|Saturday, April 10th, 2004|
5:58 pm - Unfinished poem.
Why don’t I help you off with that? |
Are you comfortable?
You look nice tonight.
Your hair smells good.
I love your neck.
May I touch...oh...so soft.
Do you like....
Does it feel good when I do this?
How about this?
You’re breathing heavier.
Does it...oh yes...oh yes...no, wait...let me...may I do this?
Nice guys finish in the middle, and you haven’t finished yet. You first, then me.
Let me kiss your breasts.
Slide your leg over. Let me get my hand...yes.
I like cotton, especially when it’s damp.
You’re beginning to shake.
There’s something about kissing a belly.
It’s soft and responds well, but...
It’s the potential of the moment.
I’m between your thighs
Your fur rubbing against my chest
And I can smell you.
Do I continue down?
You’d like that, I know.
But I’m rampant and quivering and straining against my jeans.
Should I take them off and thrust myself in?
Or should I please you before being pleased?
It’s easier if I’m on my knees.
Let me pull that off.
I love how you smell.
I love how you look.
I know, I know...”Shut up and lick.”
I never understood the men who won’t do this.
My tongue inside you. The way you taste.
The way your legs clench against my ears
The way you thrust your groin against my face.
Your little gasps. Your moans.
Your hands clenched, balling up the bedsheet.
I like this better than fucking.
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|Saturday, November 9th, 2002|
6:18 pm - Random
Ah, the lazy Saturday afternoon. Wife is out with a friend, and I'm not in the mood to do anything creative, so I thought I'd add a little to my journal. (I intend to add as the whim seizes me and when I have the time to do so. But I do intend to keep adding to it. I hate these journals that start out promisingly and then go nowhere. |
Made love to Wife once this week. I think I surprised her. We went to bed after 11, when we're both usually too tired to do anything. But I started stroking her hip and thigh and nuzzling her neck, and after some mild protests on her part she began to reciprocate.
It turned out well, at least for her. We both lay on our left side, her back to mine, and her butt was pressed against my crotch. I rubbed her vagina (somehow "pussy" just sounds too...I don't know...declasse'. I think I'll use "cat" instead), giving her the slow treatment I know she loves. (She's sensitive, so I never even go so far as to slip a finger in, since that is uncomfortable for her. Even my tongue is too much.) She came relatively quickly, and it was a good orgasm, longer than usual for her and making her grunt louder. I usually prefer to see her face when she comes, but listening to her climax wasn't bad.
And then it was my turn. No oral sex for me (Wife doesn't swallow anyhow), and I only was able to come by fantasizing about a friend. I have to do that a lot, I'm afraid.
As usually happens after sex with my wife, I think about other women I've slept with. Often I think about...well, let's call her Crazy And Not In A Good Way (CANIAGW).
CANIAGW was...perhaps the most impressively self-deluded woman I've ever known. She was loud, she was abrasive, her laugh was piercing, she talked endlessly (one nickname for her was "Jabberwocky"), she was flippantly nasty to people, she was opinionated and judgmental about issues in which she was poorly informed, she unconsciously pushed other people's buttons, and she had absolutely no idea of any of the preceding, or of the fact that the people she thought were her friends really didn't think much of her. Even the kindest said that a little CANIAGW went a long way.
And I went out with her for about eight months.
It wasn't exactly dating. But we were sleeping together, we met each other's parents, and we did things together. There's not really a name for it, since we were more exclusive than friends-with-benefits. So dating it was, I guess.
Why did I go out with her? I was lonely. It had been a long time between women for me, and like many another lonely, desperate man I settled for a bad woman rather than no woman. I felt sorry for her, too; deep down beneath her bluster and bad personality traits there was a good person, and sometimes I caught a glimpse of her.
(I'm probably doing her a great injustice with the preceding. She could be good company. She could be funny. She was intelligent. She just let her negative qualities show far too often.)
(And, hell, I should be honest. I went out with her because she was physically attractive, too. Short brown hair--I've always been a sucker for women with short hair--decent-sized breasts, a cute little tummy, and thighs and butt that were average-sized. Great pouty lips, a very Eastern-European-Jewish face, and a great smile.)
And she was really good in the sack. The best I've ever had, actually, and even with her flaws I still wish (only occasionally) I was still with her.
Sex with CANIAGW was good because she enjoyed it. She got into it. The other women I've slept with have enjoyed the act of sex, but CANIAGW enjoyed the anticipation, the foreplay, the talking. My other bedmates have been satisfied after sex. CANIAGW had way about her, the metaphoric glint in her eye, that let you know that she'd enjoy sex. It's the difference between looking at a fuzzy peach, and looking at a fuzzy peach in which a tiny rent has been torn and from which a drop of peach juice is oozing. The former will probably be good. The latter you know will be good.
CANIAGW taught me a lot, actually. She taught me about oral sex, for one. CANIAGW was the first to ever go down on me. She didn't want to swallow; whenever the subject came up she'd always riff off of the classic audience heckle to Rocky Horror Picture Show, "What's your favorite high protein drink?" CANIAGW, in discussing swallowing, would always say, "It's not my favorite high protein drink." Yes, amusing enough the first time, but after the twentieth or thirtieth time hearing it I wanted to tell her to get a new line. But CANIAGW would lick and suck me if I wore a condom, which wasn't quite as good as bareback fellatio, but it did let me come in her mouth and let her not have to taste or swallow it. (A win-win scenario, obviously)
CANIAGW's skill at fellatio was, in retrospect, good but not great. She did well at tonguing and sucking on the head of my penis, but she didn't really lick the shaft or kiss my balls or rub my erection between her breasts or do any of the other things that separates a good blow job from a great one.
Ha. I sound like I know what I'm talking about! None of the women who've ever given me oral sex have done any of that. But I've read enough accounts of fellatio to know that some women do that, and I think it would make the whole experience more enticing for me.
But then, as Terry Pratchett once said of one of his witch characters, I pretend to be a gourmet but will usually be happy with meat-and-potatoes. Any blow job is a good blow job. Even the bad ones are good ones. It's like pizza.
So CANIAGW taught me about oral sex. Giving and receiving. She'd had the misfortune to contract vaginal warts from a former bedmate, so unprotected sex with her was out. And I wouldn't know a dental dam if it marched through my office waving a flag that read, "Look at me, I'm a dental dam, use me to lick vaginas with!" (Can't have too many Blackadder references in one life.) But I've seen Annie Sprinkle and know that when dental dams aren't handy, make use of Saran Wrap. (I hope that the makers of Saran Wrap won't punish me the way Bardex did to some other bloggers; see http://www.erosblog.com/ for details)
So protected sex it was, just my tongue, Saran Wrap, and CANIAGW's cat. I was a rookie when I started, but enthusiastic. (I'd read Cynthia Heimel's Sex Tips For Girls at a young age and knew that men who willingly go down are valued by women.) And I'll always be grateful that CANIAGW put up with my initial fumbling attempts (I somehow never understood, before oral sex, just where the clitoris was) to gratify her orally and was willing to give me directions.
So I learned the tricks: tease with your fingers. Stroke the outline of the vaginal triangle. Gently rub the lips. Lightly blow on them, and lightly exhale on them from your nose. Build up the anticipation by paying attention to other body parts. Gently nuzzle the vagina with your nose and lips. Use your tongue around the entrance of her vagina. Wait until she's ready, and excited, before moving your tongue in. Don't go stampeding for the clitoris, in John Cleese's words. Slowly work your way up to the clitoris, and for God's sake don't press down hard on it. When she clenches her thighs around her head and clutches your hair hard, she's coming. When she relaxes or goes limp, you can stop.
She was a good teacher, was CANIAGW. And she'd give as often as she'd receive. Which, of course, was nice.
I also learned about spontaneity and sex. Well...maybe that's not what I learned from this incident. I'm not sure what to call it. You tell me.
We were half bickering, half teasing each other. (All too often with her the latter became the former. She uttery lacked a sense of humor about herself) She said...I no longer remember what, but something that crossed the line, albeit in a funny way. I was half-turned away from her when she said that, and I whirled around and picked her up and slung her over my shoulder, intending to throw her on her bed.
(God. Looking at what I just wrote, I realize how awful it might sound. Look, folks, it wasn't physical abuse. It was me being playful in a physical way. Don't flame me.)
She squealed, "Put me down," so I did, and when I did I noticed a Look in her face. I proceeded to quickly back her against a wall, and kissed her. She responded and kissed me back--hard. It caught me by surprise, since, being the pale liberal bourgeoise type that I am, I never associated physical roughness with sexual attractiveness. Or, rather, I never imagined that a woman might find it arousing to be physically manhandled. (I was young.)
CANIAGW changed my mind on that one. She explained later that there was a look in my eye when I whirled around to pick her up, and that look did it for her.
We started grinding into each other against the wall, me fully erect and her getting increasingly turned on. I should have gotten the condom, picked her up, wrapped her legs around me, and thrust into her right there, but stupid me wanted to do it horizontally, on the bed. It turned out to be good sex, but those 15-30 seconds against the wall, we were both really turned on, and the orgasms would have been shattering.
CANIAGW also taught me about the differences in female orgasms. I had more sex with CANIAGW than with all the other women before her put together, and we were having regular sex, so I finally began to understand how there can be big orgasms and little orgasms and ones in between. And sometimes there can be...something even better.
We were fucking once, during a good period in our relationship. We'd had a good night out, we didn't have to be anywhere the next morning, and we were in good moods. I was flat on my back, she was straddling me, and I was thrusting into her and caressing her face and breasts and reaching up to kiss her neck, and her rocking back on to me came quicker, and I could feel and see her starting to come, and then her face got this strange, shocked expression, and she closed her eyes and made a peculiar, surprised grunting sound and her body seemed to convulse and shudder. I kept thrusting, of course, but I watched her, since I thought she was coming but wasn't completely sure.
After about a minute of that, and just as I came, she collapsed on me. Literally collapsed. Her arms and legs gave out and she fell on top of me, panting hard, her body totally covered with sweat. She eventually rolled off of me and stammed, "That...that's never happened to me before."
I had to go and ruin it, of course, by smirking rather than saying something tender and sweet. (Again, I was young and in many ways inexperienced) I never managed to give her an über-orgasm like that again, though not for lack of trying. It was just one of those happy occurrences.
And CANIAGW taught me about seduction, in the negative sense. Early in the relationship we were driving to her parents' house, and we were caught in a sudden and unexpected snowstorm. Night fell as we struggled through zero-visibility conditions, and I finally decided that we'd best crash at a hotel for the night. We hadn't planned to, but we weren't going anywhere in that weather. So I pulled off the highway and found us a bed-and-breakfast.
We had dinner and retired to our room. In our room, sitting on the couch watching tv, I started to kiss her, and she kissed me back, half-reluctantly. At this point in the relationship we weren't sleeping together. We hadn't even gotten to the fondling-the-genitalia part. Touching her breasts was as far as I'd gotten.
So after a few kisses I slipped my hand up her shirt and started fondling her breasts. And I discovered that her nipples were completely erect.
She amusedly asked me what I was doing. I don't remember what I said, but she made it clear that while her nipples were saying, "Yes, touch me," they didn't speak for the rest of her body.
In retrospect, I should have taken it -much- more slowly. I should have gone with a lot more foreplay, a lot more kissing, and not even tried to touch her breasts for a long time. Had I done that, had I tried to seduce her, well, we could have been having hot monkey sex while the winds whistled and the snow blew outside our room.
But instead I have a regret. One of many. Sometimes it seems like my whole life is made up of regrets, most of them about women. With CANIAGW I regret how the relationship ended. (Not the relationship itself, despite what I tell Wife. It may not have been a healthy relationship, but there was some affection there, and for the most part we both got out of it what we wanted) She trusted me to do something for her, and I (under a lot of pressure and with a huge project to complete) lied and told her I'd done it. Stupid. She and I had no future together, if only because, sooner or later, I couldn't take her gibes and would've said something that would've caused a fight, but I had no wish to hurt her, and that's what I did.
I regret that. Of course, CANIAGW, hurt, tried to hurt me back. (Understandably) She was nasty about me to our mutual friends, she was overtly cold to me during parties we were both at, and in general she carried on a bad-mouthing campaign about me for a long time--three months? Four?
I got pissed off, after a while, but I always remembered that I deserved it, for one, and that she was wretched enough as she was (and she was; deep down, she was very unhappy, because she glimpsed the negative effects she had on others. But that was a truth her conscious mind couldn't accept, and so she didn't confront it), and so I should just not respond.
And that was CANIAGW. I don't really miss her, but I miss sex with her, the heat she brought to it. Wife...I think, for her, there's always the feeling that someone's watching her, and she can't ever really abandon herself into the moment. CANIAGW didn't have that problem.
In conclusion, I leave you with The Reverse Cowgirl's Blog: http://blogs.salon.com/0001437/
current mood: reminiscing
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|Friday, November 1st, 2002|
5:12 pm - Starting.
So why am I doing this? |
Because the dissonance within me is finally too great to deal with. I'm around attractive women all day. Some of them know me, and those who do see me as a "nice guy," someone who would never cheat on his wife.
And yet that's what I long to do. It's not that I don't love my wife. I do. She's wonderful. But I don't lust for her. The sex with her is strictly ordinary, satisfying enough but lacking any heat. And there's only so much of that I can take before I start looking elsewhere.
I don't know how other men do it. How do they reconcile themselves to a monogamous life? The culture is saturated with sex, and men are socialized to want it any time, all the time. And this is really the Golden Age of Pornography, with free porn available at a moment's notice from the Internet or video stores. It's pounded into our minds and psyches.
And for someone like me, who's been masturbating twice a day since he was twelve, it's simultaneously freeing and frustrating.
Because, y'know, the truth is that the more you masturbate the more you want to have sex. (You come, your sperm count goes down. When your sperm count goes down, your body produces more testosterone to compensate for the lowered sperm count. The more testosterone your body produces, the hornier you are. So masturbating just makes you want to have more sex.) And while I have a quiet little corner office that enables me to masturbate in privacy at work, the truth is that it's no longer enough. I gotta get some from someone other than my wife.
And that's a problem. I've never had game. Not when it comes to picking up when. I'm a little bit overweight and of strictly plain looks, and while I'm a good person to know, once you get to know me and once I relax around someone, that takes a while, and for the sort of random hook-up I'm interested in I'm uniquely unsuited. I'm good in bed, of course, my oral skills praised by former girlfriends (I even got the "best I ever had" compliment from a particularly straight-shooting woman who wouldn't have lied if there was a knife at her throat), but every guy says that, and using that as part of your pick-up pitch will, I'm positively, only lead to failure.
So what to do?
I wish I knew. For now, it's online porn, and lots of it. And fantasizing about my coworkers, and the public we help.
I leave you with this: http://www.livejournal.com/users/oral_fixation/
I wish I could meet these girls. I wish they'd be interested in me.
current mood: horny
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