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Another blogger commented recent on my post about feeling sexually deprived while still being surrounded by sexuality.  Because it was left as a public comment, I feel no compulsion to maintain the anonymity of chely5150, but it was lengthy enough that I decided to go ahead and respond publicly, as I have before.

I classify this correspondence as more misplaced rage, and I invite chely5150 to read that post, as it applies here. In summary, chely5150 suggests that Ashley’s lack of interest in sex is likely my fault. She cites her own experiences with an unfaithful husband and a lack of love and respect in their marriage as a reason for her own disinterest, and says that such could contribute to our situation. (It is worth noting that my and Ashley’s sex life has improved substantially from what it was in the roughly two years since writing the post eliciting her comment.)  Snippets and responses are as follows, and you can read the full comment on the original post.

I was, AM the wife who wants to explore and discover all things sexually together with my husband and we did, until the emotional covert emotional abuse began. After years of abuse, so perfectly concealed behind the facade of our perfect little family… I became Ashley. I no longer found that much pleasure [in the man] who adored and loved my body but NEVER could find the need to adore and love ALL OF ME!

I can certainly see how emotional abuse could make you lose sexual interest in your partner.  But let me be perfectly clear–that has never happened in our relationship.  For whatever problems Ashley and I may have had, we have never been abusive toward one another, and she has always insisted that I am the most loving, compassionate person she has ever known, and that I am an excellent care giver and provider for her.  One could arguably define my infidelities as “covert abuse”, to use your phrasing, but frankly, I wouldn’t. Sure, it’s scummy, but I would not go so far as to call cheating “abusive behavior”. (But I invite psychologists/counselors to provide evidence to the contrary.)

So, right out the gate, your experiences do not apply to us.  But let’s continue.

And I began to loathe the man who could treat everyone (pretty much) with such love and care and respect that I HATED evry thing about him.

If I understand you correctly, you’re suggesting that you hated him for loving and respecting everyone around him, but not yourself? I can also see how that might be painful. But it also strikes me as slightly selfish and demanding of you. I obviously can’t speak to your personal situation, and I have no desire to belittle or demean you, so I will simply let that comment stand as is.

And yet I loved him, I tried to leave him a couple of times but could never fully escape. After many years of depression I decided if we were going to stay together dammit I was going to make it better for us. And we did (yeah ah huh) and others thought too until the day I discovered his affair. And then weeks later when I discovered so much so- it has been excruiciating to say the least.

Ahh, and now we come to the point of this message.  Your husband cheated on you, and you see much of him in me and what I write.  Fair enough, I suppose.  Lord knows I’m a cheater.  But if I may ask, have you determined *why* your husband cheated on you?  Have you given any thought as to whether you may have done something, or a series of somethings, that might make him want to fuck someone else?  Or is it genuinely that he is simply a cheater?  Note that both are plausible, but given the resentment you display toward him, the evidence would suggest that unhappiness on his part might have caused his behavior.  Again, I don’t have the complete picture, so I can’t say definitively.  But have you considered that the fault may not lie solely with him?

They say I have PTSD, but I just go forward…..

May I encourage you to seek counseling for that?  PTSD following such an event is, to my understanding, a common reaction, and you may very well be suffering from depression.  Please, dear reader, see someone.  I suspect my close friend Hyacinth might be able to offer guidance here.

So while I fucking hate you with all my being…

I bet you’d love me if we met.

…I respect the fact that you are being honest…

Oh. Well, thanks.

…as much as one could expect honesty from a LIAR…

My, that’s awfully manic of you.

…being on the other side of those sheets and knowing but not knowing is probably the hardest thing to live with.

This is something that, again, doesn’t really apply to me.  If Ashley were to find out about my infidelities, I would own them.  Once caught, you’re done for.  Best to fess up to it and hope to salvage something from the wreckage than to pretend the boat didn’t crash.  But, in your case, you have my condolences.  Knowing but never receiving a confession is a good way to breed resentment and often prevents any sort of closure.

Maybe just maybe You had something to do with your wifes sex needs diminishing. If it went away there is a reason.

By Ashley’s own admission, her lack of sexual interest stemmed from three things: 1) experiencing physical pain from having sex with me due to my girth (which, thankfully, has resolved since we have begun fucking more regularly); 2) insecurity due to gaining weight post-marriage; and 3) a lack of sexual experience sufficient to keep up with my own interests.  She has since come out of her shell, remarkably so, and our sex life and marriage have never been better.

Who the fuck died and made you GOD? What makes you think you deserve to have your every desire fulfilled?

I never claimed to be God, or that I deserved to have my every desire fulfilled.  To suggest otherwise would imply you haven’t read all of my work.  (Not that I expect you to.  Hence, my response.)  I have long struggled with controlling my sexual urges, balancing them against my desire for a fulfilling and loving marriage.  But when you go months at a time without having sex, the ability to resist–hell, the *desire* to resist–disappears.

No man “deserves” to get laid, regardless of marital status.  A woman’s body is her own, and she gets to decide what she does with it, and when.  Period.  But, relationships are partnerships, and if one partner is not sexually fulfilled, well, don’t be surprised if he/she seeks that fulfillment elsewhere.

Maybe if YOU put as much effort into your marriage-not just sexually either, you wouldn’t have put yourself and Ashley (although unbeknown to her) into such a lose/lose marriage.

No one who knows me can accuse me of not putting effort into my marriage.  I haven’t written about it much, but Ashley and I have been to several counselors, alone and together, in pursuit of a “fixed” marriage.  We have spoken at length about it over coffee, breakfast, drinks.  We have cried together because we thought we were failing.  And we have celebrated our not-so-recent upswing.  And, from a domestic standpoint, she and I are true partners, sharing evenly the housework and financial burdens.  Not to brag, but she calls me “the perfect husband”.  (I am far from it, mind, but it makes me smile when she says it.)

Do yourself a favor decide which you want. Can’t have both little boy, don’t work like that! You should show Ashley the respect she deserves and let her choose for herself- No one gave you that privilege. It’s not right -if you love her as much as you say you do GIVE HER THAT RESPECT.

I don’t love and respect anyone enough to give them that, because I am selfish.

Please don’t let my differing opinion affect the fact that I enjoyed your writing, I find it brutally honest and appreciate knowing the thoughts of a sex addict as I am discovering that I have been married to one for a long time.

Well, I do appreciate that, though I would not classify myself as a sex addict.  I once wrote about that possibility, but I don’t think I am so deep into my compulsions to be considered a nymphomaniac.

I am in the deciding process in my marriage, is this what I want for the rest of my life? The jury is still out on that one.

I wish you the best of luck in that.  Choosing whether to continue or end a marriage is not a pleasant endeavor, and I truly hope it works out well for you, chely5150.

Pro tip: You have to take the venom out of your words and be less accusatory if you want me to refrain from responding with so much snark and sarcasm.  Though, admittedly, I use much less of both herein, maybe because I truly sympathize with what you’re experiencing.  Before I was the hopeless cheater I am today, I was cuckolded by the woman I loved, and it left a lasting impression, and I can tell you are hurting.  I don’t want to contribute to that.

Or maybe I’m just going soft in my old age.

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Well, hello there.

Forgive my absence. Very recently, I found myself suddenly faced with a series of unexpected deadlines for work, and I had to throw my focus into that. Then, I had to revise a manuscript that was accepted for publication. (Hallelujah.) Since finishing those professional tasks, I have been terribly busy these past weeks being terribly not busy–that is, I went on a vacation. Not a work vacation, wherein I have a little fun in between meetings or presentations or field work, but a true-blue, honest-to-God vacation, hiking and swimming and boating and site-seeing hundreds of miles away from what anyone would call civilization. It was refreshing, to say the least.

Then Ashley went on vacation without me for a week.

And Tina came to visit.

It is a fascinating experience, having my lover in my home when my wife is gone. For four days, Tina and I interacted as though we were a long-term couple. We cooked together, we spent time at the beach, we went out for drinks, all the while holding hands and stealing kisses and sharing quiet jokes and whispered innuendo. We slept in the same bed, woke up together, showered together. The spats and misunderstandings of the past months simply disappeared. We were best friends again, lovers in the truest sense of the word. I can’t tell you how badly I missed that.

And the sex. Holy fuck, the sex was mind-blowing. Passionate and intense, occasionally frantic, never shorter than an hour, and always at least twice a day. Tina is truly insatiable in bed.

Sadly, all good things must end. I recently said goodbye to her, and she has begun the long return trip to her home across the country. It was decidedly painful to watch her go. Neither of us managed it without a few tears.

I am now sitting alone in my home, at my computer for the first time in two weeks. Her scent still lingers in my house, and I occasionally close my eyes as I inhale, savoring the aroma and remembering the feel of her hand in mine, her lips against mine, her hair on my shoulder. I am still uncertain how I came to be in this position, being in love with two women, my wife and my lover.  It is a difficult thing to manage, but weeks like this are more than worth the effort.

So again, forgive my absence. I assure you, I have not forgotten my regular readers, and I am working on a couple of different entries that I intend to post here soon. But, I am also closing in on the end of my contract with my current institution, thus much of my attention must shift to work, both in terms of completing required manuscripts and datasets, and of finding a new position. As such, I may not be as regular a blogger as I have been recently, but I will continue to work here as time permits.

I hope all is well with you, my friends and readers.

Once again, a brown head of hair is in my lap.

She is amused that both times she’s blown me, I had to type something.

But, at least this time I’m typing from my phone.

It is much more enjoyable having my cock sucked while lying down than sitting in my office chair.

And I still wish it were you.

We step through the door to my apartment. Or rather, she steps–I get pushed.

I stumble forward, but catch myself and turn to face her. She is already pulling her shirt off. She wears no bra, her small breasts tipped by perky, chocolate brown nipples, already hardening. She has no visible tan lines, until she pushes her jeans down around her hips–the outline of a bikini bottom stands out starkly against her otherwise dark skin.

I don’t wait any longer. I step forward and wrap my arms around her, growling in the back of my throat as I kiss her. She purrs appreciatively, and I feel her dancing, trying to wiggle her jeans past her knees. She is unsuccessful. I kick my shoes off and lift my foot, hook her waistband with my toe, and push it down toward her ankles. She steps out.

She pulls her head back. “Thanks.” Very casual.

I shrug. “No problem.” Also casual.

Then I lift her by the waist, my hands on her bare ass, and carry her to my couch. She purrs again and kisses me fiercely, her tongue driving past my lips. I growl again, and bite at her tongue and lower lip. I have to watch my step out of the corner of my eye, but we make it to my couch. I turn and sit, forcing her into a sitting position in my lap.

She leans back and wraps her arms around my neck. “How much time to we have?”

“A little over an hour,” I answer. “She won’t be home until probably 10:30, and she’ll call on her way, but we should play it safe.”

She nods and leans forward, pressing her lips to mine again. She whispers against me, “I’ve never fucked a married guy before.”

I turn my face slightly, kissing at her jaw. “It’s just like fucking a single guy, just without the bullshit baggage.” I bite down on her sternomastoid, hard enough I feel the muscle pop a little under my canine. She jumps and yelps, then moans. She grinds her pelvis against me, and I suspect she’s soaked my shorts, but I don’t fucking care.

She does, though. “Why are you still wearing pants?” she asks, loudly and with a touch of annoyance.

“Because you haven’t taken them off yet,” I answer into her collar. I bite at the bone, at the tattoo there, then kiss it by way of apology.

“I can fix that,” she says simply. Without warning, she falls back, her bare chest sliding quickly down my shirt. Skilled fingers unzip and open my fly. I lift my hips, and she pulls the waistline down, freeing me. I hear her growl as she dips her head, wrapping her lips around the tip of my cock. She runs her hands up my stomach and chest, using only her mouth to lift me up. I tense my pelvic muscles, forcing my member to attention and helping her position her head, and she drops down, taking me fully into her mouth. The head of my cock practically slams into the back of her throat. She coughs a little, and pulls her head back again. She bobs quickly, rotating her chin to the left and right with each stroke.

I groan as I lean back into my couch. I take in the sensation of a skilled mouth working my shaft. I watch her movements, studying her figure for the second time. I trace her tattoos with my eyes. The reds and yellows stand out against her dark skin.

Without warning, my mind begins to wander. I shiver, and take a deep breath.

“Oh shit,” I mutter, forcing a tone of concern.

She pauses and looks up at me. “What?”

“I just realized, I forgot to send a really important document to a colleague today,” I say, glancing to my computer. “Shit, shit, shit. I have to do that right now.”

“Right now?” she asks plaintively.

“Fuck… Yeah, right now,” I answer. I look back at her. She looks terribly confused, and I catch on to why. “Oh no, I don’t want you to leave or anything. I just need about five minutes to send this. It’s really, really important.”

She is visibly relieved. “Okay, good.” She plants a kiss on the tip of my dick, then leans back and stands, stretching lithely, forcing her hips forward. Her pussy is eye-level with me, covered by a well groomed mound of dark hair. Her lips are parted invitingly, and clearly wet. I barely refrain from groaning.

“Thanks for understanding, it’ll be quick,” I say reassuringly, and stand beside her. I kick off my shorts and boxers, and pull my shirt off as I walk to my computer. I sit nude at my home office, and smirk at her. “However. You should absolutely not stop what you were doing.”

“Oh, you think so?” she answers, clearly feigning offense. I just smirk and lean back in my chair. I spread my legs and grasp my cock, giving it a few light strokes as I open my browser. I hear her step toward me, and in my periphery I can see her drop to her knees and move beneath my desk. I remove my hand, and she quickly replaces it with her own. I look at my monitor, paying as much attention as I can spare, but her mouth quickly envelopes me, and the back of her throat presses against me. I gasp.

I open WordPress, and begin to type:

For some reason, whilst receiving a blowjob, I thought of you.

UPDATE: This post was written about 1.5 hours ago. This is an open invitation to all, and I actively encourage anyone remotely interested to take part, either alone or with a partner.

If you would like to take part, I ask that you either comment here, or post on your own blog stating your intention. And, naturally, you have to confirm your participation after the specified time (or at, if you’re feeling adventuresome). A simple post on your blog will suffice. Or get creative. A link would be appreciated as well, but is not necessary.

Think of it like telecommuting for group sex.

——————————————————————————————————-

For some reason, whilst receiving a blowjob, I thought of you.

As I type this post, there is a brown head of hair in my lap, and a warm mouth wrapped around my cock.  I told her that I needed to write something for work before we fuck, but to continue what she’s doing. So, she is sitting under the desk, sucking playfully and skillfully. I must keep this short because I want little more than to be inside her.

She began blowing me, and I found myself wondering if you were doing something similar. The thought made me shiver.

I pursued that line of thought and came to this conclusion:

I want to cum when you do.

So I offer the following.

Saturday night, July 12, at 9:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, I will be fucking someone.

Care to join me?

I find it entertaining to read the search terms that people use to find me on any given day. There seem to be certain trends that stand out, and my inner academic constantly screams at me to dig more deeply into those trends. So this morning, out of curiosity, I hit the search terms “all time” summary button. The list is much too long to post here, and some of the things people search for that bring them here are genuinely disturbing (i.e., illegal). But the vast majority are amusing or simply interesting, so I feel compelled to share a few of the stand-outs here.

sexsomnia

I have an uncommon form of parasomnia often referred to casually as sexsomnia. It’s basically like sleep walking, or sleep talking, but instead of walking or talking, I fuck. This is seriously a thing. I’ve since learned that, as long as I’m fucking on a regular basis, it doesn’t happen very often, and when it does it’s usually limited these days to a little heavy petting and frottage. If it’s been a while, though…

Ashley sometimes likes to deny me sex for a few days just so I’ll fuck her with abandon in my sleep. It’s kind of sadistic, and slightly masochistic, I think, since I rarely remember anything of the event in question unless I wake up mid-coitus and am, supposedly, much more demanding when I’m asleep. (I can be woken up with a gentle push and a few words, so don’t think I’m all aggressive or anything. It’s just that my subconscious mind is a bit of a go-getter.)

“snake woman” wraps her coils around him

I get a considerable number of hits from this because of a folk story I once told to a couple of adorable little girls. I wonder, what the hell were they looking for?

beautiful sweater puppies

I am terribly fond of natural breasts. Implants just feel… strange. And they often look even stranger when the clothing is removed. I wrote a post on that subject for one MsTitty, before she went MIA. Which is a shame, because I liked her writing (and, frankly, she had an amazing chest). But I can’t blame her. After all, I pulled a similar disappearing act.

deflowering a virgin

There are so many combinations of this one–“deflower a virgin”, “deflower”,”qatar deflower”, “deflower stories”, “true deflower sex stories”, “teach me how to deflower a virgin”, and so on and so forth. It contributes the largest number of hits I get, by a long shot, because I shared a memory of having sex in a pristine forest. I hope that this search term is so common because people are trying to inform themselves as to how to help a woman have sex for the first time in as painless and enjoyable a fashion as possible… but somehow, I doubt it. My inner feminist weeps at that. (Also, I’m sure those few people who find me with “geocaching” also do so because of that post.)

cunnilingus

Ahh. My favorite bedroom activity, by far. I have written so much about this, but probably my favorite post on the subject revolved around Pretty Grad Student. (I just realized, she has no entry in my Players page. I need to fix that.)

young shaved head punks can really fuck

I really love the punk/alt-girl/suicide girl style. Aside from just looking fucking hot, I really admire anyone who can raise a mighty middle finger to modern definitions of style and beauty. That said, I once fucked a woman with a shaved head in my buddy’s bathroom. And yeah, she could really fuck.

bondage shackles story

My ex-girlfriend Kelly once surprised me with a wide assortment of bondage accoutrements before I was mentally prepared for such activities. It really didn’t go well, so I feel sorry for those people who clicked that link only to find a disappointing story.

handle him casual sex bad feelings help 2014

Someone found me yesterday using this phrase. If you’re still reading, feel free to shoot me an e-mail. Let’s chat about that.

I’d be interested to see what my regular readers have in their search terms, so I invite anyone who reads this to do this. If you do so, let me know so I can read them. I’m no sociologist, but I think this is some fascinating stuff!

So, let’s examine the other side of the coin from my last post.

It’s no secret to Tina that my sex life with Ashley has historically been less than satisfying.  In fact, the details of our sexual relationship were one of the first things Tina and I discussed after finally admitting our shared interest in each other: the rarity with which I fuck my wife, her general lack of interest in sexual exploration, and so on.  Tina couldn’t fathom how Ashley could feel that way around me, because she had wanted me for years.  (I can be quite oblivious at times.)  So, she offered to help me relieve some of that tension.  Fast forward to a cold winter’s day reunion, when Tina and I fucked like there was nothing else in the world that mattered.  Our affair was born out of mutual respect, physical attraction, and an acknowledgement that neither of us were even close to living the sexual lifestyle we truly wanted.

When Tina started fucking her new lover, they established that they would tell each other any time they had sex with another person.  This affects him more than her, as he frequently fucks new and random people, and she wants to make informed decisions about her sexual health.  This is an entirely pragmatic arrangement in my mind, and she and I agreed we would be similarly open with one another.  It’s not been much of an issue because I haven’t had any new sexual partners in a while–just her, and Ashley–and she has only slept with him while she’s been away from me.  I understand that she sleeps with him on a regular basis, and I don’t expect her to tell me every time they fuck, but I do expect her to tell me if he sleeps with someone else because I, too, want to be informed about the risks to my sexual health as much as possible.

That’s our arrangement, in a nutshell.  We tell each other if we fuck someone else, share anything that could change our exposure to risk of STIs, and understand that we could be fucking our significant others at any time.

At least, I thought that’s what it was.

It came as a real surprise to me when Ashley suddenly became more sexually active.  For the longest time, literally years, she wasn’t at all interested in sex, and we would go weeks, if not months, at a time without being intimate.  Hence the topic of this blog.  Neither she nor I know what flipped the switch for her, but we now fuck much more regularly than we once did, and she has begun exploring new fantasies and activities with me, including BDSM, pornography, mutual masturbation, female dominance, and other fun and exciting things.  (This is likely the reason I haven’t had any new sexual partners in a long while.  I just haven’t needed them!)  I didn’t share this with Tina because I don’t ask her for similar details of her sexual escapades, and my understanding, as stated above, was that we know the other could be fucking their local partner at any time.

Boy, was that a mistake on my part.

Tina recently asked me who all I had fucked this year.  My answer: just her, and Ashley.  The anger and resentment that followed was truly astounding.

How could you possibly think I wouldn’t want to know if you had sex with Ashley.

What if my lover didn’t tell me he slept with someone else, you would be livid.

I can’t believe you would be so dishonest with me.

I reminded her that I don’t expect her to tell me when she fucks her other lover, and I assumed she felt similarly.  She argued that it was different because she shares a house with him, and she fucks him so regularly it just makes sense that she probably fucked him on any given day.  I countered with, I live in the same house with my wife, and married people fuck sometimes, which I took as a given.  She responded with a bitter comment about the “sanctity of marriage”.

Point is, it was a very, very unpleasant exchange.  She and I are still recovering from the events of that day.  It was a bit of a turning point for us, frankly, and our relationship hasn’t been the same since.  There is an underlying hostility and resentment in her words at times, roiling just under the surface, that she acknowledges because she “is slow to forgive, and never forgets”.  (Her words.)

I wonder, who is at fault here?  Was it unfair of me to assume that we had a mutual understanding?  Or was her response an overreaction to the obvious realities of being in a clandestine relationship?  Admittedly, I could have told her that my sex life with Ashley had been improving, but it seems perfectly reasonable to me that two people in a relationship will occasionally have sex.  I would have told her if I fucked a new person, or if Ashley had fucked someone else and thus exposed me to a new risk (not that that would ever happen, Ashley is depressingly monogamous)… but fucking Ashley is nothing new to me, and doesn’t change my risk exposure.  So I never shared it, because I often didn’t think to, and when I did, I simply didn’t want to chance hurting Tina.

Or, is assigning fault a useless exercise?  Emotions rarely adhere to strict reasonable guidelines.  Tina freely admits that she loves how receptive I am to her being promiscuous, and simultaneously admits that, though she wants me to have that freedom as well, she would probably be terribly hurt by me sleeping with someone else, because she wants me to be hers and hers alone.  So it is entirely plausible that her reaction was born from that jealousy, and thus assigning blame is simply a juvenile response to a natural human inclination.

Really, what it makes me wonder is whether Tina and I are truly compatible.  She is a phenomenal lover, and sex with her is arguably the best I have ever experienced.  She is a gifted professional and a remarkable woman, and I care much more deeply for her than I should.  I wonder whether that depth of feeling and our inability to act on it, and the exposure and vulnerability it brings to our emotional lives, makes us hypersensitive to things that would normally not bother us were we to be together regularly and in a committed fashion.  I’ve no way of knowing, obviously, and there are so many questions and unknowns that I can’t shake this sense of unease I’ve felt for so many weeks.

Perhaps I should just let it go, let the relationship end, but the thought of not having her in my life is extraordinarily painful.  So ever onward do I trudge through discontent and melodrama.

Perhaps I just need a vacation.

I recently chatted with an acquaintance I met through this site. Maybe not acquaintance–friend now? I’m not sure yet, and I hate assigning labels to developing relationships, but if you read this post, friend-quaintance, I think you’re just the best.

Man, I get side-tracked easily. Gotta work on that.

Anyhow. Said friend-quaintance commented that they admire my self-awareness and honesty. Though flattered, those are two qualities that I would never expect anyone to apply to me. I certainly make every effort at introspection, the better to understand myself and my interactions with the people around me, but I wouldn’t say I’ve been particularly good at it. And those times that I successfully nailed down whatever thing was stewing about in the back of my mind, I probably didn’t actually do anything about it because I am primarily driven by three desires. They are, in no particular order: 1) to learn and understand everything, 2) to avoid conflict at most any cost, and 3) to fuck as often and passionately as possible.

That last one is a real doozy, and doesn’t really mesh with the second one. Most people I have ever known don’t have my libido. My current lover, Tina, certainly does, and on our business trip we fucked every afternoon and evening, at least once, usually twice or three times, and would have gone for a fourth round if we hadn’t had to be up early for work.

What can I say, I have a really short refractory period. Multiple orgasms isn’t possible (*sigh*), but four times a day isn’t too difficult for me.

But that’s why she’s my lover. Most people don’t seem to be like that. So, when Desire Number Three kicks in, if my wife can not or will not satisfy the urge, and my lover is not available, then I have to find it someplace else.

…well, “have to” is strong phrasing. It’s not as though it’s a necessity. But I’m sure we can all agree that the need to fuck is a powerful motivator. Sadly, the other people in my life would certainly not take well to my promiscuous endeavors, and so I am driven to craft elaborate and entirely believable lies and scenarios that permit me to engage in my infidelities without upsetting Desire Number Two.

But, I sometimes wonder what it would be like, not to be dishonest. Not that I think I would be any good at true openness and transparency, mind you. Deception is too much a part of who I am at this point. But if I were to do that… what would it even look like? What would it take? I am only ever truly honest on this site, because this is about as safe and accepting a place as exists for me to share the things I think about and struggle with. I can’t really imagine what an honest relationship would be, because I’ve never seen or experienced one. I’m not sure they exist. Like a really communicative sasquatch.

I can say, however, that if I were to really try at that kind of honesty, it would only be for a woman who was every bit as sexual as I am. She would have to be able to read this blog and not be terrified. She would be accepting of how much I struggle with these things, and rather than judge me for them, she would experience them with me. She would share my sexually debauched lifestyle in every way. Swing by my office for a quickie over lunch. Bring home a random man or woman she met at a bar, and let me watch them fuck her. Wake me in the morning by straddling my face. Plan a weekend involving a premium hotel suite, pizza (because room service is for chumps), four bottles of wine, and an arsenal of new dildos, vibrators, masturbators, restraints, and lingerie.

Hmm. That last one sounds a bit pedestrian when you say it that way. But you lock me in a hotel room with my dream woman for 60 hours and there is no telling what will happen. They’d probably have to burn that bed.

It’s likely such a woman exists, somewhere, but sadly I’ve never met her. If I did, I imagine I would be willing to communicate anything and everything she wanted for another chance to ride that particular unicorn.

Or sasquatch, if I want to continue that metaphor. But “riding the sasquatch” sounds incredibly dirty.

Tina comes close. Probably closer than any woman I have ever been with. But she has her reservations as well, and is not nearly the go-getter I am when it comes to sex. She’s also not a morning person, so straddling my face first thing when she wakes up probably will never happen.

Which is a goddamned shame, because fuck waking up to the smell of coffee, I want to wake up to the smell and taste of a woman. Hence my previous post.

Though coffee is a close second.

My pillow shifts under my head. I grumble a little.

I feel your skin against my cheek. Have you moved your arm? I’m too tired to look.

There is sudden weight against my neck. I feel closed in by your warmth, and your smell. Soap from last night’s shower, mixed with the aroma of my cum and your juices. I know that smell so well.

Smooth flesh against my cheek and lips, gliding to and fro, leaves a cool, moist sensation on my skin. I open my eyes and see you in the dim morning light. You have mounted me, your knees on either side of my head, on my pillow. You are leaning forward, your hands on the wall. You wear only the camisole you wore to bed the night before. Your breasts hang heavily against the snug material. Your nipples are hard, excited, and you look at me wantonly. You rock your hips, your pussy against my lips and chin, dripping with anticipation.

“Put your tongue in me.”

I place my hands on your ass and pull you closer to my face. You shiver as my lips part. My breath is warm on your wetness, and my tongue moves sleepily across you. I tease you open with slow, measured laps. I tilt my chin up and slip my tongue past your lips, through you, as deeply into your center as I can manage. I tease your ass with my index and middle finger, never penetrating because you didn’t ask for it, but touching, massaging, while I pump my tongue into you. The taste of my cum in you lingers from the night before, and it is intoxicating.

You moan and whimper, and I watch you fall forward more, leaning on one elbow against the wall. You pull the top of your camisole down, exposing yourself to me. You squeeze your breast, tease your nipples, because you know I love watching you pleasure yourself. One hand moves to my head, holding me steady, and you begin to grind against me. I feel your swollen clit against my lip, and my tongue responds eagerly, pushing harder and faster into you. You moan into the silence of the room. I feel you tighten against me, see your stomach flex, hear your breath catch. And you fill my mouth, cover my face and neck, soak my pillow. I swallow all I can, and I dare not move my mouth away from you for a moment. Not until your hips slow, and you spasm gently, adorably.

You whisper my name, and I respond by nipping playfully at your swollen labia. You dismount, and slide down to lie against me. You kiss my cheek, and lick your juices from my lips. Your body presses against me, your arm draped over my stomach, your leg across my erection protectively.

As we drift back to sleep, surrounded by the smell of your sex, I promise myself I will not shower today, but will wear you proudly as my cologne.

If you’ve been reading this memory series in its entirety, you might think this was a very short encounter. Let me assure you, it wasn’t. But words can’t adequately relay the passage of time. Oh sure, I could say, “And we did that for about 20 minutes,” but where’s the joy in writing something like that?  (Though Hank is definitely a short-game lover.)

All things considered, from the moment Kelly gave me the toy to the time Hank left the room, it was about an hour and a half of non-stop shenanigans. There were more positions and activities than I describe here, and Kelly and I continued alone for several hours thereafter. But that’s not the point of the story, and it’s not what I took away from the experience. It was the first threesome I really remember having (the second in reality, but I don’t recall many details of the first), and that’s what I want the writing to stress. So I am cutting off the story early because the rest was just more of the same. Exciting at the time, and in memory, but not necessarily fun to write.

And now, the thrilling conclusion. (Thrilling might be a strong word, but if you say it in that 30s pulp radio tone, it’s catchy.)

—————————————————————————————————————-

The tone of Kelly’s voice, equal parts demanding and beseeching, sends a shiver up my spine. But I maintain my composure as best I can. I approach the bed, and as I do, she shifts her body, rotating on her lower back, her legs locked around Hank’s waist to force him to move with her without removing himself from her. He doesn’t make the shuffle easy, as he insists on continuing to thrust into her, but she gradually completes the movement. Her head hangs over the edge of the bed, and she tilts it back, exposing her throat and smiling at me, upside-down.

I step forward, still lightly stroking myself, and Kelly grasps my hips and guides me where she wants me to stand. I can’t see her face through my hand and shaft, save for her chin, but I feel the warmth of her tongue and breath on my sack. I can’t suppress the gasp. This isn’t something she normally does, and I wholeheartedly approve. The slightly rough, wet sensation glides across my flesh only for a moment before Kelly reaches up, moves my hand aside, and grasps me by the base of my shaft. She pushes my hips back and guides me down, into her open, inviting mouth. We groan simultaneously, me because she has a truly gifted tongue, and her because she enjoys fellatio as much as sex. I feel her tongue against the head of my cock. She alternates between circles and gentle flicks against the tip, and the underside of her tongue is remarkably smooth. It’s an entirely new sensation to me.

But I relish it only for a moment before Hank resumes his jack rabbit routine. This time he falls to lie atop her, ruining my view of their penetration. He takes her nipple in his mouth, and sucks on it noisily, almost hungrily. I find it utterly distasteful, again, and lacking in any kind of civility, and despite the pleasurable sensations I can’t help but be put off by his style. (Sure, there is a time and place for that kind of vigorous fucking, but when it’s the only tool in your belt, it makes you kind of a boring partner.) On the plus side, with each thrust Kelly’s body rocks toward me, effectively causing her to bob her head and run her mouth along my shaft. She treats it as such, sucking me as if she wanted nothing more than that. She moans each time he pushes into her, the sound muted by my cock, and I run my thumb along her jawline. She grasps my hand suddenly, squeezing tightly and turning her head to remove me from her mouth.

“Jesus I’m gonna cum again!” she cries out loudly into the room, eliciting a groan from Hank. I squeeze her hand back and say, “Do it, honey. Come on his cock for me.”

That does it for her. She gasps at the words, and as I finish the words she bucks and tightens her abs, pulling her torso up and off the bed. She cries out again, and she doesn’t need to say it for me to know this orgasm is harder than the first was. Hank cries out as well, and I know how hard the contractions must be around him, because I experience it regularly. But he can’t cope. He suddenly pulls back and away from her. I watch him grab his shaft and stroke frantically, releasing several long ropes of cum across her stomach, her breasts, her cheek…

…and my thigh, and my groin, just above the base of my shaft. I jump a little, but not far. It was unexpected, but… not entirely unpleasant. I suppress the urge to taste it, but only just.

Hank laughs and points at my leg. “Oh man… I don’t normally shoot that far. My bad, bro.”

I shrug. “It’s okay. I know someone who will help.” Kelly released my hand as her orgasm subsided, and I stroke her cheek again. She breathes heavily, almost panting, but she rolls onto her side and look at my groin. She stifles a laugh, but snorts through her nose. “I can definitely help with that,” she says sweetly, and runs her tongue heavily up my leg, cleaning Hank’s cum off my thigh. The second rope has begun to run down my groin, across my shaft, and she cleans there as well, diligently licking every trace of him off of me.

I lean down and kiss her, and I taste him on her. Salty, much more so than I expected, and aromatic. Definitely different from my own flavor. It might be distasteful if I weren’t so turned on. Instead I groan against her lips and slip my tongue into her mouth, tasting more of the salty flavor, and strangely, unexpectedly, loving it.

Hank laughs again and falls onto the bed beside Kelly. “Man, you two are fucking freaky.”

Kelly breaks away and scoops some of his deposit from her stomach with two fingers. She rubs it gently on the head of my cock, and just as gently removes it with her tongue. I shiver.

“No we’re not,” she answers. “We just don’t limit ourselves.”

“Never,” I almost whisper. She smiles at me again, and delicately kisses the tip of my cock.