Monday, September 22, 2014
Friday, September 19, 2014
If I Swallow a Couple Loads of Cum, Can I Ditch My Daily Protein Shake?
I've had the same unusual thought twice in the last 24 hours. The first was yesterday morning as I was swallowing my second load of T's delicious cum. The second was while I was chatting with SNS Guy this afternoon.
How much protein is really in semen? And is it enough for me to substitute it for a protein shake? As you know, I love giving BJs and it sure is more fun and fulfilling than mixing up a protein shake. I've never had a lover groan and pull my hair while watching me down a protein shake, either.
So, I decided to find out how much protein is really in semen so I could answer my question. First, I scoured the internet for information from all the mostreputable popular sources, such as Wikipedia, ask.com, men.com, and Yahoo answers. I can tell you that the information from those sources varied significantly. Who should I believe?
So I decided to bite the bullet and look for information among the scientists and the topic specific sites. That means I must issue a Science Alert here, but don't worry, I'll put it into everyday language as best I can so those of you who prefer not to think won't have to worry your pretty little heads about it.
First, the basics.
Semen is made up of sperm, water, sugars, proteins and amino acids, vitamins (C, B12, and choline), hormones, enzymes, and and trace elements of some body byproducts (lactic acid, uric acid, nitrogen). Interestingly, there's almost twice as much sugar as protein in semen, but we're talking about such a small amount that the carbs won't ruin your Atkins diet.
To calculate the protein content of semen, we need to know the typical volume of semen per ejaculate. In other words, what is the average load volume? There is some discrepancy in the literature, but the consensus seems to be that it ranges from 3/4 of a teaspoon to a full tablespoon. That's a pretty big range for average, but there it is. I know for a fact that Webcam Guy's loads were a lot bigger than a tablespoon, but he's not average, of course. Anyway, we'll calculate the average volume at about a teaspoon.
Scientists calculate between 171 mg and 500 mg per load. Yes, that's quite a range, too. As you can see, an exact calculation will be impossible to do using averages, but we can get close. Let's use 500 mg just because it will make the math easier, but be aware that it will be lower in most cases.
There are 20 grams of protein in the brand of protein shake I use. Because 500 mg = .5 gram, it would take 40 loads of semen to replace the protein content of my shake. Clearly, I can't get enough protein that way to replace my daily shake. Dang.
But I sure would love to try.
I know what some of you are thinking. Is the amount of protein the same for the ejaculate of a man who has had a vasectomy? (Isn't that what you were thinking?) Well, because there's lots of protein in sperm, there must be less protein in ejaculate with sperm. However, sperm only make up 1-5% of the stuff in semen and the other stuff in semen also has some protein, so while there is less protein in a load of cum without sperm, there's still a reasonable amount.
So, if I were blowing a guy who'd had a vasectomy, it could take about 60 - 80 loads to replace my protein shake. Wow. That's a lot. It could take me 6 months just to replace one shake!
As long as we're speaking of semen, you may want to know that a load averages 5-15 calories, depending on the size of the load and the man's diet, so you can tell assure your wife (or Lover, or both) that giving you head and swallowing won't ruin her diet.
Now you have inspired me. Look for coming posts on Why Blow Jobs Are Good for You (a tool for convincing your lover to blow you) and How Can You Make Your Sperm Taste Yummy.
How much protein is really in semen? And is it enough for me to substitute it for a protein shake? As you know, I love giving BJs and it sure is more fun and fulfilling than mixing up a protein shake. I've never had a lover groan and pull my hair while watching me down a protein shake, either.
So, I decided to find out how much protein is really in semen so I could answer my question. First, I scoured the internet for information from all the most
First, the basics.
Semen is made up of sperm, water, sugars, proteins and amino acids, vitamins (C, B12, and choline), hormones, enzymes, and and trace elements of some body byproducts (lactic acid, uric acid, nitrogen). Interestingly, there's almost twice as much sugar as protein in semen, but we're talking about such a small amount that the carbs won't ruin your Atkins diet.
To calculate the protein content of semen, we need to know the typical volume of semen per ejaculate. In other words, what is the average load volume? There is some discrepancy in the literature, but the consensus seems to be that it ranges from 3/4 of a teaspoon to a full tablespoon. That's a pretty big range for average, but there it is. I know for a fact that Webcam Guy's loads were a lot bigger than a tablespoon, but he's not average, of course. Anyway, we'll calculate the average volume at about a teaspoon.
Scientists calculate between 171 mg and 500 mg per load. Yes, that's quite a range, too. As you can see, an exact calculation will be impossible to do using averages, but we can get close. Let's use 500 mg just because it will make the math easier, but be aware that it will be lower in most cases.
There are 20 grams of protein in the brand of protein shake I use. Because 500 mg = .5 gram, it would take 40 loads of semen to replace the protein content of my shake. Clearly, I can't get enough protein that way to replace my daily shake. Dang.
But I sure would love to try.
I know what some of you are thinking. Is the amount of protein the same for the ejaculate of a man who has had a vasectomy? (Isn't that what you were thinking?) Well, because there's lots of protein in sperm, there must be less protein in ejaculate with sperm. However, sperm only make up 1-5% of the stuff in semen and the other stuff in semen also has some protein, so while there is less protein in a load of cum without sperm, there's still a reasonable amount.
So, if I were blowing a guy who'd had a vasectomy, it could take about 60 - 80 loads to replace my protein shake. Wow. That's a lot. It could take me 6 months just to replace one shake!
As long as we're speaking of semen, you may want to know that a load averages 5-15 calories, depending on the size of the load and the man's diet, so you can tell assure your wife (or Lover, or both) that giving you head and swallowing won't ruin her diet.
Now you have inspired me. Look for coming posts on Why Blow Jobs Are Good for You (a tool for convincing your lover to blow you) and How Can You Make Your Sperm Taste Yummy.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Postcoital Comfort
They
lay together quietly
Breathing
rapidly, resting
Nested
against each other
Legs
entwined
Kisses
interspersed with silence
Then
easy conversation
As
droplets of perspiration fall and dry
Laughter
More
kisses
A
sheet pulled over their legs
Fighting
off a chill
Words
of love shared
More
kisses to seal their private moment
Of
perfect postcoital comfort
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
A Must Read
I was reading through the recent posts on my naughty blogs list earlier today, and I came across All He Could Do Was Moan. It was written by Victoria Vista and it appears on her Sexual Destinies blog.
I think you should read it because it's beautifully written. Even though it is very brief, you can feel the sense of anticipation and tension. Even if you're not into cock cages (she has a picture on the page if you don't know what that is), you'll still be able to appreciate the beauty of her writing.
As you know, I don't call out good writing on sex blogs very often. That means you should pay attention and go check it out.
Have you read a really good post lately that you'd like to share? Tell us in the comments, and don't forget to share the link.
I think you should read it because it's beautifully written. Even though it is very brief, you can feel the sense of anticipation and tension. Even if you're not into cock cages (she has a picture on the page if you don't know what that is), you'll still be able to appreciate the beauty of her writing.
As you know, I don't call out good writing on sex blogs very often. That means you should pay attention and go check it out.
Have you read a really good post lately that you'd like to share? Tell us in the comments, and don't forget to share the link.
Writing in the Real World
As most of you know, I write for a living. I used to do only one type of writing - the most stressful, tedious, boring kind that you can imagine (also the most lucrative), but I've branched out in recent years and now I'll write just about anything I can get someone to pay me for.
What a sell out. I know, right?
The only excuse I have is that I have to support my family. That's a pretty good excuse, now that I think about it.
But trust me. If I could earn a living doing nothing but writing for you guys, I would do it. This is one of the few places where I can be myself, end a sentence with a preposition (without giving a shit), and use the Oxford comma (or not), as the mood strikes me. This is the place where I can be completely honest and know that it's ok. There is no other place like PWK in my life, and no other people I respect and enjoy as much as you.
Recently, I joined a few online writing groups to see if I can make a connection with other writers in the "real world." It has been an interesting experiment. I shared a few sexual-themed poems with my poetry group and waited for feedback.
Crickets. That's all I heard. They were shocked. When the comments finally started coming, they were about the sexual content, not the structure or craft of the poem. I was a bit disappointed. I ended up revising one of them myself and submitting it to an online literary journal for publication, fully expecting it would be rejected as smut, but no! It was selected for publication and my real name will appear in the byline.
Hubby isn't too happy. "Do you have to say, 'As he entered me...'? Can't you make it less graphic?"
"Are you kidding?" I answered. "That's not graphic at all. Graphic would be something like 'I gasped and arched my back as I felt all 8 inches of his hard, hot, throbbing cock slide into my wet cunt.' But that's not very poetic, is it?"
"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I guess it's ok like it is."
Yeah, I thought so.
That is exactly what's so difficult about taking erotic writing into the mainstream. People still think of it as dirty.
I'm working on a smutty romance novel right now that has some beautiful lovemaking/sex scenes in it. In my mind, they are anything but dirty. They are beautiful, lyrical, almost poetic in the blend of love and sex that they describe. Ok, poetic may be going a bit too far, but you know what I mean, right? My non-PWK reviewers, though, see dirty smut.
One wrote, "For the oral sex scene, can't you say hardness instead of 'cock'? 'Cock' seems so crass."
"No," I answered. "A woman doesn't want to put a man's hardness in her mouth. She wants to put a hard cock in her mouth. It's a subtle, but important, distinction."
And I didn't even have to put the word cock in quotation marks, like the rest of the sentence needs to be protected from its filthiness. If you can't handle the word cock, maybe you shouldn't be reviewing my writing. I'm just sayin'. I happen to love cocks. They are nothing to be ashamed of.
(See? I ended another sentence with a proposition. Ooooo, I feel so naughty!)
In fact, I think I'll write a poem using as many words for cock as I can. I think the bucket needs more stirring.
What a sell out. I know, right?
The only excuse I have is that I have to support my family. That's a pretty good excuse, now that I think about it.
But trust me. If I could earn a living doing nothing but writing for you guys, I would do it. This is one of the few places where I can be myself, end a sentence with a preposition (without giving a shit), and use the Oxford comma (or not), as the mood strikes me. This is the place where I can be completely honest and know that it's ok. There is no other place like PWK in my life, and no other people I respect and enjoy as much as you.
Recently, I joined a few online writing groups to see if I can make a connection with other writers in the "real world." It has been an interesting experiment. I shared a few sexual-themed poems with my poetry group and waited for feedback.
Crickets. That's all I heard. They were shocked. When the comments finally started coming, they were about the sexual content, not the structure or craft of the poem. I was a bit disappointed. I ended up revising one of them myself and submitting it to an online literary journal for publication, fully expecting it would be rejected as smut, but no! It was selected for publication and my real name will appear in the byline.
Hubby isn't too happy. "Do you have to say, 'As he entered me...'? Can't you make it less graphic?"
"Are you kidding?" I answered. "That's not graphic at all. Graphic would be something like 'I gasped and arched my back as I felt all 8 inches of his hard, hot, throbbing cock slide into my wet cunt.' But that's not very poetic, is it?"
"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I guess it's ok like it is."
Yeah, I thought so.
That is exactly what's so difficult about taking erotic writing into the mainstream. People still think of it as dirty.
I'm working on a smutty romance novel right now that has some beautiful lovemaking/sex scenes in it. In my mind, they are anything but dirty. They are beautiful, lyrical, almost poetic in the blend of love and sex that they describe. Ok, poetic may be going a bit too far, but you know what I mean, right? My non-PWK reviewers, though, see dirty smut.
One wrote, "For the oral sex scene, can't you say hardness instead of 'cock'? 'Cock' seems so crass."
"No," I answered. "A woman doesn't want to put a man's hardness in her mouth. She wants to put a hard cock in her mouth. It's a subtle, but important, distinction."
And I didn't even have to put the word cock in quotation marks, like the rest of the sentence needs to be protected from its filthiness. If you can't handle the word cock, maybe you shouldn't be reviewing my writing. I'm just sayin'. I happen to love cocks. They are nothing to be ashamed of.
(See? I ended another sentence with a proposition. Ooooo, I feel so naughty!)
In fact, I think I'll write a poem using as many words for cock as I can. I think the bucket needs more stirring.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
On Being 50
I'm 50. There. I said it. I'm 50.
I turned 50 in June and the day came and went without much notice. It didn't feel like a big deal to me at all. It turns out, though, that turning 50 is a little bit like eating that potato salad at the picnic that has been sitting out in the sun for the last hour. No big deal, you think. It's only been in the sun for a little while, and look, everyone else ate some and they are just fine. So you eat it, still thinking it's ok, until later that night when your insides are telling you that something might just be a bit different than you were expecting.
It hit me one day in July at the doctor's office. The barely-weaned medical assistant was asking me the same question she has asked for the last year every time I see her. She asked for my birth date and age (because apparently, they can't figure out my age from my birth date on their own). I gave her my birthday and then I said, "50." Then it seemed like everything was going in slow motion for a moment and I heard myself saying, "Wait? Did I say 50?" Bambi looked at me, confused, and then consulted her paper. "Yes, 50. Is that right?"
My first thought was, "No! That's very wrong! When did that happen? When did I turn 50? When did I officially become middle aged?" All I said, though, was a simple, "Yes."
It hit me again a week later. I was at the doctor's office again, seeing a specialist I have been seeing for many years. Everything was going as I expected, until he was wrapping things up and he handed me a flyer and said, "We have a class coming for our older patients on tips for managing their condition." I looked at the flyer and it said "For Patients in the Twilight Years" and I pushed his hand with the flyer away and I said, "What the fuck? I saw you a month ago and you didn't think I should go to the old people classes then!" The poor guy looked very confused, and then he said, "But you're 50 now. You can go." You see, he thought of the old folks classes as a benefit, an extra goodie for which you had to qualify. My problem was my own thinking. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that class. I may even go to see if the old folks have any tricks that I don't know about.
For the most part, I really don't mind being 50. It's all of my preconceived notions about being 50 that I mind. Somewhere along the line I picked up the idea that 50 is the official line of demarcation between young and old. I don't remember anyone ever telling me that, but it's stuck in my brain nonetheless. I remember when I was 30 looking at women who were 50 and above, and that's about when I heard people start to add qualifiers to compliments, but only when the person in question was not around.
For example, 40-year-olds can just get the compliment without the qualifier --- Wow, she's pretty! She's a great dancer! She's got so much energy! Once a woman turns 50, though, the qualifier gets tacked on automatically. Wow, she's pretty for a 50-year-old! She's a great dancer for a 50-year-old! She's got so much energy for a 50-year-old! And the tone changes, too. For the 40-year-old, the compliment is just a statement of admiration, but for a 50-year-old, the tone starts to sound like, "Can you believe it!?!?"
So, I'm 50. I have to tell you, I don't feel old at all. In fact, what I feel (and this has been a trend that started 4-5 years ago) is more confident and more sexual than I've ever felt. Even into my early 40's there were some reservations I had about sex that are long gone now, like I need to make sure that he enjoys sex more than I do and I'd better not show that I like it too much or he'll think I'm a slut and If he's not doing it how I like it I'll just stay quiet because I don't want to embarrass him.
In the last decade, there has a been monumental upheaval in my life -- not all bad -- and my life of today barely resembles my life of 10 years ago. But, for the most part, I like my life (and me!) better than I did when I was 40. I have the best friends of my life and, yes, I've had some of the best sex of my life.
If this is what the 50's are like, keep 'em coming!
I turned 50 in June and the day came and went without much notice. It didn't feel like a big deal to me at all. It turns out, though, that turning 50 is a little bit like eating that potato salad at the picnic that has been sitting out in the sun for the last hour. No big deal, you think. It's only been in the sun for a little while, and look, everyone else ate some and they are just fine. So you eat it, still thinking it's ok, until later that night when your insides are telling you that something might just be a bit different than you were expecting.
It hit me one day in July at the doctor's office. The barely-weaned medical assistant was asking me the same question she has asked for the last year every time I see her. She asked for my birth date and age (because apparently, they can't figure out my age from my birth date on their own). I gave her my birthday and then I said, "50." Then it seemed like everything was going in slow motion for a moment and I heard myself saying, "Wait? Did I say 50?" Bambi looked at me, confused, and then consulted her paper. "Yes, 50. Is that right?"
My first thought was, "No! That's very wrong! When did that happen? When did I turn 50? When did I officially become middle aged?" All I said, though, was a simple, "Yes."
For the most part, I really don't mind being 50. It's all of my preconceived notions about being 50 that I mind. Somewhere along the line I picked up the idea that 50 is the official line of demarcation between young and old. I don't remember anyone ever telling me that, but it's stuck in my brain nonetheless. I remember when I was 30 looking at women who were 50 and above, and that's about when I heard people start to add qualifiers to compliments, but only when the person in question was not around.
For example, 40-year-olds can just get the compliment without the qualifier --- Wow, she's pretty! She's a great dancer! She's got so much energy! Once a woman turns 50, though, the qualifier gets tacked on automatically. Wow, she's pretty for a 50-year-old! She's a great dancer for a 50-year-old! She's got so much energy for a 50-year-old! And the tone changes, too. For the 40-year-old, the compliment is just a statement of admiration, but for a 50-year-old, the tone starts to sound like, "Can you believe it!?!?"
So, I'm 50. I have to tell you, I don't feel old at all. In fact, what I feel (and this has been a trend that started 4-5 years ago) is more confident and more sexual than I've ever felt. Even into my early 40's there were some reservations I had about sex that are long gone now, like I need to make sure that he enjoys sex more than I do and I'd better not show that I like it too much or he'll think I'm a slut and If he's not doing it how I like it I'll just stay quiet because I don't want to embarrass him.
In the last decade, there has a been monumental upheaval in my life -- not all bad -- and my life of today barely resembles my life of 10 years ago. But, for the most part, I like my life (and me!) better than I did when I was 40. I have the best friends of my life and, yes, I've had some of the best sex of my life.
If this is what the 50's are like, keep 'em coming!
Monday, September 8, 2014
An Afternoon Escape with T (Part 2 of 2)
This is Part 2. If you'd like to read Part 1 of An Afternoon Escape with T, click here.
Looking at T's face is one of my favorite things to do. I've already told you that he's ruggedly handsome, and that's true.
Forget about the shirtless Abercrombie & Fitch models who have never seen a day of hard work in their lives. They have those little ripply muscles that were made in a gym, not the real world, and those will go away when they are older, their modeling days are over and they are not paid to hang out in a gym for 4 hours a day. Their eyes are blue, but they look hollow, and you wonder if the blue is real or from colored contacts. They are a type of handsome, sure, but it's a faux-handsome. Its more like "pretty."
Now picture another guy. Let's say you meet while camping by the river. Dark hair, dark eyes. You watch him move firewood and set up camp. He takes off his shirt and he has a real man's body - strong, a little hairy (but not too much), proportioned. His skin is glistening with perspiration and he rubs a towel over his hair and face. He turns to look at you and you lose your breath for a second when he smiles. He's not a model, but a regular guy, and that makes him hotter, much more appealing to you. He reaches for a beer and you notice the muscles in his chest and arms again. They are flexing in a natural way, moving as he moves, not just sticking out like permanent artificial attachments or growths. He sits down in a camp chair to relax and stretches his legs out. You notice a few scars here and there on his tan skin as you try not to fixate on his sexy mouth, the late-afternoon stubble on his chin and cheek, or the faraway look in his eyes when he thinks you're not looking anymore. The closer and longer you look, the more you think Wow. This guy is really good looking, but it's the kind of attractiveness that you don't notice until you really stop and look. You look around at the other men nearby to check your theory and you realize you're right. This one is different. He's the kind of handsome that comes from living and working and sacrificing and taking care of other people. Nothing about that is fake. The Abercrombie boys are nothing next to this guy, even though he could easily blend in with a crowd without turning every woman's head as they pass by. Those who take a good look, though, will turn and watch him, and they'll notice all the pieces come together until a minute later they realize that they are staring at a very attractive, real man.
That's T.
I was having that realization again - that he's so attractive - when he entered me deeply and pulled all of my attention to that one and only thought. I gasped and my mouth dropped open. Not only did it feel marvelous, but it was the first time. Yes, the first time his cock had been inside me. We had thoroughly enjoyed our oral and manual fun for a long time, but this.....
I pulled my knees up toward my chest and tried to keep my eyes on his while he fucked me, but every now and then I had to close my eyes to focus on the perfect sensation of his cock inside me. He continued for quite a while, which was awesome, but then we stopped for a moment and I suggested we try it from behind.
"Can you do that?" he asked, referring to the same issue he mentioned earlier when I was kneeling on the floor. My answer was simple. "Yes." Not only did I know I could, but I knew it wouldn't hurt and I knew I was going to be feeling so good when I came from doing it that way that I wanted to hurry.
We got in position and I felt him behind me. I spread my knees a little wider to adjust my height and he slid inside me easily, deeper this time, and I leaned back against him. What followed wasn't gently and sweet. It was fast, hard fucking. It took me no time at all to come again, and I screamed, pushing back against him, trying to hold onto the pleasure that was reverberating through me while he was pounding me HARD from behind. He came soon after that, and then he collapsed next to me, covered with sweat and breathing hard.
We just lay there quietly for a bit, holding hands, catching our breath. Then we started talking about this and that. I rolled onto my side and leaned over to kiss him. This may sound silly but I never get tired of kissing that man. I could kiss him for hours. Ok, that's probably not a great idea, but I could.
I'm not sure how much time had passed while we were kissing and talking, talking and kissing, but after one of our prolonged kissing bouts he said, "I want you taste us." I knew exactly what he meant. I scooched down toward the foot of his bed and licked his cock. One little lick. Then another. Another. Then I moaned and took the whole thing in my mouth. Yes, I could taste both of us. I licked and suckled and swallowed until I felt his cock go from firm to immalleable and unyeilding. Even though he had just come 20 minutes before, I felt his hands on the back of my head, his fingers tightening around my hair, and his hips thrusting upward. I matched him, stroke for stroke, until he exploded into my mouth.
I love the groan a man makes when he comes. I really do. When I hear it, I feel victorious, like there was just a little bit of a power swap and I won. He may have thought he was in control, but that guttural groan means he wasn't in control for that moment. In that moment, he was mine. All mine.
I lingered a bit, keeping his cock in my mouth until I was certain he was finished. Then I swallowed one last time and gently licked his cock and balls until they were all cleaned up.
I scooched back up and into his arms. The rest of our time together was spent kissing and talking, and talking and kissing some more, until it was time to go.
We got cleaned up and dressed, and I would be the first to go. He was going to hang out there for a while. I picked up my purse and keys and I turned toward the door. That's when I saw my cane hanging from the chair where I had left it when I came in. I grabbed it and whispered under my breath, "Fucking stairs." T was right there next to me, and he slid his arms around me again and kissed me just like he did when I walked in the door a few hours before. We said our goodbyes and I heard the door close behind me as I walked down the hall.
With every step, I could feel the peace of our afternoon escape slipping away. By the time I was at my car, my mental To Do list had forced itself to the front and center of my mind and I knew that by the time I walked through my front door at home, the last remnants of the escape would be completely gone and I'd be inundated again with chores and demands. The family would want dinner. I'd have clients that would want their phone calls returned. The list would just keep going from there and my life wouldn't be my own again.
Then I shifted in my seat a little and remembered. T's gorgeous cock had been inside me and it was unbelievably wonderful. Then I saw his face in my mind and remembered our kisses, and it occurred to me that all of that was mine. The rest of my life couldn't take away my time with him or the way he made me feel. It was all mine.
******************************
Looking at T's face is one of my favorite things to do. I've already told you that he's ruggedly handsome, and that's true.
Forget about the shirtless Abercrombie & Fitch models who have never seen a day of hard work in their lives. They have those little ripply muscles that were made in a gym, not the real world, and those will go away when they are older, their modeling days are over and they are not paid to hang out in a gym for 4 hours a day. Their eyes are blue, but they look hollow, and you wonder if the blue is real or from colored contacts. They are a type of handsome, sure, but it's a faux-handsome. Its more like "pretty."
Now picture another guy. Let's say you meet while camping by the river. Dark hair, dark eyes. You watch him move firewood and set up camp. He takes off his shirt and he has a real man's body - strong, a little hairy (but not too much), proportioned. His skin is glistening with perspiration and he rubs a towel over his hair and face. He turns to look at you and you lose your breath for a second when he smiles. He's not a model, but a regular guy, and that makes him hotter, much more appealing to you. He reaches for a beer and you notice the muscles in his chest and arms again. They are flexing in a natural way, moving as he moves, not just sticking out like permanent artificial attachments or growths. He sits down in a camp chair to relax and stretches his legs out. You notice a few scars here and there on his tan skin as you try not to fixate on his sexy mouth, the late-afternoon stubble on his chin and cheek, or the faraway look in his eyes when he thinks you're not looking anymore. The closer and longer you look, the more you think Wow. This guy is really good looking, but it's the kind of attractiveness that you don't notice until you really stop and look. You look around at the other men nearby to check your theory and you realize you're right. This one is different. He's the kind of handsome that comes from living and working and sacrificing and taking care of other people. Nothing about that is fake. The Abercrombie boys are nothing next to this guy, even though he could easily blend in with a crowd without turning every woman's head as they pass by. Those who take a good look, though, will turn and watch him, and they'll notice all the pieces come together until a minute later they realize that they are staring at a very attractive, real man.
That's T.
I was having that realization again - that he's so attractive - when he entered me deeply and pulled all of my attention to that one and only thought. I gasped and my mouth dropped open. Not only did it feel marvelous, but it was the first time. Yes, the first time his cock had been inside me. We had thoroughly enjoyed our oral and manual fun for a long time, but this.....
I pulled my knees up toward my chest and tried to keep my eyes on his while he fucked me, but every now and then I had to close my eyes to focus on the perfect sensation of his cock inside me. He continued for quite a while, which was awesome, but then we stopped for a moment and I suggested we try it from behind.
"Can you do that?" he asked, referring to the same issue he mentioned earlier when I was kneeling on the floor. My answer was simple. "Yes." Not only did I know I could, but I knew it wouldn't hurt and I knew I was going to be feeling so good when I came from doing it that way that I wanted to hurry.
We got in position and I felt him behind me. I spread my knees a little wider to adjust my height and he slid inside me easily, deeper this time, and I leaned back against him. What followed wasn't gently and sweet. It was fast, hard fucking. It took me no time at all to come again, and I screamed, pushing back against him, trying to hold onto the pleasure that was reverberating through me while he was pounding me HARD from behind. He came soon after that, and then he collapsed next to me, covered with sweat and breathing hard.
We just lay there quietly for a bit, holding hands, catching our breath. Then we started talking about this and that. I rolled onto my side and leaned over to kiss him. This may sound silly but I never get tired of kissing that man. I could kiss him for hours. Ok, that's probably not a great idea, but I could.
I'm not sure how much time had passed while we were kissing and talking, talking and kissing, but after one of our prolonged kissing bouts he said, "I want you taste us." I knew exactly what he meant. I scooched down toward the foot of his bed and licked his cock. One little lick. Then another. Another. Then I moaned and took the whole thing in my mouth. Yes, I could taste both of us. I licked and suckled and swallowed until I felt his cock go from firm to immalleable and unyeilding. Even though he had just come 20 minutes before, I felt his hands on the back of my head, his fingers tightening around my hair, and his hips thrusting upward. I matched him, stroke for stroke, until he exploded into my mouth.
I love the groan a man makes when he comes. I really do. When I hear it, I feel victorious, like there was just a little bit of a power swap and I won. He may have thought he was in control, but that guttural groan means he wasn't in control for that moment. In that moment, he was mine. All mine.
I lingered a bit, keeping his cock in my mouth until I was certain he was finished. Then I swallowed one last time and gently licked his cock and balls until they were all cleaned up.
I scooched back up and into his arms. The rest of our time together was spent kissing and talking, and talking and kissing some more, until it was time to go.
We got cleaned up and dressed, and I would be the first to go. He was going to hang out there for a while. I picked up my purse and keys and I turned toward the door. That's when I saw my cane hanging from the chair where I had left it when I came in. I grabbed it and whispered under my breath, "Fucking stairs." T was right there next to me, and he slid his arms around me again and kissed me just like he did when I walked in the door a few hours before. We said our goodbyes and I heard the door close behind me as I walked down the hall.
With every step, I could feel the peace of our afternoon escape slipping away. By the time I was at my car, my mental To Do list had forced itself to the front and center of my mind and I knew that by the time I walked through my front door at home, the last remnants of the escape would be completely gone and I'd be inundated again with chores and demands. The family would want dinner. I'd have clients that would want their phone calls returned. The list would just keep going from there and my life wouldn't be my own again.
Then I shifted in my seat a little and remembered. T's gorgeous cock had been inside me and it was unbelievably wonderful. Then I saw his face in my mind and remembered our kisses, and it occurred to me that all of that was mine. The rest of my life couldn't take away my time with him or the way he made me feel. It was all mine.
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