High Maintenance?

I never thought I was high maintenance.  Seriously, in high school and college friends would laugh about girls who were high maintenance and then  say, "I'm glad Kat's not like that."  My husband has bragged for years about how low maintenance I am, how I never complain, how it doesn't take much or cost an arm and a leg to keep me happy.  It's true. All it really takes to keep me happy is to love me, tell me often, and at least pretend to be interested in my life. I used to say that real interest was required, but I've grown old enough to know that having the courtesy to at least pretend you care is often good enough.

See?  I said I was low maintenance.

But something has happened recently that is making me take notice.

I've mentioned the pattern before.  When you first meet someone online, there's a flurry of email.  There are chat conversations and phone calls and texts, and it's all so exciting and new. Then, as you get to know each other, things calm down a bit, as they should. You settle into a comfortable rhythm of communication and make exceptions for the times when one or both of you gets really busy or things at home get crazy.

But for me there seems to be another stage when communication slows way down.  An email every day becomes one a week - maybe. Quick text exchanges just to check in and say something nice slow down, too, from once a day to every 2-5 days - maybe. Phone calls? From once a week to once every two or three weeks, if that.  Phone sex? That's gone completely.

When I bring it up, I'm told everything's fine. He's just been busy. Don't worry.

Then nothing.  For days.

Seriously, how hard is it to text a quick, "Crazy day but I'm thinking about you" or something like that?

It's one thing to be lousy communicator when you are having an in-person affair, but when you have a long distance relationship, all you have is the virtual communication. If you go silent for days, there's a vacuum of communication. If it happens a few times, I can live with that.  Life happens. But when it becomes the normal state of affairs I start to wonder.  I start to ask myself questions:

Does he really care about me or has he moved on and he's afraid to tell me?
Has he mistaken low maintenance for no maintenance?
Or is something wrong with ME? Am I expecting too much? Is this normal?

It's interesting to be told that "everything's fine" because clearly it's not.  I'm feeling devalued and unimportant so everything is not fine for me. But when that text or email shows up after almost a week, I'll act like everything is fine. Apparently I want to live with the delusion that he'll change.

The part of me that loves him says, "Shut up. Everything will be fine.  I'm sure he had a good reason...again." I wonder if he's ok. Maybe he's been hurt? Because I can't let myself believe that everything is fine in his world and he is just choosing not to communicate with me."

But the part of me that has a sliver of self-respect remaining says, "I'm worth more than that. I don't need to beg someone to talk to me." But I'm still very sad.  I still miss him.

Here's what a wise woman told me several years ago:

If he's not talking to you, it's because he doesn't want to. Walk away.

Roommate or Wife? (Revised)

I have a good friend who is going through a hard time with his marriage. He desperately wants to fix the things that are wrong, but his wife seems to be largely indifferent. .....

My friend requested that I pull the post since his wife might see it, but some of the comments were so good that I didn't want to do that, so I just deleted most of the post.  *Poof*

Some of you know that I also just pulled the post entitled "High Maintenance?" Frankly, I'm getting tired of writing posts and then pulling them.  I care about peoples' feelings, though, and that matters more than a blog post or two.

If you haven't read the comments, you should.

And I'll get to work on another post.

A Thanksgiving Blessing

On this Thanksgiving Day, and beyond....

May we all be truly thankful for the goodness in our lives - our families, friends, jobs, and joy, our homes, health, pets and prosperity;

May we all focus on bringing joy to those we love rather than nurturing our own wants;

May we all make room in our hearts for forgiveness so we can let go of resentments for harms of the past;

May we all find a way to be of service to others as a way of living our gratitude;

May we all release any guilt or regret so we and those we love can thoroughly enjoy this day;

May we all take some time to search our hearts and reflect on all the love that surrounds and enfolds us. May we be grateful for that most of all.

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To all readers of PWK,

Many of you are friends, some have been lovers, one of you still is. ;-)  Whether you commented and engaged with our community or chose to simply lurk, please know that I am so grateful for all of you over the past several years. PWK has been a place where I can share who I am without conforming to who I need to pretend to be in the rest of my life. I've shared highs and lows, and connected with people here who have become very important to me. I don't say it enough, so I'll say it now.....

Thank you!

Kat

A Man's Guide to Giving Great "Clit"

 A few months ago, when I wrote Stress, Emotional Intimacy and Cunnilingus, I knew that I needed to find a guy to share some cunnilingus tips, for two main reasons: 1)  Many of you need assistance in that area, and 2) Having eaten pussy only a few times in my life, I'm in no position to give advice on this.

So I turned to my good friend SomewhereMan.  Now, I've never experienced his prowess, but I've heard reports that he really knows what he's doing.  Here's his contribution to the cause.

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When Kat asked me for a man's perspective on "going down", I jumped at the chance.  Not too quickly nor too eagerly, of course, but with care and concern.

Most women know they love it when their man (or men) go down on them.  Yet what works best?  How would they recommend a man proceed?  I know how I love my rod getting sucked but I'm not exactly in a position where I can get on my knees or give a hummer from the passenger seat on a long, country drive.

There was once a time where I was convinced that a man who was an expert in oral sex on a woman would never lose that woman.  Well... I've found that isn't true.  But a woman will allow more latitude if her man is complete, sensual and determined to make her cum.

Over and over.

A Man's Guide To Giving Great "Clit".

Watch Porn But Remember The Individual.  This is critical for each guy.  We all want to think that we're Peter North and can dig in with four women at a time.  Even Peter knows that each woman is a little...different.  I look back on my lovers over the past three years.  Some loved having their asshole licked.  Others tightened up as my tongue advanced to that region.  Some wanted the "tongue on clit/two fingers inside" extra value meal.  Others just wanted their clit sucked.  There is no "one style fits all".  

Eye Contact.  I can't stress this enough.  While you're digging in, keep plenty of eye contact with her.  She'll bit her bottom lip and, perhaps, pinch her nipples.  The eye contact is the silent affirmation of her beauty.  Women work hard to look good for us.  They give up rich food.  They do that yoga bullshit.  Eye contact doesn't cost anything but always pays off.

Let Her Know Time Doesn't Matter.  I do have a slight issue when I'm in the "receiving" position.  Out of my natural concern for others, I try not to take too long to climax.  I don't want her having to suck on me for 20 minutes because I don't want her to have a sore throat and busted wrists.  Yet, for a woman that I love (and I've been in "love" through my prowling), I would go down for an hour - or more - if that's what they wanted.  Never sigh while you're licking.  Purr a little bit.  Moan with her.

Thighs Are Your Friends.  Work them gently.  Make her goosebumps pop and her body tingle without even touching the goody box.  This is where a woman finds her peaceful "raft", where the troubles and the stress of her day just melt away like lemon drops.

Make Oral Sex The Main Course.  Don't treat it as foreplay.  Treat it as the main dish.  You'll get the actual sex later and it will be incredibly hot and wet.

Women, by nature, are extremely self-conscious about their bodies.  Many never allow themselves to reach an orgasm out of this worry.  Do whatever you can to make her feel comfortable and the beautiful woman that she is.

Cut the Crap

Two Couples and a Hot Tub, Part 2

If you missed Part 1, you can read it here.

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After a few moments, Hubby turned his attention to Susan's boobs as she rode him.  It felt a little surreal to see him with someone else, like I was watching two people I didn't know. 

Bud reached over, grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to him and I just let myself float as he was directing me. He sat me on his lap and starting touching me, sliding his hands all over my body.  He lingered at my breasts.  I moaned when he pinched one of my nipples.

"You like that?" he asked me.

"Yes," I purred.

"Would you like it a little harder?  Like this?"

He pinched my nipple harder.  I nodded yes.  He pinched harder and harder until I started grinding my pussy against his leg. He smiled.

"Well, well, well," he said. "You like a little pain.  That's wonderful." Then he released my nipple and began sucking on it as he moved his had between my legs and started rubbing my clit. It was clear he knew what he was doing because I was ready to come in about 30 seconds. He kissed my neck and I relaxed, ready to come. I turned to look at Hubby and Susan and it was clear that she was coming, and they were kissing passionately.

It felt like I was hit with a lightning bolt of jealousy. I gasped and my eyes were instantly filled with tears.  I was confused.  I wasn't jealous a moment ago.  I had been fine.  What happened?  I knew it was seeing the kiss that pushed me over the line.  It was so very intimate. Why was I fine with him fucking another woman, but not kissing one?

The tears in my eyes were about to burst forth into full on weeping when Bud turned me around, put his hands on either side of my face and redirected me. He looked directly into my eyes and told me it was ok, that Hubby loved me, that I didn't need to be jealous or afraid. The tone in his voice was so calm, so reassuring. He held me and shifted so we were directly across from them in the tub and my back was to them. He kissed me gently and went back to playing with my clit. I took a deep breath and focused on the pleasure. He quickly had me right back to where I was before I saw Hubby and Susan kissing. 

I could feel that Bud was hard again. I reached down and felt his cock. Very thick, 9 or 10 inches. I looked at him and smiled as I lifted myself up and took him inside me. I put my feet on the side of tub on either side of him so I could slide up and down his shaft without any part of me touching him except my pussy. He moaned loudly and then groaned, "yes, yes, yes, yes."

My orgasm sprung on me quickly. I squealed and pressed down against him, shuddering. He grabbed my hips and started moving me up and down on his cock quickly.  I was still coming when he finally exploded into me. I rested my head on his shoulder as we both came down.

Then I heard Susan say behind me, "Well, it looks like they had fun." I lifted myself off of Bud and floated over to sit in Hubby's lap without looking at Susan.  He wrapped his strong arms tightly around me and whispered in my ear, "Are you ok?"  I nodded yes. I thought I was ok, I guess. I had a flurry of emotions floating around, all dulled by the blanket of physical pleasure I was experiencing.

Bud suggested we go back into the house. I was all for a change of scenery.  Susan handed me a towel as I got out of the tub.  Hubby grabbed his clothes and mine and we went inside. 

There was a fire burning in the fireplace.  Hubby spread one of the towels on the floor in front of the fire and we laid down on it. Susan and Bud sat on the couch.  We were all still naked, but it was warm in the house so it felt comfortable. Bud and Hubby were talking about cars and other stuff I didn't care about so I was just enjoying the fire.  Soon, Susan slid off the couch and was kneeling in front of Bud, sucking on his cock. Bud stopped talking and leaned back.

Hubby leaned over me and kissed me.  For a moment, my mind rushed to thinking about how I saw him kissing Susan, but I wasn't there for long. In about a minute he was rolling me over and telling me to get on my hands and knees.  Before I was even fully in position, he drove his cock into me hard. He had one hand on my hip pulling me back onto him and the other arm was wrapped around me so he could finger my clit. That's when he started talking dirty to me. "You were a naughty slut tonight weren't you, Kat? You like to be given to other men, don't you? I didn't know I was planning to marry such a whore."

That was the first time any talk of marriage had come up. I started bucking back against him. I screamed as I came and he lifted his hand and brought it down hard on my ass. I was surprised, but not at the fact that he spanked me, but at how it made me come harder just as I thought I was done. At that point, Hubby grabbed my hips and fucked me hard until he came.

After, I curled up in his arms and I felt myself drifting off to sleep, aided by the warmth of the fire. I don't know how long I was asleep, but I woke to Hubby shaking me, telling me it was time to go. I heard him tell either Susan or Bud, "No, I think Kat's done for the night.  Maybe another time." I wondered what had been suggested, but I was too tired to ask.  Hubby slipped my sundress over my head and walked me to the car. He went back into the house to gather up our shoes and my purse. I opened my eyes long enough to catch him kiss Susan goodbye. 

It didn't bother me at all.

Two Couples and a Hot Tub, Part 1

When Hubby and I were new together, he told me about a friend of his who lived nearby.  This guy and his wife, both in their mid-40's, were heavy into the swinging lifestyle.  At times, when she was in the mood for  some variety, she would call Hubby who was more than happy to oblige.

He told me stories of going to their home once a week or so to play with her while her husband watched. That part sounded a bit strange to me at the time, but whatever. Just as it started to sound like he was telling me that he planned to continue his weekly field trips, he asked if I would be willing to join in and do a swap with them.

At first, I balked, not because I minded the idea of a swap - I'd done that before - but because of the thought that I'd be getting the short end of the stick, so to speak. I'd met the couple once before, and my soon-to-be-Hubby was much more attractive than her very overweight, balding, yellow-toothed husband. When we swapped, she (let's call her Susan) would be getting my tall, athletic, gorgeous man and I'd be getting, well, let's call him Bud. On the flip side of the deal, my man would get Susan, who was not at all unattractive and they already had some chemistry together. Bud would get me - a slim 23 year old with long golden brown hair, perfect teeth and perky tits.  While I know it makes me sound shallow to say this, it seemed to me like everyone would be a winner in that swap except for me.

Hubby (we weren't married yet, but I'll call him that anyway) knew I was reluctant, but he won me over when he said I could play with Susan, too. I've always been a fan of large breasts and Susan's were very big and very lovely. I really wanted to touch them, suck them,and play with them so I agreed. Hubby set it up for that weekend.

When the day arrived, I was nervous. Would I be jealous seeing Hubby with another woman? Would I be able to pretend to be interested in Bud? I told Hubby about my concerns and he dismissed them. He told me not to think so much.  Ha! He didn't yet know that thinking is all I do.  Still, he had a point.

We went over to their house and had dinner before playtime.  It was nice. We laughed. I relaxed. While Bud wasn't much to look at, he was funny and very easy to talk to. I could see what Susan saw in him.

After dinner, Bud suggested we go out on the back patio and get in their hot tub. I felt relieved. I've always loved hot tub sex.

We went outside and the air was cool.  The hot tub was already warmed up and bubbling.  When did Bud do that? I wondered. It didn't matter, but it was kind of weird. I saw Susan start to take her clothes off, so I did, too. I was naked first because all I was wearing was a sundress and panties. I threw my clothes on a chair and slid into the hot tub. Susan sat on the edge with her legs dangling in the water. Frankly, I'm not sure what Hubby and Bud were doing because my eyes were stuck on Susan. Her breasts were more beautiful than I had imagined - shaped like large melons and still very firm, not droopy.  Her skin was nearly perfect.

Hubby was behind me then and he whispered in my ear that I could go touch her. I'm glad he did because if he hadn't, I would have sat there staring for much longer. I stood on the step in the water and she spread her legs so I could come between them and get closer. She pulled me to her and kissed me.  It was a deep, wet, lovers kiss. As we kissed, I reached my hands up to touch her breasts. As I touched her, we both moaned. I heard Bud groan to the side of us.  That's when I noticed that Bud was on one side of us watching and Hubby was on the other.

I fondled her breasts and we kissed for what seemed like a long time. I was perfectly happy with that and probably could have just done that for the night, but then she broke from our kiss and put her hands on my head, very gently nudging my head downward. I found a nipple and started sucking on it fiercely.  She gasped. I pinched one and sucked on the other, then I changed it around.  I was perfectly happy with that and probably could have just done that for the night, but then she put her hands on my head again, very gently nudging my head downward.  I held onto her thighs and knelt on the step and started licking her pussy. It was trimmed, not shaved, and very wet. I found her clit and started flicking it with my tongue as I slid a finger inside her.

It was then that I noticed Hubby was out of the water and that he had taken my place sucking on her tits. I focused on her clit, which was very stiff by then. I hadn't had much experience with women at all, so I really didn't know what to do with it. I flicked it for a while, then I sucked on it. I'd read once about using your tongue to trace the letters of the alphabet on it, so I did that, too.

I was only on the letter M when I felt Bud's hands on my hips, lifting them up, making my legs straight so I was standing up and bent at the waist as I ate Susan, who was rocking her hips and moaning quite loudly now. He entered me from behind and completely filled me with a very, very large cock. I smiled as I traced the letter O. That was pleasantly unexpected. He started fucking me slowly. I started getting distracted from Susan, so I forced myself to focus. After each letter, I quickly sucked on her clit and then moved on to the next letter. I could tell she was close. Bud started pounding me harder. When I got to the letter X, Susan screamed, came, and pushed my face against her pussy. I had to finish the alphabet, of course, so she writhed as I very slowly tortured her with the last two letters. Then I was still, just keeping pressure on her clit as she finished.

When she had stopped moving, Hubby reached over and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back and up a little so he could lean over and kiss me.  My face was covered with Susan's juices.  He kissed me and then he whispered, "I love you."  I knew he meant it.

Hubby helped Susan shift over on the edge of the hot tub and then step in.  They both sat down and watched Bud as he was almost done fucking me. I wasn't ready to come yet, which disappointed me a little.  I knew it was because I had been so distracted with Susan.  But I knew Hubby wouldn't let me leave that night without making sure I was well satisfied.

Bud groaned as he came and his final thrust pushed me forward.  He grabbed my hips and held me back on him, and I could feel his big cock pulsating as he released into me.  He finally let me go and pulled out.  As he did, he said to Hubby, "Damn, she's tight!"  Hubby relied, "I know.  Great, isn't it?"

I dunked my head under the water to wash my face off.  When I came up, I saw Susan moving to straddle Hubby. He was looking at me.  He maintained eye contact with me as I moved across the tub to sit next to him.

To be continued........

This is the end of Part 1. Part 2 is right here.

Why I Can't Respond to This Week's FFF Prompt

Here's this week's FFF photo prompt.

Unfortunately, I cannot participate this week by writing a couple hundred words of fiction about it.

I have a very good reason, though.

I fully expected to write something until I saw the photo prompt of the naked woman sitting on gravel.  I wasn't put off by the flippers, although that is pretty fucking weird, or the binoculars or the vehicle or the county road or how freakishly skinny she is.

It was the gravel. First, sitting on gravel naked hurts.  Yes, I have firsthand knowledge of this. For those of you who don't, remember how it feels walking on gravel in bare feet. Now imagine that feeling on your butt, thighs, and maybe even  your tender woohoo.  Ouch!  It's even more painful to be laying naked on your back on a gravel riverbank with your legs wrapped around a guy while he fucks you long and hard. Imagine bits of gravel embedded into your back and ass with a few pieces finding their way further up your ass than anyone intended.

You avoid saying anything during the act because you don't want to ruin his fun, but you lose it when afterwards he asks, "Was that really great for you, too, Baby? It was awesome for me."  You want to yell, "Who the fuck are you?!?" but you realize it's a bit late for introductions, so you just start crying and whimper, "Help me." You're trying to sit up by yourself, but lifting up your back presses your hips deeper into the gravel. Rolling onto your side just exposes more tender skin to the gravel.

He finally helps you up and looks at your back. "Holy shit," he yells. "Why didn't you tell me??"  You sniffle, wipe your nose with your arm, and say, "You were having such a good time and I didn't want to bother you." The second that comes out of your mouth, you realize what an idiot you are, first for not saying anything at the time and then for saying anything now.

He starts picking the rocks out of your skin, starting with your butt and lower back so you can sit in the car while he does the rest. Some of them can be brushed off easily; some need to be picked out by his fingernails; several are embedded so deep that he pulls out his pocket knife to pry them out.

"We should get you to the clinic," he says, but you object loudly, "No!" because you're 17 and you really need to make sure your mother knows nothing about this. You remind him that he's 22 and it makes sense for both of you to just handle this yourselves.  He agrees, and gets back to work.

It takes about 30 minutes to remove all of the rocks, and what you thought was just a little blood at first turns out to be enough blood to soak his t-shirt. You finally agree to go to the clinic.

It all becomes more embarrassing at the clinic when the doctor takes one look at you and says casually, "It looks like you've been down at the river today." You think, oh my god, he knows what we were doing, but it quickly becomes clear that he doesn't really care and you find strange comfort in the fact that other girls have gone through the same thing.

You lay there naked for an hour while the doctor inspects every scratch and hole, pulling out little shards that the guy you're never going to fuck again missed. He cleans all the wounds. He throws 2-3 stitches into five of the holes that are too big to just close on their own. He carefully puts some antibiotic ointment all over your back and decides against bandaging the larger wounds because the tape would keep the surrounding smaller and medium sized ones from healing as fast. He offers some pain medication which you eagerly take because, duh, why not? Then after getting a prescription for more antibiotic cream, you finally get out of there.

Your former fuck buddy offers to give you a ride home, but you politely decline and catch a bus home after picking up your things at his place. Home is 500 miles away and your mother thinks you're spending a week with some friends. His car would have been more comfortable than the bus, but you don't care. On the bus, you lean forward the whole way home because it hurts to lean back.

When you get home, you realize you have to tell somebody because you can't put the antibiotic cream on by yourself, so you ask your brother to help. Horrified as he sees your back for the first time, he asks how it happened.  You simply say "gravel."  It takes him about 10 seconds, but then he starts laughing and taunting you. "Maybe you should have been on top." "I don't think this what they mean when they say, 'Don't come aknockin' if the trailer's ROCKin'." "Do you really like this guy?  Do you think he'll give you a big ROCK or a ring with lots of little ROCKS?"

Mercifully, it doesn't take him long to finish the medicine task. It takes weeks for your back to fully heal and he dutifully helps you every day.  Because you can't bear the idea of suffering the humiliation of one more person knowing about it, you refuse to go to a doctor to have the stitches removed and you talk your brother into doing it instead. He agrees, of course, because he thinks pulling out stitches is pretty cool.

Fortunately, your mother never finds out and everything heals well without infection. The long distance guy eventually quits calling when you refuse to talk to him. You think you can finally leave it behind you. Except for one thing.

The gravel. You have a sick pit in your stomach now whenever you see gravel.  Any type of gravel, anywhere. This traumatic response still affects you over 30 years later.

That's why I can't write about this week's FFF prompt of the naked woman sitting on gravel.


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Visit Advizor54's page to see what other bloggers wrote in response to this prompt.

Warning Label

I should come with a warning label. No, several warning labels.

WARNING: Slippery when wet (of course!)

WARNING: Hungry pussy

WARNING: Preys on unsuspecting men

WARNING: Smarter than she looks

WARNING: Steals hearts

WARNING: Bores easily

WARNING:  Cougar hunting grounds

WARNING: Not suitable for men with heart conditions

WARNING: Prefers sex over sleep

WARNING: Dangerous curves

WARNING: Orally fixated

WARNING: Always wants more

WARNING: Will do anything for love

I Got Lucky!!!

Yes, it's true.  After weeks of no sex at home, I finally got lucky with Hubby last night. All the stars aligned - neither of us sick, neither of us too tired, the kid in bed and asleep on time, and both of us in the mood at the same time. Yes, it felt like a miracle.

The interesting thing is that we did exactly the same thing we always do (he fingers me until I come, I suck his cock as long as he wants, he fucks me from behind), but because it has been awhile, it wasn't boring at all. It was kind of hot. Hubby?  Hot?  Yes.

And while I am very fond of my buddy Spartacus, there's nothing like having a real, live cock inside me and getting a nice hard fucking.

Afterwards, I said, "We should do that more often."

"Definitely," he responded.

Maybe I'll get lucky again soon.

Are We Related?

So I might have a really big family.......

Hey Bob

I was at a meeting with my son last night (of that boys organization that shall remain nameless) when I got a text.  It said, "Hey Bob." It made me smile, but I couldn't reply right away because I happen to be the group leader and texting during a meeting would set a bad example, so I knew I'd have to wait.

"Hey Bob" is code from C, of Afternoon Fun in a Honda Civic. We agreed long ago that we'd start texts from each other as if we were some guy pals.  That way, his wife wouldn't suspect anything if she saw them, and my husband would think it was a wrong number - a text from somebody looking for Bob.

C is very creative  Sometimes he says simply, "Hey Bob."  Other times, though, he'll add something more.  "Hey Bob, how 'bout those Giants?" "Hey Bob, did you see the game?"

But last night, it was just "Hey Bob."

By the time I got out of my meeting, it was an hour later and I suspected it wouldn't be a convenient time, but I texted him back anyway.  We had a quick two text exchange and then he disappeared. I was right.  It was a bad time.

I met C almost three years ago on AM. I liked him instantly. Great sense of humor, easy to talk to and be around, attractive. The only downside was that his wife had him on a very short leash. A very, very, very short leash. He could never get away for an extended period of time.  All he could muster were quick 15-30 minutes meetings while he was on an errand near where I worked. As you can imagine, it's pretty difficult to have an affair that way.  But we managed.  Sort of.

Here's how it would typically go.  I'd get the "Hey Bob" text and he'd let me know he'd be nearby in 20 minutes.  Was I free?  Was I alone?  Usually the answer was no, but sometimes, the answer was yes, and it would feel like we'd won the lottery. He'd walk in the front door, greet me with a sweet kiss that would turn into a very passionate one, and we'd move into the other room.  More kissing ensued, clothes came off, he'd finger me and I'd come instantly, I'd give him head and he'd come.  Then he'd look at his watch and realize that he really had to go.  He'd get dressed quickly, kiss me goodbye, and leave.

That was pretty much the routine except for our Afternoon Fun encounter.  Never a hotel room.  Never a nice comfortable bed.  Never enough time to really relax and explore each other. It's a shame, really, because I know it would be great.  If we've got sparks when we meet 15 minutes at a time, I think we'd set our worlds on fire if we ever had 2 hours and a comfortable bed. But the odds of that happening are about the same as for either of us actually winning the lottery.

I accepted early on that C and I would sweep in and out of each other's lives. As strange as it seems, it worked for us.

Here's the question, though.  Why do I give him the time of day if he can't make time for me?  With anyone else in the same scenario, we would have been done after the first couple of times. Why not C?

Because I genuinely like him. He's fun and I thoroughly enjoy his company, even in rare 15 minute blocks. Every now and then I run into him in "real life" and it makes me smile to see him.

The bottom line is that it's fun.  Isn't that what it's supposed to be about? Fun.  Enjoying each other.

It's been a long time since C and I shared 15 minutes, but I still love getting a text that says, "Hey Bob."

Male Chastity Devices...I Promise Not to Tell Your Wife

For centuries, if hubby wasn't behaving, wifey just denied sex. It works until hubby finds another woman to satisfy his needs or until he just decides to pleasure himself.

All that is over now.  Now there is a male chastity device that prevents the wearer from touching himself or dipping his stick in another woman. Apparently, it fits over a flaccid penis and locks into place, only to be opened by the Keyholder, presumably the wife or Domme or whoever.

While I think it could be fun for sex play, it will never work as a fidelity protection device because you guys would all just learn to pick the lock......or to pick each other's locks, but that just brings us back to sex play, doesn't it?

I can see it now....a bunch of guys out at a club, all locked up by their wives so their night out with the guys stays that way.  They gather in the restroom, pulling down their pants and kneeling in front of each other one at a time, picking locks.  Within a few minutes, success! They disburse and separate, each going his own way in the club to pick up women. One who wants to remain faithful to his wife just rushes back into the restroom every now and then to jerk off, which he finds immensely satisfying. The others find some prey and find a place to satisfy their urges - the restroom, the parking lot, the cheap hotel next door. At 2:00 a.m., they gather again (so they all leave at the same time) and reattach the devices before going home.

It works great until one of the wives suspects something.  Maybe it was the scent of woman on her hubby's underwear.  Maybe it was hubby's moaning "Melissa" in his sleep. Unbeknownst to her spouse, she splurged on one of the expensive, high-tech locks that sends her a text message when anyone tries to open the lock or if the lock is ever more than 1 centimeter away from the device. For $100 more, she can have a GPS chip installed.  Why not? Now she really has him by the balls, so to speak.

The next time the guys go out, that wifey shows up and catches her hubby in the car with his dick in Melissa and his chastity device in his pocket. You know how it goes from there.  There's lots of begging. There may or may not be lawyers involved, but the word spreads fast to the other wives and their hubbies who swear they didn't know their friend was doing that. Soon, all the wives have the new locks, but it's only a matter of time until one of the nerdy hubbies figures out how to disable the text alarm and the GPS, and instead of just using it himself, he starts selling his fix to men everywhere, making enough money to buy his mistress lavish gifts and take his wife on enough exotic trips that she doesn't even notice or care where the money is coming from or where it's going.

The moral of the story? There is no device known to man that will keep a married man from cheating if he wants to.

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I learned about these male chastity devices on the Huff Post. Read more here if you'd like.

Books Are Sexy

A sexy booklover friend of mine shared this with me and now I'm sharing it with you.

When I was in college, I did go home with a guy once who had no books in his house and I actually did leave because it just felt wrong. Wrong. Very wrong.

Now though, maybe I should ask to see a guy's Kindle before making that decision.

Unless he was a firemen....or an athlete....or an underwear model....or he had a big cock.....or he made me laugh....or he liked dogs....or cats.....or.....or.....or.....

Then I'd fuck him anyway.

Lingerie - Just for Me

Yeah, I have some sexy lingerie. Lots of cute sexy bras with matching panties that I wear every day and a few I save for special occasions, several baby doll nighties in black, red and hot pink, and my favorite - a black lace chemise.


When I was younger, I'd wear something sexy at bedtime thinking it would make sex more fun and exotic, but Hubby would just bark, "What are you wearin' that for? Take it off, it'll just get in the way.  What did that thing cost, anyway?" So, I quit wearing sexy lingerie for Hubby.


For most of my marriage I slept in the nude, but our youngest son has had the inclination to climb into bed with us in the middle of the night so I was forced to get some plain old cotton nightgowns. They are now about 10 years old, threadbare and frayed, but that's what I wear to bed. Sexy, no? At least they don't have infant and toddler spit up on them anymore.

Every now and then, though, I throw on something sexy and climb into bed. Why? Because Hubby needs to think that I bought it for him. Never wearing lingerie and then having lingerie show up in my drawers and closet would be bad. He doesn't get weird about it anymore, but he does look at me suspiciously and he asks stupid questions, like.....

Hubby: Why are you wearing that?

Me: I thought maybe we could have some playtime tonight.

Hubby:  Why?

(Why?  Why???  How do you answer that question?")

Me: Because I want to. (It was all I could think of.)

Hubby: Well, you could have given me a signal or something.

Me: The see-though nightie is the signal, Dear.

Hubby:  Well how would I know?  You're always wearing that fancy underwear.

He has half a point. I am always wearing sexy bras.  A quick peek at my FetLife profile and photos here will show you a few. No, I am not a Platex-cross-your-heart-bra kind of woman. I wanna feel sexy under my clothes. It does come in handy for unscheduled liaisons, but it's really just for me. I didn't think Hubby even noticed until a couple of years ago when he asked me one morning while I was getting dressed, "Who are you wearing that for?"  I answered, "Me," and that was the truth.

What he doesn't understand is that me feeling sexy is more of an indicator of my propensity to play away from home than what any man thinks of my underwear. It takes much less to get a man in bed than a sexy bra and panty set. I wanted to point out to him that before any other man would see the fancy bra, he would already be in a private place with me and clothes would be coming off. He wouldn't notice or care about the bra. But I held back.

Anyway, that's where Hubby's half-point ends. He never sees me wearing fancy nighties to bed unless there is an expectation for sex. The fact that it still surprises him just blows me away.

Seriously, how many surprises are left after 25+years of marriage? Not many, but for Hubby, apparently lingerie still surprises him. "Kat, why are you wearing that?  It's going to be cold tonight."

Well, I think, it looks like it already is.

Today I'm wearing a black bra with green lace trim and green panties with black lace trim.

And it's just for me.

FFF 11/15 - The Photograph

It's time for my contribution to Flash Fiction Friday. Visit Advisor54's site to see how others addressed this scrumptious photo prompt. His challenge was to make him come in 100 words. I stole a few more.

If he were here I am pretty sure I could make him come with substantially fewer than 100 words; however, considering the distance I'm thinking that only a teenage boy could come that quick....and what's the virtue in coming so fast, anyway? I prefer to take my time.

Here it is.  I give you The Photograph.

The photo was the only memento she had from their night together. It reminded her of his strength and forcefulness, but it couldn't show the way he had slowly and meticulously prepared her for that moment when the timer snapped the picture.

It was the way he deftly touched and kissed her all over - everywhere - not letting her move or object, that took her breath away. By the time the camera clicked, she was dizzy, nearly blind with passion. Her body had taken over and was responding only to him and the pleasure he was giving her. Time disappeared. When he had exacted every last orgasm her body could produce, he was gone.

It was the best night of her life, and all that remained was a photo.


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Don't forget! We're having a Tweet Chat tonight (Fri., 11/15)!  Join me on Twitter at 7:00 p.m. (Pacific time) at #pwk. I'm @shackledkat and I'll see you then!

Tweet Chat Friday 11/15

Let's have a Tweet Chat, shall we?

Tomorrow night (Friday, 11/17) at 7:00 p.m. (Pacific time) join me on Twitter at #pwk.  I am @shackledkat, of course, and I'll be there getting my flirty tweet on with y'all for an hour or so.

You can ask questions, try out your best pick up lines, tell me what you'd like to see on the blog, share your favorite sex stories or just hang out. There's only one rule - be nice.


I have no idea how this will go, but let's do it anyway. It will be fun. If we like it, we can make it a regular thing.

And, by the way, you can follow me on Twitter now.  No need to wait for our chat.

10 Things You Didn't Know About Vaginas

I was perusing Facebook this morning and I just couldn't pass this one up. After all, PWK is something of a community service. I'd like to think that we play an educational role as well as a sexually stimulating one.

This article includes some very strange information like "vaginal secretions include components found in shark livers," and some important and useful information like "having sex can keep the vagina young and healthy." This supports my "use it or lose it" claim regarding both the libido and the maintenance of  "the equipment."

So, here you go. 10 Things You Didn't Know About Vaginas

What'll Keep Me Out of Heaven

It's rare that I hear a song that really touches me and resonates like this one does. Brandy Clark's "What'll Keep Me Out of Heaven" got my attention. It captures the ambivalence I've felt about prowling. It's wrong, but it feels right. It's forbidden, but it lets us access parts of ourselves that have been locked away for a long time. What'll keep me out of heaven will take me there tonight....

What are your thoughts?

What'll Keep Me Out of Heaven

I know I shouldn't be here tonight
I hardly know this man
It's been a long time since I felt as pretty, as he tells me I am
I've met him at a coffee shop and I've met him in the park
But I've never been alone with him in this dress after dark

There's so many shades of grey but this is black and white
He's some stranger's husband and I'm some stranger's wife
Ten floors up he's waiting with champagne and candle light
What'll keep me out of heaven will take me there tonight

The arrow's on the second floor
The bell's about to ring
And I have to turn away right now
Or walk into this thing
If I step into that elevator, there ain't no turning around
And I don't know what scares me most- the ride up or the ride down

There's so many shades of grey but this is black and white
He's some stranger's husband and I'm some stranger's wife
Ten floors up he's waiting with champagne and candle light
What'll keep me out of heaven will take me there tonight

Ten floors up he's waiting with champagne and candle light
What'll keep me out of heaven will take me there tonight

Change of Plans

Yesterday was Hubby's birthday and my plan was to offer him a birthday blow job after his birthday dinner and after Little Tomkat was in bed.

We came home from dinner and I turned on Sons of Anarchy, which always puts me in a naughty mood.  I think it's because I can't resist watching the overdose of uncontrolled testosterone. And what woman wouldn't want to fuck Jax Teller (Charlie Hunnam) and Nero (Jimmy Smits)?

Anyway, I put the little guy to bed and decided to jump in the shower. It's never a bad idea to be prepared (clean and shaved) in case the birthday blow job turns into something more, right?

I turned on the hot water so it would warm up while I undressed. Shedding the clothes felt unexpectedly good. Maybe it was the feeling of being unbound, free. Maybe it was my libido expressing itself through the reaction to the cool air on my skin.

I stepped in the shower and under the stream of hot water. I love hot showers.  Very hot. Hubby and I quit taking showers together very early in our relationship because he can't stand the heat. What a shame.

 As the water flowed over my hair, face, breasts, and back, I exhaled slowly. The stress of the day washed away quickly and I felt relaxed, free, loved - and the image of SNS Guy popped into my head.

I imagined him kissing me deeply as I grabbed the soap, and then I felt his hands on me, washing me, caressing me. I slid a hand between my legs and caught my breath as I touched my clit which was swollen and sensitive. I leaned back against the wall and touched myself with one hand, pinching a nipple with the other hand. I could see him smiling at me as he flicked my clit, making me start to shudder.

I reached up quickly and grabbed my waterproof vibrator from the shelf. I lifted one foot up onto the stool in the shower and slid the vibrator inside me, still rubbing my clit. I moved it slowly in and out of my cunt, rocking against it, wanting more. I could feel him biting my neck as he fucked me. My foot on the stool was really wrapped around him, pulling him to me, trying to press him deeper into me. He responded by fucking me harder.

I came hard.  Very hard. He kept working my clit and pressing his cock into me until my orgasm subsided. I kissed him again and tried to keep him with me, knowing that he'd be gone when I opened my eyes which I avoided.  I finished my shower with him.  He washed my hair very sensually. Then he carefully soaped me all over with his deft hands. As he washed my pussy, he playfully  threatened to play with me some more, but he laughed and moved on.  When it was time to finish up, I pulled him to me and kissed him passionately.

Finally, I let go and opened my eyes. I was met with a pang of sadness that caused me to burst into tears. God, I missed him. I missed his physical presence. I missed his touch and his kiss.

But there was nothing to be done about that, at least not now. I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, wiping away my tears with the rest of the water and my moment with him.

A few minutes later I made it into the bedroom and Hubby was fast asleep, wearing about five layers of pajamas and other clothing as if we lived in Michigan rather than California.  I decided not to wake him for his birthday blow job.  That could wait for another day.

I turned off the light and climbed into bed. I closed my eyes and brought SNS Guy back to me. He wrapped his arms around  me and and I curled up next to him. I drifted off to sleep with him, feeling safe, happy, and content.

This change of plans worked out just fine.

Getting Her Back with an Exorcism?

I heard this story on the news last night.  A man kidnapped his estranged wife. That wasn't the part of the story that got my attention.  He was assisted by the couple's 20 year old son. Okay, that's weird, but still not  what turned my head.

After they kidnapped her, they took her to a church, prayed over her and tried to conduct an exorcism. Why? Because the 42 year old husband was sure that she was demon possessed.  Why else would she leave him? Hubby and son thought that she would come back home if they exorcised the demons.

Instead, the police showed up, wifey (and, presumably, her demons) were freed, and hubby and son were arrested and taken to jail.

Wow.  That's a serious case of arrogance and self-deception, isn't it? I'm sure he honestly believes that there is no other legitimate reason for his wife to leave.  I'm no marriage counselor, but I think it's safe to say that there's probably no hope for this marriage. And I'm pretty sure that's why she left.

I've heard of lots of ways that men have tried to get their wives back, but exorcism wasn't on that list.

Until now.

Two Months? Really?

To be more accurate, it has been about a month and half since I posted, but that's still a l-o-n-g time.  I wonder if anyone is still out there. Anyone?

The only explanation I have is that the blog has not been high on my list of priorities. Family and work come first, and they have been commanding most of my attention over the past few months.

And I also haven't had much to say about prowling. The last extramarital sex I had was in mid-June when I met SNS Guy. Yes, that's five months of fidelity. Five months of nothing but Hubby.

It's not that anything is wrong with Hubby, but I've said it here before - going back to nothing but the same routine sex, same positions, same thing...the same thing we've done for 25 years - is difficult.  No, it's more than difficult. It's stifling.

I wonder sometimes if I could be ok with it if I had never known the likes of W, J, JJ, SNS Guy and the others, but I don't think so. I started prowling so I could fill that void in my life. Now, though, I know what I'm missing. So, I put one foot in front of the other and try to just walk through it. Each day and week and month of "just walking through it" kills some of the passion and desire in me.

Have you ever seen the movie Pleasantville? In the film, the black and white world of a small, restrained town slowly turns to color as the residents experience joy and real pleasure of all kinds. We cheer for them as the color bursts forth, freeing them from their old life and way of looking at the world. Prowling was a lot like that for me. Parts of myself that I had never known and other parts of me that I knew about but was too afraid to let loose just burst into color. I felt alive. Fully alive.

The last several months have been the beginning of the reversal of the process.  The world is slowly becoming more grey. I'm alive and well and reasonably healthy.  All is well with my family. There are challenges to face, but there always are. Hubby is finally happy because I'm compliant with his monitoring requirements and he's confident I'm not prowling. So, he's content and I'm fading a little more each day.

That sounds sad and pathetic, doesn't it? The truth is that it's really not as bad as all that. It is.  It's no way to live.

I'll never understand why people who claim to love us so much feel the need to keep us so tied down. Fear is a powerful motivator, I suppose.

A friend of mine encouraged me to share this with you.  I was just going to stay quiet forever, or until my world started turning to color again, but he's right.  Keeping it to myself helps no one. And nothing changes if I don't change it.

An image of a tiger in a cage (Kat in a cage?) comes to mind.  When the tiger is first captured, he pushes against the bars and roars and paces back and forth waiting for a chance to escape. Eventually, though, he just lays down, not even getting up when the cage door opens. He just gives up.

Time to get up and start pacing again.

Separated from the Herd

I was at an event with my son on Monday night, the kind of event where there are typically lots of fathers there with their sons. I wasn't running the meeting so I had the opportunity to just observe. I haven't had passionate sex in months so I felt like a kid in a candy store, salivating as I looked at all the variety.

Most of the dads were grouped together, but several were not. These few were standing or sitting alone throughout the room or sitting with their sons. One of them was a very hot, new-to-the-group fireman dad.

The mom next to me noticed me watching him and said, "Kat, I don't think he needs your help."

I smiled and replied, "Oh, but I'm sure he does," and I walked over to the other side of the room where he was sitting alone at a table with his young son.

Nothing happened, of course, except that we got to know each other better and we exchanged phone numbers so we can communicate about activities for the boys. The point of the story is that he may or may not have been the best looking guy in the room, but if he had been sitting with a pack I would have avoided him (unless I was in a really playful mood, but that's another story). He was more attractive and attainable because he was separated from the herd.

I wonder sometimes if married men are aware that they are being observed and targeted for possible consumption by horny women? I know it happens more than they know.

Here's how it will go with fireman dad.  Next week I'll bring a small, inexpensive gift for his son, related to the group to which we belong, and I'll say I heard him mention he needed or wanted whatever it is.  It could be a hat, neckerchief, patch, handbook, whatever. I'll also strike up a brief conversation with dad, but I'll be sure that *I* walk away from the conversation first.

If he doesn't bring wife with him to the next meeting, I'm good.  If he does, I'll back off.

If it's a go, I'll sit next to him at the next meeting with my son sitting next to his. Yes, I may have to bribe him, but it's only right to help the new kid feel welcome, isn't it?

Then, I'll back off until there's an outing.  I'll suggest that we car pool. By then it will be clear if there's any chemistry or not. If not, I've made a friend and all is well. This is where things usually stop with men in my real life. It's too dangerous to go further so there has to be some serious chemistry to even think about that.

If there is some chemistry, it's time to suggest a meeting for coffee. At that meeting, if it feels right, I'll suggest something even more private, if he doesn't do it first.

Why take so long?  Because I met him in a completely non-sexual context. It usually takes longer than meeting someone on AM or in a bar. Obviously.

He separated himself from the herd to some degree at that first meeting, but I have to completely separate him from that herd to know if he's a prowler or if he wants to be.

So, Prowlers, what tips do you have for separating other prowlers from the herd so you can move in for the kill?  Gee, that sounds so violent. It's time to ditch the herd metaphor, I think.

How do you go from meeting someone in a coffee shop or the grocery store (or wherever) to making them a playmate?

Boundaries

Last night I stepped out of the shower to see my 9-year old son standing in the bathroom, looking at me. I jumped at first because I was shocked to see anyone there, but a second or two later I realized I needed to cover up.  I grabbed a towel and tried to cover myself as I asked, "What are you doing in here?" He proceeded to tell me all about a video game he was playing.

I looked down and noticed that my boobs were partially exposed.

"Turn around!" I barked at him, desperately rearranging the towel. He complied, of course, but when I looked up again I saw that he was still looking at me - in the mirror on the opposite wall. *sigh*

The tension I released during my relaxing shower (and I do mean relaxing....I'd had a special moment with my big purple waterproof vibe)  started coming back immediately.  My son, though, was oblivious to the whole thing.  He just kept talking, sharing the news that apparently couldn't wait five more minutes.

From the moment I had my first child, all privacy and privacy-related boundaries in my life disappeared. It started in the delivery room.  I had my feet in the stirrups and my legs spread wide open waiting to deliver. We were waiting for the doctor who was apparently taking his time.  Nurses came in and out chatting with each other. Every now and then one would tell me not to push. At one point, there were three nurses standing there chit chatting about the potluck coming up later in the week.

And then the janitor walked in. He walked passed me, took a look at my woohoo and then continued to get the trashcan in the corner. There were six people in the room at the time, all of them monitoring the activity between my legs. That hadn't happened since that time in college when I played with that group of drunken fraternity guys, but at least they were all participants.  In this case, those in the room were spectators, voyeurs, witnessing the happiest day of my life and the day all boundaries related to my "princess zone" became blurred.

From that day forward, there was no such thing as private time in the bathroom, for any purpose, for me. If my husband wanted to have a deep conversation, he'd wait until I was in the bathroom to start talking. If one of the boys needed a field trip permission slip signed, he wouldn't catch me at any point during the 4 hours of the evening I was in the living room or kitchen.  No, he'd wait for bathroom time.

There were many times when all of them would gather in the bathroom and we'd end up having a family discussion. I'd try to push them out to postpone it for a minute, but one of them would say, "No, no, this'll just take a minute." It always took more than a minute. On the most reason occasion, the dog joined us, too. Why should he be left out?

Once I reached under the bathroom sink for a tampon and my oldest actually said, "Mom!  That's gross.  You're going to do that here in public??!!" I exploded. "I wasn't in public when I came into the bathroom and closed and locked the door!!" He replied, "That lock is broken, Mom." No shit.

Interestingly, the boys have drawn very strict boundaries for themselves regarding the bathroom. If I even speak to them through the door, I'm met with a torrent of pleas and screams. "Mom!!!!  Don't come in here! Get away! I mean it....don't come in!"  Sheesh. I wiped their butts and bathed them for years.  Now they are terrified I'll see anything I shouldn't, yet they may walk out of the house with their jeans pulled down around their ass.

Maybe they're protecting me from seeing too much.  God forbid I see a dick that doesn't belong to their father.  ;-)

Last night definitely shocked me, but it's not a big deal. I sometimes wonder how it will go over when they just walk into the bathroom and start talking to their girlfriends, but that's not my problem, is it?

I put up with the lack of bathroom boundaries because, after 21 years (the age of my oldest) I've finally discovered where I can get some uninterrupted peace in the house - the kitchen after dinner and the laundry room. They all stay away from those places like the plague, afraid that they'll be forced to work.

Except for the dog. He stays to keep me company, and as long as he doesn't start talking, I'm ok with that.

Two Weeks

I've been unable to communicate with SNS Guy for two weeks.  Two weeks. In the online world, that's like a year, isn't it?

Time is different in this world. Not hearing from someone for two days is a big deal, and responses are expected for emails within 24 hours, at the most.  Sooner is better, of course.

And time becomes more intensive for long distance relationships.  If all I have of you is email or text messages, the longer the time between them feels like time without you. And that hurts.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the relativity of time today. The two weeks without contact with SNS Guy were long and drawn out. Time crawled and I was a victim to it with nothing to do but wait. I've missed him terribly.

Sometimes, though, time flies by.  My oldest son leaves in two weeks to move to the other side of the earth with a one way ticket and no return date. I can already see the days moving faster than I can count them until he leaves, and I'm powerless to slow them down, just as I couldn't make them go by faster so I could talk to SNS Guy sooner.

Of course, I know that the amount of time within a two week period is constant. Every two week period has the same number of days, hours, and minutes.  I'm the one who's changing. I'm the one aching for it go faster or desperate to slow it down. I'm the one with the emotional investment. Time has absolutely no sense that I'm dying to speak with someone I love or that I'm afraid that I won't see my son again.

To the relentless march of time, it's just two weeks.

The Coupon

As Hubby and I were going to bed last night, I floated a few signals about having sex, like I always do, and he showed no signs that he was interested. So I finished my bedtime routine, turned off the tv, turned off the light and climbed into bed.

After about 2 minutes, the light came back on and Hubby said, "I think I'd like to collect on that blow job you owe me."

"What blow job?" I replied.

He proceeded to remind me of a day a few weeks ago when he had helped me set up a bunch of tables and chairs for a community event.  It was my responsibility, but his help cut the work in half for me, so I thanked him for his help and told him I owed him a blow job. That very night, I gave him a BJ and I thought I had kept my promise.

"I gave you a blow job that night and several times since then. Don't any of those count?" I asked.

"Nope," he said. "A coupon is still good until you use it.  I didn't ask for it any of those other times, but I'm asking for it now."

"I see. So you want to redeem your blow job coupon tonight."

"Yes."

"I there anything in it for me," I asked.

"You already got something for it. I helped you move all that stuff.  Besides, you love giving head. You'll get something out of it. And why are you resisting?  You usually jump at the chance."

He was right. I wasn't actually resisting.  I was just clarifying the coupon redemption rules. That's me.  I always need to clarify things.

"Ok," I said, "Let's do it then."

He pulled off his boxers and grabbed the peppermint lube.  No lube is needed for a BJ, of course, but he knows I love the peppermint and he likes the added enthusiasm I bring to it when he uses the peppermint lube.

I moved into the position and took him into my mouth. For that first stroke, I went down on him very slowly.  When I felt his head at the back of my throat, I pressed down so I could take him even deeper.  He moaned loudly. I swallowed a few times, until I needed some air, then I pulled back again, just as slowly as went down.

"Fuck," he sighed. "Feel free to do that again."

So I did, several times. When I felt him close to coming, I changed it up, moving a little faster, but not sucking as tightly, squeezing his balls.

I changed my approach thee times, each time when I felt him ready to explode.  Finally, the third time, he grabbed my hair and pulled me off of him.  Then he said, "I want to fuck you now."

"But this still counts as your blow job coupon redemption, even though you chose not to come in my mouth."

"Shut up about that! Get on your hands on knees."

Being the bitch brat that I am, I said, "Not until you agree that the coupon has been redeemed."

As I said that he was rolling me over, pulling my hips up and positioning between my legs. "Fine, fine," he muttered, and then he drove into me hard. The force pushed me forward, but he roughly pulled me back toward him and tightened his grip on me.

I squealed at the first stroke and put a hand on the wall in front of me to steady myself.

He fucked me forcefully for about 15 seconds, and then he moaned loudly and came.

A moment later he pulled out, reached over to the shelf beside the bed, grabbed a small towel, and handed it to me. I cleaned up a bit there and then headed to the bathroom to finish cleaning up.  When I came back to bed, he was asleep.

I looked at him as he slept.  We've had a lot going on lately and he's been dealing more than his share of stress, but he looked so calm and peaceful at that moment. I felt a wave of love for him sweep through me.

I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, "Coupon! This entitles Hubby to a free blow job.  Just for being you.  I love you. Kat"  I slid the coupon under his pillow, curled up next to him, and drifted off to sleep.

FFF 8/16/13 - Who's Watching?

I couldn't have been in the restroom for more than 3 minutes and I came out to find her already riding my husband. Couldn't she have waited a few minutes? I thought this was something we were going to do together.  That's what he told me, at least.

"C'mon, Katie," he said. "It'll be fun! And you've been telling me for months that you think Steve is hot."

That was true, but thinking he's hot and watching his young girlfriend bouncing on my husband are two completely different things.

I wanted to cry.  Maybe it was because Joe looked like he was really getting into it. Is she better than me?  Maybe it was because I felt left out.  Maybe it was because something that was supposed to be fun now felt like an obligation, something that I had to get through so I could get out of there. 

Maybe I was just in over my head.  Maybe I was just not cut out for this kind of kinky stuff.

I slipped out my mother-of-the-bride gown and Steve finally looked up at me and smiled. I walked over and he stood and kissed me.  Very nice, but I was still self-conscious. 

He sat me on the couch and took off my bra and my panties. I felt so exposed and, compared to his 20-something girlfriend who was coming for the second time across the room, old.

Steve put me at ease by slowly kissing my neck, my breasts, moving further down my body.  As he did, he said, "I know in the reception I said that my son was the luckiest man alive, but I lied." Then, just as he plunged his tongue inside me he moaned, "I am."

****************************************************

It's Flash Fiction Friday! Here is the prompt for today that goes along with the photo:

Word Length = 200
Required Word = Obligation
Forbidden Words = Payment, Prediliction, Prostitution
Extra Credit = Make it personal
Bonus Words = 25 extra for explaining the tuxedos, 25 more if this isn't about the money

Would you like to read what other bloggers wrote? Head over to Advizor54's blog to see.

Stress, Emotional Intimacy, and Cunnilingus

That's what's on my mind this evening - stress, emotional intimacy, and cunnilingus. They are not necessarily related.  Or are they?

The stress is mostly about my work. My stress level is above average and has been for the past few weeks, ok, months. Things change in a bit and some of that stress will be lifted after mid-day tomorrow, but it made me think about how stress in my life changes it.  I put off things that I want to do and things that I should do. I accept behaviors from others in my life that I normally wouldn't because I need to keep the peace.  I simply don't have the energy to fight. I spend less time with my children.  I have less sex. It's weird because I stop doing (or cut way back on) the things that would help relieve some of my stress.

This is related to emotional intimacy because I push people back when I'm stressed. I don't tell them what's really going on with me.

 How are you, Kat?

Great! Thanks for asking.

That's the answer regardless of what's going on. Sometimes I'll change it up, to Good or OK, but it's just code for "You really don't care, do you?" Because I know they really don't want to hear it. I wonder what would happen if I surprised them with, "Not great. I love someone who loves someone else (besides his wife)" OR "Could be better. I'm really worried about my son" OR "Except for some chronic health conditions that affect me every second of every day, I'm ok."

I've become much better at being more honest, particularly with those I love, but then just as I have, I find myself in the company of others I care about very much who push me away. It's like a dance. I move in, they move back.  He moves in, I step back.

And then, when I finally let someone in completely - no hiding, no secrets, "all in" - I learn that it's not a two way street. Or maybe it's not. It is complicated.

I remember hearing (and even telling folks myself) that if someone really got to know you, they'd love you.  How could they not?  The problem is just that they don't know you. But what my mother never explained is what happens when someone does know you and they still won't go all in. Well, I can tell you.  It leaves you feeling pretty stupid and hurt.....and committed to keeping your heart better protected next time.

Next time.  If there is a next time. How many next times are left for women pushing 50?  And what if I want to stick it out with things as they are?  There was a time in my life when I would have said, "If you want love, don't settle for less." But that was a younger woman who had hundreds of "next times" left, and that woman wasn't in love. That woman wasn't already all in.

And all of this is magnified because I'm experiencing so much stress. Maybe next week, when the acute stress has passed, everything will be fine and none of these emotional intimacy issues will bother me. Maybe they'll just disappear into the ether.

Right?

Just as I was thinking of intimacy, cunnilingus popped into my mind. That's a pretty intimate act.  I hate the name, though. It needs a nice euphemism, something better than pussy eating or pussy licking.

Those of you who haven't been reading long enough may not know this, but my husband has never gone down on me.  Not once.  Ever. In 25 years.  I've had a few lovers do it over the years, but not very many.  In fact, I can count the number of men who've done that for me on one hand, and three of them had no idea how to do it well. I found myself staring at the ceiling wondering if I should act like I liked it or if I should just shift positions and move on to something else.

I've had the pleasure of eating a few pussies in my life.  Not many, but enough to know that it's not as easy as it looks. The female genitalia are not as simple and straightforward as the male. Men have a cock and balls.  Simple. Women have a clitoris, two sets of labia, a vagina, and a g-spot. Wow. That's a  lot going on in a space of  just a few square inches. And while men's genitalia are all out in the open and easily available, some of a woman's best stuff is hidden.  You've got to go find it. Once you've found it, you have to know what to do with it.

Maybe it's not supposed to be so easy to please a woman. Given the close connection between physical intimacy and emotional intimacy for women, maybe it's a built-in form of emotional protection.

Maybe.

Cock Pics

I've seen quite a few cock pics in my life.  Heck, I've seen a few hundred just in the past few years.  That's quite a claim to fame isn't it?  For some reason, men just like to send me pictures of their cocks.

For a while, I was collecting them for the "Cock Gallery" I was going to post here.  I just never got around to doing it.  Maybe I will soon.

Anyway, I was thinking about how all of Anthony Weiner's problems (at least his public ones) started when he tweeted a cock pic to someone. Just a picture of his genitalia. He snapped a photo. Uploaded it.  Clicked "send."

And his life was changed forever.

You wouldn't think a cock pic would cause such a big hullabaloo.

Don't get me wrong.  If you're one of the studs who sent me a cock pic, yours is the best, biggest, hottest, most exciting ever, but most cock pics are just.....

......not very impressive.

I've never picked a sex partner because of the size of his cock or because I really liked his cock pic.  I won't lie.  I've been pleasantly surprised by a larger cock than I had expected or one that was so beautiful I wanted to just look at it for a while. Obviously, I don't find cocks unappealing, but a cock is not the best feature of a man, at least not a man with whom I would want to spend any time.

But now I feel cheated because I never got to see Anthony Weiner's wiener. Is it particularly large?  Is it special in some way? Or is just an average, ordinary penis?

**********

O.K., I couldn't handle it.  I had to Google "Anthony Weiner's wiener" and I saw it. It's not bad, actually.  Thicker than average. Nicely shaped. But it's still just a cock. His chest shots are kind of nice, but I am a chest-shoulders-arms kind of gal.

The sad part is that his cock pics are interspersed between photos of him and his wife - walking down the street, at their wedding. *sigh*

But that brings us full circle around to one of the main themes of PWK - Is monogamy possible for most men, particularly given the biological imperative for men to seek out multiple partners? Does "looking" for or even "finding" others outside your marriage mean that you love your spouse any less?

You know my answer. What's yours?

Free Gift

You've been so patient with me, Prowlers, that I decided I should get you a gift of some kind. The best gifts are those through which you give a part of yourself. Everyone knows that.

Online coupons are all the rage these days, so I thought I would give you a coupon that you can redeem for your gift.

Just clip the coupon and give it to me the next time you see me.

How's that?

What Do You *Really* Want?

I have a pet peeve that is growing larger by the day. I get annoyed when people say they want something from a partner, and then follow the statement with a qualification.

For example, a man says to a woman, "I just want to hold you," and then he continues with "but if you want to do more, that's good, too." The first part of the sentence is a total lie.  He doesn't just want to hold her.  He makes that clear with the second part of the sentence. He said it to try to communicate that he appreciates her for more than sex, but he accomplished the opposite.

Then there's Hubby's famous, "I want you to be happy, but I don't want you to have sex with anyone but me." I looked him in the eye and said, "You don't want me to be happy. You want me to behave the way you want me to behave, and you want me to be happy doing it. That's what you want." He agreed. When you love someone, the first half of one of these sentences hurts because you know it's not true. I'd much rather he say, "I love you, and I want you to find a way to be happy only having sex with me." That makes his wants clear and still communicates that I'm important to him.

Here's a common one. "I want you to feel free to say what you think and feel, but.........." You can fill in the rest of the sentence after the "but" with all sorts of things, but it doesn't really matter. What is actually communicated ranges from "I'd rather you not express your thoughts and feelings about this topic," at best, to "I wish you would shut the fuck up about your feelings.  I can't handle them anymore and I don't care," at worst.

There are many more examples I could give, but I think you get the point.

I wish people would just say what they really want. Men think they are softening the blow of what they are saying after the but by including the first half of the sentence.  In reality, it heightens the anxiety about what's following and what it may mean.

I know some people may say, "That's just semantics," or "Women over think everything." The first objection is simply not true. The second one is probably true to some degree, but if you want to play with us you need to speak our language.  And maybe it's not that women over think everything, but that men under think it all.

 The truth is that it's not about thinking as much as it's about communication, how what you said has been received. When the communication is clear, everything is a lot easier.

The Pots and the Kettle

Anthony Weiner is the kettle, and all of those people out there calling him a pervert and a degenerate are pots calling the kettle black.

For those of you who have been under a rock for the past month, Anthony Weiner was caught (again) sending sexual messages to a woman through Twitter, this time using the username Carlos Danger.

I have to admit I l-o-v-e that user name.  Carlos Danger. Grrrrrr, Baby.  Makes me want to experience some danger with him.

Anyway......

I've heard reporters, celebrities, politicians, and all sorts of regular people call him a pervert and other unsavory things because of his texting activity. They are full of shit.  Have we gone so far down the puritanical road that we don't know the difference between a horny man and a pervert?

Raise your hand if you have ever sexted or sent a sexual message via text or Twitter. Yup, most of you have your hand raised.  The rest of you either don't have a phone, are over 70, or you're lying.

The big question I have in my mind is "Who cares?" He's running for mayor of NYC which means only the voters of NYC have any reason to take issue with him and all they need to do is not vote for him.

But some feel like they have to go further, like this woman who feels the need to loudly cuss at  him in a public place with children around.

What is more perverted, in the broadest sense of the word - the man who sexted a woman for months or this woman who's yelling profanity in a public place in front of children?

I know.  It may be a toss up for you, and I'm not saying Weiner isn't a kettle.  He's definitely a black kettle, but that woman is clearly a very black pot.  Know what I mean?

Let me go back to what he did.  He sent sexual tweets. He didn't rape anyone.  He didn't molest a child. He's not in trouble for doing any one of the truly sexually perverted things that can be done to other people. We used to call what he did "cybersex" but the technology has changed now so it has another name, but that's what it is - naughty flirting and cybersex. So why are this woman and all the other pots so enraged? What would they do if he had done something like actually have sex with another woman?

Yes.  I do believe their heads would explode. 

And then there are those who are sure that he has an addiction and must get help. Really? That may be true, but what we know about so far is way far away from the type of compulsive behavior that would rank as an addiction.

That brings me to a new, but related topic - the mayor of San Diego. Bob Filner is what we woman call a sleazy creep.  Guys like him have been around forever. He steals kisses and touches inappropriately, stands too close, and makes lewd suggestions. He does it because he feels like he can. He thinks he's untouchable.  When the shit started hitting the fan for him, he apologized and went into counseling. Not just counseling, but a two week counseling program to serve as treatment for his...his...creepiness.

Counseling?  Really?  

I can treat him in less than 5 minutes:

"Keep your hands, lips, and dick away from any woman who isn't your wife (or lover, if you have one). Think of every woman you work with as a man.  You wouldn't make lewd suggestions to a man, would you? If you can't do this, be prepared for lawsuits that will take everything you own, you sleazy creep."

See?  Easy. 

However, as with Anthony Weiner's case, I propose that it's really none of our business.  The people of San Diego have a say in the matter because he is their elected official. The women he harassed most certainly have an issue, although anyone who sues because she was never touched but made to feel a little uncomfortable is in a category of her own. For the rest of us he's just another sleazy creep. Why are the pots out in force making it such a big deal?

I used to work for a sleazy creep.  Where were all the reporters demanding justice for women then? 

And another thought - just for the women. If we insist that we're strong enough, stable enough, smart enough, and capable enough to be President or to serve in combat...or...or...or.... doesn't it hurt our case if some us cry creep and sue because a powerful man stood a little too close and made us feel uncomfortable?

Ok, what was I saying?

Oh yeah.  GET A GRIP, PEOPLE! We need to stop overreacting to men being normal, imperfect men. If Filner actually sexually harassed some of those women and they want to take legal action, that's up to them. I wish them well. He was a bad boy and there may be serious consequences for it, but don't we have more important things to think about?

For me, it's trying to figure out Weiner's new Twitter username so I can have some naughty chat with him.