Monday, January 29, 2007
I love hospitals. I hate dying.
People are born, they die, they smell funny (both people and hospitals) and they are filled with people who are trying to help. My father-in-law is in the hospital right now, perhaps for the last time. He might come home, he might not, but either way, I have to say that the people who are caring for him are great. My mother-in-law found a terrific woman who helps around the house, supplements my Father-in-Law’s care, and is just a godsend to her.
As his condition has worsened, we’ve seen the people around him, both friends and family, have revealed their best and worst sides. But I’m not sure I can blame them when they are poorly, because that is a purely subjective judgment.
Is Tommy being selfish for going to the beach this weekend when his dad is in the hospital? Are Robert and his wife to blame when, after only 4 weeks or care, they claim to be “exhausted” and “at wits end”? They act like they’ve been on death watch in the intensive care unit for weeks instead of just having to run a few extra errands and take mom to the hospital a couple of times. Pulease… Grow up.
My wife is the oldest in the family and she has spent HOURS on the phone researching Medicare options, hospice care, talking to attorneys, do0ing the paperwork-of-death, do not resuscitate orders, medical directives, powers of attorney
Dying is a lot of work. There are papers, packing, plans, worry, guilt, fear, and a million emotions that conflict. I don’t know how to get past all of the clichés but as I’ve watched the family, I’ve realized that most of death is just a hassle.
If we are lucky, we all get old. If we get old, we get sick, and when we get sick, we need help. Help that our spouses won’t be able to give, help that our children may not be able to give, or worse, may not be willing to give. We lose control of so many things, our bowels, our breathing, our finances, our future. Government help is offered, but they take away your house when you die, leaving your spouse penniless and frequently homeless. You lose control of your care as others decide if you get sent to the hospital or if you stay at home You lose your spouse as they frequently descend into ill health themselves as they succumb to stress, worry, sleepless nights, bad hospital food, and the ravages of age along with you. You lose your children as they begin to fight amongst themselves over care and how to pay for it, over who gets to drive the 30 miles to the hospital after a long day’s work. You will see them debate the wisdom of feeding tubes, “heroic measures” and if it is wiser to let you die sooner so that your spouse doesn’t run out of money before it’s her turn to go.
You lose your dignity, death by a thousand cuts. You start to drool, you twitch, and you cough and don’t know enough to feel the snot running down your nose. You smell because taking a shower on a wet tile floor is too risky and the local pharmacy store wants to charge you $125 dollars for what is basically a metal lawn chair with “no slip” grips. You can’t walk fast enough to make it to the bathroom so you make the choice to pee in the street, praying through the tears of humiliation that no one besides your family can see you hobbling over to the bushes. Eventually you just lie in a hospital bed, dependant on an over-worked nurse to come and check your diaper and clean you up.
Dying is a pain. You discover just how your kids feel about you. Do they chip in to help around the house or do they find reasons to be away, to work late, or to work on their second homes in the mountains? You discover your children’s fears. Are they confident in their faith in an afterlife? Do they envision a heaven of peace and rest of judgment and sorrow? Do they believe in God at all? Do they say goodbye each day with more finality, trying to avoid the guilt of missing the last goodbye. Do they bring gifts of time, staying at your side with the photo album, trying to rekindle old memories, trying to Father-in-Law your days with happy thoughts, even though your mind no longer connects the faces to names to voices or even to the hand that holds yours so tightly when you say goodnight.
If you are lucky enough to have money at the end, you will be cursed to see your kids fight over it, sometimes to the price of losing the family itself. Years ago, when my Father-in-Law’s mother died, long before I came into the family, the brothers tore the family apart over what to do with the house. I’ve seen the house. It’s a little two-bedroom starter home that should have been condemned the day it was built. Now it’s a little better than a death trap, but not bad enough to incur the wrath of the city that should order it to be torn down. The structure is so bad that they don’t even dare go upstairs, they are rightfully afraid that the whole house might just decide to collapse one day. If I were their neighbor, I would take the family out to dinner and have three 12-year-old girls come by and push the house over. But still they fight over the house and hold a grudge. They fight over a piece of crap housing that should be burnt with the next available match.
The more money, the bigger, deeper, and longer the fight. Every kid has a claim more pathetic than the last. Grandkids need college funds, kids have mortgages, 2nd wives need a new set of boobs and one of the nephews, inevitably, needs bail money. So who gets it? Who gets the spoils of war? This war with mortality, the war that we are all destined to lose. Who gets the cash, the house, the boat, the extra car? How much do we leave for mom? Do we sell it all of and put her in a nursing home? Do we take her to live at our house in the hopes that she changes the will and gives us the lion's share? Do we put old mom on a budget, take away her credit cards, cut back on her cable TV to save money for ourselves? We tell her that it’s to simplify her life, but who are we to pen her money? She worked side-by-side with the dying man to earn every penny whether or not she was in the office on in the home, she made it possible for him to work, to earn, to save, and to invest so that they could b build a life together?
Now, soon to be free of years of care, worry, and work, will she follow him into the widow’s grave or will she find new life, a 2nd chance to live after years of faithful and loving service to the man she loved, who fought valiantly against a progressive killer that took no vacations and refused to take a single step in retreat. Will she find solace in the words of the rosary that she has so faithfully prayed for so many years?
As I sit here next to his bed, listening to his gentle breathing, I think of the years that I have known him, 15 years to the month, from when I first met him as I took out his daughter. Not the daughter I eventually married, I started with the younger one.
I have never known him as a healthy man; he has always been in the grip of Parkinson’s, a bastard of a killer if ever there was one. Not as ruthless or as aggressive as cancer or the other killers in the devil’s quiver, but relentless, tireless, and inevitable. Since the day I met this valiant man he has been dying, and he has known it from the first time the doctor used the words that gave name to the trembling, the shakes, and the frozen foot that refused to lift. From that day forward he was a dying man.
For every day when he looks in the mirror, he sees muscles that once tossed a child into the air have turned slack. He sees a jaw that once sang hymns of praise twisted to one side, a line of drool, and lip that curls under in defiance of his best efforts to smile the way he once could. Every day is a new discovery of death. A shakier hand, a more unstable hip, a leg that freezes longer and harder than just a short month ago when he was still walking around the block weather permitting, and walking alone, just him and his walker, but alone.
All of us are dying of course, our minds know it, our hearts deny it, our spirits anticipate it, but none of us want to talk about it. I can look at myself in the mirror and admit to myself that I will die some day. I have a will, a DNR, an advanced medical directive, and instructions to donate my body, or what is left of it, to science, transplants, or research. If I suffer the rejection of all the morbid recycling projects, then I want to be flash frozen by the Promessa Foundation in Sweden. And, while I plan for, arrange for, and even contemplate my death, it is all at a very academic, dry, and emotionless level. For my Father-in-Law, it has been as real as the morning sun and as cold as the midnight moon.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
I like going to the gym...
I like working out, I like getting sweaty, and I like getting in shape. I also like butts. Specifically, I like women’s butts, preferably wrapped in Lycra.
It is no secret that I attend a cycling class that makes my day a very beautiful place to be. Today I just realized, again, how many wonderfully strong, sexy, athletic, beautiful women and their butts, attend my gym. I cannot give you their names because on the infinitesimally small chance that someone I know is reading this blog; they would recognize the combination of names and realize that I’m the guy in the back with the goofy grin on his face.
When I am at the gym I notice the women around me but I honestly try not to stare, ogle, or gawk. I just notice, smile, and my eyes move on. Perhaps even that is too much, but I don’t intentionally make my friends and classmates feel uncomfortable.
But today, wow, what a collection.
And please, don’t be offended by the names I pick, these are not insults; they are nicknames that allow me to keep them all in my head without giving anything away. Plus, I don’t know most of them by name. My circle of friends is pretty small, so I only know most of them by the names I’ve assigned them in my twisted little head.
Today’s class included:
Teacher flaming red hair, small breasts, and a great smile. Her hips have no shape, but she’s the perfect little sexy runner type.
Tri-Girl My favorite. Tall, strong, fast cyclist, great triathlete (great face, wonderful calves, intelligent, funny, and the girl I would marry if only I was single, rich and Jewish.
Tomboy The best ass in class. Tight muscles and a deep cleft between the cheeks with great workout pants that just hug every curve, and a chest that is in perfect proportion to the rest of her athletic frame. She also like skiing, hiking, and mountain biking which is a big turn-on.
Serbian Wife of a diplomat with apparently the best plastic surgeon on the West Coast. Great natural hips though, slim, nice curve between her butt and the upper thigh, and an accent that makes her seem like she’s only 21.
The Russian A mom of 2, full hips, works hard, great smile, and like the Serbian, an accent that makes every conversation like a mini-vacation.
Weightlifter Strong, serious, not overly muscled but sturdy. She seems like she could take you in a wrestling match in a good way. She also has long brown hair, which is a big plus in my book.
Shy Slim, smooth olive skin, almost no curves, maybe a freshman in college. Occasionally she will flash a smile, but she seems very focused in class. She cute and young, almost too young for me to legally notice.
Charity short with shoulder length, dark brown hair, has recently put on about 10 pounds and is sporting a little pooch in her belly (not pregnant) but still has the best breasts in class. Perfectly shaped, with just the right amount of sway and bounce, and a very nice smile.
MILF1&2 There are two older women with very similar looks. Dark skin, black hair, deep brown eyes. They must be in their early 50’s or beyond, but they work out all the time. While one has bigger hips than the other, the both have terrific asses and when they get all sweaty and tired you just want to throw them in the shower and ravage them.
Runner1 Tall, blonde, strong, and could probably kill me with a single move. She’s a new member of the group, always chooses a bike in the back, and flat-out works harder than almost everybody in the group. When it flashes, which is rare, she has a nice smile. Very pretty hair, always up in a ponytail.
The Vet Specialized in livestock for ranchers, she is a beauty to behold. She’s not a classic like Garbo, Brinkley, Nemkova, but cute and blonde and motherly. If my MILFS are MILFS because they are hot into their 60”s, the Vet is the young mother t the park who really needs to be tossed down on a picnic blanket and pleasured. She has a great figure, has lost all of her baby weight but, since she is still nursing, she has a really nice chest. She’s personable, inviting, and she’s the kind of woman that reaches out and touches you on the arm, she gives you a hug, and when you laugh at her jokes, she laughs with you and lights up the moment with her smile.
I have to say, I really like going to the gym. Fit, energetic women who like to work hard, sweat, and get tired are a complete turn-on. Thanks to all my friends, both named and unknown, that make my gym beautiful and fun.
This is going to be short, but I just had to write it down.
I like to swim. This morning was a "long" day, which meant that I just get in the pool and see how long I can go without stopping. Today my goals was one hour since I had to be in the shower at 6:30 AM to make my 7:00 bus.
The swim was going well. One mile in my pool is 36 laps or 72 lengths. My first 10 laps (1/4 mile) is always the slowest as I let my shoulder warm up (it hurts like a bear for about 3 laps, and, as you know, bears hurt a lot). Today's workout went very well with each quarter mile getting faster than the last. I love the feeling of getting in the groove with my stroke technique and, as I remember my coaching, I tend to get stronger. My last quarter was even faster still and I really felt like I was making great time. I am not any good at flip-turns but I was making my turns quickly, my arms felt strong, my kick was working (or at least not slowing me down), and I felt fast.
I finished my mile in about 52 minutes, so "fast" is a very relative term, but I was 10 minutes ahead of my one hour goals and feeling cocky. As I was finishing a cool-down lap, two women walked in. Two cute women. Two young, cute, tight, women walked in to the pool area. Now, you have to realize that the average age and weight of the female swimmers in my pool is about 75 and 175. I am not swimming with the beauties in the morning. They are dedicated, hard working, and sincere, but they are not pretty.
These two were both quite stunning. One taller than the other, but the shorted had a cuter face, but they were both in sleek, snug racing suits that made my already racing heart skip a beat. Here is where this blog entry gets its name.
I kept swimming to keep from looking too obvious that I was looking but I picked up my pace, kind of an aquatic equivalent of sucking my tummy in when a cute girl walks by at work. These two women, girls, really, when I looked closer, were actually fast. Not "fast" in my sense of feeling good about a decent workout, but these two were both legitimately fast. They took off as I hit my turn on the wall and just smoked me. I kicked, I worked, I breathed, and stroked, I used everything I could to keep up and they just breezed past me. I told myself that it was because I was at the end of a 60-minute workout and that they were just starting, but after stopping to catch my breath, I could see that these two were just plain fast.
It's fun to watch good athletes do well. And besides the obvious pleasure of watching their tight little butts kick past me as their suits rode up into full wedgie mode, it was fun to see such good swimmers slice through the water. Their legs were strong and quick, their arms were fast and pulled them high and light through their water, and when they stopped to check their time, they weren't even out of breath. Damn them for their youth.
To top it off, they were nice. I had my opening line ready, a legitimate question about getting advice on some gadget to count laps, and I found out that they are on the local high school swim team. High School? Aaaaagh. I can't even fantasize about them without getting arrested. Oh well, maybe I'll see them again, get reminded that I'm really kind of slow, and ask them when they turn 18.....
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
...talking to my wife after her dad passes away because I won't know what to say
...having my mother-in-law move in with us in a very small house
...swimming in the ocean because I almost drown last year and I haven't gone back in
...death, because everything I learned at church may be true
...death, because everything I learned at church may be false
...death, because I'm not sure which of the two I'm more afraid of
...my wife finding out that I think she's kind of stupid
...my best friend finding out that I'm madly in love with his wife
...admitting that I will never be a great artist in any discipline
...admitting that I am too cowardly to kill myself, but to self-pitying to ask for help
...admitting that no one will ever read my blog because I really have nothing to say.
Last night I dreamed that my family had just returned to our hotel room after a day at the beach, coupled with an odd visit to an indoor baseball stadium where I had a run-in with an angry 10-year old kid. I was able to outrun him by flying down the stairs by riding the handrails (an
other recurring dream them). After the beach I was getting undressed to take a shower. As I finished getting naked, the doorbell rang and my wife opens it without waiting for me to wrap up in a towel (fear of exposure? too cliche). Standing on the landing is my mom's oldest sister and her cousins (who I had just made fun of the night before, just before going to bed) and my dead (long dead) grandma, dressed exactly as I remember her; tightly curled silver hair, pearl earrings and matching necklace, no hat, but her favorite dark brown fur coat.
She just smiled at me and the dream ended.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I went to the gym to day during lunch and joined in with the cycling class. I'm there quite often and it is in that class that I met a woman about two weeks ago. We shared a wonderful conversation afterwards and just had a great time talking, joking, laughing; I even got her to share a secret or two...
But, ever since then, she's been ignoring me or brushing me off. E-mails have gone unanswered, conversations at the gym cut short, and purposeful avoidance of eye contact during class. Gone are the days of 'smile and wave" or even a head-nod during a particularly grueling part of class, but today, I really let her have it.
Since she hadn't responded to my last 3 e-mails and since I really don't like being arrested for stalking, I decided to avoid her in class. I chose a bike that would be out of her line-of-sight (though with full wall mirrors, that's kind of tough), and I would sit far to one side so I wouldn't be tempted to try and say hello. All during class I did my best to NOT look at her corner of the room. I can honestly say that I don't know what she wore or how she did her hair, (though I do know from experience that her smile sparkled, her hair was pulled back into a perfectly sexy ponytail, and that her workout pants went down below the knee and showed off her ass to tight perfection).
So as I was sitting there ignoring the most beautiful woman I have met in months, I burst out laughing. "What a freakin' nut-job" I thought to myself, "as if she would ever even notice that she was being ignored."
I might as well ignore President Bush for the day and see if he feels bad about it. Or maybe I can snub David Beckham and not invite him to my next party, or better, I will refuse to watch my favorite show, "The Office" and see if the case writes me a letter so apologize.
My ego makes me think that people around me actually give a rip about what I think, or about what I think of them, or if I'm paying attention to them. My ego would have me think that my hello wave or nod of the head even registers with the people I have in my circle of imaginary friends.
All of us have an ego, but I've realized that mine is fucking delusional. I invent emotional responses in others that don't exist. I imagine that people are talking about me, that I come up in conversations, or that they have even noticed me. I crack myself up because I realize that none of this is happening. Women do not secretly love me, men do not envy me, people on the bus do not talk about me, I do not have a "reputation" of any sort at the gym, I am NOT noticed for my workout ethic, and I am not discussed in any circle of people that matter.
I have to just get over myself and keep my ego in check. Man, am I a freak or what?
As many of you many know (all 3 of my loyal readers), Monday night is sex night at my house. Now granted, a lot of weeks we don't get around to it, but at least we think about it and make an effort to get into bed early enough that we don't fall asleep from shear exhaustion the moment our heads hit the pillow. I was tired all day Monday. I slept on the bus going to work, I slept on the bus coming home, I almost slept at my desk, and thank goodness, I didn't have any meetings to sit through, because I never would have made it. I even fell asleep on the couch waiting for "Heroes" to start. I have TiVo, so I'll watch it tonight. Anyway, I was so tired that I wasn't even thinking about "Monday Night" so I packed my bag for the gym (swimming in the morning, cycling class at lunch), brushed my teeth, picked out my clothes (killer new shirt), and crawled in to bed. I was done.
As I'm dozing off, I saw, more like felt, my wife get into bed. As she snuggled in close, I realized that she was naked! While this is always a good thing, I was surprised because it was 10:58 (11:00 is usually our cut off for getting started) and we had just had wonderful sex on Saturday night. "What are you up to?" I asked, with my arms around her, but my eyes closed. "Well, it's Monday night, and it's not quite 11:00, and well, let's go!" I told her to start without me, "Let me know how it turns out for you." I grumbled, still trying to close my eyes. After that, we just started talking. I told her about an article I saw in the NY Times about the problems with Hi-Def movies in the porn industry (no one looks that good in HiDef), and then we started talking about all of her dad's Playboy's in the attic. She had mixed feelings about knowing that her dad liked Playboy. Her parent's are pretty conservative and the box of naked women always bothered her. I cataloged the issues that were in good condition to see if any of them are old enough to be collectibles. She didn't believe me when I said that the older issues were much more about politics and lifestyle than about skin. The older issues didn't even show the women below the waist, and it was years before the first shaved girl showed up. However, I have to give props to Mr. Hefner, he sure knows how to pick'em.
In the middle of all of this banter, she reaches down and grabs me, and asks, “How we doin’ down here?”
Of course, I’m still soft because we’re just talking, and even though I’m stroking her back and we’re naked, it’s not sexual, it’s comfortable, and intimate, and nice, but it’s not, as I told her, “arousing.”
So then she changes to mood with one long, soft, open mouth kiss. She is a very sensual kisser. She doesn’t like it when I French kiss her too deeply, but when she’s the instigator, she takes my tongue down her throat and suckles it like my cock and the impact is immediate.
I love having my tongue in her mouth, almost (almost) as much as I like having my cock there. It’s warm and tight and sensual and a great way to change the mood.
Once the sex officially started, we were in a totally different state. While we were still joking and laughing a lot, the conversation definitely slowed down and it got quieter and hotter.
We started off in one of my favorite ways; we both finger and stroke each other while we kiss softly. She gives me a really light touch hand-job and I start to finger her gently on the outside, waiting for her lubrication to kick in. It doesn’t take long before she really wet and taking two fingers deep inside her. She hasn’t admitted it yet, but I think we’ve found her G-spot on the last few times we’ve been together and I think she really likes it. If I use a little bit of lube (we love KY) I can sometimes get three fingers inside and she likes the feeling of being stretched out.
Within minutes I’m as hard as I can be and I tell her so. I tell her that she turns me on and that I love being hard in her hand. Even though she’s getting wet on her own, she grabs the lube and adds some more and spreads some on to my cock and increases the pressure and pace of her hand-job. As I get ready to mount her missionary style, she wraps both hands around my cock and I start the thrust, and I thrust hard. She knows I really like to pound it out, but it’s uncomfortable for her when I go too deep, so sometimes she lets me cum this way, just going to town against her hands. But tonight, I had different plans, so after a few minutes, I calmed down without cumming and entered her gently.
I love that feeling, that first feeling of going inside, of feeling her wet, and hot, and tight.
She lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around me and I decided to be direct. I grabbed her right hand, put it right between our bodies, and told her to touch herself. She’s always embarrassed when I as her to masturbate for me, and I’ve never been able to get her to do it for me while I just watch, but she will finger her clit while I’m inside to help her own orgasm move along.
And I will tell you, one of my very favorite sights is watching her touch herself. I kneeled up straight and just watched her fingers start to move across her body. From that position, I can’t touch her or kiss her much, so I have to lean in and tuck my knees underneath me to keep my hips off her hand. If I lay too heavily on her, she can’t move her hand enough to cum, so we look like we are attached at the hips and the lips as I try and keep my body off of hers.
After some kissing (and YES, I love her nipples), I kneel up again and start a real slow rhythm of thrusting in, and out, and in, and out, as she rubs her clit in tiny circles. I want to cum desperately at this point, but I do everything I can to hold off. She keeps telling me that it’s alright for me to finish, but she fails to understand that I love the torture of holding back, and the visual of her masturbating for me will stay with me for days as I daydream at my desk.
After a few delicious moments of holding her legs open so I can watch, I let her legs relax and increase my pace in time with her breathing. As her orgasm sweeps over her, she bucks against me and I plunge in deeper and then hold still. She twitches and grunts for a solid minute before I resume thrusting and cum myself, holding my cock deep inside her. As I cum, another small wave ripples through her body and we begin to kiss again. Long and deep and wet and intimate kisses as she wraps her legs around me and holds me inside. I cradle her shoulders and neck and head in my hands and run my fingers through her hair as our tongues dance and caress inside each other’s mouths.
Post-sex kissing is so unique. There is no pressure, just intimacy, two bodies that long to stay connected, two hearts racing, two minds reeling, the pulsing, the sweat, the wetness all combine in one sensuous bundle of release.
That was my Monday night. How was yours?
Monday, January 22, 2007
What is your fine? You don't have to say what got you to your number (though you can share if you want), but read it, do the math, and post your number....
Smoked pot -- $10
Did acid -- $5
Ever had sex at church -- $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you-- $40
Had sex with someone from MySpace -- $25
Had sex for money -- $100
Ever had sex with the a Puerto Rican -- $20
Vandalized something -- $20
Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10
Beat up someone -- $20
Been jumped -- $10
Crossed dressed -- $10
Given money to stripper -- $25
Been in love with a stripper -- $20
Kissed some one who's name you didn't know -- $0.10
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15
Ever drive drunk -- $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50
Used toys while having sex -- $30
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before -- $20
Went skinny dipping -- $5
Had sex in a pool -- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20
Cheated on your significant other -- $10
Masturbated -- $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend --$20
Done oral -- $5
Got oral -- $5
Done / got oral in a car while it was moving -- $25
Stole something -- $10
Had sex with someone in jail -- $25
Made a nasty home video -- $15
Had a threesome -- $50
Had sex in the wild -- $20
Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars -- $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it -- $25
Went streaking -- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15
Been arrested -- $5
Spent time in jail -- $15
Peed in the pool -- $0.50
Played spin the bottle -- $5
Done something you regret -- $20
Had sex with your best friend -- $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25
Had anal sex -- $80
Lied to your mate -- $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25
Tally it up and Title your comments..."My Fine Is..." Then send it to your friends and find out what their scores are.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Slipping quietly between the sheets, the warmth of her body relaxes me and puts a welcome end to a long and difficult day. Her breathing is long, slow, even and deep. She sleeps as one too tired to move after chasing kids, feeding dogs, buying food, and cleaning floors. Her days are full of motherhood and work, and her nights are made for sleeping, for resting, and for quiet.
I nestle in close, but leave a gap, resting my hand gently on her silk-covered hip. Her breathing changes, quickens, and she yawns and stretches and turns towards me.
“Why so late?” she sleepily asks as another yawn overtakes her.
“Work and Porn mostly,” I joked, knowing that she disliked both at this late hour.
“No, seriously, why are you still up?”
“How’s she working out?” she murmurs, already drifting back to sleep.
“She’s fine, I guess. She doesn’t talk to me much anymore.” I whisper, trying not to wake the dog or the kids, “I still think she’s embarrassed.”
“I’ll talk to her next week,” she leaned in for a kiss, “I don’t want our party to have messed up things at work.” Her kiss lingered and her lips fluttered over mine as she talked. “Is she still wearing the ring I gave her?”
“She is,” I replied, “and I saw her looking at it while she sat in the conference room last week. I like to think it brings back fond memories.”
“I know it does for me,” she giggled a bit this time, reached up under my sleeping shirt, and pinched my nipple lightly.
My head started to buzz and I shifted my weight and rolled towards her, improving the angle of our kisses.
“Give me a leg-over,” I said, and slipped my left thigh between her legs as she opened them for me. The bare skin of my thigh moved across her silky pajamas and pressed upwards, spreading her legs further. I nestled my leg deep between hers and pushed firmly. With only one thin layer of silk between us, I could feel the soft folds of her body. I started moving against her, pressing and releasing, moving my legs up and down, back and forth.
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me on her as she rolled on her back. I kept my thigh pressed against her and rocked forward; bringing the weight of my body down on her pubic bone, spreading her further. My right leg was up next to her chest and I leaned forward to kiss her again, this time more passionately, more aggressively, and she responded as I knew she would.
Some people say that sex between a couple grows old and stale, but I would argue quite the opposite. I knew what she liked, I knew how to make her cum, and that excited us both. There were nights for novelty, for experimentation, for exploration of new sights and sounds, textures and toys, but tonight, well past the witching hour, we brought out our erotic shorthand, well-worn motions that were guaranteed to please us both.
As my thigh ground into her open cunt, she knew her next move and executed it well. She reached up, unbuttoned my shirt, and took my nipple in her mouth, biting and holding, pulling and tugging. The harder she bit, the harder I pressed into her with my thigh.
Her breath was quickening and I made my next move with practiced aplomb. I kneeled up tall and pulled my shirt off as she unbuttoned hers. She likes to finish skin to skin. She said it made her cum to feel my chest pressed against hers, to feel her arms wrapped around my shoulders made strong from my early morning hours at the gym.
The move also created room between my leg and her now wet silk bottoms allowing her fingers to slip between our bodies.
The smell of her arousal began to fill the air of our small bedroom and the pace of her breathing increased along with the movements of her hips. Our bare chests pressed against each other and my teeth sought out and found the delicate skin at the base of her neck. I bit in gently, enough to cause pain, but not enough to leave a mark. This was her final cue and I felt her fingers move across her clit, the light pink silk of her pajamas now dark with lust. My thigh added just enough pressure to force her fingers to press into her body and I felt her orgasm sweep over her.
She bucked hard against my thigh, now wet from her arousal and I pressed in even harder. I felt her hips buck and strain against my body and her chest, so beautiful and full, convulsed and shook as my teeth dug in deeper. As her body moved beneath me, I drifted into my favorite space, a combination of sexual bliss, emotional fulfillment, and physical exhaustion. Her moaning and panting filled my ears as if through the most delicate silk, and I smiled in body and soul.
As her body calmed slowly down, the little twitches subsided and I gently eased my body off hers. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, allowing her legs to come together to ease the strain on her muscles. She flopped a hand on to my chest as I lay next to her and stroked my skin lightly.
“That was wonderful,” she said breathlessly, “Holy Crap. What a surprise, I thought I was too tired for any of this.”
“Apparently not,” I said as I returned her fingertip strokes by cupping the fullness of her breast, lifting its gentle weight in my hands, slowly rolling it between my fingers, finding the nipple and toying with it softly.
Rolling towards me, lifting her beautiful body up on to one elbow, she kissed my forehead and asked, “Is it your turn now?”
“Only if you have the energy.” I replied, seriously satisfied for the night, but open to more if she was ready.
“Well, I certainly can’t sleep now.” She said as she stood up next to the bed and finished getting undressed.
The sight of her naked always astounded me and tonight was no different. I rolled on to my back, lifted my hips, pulled off my bottoms, and slipped my arms out of my shirt. Now naked with her, I was ready. She knew what I wanted, like I said, tonight was about erotic shorthand, no mystery, and the promise of sweet release.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
1) What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?
Insist on paying the bill or splitting the bill when I have offered to pick up the tab. They can offer to help pay, but once offered and declined, they should just say thank you and be gracious. And NO, I do not expect sex in return for a $20 dinner, nor for a $100 dinner. If I want to pay for sex, I will skip dinner and to to a professional.
2) Pick an animal that best displays your personality. :)
A lion, but not for the normal reasons. I like to sleep, I'm willing to work, but only as little as possible, I make a lot of noise during sex, I enjoy having a pride of women around me, and I realize that since they do most of the work, the women are really the king of the jungle. (Strange name for lions, especially since they don' t live in the jungle at all.)
3) If your so stopped having sex with you, how long would you stay?
If you don't count at total of 23 sexless months during three pregnancies (who wants to have sex while you are throwing up all the time) then I've gone 6 months without, but I only stayed in body, my heart wandered and my body soon followed.
4) Are you more passive or aggressive when the relationship becomes physical?
I'm as aggressive as my partner will allow me to be. I don't like being passive and waiting for them to make the first move.
5) Have you ever been INSIDE a store that sold adult themed toys and videos?
YES! YES! YES! YES!
I love shopping for toys. The last time I was in I struck up a conversation with a really cute 23 year old co-ed who was there with a friend. The friend was looking for girl/girl porn so i pointed out a couple of my favorite directors, and while the friend shopped, I advised my coed on the fine art of selecting a vibrator. Within 15 minutes of meeting her I found out that she masturbated with her right hand, middle finger, doggie was her favorite position, she rarely came from sex alone, she didn't like porn, she had only kissed one girl, and that she was getting really wet from shopping and talking to me. It was a very informative 15 minutes.
Bonus: What percentage of women do you think are capable of handling being in a "friends with benefits" relationship? How about men?
I've only known a few women who have handled this well without getting emotionally involved within about 2 months. This means that guys rarely get to try this arrangement for more than 2 months. The first couple of weeks are fun as the relationship changes from "friends" to "more than friends" but after you've woken up together, seen each other brush their teeth, seen that special smile in the morning, or just watched them explode into blissful orgasm, it's really hard (no pun intended) to keep the relationship static. Either you fall in love or you break up. It's one or the other most of the time.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
I've been chatting up this friend of mine at the gym and we've had a couple of great conversations (i really don't want to sound like George Costanza here) and today she acts as if we've just met and I'm something that is stuck to the bottom of her shoe. I know it's up to her if she's interested in being my friend, and I know I'll sound like a typical guy when I say this, but MAKE UP YOUR FREAKIN' MIND!
It's not earth shattering if she doesn't like me, I've been rejected by many in the past and will be rejected by many in the future, but is seem like we got off to such a great start that this sudden turn around is odd. She's the friend I talked about in my post in December called "a time or feeling of enjoyment"
Oh well. Maybe she was playing coy because there were two new guys in class today, both tall and athletic, but honestly, their faces were like 1000 feet of bad coal mine while I, of course, am the next Brad Pitt.
But, on the bright side, I ran into a friend of mine upstairs at the gym and had a great conversation, flirted a little, got a touch on the arm, and a hug good bye, so the day ended very well. It doesn't take much to make me happy, I just need to know that the beautiful women at the gym are in love with me and that they all want to take me to bed. That isn't asking much, is it?
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
It's legal to TiVo something to watch later in the week, but those nights are for projects around the house, reading, and getting to bed early. At first I thought it was a bogus idea. I like TV and I don't like working on projects after a long day's work, however, my opinion may be changing.
Last night we read for fun, I got my lunch made, my gym bag packed, and go the trash taken out by 9:30 pm. By 10:00 we were going through bills and getting caught up with each other by actually talking. By 10:30 the bills were paid, I had heard a detailed description of the latest drama in the PTA, and was fully aware that I would be volunteering at the Girl Scout fund-raiser next month. I even had time to replace a lightbulb that had broken inside the socket. Ugh.
With everything done, we went to bed. Even with flossing, brushing, flushing & washing, we were in bed by 11:00 pm, which is early for us. But what happened is that being in bed before 11 triggered another rule my wife set, and that is no sex after 11:00 pm.
"It's too late to get that started" is what she would always say.
But, since it was only 10:55, I grabbed the lube, got naked, and climbed in bed. Of course, just moments after she got naked, our daughter started knocking on the locked bedroom door, so I grabbed my robe, let her in, and took her to the bathroom. By the time I got her done and washed up and back to bed, my wife was asleep. Knowing that she was pretty tired, I just snuggled in close and started stroking her back in long, languid strokes, from the nape of her neck all the way down to the tight curves of her delicious behind. Up and down, long and slow, tender and soft, for about 15 minutes she slept lightly in my arms as I inhaled her and touched her.
I finally got to the point where I had to either stop, or finish. It was just the right time because she stirred and kissed me deeply. It was wonderful and my 15 minute massage had taken effect. Suffice it to say that the lube was not needed. :-)
It was a great time and a wonderful orgasm for each of us.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
I have 12 minutes to write a little something and hit the road. It’s 6:48 and I’ve just checked traffic and it’s going to suck on the way home. It was awful coming in this morning and it’s going to be worse going home. I shouldn’t be driving at all but I missed the bus by 2 minutes this morning. TWO MINUTES, and what really chaps my hide is that the bus left 4 minutes early. I know that riding the bus knocks me down the cool scale by several points, but any commuter knows that it’s much better to leave the driving to someone else.
I get on the bus, sleep, read, chat, argue about politics and religion, or just listen to my iPod and draw. Anything but worry about the dick on his cell phone whose swerving between lanes or the co-ed doing her makeup in daddy’s new car.
So tonight I decided to build myself a new computer here at work and I’ve been going through all of my old files, deleting, moving, cleaning house basically to keep my new machine from turning into a confused mess like my old one. I don’t really expect to stay too organized, but I have this dream that I’ll stick with it longer than last time, and actually be able to find my documents, my spreadsheets, and my e-mail without sending out a search party.
Well, that 12 minutes flew by, a friend of mine from our
Remind me to tell you about the great conversation I had early this evening. It was great.
Friday, January 5, 2007
By the time you brush the hair out of your eyes my pants are off and I have untucked the soft cotton of your blouse. The snaps give way without a fight and my hands pull the soft silk away from your skin as I slide your bra down around your slim waist.
My hands move to the hem of your skirt and lift, exposing your thighs and the beautiful shaved cleft between them.
I kneel up on the bed and straddle your left thigh as my hands begin to pinch and kneed the soft hardness of your nipples. I pinch harder causing you to gasp and as your mouth opens, I insert my tongue and begin to fuck your mouth roughly.
My weight falls on you and you feel my knee spread your thighs. My tongue fills your mouth and prevents you from speaking but I can tell by your copious slickness that you are a willing player.
Our tongues remain in combat as my chest settles on yours. You nipples poke at my sensitive skin and I feel your hands grasp at the strong cheeks of my ass.
You feel my hips pull away and you whimper in anticipation. With no hesitation that anticipation is fulfilled as I slam my cock deep inside you with one powerful stroke.
I grab your left hand, shove it between our bodies, and tell you to make yourself cum because I'm almost done. I feel your hand circle and pound on your clit as my cock continues its assault.
With no warning I raise my body higher and wrap my arms around your shoulders for leverage. Deeper and deeper my thrusts go as I feel your fingers bring you to, and then over the edge of your orgasm.
My hot sticky wetness fills you and I grunt my satisfaction. I stay buried inside you as my body pulses and twitches, emptying my cum inside you. I pull my still hard cock out of your body as you lay on the bed, legs open, dripping with cum, my cum. I pull my pants on and pull my shirt over my head and head towards the door.
"Taxi's waiting luv" I say smiling, "and my flight's at 4:00." I reach in and kiss you again, gently caressing the nipple on your left breast and dipping my finger between your open legs.
Fully dressed I head out the still open door and hop into my taxi. You look at your watch as you hear the door slam. Its 3:10 and time to call your husband about dinner.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
It all started a very surprising IM session. She claimed to be testing a remote access feature on her computer in Arizona, but we were soon chatting about her office nemesis a woman who is younger, cuter (by my friend's own admission) and obsessed with office gossip.
After about 20 minutes our conversation had revolved back to our past lives as friends and what did, and didn't happen between us.
Why do women have such a hard time admitting that they are attracted to a guy?
Am I really delusional? Do I think that her denial is false? Can I admit that her denial is real? Maybe she never did find me attractive? Maybe she never did want to have sex with me.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
The morning would start quite early, around 5:30 a.m. with a slow, tender, no strings attached blow job. Of course you would swallow me, and we would bask in the afterglow for several minutes. After that I would get dressed and go for my morning run while you took your shower, taking special care to trim and shave the way I like it.
When I returned from my run, I would hop in the shower and masturbate for you while you watched me through the new glass doors of our shower. Though you had just dressed, you do a slow striptease, showing off how you had shaved just for me by lifting the edge of your skirt to reveal the sheer white panties underneath. With no dark curls to hide them, you lips show through the fabric and make my heart race.
Breakfast at our favorite restaurant on the beach would be next. You would ask Jill, the morning hostess, for Monica's table because she is the cutest waitress they have. You'd know that I have an eye for Monica, but this time it would be you who would be flirting with her, not me, and the sight of two of my favorite women making small talk and flirting would get grinning from ear to ear. Knowing what you are wearing underneath you short skirt, I almost laugh out loud when you drop your fork and ask Monica to pick it up for you. I can’t see your legs spreading as Monica leans over, but I can tell by the smile on your face and the blush on Monica’s that you gave her a glimpse of your shaving skills.
After breakfast, we would drive over to the local home design Center to finish (finally) selecting furnishings for my new office. As we wander in and out of the high shelves, we would steal long deep kisses and you would begin to caress me through my denim shorts. After spending an obscene amount of money on my new office furniture, we would jump back in the car and drive to my favorite burger joint.
After a quick snack, we would hop back in the car and drive over to our friend's house for some tennis and possibly, dinner. Ken and Sandra are two of our dearest friends, and I know that you've always had a thing for him. He is your fantasy man, but it no longer bothers me. I know you let him touch your breasts while we were swimming in his new pool last summer, and I think I saw his hand slip inside your bikini bottoms as well. I was in one of the upper rooms of the house looking the pool when I saw him touching you. I was glad that he found you beautiful as I find you beautiful, and as he touched you, I touched myself, and I have thought about it ever since.
Driving up to their house is the best part of visiting. They have manicured hedgerows like in
Francis, their house manager, always greets us at the door with a smile, a hug, and a kiss on the cheek as if we were long lost family. Ken got Francis to come out of retirement from the hotel industry to work for him and now says that the household cannot function without her.
The car is whisked away as we are lead to the changing room for the tennis courts. True to the goal of making their home a resort, a short list of Ken and Sandra’s friends have personal lockers and we’ve chosen to keep some clothes there to make us feel rich.
Ken and Sandra, according to Francis, are on a conference call with their broker and will be a few minutes before they can join us. With that news, a thought leaps into our heads and you lock the door as Francis leaves and step into my arms.
“Let’s get undressed,” you whisper.
You take step back, letting your fingertips drift down my chest. You step over to our locker, pull out your tennis clothes, then disappear around the corner, and tell me to get naked. My heart rate is up as I consider my situation. I’m in my best friend’s house, my wife is obviously horny, I’m hard as a rock, and I’ve just been told to get naked. As I undress, I can hear you moaning a bit from around the corner. I hang up my shirt and pants, tuck my underwear and socks into my loafers, and close the locker. Not wanting to sit on the cold locker room bench, I grab an insanely fluffy towel and lay it down.
When you come around the corner my breath catches in my throat and I almost choke. You are wearing Sandra’s tennis outfit which is at least a full size smaller than you normally wear and you have forgotten to put on your bra . Your large dark nipples show through the sheer material and the thin stripes of the weave act as contour lines as if your chest were an erotic topographical map.
You slink your way over to me and sit on my lap. I’m shocked again as I realize that you aren’t wearing any panties this time and that your juices are already flowing.
“We don’t have much time”, you whisper harshly into my ear, “I know you have the hots for Sandra, so this is your chance to fuck her.”
You grind your hips into my cock and start biting me on the neck. I can feel my cock press into the folds of your pussy the long way and the heat and wetness cover me in an instant. You rub your lips up and down my shaft, not letting me enter, but coating me with a slippery layer of lubrication.
“Do you want to fuck me Tony?” you ask.
“Are you kidding?” I reply, “Of course I do Angie.”
You stop your movements for a moment and look me in the eye. I can feel your breasts pressing through the fabric of too-tight shirt and your wet lips against my raging hard-on.
“Call me Sandra.” You hiss, “You are fucking Sandra now. Tell me what you would do to Sandra. Fuck her for me.”
I buck my hips against her pussy and nod my head in agreement. You’ve always liked it when I narrate our sexual encounters, when I reveal my inner dialog, but now it is my turn to fuck another woman through your body, and I’m on the verge of orgasm with every passing second.
“Sandra, I’ve waited for this for so long. I’ve wanted you since college and I’ve envied Ken every night since you first got together.”
My left hand move to your, to Sandra’s right breasts and I squeeze it roughly, feeling its weight under her shirt. I press and feel and caress it, trying to take the nipple between my fingers, and though I can feel her nipples getting harder, the tight fabric is too slippery to allow me to grab it.
Frustrated, I pull her in for a deep kiss and feel her tongue enter my mouth with hunger and lust. Her hips press harder against my body and I can feel my hips twitching, trying to pull away far enough to get the right angle to enter her tight little pussy. My hands move quickly but ineffectively as I try to touch your breasts a dozen different ways. Finally, she pulls away from our kiss and pulls her pussy away from my cock.
“Maybe this will help.”
Sandra’s shirt hits the floor, revealing her wonderful breasts, with perfect tan lines that reveal a bikini that barely covers her large and puffy nipples. You support your weight by putting your hands behind your back on the bench. This positions your breasts high and proud and forces you to open your legs a little more. The sight of your hot pink lips against tan skin of your legs and the starched white of your tennis skirt are more than I can take.
I take one hand from your beautiful nipples and use it to guide my erection into Sandra’s open, wet, and inviting cunt. Deeply buried, I inch my hips forwards and start thrusting as she wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me in deeper.
“Fuck me Tony. Fuck me before Angie catches us. Fuck me.”
“Oh Sandra, you feel so good, you are so hot inside, to tight, so wet.” I’m breathless and my words come out in bursts. “I’ve wanted you for so long, for so many nights.”
My hands pull and tug on Sandra’s nipples as you moan and buck against me. You shift your weight slightly, allowing one hand to hold your body up as your other hand comes to your clit and start to rub.
“Oh baby, I love to watch you touch yourself, how did you know?”
“Angie told me,” she replies, “Last summer, after the pool party, in the shower.”
My mind races back to that afternoon, the day when I saw Ken kiss you and then slip his finger inside your bikini bottoms. The first time I ever got hard watching you with another man. Memories flooded back to me, about how Ken and I watched basketball and joked about how long it takes women to get dressed.
Staying inside her, I got to my feet and layed her down on the bench. Her hand continued to play with her clit and I could tell that she was approaching her orgasm.
“Sandra?” A thought began to form, deep in the recesses of memory.
“Sandra Kellerman?” The though took shape, but I ran from it.
My cock was pumping her hard now. My feet were firmly planted wide and her legs had wrapped around me, holding her ass up in the air to give me the proper angle while giving my cock to move in and out at a furious pace. My hands stroked and massaged her body, her hips, her face, her neck, her breast. I rolled her nipples in my fingers and began to squeeze them tighter as the thought began to crystallize.
“Ow! Tony, that hurts.”
“Do you want me to stop Sandra?” My hips were relentless and the pleasure was indescribable.
“Oh no Tony, don’t stop, make me cum.”
I pulled her nipples harder, stretching them like long dark pieces of taffy. She grunted as her fingers flew over her clit and around my shaft.
“Sandra Bittner Kellerman, society girl, ‘party of the year’ award winner in the West Palm Times, demure model citizen? Is that you Sandra?
She nodded her head but was speechless as her orgasm began.
“Sandra dear,” my voice was more tender, but my cock continued its pounding.
“Sandra dear,” I pumped my cock twice more for effect, “Did you fuck my wife?”
Her back arched, her hand froze, her teeth clenched, and her pussy contracted tightly around my cock.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes” she moaned and called out and her body flew into motion again, humping my erection deeper and deeper into her open body.
Now on the brink myself, I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop fucking this beautiful chimera below me, part Angie, part Sandra, all orgasm.
“Yes Tony, I fucked her, I fucked her hard, and long and she came for me, she came all over me, I fucked her and I loved it and I love her and I’d do anything for you to do it again.”
My orgasm had exploded into her moments ago as her confession started and the flood of combined juices turned it into a slippery, messy, wonderful cocktail of orgasm and pleasure. I pumped into her several more times as my body emptied itself deep inside Sandra’s body.
Gradually our bodies slowed down and my wife returned to me, her arms and legs wrapped more tightly around me, not in passion this time, but for comfort, as I heard your voice crack and her chest heave with deep convulsions.
I picked you up and leaned back against the cool tile wall of the locker room.
“I’m sorry Tony, I didn’t know of any other way to tell you.” Your voice was tight and sad and the tears started to flow down your beautiful face. “I’m sorry.”
I stroked your hair and shushed you and whispered that it was alright, that everything was all right.
Your warm body, full breasts, and shaved pussy all pressed against me and I felt you give yourself over to me completely. It was my choice, to forgive, or to reject. To comfort or to hurt.
In my mind, and in my heart, there was never any question. This woman, this mystery, this cauldron of passion and pain and emotion and fire was mine to keep, to share, to have, and to hold.
“You are mine, and I’m never letting you go.”
Our breathing synchronized and for a moment I thought you were asleep in my arms.
Silently you stood up and undressed completely. Naked, vulnerable, you stood before me and I smiled at you.
You picked up Sandra’s clothes and folded them neatly on the bench, bending over, exposing yourself to me, not to seduce me, but as a sign of submission and trust. You picked up the small pile of clothes and stepped around the corner again.
“Thanks for the outfit.” I heard you say
My heart jumped when I heard Sandra’s voice in immediate reply, “No problem. Now let’s go play tennis.”
When I was younger, and feeling guilty about being "bad" I would set goals for things I wanted to STOP doing. The list was always the same (1) stop jerking off (2) stop looking for porn (3) stop eating so much chocolate (4) stop looking at porn (5) stop masturbating.
Some years I would last until February as long as my brother didn't buy any new magazines and my mom ate all of the chocolate before I could find it. Since this was pre-Internet, I basically relied on my brother's stash for porn or waited for an excuse to go into the city and browse the bookstores that weren't supposed to let me in. Being a young man in jr. high/high school, goals #1 and #5 generally only lasted until the 1st school dance, football game, basketball game, or any event that involved cheerleaders.
Now, I hate feeling guilty, especially for goals that I never really expect to accomplish, so several years ago I came up with a new year's ritual that has served me well. Each year I carve out some quiet "alone" time to write down my annual goals. Though I'm now well past high school, the goals haven't changed much. I look at my life and what I want to accomplish. I try and set reasonable goals that stretch me without making my life miserable with unrealistic expectations. I then type up my goals and save them to my desktop where I can look at them on a regular basis and mark their progress.
I then fire up the Internet, find the best porn I can get my mouse on, and jerk one off for the New Year while eating the best chocolate I can buy. This year the chocolate had to wait until today, but the porngasm came (no pun intended) right on time Monday morning.
Happy New Year Everyone!!!