Thursday, September 18, 2014

Postcoital Comfort


They lay together quietly

Breathing rapidly, resting

Nested against each other

Legs entwined

Kisses interspersed with silence

Then easy conversation

As droplets of perspiration fall and dry

Laughter

More kisses

A sheet pulled over their legs

Fighting off a chill

Words of love shared

More kisses to seal their private moment

Of perfect postcoital comfort



Wednesday, September 17, 2014

A Must Read

I was reading through the recent posts on my naughty blogs list earlier today, and I came across  All He Could Do Was Moan.  It was written by Victoria Vista and it appears on her Sexual Destinies blog.

I think you should read it because it's beautifully written.  Even though it is very brief, you can feel the sense of anticipation and tension. Even if you're not into cock cages (she has a picture on the page if you don't know what that is), you'll still be able to appreciate the beauty of her writing.

As you know, I don't call out good writing on sex blogs very often. That means you should pay attention and go check it out.

Have you read a really good post lately that you'd like to share?  Tell us in the comments, and don't forget to share the link.


Writing in the Real World

As most of you know, I write for a living.  I used to do only one type of writing - the most stressful, tedious, boring kind that you can imagine (also the most lucrative), but I've branched out in recent years and now I'll write just about anything I can get someone to pay me for.

What a sell out.  I know, right?

The only excuse I have is that I have to support my family. That's a pretty good excuse, now that I think about it.

But trust me.  If I could earn a living doing nothing but writing for you guys, I would do it. This is one of the few places where I can be myself, end a sentence with a preposition (without giving a shit), and use the Oxford comma (or not), as the mood strikes me. This is the place where I can be completely honest and know that it's ok. There is no other place like PWK in my life, and no other people I respect and enjoy as much as you.

Recently, I joined a few online writing groups to see if I can make a connection with other writers in the "real world." It has been an interesting experiment. I shared a few sexual-themed poems with my poetry group and waited for feedback.

Crickets.  That's all I heard. They were shocked.  When the comments finally started coming, they were about the sexual content, not the structure or craft of the poem.  I was a bit disappointed.  I ended up revising one of them myself and submitting it to an online literary journal for publication, fully expecting it would be rejected as smut, but no! It was selected for publication and my real name will appear in the byline.

Hubby isn't too happy.  "Do you have to say, 'As he entered me...'? Can't you make it less graphic?"

"Are you kidding?" I answered. "That's not graphic at all.  Graphic would be something like 'I gasped  and arched my back as I felt all 8 inches of his hard, hot, throbbing cock slide into my wet cunt.' But that's not very poetic, is it?"

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I guess it's ok like it is."

Yeah, I thought so.

That is exactly what's so difficult about taking erotic writing into the mainstream. People still think of it as dirty.

I'm working on a smutty romance novel right now that has some beautiful lovemaking/sex scenes in it. In my mind, they are anything but dirty.  They are beautiful, lyrical, almost poetic in the blend of love and sex that they describe. Ok, poetic may be going a bit too far, but you know what I mean, right?  My non-PWK reviewers, though, see dirty smut.

One wrote, "For the oral sex scene, can't you say hardness instead of 'cock'?  'Cock' seems so crass."

"No," I answered. "A woman doesn't want  to put a man's hardness in her mouth.  She wants to put a hard cock in her mouth.  It's a subtle, but important, distinction."

And I didn't even have to put the word cock in quotation marks, like the rest of the sentence needs to be protected from its filthiness. If you can't handle the word cock, maybe you shouldn't be reviewing my writing.  I'm just sayin'. I happen to love cocks.  They are nothing to be ashamed of.

(See? I ended another sentence with a proposition.  Ooooo, I feel so naughty!)

In fact, I think I'll write a poem using as many words for cock as I can. I think the bucket needs more stirring.


Tuesday, September 16, 2014

On Being 50

I'm 50. There. I said it.  I'm 50.

I turned 50 in June and the day came and went without much notice. It didn't feel like a big deal to me at all. It turns out, though, that turning 50 is a little bit like eating that potato salad at the picnic that has been sitting out in the sun for the last hour. No big deal, you think.  It's only been in the sun for a little while, and look, everyone else ate some and they are just fine. So you eat it, still thinking it's ok, until later that night when your insides are telling you that something might just be a bit different than you were expecting.

It hit me one day in July at the doctor's office.  The barely-weaned medical assistant was asking me the same question she has asked for the last year every time I see her. She asked for my birth date and age (because apparently, they can't figure out my age from my birth date on their own). I gave her my birthday and then I said, "50." Then it seemed like everything was going in slow motion for a moment and I heard myself saying, "Wait?  Did I say 50?" Bambi looked at me, confused, and then consulted her paper.  "Yes, 50. Is that right?"

My first thought was, "No! That's very wrong! When did that happen?  When did I turn 50?  When did I officially become middle aged?" All I said, though, was a simple, "Yes."

It hit me again a week later.  I was at the doctor's office again, seeing a specialist I have been seeing for many years. Everything was going as I expected, until he was wrapping things up and he handed me a flyer and said, "We have a class coming for our older patients on tips for managing their condition." I looked at the flyer and it said "For Patients in the Twilight Years" and I pushed his hand with the flyer away and I said, "What the fuck? I saw you a month ago and you didn't think I should go to the old people classes then!"  The poor guy looked very confused, and then he said, "But you're 50 now.  You can go." You see, he thought of the old folks classes as a benefit, an extra goodie for which you had to qualify. My problem was my own thinking.  There's absolutely nothing wrong with that class. I may even go to see if the old folks have any tricks that I don't know about.

For the most part, I really don't mind being 50.  It's all of my preconceived notions about being 50 that I mind. Somewhere along the line I picked up the idea that 50 is the official line of demarcation between young and old. I don't remember anyone ever telling me that, but it's stuck in my brain nonetheless. I remember when I was 30 looking at women who were 50 and above, and that's about when I heard people start to add  qualifiers to compliments, but only when the person in question was not around.

For example, 40-year-olds can just get the compliment without the qualifier --- Wow, she's pretty!  She's a great dancer! She's got so much energy! Once a woman turns 50, though, the qualifier gets tacked on automatically.  Wow, she's pretty for a 50-year-old! She's a great dancer for a 50-year-old! She's got so much energy for a 50-year-old!  And the tone changes, too.  For the 40-year-old, the compliment is just a statement of admiration, but for a 50-year-old, the tone starts to sound like, "Can you believe it!?!?"

So, I'm 50. I have to tell you, I don't feel old at all.  In fact, what I feel (and this has been a trend that started 4-5 years ago) is more confident and more sexual than I've ever felt.  Even into my early 40's there were some reservations I had about sex that are long gone now, like I need to make sure that he enjoys sex more than I do and I'd better not show that I like it too much or he'll think I'm a slut and  If he's not doing it how I like it I'll just stay quiet because I don't want to embarrass him.

In the last decade, there has a been monumental upheaval in my life  -- not all bad -- and my life of today barely resembles my life of 10 years ago. But, for the most part, I like my life (and me!) better than I did when I was 40. I have the best friends of my life and, yes, I've had some of the best sex of my life.

If this is what the 50's are like, keep 'em coming!




Monday, September 8, 2014

An Afternoon Escape with T (Part 2 of 2)

This is Part 2.  If you'd like to read Part 1 of An Afternoon Escape with T, click here.

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Looking at T's face is one of my favorite things to do.  I've already told you that he's ruggedly handsome, and that's true.

Forget about the shirtless Abercrombie & Fitch models who have never seen a day of hard work in their lives. They have those little ripply muscles that were made in a gym, not the real world, and those will go away when they are older, their modeling days are over and they are not paid to hang out in a gym for 4 hours a day. Their eyes are blue, but they look hollow, and you wonder if the blue is real or from colored contacts. They are a type of handsome, sure, but it's a faux-handsome.  Its more like "pretty."

Now picture another guy.  Let's say you meet while camping by the river. Dark hair, dark eyes. You watch him move firewood and set up camp. He takes off his shirt and he has a real man's body - strong, a little hairy (but not too much), proportioned. His skin is glistening with perspiration and he rubs a towel over his hair and face. He turns to look at you and you lose your breath for a second when he smiles. He's not a model, but a regular guy, and that makes him hotter, much more appealing to you. He reaches for a beer and you notice the muscles in his chest and arms again. They are flexing in a natural way, moving as he moves, not just sticking out like permanent artificial attachments or growths. He sits down in a camp chair to relax and stretches his legs out.  You notice a few scars here and there on his tan skin as you try not to fixate on his sexy mouth, the late-afternoon stubble on his chin and cheek, or the faraway look in his eyes when he thinks you're not looking anymore. The closer and longer you look, the more you think Wow.  This guy is really good looking, but it's the kind of attractiveness that you don't notice until you really stop and look. You look around at the other men nearby to check your theory and you realize you're right. This one is different. He's the kind of handsome that comes from living and working and sacrificing and taking care of other people. Nothing about that is fake.  The Abercrombie boys are nothing next to this guy, even though he could easily blend in with a crowd without turning every woman's head as they pass by. Those who take a good look, though, will turn and watch him, and they'll notice all the pieces come together until a minute later they realize that they are staring at a very attractive, real man.

That's T.

I was having that realization again - that he's so attractive  - when he entered me deeply and pulled all of my attention to that one and only thought. I gasped and my mouth dropped open. Not only did it feel marvelous, but it was the first time.  Yes, the first time his cock had been inside me.  We had thoroughly enjoyed our oral and manual fun for a long time, but this.....

I pulled my knees up toward my chest and tried to keep my eyes on his while he fucked me, but every now and then I had to close my eyes to focus on the perfect sensation of his cock inside me. He continued for quite a while, which was awesome, but then we stopped for a moment and I suggested we try it from behind.

"Can you do that?" he asked, referring to the same issue he mentioned earlier when I was kneeling on the floor.  My answer was simple. "Yes."  Not only did I know I could, but I knew it wouldn't hurt and I knew I was going to be feeling so good when I came from doing it that way that I wanted to hurry.

We got in position and I felt him behind me. I spread my knees a little wider to adjust my height and he slid inside me easily, deeper this time, and I leaned back against him. What followed wasn't gently and sweet. It was fast, hard fucking. It took me no time at all to come again, and I screamed, pushing back against him, trying to hold onto the pleasure that was reverberating through me while he was pounding me HARD from behind. He came soon after that, and then he collapsed next to me, covered with sweat and breathing hard.

We just lay there quietly for a bit, holding hands, catching our breath. Then we started talking about this and that.  I rolled onto my side and leaned over to kiss him. This may sound silly but I never get tired of kissing that man. I could kiss him for hours.  Ok, that's probably not a great idea, but I could.

I'm not sure how much time had passed while we were kissing and talking, talking and kissing, but after one of our prolonged kissing bouts he said, "I want you taste us."  I knew exactly what he meant. I scooched down toward the foot of his bed and licked his cock. One little lick.  Then another.  Another. Then I moaned and took the whole thing in my mouth.  Yes, I could taste both of us. I licked and suckled and swallowed until I felt his cock go from firm to immalleable and unyeilding. Even though he had just come 20 minutes before, I felt his hands on the back of my head, his fingers tightening around my hair, and his hips thrusting upward. I matched him, stroke for stroke, until he exploded into my mouth.

I love the groan a man makes when he comes. I really do. When I hear it, I feel victorious, like there was just a little bit of a power swap and I won. He may have thought he was in control, but that guttural groan means he wasn't in control for that moment. In that moment, he was mine. All mine.

I lingered a bit, keeping his cock in my mouth until I was certain he was finished.  Then I swallowed one last time and gently licked his cock and balls until they were all cleaned up.

I scooched back up and into his arms.  The rest of our time together was spent kissing and talking, and talking and kissing some more, until it was time to go.

We got cleaned up and dressed, and I would be the first to go.  He was going to hang out there for a while. I picked up my purse and keys and I turned toward the door. That's when I saw my cane hanging from the chair where I had left it when I came in. I grabbed it and whispered under my breath, "Fucking stairs."  T was right there next to me, and he slid his arms around me again and kissed me just like he did when I walked in the door a few hours before. We said our goodbyes and I heard the door close behind me as I walked down the hall.

With every step, I could feel the peace of our afternoon escape slipping away. By the time I was at my car, my mental To Do list had forced itself to the front and center of my mind and I knew that by the time I walked through my front door at home, the last remnants of the escape would be completely gone and I'd be inundated again with chores and demands. The family would want dinner.  I'd have clients that would want their phone calls returned. The list would just keep going from there and my life wouldn't be my own again.

Then I shifted in my seat a little and remembered. T's gorgeous cock had been inside me and it was unbelievably wonderful. Then I saw his face in my mind and remembered our kisses, and it occurred to me that all of that was mine. The rest of my life couldn't take away my time with him or the way he made me feel. It was all mine.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

An Afternoon Escape with T (Part 1 of 2)

We arrived at the hotel at the same time. I drove to the back of the parking lot to wait in the shade for him to text me with a room number.  He turned the other way, driving toward the office.

I rolled down the windows and closed my eyes. The warm breeze passed through my car, seemingly carrying away my stress and concerns of the day, too. That's how it always is when I'm alone with him - nothing but him and me and that moment. All the stuff I have to deal with during the rest of my life is completely absent. Next to being with him, I think that's what I really love about these times. I get to be truly in the moment for a couple of hours.  Oh, I try to be mentally present all the time, but I never seem to master it on my own.  My brain keeps piping in with a million things that need to be done. Real peace is rare for me.

But I was starting to feel it as I relaxed into the breeze that afternoon. The silence was broken by the buzz of my phone announcing his text. Room 214. They only had upstairs. Sorry.  

Ugh. It's not that I mind stairs, but I'm unable to negotiate stairs without my cane and in the months I'd been seeing T, I had managed to keep him from seeing me with my cane, for the most part. I used simple tricks - park close to the room and be careful, get to his place first and be sitting on a bench waiting for him to arrive. But there was no way I could avoid it now.

Half of you are probably thinking, Why is it a big deal? (The other half of you are thinking, Kat? A cane? What?  How did I miss that?  You didn't miss anything. I just don't share it much. Canes aren't that sexy, are they?  However, I'm starting to think it may be my job to make them sexy! LOL) Anyway, it's not a big deal.  It's just my ego and my struggles with my own self-image. There was a time in my life when I would have driven away rather than be faced with this situation.  But I'm a grown up now. And this was T in that room.

I made it up the stairs and to the room. He had left the door open so I walked in. He heard me and turned and looked at me at smiled.  Damn, that man is ruggedly handsome.  Then his eyes dashed quickly to the cane and back to my face again.

Have you ever had a moment in which it seemed like many things happened all within the duration of a split second?  That's what I experienced right then. I felt fear and embarrassment and I quickly said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see the cane, but the stairs....." Why was I apologizing? I had nothing to apologize for. Before I finished the sentence, he was standing in front of me, reaching out to pull me closer to him. "It's ok," he said. "No big deal."  And he kissed me deeply. I hooked the cane on the back of chair and held onto him instead.

And there it was again. The feeling that came along with that warm breeze, shooing the rest of the world and all my stress away until only the two of us were in that room and nothing outside those walls mattered. We stood there kissing a while and then we stopped for a bit because both of us had just been on the road.  We needed a bathroom break and a chance to clean up a bit.

The beginning of a lovemaking (or hot sex, or both, whatever the case may be) session is always interesting, and it changes base on how long you've known each other, how comfortable you are, and how horny you are, of course. Sometimes you just rip each others' clothes off.  Sometimes you undress slowly, interrupted by kissing and soft touching.  Sometimes, you chit chat and undress while you talk, waiting until you're both naked to get started. T and I were somewhere between the last two options. I often find myself torn between wanting to talk to him, kiss him, stare into his eyes, and suck on his cock. Of course, I can't do all of those at once, which is a darn shame. The good news, though, is that I knew I'll get to do all of them soon.

He lay down on the bed and I grabbed a pillow and threw it on the floor. "Turn this way," I said, smiling. He smiled a knowing smile and  sat on the edge on of the bed. I nudged his legs apart and knelt between them. "Whoa," he said. "Can you do that?" He was referring to my kneeling on the fake hardwood floor. I just smiled and said, "That's what the pillow's for," and leaned forward to take his cock into my mouth.

Before I go on, let me say this:  It was a lie.  It hurt like hell and I knew it would. There's my ego again, my image of myself, my refusal to accept reality. At that moment, something hit me. Not everything from the outside stays on the other side of that door. Some things have to come with us, no matter how much we'd like to lock them out.

It hurt, but I knew he didn't know it. I'm chuckling right now because I know he'll be reading this and thinking, What the hell, Kat? Why didn't you say something?  There's only one honest answer.  Because I'm an idiot - too proud, too scared, too stubborn. I think he's been those things at various times in his life, too. Haven't we all?

Pain aside, I loved getting his cock into my mouth. I suckled him for a while, alternating between deep and shallow strokes, playing more than seriously working toward orgasm. I knew he wouldn't let me make him come right then. We had just started.  He'd want to wait a while so he could enjoy it all more. I considered taking that decision out of his hands, and a couple of times I took him into my throat. I could tell he was getting close, but ultimately he tapped out (tapping my shoulder) and suggested I get up on the bed with him.

I agreed, and I started to comply, but then I stopped. In my exuberance and foolish excitement about getting on my knees, I had completely forgotten about the second half of that project.  Getting up. At first, I was struck with panic.  What if I have to ask him to help me? Seriously, at that moment, that seemed like a fate almost worse than death.  Knowing someone has a disability is one thing. Seeing evidence of it (cane, wheelchair, etc.) is something else. But having to be involved in physically helping with what to others are simple movements? That's way on the un-sexy side of the scale in my mind. Sort of.  Only when it's me. Could my perception of his sexiness be negatively impacted if I needed to help him? My perception of a man's sexuality is much broader than any set of physical characteristics. The question I continue to ask myself is this - Why is it so hard for me to believe that he wouldn't be put off my this stuff? T is a good man.  I know he, like all of us, has struggles of his own.  I know he doesn't judge me.

I proceeded slowly and eventually I made it up and onto the bed. I nestled in next to him and his hands started exploring me as we kissed. My neck, my cheek, the back of my head, my shoulder, my arm, my breast, my hip...... I parted my legs, knowing where he was going next. Hoping.

I heard myself moan softly when he touched me. He parted my lips with his fingers and found my clit instantly. My gasp and little squeal, and the way I pressed against his hand when he touched it might have been a clue for him that he was in the right place.  A clue was completely unnecessary, though, because he never had trouble funding the right spot. Never.  I relaxed and let him work his magic, surrendering to him and the moment. He brought me right along the trail he was blazing, at exactly the speed he wanted, using more than just his fingers.  His mouth and tongue kept me entranced while arm was around me and his hand pulled the hair on the back of my head, keeping my lips in position to receive his kisses. He wrapped his legs around my leg closest to him and pulled it toward him, pinning me down. Sometimes he'd stop kissing me for a moment so he could watch my face as got closer and closer to coming.

I knew the moment was coming when it would feel less like he was doing something to me and more like he was reaching inside me to pull my orgasm from me, whether I was ready to give it up or not, because it was his and he'd come for what was his.

That moment flew by me quickly and I came hard, almost without the normal build up.  One sharp bolt that made me scream into his mouth, followed by ripples of pleasure that forced out a series of little whimpers.

True to form, he didn't let me enjoy the final passing of the electricity.  Instead, he kept going, stroking my clit through that almost painful period when everything is so intense...and on to another crescendo of delight.  I reached down and found his cock, which was rock hard and stretched to its fullest, and I started stroking him. This time, there was a build up. Slow and steady. I squeezed his cock harder as I got closer to coming and gripped it tightly when I released. He kissed me gently, letting me come down this time, pulling his finger off my clit, sliding a couple of fingers inside me.

At one point, we stopped kissing and I gazed into his eyes.  I was still shaking, he was holding me tightly, and I couldn't speak.  I was feeling things I wanted to say, but I couldn't say them.

After a few moments, he rolled over on top of me, nudged my knees apart, and pressed his cock against my pussy. He slid it up and down against me for several strokes.  I moaned, "That feels pretty good just like that." Just as I said that, he entered me deeply and I gasped.

To be continued......