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.
Showing posts with label fantasies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasies. Show all posts
31 October 2007
20 March 2007
Swinging from My Trial Balloon
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]
"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]
08 March 2007
BlogMeBlogYou II: Dream A Marriage Drawn with Dotted Lines
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.
07 March 2007
Wet Wednesday #1: Rocco Siffredi, Mentor?
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.
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.
06 March 2007
... And Could I Have a Side of Lube With That?
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?
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?
22 February 2007
V-Day, Night Two: Movie, Dinner, Dessert.
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.
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.
05 February 2007
Pick A Card, Any Card
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.
"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.
26 January 2007
"Wild Card" Coupon Fantasy Options (Pt. 2)
And now, the dramatic conclusion to the two-part miniseries.
Previously, on Denis Perhaps Broadens His and His Wife's Sexual Horizons and Gets Pleasured in the Process (Oh, bite me -- It's a working title):
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.
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.
19 January 2007
"Wild Card" Coupon Fantasy Options (Pt. 1)
An earlier post documented the Christmas "coupons" Amy gave me. As I wrote at the time, one particular coupon -- the "wild card" ("Good for one new thing of your choosing. Just ask.") sent my mind (and other parts) reeling.
Lying in bed that night with Amy asleep next to me, I realized that all of my regular mental masturbatory material suddenly had new import. Many of them were a little closer to reality. I was intensely horny, so I tried to "pick a card" from my fantasy deck and get off.
But the coupon had an unfortunate side-effect: I was suffering from SADD ... Sexual Attention Deficit Disorder. Like a spinning Rolodex®, my mind could not settle on a single fantasy. And without locking in, I wasn't able to jack off. (Johnnie Cochran said something like that. What was his famous enthymeme? Oh yeah: "If you're brain can't lock, you can't yank cock!")
I had already been contemplating the creation of this blog, and I knew right then that one of my early posts would be a list of my fantasies that involve Amy. Which is pretty much almost every fantasy. An exhaustive list of Denis' kinks.
Exhaustive? Who am I kidding? No such list could exist. There are probably kinks in my psyche that I don't even know about. Nonetheless, as of today, I have compiled the existing list of fantasies that I might be asking Amy for when the mood is right. It's long enough that I'm splitting it into two posts. After both are posted, I'm hoping that you might help me pick one ... or even suggest others.
Without further ado, Part One:
Watch Amy have sex with another man.
Holy Christ, is the hotwife fantasy ever a potent one. If it's not already obvious from the (ever-growing) blogroll to the left, the dream of sharing Amy runs deep. One variation on this theme involves us encountering a man on a long Amtrak journey. The fantasy, for me, is even more powerful because the man in this fantasy is black. I used to worry about the innately racist undertone of this angle. Luckily, sex advice columnist Dan Savage helped me come to terms with this in a recent column about this topic. But really, I'm not going to quibble about something as trivial as race when it comes to this fantasy.
Fulfillment Probability Meter (the likelihood of this fantasy really happening, on a scale of 1 to 10): I give this one a 5. And that's higher than than, say, 6 months ago. Between the coupons and Amy's encouraging us to explore anal, I just might have underestimated how open she is to new sexual experiences. But two major factors stand in the way, as I see it: Amy's concerns about disease, and the need for her to be attracted to -- and feel attractive to -- another man so strongly that she can get around the psychological barriers.
A threesome with another man.
A slight variation on the previous fantasy: Now the other guy and I are doubling up on Amy. The image that really arrests me when I imagine this is this: She is bent in front of me, my cock in her mouth, our eyes making contact, as every thrust from the gentleman behind her creates Fulfillment Probability Meter: 5. If she goes for the first one, is it that long a trip to this one? (I'm seriously asking: Is there?)
Sharing a cock with Amy.
Certainly a "spin-off" from MFM threesome above, but it crosses into something a little harder to (pardon the pun) swallow for some people -- Amy included. Yes, I have smoked pipe. Even in 2007, I think this is, for some, a disturbing revelation. I guess I'll have to go into more detail on that part of my history at a later date.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 3. Amy's uncomfortable with this -- more than she lets on most of the time. (The topic doesn't come up that often.) It'd be fun, but I'm not likely to ask for this one. The fantasy is less fun if both participants aren't 100% into it.
A threesome with another woman.
The night that I met Amy, I ended up sleeping between her and her best friend. That night more than 15 years ago is still the well I go back to when my inspiration is drought-stricken. And the amazing thing is that nothing happened. At least not between the three of us. (I will share this story in detail later.) Amy and I have discussed the concept of a threesome before, but the wall she always runs up against is disease. In 1992, we toyed with asking a female co-worker of mine for whom we had both expressed an attraction; but before I asked, the woman made it clear (in an unrelated conversation) that her "wild days" were behind her. We've never come even that close since, though we've fantasized about it before.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. Only because Amy once entertained the thought. She'd be more likely to consider tag-team fellatio than actually letting me fuck someone else (mainly due to disease concerns rather than jealousy).
Sex in front of another person or couple.
Playing on my exhibitionist streak. This fantasy would likely be a precursor/"warm-up" to one of the aforementioned fantasies -- a step back from another person/couple participating directly with us. The more potent version of this fantasy is the "couple" version, where I envision friends on the same bed or in the same room, having sex with each other while Amy and I do the same.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. This fantasy has the advantage of "addressing" Amy's disease issue ... by not addressing it at all. The sex stays contained within the already established relationships. It's the equivalent of watching live porn; so how different is that from the video porn we already watch? The two keys needed to unlock this one are finding the "right couple" and helping Amy deal with her body image issues.
A semi-public blowjob.
I've had a specific fantasy in this vein for sometime. Here's the scenario: We've been traveling on the road at night -- Amy's driving, I'm the passenger -- and we stop off at a rest stop (a slight distance from the rest stop buildings) to use the restrooms and switch drivers. When I return to the car, Amy is already sitting in the passenger seat of the car. I walk up to her window, tap it. She lowers it. "This is for you," I say (or maybe it's "Can you help a guy out here?") as I unzip my jeans, pull out my cock (already semi-hard from the contemplation of doing this), my hand on the back of her head indicating what I expect. I can hear her giggle under her breath just before she takes me in her mouth and starts giving glorious head. What do I do then? Simply cross my arms on top of the car and enjoy the bucolic wonders of the highway rest stop: travelers walking nearby; dogs and owners headed to the pet area; truckers pulling in for forty winks; the oncoming and receding headlights of cars returning to the road ... all while my wife services me through the window. The world's biggest glory hole. It's a beautiful thing, the road.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 8. Yeah, this could happen. Wouldn't even have to use the coupon for it probably. A spontaneous action when the moment is right. The only challenge would be devising a road trip without the kids. But it could happen.
I have a few more coming up in part two of this post. Again, after the list is complete, I hope that you might suggest which one I should go for ... or toss out an idea that you think I might be interested in.
Lying in bed that night with Amy asleep next to me, I realized that all of my regular mental masturbatory material suddenly had new import. Many of them were a little closer to reality. I was intensely horny, so I tried to "pick a card" from my fantasy deck and get off.
But the coupon had an unfortunate side-effect: I was suffering from SADD ... Sexual Attention Deficit Disorder. Like a spinning Rolodex®, my mind could not settle on a single fantasy. And without locking in, I wasn't able to jack off. (Johnnie Cochran said something like that. What was his famous enthymeme? Oh yeah: "If you're brain can't lock, you can't yank cock!")
I had already been contemplating the creation of this blog, and I knew right then that one of my early posts would be a list of my fantasies that involve Amy. Which is pretty much almost every fantasy. An exhaustive list of Denis' kinks.
Exhaustive? Who am I kidding? No such list could exist. There are probably kinks in my psyche that I don't even know about. Nonetheless, as of today, I have compiled the existing list of fantasies that I might be asking Amy for when the mood is right. It's long enough that I'm splitting it into two posts. After both are posted, I'm hoping that you might help me pick one ... or even suggest others.
Without further ado, Part One:
Watch Amy have sex with another man.
Holy Christ, is the hotwife fantasy ever a potent one. If it's not already obvious from the (ever-growing) blogroll to the left, the dream of sharing Amy runs deep. One variation on this theme involves us encountering a man on a long Amtrak journey. The fantasy, for me, is even more powerful because the man in this fantasy is black. I used to worry about the innately racist undertone of this angle. Luckily, sex advice columnist Dan Savage helped me come to terms with this in a recent column about this topic. But really, I'm not going to quibble about something as trivial as race when it comes to this fantasy.
Fulfillment Probability Meter (the likelihood of this fantasy really happening, on a scale of 1 to 10): I give this one a 5. And that's higher than than, say, 6 months ago. Between the coupons and Amy's encouraging us to explore anal, I just might have underestimated how open she is to new sexual experiences. But two major factors stand in the way, as I see it: Amy's concerns about disease, and the need for her to be attracted to -- and feel attractive to -- another man so strongly that she can get around the psychological barriers.
A threesome with another man.
A slight variation on the previous fantasy: Now the other guy and I are doubling up on Amy. The image that really arrests me when I imagine this is this: She is bent in front of me, my cock in her mouth, our eyes making contact, as every thrust from the gentleman behind her creates Fulfillment Probability Meter: 5. If she goes for the first one, is it that long a trip to this one? (I'm seriously asking: Is there?)
Sharing a cock with Amy.
Certainly a "spin-off" from MFM threesome above, but it crosses into something a little harder to (pardon the pun) swallow for some people -- Amy included. Yes, I have smoked pipe. Even in 2007, I think this is, for some, a disturbing revelation. I guess I'll have to go into more detail on that part of my history at a later date.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 3. Amy's uncomfortable with this -- more than she lets on most of the time. (The topic doesn't come up that often.) It'd be fun, but I'm not likely to ask for this one. The fantasy is less fun if both participants aren't 100% into it.
A threesome with another woman.
The night that I met Amy, I ended up sleeping between her and her best friend. That night more than 15 years ago is still the well I go back to when my inspiration is drought-stricken. And the amazing thing is that nothing happened. At least not between the three of us. (I will share this story in detail later.) Amy and I have discussed the concept of a threesome before, but the wall she always runs up against is disease. In 1992, we toyed with asking a female co-worker of mine for whom we had both expressed an attraction; but before I asked, the woman made it clear (in an unrelated conversation) that her "wild days" were behind her. We've never come even that close since, though we've fantasized about it before.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. Only because Amy once entertained the thought. She'd be more likely to consider tag-team fellatio than actually letting me fuck someone else (mainly due to disease concerns rather than jealousy).
Sex in front of another person or couple.
Playing on my exhibitionist streak. This fantasy would likely be a precursor/"warm-up" to one of the aforementioned fantasies -- a step back from another person/couple participating directly with us. The more potent version of this fantasy is the "couple" version, where I envision friends on the same bed or in the same room, having sex with each other while Amy and I do the same.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. This fantasy has the advantage of "addressing" Amy's disease issue ... by not addressing it at all. The sex stays contained within the already established relationships. It's the equivalent of watching live porn; so how different is that from the video porn we already watch? The two keys needed to unlock this one are finding the "right couple" and helping Amy deal with her body image issues.
A semi-public blowjob.
I've had a specific fantasy in this vein for sometime. Here's the scenario: We've been traveling on the road at night -- Amy's driving, I'm the passenger -- and we stop off at a rest stop (a slight distance from the rest stop buildings) to use the restrooms and switch drivers. When I return to the car, Amy is already sitting in the passenger seat of the car. I walk up to her window, tap it. She lowers it. "This is for you," I say (or maybe it's "Can you help a guy out here?") as I unzip my jeans, pull out my cock (already semi-hard from the contemplation of doing this), my hand on the back of her head indicating what I expect. I can hear her giggle under her breath just before she takes me in her mouth and starts giving glorious head. What do I do then? Simply cross my arms on top of the car and enjoy the bucolic wonders of the highway rest stop: travelers walking nearby; dogs and owners headed to the pet area; truckers pulling in for forty winks; the oncoming and receding headlights of cars returning to the road ... all while my wife services me through the window. The world's biggest glory hole. It's a beautiful thing, the road.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 8. Yeah, this could happen. Wouldn't even have to use the coupon for it probably. A spontaneous action when the moment is right. The only challenge would be devising a road trip without the kids. But it could happen.
I have a few more coming up in part two of this post. Again, after the list is complete, I hope that you might suggest which one I should go for ... or toss out an idea that you think I might be interested in.
08 January 2007
The Coupons.
It was Christmas night, and Amy and I had settled on the couch with the contents of our unopened stockings. The kids were nearby, playing with various items from the morning's spoils. We had been so busy with the holiday hoopla that our stockings had gone neglected, so we took a moment of (relative) quiet to enjoy the few trinkets stuffed into the felt.
Amy disclaimed my stocking up front with a warning that many of the items were "re-gifts." Basically, she'd raided our pantry for little food items that would fit in. I had barely had time to pull together her stocking in one hurried afternoon at a local Cost Plus, and it wasn't feeling inspired: a decorative wine cork, some almonds, a small vacuum-packed bag of French roast coffee, a Toblerone bar, etc. But Amy had had no time to shop so she had really had to wing it at 3 a.m. the night before, after we had finally finished wrapping and assembling the kid's gifts.
Sure enough, there was a Crunchie candy bar, some chocolate coins that must have been from last Christmas, a small kitchen gadget ... stuff that would fit.
Near the bottom of the stocking, I discovered envelopes. Six of them. Solid, dark pastelish stationery that I had seen lying around the office desk for the last umpteen years. And here they were. Numbered one through six. I couldn't even guess what was contained therein.
I opened the one labeled "#1:"
My breath hitched. My cock stirred. This was going to be tricky if this was only the first coupon. What state would I be in by #6? And here were my kids playing, not to mention another relative close by. Suddenly I wished we were somewhere private. At least I had my back to everyone else. Facing Amy, I could smile, look to Heaven, and mouth "Thank you!"
I'll expound on this more later, but it may even go without saying (after all, we are a middle-aged couple with jobs and kids): There has been some occasional tension regarding the frequency of sex. It doesn't exhibit as anger (I don't get mad easily), but more as guilt from both parties: me for my seemingly constant "nagging" for more, and Amy (who insists that I don't nag) for feeling like she is way too often tired, distracted, not-feeling-sexy-enough to give it to me.
There have been some pretty intense discussions about this in bed over the last few weeks. Tears shed, honest feelings discussed in the halting whispers of a couple simultaneously feeling deep emotion and trying not to wake up sleeping children. At least we're both communicating honestly and openly, but some possibly disturbing revelations have come about through these discussions. And we're still not sure what to do about the lack of parity on our libidos.
So the coupons blindsided me, in a good way. They were an amazing gesture. The "sex coupon" is a decades-old stand-by -- you can buy them gag gift stores or find any number of online sites that provide ideas for this way too cutesy idea. I think I even did a set for my high-school girlfriend once (lo those many years ago). Amy's were so special, I think, not only because they were somewhat "personalized" to my interests, but because they gave a sense of "hope" for the future. That we were going to keep working on this. And more importantly, as Dan Savage says, Amy was "good, giving and game."
I opened up the next coupon -- #2:
Anal has been a recent introduction to our repertoire, though it has been a long-term fantasy of mine.
#3:
Nice to find some good use for my "morning wood" one day soon. Though honestly, I have to wonder when this would happen, since one of the kids usually beats us awake every morning. I guess it won't always be that way, right?
Right?
Onward to the fourth:
Porn certainly isn't a necessity for me in this case, but it might be for Amy. She's a bit self-conscious about dirty talk, though she knows how much I love it. On nights when she's too tired to fuck but willing to help me get myself off, she knows I come faster if she nestles in next to my ear and spins a fantasy about her fucking one or another of our more attractive friends. With a dirty movie, she can really get rolling. It's taken awhile to work her up to it, but she can be pretty nasty when she sets her mind (mouth?) to it.
Number five had me dropping my jaw to the ground -- at first:
Oh wow. Shelley and Jon are parents of a schoolmate of one of our kids. Shelley has an exotic look to her -- and an amazing chest. Jon has an accent and is incredibly good-looking. We have joked and fantasized before about them, and wondered at first if there would be any interest there. We have since discovered that Shelley is extremely Catholic, so we don't hold out much hope. Still, great fodder between the sheets.
Amy almost apologized for the last coupon -- she said that she was having a hard time coming up with six ideas. So out of desperation, she wrote this:
Her desperation turned out to be the best coupon of all -- the very definition of "good, giving and game." It was so open-ended that I was immediately hard as a rock (and damned uncomfortable there in our living room!) with the possibilities. It was like having my whole life pass in front of my eyes -- except that instead of my life it was all of the fantasies I've had for the two of us. And one of them was going to get fulfilled.
I couldn't thank Amy enough for this gift. It was by far my favorite Christmas present this year. And not just because it's going to provide for some great, messy, dirty sex, but because of how it speaks to her commitment to find our way through the tricky sexual imbalance we're experiencing.
This is gonna be fun.
Amy disclaimed my stocking up front with a warning that many of the items were "re-gifts." Basically, she'd raided our pantry for little food items that would fit in. I had barely had time to pull together her stocking in one hurried afternoon at a local Cost Plus, and it wasn't feeling inspired: a decorative wine cork, some almonds, a small vacuum-packed bag of French roast coffee, a Toblerone bar, etc. But Amy had had no time to shop so she had really had to wing it at 3 a.m. the night before, after we had finally finished wrapping and assembling the kid's gifts.
Sure enough, there was a Crunchie candy bar, some chocolate coins that must have been from last Christmas, a small kitchen gadget ... stuff that would fit.
Near the bottom of the stocking, I discovered envelopes. Six of them. Solid, dark pastelish stationery that I had seen lying around the office desk for the last umpteen years. And here they were. Numbered one through six. I couldn't even guess what was contained therein.
I opened the one labeled "#1:"
Good for one mind-blowing BJ
(not just your run-of-the-mill blowjob)
Best used when sinus condition is not present
My breath hitched. My cock stirred. This was going to be tricky if this was only the first coupon. What state would I be in by #6? And here were my kids playing, not to mention another relative close by. Suddenly I wished we were somewhere private. At least I had my back to everyone else. Facing Amy, I could smile, look to Heaven, and mouth "Thank you!"
I'll expound on this more later, but it may even go without saying (after all, we are a middle-aged couple with jobs and kids): There has been some occasional tension regarding the frequency of sex. It doesn't exhibit as anger (I don't get mad easily), but more as guilt from both parties: me for my seemingly constant "nagging" for more, and Amy (who insists that I don't nag) for feeling like she is way too often tired, distracted, not-feeling-sexy-enough to give it to me.
There have been some pretty intense discussions about this in bed over the last few weeks. Tears shed, honest feelings discussed in the halting whispers of a couple simultaneously feeling deep emotion and trying not to wake up sleeping children. At least we're both communicating honestly and openly, but some possibly disturbing revelations have come about through these discussions. And we're still not sure what to do about the lack of parity on our libidos.
So the coupons blindsided me, in a good way. They were an amazing gesture. The "sex coupon" is a decades-old stand-by -- you can buy them gag gift stores or find any number of online sites that provide ideas for this way too cutesy idea. I think I even did a set for my high-school girlfriend once (lo those many years ago). Amy's were so special, I think, not only because they were somewhat "personalized" to my interests, but because they gave a sense of "hope" for the future. That we were going to keep working on this. And more importantly, as Dan Savage says, Amy was "good, giving and game."
I opened up the next coupon -- #2:
Good for some ass-action
(Need I say more?)
Ply liberally with wine or other lubricant
Anal has been a recent introduction to our repertoire, though it has been a long-term fantasy of mine.
#3:
Good for some morning sex —
even if it makes us late for work
(It makes us so happy while we're there)
Nice to find some good use for my "morning wood" one day soon. Though honestly, I have to wonder when this would happen, since one of the kids usually beats us awake every morning. I guess it won't always be that way, right?
Right?
Onward to the fourth:
Good for raunchy sex with
lots of dirty talk
(Pornos require advance notice)
Porn certainly isn't a necessity for me in this case, but it might be for Amy. She's a bit self-conscious about dirty talk, though she knows how much I love it. On nights when she's too tired to fuck but willing to help me get myself off, she knows I come faster if she nestles in next to my ear and spins a fantasy about her fucking one or another of our more attractive friends. With a dirty movie, she can really get rolling. It's taken awhile to work her up to it, but she can be pretty nasty when she sets her mind (mouth?) to it.
Number five had me dropping my jaw to the ground -- at first:
Good for a threesome, or
foursome, with Shelley and
Jon (if they let us)
Sorry, just kidding.
Oh wow. Shelley and Jon are parents of a schoolmate of one of our kids. Shelley has an exotic look to her -- and an amazing chest. Jon has an accent and is incredibly good-looking. We have joked and fantasized before about them, and wondered at first if there would be any interest there. We have since discovered that Shelley is extremely Catholic, so we don't hold out much hope. Still, great fodder between the sheets.
Amy almost apologized for the last coupon -- she said that she was having a hard time coming up with six ideas. So out of desperation, she wrote this:
Good for one new thing —
of your choosing.
Just ask.
Her desperation turned out to be the best coupon of all -- the very definition of "good, giving and game." It was so open-ended that I was immediately hard as a rock (and damned uncomfortable there in our living room!) with the possibilities. It was like having my whole life pass in front of my eyes -- except that instead of my life it was all of the fantasies I've had for the two of us. And one of them was going to get fulfilled.
I couldn't thank Amy enough for this gift. It was by far my favorite Christmas present this year. And not just because it's going to provide for some great, messy, dirty sex, but because of how it speaks to her commitment to find our way through the tricky sexual imbalance we're experiencing.
This is gonna be fun.
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