Friday, August 29, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
Matthew, Chapter 1
Just a day after TommyKat noticed the word c-o-c-k in something I was writing, we had another interesting experience. He and I were reading Matthew, Chapter 1, from the New Testament of the Bible. For those of you who haven't read your Bibles in a while (or ever), the highlights of Matthew, Chapter 1, are the ancestry of Jesus and Joseph finding out that Mary is pregnant - and he knows he didn't do it, so he plans to dump her quietly. He gets a visit in a dream from an angel who tells him that the Holy Spirit was responsible for the pregnancy and that he should go ahead and marry Mary. We also learn that they marry, but don't consummate the marriage until after Jesus is born.
That's all simple and straightforward, right? We had a little discussion about what we read and then TommyKat, age 10, started asking questions. He kept asking questions for a very long time. Because I'm a believer that if a child is old enough to ask a question, he's old enough for an honest answer, I answered each question as directly and honestly as possible.
Here's just a sample of the questions TommyKat fired at me over the next couple of hours (in no particular order):
This morning, I heard the two of them chatting in the living room. Hubby was answering questions and then I could tell there was a condom demonstration going on. I made sure to keep myself busy in another room until they were finished.
When I was sure it was safe, I wandered into the living room in time to kiss Hubby goodbye as he headed out for the day. I leaned forward and grabbed the banana that was on the coffee table and asked, "Is this your banana?"
TommyKat answered, "No, but that's the one Dad was using to show me how to put on a condom."
"Oh," I said casually as I peeled it. "That's nice."
"Are you going to eat that?!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, that was my plan," I answered.
"But we were pretending it was a penis, and a condom was on it, and you're going to put it in your mouth?!? Ewwww!"
I just smiled and took a bite.
That's all simple and straightforward, right? We had a little discussion about what we read and then TommyKat, age 10, started asking questions. He kept asking questions for a very long time. Because I'm a believer that if a child is old enough to ask a question, he's old enough for an honest answer, I answered each question as directly and honestly as possible.
Here's just a sample of the questions TommyKat fired at me over the next couple of hours (in no particular order):
- What does "consummate the marriage" mean?
- If Mary got pregnant without having sex, was that like artificial insemination?
- Is it a normal thing for the Holy Spirit to make women pregnant?
- What's an erection?
- What's masturbation?
- How does masturbation work?
- Why to people masturbate?
- How do women masturbate?
- What does it mean when a girl gets her period?
- Why can't men get pregnant?
- What is the cause of "morning wood?"
- How does a condom keep a woman from getting pregnant?
- Do women get pregnant every time they have sex without a condom?
- Is masturbation a sin?
- What does the Bible say about masturbation?
- Why are some kids called "unwanted children?"
- When a guy goes to donate sperm, how do they get it out of him?
- What makes a man "aroused?"
- Do men and women like sex the same amount?
- What's an orgasm?
- Do women get orgasms, too?
- How is a woman's orgasm different than a man's?
- So women can have sex without having an orgasm? Why?
- How does a condom work? Can I see one?
- When is a woman too old to have any more babies?
- Are you too old to have more babies?
- If a woman gets too old to have kids, does she stop having sex?
- Do you and Dad still have sex even though you guys are really, really old?
- How do lesbian women get pregnant?
- Is it true that there are tampon machines in women's restrooms?
Oh. my. gosh. All I wanted was a quick little Bible reading and discussion at the start of our day, just like we've had on many other days, and instead I was quizzed about sex for over two hours by a prepubescent boy. And I still hadn't had my coffee yet.
Where was Hubby during all of this? He wasn't home, of course. He was safe at the office, far away from ground zero. I did leave a few questions for him ("I think you and your dad should talk about that."), mostly questions about wet dreams, if a guy can control when he gets an erection, and how you put on a condom.
Because Hubby was planning on making a stop at the grocery store to buy milk on the way home, I sent him a text. "Please pick up some condoms at the store. TommyKat wants you to show him how they work."
This was his reply:
This morning, I heard the two of them chatting in the living room. Hubby was answering questions and then I could tell there was a condom demonstration going on. I made sure to keep myself busy in another room until they were finished.
When I was sure it was safe, I wandered into the living room in time to kiss Hubby goodbye as he headed out for the day. I leaned forward and grabbed the banana that was on the coffee table and asked, "Is this your banana?"
TommyKat answered, "No, but that's the one Dad was using to show me how to put on a condom."
"Oh," I said casually as I peeled it. "That's nice."
"Are you going to eat that?!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, that was my plan," I answered.
"But we were pretending it was a penis, and a condom was on it, and you're going to put it in your mouth?!? Ewwww!"
I just smiled and took a bite.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
C-O-C-K
I was writing yesterday's post (The Surprises in Room 139 - Part 3 of 3) when I noticed that my son was reading over my shoulder.
Ack!
I quickly minimized the screen and turned to look at him.
"What's up?" I asked.
He looked down for a minute and then looked at me and pointed at my screen. "I saw the word C-O-C-K. What are you writing?"
On the inside, I was screaming, "fuck, fuck, fuck...." but before I could come up with a reasonable response, he said, "Have you been writing fan fiction? I heard that lots of moms are doing that these days."
I started laughing. "No, TommyKat. I'm not writing fan fiction. That would be silly, wouldn't it?"
"I didn't think you would do that," he said, giggling.
"I was just writing a barnyard fable. I think you saw the part where I was writing about the rooster." Then I tickled him and said, "Cock-a-doodle-do!"
He laughed. "Oh, I get it. Can I read it when you're done?"
"Of course you can! Now let me get back to work, ok? We'll play later."
And he happily skipped away to play a video game.
I took a deep breath.
Barnyard fable? How did I come up with that? It was the only thing I could think of that would include a respectable use of the word c-o-c-k. Fortunately, all he knows about my work is that I do all kinds of writing for all kinds of people.
Relieved that I'd dodged a bullet, I finished writing the post. Then I opened a new blank document and started writing "Trouble on the Farm: A Barnyard Fable." The protagonist is a very proud and handsome cock who picks on the hens. If he's not careful, the farmer's wife may eat him.
Ack!
I quickly minimized the screen and turned to look at him.
"What's up?" I asked.
He looked down for a minute and then looked at me and pointed at my screen. "I saw the word C-O-C-K. What are you writing?"
On the inside, I was screaming, "fuck, fuck, fuck...." but before I could come up with a reasonable response, he said, "Have you been writing fan fiction? I heard that lots of moms are doing that these days."
I started laughing. "No, TommyKat. I'm not writing fan fiction. That would be silly, wouldn't it?"
"I didn't think you would do that," he said, giggling.
"I was just writing a barnyard fable. I think you saw the part where I was writing about the rooster." Then I tickled him and said, "Cock-a-doodle-do!"
He laughed. "Oh, I get it. Can I read it when you're done?"
"Of course you can! Now let me get back to work, ok? We'll play later."
And he happily skipped away to play a video game.
I took a deep breath.
Barnyard fable? How did I come up with that? It was the only thing I could think of that would include a respectable use of the word c-o-c-k. Fortunately, all he knows about my work is that I do all kinds of writing for all kinds of people.
Relieved that I'd dodged a bullet, I finished writing the post. Then I opened a new blank document and started writing "Trouble on the Farm: A Barnyard Fable." The protagonist is a very proud and handsome cock who picks on the hens. If he's not careful, the farmer's wife may eat him.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 3 of 3)
If you haven't yet read the first two parts of this encounter, here they are:
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 1 of 3)
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 2 of 3)
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 1 of 3)
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 2 of 3)
**********************************
One of the frustrating things about only having a couple of hours together is that you want to do much more than you can do in that amount of time. Ultimately, you just have to let go of plans and expectations and go with the flow. That's what I decided to do at this point.
I had checked the time and it was time to go. In fact, it was about 5 minutes before my "must go now" time. But we were both having such a nice time and I was in the mood and he was hard again, so......
I scooted down and started licking his cock. I was thinking. He came just a little while ago. Could he come again so soon? How long would that take? I started to wonder if he'd want to go for it again, but then I realized I was taking a rock hard cock into my mouth. That's usually a sign that he wants to go for it. I think that's the universal male sign for, "Go for it!" So I did.
I got comfortable, prepared to spend some time. Rushing wouldn't work. The only way this would happen is if I focused on the journey, rather than the destination. I took him into my mouth and suckled him slowly, playfully. Then after a moment or two, I sucked the head into my throat and swallowed, massaging him with my soft palate and flicking my tongue on the base. Every time he moaned, I stopped what I was doing and changed it up, trying different things, exploring, playing.
About ten minutes into it, I felt a twinge in my pussy, then another. I sucked him harder, almost as an automatic response to what I was feeling. Now I wasn't playing anymore. Whenever my pussy twitched I'd press into whatever I was doing with renewed focus and passion. If I had taken him in deep, I'd dive down further. If I was on an upstroke, I'd just suckle the head for a bit.
I knew he was done with my eclectic approach when I felt him grab my head and hold it down while he thrusted upward from below. I pressed my legs together and started grinding, wanting to cum, but trying to stay focused on him. I wasn't very successful until I heard him groan loudly and push my head down, holding me firmly while he came.
I held my breath, then came up swallowing. After, I kissed his cock gently, as I always do. I was about to crawl back up to kiss him when I thought. Wait. What's good for the goose is good for gander. He never stops when I come. He always keeps going. I wonder what would happen if...... Besides, horny is an understatement for what I was feeling at the moment.
I didn't care what time it was.
I looked up at him and took his cock into my mouth again. He smiled and chuckled a little. He didn't get completely soft after he came, and it didn't take long at all before he was as hard as he was before. Every now and then he'd say something, but to be honest, I don't know what he said. His voice had a magical effect on me, though. My pussy wasn't just twitching anymore; it was on fire.
I was conflicted again. I really needed a good hard fucking, but I was committed to seeing if I could get a 3rd orgasm out of him, and I was finding it pretty pleasurable. I could wait. For a little while, anyway.
I refocused on his cock and started with the exactly what I had been doing when he came a moment ago. He moaned loudly. I relaxed and kept going, sliding my hands up his hips and around his lower back, then down to his backside, pulling him up a little on each downstroke so I could get him even deeper.
My mind wandered at times. Why does this guy turn me on like he does? Why does my body respond to him so easily? Why do I like being with him so much? Why does his voice make me feel both calm and excited at the same time?
Every now and then he'd do something that would pull my attention back to him completely - a moan, a word or two, his grip on my hair pulling my head up forcing me to pull against him to get back to his cock. And whenever my attention came back, not only did I go after his cock more hungrily, but I realized how close I was to coming.
It seemed like a long time later, but eventually he groaned loudly again and held my head down. I felt his cock pulsate in my mouth, but very little ejaculate came out. When he released me a moment later, he said, "Damn, you drained me." That made me smile, So, that's really possible, I thought.
My pussy was quivering wildly. Not. Quite. There. Ugh!
I lapped up a few drops of cum and crawled back up to kiss him. I wanted to suggest that we do something more to take the edge off my slutty and needy pussy, but I realized that it had to be late. I checked the time and I was right. I had to go. I was already late. Fuck.
As I was driving home, I still wanted him. Later that night, I still wanted him. Finally, I found some release in the shower, but it didn't relieve my desire for him at all. And we had no date for another meeting.
I hoped it would be soon.
Monday, August 18, 2014
The Art of the Alibi
The main reason that prowlers get caught is because they get sloppy with their alibis. We tend to be very careful in the beginning and then, if we have succeeded at not being caught, we get cocky and start to cut corners and that's when the disasters happen.
A good alibi needs to be simple, believable, and verifiable.
It should be simple because the likelihood of being caught goes up exponentially with each degree of complexity. Simple means that it doesn't involve more than one other person ("Oh, I was at Dave's house with all the guys from the bowling team." "Really? I talked with Marcia tonight and Steve and Joe were at her house." Oops.), it's easy to remember ("What was the name of that new restaurant you said you went to with Joe the other night? What do you mean you don't remember? Do you still have the receipt?"), and it doesn't involve multiple steps ("I was at the book store, then I went to the gun store, then took the car for an oil change, and...and...and...."). The more complicated it gets, the more chances you have to screw it up.
Of course, everyone knows it needs to be believable. In fact, that's what we spend most of our time on. It needs to be something that you either normally do already or that your spouse would think is reasonable for you. If you never go anywhere, it's time for you to get a life. Not only will this help you become a much more interesting person, but it will help establish an alibi should you need one in the future. If you regularly volunteer at your local homeless shelter (or animal shelter or whatever), it will be pretty easy to peel away a few hours from that activity to use for some playtime. For godsake, don't use going to the library as an alibi if you don't have a library card, and if you hate museums, don't use going to an art museum as an alibi. Use some common sense, will ya?
It also needs to be verifiable. This is the one that catches many of us and, yes, this is the one that caught me. I had planned for my time one day a couple of years ago so I could spend a nice 6-8 hours with JJ. I picked a business trip as an alibi, a client that I had been seeing fairly regularly recently and that was located 3 hours away. The round trip would be 6 hours of driving, plus two hours of meeting time while I was there. There it is. 8 hours. What I didn't plan on was that Hubby would be tracking my mileage. If I had actually gone where I said I was going, I would have logged about 350-380 miles on the car. Instead, I logged 60 miles. I had some 'splainin' to do.
You should have seen his face. He had that, "Gotcha!" look and he was acting victorious until he realized what every newly awakened cuckolded spouse eventually asks. What now? Yeah, he caught me, but what was he going to do then? Anyway, that's another story. (For those who don't know, I didn't try to wiggle out of it. I fessed up.)
The point of this part of the story is that I truly came to appreciate how important it is that an alibi be verifiable. Now when I establish an alibi, I know how many miles I'd log round trip if I actually went there and I make sure that my rendezvous location will be within a few miles of that distance.
If you suspect that your spouse may be tracking your whereabouts via GPS (or if you just want to be extra careful), pick a meeting location that is near your alibi spot, and park at the alibi spot. If you're being tracked through your phone, consider leaving your phone in the car, where you're supposed to be, if you can. If you can't, get a room that is closest to your alibi location.
Also, for an alibi to be truly verifiable, if you say you're going to be with a friend, that friend should know that he/she is an alibi and should be willing to vouch for you. That doesn't necessarily mean that the friend has to know your prowling. For example, I have a good friend who knows I spend most of my time locked in the tower (my home), under Hubby's careful watch. She knows I rarely get out these days and that makes me crazy. So, from time to time, I can call her and say, "Hi Suzy. I've got cabin fever and I'm dying to do some shopping. Can I tell Hubby I'm having lunch with you?" She says yes, happy to be helping a friend, and we agree on where we went shopping and that we didn't buy anything. You may ask why I just didn't ask Hubby if I could go shopping (or tell him I was going shopping, depending on how liberated you are), but that won't work for me because Hubby needs to be able to verify my story, which he can do if I'm with a friend. If I'm going out alone, Hubby hears that as "fucking around" and more deadbolts are added to the tower doors.
There were a couple of times a while back when I said I was going to Cara's house for lunch or a BBQ. To help verify that, Cara texted me a few photos of the BBQ, herself, the food, and I saved them to my phone and texted them to Hubby. Then Cara texted him a picture of herself at the BBQ with a little message, "Wish you could have joined us!" Hubby was happy. Heck, what man wouldn't be happy to get a text and a photo from Cara? :-)
If you use a friend as an alibi, and that friend doesn't know it, you're rolling the dice. What if your spouse runs into him/her at the gym or the grocery store or the park or wherever when he/she is supposed to be with you? What if your spouse asks him/her about your outing a week or two from now and that person just looks back at him confused?
Finally, don't sabotage your own alibi. If you said you were going to share a meal with a friend, don't come home ravenously hungry. Dress appropriately for wherever you are supposed to be. If it's a work appointment, don't wear your jeans (unless that's what you wear for work appointments). You also need to talk about your alibi without looking or sounding nervous. Talking about it needs to come easy to you. If it doesn't, re-think it.
If you feel like this alibi business feels slimy and scummy, that's because it is. Lying to Hubby is the worst part about prowling, by far. I've even cancelled a couple of play dates because I just couldn't lie to him on those days. There was no particular reason except I just couldn't do it. As most of you know, my preference would be to be completely honest and upfront about the whole thing. Unfortunately, that's not what Hubby wants.
Do you have a favorite alibi? Is it simple, believable, and verifiable? Have you ever been caught because you used a bad alibi?
A good alibi needs to be simple, believable, and verifiable.
It should be simple because the likelihood of being caught goes up exponentially with each degree of complexity. Simple means that it doesn't involve more than one other person ("Oh, I was at Dave's house with all the guys from the bowling team." "Really? I talked with Marcia tonight and Steve and Joe were at her house." Oops.), it's easy to remember ("What was the name of that new restaurant you said you went to with Joe the other night? What do you mean you don't remember? Do you still have the receipt?"), and it doesn't involve multiple steps ("I was at the book store, then I went to the gun store, then took the car for an oil change, and...and...and...."). The more complicated it gets, the more chances you have to screw it up.
Of course, everyone knows it needs to be believable. In fact, that's what we spend most of our time on. It needs to be something that you either normally do already or that your spouse would think is reasonable for you. If you never go anywhere, it's time for you to get a life. Not only will this help you become a much more interesting person, but it will help establish an alibi should you need one in the future. If you regularly volunteer at your local homeless shelter (or animal shelter or whatever), it will be pretty easy to peel away a few hours from that activity to use for some playtime. For godsake, don't use going to the library as an alibi if you don't have a library card, and if you hate museums, don't use going to an art museum as an alibi. Use some common sense, will ya?
It also needs to be verifiable. This is the one that catches many of us and, yes, this is the one that caught me. I had planned for my time one day a couple of years ago so I could spend a nice 6-8 hours with JJ. I picked a business trip as an alibi, a client that I had been seeing fairly regularly recently and that was located 3 hours away. The round trip would be 6 hours of driving, plus two hours of meeting time while I was there. There it is. 8 hours. What I didn't plan on was that Hubby would be tracking my mileage. If I had actually gone where I said I was going, I would have logged about 350-380 miles on the car. Instead, I logged 60 miles. I had some 'splainin' to do.
You should have seen his face. He had that, "Gotcha!" look and he was acting victorious until he realized what every newly awakened cuckolded spouse eventually asks. What now? Yeah, he caught me, but what was he going to do then? Anyway, that's another story. (For those who don't know, I didn't try to wiggle out of it. I fessed up.)
The point of this part of the story is that I truly came to appreciate how important it is that an alibi be verifiable. Now when I establish an alibi, I know how many miles I'd log round trip if I actually went there and I make sure that my rendezvous location will be within a few miles of that distance.
If you suspect that your spouse may be tracking your whereabouts via GPS (or if you just want to be extra careful), pick a meeting location that is near your alibi spot, and park at the alibi spot. If you're being tracked through your phone, consider leaving your phone in the car, where you're supposed to be, if you can. If you can't, get a room that is closest to your alibi location.
Also, for an alibi to be truly verifiable, if you say you're going to be with a friend, that friend should know that he/she is an alibi and should be willing to vouch for you. That doesn't necessarily mean that the friend has to know your prowling. For example, I have a good friend who knows I spend most of my time locked in the tower (my home), under Hubby's careful watch. She knows I rarely get out these days and that makes me crazy. So, from time to time, I can call her and say, "Hi Suzy. I've got cabin fever and I'm dying to do some shopping. Can I tell Hubby I'm having lunch with you?" She says yes, happy to be helping a friend, and we agree on where we went shopping and that we didn't buy anything. You may ask why I just didn't ask Hubby if I could go shopping (or tell him I was going shopping, depending on how liberated you are), but that won't work for me because Hubby needs to be able to verify my story, which he can do if I'm with a friend. If I'm going out alone, Hubby hears that as "fucking around" and more deadbolts are added to the tower doors.
There were a couple of times a while back when I said I was going to Cara's house for lunch or a BBQ. To help verify that, Cara texted me a few photos of the BBQ, herself, the food, and I saved them to my phone and texted them to Hubby. Then Cara texted him a picture of herself at the BBQ with a little message, "Wish you could have joined us!" Hubby was happy. Heck, what man wouldn't be happy to get a text and a photo from Cara? :-)
If you use a friend as an alibi, and that friend doesn't know it, you're rolling the dice. What if your spouse runs into him/her at the gym or the grocery store or the park or wherever when he/she is supposed to be with you? What if your spouse asks him/her about your outing a week or two from now and that person just looks back at him confused?
Finally, don't sabotage your own alibi. If you said you were going to share a meal with a friend, don't come home ravenously hungry. Dress appropriately for wherever you are supposed to be. If it's a work appointment, don't wear your jeans (unless that's what you wear for work appointments). You also need to talk about your alibi without looking or sounding nervous. Talking about it needs to come easy to you. If it doesn't, re-think it.
If you feel like this alibi business feels slimy and scummy, that's because it is. Lying to Hubby is the worst part about prowling, by far. I've even cancelled a couple of play dates because I just couldn't lie to him on those days. There was no particular reason except I just couldn't do it. As most of you know, my preference would be to be completely honest and upfront about the whole thing. Unfortunately, that's not what Hubby wants.
Do you have a favorite alibi? Is it simple, believable, and verifiable? Have you ever been caught because you used a bad alibi?
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Random Thoughts on a Sunday Afternoon
It's Sunday afternoon and I have the house all to myself. Don't ask how it happened, just accept that it is a miracle that is unlikely to be repeated soon. I decided to post because I have a bunch of thoughts running through my brain that need a place to get out. So here I am, taking advantage of the opportunity to write without having to look over my shoulder.
- If you haven't noticed, we have 5 new blogs on the blog roll on the right sidebar! Thank you to those who recommended them. I'm familiar with all but one of them, and that one comes with great recommendations. Please visit the blogs you see on the roll. I know you'll like them. If you have any others to recommend, just let me know in the comments or by sending me an email. I love to share with my fellow prowlers.
- I'm thinking of starting a Q&A feature. People email in questions and I post the questions and answers. What to you think? I already do half of it. People email me questions and I answer them, but I often think it would be good to share some of those questions and answers with everyone, as long as the person asking the question doesn't mind. They are questions about affairs and marriage and prowling. Right up our alley. Let me know your thoughts.
- I was hoping to have some playtime, but it didn't work out. That always puts me in a bit of a funky mood. It's the connection with another human being I crave. Things with Hubby are a bit distant these days, and when Hubby is distant and lover is busy I can start to feel a bit down and cranky. It's not rational, of course. It just is.
- When I feel a little down, I'll sometimes search Google for sex news because it's hard to read sex news without laughing. Today, though, I came across an article with this headline - Ohio Man Admits to Having Sex with 100 Dead Women. Ewwww! Apparently, this guy was a morgue attendant and he really did fuck dead people while he was on the night shift. This made me wonder...Can you be a victim of rape if you're dead? In his deposition he admitted to attacking the women when he was drinking or using drugs. Is it an attack if the person is dead? Don't get me wrong, it's bad and it's sick and it's not a good thing, but is it rape? I don't know. I'm not so sure. Of course, families will sue now, and I'm sure they'll collect some damages, but I have no idea how those would be calculated. I also found it interesting how the article made it sound worse that he had sex with a pregnant woman who had been recently murdered. Is sex with a (formerly) pregnant dead woman worse that sex with a non-pregnant dead woman? Is sex with a murder victim worse that sex with a woman who died from natural causes? And exactly how weird is it that I have written over 10 lines about this?
Have a great week, Prowlers! :-)
Top 10 posts for the Week of Aug. 10-16, 2014
Hi Everyone! I hope you're having a great weekend. In case you missed anything, here are the 10 posts read the most this past week, in order from the most page views to the least.
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 1 of 3)
Beefing Up the Blog Roll
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 2 of 3)
The Unexpected Downside of Infidelity
Make Your Life Spectacular
10 Tips for Being a Good Fuck Buddy
Checking In
International Day of the Female Orgasm
10 Surefire Ways to Ruin Your Affair
The Great Dane and the Pomeranian
And just so you know, I updated some pages this week, too. Sex, Sex, Only Sex now has more posts so it's current (I think), and Advice for Prowlers and Kat's Musings have also been updated.
Enjoy!
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 1 of 3)
Beefing Up the Blog Roll
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 2 of 3)
The Unexpected Downside of Infidelity
Make Your Life Spectacular
10 Tips for Being a Good Fuck Buddy
Checking In
International Day of the Female Orgasm
10 Surefire Ways to Ruin Your Affair
The Great Dane and the Pomeranian
And just so you know, I updated some pages this week, too. Sex, Sex, Only Sex now has more posts so it's current (I think), and Advice for Prowlers and Kat's Musings have also been updated.
Enjoy!
Friday, August 15, 2014
Make Your Life Spectacular
I know you've heard or seen a million comments or tributes to Robin Williams lately, and you probably don't need any more, but this one is very brief - only one minute long - and it is perfect. It says what needs to be said.
I have some things I want to share with you about depression and suicide and living, but not today, not yet. For now, I want Mr. Williams' own words to speak.
Friends, this is truly what I want for you. Make your life spectacular.
I write here a lot about making your life what you want it to be, living for the moment (Carpe Diem), and living purposefully rather than by default. They are great ideals, but very hard to implement. We usually don't make a serious effort to try until something jogs us out of our daily routine and addiction to all of the distractions that actually keep us asleep and unable to truly live.
The bottom line, though, is that it's a choice. I have friends who desperately need some change in their lives, but they won't make it because they think they can't. They are wrong. They can, but they choose not to for a wide variety of reasons, some of them good and some of them bullshit. Mostly, it's about fear of one kind or another.
It's hard to make your life spectacular if you won't let go of the fear and jump anyway.
This is not about depression at all, or any of the things that may or may not have led to Mr. Williams' death. It's about life. It's about the same 1,440 minutes that we all have in each day and how you choose to spend them. It's about choosing your life one minute at a time.
It's about choosing to make your life spectacular.
I have some things I want to share with you about depression and suicide and living, but not today, not yet. For now, I want Mr. Williams' own words to speak.
Friends, this is truly what I want for you. Make your life spectacular.
I write here a lot about making your life what you want it to be, living for the moment (Carpe Diem), and living purposefully rather than by default. They are great ideals, but very hard to implement. We usually don't make a serious effort to try until something jogs us out of our daily routine and addiction to all of the distractions that actually keep us asleep and unable to truly live.
The bottom line, though, is that it's a choice. I have friends who desperately need some change in their lives, but they won't make it because they think they can't. They are wrong. They can, but they choose not to for a wide variety of reasons, some of them good and some of them bullshit. Mostly, it's about fear of one kind or another.
It's hard to make your life spectacular if you won't let go of the fear and jump anyway.
This is not about depression at all, or any of the things that may or may not have led to Mr. Williams' death. It's about life. It's about the same 1,440 minutes that we all have in each day and how you choose to spend them. It's about choosing your life one minute at a time.
It's about choosing to make your life spectacular.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 2 of 3)
This is the continuation of The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 1 of 3). You can start here or go back to read part 1 first, as you choose.
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As T was moving between my legs, I tilted my head back and tried to relax. I spread my legs, but was reminded immediately by a shot of pain from my groin injury that I needed to be careful and move slowly. I opened my knees as he slipped his arm under and around my right thigh. I grabbed his hand and held on tightly when I felt the first flick of his tongue on my clit.
I reached between my legs with my other hand and separated my pussy lips for him, giving him more room, and then I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the sensations.
Every now and then I'd catch myself thinking, "Wait. How is he doing that? Is that his tongue? His lips?" and I'd have to pull myself back to the moment or he would do it for me by changing things up a little bit.
In less than two minutes, my body had taken over and I couldn't think about anything. I felt him slide a finger (or two) inside me and I started to shake. I moaned "No!" in protest, but not a no as in "Stop!" but a no as in, "I don't want to come so fast! I want to feel it build for longer." He ignored me and I came hard.
Yes, I know that's hard for you guys. No should mean "No, stop!" right? And it does, usually. Fortunately, T knows me well enough to know that it didn't mean I wanted him to stop. I remember once several months ago when he made come so many times that I was truly in need of a break. My protests did no good so I ended up sitting up and grabbing his hair and pulling him off me. Haha! He can read my body's more subtle signals now, which is very helpful.
With most of the men I've known, an orgasm kind of stops everything for awhile, and then it's time to fuck or play with him or just chat for a bit, but not with T. With him, coming means we're just getting started, and he increases the intensity to the next level.
I squealed a bit as he started sucking on my clit again because it was so, so sensitive. I took a deep breath to try to get over that sensation of a hundred electric needle pricks on my clit, and as I did, I lifted my shoulders a bit so I could look down at him. He was busy at work so I couldn't see much of his face, but I could see his strong shoulders, and his left arm that flexed as he held me tightly in place while my body tried to wiggle away. I could see his mussed black hair that I love to play with, and I could see his lower back and hips that were also moving slightly as he pressed forward, finger fucking me with his right hand. That image of him was so incredibly hot that, coupled with the actions of his hand and mouth, I was about to come again.
I screamed and started shuddering, and he held onto me tighter and did whatever he was doing faster and harder. Unlike the orgasms before this one, this one came on slowly and kept building and building as it spread throughout my body. It didn't start subsiding after 30 seconds and I didn't want to lose it. I wanted to ride it as long as I could. Of course, I didn't need to say anything because he had no intention of stopping.
I lost my sense of time, so I'm not sure how long it was, but it felt like that one kept reverberating through me for five or more minutes and, just as I started to come down, the next one hit. It came hard and suddenly, like an unexpected car collision, and I felt the air being sucked from my lungs as I sat halfway up and screamed. I squeezed his hand harder to steady myself. That one ended as quickly as it came. Within 10 seconds, I had collapsed back on the pillow again. I gasped for some air, trying to recover, but there was no recovery period. T was still going, trying something new and pulling me right back to where he wanted me again. And again.
I'd love to be able to give you detail about exactly what he does to make me so crazy, but I have no idea, really. I know it feels damn good. That's what I know. Maybe we'll get him to write a guest post to share some of his technique, or maybe he'll want to keep it a secret. We'll see.
After all that, I curled up with him and rested my head on his shoulder....and I wanted to nap. That's the truth, but I wasn't about to waste a moment of our time with sleep. We chatted a bit, about everything and nothing. And we kissed. A lot. It was almost time to go, but I don't think either of us wanted to stop.
Then I felt it. I reached down to be sure. He was hard again. We both smiled, ready for more.
To be continued.....
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Beefing Up the Blog Roll
Hey, Everybody. I need to add some good sex and infidelity blogs to my blog roll. Will you make some recommendations for me? I *love* the ones I have, but as I have taken off blogs that have gone dark, my list has dwindled, and I just don't have the time to go exploring on my own. I'm quite busy with, well, other things. ;-)
I don't have many guidelines or preferences. While I enjoy some bondage myself, I'm not particularly into the daily journals of full time submissives or sex slaves. I prefer following people who have real lives, like the rest of us.
And obviously, if a blog is staunchly anti-infidelity, it will never show up here, so please don't even bother to share it with me.
If you're not on my blog roll and you want to recommend your own blog, please do!
Help! I need more smut!
I don't have many guidelines or preferences. While I enjoy some bondage myself, I'm not particularly into the daily journals of full time submissives or sex slaves. I prefer following people who have real lives, like the rest of us.
And obviously, if a blog is staunchly anti-infidelity, it will never show up here, so please don't even bother to share it with me.
If you're not on my blog roll and you want to recommend your own blog, please do!
Help! I need more smut!
The Unexpected Downside of Infidelity
I was chatting with a dear friend this morning and he reminded me about one of the downsides of infidelity that we rarely talk about and that most never see coming. It's not getting caught, although that can be, and usually is, pretty bad. It's something that is brought on by the experience itself.
Most of us who cheat are looking for something that is missing from our relationship at home. It's usually intimacy and/or sex, but it could include many other things, too. If you're lucky, you'll meet the right person and find what you're looking for. At that point, all you see is the upside.
If everything clicks, you experience intimacy like you never have before, maybe not even with your spouse in those flush early days. The sex is great. You feel alive. You wonder why you waited so long. You find that feeling so connected to another human being on so many levels is amazing beyond description. In a nutshell, for the first time in a long time, you feel complete. All of your needs are being met and you're happy.
What could be bad about that?
Well, nothing. As long as it lasts. The problem is that, unlike marriage, affairs are not intended to go on forever. That's generally speaking, of course. Some can go on for years or decades, but those are the exceptions. Most affairs end. In the best of situations, they end well. The affair has run its course and you both agree that it's time to move on or that it's time to attempt fidelity again. Maybe you end on good terms because you just drifted apart. The time between meetings just got longer and longer until *POOF*you just weren't seeing each other anymore. That's pretty much what happened between me and JJ. There was no decision to end it, no falling out. It just fizzled out due to lack of attention. That doesn't mean we don't care about each other, just that the affair is not active (I'm hesitant to say "done" because I don't know what the future holds, even though it looks like it's done).
But maybe your affair ends on bad terms. Your wife finds out or your partner's husband finds out, and things turn very, very ugly. Maybe you can salvage your marriage, but that was only possible because you agreed to end the affair. Maybe your partner just decided she wanted to end it or she found someone else. Regardless of how you feel about it, it's over.
The ending, though, isn't even the bad part I'm talking about. It's worse when the affair is over, and you know it's over forever, and you're still with your spouse, and you're faced with the heart wrenching knowledge that you have experienced indescribable intimacy with another human being, and now it's gone. And you may not have that ever again.
I'm a believer in Alfred Lord Tennyson's assertion that " 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved," because I honestly believe that connecting with our fellow human beings is part of why we're here. Loving others, in all the possible forms that love takes, is how we live to the fullest.
As long as I'm quoting literature, let me add another. "A ship in the harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are for." This is attributed to William G.T. Shedd as well as to several other people (that's what the internet does to authors who don't copyright their work; eventually, everyone claims it). Some people, most notably those who obviously can't read, claim that Theodore Roosevelt said it first in his 1901 State of the Union speech, saying that "ships are not built for a harbor." Of course, he was actually talking about real ships and the need to get them out of the harbor so peacetime crew can get adequate training, not ships leaving a harbor as a metaphor for courage and risk taking. The funny thing is that he never really said it. What he said was, "Our ships must be assembled in squadrons actively cruising away from harbors and never long at anchor." Even poor Teddy Roosevelt can't escape bad reporting.
Wow. My inner nerd just jumped out at you. Sorry about that. However, if you're ever in a nerdy mood, read Roosevelt's speech in its entirety. He talks about the importance of building the Panama Canal and the cavalry, basing U.S. foreign policy on the Monroe Doctrine, and changing the way recruits are addressed at Annapolis. Good stuff...and kind of amusing given today's context.
But I digress....again.
The point was that I agree that knowing there will be pain in the future is no reason to avoid living and loving fully today. Still, it's painful to have what you were craving and then have to face a life without it again.
Before you experience it, you know you're not happy, not content. You know something is missing, but it's only when you have it in your life for a period of time that you fully understand the depth of the hole in your life without it. Yes, you can go to counseling with your spouse and if you're both willing, things can definitely get better, and that's awesome! But it is unlikely that your spouse will ever be able to fill that void for you completely.
I know that some of you may be thinking, "Hey! It's not your spouse's job to fill that void! You need to fill it yourself by growing spiritually and learning to appreciate what you have." Ok, there's some truth to that. One of the secrets of a happy long-term marriage is appreciation. Another is for each spouse to be on his/her own path of growth and self-actualization (did you ever think you'd see that word again after the 70's?). I have to tell you, though, that my first thought when I hear someone say something like that is that they have probably never experienced the intimacy I'm talking about. If they had, they'd know that one person can't recreate that alone just by concentrating on being grateful. It's like magic. It's illusive and addictive......and sorely missed when it's gone.
This morning I told my friend that he should never say never because it's possible that he may find that lost intimacy with his wife. We don't know what the future holds. If they are both working on it, it's possible.
But we both knew the truth. It's unlikely. So how do you live with that? How do you happily stay on the farm when you've seen Paris, so to speak? I don't know. I know it's difficult, and I know that life is full of trade offs. Maybe we have to let go of the magic to keep the family we love whole. Maybe we have to go back to settling for something that doesn't fully fulfill us in exchange for a chance at another kind of happiness. Maybe we just have to hope that as we age it won't really matter as much to us.
Warning someone about this downside of infidelity before they cheat won't do any good because it will just make them want to find that magic and have the experience themselves. And then they'll know. Unfortunately, at that point, there's going back.
Is it really "better to have loved and lost than never to have loved?"
Most of us who cheat are looking for something that is missing from our relationship at home. It's usually intimacy and/or sex, but it could include many other things, too. If you're lucky, you'll meet the right person and find what you're looking for. At that point, all you see is the upside.
If everything clicks, you experience intimacy like you never have before, maybe not even with your spouse in those flush early days. The sex is great. You feel alive. You wonder why you waited so long. You find that feeling so connected to another human being on so many levels is amazing beyond description. In a nutshell, for the first time in a long time, you feel complete. All of your needs are being met and you're happy.
What could be bad about that?
Well, nothing. As long as it lasts. The problem is that, unlike marriage, affairs are not intended to go on forever. That's generally speaking, of course. Some can go on for years or decades, but those are the exceptions. Most affairs end. In the best of situations, they end well. The affair has run its course and you both agree that it's time to move on or that it's time to attempt fidelity again. Maybe you end on good terms because you just drifted apart. The time between meetings just got longer and longer until *POOF*you just weren't seeing each other anymore. That's pretty much what happened between me and JJ. There was no decision to end it, no falling out. It just fizzled out due to lack of attention. That doesn't mean we don't care about each other, just that the affair is not active (I'm hesitant to say "done" because I don't know what the future holds, even though it looks like it's done).
But maybe your affair ends on bad terms. Your wife finds out or your partner's husband finds out, and things turn very, very ugly. Maybe you can salvage your marriage, but that was only possible because you agreed to end the affair. Maybe your partner just decided she wanted to end it or she found someone else. Regardless of how you feel about it, it's over.
The ending, though, isn't even the bad part I'm talking about. It's worse when the affair is over, and you know it's over forever, and you're still with your spouse, and you're faced with the heart wrenching knowledge that you have experienced indescribable intimacy with another human being, and now it's gone. And you may not have that ever again.
I'm a believer in Alfred Lord Tennyson's assertion that " 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved," because I honestly believe that connecting with our fellow human beings is part of why we're here. Loving others, in all the possible forms that love takes, is how we live to the fullest.
As long as I'm quoting literature, let me add another. "A ship in the harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are for." This is attributed to William G.T. Shedd as well as to several other people (that's what the internet does to authors who don't copyright their work; eventually, everyone claims it). Some people, most notably those who obviously can't read, claim that Theodore Roosevelt said it first in his 1901 State of the Union speech, saying that "ships are not built for a harbor." Of course, he was actually talking about real ships and the need to get them out of the harbor so peacetime crew can get adequate training, not ships leaving a harbor as a metaphor for courage and risk taking. The funny thing is that he never really said it. What he said was, "Our ships must be assembled in squadrons actively cruising away from harbors and never long at anchor." Even poor Teddy Roosevelt can't escape bad reporting.
Wow. My inner nerd just jumped out at you. Sorry about that. However, if you're ever in a nerdy mood, read Roosevelt's speech in its entirety. He talks about the importance of building the Panama Canal and the cavalry, basing U.S. foreign policy on the Monroe Doctrine, and changing the way recruits are addressed at Annapolis. Good stuff...and kind of amusing given today's context.
But I digress....again.
The point was that I agree that knowing there will be pain in the future is no reason to avoid living and loving fully today. Still, it's painful to have what you were craving and then have to face a life without it again.
Before you experience it, you know you're not happy, not content. You know something is missing, but it's only when you have it in your life for a period of time that you fully understand the depth of the hole in your life without it. Yes, you can go to counseling with your spouse and if you're both willing, things can definitely get better, and that's awesome! But it is unlikely that your spouse will ever be able to fill that void for you completely.
I know that some of you may be thinking, "Hey! It's not your spouse's job to fill that void! You need to fill it yourself by growing spiritually and learning to appreciate what you have." Ok, there's some truth to that. One of the secrets of a happy long-term marriage is appreciation. Another is for each spouse to be on his/her own path of growth and self-actualization (did you ever think you'd see that word again after the 70's?). I have to tell you, though, that my first thought when I hear someone say something like that is that they have probably never experienced the intimacy I'm talking about. If they had, they'd know that one person can't recreate that alone just by concentrating on being grateful. It's like magic. It's illusive and addictive......and sorely missed when it's gone.
This morning I told my friend that he should never say never because it's possible that he may find that lost intimacy with his wife. We don't know what the future holds. If they are both working on it, it's possible.
But we both knew the truth. It's unlikely. So how do you live with that? How do you happily stay on the farm when you've seen Paris, so to speak? I don't know. I know it's difficult, and I know that life is full of trade offs. Maybe we have to let go of the magic to keep the family we love whole. Maybe we have to go back to settling for something that doesn't fully fulfill us in exchange for a chance at another kind of happiness. Maybe we just have to hope that as we age it won't really matter as much to us.
Warning someone about this downside of infidelity before they cheat won't do any good because it will just make them want to find that magic and have the experience themselves. And then they'll know. Unfortunately, at that point, there's going back.
Is it really "better to have loved and lost than never to have loved?"
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
The Surprises in Room 139 (Part 1 of 3)
I was already in my car and on my way to the hotel when I got his text. "Rm 139 next to the restaurant, corner room by the pool." It's so nice to get some information to help me find the room besides just the room number. It saves me from having to drive or walk all around the place. It was a warm afternoon on what had been a busy day. I was grateful for anything that made it a little easier.
My mind was still running a hundred miles an hour in a million directions. Home. Work. Alibi. Did I defrost the chicken for dinner? Why didn't I get gas yesterday? As I got to the room and knocked on the door, it slowed down, but it didn't stop. I wish I had made the time to pick up some massage oil. I didn't bring any lube either. Damn! Wait, I don't think I'll need it. T opened the door and smiled and for just a moment everything stopped. His smile is truly disarming. Whatever I had been thinking about or planning to say just faded away. I stepped in and we kissed. It was nice, but brief because my mind started running again.
I dropped my purse and excused myself to the bathroom. I thought that if I washed up a little I might be able to pull myself into the present moment. I cleaned up and took a few deep cleansing breaths. Better already.
I stepped back into the room and he walked over to me, slid his hands around my waist and kissed me. It was a deep kiss, both gentle and demanding, and that was all it took. Everything outside the room was gone. There was only him, that moment, that room, that kiss.
I slid my hands over his forearms and then slowly up his biceps to his shoulders. My god he has strong arms and shoulders! That's one of the things I first noticed about him on the day we met. It's one of the features of his body that I really love, not my favorite thing, but close. We stood there kissing for awhile, giving me time to caress his arms some more. Eventually, he slid a hand between my legs and rubbed me through my pants.
That's when the mixed emotions settled in. Once he started touching me down there, I couldn't give his kisses and arms my full attention anymore, but I wanted more of that nice feeling. I slipped out of my pants and panties and he obliged. I started pulling off his t-shirt (a San Francisco Giants t-shirt, by the way, because he's not stupid and I know how to pick my men) and he helped me. I commented on his fabulous choice in shirts, and he smiled as he threw it to the floor.
That's one of the things I love about hot sex with lover, and this one, in particular. The clothes get peeled off and tossed aside wherever they may fall. That's part of the turn on. Any guy who starts folding his clothes and placing them neatly on the table or the dresser before coming back to me would lose me because my ADHD would pull my brain away from him to thoughts of laundry and that load that was in the dryer when I left the house. Not only that, I'd think he was weird. Seriously, if you'd rather fold clothes than touch my woohoo, yeah, you're weird. Anyway.....
Then I was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing with my clit and losing myself in his kisses (truly amazing kisser, this one) and expanding my exploration of his body from his arms and shoulders to his chest. Within about 30 seconds I was on sensory overload.
"Let's get in bed," I suggested. He smiled and agreed. The next 15 seconds were a rush of pulling off the remaining clothes and climbing into bed.
He leaned over me and kissed me and reached his hand between my legs again. I had been with him enough that he knew his way around. He knew exactly how to touch me to make me moan, exactly how to kiss me to make me want him even more. It wasn't long before I came the first time. I screamed into his mouth and bucked against his hand, riding it as long as I could.
I never could come down, though, because he didn't stop. When I first experienced this with him it was unsettling. I was typically used to at least a little recovery time, even 30 seconds would do, but he liked charging forward, stroking on every highly sensitized nerve and pushing me through the pain of that to even more pleasure. I was ready for it, and I surrendered to it, still kissing him the whole time. When I came the second time, I felt it throughout my entire body. I don't remember much except focusing on the sensations pulsating through me and how it felt when he slid his fingers inside me.
I wish I were a better writer. I wish I could find the words to describe how that feels physically and how it feels emotionally to experience that with someone you really care about. No matter how hard I've tried, I have failed to capture it accurately. Maybe it's one of those things that isn't meant to be talked about or written about, but just experienced - a sensory and emotional experience meant to be shared by two people. When it's good, when you really have chemistry with that other person, it changes you a little every time. The woman who walks out of that room isn't the same one who walked in. And it's a good difference.
After I came for the third time (or was it the fourth?), we stopped for a bit and I snuggled up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder, tracing my finger across his chest while we talked, kissed, talked, and kissed some more.
I love stroking his chest while we lay together. He's a strong, solid man. Yes, he's very bright, too, which you know is a requirement for me, but he's also very physical, which is an overwhelming turn on. He has short dark hair, much shorter than it was when I met him, but longer than it was a month ago. Now it's just long enough for me to run my fingers through it, which I love to do. He's clean shaven, although by the time I see him in the afternoons he's usually got a little stubble, which I also love. He's taller than me (heck, who isn't?) but not really tall - the perfect height for standing in front of him and kissing without having to stand on my tippy toes and keep my face turned straight up all the time until I get dizzy and lose my balance.
I'll save the rest of the description for another time because as much as I loved what we were doing, I could feel that he was hard and I wanted to taste him. I started re-positioning myself and I asked if it was ok if I enjoyed his cock for a while. He smiled and said, "You know what I want," and I nodded, indicating that yes, indeed, I knew exactly what he wanted right at that moment.
I took his hard cock into my mouth and suckled slowly for a minute or two, enjoying the taste of him and assessing which movements and pressure points got the most response. Every now and then he'd moan and I'd feel my pussy twitch. It was almost like a dance. His responses - a moan, a thrust of his hips, a pull of my hair - elicited more excitement in me which made me suck harder and deeper, and that made him moan more, thrust faster, pull my hair harder.
Hair pulling is incredibly sexy and the one sure way to make me crazy (in a good way). I have no idea how or why my scalp is connected to my pussy, but apparently it is. I'd take a deep breath and dive down, swallowing the head of his cock and he'd grab a big handful of hair and pull me up off him, just so I could struggle against him to get his full cock back in my mouth again. Sometimes the best I could do was just to get to the tip, other times I did better. Sometimes he'd just release me and the momentum of my own pulling downward would force me to fall on him, with his head forcing is way into my throat. Other time's he'd surprise me by pulling my hair up and then, instead of releasing me either slowly or quickly, he'd push my head down onto him and hold me there, so all I could do was hold my breath and just fuck him with my throat, swallowing repeatedly. It was on one of those times that he finally released into my throat, coming so much that I had to keep swallowing so I wouldn't choke.
As if I wasn't turned on enough by the whole experience, when he groaned loudly as he came, it felt like I was pushed over an edge and I felt myself starting to come. My cunt was contracting and I felt those pleasure chemicals starting to release, but it startled me and elicited just enough resistance to stop it. That was confusing. I've experienced coming just from nipple stimulation before, and I've experienced getting so turned on by giving head (with this same man) that all it took was about 5 seconds of touching me to make me come, but I had never come before without any external stimulation below the neck. This was the first surprise of the afternoon.
I was so shocked by it that I didn't tell him. I don't know why I didn't, probably because it was so strange for me that I didn't really know how to express what happened. I was also disappointed in myself for not going with it and seeing how far it would go.
After I had swallowed the last drop he had for me, I scooched back up to where I could curl up in his arms again. Things had been changing for me recently where this man was concerned. We were supposedly fuck buddies, of sorts, I suppose. He made it clear to me six months ago that he didn't want to feel anything for me and he didn't want me to feel anything for him. We even stopped seeing each other for a month or so over that issue.
The rules hadn't changed, but the situation did. Feelings were involved now, for both of us. For me, that makes the sex better, much, much better. Everything was more intense. We were both a bit less inhibited, not that we were very sexually inhibited before but there's a price you pay for emotional inhibition. You can't be locking your emotions down without experiencing a corresponding inability to completely surrender yourself to the physical pleasure. I've come to understand that the physical/sexual and emotional parts of ourselves are intimately connected. Sure, you can have really good sex without letting your emotions out of their tightly locked box, but you can't have great sex that way. You can't break through to real shared intimacy - at any level - without letting yourself feel something.
It's hard to explain this to people, particularly to men, not because they are incapable of emotion, but because they are socialized to think that emotion comes with responsibilities. Many think, deep down, that "if I love you, then I'll have to take care of you and I don't want that responsibility," or "I can't open up to you because that will mean that I really don't love my wife/girlfriend/ex-wife," or "If I let you into that soft emotional place inside me, that would be a betrayal to my wife/girlfriend/ex-wife."
It saddens me to think of the intimacy, joy, and pleasure that we deny ourselves because of what we think it will mean. Why can't we just let it be what it is? If you don't want to make major changes in your every day life, fine. The beauty of experiencing real intimacy with someone is that you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but you may surprise yourself and find that you like it, and that you want keep peeling those layers of resistance away so you can experience more of it. Or not, and that's good, too. Why can't we make our own rules? Why can't we decide what it means for us?
Anyway, the point I was trying to make was that I was experiencing our sexual encounter differently because of the increased level of intimacy. It was a wonderful and positive difference, and every kiss was a little sweeter. Heck, I started to come from giving a blow job. That's definitely a good difference. Wouldn't you agree?
Back to room 139....We kissed more and talked more, and a few minutes later he said with a wicked smile, "It's my turn," and he started moving down between my legs.
To be continued......
My mind was still running a hundred miles an hour in a million directions. Home. Work. Alibi. Did I defrost the chicken for dinner? Why didn't I get gas yesterday? As I got to the room and knocked on the door, it slowed down, but it didn't stop. I wish I had made the time to pick up some massage oil. I didn't bring any lube either. Damn! Wait, I don't think I'll need it. T opened the door and smiled and for just a moment everything stopped. His smile is truly disarming. Whatever I had been thinking about or planning to say just faded away. I stepped in and we kissed. It was nice, but brief because my mind started running again.
I dropped my purse and excused myself to the bathroom. I thought that if I washed up a little I might be able to pull myself into the present moment. I cleaned up and took a few deep cleansing breaths. Better already.
I stepped back into the room and he walked over to me, slid his hands around my waist and kissed me. It was a deep kiss, both gentle and demanding, and that was all it took. Everything outside the room was gone. There was only him, that moment, that room, that kiss.
I slid my hands over his forearms and then slowly up his biceps to his shoulders. My god he has strong arms and shoulders! That's one of the things I first noticed about him on the day we met. It's one of the features of his body that I really love, not my favorite thing, but close. We stood there kissing for awhile, giving me time to caress his arms some more. Eventually, he slid a hand between my legs and rubbed me through my pants.
That's when the mixed emotions settled in. Once he started touching me down there, I couldn't give his kisses and arms my full attention anymore, but I wanted more of that nice feeling. I slipped out of my pants and panties and he obliged. I started pulling off his t-shirt (a San Francisco Giants t-shirt, by the way, because he's not stupid and I know how to pick my men) and he helped me. I commented on his fabulous choice in shirts, and he smiled as he threw it to the floor.
That's one of the things I love about hot sex with lover, and this one, in particular. The clothes get peeled off and tossed aside wherever they may fall. That's part of the turn on. Any guy who starts folding his clothes and placing them neatly on the table or the dresser before coming back to me would lose me because my ADHD would pull my brain away from him to thoughts of laundry and that load that was in the dryer when I left the house. Not only that, I'd think he was weird. Seriously, if you'd rather fold clothes than touch my woohoo, yeah, you're weird. Anyway.....
Then I was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing with my clit and losing myself in his kisses (truly amazing kisser, this one) and expanding my exploration of his body from his arms and shoulders to his chest. Within about 30 seconds I was on sensory overload.
"Let's get in bed," I suggested. He smiled and agreed. The next 15 seconds were a rush of pulling off the remaining clothes and climbing into bed.
He leaned over me and kissed me and reached his hand between my legs again. I had been with him enough that he knew his way around. He knew exactly how to touch me to make me moan, exactly how to kiss me to make me want him even more. It wasn't long before I came the first time. I screamed into his mouth and bucked against his hand, riding it as long as I could.
I never could come down, though, because he didn't stop. When I first experienced this with him it was unsettling. I was typically used to at least a little recovery time, even 30 seconds would do, but he liked charging forward, stroking on every highly sensitized nerve and pushing me through the pain of that to even more pleasure. I was ready for it, and I surrendered to it, still kissing him the whole time. When I came the second time, I felt it throughout my entire body. I don't remember much except focusing on the sensations pulsating through me and how it felt when he slid his fingers inside me.
I wish I were a better writer. I wish I could find the words to describe how that feels physically and how it feels emotionally to experience that with someone you really care about. No matter how hard I've tried, I have failed to capture it accurately. Maybe it's one of those things that isn't meant to be talked about or written about, but just experienced - a sensory and emotional experience meant to be shared by two people. When it's good, when you really have chemistry with that other person, it changes you a little every time. The woman who walks out of that room isn't the same one who walked in. And it's a good difference.
After I came for the third time (or was it the fourth?), we stopped for a bit and I snuggled up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder, tracing my finger across his chest while we talked, kissed, talked, and kissed some more.
I love stroking his chest while we lay together. He's a strong, solid man. Yes, he's very bright, too, which you know is a requirement for me, but he's also very physical, which is an overwhelming turn on. He has short dark hair, much shorter than it was when I met him, but longer than it was a month ago. Now it's just long enough for me to run my fingers through it, which I love to do. He's clean shaven, although by the time I see him in the afternoons he's usually got a little stubble, which I also love. He's taller than me (heck, who isn't?) but not really tall - the perfect height for standing in front of him and kissing without having to stand on my tippy toes and keep my face turned straight up all the time until I get dizzy and lose my balance.
I'll save the rest of the description for another time because as much as I loved what we were doing, I could feel that he was hard and I wanted to taste him. I started re-positioning myself and I asked if it was ok if I enjoyed his cock for a while. He smiled and said, "You know what I want," and I nodded, indicating that yes, indeed, I knew exactly what he wanted right at that moment.
I took his hard cock into my mouth and suckled slowly for a minute or two, enjoying the taste of him and assessing which movements and pressure points got the most response. Every now and then he'd moan and I'd feel my pussy twitch. It was almost like a dance. His responses - a moan, a thrust of his hips, a pull of my hair - elicited more excitement in me which made me suck harder and deeper, and that made him moan more, thrust faster, pull my hair harder.
Hair pulling is incredibly sexy and the one sure way to make me crazy (in a good way). I have no idea how or why my scalp is connected to my pussy, but apparently it is. I'd take a deep breath and dive down, swallowing the head of his cock and he'd grab a big handful of hair and pull me up off him, just so I could struggle against him to get his full cock back in my mouth again. Sometimes the best I could do was just to get to the tip, other times I did better. Sometimes he'd just release me and the momentum of my own pulling downward would force me to fall on him, with his head forcing is way into my throat. Other time's he'd surprise me by pulling my hair up and then, instead of releasing me either slowly or quickly, he'd push my head down onto him and hold me there, so all I could do was hold my breath and just fuck him with my throat, swallowing repeatedly. It was on one of those times that he finally released into my throat, coming so much that I had to keep swallowing so I wouldn't choke.
As if I wasn't turned on enough by the whole experience, when he groaned loudly as he came, it felt like I was pushed over an edge and I felt myself starting to come. My cunt was contracting and I felt those pleasure chemicals starting to release, but it startled me and elicited just enough resistance to stop it. That was confusing. I've experienced coming just from nipple stimulation before, and I've experienced getting so turned on by giving head (with this same man) that all it took was about 5 seconds of touching me to make me come, but I had never come before without any external stimulation below the neck. This was the first surprise of the afternoon.
I was so shocked by it that I didn't tell him. I don't know why I didn't, probably because it was so strange for me that I didn't really know how to express what happened. I was also disappointed in myself for not going with it and seeing how far it would go.
After I had swallowed the last drop he had for me, I scooched back up to where I could curl up in his arms again. Things had been changing for me recently where this man was concerned. We were supposedly fuck buddies, of sorts, I suppose. He made it clear to me six months ago that he didn't want to feel anything for me and he didn't want me to feel anything for him. We even stopped seeing each other for a month or so over that issue.
The rules hadn't changed, but the situation did. Feelings were involved now, for both of us. For me, that makes the sex better, much, much better. Everything was more intense. We were both a bit less inhibited, not that we were very sexually inhibited before but there's a price you pay for emotional inhibition. You can't be locking your emotions down without experiencing a corresponding inability to completely surrender yourself to the physical pleasure. I've come to understand that the physical/sexual and emotional parts of ourselves are intimately connected. Sure, you can have really good sex without letting your emotions out of their tightly locked box, but you can't have great sex that way. You can't break through to real shared intimacy - at any level - without letting yourself feel something.
It's hard to explain this to people, particularly to men, not because they are incapable of emotion, but because they are socialized to think that emotion comes with responsibilities. Many think, deep down, that "if I love you, then I'll have to take care of you and I don't want that responsibility," or "I can't open up to you because that will mean that I really don't love my wife/girlfriend/ex-wife," or "If I let you into that soft emotional place inside me, that would be a betrayal to my wife/girlfriend/ex-wife."
It saddens me to think of the intimacy, joy, and pleasure that we deny ourselves because of what we think it will mean. Why can't we just let it be what it is? If you don't want to make major changes in your every day life, fine. The beauty of experiencing real intimacy with someone is that you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but you may surprise yourself and find that you like it, and that you want keep peeling those layers of resistance away so you can experience more of it. Or not, and that's good, too. Why can't we make our own rules? Why can't we decide what it means for us?
Anyway, the point I was trying to make was that I was experiencing our sexual encounter differently because of the increased level of intimacy. It was a wonderful and positive difference, and every kiss was a little sweeter. Heck, I started to come from giving a blow job. That's definitely a good difference. Wouldn't you agree?
Back to room 139....We kissed more and talked more, and a few minutes later he said with a wicked smile, "It's my turn," and he started moving down between my legs.
To be continued......
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Checking In....
Hi, Prowlers. I thought I'd check in and report on my state of mind, sex life, etc. Let's start with the most important thing - sex.Sex with Hubby has been non-existent lately. We're going through a little rough patch, which explains some of it. Then there's the fact that I'm up late working into the wee hours of the morning, hours after he has gone to bed. As many of you know, it's hard to have spontaneous sex if you're rarely in the same bed together. I know this phase will pass. It always does, but I wish I could solve the challenge of keeping the passion alive after 25+ years. If I could, I'd use the information myself first, and then I'd write a book and sell it to all of you. And because I'm so sweet, I'd just give it to those of you who have become my close friends.
Please don't send me your tips for keeping the passion alive. We all know it can be done for various periods of time, but eventually the boredom and routine set in and you have to revitalize it all over again. I think it's really good that we, as a society, don't tell newlyweds what they're in for or a lot fewer people would want to get married.
As far as gay marriage goes, all I'll say is that I want to ask my gay friends, "Seriously? You really want this?" I know I'm just being jaded because I've been cut off from Hubby (who has a very nice big cock, by the way, which I miss). I think gay couples have just as much a right to long term marital misery as the rest of us.
Luckily, the cold bed at home is not my only opportunity for sex. I saw Tall Guy earlier this week. He's sweet. He's wonderful. But we had to be pretty careful because I'm still recovering from my groin injury (see The Great Dane and the Pomeranian). The interesting thing about sex when you're recovering from an injury is that you tend to be much more careful than you really need to be because of the fear of re-injury. That's true, except for the end. There comes that point where I've kind of slipped into the pleasure zone and I'm not paying attention and then OH SHIT! THAT HURTS! Yeah. That's a real mood killer, isn't it? On top of that, I got two foot cramps (I know, I know. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.) so I spent a good part of my time with Tall Guy being a crybaby. Sexy, huh? Still, just being with him is pretty wonderful.
And then there's T. It looks like I may have a chance to see him later in the week. As I've shared with you before, he really is like crack for me. I can't stay away. We've got that chemistry thing going on and my body just responds (wet pussy, hard nipples) whenever I see a text from him or hear his voice. I've been around enough to know that that kind of uncontrolled, visceral response to another person is not very common. In fact, it's rare. In short, if I do see him, I'll expect a re-injury, which will keep Hubby and my doctor wondering why I never recover from an injury that most people recover from in a couple of weeks.
Speaking of that, I've told various stories about what happened. I told my doctor that it happened during sex. She assumed Hubby and I just smiled sheepishly. That was easy. I told Hubby I had absolutely no idea how it happened. He asked what seemed like a million questions trying to "help" me pinpoint the cause, but I just played dumb. I felt like one of those country girls who fucks every guy within 10 miles, but then doesn't know how she got pregnant. I told my physical therapist - a hot, gorgeous young guy - that I did it while playing on the floor with my son. I have no idea why I came up with that explanation, but I did. At one point, cute PT Guy asked, "Are you sure you'd be comfortable with me? Or would you rather work with a female therapist?" You all know what I said, right? I said I was perfectly comfortable him, and then I took off my pants and showed him where it hurt by taking his hand and placing it exactly on the right spot. The poor guy had a hand in my crotch and he looked like a deer in the headlights. It's really unfortunate that the young ones don't know how to handle situations like that. I'll say this - most of the full grown men I've known would have had no problem with it. Anyway, I don't think PT Guy is going to take me into a private exam room again. Cougar - 1. Kitten - Afraid.
On the non-sex front, I want to send a special thank you to SNS Guy and my friend K for the excellent advice they gave me this week on a big decision I had to make. Something I didn't expect when I began this PWK journey is that I would make some very close friends who would come to mean the world to me and who would play important roles in my daily life. I am a fortunate woman, indeed.
Friday, August 1, 2014
The Great Dane and The Pomeranian
I went to the doctor yesterday about a groin pull I got over a month ago. Why did I wait a month? Because I assumed it would just get better on its own, of course. But it didn't and the pain was getting to be too much, so I finally relented and got some medical attention.
While I'm not entirely sure, I think I got this injury while playing with Tall Guy. I'm not sure because I don't remember feeling anything pop or pull, but I sure could feel it afterward and it got worse and worse.
Anyway, I was discussing it with a friend of mine - let's call him Faithful Married Guy - and he said, "That's what happens when a Great Dane fucks a Pomeranian."
I had to laugh, both at the image that put into my head and the appropriateness of the comparison. I also chuckled at the way Faithful Married Guy expressed himself. Those guys in the center of the country have a gift for that sort of thing, I think.
Yes, when a Great Dane and a Pomeranian fuck, someone is going to get hurt, and it's not going to be the Great Dane.
To help you get the picture, I found this video of a Great Dane and Toy Pomeranian playing. Ignore the background noise; it's irrelevant. All you need is the visual.
While I thought, at first, that this was just a cute video without any real similarity to Tall Guy and me except the height difference, this Great Dane's tongue and what he does it with do indeed remind me of Tall Guy. ;-)
While I'm not entirely sure, I think I got this injury while playing with Tall Guy. I'm not sure because I don't remember feeling anything pop or pull, but I sure could feel it afterward and it got worse and worse.
Anyway, I was discussing it with a friend of mine - let's call him Faithful Married Guy - and he said, "That's what happens when a Great Dane fucks a Pomeranian."
I had to laugh, both at the image that put into my head and the appropriateness of the comparison. I also chuckled at the way Faithful Married Guy expressed himself. Those guys in the center of the country have a gift for that sort of thing, I think.
Yes, when a Great Dane and a Pomeranian fuck, someone is going to get hurt, and it's not going to be the Great Dane.
To help you get the picture, I found this video of a Great Dane and Toy Pomeranian playing. Ignore the background noise; it's irrelevant. All you need is the visual.
While I thought, at first, that this was just a cute video without any real similarity to Tall Guy and me except the height difference, this Great Dane's tongue and what he does it with do indeed remind me of Tall Guy. ;-)
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