The Nanny Interview

Several years ago, we hired a nanny for my youngest son.  He has special needs and regular day care wouldn't work for him.  The nanny he'd had for the last year was going back to school so we had to find another. By the way, this was before the crash of the economy.  Now, there are no nannies for us, unfortunately.

You may be wondering what a nanny interview would have to do with a sex/infidelity blog.  Read on....

Since this was going to be someone who came into our home daily, we decided that the whole family would part of the interview process, including our older teenage son. I had already done a bunch of pre-screening and phone interviews and I had it narrowed down to my top two choices for us to interview.

Nanny #1 was very nice.  Cute. Friendly. Great references. Lots of experience.  And the little guy seemed to like her. After she left we all agreed that she would be great.

Then came Nanny #2. She walked in wearing a teeny tiny sundress. By "teeny-tiny" I mean spaghetti straps, massive amounts of cleavage showing and a skirt so short that you could almost see what one is not supposed to show when fully clothed.  She came in and sat down, her dress hiked up as it does when you sit down and then  - there it was - you could see her woohoo. And then there was that cleavage. She had to be at least DD cup, and most of that was outside the dress rather than inside.

I turned to look at Hubby and son #1 and they both had a stupid smile on their face and couldn't stop looking you-know-where. Not surprisingly, they were suddenly both very interested in the nanny selection process and wanted to participate more actively. At one point she got on the floor to play with son #2 while we were talking (very good move) and as she leaned over, her tits fell out. Yes! Fell out!  I saw nipple. She turned quickly and tucked them back in and acted like nothing was wrong.  We continued the interview. Son #2 loved her.  Hell, all the men in the family loved her.

When she stood up to leave, son #2 hugged her (very sweet), but when she reached out for him, her dress hiked up just enough for, you guessed it, his little head to rest right against her woohoo as he wrapped his arms around her. I gasped, but that was cut short by son #1 exclaiming "Whoa!" when she bent over to hug the little guy and - whoops! - there went the boobs.....again!!!

After she left, we sat down for negotiations to talk about the pros and cons of each nanny candidate. I was still stunned from the interview with Nanny #2, so I had us start with a discussion of Nanny #1. It went well. Then we went on to discuss Nanny #2.  It started as a rational discussion.  We seemed to be on the same page about her strengths and her weaknesses as a candidate until we started discussing the obvious.

We all avoided the topic for a while, but eventually I brought up the elephant in the living room, or should I say the big tits in the living room?

Then a miracle happened. My husband and son, who hadn't gotten along for several years and who were barely speaking to each other, were advocating for Nanny #2 like the best of friends, united for a common critically important cause.

They talked about her experience and her skills.  They emphasized how much son #2 liked her.  Of course, I countered with the male genetic predisposition for tits and pussy.  They argued that she probably doesn't dress that way all the time. I thought, if this was her "dressing to impress" for a nanny job, what does she wear to relax?

The family debate lasted a couple of hours.  I couldn't argue with the fact that she was qualified and her references were good.

Who do you think we hired?

The Response

I was very moved by the response to the post Why I Cheat, not because I wanted approval of or support for my choices, but because I was struck by how many of us struggle with sexual issues at home. Having a mismatch in sexual desire between spouses is not uncommon at all, but when you're living with it, you feel alone because folks don't talk about it.

Sure, there's a common refrain from men worldwide that their wives don't give them enough sex, but accepting that that's "just the way it is" minimizes the issue and discounts the huge amount of pain that the situation causes men. And when the wife is the one with the greater sex drive, it's just as hurtful.

Recently, I had lunch with a friend whose marriage was on the rocks and her husband had moved out.  She was talking about it, asking for advice and my thoughts on the situation because she couldn't figure out why they had just become so disconnected.  She shared many personal details about their relationship, but none were sexual.  I asked her, "How's your sex life?  What's going on there?" She looked shocked that I even mentioned sex and she quickly said, "Oh, everything is fine in that area.  We have no problems there."

Bullshit.

My question is, why can't we talk about this stuff? Talking about it with a spouse (and that's the exact person with whom we should be talking) is extremely difficult. We don't want to hurt their feelings.  We're afraid we'll say something wrong and make things worse.  We have lost confidence that even possible to change things, so why bother?

I think it's so hard because it gets down to who we are as men and as women. It's about our emotional identity and our sexual identity and messing with those is just dangerous. It's Pandora's Box; you don't know what's in there but once it's open there's no putting it back in the box and there may be no controlling it.

But why wouldn't my friend discuss it? She couldn't hurt me by discussing it.  She wouldn't harm the friendship.

Why do we choose to be miserable, rather than talk about it?

There's another blogger who suggests that men tell their wives about their sexual expectations of them and that they explain that it is part of their marital responsibility and they will be expected to turn their husbands on and participate with enthusiasm. The problem with that is that you can't make people want you - at least not for long.

When we had been married several years, my husband made a similar demand.  I was working full time, I had a two year old at home, and I was going to graduate school.  And he wanted enthusiastic sex every other night regardless of how I felt emotionally or physically.

I tried.  I was successful for a while, too.  But then I started to dread "sex nights" because it became a huge source of stress and pressure, and I knew that if he didn't have sex that night he'd become sullen and quiet until he did.  And then there was the schedule.  If I missed a sex night, he expected that I make it up, which meant two or three nights in row. And it was my responsibility to initiate.

After several months, I couldn't handle it anymore, and sex had become no fun for me at all.  It was a chore, and at a time in my life when I was dealing with extreme stress in most areas of my life, it only added more.  It wasn't a loving communion between partners anymore. It was an oppressive control mechanism.

I finally broke down in tears one day and told him I couldn't handle it anymore.What shocked me was that he had no idea how unhappy I was.  Why?  Because I wasn't talking to him about how I was feeling and I was "performing" well in bed.

What he was really trying to tell me months before is that sex was very important to him, that he became physically and emotionally uncomfortable when he went for days or weeks without it. What he gave me instead was a command to perform.

Fast forward 20 years...... The situation is now reversed. I become physically and emotionally uncomfortable without regular sex, and he feels like sex is a chore and he has to perform.  The difference is that when we were younger, he didn't notice how I felt about it until I completely lost it. Today, I notice every sigh, reluctant touch, nod of the head when he's about to doze off.  Part of me gets very angry.  Why can't he just fake it like I was forced to do years ago?  If I could pretend that I was really into it, why can't he?

But I don't want him to pretend to be happy.  I want him to be happy. I don't want him to feel the emotions I felt back then.  I love him.

So, we keep moving forward, dealing with it as best we can.  Sometimes we talk.  Sometimes we fake it.  Sometimes we really connect and have great sex.  Sometimes I feel like a lousy wife who can't inspire her husband to want her.  Sometimes he feels like a lousy husband who can't satisfy his wife.

But we always end up looking past the sex and see our best friend.

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I genuinely appreciate all the comments and the many emails written by folks who didn't want to comment but wanted to share their own stories. If I haven't responded to you yet, please be patient.

Why I Cheat

If you've been reading this blog for more than a week, you know that I love my husband.  I love him very much. He's an important part of my life, and I will never leave him.  Never.

But our sex life is....I don't even know the right words to describe it.  There have been periods over the last 25 years when we have gone over a year without sex. There have been many periods when the dry spell lasted months or weeks. Last summer/fall we tried to revitalize our sex life and it got really good and frequent for about three months, then it slowly started limping back to the routine.

Most, although not all, of his desire for sex is gone these days.  We have sex primarily because he wants to keep me from leaving him. So I get "serviced" a few times a week. I know some of you guys out there know exactly what I'm talking about. It's passionless.  Sometimes it's loving, which is nice, but usually it's just routine.  I feel like I'm one of his household chores and, to be honest, that feeling breaks my heart. It makes me feel like less of a wife, less of a woman.

I'll try different positions, role playing, reading erotica to him, whatever.  It may work for a night, but the routine creeps back overnight.

Have we talked about it?  Ad nauseum. But the bottom line is that I can't make him want sex.  I can't make him want sex with me. Still, I know he's trying.  What he would rather do is just not deal with it, pretend there is no problem and go to sleep, but I won't let him. Correction.  I would gladly let him do that, but he's haunted by the fear that I'll fall in love with a fuck buddy and leave him - which will never happen - but I completely understand the fear.  So, we both keep trying.

Have we tried counseling? Yup.  We're still going, and the sessions go in circles sometimes. We'll keep going mainly because it demonstrates to him that I'm committed to our relationship. I don't expect it to solve much, but it has helped to some degree.  At least we can talk about it now, and that sure beats the uncomfortable silence about sexual issues we've lived with for the last decade or so.

When you reach this point in a long term marriage, it's no one's fault. It's painful for both of us. And we know that the odds are that it will get worse, not better. His interest in sex, in general, is going to continue to decline and mine is showing no signs of slowing down.  In fact, it's increasing. He gets to live with he pain of not be able to fully satisfy his wife's sexual needs, and I get to live with the pain of knowing that I won't be able to have a satisfying sexual relationship with the man I love - for the rest of my life (or his). Remaining sexually faithful means that I accept that I will probably never have passionate, hot sex again with a man who really wants me. Ouch. This was something we never considered when we got married with a nearly 20 year age difference between us.

To those who find fault with my decision and the decision of others like me, I say, walk in my shoes for awhile before you judge. Better yet, spend some time in my bed. ;-)

To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, here's how sex with Hubby went last night....along with the thoughts that flashed through my head (in italics)....

We went to bed a little later than normal because our youngest kept bouncing up out of bed. Those of you with kids know how that is.  Once he was finally asleep, we settled in. Hubby scooched over to my side of the bed and started kissing me while his hand slid up to one of my boobs. His kisses were nice, deep, wet kisses. Mmmm. I knew he didn't really want sex, but it had been a few days so it was time to "service" me. Great.

Why doesn't he ever kiss me like that when he doesn't want sex? And I'll bet this lasts for a total of 60 seconds, just long enough for him to check the "foreplay" box on his checklist.  At least he's trying...and when he does kiss me, he's a pretty good kisser. It has been about a minute, now it's time for his hand to move down....

Hubby's hand moved down to my pussy.  I spread my legs open a little and he slid a finger between my lips.

Ahhhh....now yer talkin'.

Hubby asked, "Do you want to play with Spartacus?"

Let me think for a minute...YES! That's like asking me, "Honey, do you want to cum?"

"Sure," I replied.  "That would be nice." I reached into the drawer next to me and pulled out Spartacus and handed it to him.

As I handed Hubby the toy, he sighed.

What the fuck was that?  A sigh?  Is this too much trouble for you? You know, I can do this by myself. Or I can do this with someone else.

I asked, "Is there a problem?" He sighed again. "No, no.  It's ok."  "What's ok?" I asked. "Nothing," he answered."Do we need any lube?" I put his hand back on my wet pussy again, and asked, "What do you think?" He smiled and turned Spartacus on.

He started rubbing the vibrator on my clit, and I started moaning immediately.

Nice.  Very nice.

Then he started sucking on one of my nipples and moving the vibe around.

What's he doing?

I took his hand and moved it back to my clit again and told him to just hold it there, don't move.  I'll move. I started rocking my hips forward and back, moving against the vibe. Dang, that felt good. As he sucked on my nipple, I got close to coming quickly, pumping my hips a little faster.

Suddenly, the vibe moved out of position.

Uuugghhhhh.  I was so close!  What the heck happened?


I reached down to move his hand back into position.  That's when I realized it.

No fucking way!


He had fallen asleep.

Now what?  Do I wake him up?  Do I just finish myself?  Do we talk about it? Do I tell him how I insignificant and unattractive I feel because he can't even stay awake during sex that he initiated? Do I just let it go?


It took everything in me to keep from crying, but that would just make it worse. I took Spartacus out of his hand and turned it off.  That jarred him awake.  He kissed me. He said sleepily, "Wanna suck on my cock for a while?"

Are you kidding me????

"Sure, " I replied.

He got up on his knees in the bed and I leaned over on my elbow and started sucking him. I know how to make him cum quickly, so that's the mode I went into.  It was clear he was enjoying it.

Oh?  You're awake now?  How nice.

Before he came, I stopped and told him I wanted him to fuck me, hoping that maybe I'd get to come that way. He sighed....again.

What's with the sighs?

He paused a long time before he answered, but I had already moved into position when he finally said, "Okay." He entered me from behind, which felt fantastic and he fucked me nice and hard.  In about 60-90 seconds, just when it started to feel really good for me and I was actually thinking I might get to come, he was done.

As he cleaned up, he said, "That was great, Honey! Thanks!  Did you enjoy it, too?" I pretended I didn't hear and shuffled off to the bathroom to clean up.

In a few minutes, the lights were off and we were in bed again.  "I love you, Kat," Hubby said. I replied, "I love you, too, Hubby." And I meant it.

So, I have another 2-3 days before the next round of unsatisfying sexual humiliation at my house. It turns out that that is just the amount of time I need to forget how sad and hurt I am and to start feeling better about myself. Then it will happen again, or some variation of it.

Some of you understand. Some of you don't. Some of you judge me harshly.

For those of you who get it, you're not alone. For those of you who don't, I pray that you never have to live with a situation like this for so long that you come to understand it.  For your sake, I hope you never get it.

But this is why I cheat.

Heartache and Renewal

Daunt here.  I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, so I thought I’d catch you up on me and Madison.

Not long ago Madison and I went on a lovely trip to Paso Robles wine country.  We spent five nights together -- this is no small thing considering that she is married.  Prior to the trip she was feeling pretty confident in the direction her life was going; she had decided to make plans to leave her husband. No, not for me, I wouldn’t accept that.  Madison has become frustrated with me on many occasions when I have come to her husband’s defense; strange, right? However by the end of the trip Madison had become very pensive and I’m feeling like something has gone awry.

The ride back to Sacramento was quiet. Although we had made love that morning, and both enjoyed it, Madison wasn’t with me so to speak.  Her body was there, but her much of her mind was elsewhere.  Something palpable had manifested between us, but neither one of us were acknowledging its presence. As she got in her car to go home she kissed me and smiled, but her eyes betray deep concern.

I watch her car drive away and I begin to ponder our time together.  We had had a fantastic time.  We both thoroughly enjoyed our outings wine tasting, our meals at various restaurants were wonderful and rich with fun, sometimes deep, conversation; and our lovemaking was hot and fulfilling.  We found ourselves reaching a surprising level of comfort with one another.  Then my thoughts are interrupted by a phone call.  It’s Madison.

She starts off by saying, “I’m having all these strange feelings, I don’t know what’s going on.  Maybe I’m feeling guilty.”  We chat a while and come to the uneasy conclusion that maybe it was simply the amount of time spent together and the level of comfort we feel with one another, but the conversation ends feeling unsettled.

At roughly 4PM, while she is on her lunch break from work, we chat again on the phone.  Madison’s guilt and conflicted feelings persist, if anything they’ve become worse.  I listen, try and help her sort her feelings, but at the same time I am careful to avoid influencing her.  She’s sounding like she wants to reconcile with her husband, but at the same time wants me in her life. As the conversation goes on I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.  The level of duress Madison is feeling is worrisome.

After our afternoon phone conversation I find myself wrestling with what I want and what I feel Madison needs.  I am concerned. I fear I am clouding her ability to figure out what she needs for herself.  In the end I reach a decision.  I have to stop seeing her.  If she truly wants to work things out with her husband she needs to be released to do so, and if that’s not the case she needs the space to get her head clear.

Sometime after 8PM I tell Madison the decision I had come to. The tears begin to flow.  As I try to explain a war takes place within me; part of me is wanting to take it all back.  She says she understands, but it’s clear she is hurting.  Madison had told me that she would be attending an event with her husband and his family over the weekend.  I suggest that she really try over the weekend to open her heart to her husband, to really try and decide if he can fulfill what she is lacking in her life.  I tell her that we shouldn’t communicate until Monday so she can have the space to do this.  She agrees and we say our goodbyes.

Something that I think is often overlooked in regard to affairs, is that they are almost never a person's first choice.  The majority of people that enter into an affair do so because something in their marriage relationship is already very broken.  Often, as was the case was with my marriage, one party in the marriage will believe that everything is fine.  And frequently the party that feels the marriage is okay will dissuade the other from seeking help like counseling.

Listen up folks.  If your spouse is asking for counseling, there is a problem.  If this problem could have been handled without outside help, it would have been.  Just go.  I also suggest seeing an individual counselor.  An objective party trained to listen and help you organize your thoughts can be an enormous help.

Madison and I couldn’t even make it through a weekend without a couple of text messages, but we were mostly good.  Come Monday we talk on the phone.  She said she really made an effort to open herself to her husband and that the weekend mostly went well.  They had gotten into a couple of deep discussions that caused her to feel disheartened, but they were going to another couples counseling session that evening.

Tuesday I touch base with Madison again.  I learn the couples counseling didn’t go so well.  She’s seeing more clearly the issues she has come to believe can never be overcome.

Friday rolls around.  Madison sees her individual counselor.  Much of what she is feeling is validated and for the first time she shares with her counselor about her friendship and time spent with me.  Shockingly, in light of what was shared with the counselor, the counselor doesn’t see me as a negative force in Madison’s life.

In the end my decision to stop seeing Madison lasted less than a week.

Make up sex... don’t you love it?

During the following week Madison and I set a time in the evening to see each other.  Next to the bed I kiss her deeply then light a candle.  Slowly we undress one another.  I sit her on the edge of the bed then with a lingering kiss lay her back. No toys, no tethered cuffs, in my heart I wanted our time to be about re-connecting and so did she.

I stand back up next to the bed and gaze down at Madison. Her legs dangle off the edge of the bed at the knee and my hands are resting on her thighs.  She raises herself up on her elbows and looks at my face, from her expression I can tell she’s wondering what I’m thinking.  I smile and say, “Madison, tonight I’m going to treat you.  Roll over onto your stomach.”  A questioning look flutters across her face, but then she does as was bid. She rolls over and stretches out. For a moment I allow myself the simple pleasure of looking at her, the profile of her face, eyes closed; the smooth slope of her back narrowing to her waist, the bell flare to her hips and bottom.

Taking her right foot in my hands I begin massaging and kneading it. Madison’s lips part then shortly after I hear a quiet contented moan.  I continue for some time watching the flickering shadows of candlelight on her skin.  Then I switch to the left foot.

I’m going to share something I’ve truly come to adore about Madison, her skin -- and I don’t mean a particular patch of skin, I mean all of it.  The more aroused Madison becomes, the more sensitive her skin becomes.  I love this.  Her whole body becomes an adventure in discovery.

As her arousal builds I’ll start lightly tracing my fingertips over her.  She will shudder and writhe, sometimes suddenly her hand will dart out and snatch mine because the sensation is simply too much.  Then I’ll find a spot and gently continue swirling my fingertips over it.  The game is on... I get to find out if I can get her to orgasm.  If I win my reward is her sheepish embarrassed laugh.  So far I’ve won our little game with her ear and neck, but those aren’t too uncommon. A more fun one was near one of the dimples at the small of her back.

So after finishing the foot massage I begin running my hands lightly over Madison’s back searching, giving her time to enjoy and take in the sensation.  As I begin to identify a few hot spots I get an idea.  I lean down and kiss her back.

“Let’s have you roll back over”, she can hear the mischievous tone in my voice.  Her eyes open and she smiles rolling to her back.  Still standing next to the bed I grab her thighs and pull her toward me so I’m between her knees, her hips right at the edge of the mattress.  I give her a deep kiss, then kiss and lick her neck.  Then I begin tracing my fingers over her skin again, between her breasts, down her sides, over her thighs, slow circles teasing their way toward her nipples.  I grin as she shudders  and her breathing deepens.

I reach down and slowly ease myself inside her.  She gasps and tilts her hips to take me deeper.  Then I give her a sly half smile and grab her right foot.  Madison watches as I bring her foot to my mouth and touch my tongue to her second largest toe.  She grins back with a look indicating that she thinks I’m just teasing, then she looks a little startled as I take her toe into my mouth.  She gently tries to pull her foot back.  I run my tongue under the back side of her toes, her eyes widen briefly then become half-lidded.  I hear her quiet moan as I take her toe back in my mouth caressing it with my tongue.  She shudders and by being inside her I can feel her climax.  Her eyes pop open and she giggles.

Yes, I won our little game again.

Pretending at the Hair Salon

I was getting my hair done yesterday and the gal doing my hair was talking about her new roommate and how much they have in common and how much fun they are having, blah, blah, blah. I'm the type of gal who doesn't want to talk at the salon.  I want to relax.  I want to have an hour or two when I don't have to be "on" for clients, employees, the kids, the husband.  She knows this, so she talks. I pretend to listen.

She told me her roommate's name.  It didn't ring a bell.  Then she told me where her roommate worked. I stopped breathing for a second.  She works where one of my former "friends" works.  Let's call him Mr. XYZ.

Then she started telling me some of her roommate's funny work stories. Then out of the blue, she said, "Do you know Mr. XYZ?"

That was a moment of truth.  Do I lie? Do I minimize it?  Do I pretend I didn't hear?  I tried distraction.

"Oh," I said. "Can you cut it a little shorter on this side this time?"

"Sure," she replied.  The she continued, "So, do you know Mr. XYZ?"

Damn.  The distraction didn't work.

"Yes," I said. "I know who he is."

"Really??!!!" she squealed, sounding excited that I knew the man. Shit, I should have just lied.

"How do you know him?" It was clear she was going to probe further so I just needed to come up with a reasonable answer.

"Oh, I know him through work.  We've worked on a project together," I said as casually as I possibly could.

As I said it, an image flashed through my head of him laying on his back looking up at me while I was riding him. He had an amazing chest. That was followed by the memory of the taste and the thickness of his cum as it was shooting into my mouth.

She went on to tell some cute little stories shared with her by her new roommate about him, his wife, some of his office quirks, etc.

His wife. I remember the things he told me about her, although I've never met her.  I've had the opportunity several times, but I chose not to take advantage of them. I remembered that his wife refused to try anal.....then I remembered bending over a couch while he fucked me in the ass.

"What was your friend's name again?" I asked.  I wanted to be sure to remember it when I called him to let him know that someone in his office was sharing things that should not be shared.  There's nothing like trusting someone in your office to keep things confidential and then find out that their definition of "confidential" is different than yours.  To you it means "share with no one."  To them it means "only share with your ten best girlfriends and tell them not to share it."

I know that Mr. XYZ is a very private man. I gave him my word that I would take the secret about us to my grave and that I would never share his identity with anyone. It irked me that this woman was so cavalier about her gossip about his private and work life. He would not be happy about this.

I was jarred back to the conversation when she said, "Isn't he a such a great guy?"

I answered, "I guess so.  I really don't know him very well."

Isn't he such a great guy?  I remembered a whole bunch of really good times we shared - fun chats, laughter, times he really helped me when I needed it. I really treasured the friendship we had because I knew he didn't let many people see that side of him.  And then I remembered how he just disappeared and went totally incommunicado when he was done with me.

Great guy?  I don't know. He's a man like most other men.  Basically good, but flawed.  Wanting to share intimacy, but afraid to reveal too much of himself, afraid to really let go.

An image of him  popped into my mind - We were outside talking and the sun was reflecting off his sunglasses. Funny how I remember every detail - his smile, his laugh, the sound of his voice, how comfortable I felt around him.

"Allergies are just terrible this season, aren't they?" the hairdresser said as she handed me a tissue. I hadn't realized that my eyes were watering.

"Yes, it's that time of year," I agreed as I dabbed the wetness from the corners of my eyes.

She continued talking about her new roommate, but she had moved on from the topic of Mr. XYZ.

And I pretended to listen.

Cara's Back!

I've been asking Cara for some new photos for weeks, but she has been really busy and then she was sick. It seemed that she just couldn't get to it.

But then JJ sends her one text asking for some, and they show up within a few hours.  Uh huh.  I see how it is.

I'm sure you remember that Cara loves pink. Maybe you can persuade her to leave a little less to our imaginations.

Good with His Hands

I felt his hand slide under the covers and between my legs.

"Ooo. Naughty girl," he whispered just before he kissed me.

"No," I moaned back in between kisses. "I'm a good girl."

He smiled into our kiss and pressed his fingers into my wetness and found my clit.

We had only been in the room for a few minutes.  I had stepped into the restroom first to freshen up when we got there. When I came out, I noticed that he had already drawn the curtains closed and pulled the covers back on the bed. Then he stepped into the restroom.  While he was in there, I pulled off my pants and panties and got into the bed, pulling the sheet up to my waist. When he came over to the bed and started kissing me and sliding his hand under the sheet.....well, let's just say that he enjoyed the little surprise.

And so did I. I love a man who's good with his hands, and D was definitely good with his hands. He told me before we met that the time would go by quickly and there would also be times when time would stand still.  Now, I knew what he meant.  As he kissed me, whispered naughty things in my ear, and did magical things to me with his fingers, time stood still.  There was nothing but that moment....and him....and pleasure.
I don't know how many times I came then.  I stopped counting at four.

Eventually, I stopped him and I sat up and turned toward him as he stood next to the bed. He took off his shirt while I unfastened his belt and his pants. I leaned over and took his cock into my mouth and started sucking it slowly. I felt his hands on my head, fingers in my hair as he started slowly pressing his hips forward. I loved the sexy, guttural moan that escaped from him every time I took him deep and swallowed.

But then he pulled back, taking his cock away from me.  I whined and looked up at him.

"Not yet," he said. I whined a little more.

He climbed onto the bed and I got up onto my hands and knees. My pussy and thighs were drenched, and I felt my pussy quiver a bit as he grabbed my hips and started sliding his hardness inside me from behind. We both sighed audibly at that amazing sensation of first penetration.

As he started thrusting, he said, "I knew we would fit together well."

He was right. Sometimes the first time with someone can be awkward and forced, but this felt natural, perfect - and he felt so damned good inside me.

I couldn't answer.  I just pushed back against him and let the pleasure come.

After he came, he rolled onto the bed next to me, and I curled up next to him.

We talked. As we talked, I kissed his chest, licked his nipples, and ran my hands up and down his body, feeling his belly, chest, arms. It felt like an opportunity to get to know him in another way. I remembered what he looked like when I first met him at Starbucks. Tall, handsome, intoxicating smile, gorgeous blue eyes. I enjoyed talking to him there while he was fully clothed, but I enjoyed talking with him here, too, where it was more relaxed and we had just connected on another level.

After a while, we noticed that the hour was getting late. Before we left though, he wanted to finish up with that blow job we started while he was standing next to the bed.

"I'd love to," I said, as I smiled and crawled to the foot of the bed, nudging my way between his legs.

I looked up at him and gazed into his eyes as I took him into my mouth.....

He didn't stop me this time.

Infidelity and A Biology Lesson

Infidelity is fairly common.  Studies estimate that between 50-60% of married men and 40-50% of married women, have at least one extramarital affair. The majority of those men have more than one affair.

As you might expect, I read a lot about infidelity and I listen to what people have to say about it. What perplexes me is how men who have multiple affairs are characterized.  The author of one famous sex study speculates that men who have  multiple sexual extramarital affairs throughout their life probably suffer from "deep emotional pain and dysfunction."  

Seriously? That's just crazy.

Let's back up a bit and take a look at biology.  Men have a biological need for regular sex. It has been scientifically validated.  It's not a myth, it's not speculation, and it's not just something the teenage boys say in the back seats of cars (right after, "I love you" and "Of course I'll respect you tomorrow") to get their girlfriends to put out. There are many sources that document this, but here's a decidedly unscientific one that explains the biological process in layman's terms from a Christian perspective. I picked this one so my Christian friends will understand that faith does not exempt you from the demands of biology.  Yes, this is how God made you. On purpose.

Why? It's about preservation of the species. It's much more complicated than I have space to explain here, but if men had the same sex drive as most women, the species would likely have become extinct long before now.

That's not all.  Men are drawn to healthy, young women because of a reproductive instinct, whether or not they intend on reproducing. Men in their 40's or 50's who go nuts over women in the 20's are biologically predisposed to this.  It's not a failing of society or due to the ugliness of their wives or due to the fact that they are sexually deviant perverts.

Women don't want to believe these things.  We want to believe that if our husbands want or (gasp!) have sex with another woman (god forbid a younger woman) that there must be something wrong with them or with us (no, not us, it's them). If they have multiple sexual affairs, they must have a sex addiction and they need treatment to cure them of this abnormality. 

That thinking is completely and totally off base.  I'm not saying that there is no such thing as sex addition, and I'm not saying that men are incapable of controlling themselves.  What I am saying is that men who are monogamous are fighting against their own biology to stay that way. Those who don't get their sexual needs met at home will probably try hard to hang in there, but the odds are very high that they won't be able to fight the urge to get sex somewhere.

Women think, "If he has sex with another women, that means he doesn't love me." Bullshit. When we're teenagers, the message that "sex isn't love" is forced into us as a technique to try to keep us from having sex as teenagers, but when we're married, suddenly sex is love?  Nope.  Last year around this time, I wrote a post called 10 Tips for Wives To Keep Your Husband from Cheating. For the most part (except for tips 9 and 10) it's about sex.  Why? Because for the most part, the reason he stepped out was about sex.  For most of the others, it's about tip #9. 

Not only do we women tend to make men feel like perverts because of their natural sex drive, but we work hard to "tame" them, then we complain that they are not "real men."  We want to be in control at home, then we complain that he won't take charge. We swoon over their aggressiveness in the pursuit of us when we're courting, then we spend decades trying to squelch that aggressiveness. In our early years of marriage, we complain that "all he wants is sex" and we push him away repeatedly and then in the later years of our marriage we complain that "he doesn't want me anymore." 

We fall in love with and marry a man, then we spend the rest of our lives doing our best to make him as much like a woman as possible.

And then, after all that, we expect him to stay faithful when everything in him (biologically and emotionally) is screaming at him to go out and fuck the shit out of a young honey who treats him like a man and who lets him behave like a man (and likes it).

Wake up, Ladies.

And as for you men.... Stop letting your wife beat you into submission.  Educate her. Love her enough to push back and not let her be fooled by what the women's movement and the media have told her for years. Taking charge is not abuse.  Whoever got women believing that should be publicly flogged for it.  

We are all paying for it.

Newness

What is it about newness? New clothes. New shoes. New men.

Let's talk about men, but we'll pretend that we're talking about shoes instead.

I have a pair of shoes that I love. I bought them for way too much money, or so I thought at the time, a long, long time ago. They are perfect for me - comfortable, attractive, and they go with just about anything. I've had to get them repaired several times and resoled once. They are leather, so they require some maintenance to stay looking nice. You simply can't keep a pair of shoes like that for that long without investing in some maintenance and repair sometimes. I love those shoes.  A lot.

But......

I'll be out walking in the downtown area or a mall, and I'll see them. A gorgeous, shiny, stunning, sexy new pair of shoes. Just looking at them inspires desire.  They are nothing at all like my favorite pair, but for some reason that makes them all the more attractive. I want them. I can imagine how they will look and feel on my feet.  I go into the store and try them on. There's nothing wrong with trying them on, is there? That will get them out of my system, right?

Nope.  Now I really want them.  I have to have them. So, I buy them.  I take them home. I wear them and feel fabulous, sexy.

Then they start to pinch my toes, or rub me the wrong way somewhere. I have to choose my wardrobe carefully because they won't go with anything. They are still gorgeous, but they're not comfortable like my old, favorite pair of shoes, so I wear my old favorites again for a day or two. I go back to the new ones for awhile, but eventually I tell myself, "Who are you kidding?  These shoes are not you," and I go back to my favorites. The new ones are relegated to a place in my closet. I think about them, and I wear them from time to time, but the lust I felt for them originally is gone.

But my old favorites are still good.

Ahhhh.  Comfortable. Familiar. Reliable. Boring. It only takes a couple of weeks for them to go through that cycle from comfortable to boring.

So, I go to the mall for a walk.....and I see them. Another gorgeous, shiny, stunning, and sexy new pair calling to me from behind the glass of an upscale store.

And so the cycle continues.

Be it shoes or men, newness is intoxicating.

Have You Seen My Boobs?

Last night I was in bed with Hubby right next to me.  He scooted over to my side of the bed and slid a hand up my belly to my chest and started caressing one of my boobs.

Yeehaw!, I thought.  Kat's gonna get some sex tonight! I turned toward him and started kissing his neck. He reached for the other boob and started fondling it, too. Then he went back to other one, and went back and forth for a while. Then he asked, "Are your boobs shrinking?"

That, my friends, is how you get a pussy to dry up like the Sahara.

I rolled away from him, not really sure what to say.

And in a husband's typical fashion, he couldn't just stop before both feet were in his mouth.

He said, "Well, it's not like they've ever been really big, but I think they have definitely shrunk."

"I'm sure they have, Hubby," was all I could say. Then he rolled over and went to sleep, clearly never intending to put out.

It's true. My boobs are shrinking.  I've been dieting lately.  Wait. I'm not supposed to call it a diet.  I'm supposed to call it a "healthy living plan."  Whatever. All I know is that I haven't had bread in a month and my mouth starts to water when I see those Feed the Children commercials on TV where the kid is eating a bowl of rice.

I've seen this pattern before.  It's a cruel hoax of nature. When I lose weight, my tits are the first to go. My ass is always the last thing to shrink, of course.

But the reverse is true when I put on weight.  In that case, the ass grows first and the tits just, well, stay the same. At this pace, it should only take a few more diet cycles before my chest is actually concave. {sigh}

Because it's Easter and this reminds me of that scene from The Proposal where Betty White is fitting Sandra Bullock for a wedding dress, I thought I'd share this with you:




This clip gets me laughing every time. As I sit here with my shrinking Easter egg tits, I wish you all a very Happy Easter!

Re-Visiting Ashley Madison

Well, I got a bee in my bonnet this week. I was a little upset with JJ, so I decided to jump back on AM and see what's up.  I also needed to do some research for a reader who responded to my post about how not to approach a woman on AM with a request for what works. That's a reasonable request, and there are some strategies that are more effective than others - at least with me.

First, though, I want to share some of my experiences of the past several days. First, single women out in the dating scene lament that "all the good ones are married."  I would have to agree. I have found a treasure trove of possibilities this time around. Sure, there are still plenty of "Wanna fuck?" boys, but I've noticed a lot of really nice guys this time - educated, bright, witty, polite.  Wow.  I was caught off guard. If you're in the northern California area (Sacramento/Bay Area), prepare to be pleasantly surprised.

I also noticed that my biggest AM pet peeve is still alive and well. There are lots of men who still send requests for your private key (request for private photos) as their introductory approach, before they even say 'hello.'  That is such a low-class approach. Usually I just hit the little "delete" button, but this time I tried a little education, responding with a request for "hello" or some other perfunctory form of conversation first.  About 50% didn't respond at all, 25% responded with, "Hi.  Can you send your photos now?" The final 25% responded with various insults and curses. I was called a "fucking cunt" several times, to which I responded, "Yes, but I won't be fucking YOU.  Good luck!" These are the men who should not be allowed to reproduce. They do seriously undesirable things to the gene pool.

But I digress.....again.....

I did get a surprise, though.  One of those requests for a key that was unaccompanied by conversation came from one of my previous fuck buddies. Yes, Young One on Fire, my fireman play mate, sent me a key request. I wasn't surprised that he didn't recognize me from my profile because I changed the profile - and the photo - and the username - this time.  I complied with his request for a key and gave him a firm tongue lashing about his poor manners (in writing. Not the tongue lashing he received when we last met). How else will the young ones learn?

In spite of of noticing lots of guys who did things wrong, there were many who did it right, and a few who did it very, very right.  Here's what works on AM to get Kat to meow:

1. Read the gal's entire profile and put something relevant to her profile in the subject line of the message. Most of your competition (and I'm not counting the "wanna fuck" boys or the "gimme your key" guys as your competition) is going to put something like "Hi" or "Let's talk" in the subject line of their first messages. You need to use something from her profile that links to something about you. For example, one that got my attention was "Fellow Springsteen Fan."  He would have had to read all the way to the bottom of my profile to know that. That inspired me to open his message. Another guy tried an opposite approach that still indicated that he had read my profile.  His subject line was "Dodger Fan." Of course I had to open his message if for no other reason than I wanted to reply to tell him that if we meet, I'll be wearing a strap-on because I love to fuck Dodger fans. Inside it said, "Just kidding, but I wanted you to notice me."  Hehehe. Remember your first goal - to get her to open your message. The subject line matters. 
2. Make that first message engaging. I can't emphasize this enough. It should be more than one sentence.  It should say something about what you liked about her profile.  It should say something about you that's not in your profile. If you can be witty, do so.
3. End your first message with a question. It should be a question about her. It should be a question that inspires her to hit "reply" so she can answer it. "Did you see Jonathan Sanchez' no-hitter?" "Are you planning to read that new book about Yogi Berra by Harvey Araton, Driving Mr. Yogi?" Those aren't questions that will work for everyone, but hey, were perfect for me.  The two gentlemen who asked those had me hitting reply to respond with a smile on my face. They read my profile, they paid attention. They were rewarded with a reply.
4. Stay away from any mention of sex in the first message.  Unless her profile explicitly says something like, "I don't want to be friends. I don't want to talk.  I just want to fuck," do not bring up sex in that first message. Yes, they are there for an affair, too.  Yes, they know that sex will be involved and they probably want it, but they won't fuck you unless they trust you. And if you start off with talk about sex, they will think you are a player, and players can't be trusted. You need to be a nice guy who wants someone to talk to.  You don't have to be totally Beta, but use a soft entry. Introduce sex in the second message, but not as a "wanna fuck" statement.  It should be more like, "You seem like a very sensitive and passionate woman. I can only imagine how great that must be in private."  Subtle.  Unless it's me. I responded to that with, "That's too bad. I already have a lover who brings out the sensitive side of me. I was hoping for some mind-blowing sex tomorrow. Good luck."  LOL.  I was just playing and being silly, though.  That was an excellent line.
5. Be persistent.  Unless she tells you to go away, follow up.  Send another message in a day or two, or in a week.  Be engaging. But don't be a stalker.  Stalkers are bad. At some point, probably after the third message, if she doesn't reply, just let her go.
6. Don't sound too desperate. The one who has my heart twitterpating right now is one who has shown a casual interest.  He's clearly very bright, attractive, desirable, but he didn't jump immediately to "Let's meet," which makes me want to what?  Meet, of course. :-) (It doesn't mean I will.  Just that I want to.  Kat does have some self-control, ya know.) Desperation is like female repellent.  Face it.  Most of us have men at home who don't do much for us anymore in the bedroom. In most cases, we've got them wrapped around our fingers in just about every way. We don't want that when we're shopping on AM.  We want confidence. We want self-assurance. We want a man who knows that he's desirable. We want what we don't have at home.
7. Be careful of that "Member Feedback" on the bottom of your profile. For most men, if they see positive feedback on a woman's profile, they think, "Hey! She's a good one.  If other guys liked her, I might, too." It's the opposite for women. We steer clear of men with lots of feedback numbers. We are not into competition like you guys are. A few feedback numbers are ok, but too many is bad. Your best bet if you have any is to have it under "gives good chat" and "worth the time."
8. Be yourself.  I know.  You're thinking that I've just told you to do everything but be yourself, but that's not true.  Do what you need to do to get her to open your first message and reply. YOU need her to engage with you before you can show her your charming real self. Once your foot is in the door, just be you. And remember that it's a real woman you're talking to. Imagine she were sitting right in front of you.  While the internet lets you get to the point faster than you could in person, would you really say, "Are you a freak?  Do you like suck cock?" Come on. Be real.

In spite of all this excellent advice, it's still true that it's harder for men than women. The competition is stiffer (pun intended) and the women know it. Some are not very nice.  And then you have all the hookers and escorts to contend with. Don't worry.  Just keep trying.  The right one for you is there.

After all, that's where I found JJ and he found me. :-)

Face Time

I had some time at home alone on Friday night (a very unusual situation), so JJ and I started texting back and forth. At first we were catching up with what has been going on in both of our lives. Then the conversation became a little naughty, of course.

Because I'm a good girl scout and always prepared, I had already moved to my bedroom and taken off my pants and panties.

I knew that he'd be asking for a photo soon, so I decided to get another step ahead of him. I snapped a quick pussy pic and sent it over.

It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is to send a picture these days compared to the "old days." Yes, I know I'm showing my age, but when I started my first online relationship, we chatted via IRC (Internet Relay Chat for you young people).  Why?  Because there weren't any other choices! AOL came out and changed all that, but I'm talking about before AOL. If you wanted to send a picture in those days, you had two choices: send it via snail mail or fax it.  That was it. This was before desktop scanners, before cell phone cameras. It was even before most people had cell phones.  They were called "car phones" then and very few people actually had them. So, when I can snap a photo with my cell phone and send it to someone all within about 5-10 seconds, it still feels like something pretty close to a miracle to me.

But I digress......again.....

Soon after he got the first picture, he asked, "Where's Spartacus?"

(If you don't know what JJ was talking about, go back and read Playing with Spartacus. You'll see a photo of Spartacus there, too.)

After teasing him for awhile I finally snapped a pic of Spartacus, but that wasn't enough for him.  No. He wanted to see Spartacus...uh.....more engaged with me. I slid it in me just a little bit and snapped and sent another pic.

"More," he wrote.

So, I pushed it all the way inside me and turned it on, and took another pic.

Now, I have trouble playing and manipulating the phone camera with one hand anyway, but when I'm in a state of arousal, it's very difficult.

I hit "send" to send him the pic, thinking I'd have a few seconds, maybe even a minute to play while I waited for his response, but within 10 seconds the phone rang with his Face Time request.

For those of you without iPhones, Face Time is video calling. Video calling also possible on Yahoo Messenger and a bunch of other programs, but FaceTime is easier because you don't have to open an app.

I accepted his request and there he was, my handsome JJ smiling at me, telling me to show him.  I put the phone on speaker, re-positioned the phone so he could see well, and....mmm.....let him talk me to pleasure while Spartacus worked his magic.

Then it was his turn.  He flipped to the rear camera on his phone and I was filled with an almost irresistible desire to lick my screen as he did what I wished I were there to do for him.

We chatted a little while more, and then it was time to go.

As I cleaned up before my boys came home, I remembered how phone sex went in the old days.  It was great, but Face Time is like supercharged phone sex.

Thank God for technology!