Just Needed A Warm-Up

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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.

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.

... 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?

You're So Dirty When You're Clean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I reached behind me for the bottle of lube.

"Awwww, you came prepared!" she said.

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

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

"In between that," I wondered aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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