Return to the Fold. More Specifically, Her Folds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Big-Titted Muses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this one video transcends his blathering.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes!" she said, enthusiastically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"More with something else," she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes!"

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

"Oh God, yes!"

Well, that worked. I tried it again.

"Uhhh. Yes!"

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

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

"Where?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I asked: "Did you actually come?"

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.