100 Things About Me (Pt. 1 of 2)

"The only true currency is what we share when we're both uncool."
-- Lester Bangs, channeled through Philip Seymour Hoffman in Almost Famous

Everybody seems to do these lists. The challenge for me was making all 100 things relate to sex or relationships.

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i. Speaking purely physically: It's her eyes first. Her tits second.

ii. If I'm using "external stimuli" for masturbation, it's pretty evenly split between written erotica and video I've found on the Internet.

iii. I experimented sexually with my (male) best friend when we were 6 or 7. We called it "Nasty," but in the presence of the grown-ups we referred to it as "NASA." My favorite activities we did were the oral ones, though my friend was less enamored with those.

iv. I had a girlfriend in second and third grade with whom I experimented sexually. No intercourse, just playing with each other.

v. Amy and I used to make love to that Enigma CD that came out in the 1990s -- the one with the sampled monks and the heavy-breathing woman. How cliché is that?

vi. On a couple of occasions, girlfriends have surreptitiously groped me in public crowds. I found this to be incomprehensibly arousing.

vii. Speaking of public arousal, I have a fantasy about getting blown in a movie theater. I have no intention of fulfilling this one because I am convinced that these days every auditorium has security cameras with night-vision technology.

viii. I have always wanted to spend a night with a paid escort, but I can never get around how much they cost. (Maybe roleplay for Amy?)

ix. As a teenager, I had a sexual relationship with my (male) best friend that lasted about nine months.

x. A former apartment mate who knew of my homosexual experience asked me one night if I would take a shower with him. I softly declined. I didn't find him attractive. That said, now I kind of wish I'd done it.

xi. nip/tuck is a guilty pleasure. Good sex scenes, though I can't bear to watch the surgeries.

xii. Sometimes I resent what my kids have done to my sex life.

xiii. I find Anaïs Nin deadly dull.

xiv. I like going without underwear, but I don't do it all that often -- usually just when I'm out of underwear, and then I remember how much I like it.

xv. I considered for awhile in the late 80s/early 90s doing phone sex. Yes, I realize that, being male, I would have been doing gay phone sex. I was willing to try it. But two female co-workers at my day job warned me that the work would likely send me hurtling into a depression and make me hate humanity.

xvi. As "research" into phone sex, I called a phone sex line once. The girl who phoned me back was very sweet, but this was clearly not her calling (no pun intended). I had to lead the whole way, and her orgasm was obviously faked. Still, the fantasy I had concocted was so good that I made myself come.

xvii. Yeah, I have tried to incorporate Pop Rocks into sex. What a gi-normous disappointment that was.

xviii. When I was a kid, my parents had a copy of John Updike's A Month of Sundays in their bookcase. I would secret it away and masturbate to the sex scenes.

xix. It'd be fun to get into the Mile-High Club. Does anyone actually do that anymore, post-9/11?

xx. I have posed as a female on sex chats.

xxi. I begged and pleaded with a girlfriend to not break up with me 'cause the sex just rocked.

xxii. Well, maybe the sex wasn't that good: I broke up with her three weeks later.

xxiii. I wish I could eat Amy's pussy every day. It totally baffles me why she's not taking me up on this offer.

xxiv. My wife (then my girlfriend) once blew me in an empty classroom at her high-school reunion.

xxv. I am a shameless flirt, especially with women I know well. I'm even worse on the Internet.

xxvi. It saddens me that my wife has lost her talent for flirting ... with me or with anyone else. I think she'd like to regain it.

xxvii. I don't get the Hooters restaurant chain. But then, I haven't actually been to one. I should probably go and see if it makes any sense whatsoever. Amy has said she'd go with me sometime.

xxviii. I worry sometimes that I'm sounding silly when I talk dirty during sex. It doesn't help that Amy often has this nervous, self-conscious laugh when I'm doing it.

xxix. In high-school, my girlfriend and I used to read letters from the Forum section of Penthouse magazine to each other over the phone. She was awful at it. I was fantastic at it. (Her judgment, not mine.) (Okay, maybe my judgment too, a little.)

xxx. I listened to a phone message once from a woman I really wanted to date. She was wondering where I was, since we were supposed to be meeting for dinner. I wasn't answering the phone because I couldn't get up off the floor. I couldn't get up off the floor because I was pinned down at that moment by an ex-girlfriends pussy as we were engrossed in a messy, glorious 69.

xxxi. Though his character is a terrible womanizer, when Daniel Day Lewis says "Take off your clothes" in the movie version of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, I think it is so fucking sexy it makes me dizzy. When I'm being aggressive during sex, this is the character I hope is inhabiting me.

xxxii. I write erotica. I have several stories written, but haven't published them yet. Eventually, they'll be going somewhere on the web.

xxxiii. Ron Jeremy disgusts me. I don't get why he's such a goddamned legend in porn. How can "hedgehog" be a term of endearment for a porn actor?

xxxiv. I had a relationship lasting almost two years with a woman with whom I never had intercourse.

xxxv. And I was prepared to marry her.

xxxvi. I'm sorry that I gave that dancer at the strip club an extra $20 to "do a little something extra" for my friend, who was getting married the next day. I was his best man, and I somehow thought that the other guys at the bachelor party were expecting it. Maybe they were, but it wasn't worth it. Luckily, he has forgiven me. His wife thought it was funny.

xxxvii. I think swimming in the nude is an incredibly erotic experience.

xxxviii. In fact, my college girlfriend and I once had a wonderful encounter in my family's pool while on break that involved my giving her a fun session of cunnilingus ... underwater.

xxxix. I dated this girl in junior high school who was unbelievably way out of my league. Incredibly hot. The only thing that I had that could have attracted her was my intelligence or command of the English language. Her aroma made my tongue tickle. We would go to this hill overlooking a cemetery and she'd let me play with her small but delicious tits. She was 4'11". She handed out business cards that said "Let's get small."

xl. I've never felt a pair of fake tits. I'm interested in doing this, just for the experience. I don't think for a minute that it will be sexually arousing.

xli. Before I married Amy, I had an affair. The woman and I never had intercourse, but we did everything else.

xlii. Because of the distance this affair (and other issues) created, Amy ended up having her own affair. She fucked him.

xliii. Sometimes, when I'm sitting in a public place (like a bus or a restaurant), I will look around at the people within my field of vision and choose the individual with whom I would most like to have sex. It's a fun game, try it sometime.

xliv. Amy and I spent an entire Saturday in bed, fucking. In front of the Clarence Thomas hearings.

xlv. In college, a woman I was mad-crushing on wanted to apply full makeup to my face, just for the fun of it. I let her go at it, because it was an incredible turn-on to have her face in such close proximity to mine. The makeup didn't turn me on at all.

xlvi. I'd rather see my wife fuck Rocco Siffredi than Peter North. North always has that dumb, vacant look on his face when he's having sex. And Rocco's cock has those great veins. I think Amy agrees with me on this.

xlvii. I lost my virginity at 17, and went on to have a TON of sex over the next several months with my girlfriend, before we went off to our respective colleges.

xlviii. But I never used a condom until my senior year in college.

xlix. I admit I'm still struggling with elements of the affairs Amy and I had before we were married. I feel totally hypocritical about that, but ... there it is.

l. I love the challenge of keeping my mouth concentrated on the cunt of a woman who is really bucking as I eat her out.

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If you haven't lost all respect for me yet, you can continue with items 51-100.

Sick Man Walking.

Back in 1989, I was working a job that required one of my greatest talents: My fast and accurate typing. A co-worker of mine, a woman, ate lunch with me one day and went on and on about how amazing sex is when both participants are running high-grade fevers.

This occurred to me last night. It was about the only thought I was able to retain, as at that point I was spiking up above 101 degrees and sweat-shaking with the chills in my bed. And honestly, I can NOT imagine anything less interesting at that moment than trying to sexually gratify another person.

Friends and co-workers with experiences with walking pneumonia reported to me yesterday that my symptoms make me a goddamn textbook for the diagnosis. My doctor will confirm or reject their opinion at an appointment I have this evening.

I miss writing and reading. I hope to get back to this soon.

The Great Divide

Well, I'm sick. With a stupid, energy-depleting cold, and it's been a struggle to concentrate long on anything. This is particularly frustrating, since a new sex toy and movie arrived in the mail on Friday, but I just haven't had the energy to check this stuff out with Amy. Hopefully you'll be hearing about that soon ... but apparently not this weekend.

Finding the time to write — or the privacy to have sex — is going to get tricky this coming week, as my mom is coming to visit. Looks like it might be a good time to spring the "100 things" list.

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A few weeks ago, Dan Savage had a column that took me by surprise. The topic was what to do about differing libidos — specifically, what a high-libidoed male does when paired with a low-libidoed female. The man had recently discovered the existence of Joan Sewell's I'd Rather Eat Chocolate: Learning to Love My Low Libido, and he was understandably worried. "My spouse can now point at this book," he wrote, "and say, 'I'm normal, live with it....'"

Dan's response caught me totally off guard: He first restated the basic premise of the book — "Women have naturally lower sex drives.... [M]en are hornier—and all the Sex and the City repeats in the world aren't going to change that," he explains of her premise — and then ... he didn't refute it.

Dammit. Et tu, Dan?

The column really got my dander up, and I was fighting to write a blog entry here. But work and my natural laziness kept me from ever writing that. This was lucky, because the next week, Dan's true endgame was revealed: His "silence is assent" approach was only a setup to guarantee that lots of oversexed women would write in and unveil their unbridled lust. Really, how silly of me to not see this coming! I've been reading Dan for years — he's a sort of hero for me. Perhaps I was blinded by my empathy for the writer (though let's face it, I do significantly better than his "5-20 times a year" he gets from his wife). Nevertheless, I was happy to see the outpouring of mail that Dan received. Clearly, I was the only one not in on the joke.

An example: "... I wanted to pipe up as one woman who has never—I mean never—met a man whose libido could match mine," one wrote. "If it were up to me, I’d be having sex twice a day. I’ve never met a man who could handle sex once a day (every day) after the first flush of lust."

I'm not afraid to admit, as I read that one, that I thought: You never met me! But the truth is, I don't really know; I've never been with a woman as insatiable as some of the ladies who star in these letters. Which, I suppose, lends credence to Sewell's book's premise. These are probably the exceptions to the rule.

If I feel any sense of "hope," it's the same kind of hope that writing this blog and (especially) reading other sex blogs has given me: That I'm not the only one dealing with this problem ... that others out there dealing with it have seen improvement (at least when both partners want to change the situation) ... and that I've seen little signs for the better right here at home.

And I'm thinking that the start of blogging and the sudden somewhat-more-regular sex may not have been coincidental. Amy's and my differing libidos seemed to be a locked-in reality. But Amy had suddenly expressed a desire for desiring more sex, to be more of the "old" Amy. It's too early to tell if we've really turned a corner, but the will is there, and that's really all one could ask for, right?

If Savage is to be believed, I should be expecting more:

The one thing that hasn't changed in the wake of Sewell's book is my advice to women with low libidos: You can have strict monogamy or you can have a low libido, ladies, but you can't have both. If monogamy is a priority, you're gonna have to put out, i.e., regular vaginal intercourse and the occasional tide-him-over handjob and/or blowjob, cheerfully given.

I understand where he's coming from here, but this is not a message that I believe can be delivered as an ultimatum. This is something that needs to be realized — by both partners. There needs to be an understanding. Perhaps it's a conversation that Amy and I will have one day. The thought of a context in which such a conversation were to occur ... it frankly scares me.

But I'm thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

One of the libido-related issues that seems to keep coming up for us is the fact that simply having sex makes me want more. If Amy fucks me on a Friday night, I'm all over her all day Saturday, trying to set up another tryst for that night. For her, it seems to be more like a "We've done that already!" It's a chemical thing, I think: Energetic, passionate sex raises my testosterone levels, thus making me even hornier. But I can't possibly expect the same thing to happen to her — not as intensely, at least.

A couple of weekends ago, we had amazing sex on a Saturday night. Sunday, I knew, was going to be all about getting "domestic" things done — errands, work around the house, etc. But I woke up with one thought on my mind: If we have an incredibly productive day and get all that stuff done, we could go another round on Sunday night. Amy gently spurned my flirting and groping that morning, easily saw my goal, and warned me up front that this wasn't going to be happening.

I became a petulant child for quite a bit of the rest of that morning. And the only thing worse than acting this way is knowing that you're being an asshole. I was finally able to turn my attitude that day around, but it wasn't easy for me. As we drove to a mall, Amy called me on my pissy attitude, and I admitted that it was this "sex breeds the desire for more sex" thing that I always seem to have.

"And when I act this way," I said, "I'm afraid that you're going to think you don't want to bother having sex with me at all, because you know you're just going to be asked for more right away."

The issue didn't get resolved, but at least it was out on the table. I'm sure it'll get revisited sometime.

I had to laugh, though, when I noticed this letter among the responses to Savage's column:

I love my husband. I love fucking him. I also know that I do say no more often than yes. I’m working on this. I wish he would cut down on the sulking. He’d get fucked a lot more “if only” he would.

Hey! I think Amy wrote in!

Tag, I'm It (I)

Sweet Bekah "tagged" me recently. I've never been tagged before, so Bekah, you took my tag cherry. I suddenly feel a strong desire to cuddle. Do you still love me? Do you think I'm pretty?

(Sorry, La fille mariée, you missed having that by a coupla hours. I'll be fulfilling your tag request in the next coupla days.)

The gig is this: I have to come up with five things about myself that I've never written (or isn't immediately obvious) here.

One would think this would be a piece of cake, but here's the rub: I completed a "100 things about me" list back in early February, and I'm waiting for "the right moment" to unleash that on you. Since this is a sex blog, my one requirement is that all posts have to be sex-related, so every one of my 100 things is about sex in some way. And that, my friends, took a seriously long time to complete.

Now I had to come up with five more! Thanks, Bekah. You're a peach.

Nevertheless, I persevered. For you. Here are five sexual things about me. Consider it a teaser for the upcoming 100-things list (which, I must say, is even juicier).


1. I've taken purity tests a number of times, dating all the way back to the first 500-question version that showed up on Usenet in 1991. I just took one again, and my score: I am 53.96% pure. I am bound and determined to get "over the hump" and slip below 50% by the end of this year!

2. I have a thing for Meredith Vieira. Shut up. I'm serious. I would totally do her. The way she flirts with male contestants on the syndicated version of Who Wants to Be A Millionaire? makes me want to audition for the show just so I can show her my "lifeline."

3. I don't really masturbate in the shower. I mean, I suppose I have, but ... it doesn't really work for me. It doesn't go anywhere. Considering my love for shower sex, this seems odd to me.

4. Not only was I involved in all the plays during my three years of high school, I was also involved in just about every group shoulder- and back-massage in which the crew and actors engaged in the wings, just offstage. We did this a lot. Like, daisy-chain massages. Looking back on this, it's hard to believe that the grown-ups nearby would allow such sensual activity to continue unabated through the entire run of our shows. I mean, didn't they know that when I was working Hallie's shoulders, I was also looking straight down her black Danskin top? Were they really that dense? I know Hallie wasn't. She loved it.

5. How am I hangin'? Usually to the right. When I'm not, you know, pull-and-sweepin'.


So I'm supposed to tag five more people. I kinda hate this part, but I better do it in case there's one of those Internet curses where if I don't follow through, something bad will happen like my testicles will break off and work their way down my pant leg. My right pant leg, as you now know.

So: amy.elle ... Lena G. ... Penelope / Odysseus ... preheated ... and WM ... You're all on. And your five things dont' have to be about sex — that's just my thing. (But it's always more fun when it is!) If you go for it, the general link above will change to that specific post on your blog.

Sugasm #72

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