to our table, and we spent most of the night getting to know each other. They were about four years our junior, and really quite the gorgeous couple.

An astrologer had been hired as part of the entertainment, and Amy and I signed up for readings, as did our new friends. Amy got her reading first while I looked on. She was accurate on all the insanely general things ("You're feeling some stress in your life right now") and pretty wrong every time she tried to narrow in on more specific information. But at least she had a lovely British accent.

She asked Amy if she had any specific questions, which caught us by surprise. ("I didn't know we had to study for this test," I commented.) That gave me time to figure out my questions, and when it was my turn, I was prepared. My question about the health of a family member flustered the astrologer a little bit. (She wisely disclaimed everything she said by saying, "Of course, I'm not a medical doctor.") But then I really did a number on her when I looked over at Amy and said, "What I really want to know about is how my sex life is going to be in the future." Everyone at the table laughed, the astrologer most nervously.

"I want to know that too!" exclaimed Amy.

This emboldened me. "Okay! That's what I want to know!"

The astrologer, with a silly grin, couldn't stop giggling. All she could do was shake her head. She wasn't gonna go there. What a wuss! I asked some vague question about my job, and of course I was assured that everything was going swimmingly but that "there would be some change" coming. (Ya think?) We wrapped things up.

Later, as songs from the celebrated gentleman's birth year played over the P.A., we compared notes with Adam and Maria about our silly astrology readings. Conversation moved on to culture, work life, parenting. It was hard for my mind (helped along by two glasses of wine, a Tom Collins, and probably too little food) not to wander away to thoughts of us with this couple. Maria had these girl-next-door good looks, a natural beauty that looked slightly uncomfortable in this more formal setting. (I surmised she would have been happy to get out of her dress, and I was betting that Adam and I would be only too happy to oblige.) Adam had those chiseled features that reminded me of someone, and at some point during the night, I figured it out, bent to Amy's ear and whispered: "Sting!" She nodded agreement without breaking her conversation. I wondered if Adam's thoughts had wandered at all, courtesy Amy's, um, necklace.

In the car on the way home, Amy was feeling hungry. "Cheese fries sound decadent and amazing," she suggested. "Don't they?"

I slowed down -- we were just about to pass the exit we would need to take to get the best cheese fries in town. "That's a possibility," I said. "Another option would be a big bowl of buttered pasta after I'm done having my way with you tonight."

Amy half-smirked; she knew that overture was coming sometime in the evening. "That sounds good too. I can't decide. It all sounds good. Fries, pasta ... Either is fine. Regardless of your having your way with me." My zooming past the exit made the decision for us: Pasta it would be.

We arrived home after midnight, and I ran the babysitter back to her place. By the time I returned, I passed through the kitchen and saw a pot of water already heating on the stove. Amy was on the couch, still wearing her dress. "I thought we shouldn't delay getting the water going." I turned the burner down to simmer and proceeded to the living room, kneeling next to her. "I left my dress on. I figured you wanted to remove it."

"How astute."

She stood up and I turned her hips so that she faced away from me. Zipper down. Straps off shoulders. Dress sliding past the waist. Legs stepping out. I pressed my cheek against the small of her back as I reached up and cupped her tits, still clad in her strapless. I felt this internal release. Almost as if it was a relief to be here again. A hunger about to be sated ... finally. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Years?

And what the hell was that bra doing still on? Away it went.

Amy was feeling tired from the long day and asked to lie back down on the couch. We continued kissing as I rubbed her nylon-clad legs. Her neck was deliciously warm, and tucking my face in there, I felt like it was a favorite secret place. I noticed that as we kissed, Amy was doing something she doesn't normally do at this stage in the evening.

"You're really playing with your tits a lot tonight," I whispered. She was kneading them with both hands, rubbing them with flat palms. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about these tits rubbing against you...." she moaned. "Your chest ... Your cock...."

"Show me."

She sat up. "Lie down."

Once I was on my back, my wife kissed quickly down my chest while undoing my belt. Soon the pants were history, and she rubbed her face against my cock and balls. Somewhere in there, as if by magic, my cock was deep in her mouth -- and then, just as suddenly, feeling the air again. And then quickly enveloped by her tits. It wasn't a tit-fuck so much as it was a breast attack ... rubbing all over, with intermittent cock-sucking to keep things lubricated. When she didn't have her mouth full of cock, it was full of words.

"I'm thinking about another man fucking me," she hissed, "while I suck this cock."

"God, yes," I encouraged. "I'd love to see him drilling you back there."

"He's filling me with his hard dick," she moaned.

I had to hand it to her, she was giving it her all. Maybe too much for her, in fact: She seemed almost restless, rushed. She stopped after only a short while, insisting: "I need to really get fucked." She stood up long enough to inside-out the pantyhose, and then she was straddling me. Without further "ado," she shoved my cock into her cunt. No lube, no other prep.

I'm losing count of how many times recently she has become the aggressor. And for the first time -- just for a moment -- I was a little bothered by it. In my version of how things would go tonight, I had imagined that I would be the one in control. Yet, here we were again, with her fucking me. Not that it was difficult to adjust my expectations! But just for a moment, I wondered if she was using the control as a way of keeping something else from happening, something she didn't want. For the life of me, I can't imagine what that would be.

Was this a case of getting what I had asked for? I had wanted her to be a little more aggressive in bed, to tell me what she wanted, to take it rather than always waiting for it to be handed to her. On the grand scheme of things, this is an extremely minor issue, not even rising to the level of "complaint." More an observation, something to be aware of.

Meanwhile, the fucking continued, hard and fast, but again, not for long: She popped off of my dick and moved up the couch until her pussy was pressing against my face. I caught her oh-so-subtle hint and went to town on her with my tongue and teeth. Her pussy was delightfully soft, tenderized by the frantic fucking. She ground hard against my mouth as I worked her pussy to an orgasm that temporarily tensed every muscle in her body. The tension was followed by a sigh, a balloon slowly, soundlessly releasing all of its air.

Aware that I hadn't gotten mine yet, Amy laid down in the opposite direction on the couch, sort of curling herself around my dick and beginning some serious oral with intent. I encouraged her: "That's right ... nice and sloppy. Let me hear you sucking my cock. Suck your husband's cock 'til he shoots his come all over." I tried playing with her pussy a bit as she blew me, but she nudged my hand away.

When I got close, I told her I wanted to come on her tits, and her approval came in the form of a moan that moved me quickly to the goal. Soon she was pushing my cock between her breasts as I squeezed out a few shudder-accompanied spurts. "Sorry the angle wasn't better for getting it all over my tits," she said.

"No need to apologize." I pressed her against me, feeling my cum on her chest, now on mine as well. "It's not like I was going to take the time to reposition us just for a money shot." At least not this time.

She snuggled up against me. "So how about that pasta?" she asked.

"I'm on it," I said. But I didn't move, and shortly we had both fallen into a light slumber.

Some time later, we roused, and Amy asked, "Do you still want the pasta?"

"Not really," I said. "I'm feeling pretty fulfilled at the moment." She still wanted something, so we settled on a grilled cheese sandwich, which I prepared in the nude. It's not the safest thing in the world, but if I'm not, say, cooking bacon, I love cooking in the nude. And it's not something I get to do too often anymore.

Amy was sore the next day -- not using lube turned out to be a slight mistake. But it did lead to her making a comment as we drove to work Monday morning: "I'm sorry we're not having sex more often ... But you have to admit that it's pretty amazing when we do."

Yes, I guess I do have to admit that. And hardly begrudgingly.

TMI Tuesday #4: Suspicious Minds

2007-02-06T15:50:00.000-06:00

Come join the fun sometime. It's better than a sausage wrapped in a pancake and stuck on a stick. Unless you've got something to hide. Which I don't. Really.

1. Have you ever had sex in a friend's house/apartment/car/whatever... but not with that friend? Does your friend know?

I've never done this. Why? Should I? Is it totally worth it? Do I add it to my "wild card coupons" fantasies? Christ almighty, this is gonna keep me awake at night, trying to figure out how this scenario would be arousing.

I can tell you that I've DEFINITELY had sex with someone else other than my friend ... in my friend's mind. I don't know if it was hot. I'll have to ask him.

2. Have you ever sat at your computer naked?

Well ... um ... yeah. Why do you ask? Is that unusual? Titillating? Am I a freak? Is it surprising? Or are you looking for a cool story about that? Well, let me try one and we'll see:

Hey, this reminds me of this one time I was sitting at my computer ... naked! While I sat there, I answered some email. I got one with the subject line "Hey, neighbor!" and I opened it, and it was a link to a porn site that involved sex with people who dress up like Barney Fife. (Which was kind of arousing, though I always thought of Don Knotts as a bit of a limp fish.) And then I paid a couple of bills online, and went to bed. When I got up, I got that kind of "ripping" sound when my skin peeled away from the leather upholstery on the chair.

So. How's that working for you? Yeah, me neither.

3. If you are sure you WOULD get caught, is there anyone (known personally, celebrity, fictional character) you'd cheat with?

Wait, why would I want to get caught? Would my wife think that was hot? Or are you suggesting she'd be laughing because that celebrity was wayyyyy out of my league? Are you saying you don't think I'm good enough for Connie Britton?

Yes, you heard me right. I want to screw her so hard she's seeing Friday night lights. Why Connie? 'Cause my wife would walk in on us ... and say it was justified. And she'd be right. Free pass right there, buddy.

4. Have you ever photocopied a body part?

Hands. Face. Uvula. That's it. I'd heard too many horror stories about copier glass breaking to get more lewd than that.

5. Just how rigid are your standards: Is there anyone out there (say, a celebrity), that you'd do, just to say you scored? (We aren't talking a dreamy celebrity i.e. Brad Pitt or Jennifer Aniston; we are talking Mick Jagger, Dick Cheney, or the Queen of England.)

Again with the celebrity thing. Does this really turn you on? Are you sitting around imagining me doing Crispin Glover? Nancy Pelosi? Mandy Moore? Matt LeBlanc? Monica Lewinsky? You're just trying to catch me in the act, aren't you? You want to watch! You. Sick. Perv.

But to answer your question: If my "standard" is "rigid," it sounds like I already want to do the celebrity. Still, a boy has his limits: I draw the line at Rummy.

6. Have you ever contacted a “lost love” years later?

I've stayed in touch with most of my lost loves. I'm on good terms with all of them.

Why? Did one of them say something to you? Which one? I bet it was that bitch Carole. Oh sure, I was friendly when I found her myspace page, but I didn't believe for a punch-drunk second that she was glad to hear from me. Some people just can't let go, can they? One little time that I misunderstand her and she never forgives me. I can still hear her screeching. "I said in my rear, you idiot!" Fine, fine, whatever. I even paid for the audiologist's bills. What more do you want, Carole?!

7. What was the worst thing your SO ever caught you doing?

Amy has caught me jacking off so many times we couldn't possibly count. You'd think I want to get caught, but actually, masturbation for me is a pretty private thing. Unless, of course, it's part of a session of sex play. But I'm talking about times where she's walked in on me. If I started solo, chances are I meant to finish that way.

What was the worst thing your parents ever caught you doing?

Same answer. Dad caught me jacking off once. He acted like he hadn't seen anything. Backed out of the room. It was like it had never happened. Like I'd told him to look directly at the red light.

Did you ever do either of those things again?

I have never, ever, ever masturbated again.

Unless you count every day of my life since the age of 12. But let's not get caught up in technicalities.

8. What is the shortest period of time you've ever gone between sex with two different sexual partners in separate sessions (that means threesomes don't count unless they are separate threesomes)?

I've never juggled like that, never had more than one thing going at a time. The closest I can come is the time I was in a spontaneous 69 with an ex-girlfriend on the floor of my apartment, and the phone rang. I let it go to the machine (I'm not an idiot!), and it was this woman from work with whom I'd made a date that night. I had completely forgotten about it. But phone woman and I didn't have sex for another couple of weeks.

9. Besides the usual (lingerie, sexy shoes, etc.), what's the sexiest thing your SO can wear?

One of my work shirts. (Yes! Denis proves yet again he is a walking, talking, ejaculating cliché!)

10. Have you ever masturbated with a household object (other than a sex toy)? If so, what?

Why do you want to know? Did someone tell you something? It was our cleaning woman, wasn't it? She found the cardboard toilet paper tubes covered in petroleum jelly, right? Dammit, that's not fair. That was totally an experiment based on something I saw on the Internet. It didn't even arouse me that much.

In all seriousness ... There aren't a lot of really good objets de ménage for a boy to use. Or maybe I'm just not feeling creative enough when I need to get off to stop and wonder if I should try, say, sticking my dick in that vice grip downstairs. My guess is that women have more interesting answers to this one than I could possibly provide.

Pick A Card, Any Card

2007-02-05T09:46:00.000-06:00

Amy and I were grabbing a quick bite at a Chipotle. Well, as quick as you can ever be when you're trying to eat one of those obscenely large burritos.

"So, there's this game I play sometimes," I started, "when I'm sitting in public places. Buses, libraries, like that. I look around the space I'm in, and I pick from the people within sight the person I'd most like to have sex with."

I didn't have to ask Amy if she wanted to play -- it took her less than ten seconds to look around the room and then gesture with a toss of her head to her right: "The cop," she said, and she took another bite of her burrito.

"Wow. That was easy for you." I checked the guy out. He was of Hispanic heritage. Stocky. A round, boyish face. "I was thinking more of the guy up at the counter, getting his food now."

"Him?" she asked incredulously. "He looks old and boring."

"I thought he looked ... distinguished," I sheepishly defended myself. My fantasies involving Amy with older men are spawned from an actual event, a one-nighter she had in her early twenties, at a Denver airport hotel after a canceled flight. She discovered the pilot of the flight that had gotten her to Denver in the hotel's bar, and they spent the night in her hotel room. He was married and at least 25 years older than her. Amy had never told me a lot of details about the night (She claims she doesn't remember them!), but that didn't stop me from clocking tons of mileage out of my imaginary, sweaty-sheet, noisy version of that night.

I realized that Amy's pilot and the cop sitting a few feet away from us did have one thing in common. "So, is it the uniform that does it for you?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's part of it," she confirmed. "So, who's your choice?"

"Interestingly, it's the woman with the cop," I said. She was also Hispanic, with a little weight on her in all the right places.

Amy rolled her eyes after checking her out and remarked: "Of course."

"What?" I re-checked my choice out and realized she had a big chest. "Oh, no, no, no -- it's not because of that. I think she's got a cute face." And I also thought that face would look pretty hot lost in an orgasm. "Anyway, it's between her and the woman at the stool over there, with the purple hat." My other choice was a little on the skinny side, but her black hair was done in short braids sticking out from underneath her hat. A stack of papers shared her tiny table with her burrito. It looked like she was grading them, which probably meant she was a graduate TA or something. Which meant she was probably really smart. Don't even bother adding water -- I'm instantly aroused.

A few minutes, I noticed the cop and his lunch date chatting by the door.

"Well, that seals the deal," I said, and indicated with my eyes where they were standing. "Now they're even sexier." As they stood together, their heads bowed slightly toward each other. They were breaking through the comfort wall. Their relationship was not platonic. (Neither Amy nor I bothered to look for rings on fingers.) The body language we were seeing from the couple now suddenly made them more than just a couple of strangers. Now there was a little piece of back-story. But just a little. Were they married? To each other? Someone afraid to take the leap? I didn't get the sense that it was a new real love. Nobody looked starry-eyed.

The couple kissed, held hands briefly, and then they were out the door of the restaurant, headed in separate directions. Amy and I weren't far behind them, heading back to our respective offices.

The 40-Year-Old Anal Virgin

2007-02-03T01:29:00.000-06:00

I'm a firm believer that to fully appreciate sex, you have to have a good sense of humor. And you can't be terribly modest. These two traits are also useful if you're planning on blogging about your sex life. For some reason, ascribing to these beliefs doesn't make it any easier for me to be slightly embarrassed by the fact that Amy's and my initiation into anal sex together came at the behest of watching the comedy The 40-Year-Old Virgin.

The movie is a rarity, in the sense that it's a Hollywood comedy that I find quite funny, even laugh-out-loud at times. I've never gotten into those LCD comedies that have been all the rage over the last few years, like American Pie, Dumb and Dumber, and Something About Mary. I've started watching each of them on pay cable movie stations, but abandoned each for their sheer lameness. So when I picked up Virgin off HBO one night this past autumn, it was on the faith of the word friends whose opinions I respect. Its short length definitely had that going for it. But in all honesty, Amy and I weren't holding our breath for genius.

And while we're talking about low expectations, neither of us figured much would be happening in the sex department that night. It was Friday, always the night of the week when Amy is her most tired, having been wrung out many times by work and the kids. On top of that, she decided to open a bottle of red wine to consume while watching ... a relaxant that I (and probably she) believed would elicit drowsiness rather than horniness.

The bottle was consumed over the course of the film, but -- and this probably speaks to the strength of the movie -- we were both awake and laughing right up to the final scene, a hilarious outdoor dance number performed by the cast, apropos of absolutely nothing else in the story. Amy and I were sufficiently relaxed and punchy to recognize the glory of the moment.

Amy was also sufficiently horny to push me down on my back on the couch and pounce on top of me the moment the credits were rolling. She started in right away with strong kisses from alcohol-loosened lips. Then she was rubbing her body against my clothed hardness. Then she sat up, and off flew the top and the bra.

Damn.

Back down on top of me, she fed me her tits, encouraging me to bite -- something that, with her still nursing, doesn't happen often (she's usually too sore). So when she requests it, it's a good sign that she's particularly wound up. Well, that and the fact that she then stood up and ordered me to get my clothes off. A few lollipop-sucks of my already hard cock, and she was back on top, hustling me inside of her, and once again feeding me her tits, with that breathy voice right next to my ear, encouraging me to do a good job.

This went on for awhile, and then out of nowhere, she says:

"Don't freak out when I say this."

I froze. What the Hell is coming next? "Okay ...."

"Do you want to try fucking me in the ass?"

You know, I nearly come in my jeans just typing that sentence.

Alright, I thought, that's it. I've died. I'm in Heaven -- and it turns out that Heaven is exactly what I'd always thought it would be: One giant edition of Penthouse Forum.

How does one respond to one of his biggest unrealized (even if it is mainstream) fantasies being offered up ... without even asking?

Well, one responds by summoning up as much import in one's voice as possible, and saying in a quiet, controlled voice: "If you're ready to try, I would love nothing more." She kissed me again.

It was my job to go get the lube and a condom. I mastered time-travel on that jaunt to our bedroom. You can bet I was as quiet as possible too, floating by a sleeping child's room. Because wouldn't it be just perfect right now if one of those little cherubs woke up and needed Mommy or Daddy?

Safely back in the living room, I kissed Amy again.

"So, what do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Get on your hands and knees," I said, and I laughed inside at my sudden business-like approach. I was focused, like those emergency first-responders who have practiced and practiced for a terrorist attack, and now they were finally putting into action what, to date, had only been theory.

And there she was, with her ass facing me. She's good at following direction.

God, that beautiful ass. I couldn't resist kissing the globes, gently biting them, as I knelt on the floor by the couch and flipped the top on the Astroglide. I squeezed a bit directly onto her asshole and massaged the ring for awhile before slipping one finger in. We'd been this far before: Often while fucking Amy doggy-style, or sometimes while going down on her, I work a finger or thumb into her anus. She's always been fine with it.

"How you doin'?" I asked after a couple of minutes of fucking her with a single finger.

"Great," she said.

"Okay," I said. "I'm adding another finger now. Gotta loosen you up and get you ready."

She concurred, and then added: "For someone who's never done this before, you seem to know exactly what you're doing."

"Oh believe me," I chuckled under my breath, "I've done extensive reading and research in preparation for tonight." I must have added the right amount of comic desperation to my voice, because she laughed again.

I lubed up my middle and index fingers and gently pushed in. My free hand caressed her back, her sides, and occasionally swept underneath to her breasts, keeping up a steady stream of stimulation. A few minutes later, I checked in with her again.

"It feels good," she said, sounding a little surprised that two fingers had gone so well. "Try another finger?"

"That's what I'm doing," I said, already adding lube to my ring finger. I took the three-fingered penetration quite a bit slower, adding more Astroglide to her asshole in the process. After a minute or so, she was taking it like a pro. Her ass was also starting to move back against my hand.

I asked, "What do you think? Ready?"

"Sure," she said. If she was nervous, she was hiding it. I know I was nervous. It's hard not to imagine this scenario so many times and not be a little freaked the first time it's happening. I felt like a teenager about to have dinner with the supermodel whose picture is taped to the inside of his locker.

I put on the condom, positioned myself behind her and lubed my cock really well, adding another dollop to her ass. It was certainly in everyone's best interest to make sure that we were not underlubricated. I wanted her to like this. I wanted her to crave this.

The tip of my cock disappeared past her ring.

"Okay?"

"Yeah." No sign of stress at all. I pushed another inch in. "Good," she encouraged. I was still nervous.

"Why don't you push back against me at your own pace," I suggested. And instantly I was in to the hilt. Holy fuck. That was much easier than I had expected. Either her ass is made for fucking or I got her primed well enough ahead of time. Hopefully both.

The first thing I noticed was the heat. It seemed warmer than her pussy. The second sensation was the tightness. Thank god for the lube, or I think the friction would have made her sore pretty quickly. Either that or it would have pulled the condom right off. This was pretty intense.

"Are you gonna start moving?" she asked with a smile in her voice.

"Yeah. Sorry. Enjoying the moment." Of course, I kept it slow at first, but shortly Amy encouraged me to pick up the pace -- she was fine.

And before I knew it, I was seriously and intensely fucking my wife's ass.

After several minutes, it was clear that I was not coming anytime soon. Amy even helpfully added some good dirty talk, and I responded in kind, spanking her ass a bit as I laid into it. I don't know if it was the alcohol in my system, or the intensity of the moment, none of the above, all of the above ... but there was no way I was going to shoot my load before she got tired. (My erection was having no problem at all ... I just wasn't gonna climax.)

So Amy offered, "How about I go down on you for awhile?" I realize I was wearing a condom (and in hindsight, it's probably why she wanted me to wear one), but it took me by surprise that Amy, usually so skittish about the inside of the butt, was so quick to offer a post-ass-fuck blowjob.

She wasted no time enthusiastically gobbling me, and I lay there thinking about what had just transpired. By dwelling on it, I came after only a few minutes. The ejaculate sprayed all over my belly, and to no one's surprise, there was a lot. One spurt landed on my shoulder.

I don't really recall what else we said that night, but you can bet "thank you" was uttered more than once. And actually, Amy thanked me too. Her impression was that it was quite pleasing, and that she definitely wanted to try some more of that.

We've tried one other time since. We were in a different room a week or two later, watching some porn when I suggested it. "Sure," she said in her most sporting, GGG voice. The same process followed ... One lubed finger, and then two.... But after taking two for awhile, she said: "I'm sorry, but this isn't comfortable for me tonight. I don't think it's gonna work." She sounded disappointed. We surmised that the alcohol the first time had everything to do with it: Inhibitions and muscles were significantly looser with a half-bottle of red in her.

A couple of humorous items: We've since purchased The 40-Year-Old Virgin on DVD, laughing all along about its watershed place in our relationship. And red wine has garnered a new connotation. When we look at the wines available for an evening meal, we pass on the reds. We're saving one of those for a private night. Soon. I hope.

Rain Check for Services Rendered

2007-02-01T09:23:00.000-06:00

Late yesterday afternoon, I got a call from our babysitter at home: The electricity was out. After a brief consultation over the phone, it was clear that I needed to go home and take care of this, or at worst, call an electrician to get this fixed.

Amy and I were headed to a lecture that evening, so this had suddenly gotten tricky: Instead of picking her up, I was now headed the other direction; Amy would have to get her own ride to the lecture. I was going to be lucky if I made it at all. I arrived home in the chaos of a babysitter changing-of-the-guard while the kids went ape about the power outage.

LongStoryShort: I got the power back on relatively quickly. That's always a relief, based on the money we had just saved. Amy was going to be glad.

Hmmmm, I thought. Amy was going to be glad.

How glad?

I called her. She was still en route to the lecture.

"It's back on," I said. "Everything seems to be fine."

"Great!" she said. "So you can still make it?"

"I'm on my way out the door." I paused. "You know, I'm billing you $130 for this." She laughed. "But don't worry about it," I assured her. "I'm certain we can work out an arrangement for compensation that doesn't have to involve money." She laughed again. We talked for another couple of minutes as I got my coat on, and as the little one talked to her briefly on the phone, but before I hung up, I whispered: "Yesssssss! I get to save a coupon! It's a freebie!"

+ + +

Several hours later, Amy and I were home, my head in her lap, the kids asleep. Because we had been out and hadn't had to go through the usual (exhausting) ritual of getting little ones to bed, she was exceedingly awake.

"I'm thinking about submitting my bill for the electrical work," I told her. She laughed and kissed me. "What do you think?" I pushed.

She avoided a direct answer for a few minutes as we talked about other things, and then finally said, "You know, I don't think I'm in the mood. How can you be in the mood after that intense lecture tonight?"

"That's a whole different part of my brain. It has nothing to do with the part working right now."

"But it was such a cerebral night," she said. "It doesn't put me in the frame of mind for this."

Cerebral? Was she kidding?

I pointed out that cerebral things were exactly the kind of things that tend to turn me on ... and I thought that was the case with her too.

"It does, but ... not that way. It's just that--"

"You know what?" I cut her off. "I'm whining. I hear myself whining about this. That's totally not what I want to be doing. This was supposed to be a fun thing, and it's going the wrong way. So I'm totally cool with a rain check."

That was that. In the same way that every grope doesn't have to turn to sex, every rejection of advances does not have to turn into another lengthy discussion about our unbalanced libidos.

But I did warn her about a simple fact of business: If she doesn't remit, I'm coming back later to collect. With interest.

TMI Tuesday #3: Putting On My "Depends"

2007-01-30T10:12:00.000-06:00

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.

Cop a Feel, Show Me the Love.

2007-01-29T22:52:00.000-06:00

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.

When in Rome....

2007-01-27T12:09:00.000-06:00

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....

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

2007-01-26T00:52:00.000-06:00

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.

Whew.

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.

BlogMeBlogYou

2007-01-25T10:47:00.000-06:00

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.

TMI Tuesday #2: "Cooking with the Connors"

2007-01-23T10:46:00.000-06:00

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

Ingredients:

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)

Directions

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.

Bonus (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.