Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Except that I'm not Joel. And neither of the women I hope to fuck tonight is a babysitter.
[postscript: I'm mortified. I thought the allusion was to The Sure Thing, but in fact, it was to "Risky Business." Some Gen-X'er I am.]
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
It involves me and a number of women too large to count. The women need not be models, or porn stars, or young - in fact, if they were a random sampling of women in a place that skewed toward the attractive (say, a trendy bar or restaurant) but included some outliers, that would be perfect. And the women should be dressed as they would be in the trendy bar or restaurant - dressed to attract, and maybe with the confidence (or hope) that they would attract....
Monday, December 26, 2011
7. High-concept swinging
Our dinner party fantasy has never happened. Yet. I really liked the fantasy, though, and I'm disappointed both that our friends ultimately weren't interested in the most extreme version of the fantasy and that CraigsList (and Kasidie, and SLS) never succeeded in identifying suitable guests. I like the idea of a high-concept swingers' event. And I LOVE the idea of conjuring and convening such an event. May 2012 be the year.
6. Multiples (couples)
My wife is no huge fan of the sex club or swingers' party scene. Neither is L (though she's less averse than T). I have a hunger - to go to a couple of the wilder, more sensual events and really throw myself into the scrum.
5. Multiples (women)
I'm the kind of insatiable that gets off hugely on being with more than one woman at a time. One of my fondest sexual memories involves three women and me. That was in a different time, and if I'm not ashamed or embarrassed, I'm slightly sad to say that it took a lot of money to bring about that situation - it wasn't me and three women who wanted to be with me (although I genuinely believe they enjoyed themselves - work can be fun) - it was me and three women who were excited to be making some good money and having a good time. I'm in a different sexual place now, and I'd really like to be in a sexual encounter with two, three or more women.
4. Get pegged
I've never been fucked in the ass by a woman. I don't know that I'd enjoy it, but I'd like to try it once or twice.
3. Re-visit my experience of gay sex
I've had a few sexual experiences with men, but not in twenty years. I know I'm straight - there ain't no missing it. And I have zero interest in anal sex, on either end, with a man. Nor in receiving oral from a guy. But I love giving pleasure. And I think it might be fun both to go down on a guy and to dominate a guy. I'm not sure 2012 will hold this particular experience for me (and I don't know how pleasurable it would be), but I'm eager to (re-)visit it.
2. Increase my appetite for straight, aggressive, hard, doggie-style, or up-against-the-wall, or bent-over-the-bed, or what have you, fucking
I didn't really enjoy or crave fucking until relatively recently in my sexual life. I never hated it, but I always thought of myself as an oral guy. If there were ONLY oral, I'd be quite content. If there were only fucking, I've long said, I'd be miserable. Alternately, I've analogized fucking to salad, and oral to meat. In recent years, I've developed more of an appetite to fuck, and I've gotten better at it. But it remains true that I can go down on a woman for hours, or be gone down on for hours. And happily. And fucking just isn't that way: generally, after some time, I lose interest. That might manifest in a loss of erection, or it might just be that I'm ready to move on/back to oral. I'd like to develop my taste for simple fucking in 2012.
1. Deepen my communication and bliss with T
A friend has characterized this path we're on as “grenadulent.” Maybe that's a mixed weapons metaphor. But it’s apt: every day we continue down the path, we court misunderstandings and hurt. It wouldn't at all be worth doing, if... if the rewards weren't so damned awesome (and if the alternative weren't so much harder/less satisfying). That said, what makes this path so fun, so rewarding, is NOT all the sex I get to have with people other than my wife. (Don't get me wrong - that IS fun, rewarding, awesome, etc. It's just not what MAKES it all so fun.) What makes it all so fun is how great it is for US - how much better our sex is, how much closer our relationship is, how much better we get to know one another (and ourselves). But it takes both effort and skill. In 2012, I pledge to get better, to try harder. May T and I both benefit for it.
2. At 6:00 p.m., please be at the clock in the center of Grand Central Station. Have your phone in your hand. Await instructions.
See you later!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
T was dressed to kill - a skin-tight black dress with pink baubles she had bought to wear to a Chemistry party, black stockings, the Agent Provocateur lingerie I gave her two nights ago, black pumps. She was eminently, infinitely, fuckable. S looked hot too, in tight black slacks and a black satin top that draped over her breasts delightfully.
Unfortunately, tonight was not to be. The mucous level in my skull was high to begin with, and by the time we were on our second drinks, my "m"s sounded like "b"s, my "n"s like "d"s. S asked, "So what are you guys thinking?"
I sneezed, blew my nose in my napkin, and said, "I have two thoughts." I hesitated, and the Dude asked if it would be easier if I wrote my answer down. "No," I said, "but charades might be fun." I pictured myself poking one index finger through a circle formed by my other thumb and index finger, and interrupting myself to blow my nose and sneeze.
"First," I began, "and I think I can comfortably say that I imagine I speak for T when I say this, we REALLY want to fuck you guys."
And I continued, "But second, I think we want to do that on a night that isn't tonight."
S was inscrutable, but the Dude was visibly crestfallen.
I looked at S and said, "The thing is, if I imagine kissing you, or going down on you, I fear I'd suffocate, as I can't breathe through my nose."
We hurriedly planned a date (for next Friday, so stay tuned) and bid our farewells. T and I drove home, and I'm now about to go use a Neti pot before crashing.
Friday, December 23, 2011
1) Watched my wife give another man a blowjob.
2) Watched my wife fuck another man.
3) Watched another man make my wife cum.
4) Helped another man make my wife cum.
5) Ditto to all, but in reverse....
6) Got in trouble for NOT keeping a sexual secret.
7) Got a blowjob from a woman whose name I never learned, within 60 seconds of saying "hi."
8) Fucked a (different) woman whose name I never learned, within 60 seconds of saying "hi."
9) Referred to a woman as my "girlfriend."
10) Used a blindfold given to my wife by my girlfriend on my girlfriend. After using it on my wife.
11) Fucked a woman other than my wife in my house. Moments after my wife had finished with her. And moments before I fucked my wife.
12) Did NOT have sex with a woman who wanted to with me.
13) Spent more money on a bra than on a fancy dinner for two (I don't drink wine). And it was totally worth it.
14) Received, by e-mail, a picture of my wife kissing my girlfriend in a restaurant bathroom while I was on a family trip.
15) Enjoyed receiving a picture of my wife, nude, texting me, taken and sent by her boyfriend.
16) Went on a week-long silent meditation retreat. During which I did not have sex or masturbate.
That's all for now. More to come - tell me some of yours....
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
At the time, I knew there was something up with my father's invulnerability. It just didn't seem right somehow. It wasn't until my late teens that he finally told me that he is gay. (He'd told my Mom when I was just a toddler, and their marriage had ruptured.) Somehow, my father telegraphed to me very effectively that his sexuality was, at best, secret, and more accurately, shameful. The things I found in all the other places I looked - in my Mom's house and in those of my friends and charges - none of it really shocked me. What it did was educate me: there were people who liked Color Climax, men who wrote of their ardor.
As our son reaches snooping age, I'm starting to think about these questions. We have never been at all secretive. If anything, the opposite - we've been almost exhibitionistic: we often have sex toys out in the open in our bedroom (I'm thinking of the rarely used, graphically purple, silicone dildo - perfectly penis-shaped, that sat for a while on the headboard, only to be secreted more recently to the area protected by a sliding door in that headboard). L recently told me of seeing a pair of handcuffs next to the bed of an acquaintance.
As I think about it, I think this all is relatively straightforward: our obligation - to our son, to our friends - isn't to hide things. Hiding, after all, is something one does for that which is secret, and I don't (want to) have secrets. Our obligation is to respect his, our friends', freedom not to be exposed to my, to our sexuality. If he wants to look behind closed doors, if he wants to find dildos, lube, paddles, vibrators, porn, what have you - if he wants that stuff, it won't be hard to find. (And, unlike for me growing up, he won't be dependent on his uncle, or his friends' parents, for access both to porn and to the information about desire other than one's own that available porn provides - the internet has fixed all that.)
But he'll have to want to know.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
First, she invited my family to her family's second home for a weekend party. We couldn't make it (and it would, honestly, have been a bit awkward - we/I hardly knew her at the time, other than as the cute chick I saw all the time). A month or so later, after we'd both taken multiple opportunities to put ourselves in the same place at the same time (me, with my wife's knowledge and encouragement), it was almost socially appropriate when she invited herself and her family over to our place for a couple of days.
Almost. But not quite.
But still: I wanted her. I was prepared to overlook social niceties if it meant I'd get to see her in a bathing suit.
So out they came. Midday, watching the kids frolic in the water (and after getting a text from T telling me to "bed her"), I laid out my life story - my history as a CPOS, my "recovery," my recovery from recovery, and my current, dissolute ways. And T's relationship to it all. She saw me and, if not raising me one, at least called: she told me her story, breaking down in tears as she did it. And it became clear: I wasn't going to fuck her. She wasn't in the place I'd hoped. She wasn't going to be honest with her husband, and what I represented was more complexity, more secrets, not more fun. I texted my wife midday: "I'm in the friend zone, alas."
A few hours later, the kids watching TV, we went for a walk on the beach. "Why did you tell me all that?" she asked.
"Well.... I like you," I said. "I'm attracted to you, and, at the time, I hoped you were in a similar place in your relationship to the one I'm in in mine. Why'd you tell me all you told me?" I asked.
"Well... I like you, too," she said. "And I feel comfortable with you, and I've only told one other person the things I told you, and it just feels good to talk about them."
Later that night, after putting the kids to bed, I sat on the couch, miserable that she seemed to have fallen asleep with her kids. Damn, I thought. I guess I really am in the friend zone. But then, at about 10:15, she emerged from the bedroom to go to the bathroom, and stopped in the living room, where I was, on her way back to the bedroom. She sat down, and we began talking. And talking. And talking.
It was one of those nights I can't remember since my 20s - when the urgency of getting to know someone, together with the exquisite torture of not fucking them - can keep you going forever. It kept us going. We established early in the evening that we weren't even going to kiss - I took the high road. "I just don't want to be a problem in your life."
Toward the end of the evening (or really, the end of the night - it was well after 3 a.m., if memory serves), I made a suggestion: "Tell your husband you like me a lot, that you respect my marriage, that talking with me opened your eyes to some... intriguing possibilities. Tell him that you're attracted to me, that I'm attracted to you, but that ain't nothing gonna happen without his blessing and knowledge."
We hugged good-night. Not quite chastely (I was hard, and it's hard to hug hard chastely). But close to chastely. And we didn't kiss. At all, as I remember. Or maybe just on the cheek.
Whatever - that was a Tuesday night. Wednesday morning she took her kids and left. And then, Friday, I got an e-mail: she'd gotten the "all-clear" from her husband. Holy shit! I never imagined it would happen, or that it would be that easy, or that quick.
I think it was all of a few days from then before our first date. And since then, it's been a ball. L is a great addition to my life, unlike any other woman I've ever known, and I'm grateful. She pushes me places I'm not even sure I want to go, but I'm better for being pushed there; and she allows me to push her further than she wants to go.
Life is good....
"How do you handle jealousy?" I asked him.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, is your wife the only woman you want to fuck?"
"Are you the only man she wants to fuck?"
"I assume not, but we never talk about it."
"So the deal is, rather than expose yourself to the possibility of feeling jealousy for a moment, you shut off a large portion of your erotic imagination from your wife. And how do you handle your relationships - and your relationship to those relationships - with women you'd like to fuck but don't because you're married?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you ever feel resentment, or regret, or sadness, or the sense of loss, or opportunity missed, or whatever?"
"Sure. But that's just the price of marriage."
This is the point for me. I know so many people who treat jealousy as a sort of must-avoid emotion - they'll go to enormous lengths to avoid it, and in service of avoiding it, will expose themselves to all sorts of other negative emotions without batting an eye.
I'm not saying this is unwise - only that it's mostly unthinking. We privilege jealousy, and the dangers that come along with it, over all other emotions, no matter how painful. And in so doing, we think we are doing something natural, something inevitable.
I feel none of the loss or resentment or repression that my friend does. In exchange, yes, I do have to contend with the complexities of jealousy (and envy, for what it's worth, which is at least as salient for me in all this), but for today at least, I like that trade-off just fine.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
It's remarkable that it took until this year for so many things to enter our life. 2011 surely will (ahem) go down as the year of sexual firsts for us.
Tonight, the first freshest in my mind is the aptly named Hitachi Magic Wand.
"Sometimes I worry you'll resent the Magic Wand," my wife said to me apologetically.
"Are you kidding? Any man who complains that his wife likes to rub her ass against his cock while squeezing a Magic Wand between her legs, resisting, enhancing the pressure is INSANE."
Thank you, Hitachi.
And now that L has a blog, even more so....
Thursday, December 15, 2011
"Hop in," I said. As she sat down, wearing jeans and a soft sweater, I looked at her: "Where's your skirt?"
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
There's something about not having something, about anticipating getting it, that's even better than actually getting (or for that matter, having) it. It's delicate, though. The deliciousness of anticipation is so fragile, so vulnerable: it so easily can become craving in the absence of what is anticipated, or disappointment in its arrival, and passing.
For me, though, I'm inhabiting a delicious anticipation, at least today.
Monday, December 12, 2011
1) Straightforward, traditional hotel-room romp.
2) Give her the reins - she hasn't (really) held them yet.
3) Have her provide a modeling exhibition for me.
4) Something else exciting.
I've had a couple of ads up on CraigsList, seeking either a couple (to fuck for our viewing pleasure, or to demonstrate their BDSM technique) or an individual woman (to demonstrate her masturbatory technique).
The ads have produced nothing, alas.
But wait. I just had a great idea. Two, actually....
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Weeks went by. She was non-compliant, defiant. Until the other day, when this delightful missive arrived in my inbox. It started as a roman a clef, but I edited to make it not so. Now, it's just hot....
The year finally over, the current church board was gathering for a final time. A party. Fortunately, they were a remarkably hot and clever bunch, so what might have been a chore had the makings instead of a delightful night.
N. was cute: fiercely forthright, charismatic and quick, with twinkling eyes and an athletic build.
L.'s petite-ness was an ongoing joke; within that she was delicate, birdlike and funny, with a small, cute ass and finely shaped lips.
Their recent adventures together gave depth to what had begun as a playful crush, and had developed into something akin to partners-in-crime.
Their relationship was unique: both were married to other people, and their spouses were aware and approving of their friendship. A friendship which currently included a wealth of fucking.
In addition, they served together on the church board. This situation had added a dash of spice to the Sunday morning drop-off at religious school, and made the bi-monthly meetings considerably more interesting.
This evening they arrived independently, to a backyard twinkling with lights, humming with conversation, laughter, and the dual smells of grilling and honeysuckle.
The hostess, Nina, met N. at the door. The evening's humidity had added extra bounce to her dark glossy curls, and her first glass of wine was blossoming in her cheeks and shining in her eyes. She greeted him warmly.
N. was pleased to see her, and let himself appreciate her curves, the smooth brown legs her cotton dress revealed, and the sheen of sweat glistening on her shoulders.
He could see L. in the garden chatting with Tom, a tall, sweet guy they had both remarked on. Tom's conservative exterior might possibly mask a creative and enthusiastic lover.. Or so they had proposed, and the thought gave them hope and great amusement.
L.'s design was apparent and N. was spellbound. He loved to watch her reel in a new lover.
She combed her fingers through her hair, and cocked her head to one side, exposing her throat. Tom laughed down into her eyes, looking somewhat smitten, and simultaneously hapless.
L. turned, seeing N. She raised an eyebrow. Their plan was set.
The evening's challenge was to seduce their chosen prey, and witness one another's conquests.
The idea of playing with other board members had given them some fun fantasies, and tonight they planned to make at least a couple of those real.
L. pulled Tom inside, with the pretense that she couldn't reach a bottle placed on a high shelf. He came willingly, looking slightly dazed, but clearly loving the attention. Her eyes briefly sought N.- the game would fail if her partner missed the action. She spotted him laughing with Nina, his forehead crinkling in the way she found charming. He saw her and held his smile for her, tracking her progress with Tom through the crowd.
L. led Tom toward a pantry out of the fray. She was flirting shamelessly, but still quite sure she was in control. As they entered the pantry, Tom's eyes sharpened, and he lost the mask of hapless innocent in one sparkling instant. L. was suddenly and abruptly aware that she had miscalculated. She was not the hunter. And as prey she had been clearly marked, her pursuer crafty and determined.
Her breath caught in her throat, her blood draining away, leaving her dizzy. Tom smiled. He leaned in, capturing her wrists in one large hand as he kissed her. His lips were strong, and soft; his tongue meeting hers electric. Her dizziness melted into a swoon. She surrendered into his heat, feeling herself pulled tight against him. He pressed his cock into her hip, and pinned her against the wall with his body.
L. slipped her hand under his shirt. His belly trembled and his breath caught as her fingers moved lower, grazing his cock: silky, hot and hard.
He raised her arms above her head, exposing her, opening her, restraining her. He pressed her hard against the wall, and then deftly flipped her, pressing his cock against her ass. "Keep your hands on the wall," he instructed, his voice a low growl. His hand cupped her ass, and then pulled away her panties with one swift strong motion. L. could feel her excitement dripping down her inner thigh, and blushed with embarrassment when Tom remarked upon her "readiness". She moaned as his finger glanced over her clit, swollen and crying for attention. His fingers entered her hungry cunt with force. Tom laughed with delight, and continued to fuck her with his hand, murmuring his appreciation of her charms. He lowered himself to his knees, kissing her ass, his head disappearing under her skirt. His mouth found her cunt. He lapped her, and probed her with his tongue, then dragged his lightly bearded chin across her clit, driving shivers up her spine.
L. glanced over her shoulder, happy to spy N. in the shadow of the doorway. She grinned, knowing that her eyes were hazy with lust. N.'s were intent, drinking in the scene before him. L. rocked over Tom's face, her lips parted, her hands splayed against the wall. Meeting N.'s gaze, she came, knees buckling. Tom held her ass in his hands, licking her still, making her squirm and claw at the wall. He flipped her around once again, kissing her deeply. "Ask me," he said.
"Please. Please fuck me," L. responded, feeling for all the world like a kitten mewling for milk.
Their eyes met, and she pulled his cock toward her, teasing the wet tip with her thumb. She watched his eyes lose focus, his breathing go shallow. She knew that she owned him in this moment. He pulled her thigh up from underneath, spreading her legs wide. He rocked forward, locking his eyes on hers, and plunged into her, deeper and deeper still. His cock filled her, riding her, rocking her, setting the pace and then changing it. L. braced herself against the wall, reveling in the intensity of Tom's passion, loving the moment when his control faltered. He plowed her relentlessly, loosing himself finally in an aching, paralyzing orgasm.
N.'s ardor was only heightened by the scene he'd so recently witnessed. His purpose was renewed.
He headed back to the garden, finding Nina momentarily alone. She smiled at him sweetly. She liked him, and was pleased he'd come. They'd had a nice working relationship throughout the year and knew that their admiration for each other was mutual. N. had restrained himself, but was ready to relent to his attraction; he'd pictured her lips en robing his cock many times. He yearned to hold her hair back in his fist so that he might enjoy a better view of her face as he fucked it.
"I'm afraid we have some unfinished business," Nina said innocently. N. checked the smirk playing across his face, and followed her into the house. "I'm at your disposal," he said.
To his utter surprise she led him into an unoccupied bedroom. She winked. And came forward into his arms.
N. squeezed Nina's ass, firm and meaty under his palm. He let his hands linger there, and ground himself against her. Her lips were plummy and soft, her breath sweet and laced with wine. He felt the frisson of excitement that a new lover gave him, and savored his anticipation. Then he kissed her hard. He ran his hands through her hair, taking pleasure in mussing it. His hands traveled down to her shoulders, then to the front of her dress. He unbuttoned it, releasing her breasts, full and heavy, and happily not confined in a bra. Her skin was smooth and yielding. She looked up at him, her dark eyes doe-like, and confessed her desire. N. couldn't believe his luck.. he'd thought it would be harder, but Nina was on her knees before him, deftly unbuttoning his jeans.
He suddenly realized he hadn't seen L. in some time and knew that he would have failed if she failed to see them thus engaged. He was torn. Stop now to find L. and risk the moment somehow passing, or continue where his heart and cock were leading and risk possibly "failing" the challenge. Nina's lips found his cock. He stayed. She sucked him expertly. Her tongue played over the intensely sensitive underside of the head, teasing him to a hardness he almost couldn't take. Almost. The pleasure was exquisite. Her enthusiasm was obvious; her eyes met his full of merriment and lust. He let her have him, allowing her to pull him toward his orgasm, stopping her as he neared the edge, pausing only a moment to gather his resolve, and then allowing her to continue, her rhythm perfect, building and building. He felt rushes from his belly to his knees, his cock a central nerve at fever pitch. He came in a toe- curling orgasm that caught his breath and made him shake. Nina held his cock in her mouth, swallowing him, holding him until his tremors subsided.
When he had recovered he pulled her up, and she was momentarily confused. He sat her down on a chair, and put the palm of his hand on her cunt, over her dress. Then he put it on her cunt under her dress, but over her panties. She giggled. Then he rubbed her clit through the filmy fabric. Her panties were soaked. He pulled them down, enjoying the way the elastic bit into her thighs. He knelt between her legs, and spread them wide, using both hands on her inner thighs, exposing her cunt in all its wet, pink glory. She was a peach: juicy, ripe and sweet. Her breath was ragged and a flush infused her skin. He licked her thoroughly, and fucked her with his fingers as he nibbled and sucked on her clit. She squealed as she came, and rewarded him with a flood of hot salty come of her own. He didn't release her from the attentions of his lips and tongue until he'd wrung the last spasms from her body and she slumped, spent and glowing, against the back of the chair.
Walking out into the warm summer night, it is true that N. and L. gloated just a little, sharing the satisfaction of a challenge met, new pleasures found, and a story added to the collection.
Friday, December 9, 2011
The most memorable moment in the sexual memoir is when she writes that she is pretty sure she never fucked her father, but of course, because she only saw the faces of very few of the men she fucked, she couldn't really be sure. In any event, reading the two books together is fascinating. On the one hand, she is such a libertine with her own body - so relentlessly, manically willing to fuck any man in any circumstance - she participates in gangbangs at sex clubs and parties, in the woods, in cars, in houses; she allows herself to be pimped out by a variety of lovers; and on the other, she is maniacally, insanely jealous over her husband's paltry number of affairs.
Her engagement with the irony is unsatisfying: she never tangles fully with her almost complete estrangement from her body in favor of her mind. Her location of her sense of self is so intellectual that it seems coherent to her to imagine her behavior as simple, not problematic in the context of a committed relationship, whereas her husband's is sadistic, horrifying. To be fair, she treats her own reaction to her husband's infidelities as the subject of the book, rather than his infidelities themselves.
But the juxtaposition of the two books makes stark something I know intimately from my own life: because I know myself (or at least I imagine I do), because I'm so familiar with my motivations and bodily sensations, I know that my sexual peregrinations never have been a threat to my feelings for T. I know that in my heart, in my soul, in my body. But I have no such luxury with respect to hers, fewer and less frequent though they may be/have been. In my chest - in my solar plexus, in my lungs - when I contemplate her fucking another man, I feel abandonment and rejection. My breathing quickens, grows shallow; my chest tightens. This, of course, has nothing to do with her feelings or motivations. It's about my imprinting as a child, about my insecurities and vulnerabilities.
The good news is: I don't fear these feelings any more. Quite the opposite - I welcome them. Not because I'm a masochist, or crave them. But because they're fascinating. Where Millet wasn't particularly analytic about her own seeming hypocrisy, I find mine endlessly interesting. How can it be that I forgive myself my (CPOS) infidelities so easily, that I see them as so benign and innocuous, while my wife's open, transparent dalliances with just one man can render me insane?
Last night, I wasn't insane. The opposite: T graced me with a few choice, sexy photos of herself from the evening, and I was almost completely equanimous (or even whatever the adjectival form of "compersion" is) in the face of my wife's evident rapturous pleasure. But I find it all interesting. In the "poly" world, people often speak of jealousy as if it is an "immature" emotion, something that sophisticated people don't feel. This is the opposite of how I conceive of it: my maturity consists not of my outgrowing jealousy, but of my accepting it, rather than shrinking from it.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
M. is not really ready to be with another man unless she has, first and foremost, trust added to chemistry and physical attraction. For her, that's going to take time, lots of interactions and experiences in a casual, low-pressure setting. Being with a woman, though, is different. She is ready to be with another woman anytime and wants the two of us to enjoy that experience together. She's just really reluctant to be with another guy unless the trust, chemistry, and attraction have been built up over time. Having a Y chromosome, I, of course, feel no such reservations about being with another woman.I didn't react so well to this, to the artful, delicate way in which this man presented his wife as wanting him to fuck my wife, while being too delicate a flower to imagine fucking me. My ego's fragile, perhaps. But it rubbed me the wrong way in every way. From the substance - we'll fuck her, but not you - to the way in which the message was delivered - M, the woman (but not the writer) is both the one who wants J (the man) to fuck my wife, AND the one who wants me not to fuck her. My wife suggested perhaps we should go drink with them, without expectations, or have sex near them. At the time, I agreed to that. But as I ponder it, and write about it, I think probably not. Where things have been left for now is that we'll meet for drinks and maybe dancing (I HATE dancing - or at least, I hate dancing when I'm not certain that I'm going to get laid) in January.
She tells me of her liaisons (or really, hook-ups). They typically sound joyless, driven. She gets little physical pleasure from them - what she values seems to be some combination of feeling desired and feeling the power of making a man cum. And servitude. She likes that.
I value her responsiveness, and her beauty. She is unexpectedly beautiful, and delicate, given the harsh, even brutal way in which she seems to go about her sexual life. And she responds like a marionette to my requests: send a picture of your ass, your breasts, a breast in your hand. And instantly, or as close to that as possible.
And when I send a picture of myself - I do occasionally - her praise is instant, insistent, lavish. One would think I were sending her pictures of Adonis. Don't get me wrong, I'm cute. But not accustomed to the effusion with which she rewards me.
It's a lovely relationship - hot, gratifying, and easy.
In our first chat, I had told her a tale in which I would pick her up in a car for "lunch," and an hour later, she'd return to work all tousle-haired. The fantasy was more elaborate and detailed.... But we were headed toward fulfilling the fantasy today, when she got sick.
Monday feels a long way off.
And for me, this remains true after the moment: I remember fondly, reverentially even, every true sexual connection I've ever had, and I have no temptation to compare. The closest I'll come to this is a sort of consciousness of particular high points or strengths (the Dancer's unbelievable tongue, the Secretary's infinite submission, the Party Promoter's delicious wardrobe, etc.), or, very occasionally, weaknesses (I can be looks-ist).
And more than this, there is something else. I experience sexual connection on a three-step continuum. I value enormously, and am grateful for and appreciative of, the gift a woman gives me when she gives herself to me, when she allows me to use her for my pleasure. This is step one, and, as we say at Passover, if that were all, Dayenu. Even the woman I fucked at Le Trapeze, the hottie who had perfect breasts and never took her glasses off, whose name I never learned.... I feel an enormous, and real, gratitude to her for joining with me in the thirty minutes or so we were together.
If, on top of allowing me to take my pleasure, a woman allows me to lose myself in the pursuit of her pleasure, to devote myself single-mindedly to her ecstasy - well, if THAT were all.... Here, I'm talking about a woman who gives me the gift not just of her body, but of her trust and vulnerability - the Insurance Broker, who confessed she wanted to be put on a leash; the Porcelain Doll, who asked me to humiliate and hurt her. I recognize how much of a chance someone is taking when being this honest, this exposed, and I genuinely honor - and am honored by - what it means for someone to let me in in this way.
But a woman who allows me to conspire with her in the creation of mutual pleasure, who joins with me in a conspiracy of pleasure - is truly, deliciously rare. Someone who takes pleasure in exploring uncharted waters with me, in creating new sexual possibilities about which I'd never dreamed? Who lies awake at night wondering what we can do next? That is truly a special woman.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
She's smart. As much as I enjoy fucking her (and fucking with her), I enjoy talking about fucking with her. She makes me think.
She's funny. A said to me yesterday that she can't fuck a guy she doesn't find funny. For me, there's a slight modification. I can't fuck a woman twice I don't find funny. (Ok - maybe the threshold is three or four times. But it's fewer than five, for sure.)
She's tiny. I love this about her. Her personality is strong, and her body is, too, proportionately, at least. But I love that I can push her around, can move her, bend her, at will. I'm not a tall guy, so when I can throw a woman around a little, that's a lot of fun.
She submits to me. When I ask her to do something, she does it. As she observed the other night, "I just let you boss me around." I love that not only does she let me boss her around, she gets off on serving as my "fuck toy" (her expression). I should say, I'm an easy master, by any measure. My bossiness is pretty restrained. But her compliance is exquisite, nonetheless.
She's adventurous. This relates to her submission. She's beyond "GGG." So far, there hasn't been an adventure that I've proposed that she's rejected. This has included going to sex clubs and swingers' parties, masturbating in public, dressing as directed. Again - by many people's standards, this is somewhat restrained adventurousness, but it's not for me, or for her.
She's a fuckload of fun in bed. The first time she squatted over my cock and lifted her body up and plunged down on it, I called her "Yoga Porn Star." Maybe it's a testament to my lack of experience, or to something about the partners I've chosen, or the direction I've given, but L is the second woman who ever did this with me. The first? I lost her when she went to jail. True story. L loves sucking my cock, and tolerates my love for licking her clit. And truth be told, I'm always a bigger fan of the oral than of the fucking.
I seduced her. Or maybe she seduced me. In any event - seduction has actually been a very small part of my adult sex life, but it's in many ways the single thing I most crave outside of my marriage. I always used to say that the thing I missed most about being married was dating, but the truth is, it was seduction. I'm so grateful that T and I have reconfigured things to permit us both to enjoy the rapturous pleasures of seduction, and I'm so grateful that L has been such an ornate success.
There's more, but this is a start....
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
We started slowly: she was a bit put off by my ultimate unavailability, my being married. Though she seeks "friends with benefits," she hopes for the development of such a relationship into more/other, and so, she said, would prefer to confine her fucking to the universe of the plausibly available. But still, we flirted, and slowly started revving up to meet.
We've been getting to know one another just a bit sexually - she now knows a bit about the form my dominance takes; I, about her submission. I know that she cums more readily, at least with toys, from vibration than from penetration. But I know she can cum from fucking, and both by being fucked from behind and below. I know her porn tastes are conventional, with an appreciation for anal (on film, if not in life).
And last night, just before midnight, I asked her to send me - and she did - a few pictures. Pictures of her sucking her finger after plunging it into her cunt; of her breasts, still clad in the day's bra and top; of her crotch in her jeans; and, finally, at bedtime, of her panties from a hip view. Directing her, securing her compliance, was almost as hot as the pictures themselves.
I plan to have lunch with her Thursday.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Find three stories on Literotica that make you wet and that contain an element (or more) of something you'd like to happen when we're together. It's a challenge for you, because you have to find three stories that actually get you going, and then be willing to share them, which involves both sharing your fantasies and passing along something that's probably embarrassingly poorly written. And it's a challenge for me, to figure out what it them you liked, without ever asking.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
The "Mad Men" seminar was amusing - psychoanalysts using jargon as a toy while they masturbated in front of a crowded room of hot, well dressed people of 40 and under, sprinkled with late middle-aged Jewish psychoanalysts and their analysands. Then, to the Upper East Side: we met M and J in a LOUD bar. J (he) is sexy, well built, tall, exotic-looking; M (she), petite, cute, demure. This was (they said) their first ever explicit such date. Conversation meandered - it was mostly T and J talking - and took a L-O-N-G time to get anywhere near the purpose of the evening. When it did finally get there, it was tentative, gingerly, and we (and by we, I mean I) did all the talking. I recounted our history with spousally approved extra-marital sex, described its benefits in T's and my sex life, described the ways in which I find it compelling. They were inscrutable. Facial expressions and body language led both T and me to conclude they were intrigued, that they liked us. But who can tell? The farewell was chaste.
We headed home - foregoing the kissing party in favor of a fuck at home. T crashed in the cab while I played Scrabble online. We got home, paid the babysitter, and fucked like bunnies. "Would you like J to fuck you?" I asked, as I pounded T. "Yes," she breathed. "He's got a great body, doesn't he?" "Yes." I pulled my cock out and smacked her cunt repeatedly as she gushed all over our poor, abused, soggy bed.
Moments later, she climbed atop me, and as she was riding and I was bucking, she asked if I wanted to feel myself inside of M. "Yes," I moaned, and let loose a gush of my own into her.
Cuddle, then text, to M: "T and I just had toe-curling-ly good sex. You both were very present.... N."