H is for ...

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"

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?"

Laying Groundwork.

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?

Cop a Feel, Show Me the Love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well ... yeah," Amy said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, good, then. I won't!

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

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

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

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

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