Delusional Wives and Angry Husbands

Last weekend my wife went out for a “Girl’s Weekend.” The stated goal was to attend a craft fair, but they really just wanted an excuse to go out to dinner, shop, and stare out at the ocean.

Late Saturday night, over too much Coke (not coke), chocolate, and late night TV, the conversation turned to sex, and specifically, how often they have it. All four women are married, and have been for over15 years, so none of them are in the honeymoon stage. Several weeks ago, and some other ‘girls only’ event, Jennifer, said that she gives her husband sex “when ever he wants it,” and Keri agreed, claiming that John gets it ever time he asks.

My honey didn’t believe it for a minute, since she turns me down all the time, but they stuck to their guns and claimed that they never told their husbands “No”. As the conversation returned to the topic this past weekend, my wife got them to clarify what they meant.

Keri said, “My husband knows when not to ask.” When asked to explain, she said, “John knows when not to ask, because he knows that certain things have to be in place.”

“Like what” my wife asked.

“It’s a long list,” Keri said, “The laundry has to be done, it has to be before 11:00 pm, I had to have had a good day, the kids had to be asleep (not just in bed, but asleep, and they have three), the bills have to be paid, the living room has to be straightened, lunches need to be made, I’m not on my period, I’m not too tired, I’m not irritated with him, and I have to be in a good mood.”

The other two women agreed, and they all gave their own version of the list, including “It’s been more than 3 days since the last time” and “It has to be the right time of the month.”

My wife, who, admittedly, has her version of the list, asked how their husbands felt about the frequency of their sex. All three women stated without hesitation, that their husbands are fine with it, and have no complaints.

When I heard that my head almost exploded, and I told my wife that none of their husbands were happy. I said that the husbands had stopped asking for sex because of “the list” that denied them sex before they even asked for it. I said that they had been turned down, rejected, dismissed so many times, that they no longer asked.

My wife knows that I want sex much more frequently than we have it, we discuss it all the time, but she didn’t believe me when I stated, “with 100% confidence” that her friend’s husband were unhappy, desperately lonely for more intimacy with their wives, and tired of “the list.”

So, dear readers (all 4 of you) what do you think?

Ladies – Do you have a list and what’s on it?

Men – Have you stopped asking for sex because of “the list”?

I’d love to hear your feedback.

Girl's Weekend

My wife went on a “Girl’s Weekend” with three other women from the PTA this past weekend. I thought about spinning a nice little fantasy about the after-dark shenanigans, but since two of them are overweight and one of them is a complete shrew, I found it difficult to get anything going that was remotely arousing.

My wife arrived home around 10 PM and started telling me about their mini-vacation. It was supposed to be centered on a major Arts & Craft fair that was in town, but they slept in on Saturday, took a late lunch, did a little shopping, and didn’t get to the convention center until 2:00 PM and spent most of the time there shopping for hand-dyed dresses. The one highlight of my wife spending $300 on new clothes is that I did get a detailed description of what Penny (the shrew) looks like naked.

Turns out that there was only one dressing room at the improvised dress shop, and since Penny didn’t want to wait for my wife to finish, she joined her in the room and they tried on several things together. She confirmed what I always suspected; Penny’s not much into underwear, she shaves herself smooth, she has a bellybutton ring, and, in the words of my honey, “the most perfect nipples I’ve ever seen.”

My awful little wife saw that I was getting hard as she described the hottest mom in the PTA. She started going into more detail about her breasts would sway as she bent over to try on a dress, and how her nipples poked through the light fabric, and, how, after pulling a dress over head and getting tangled, my wife walked over to her and started tickling her while she was defenseless.

As she was describing the scene, she pulled my erection through the fly of my pajamas and started stroking me. She told me that the pale green dress Penny was trying on had wrapped itself around her elbows as she tried to pull it up over her head. My wife’s tickling fingers made Penny jump and squirm and she stumbled and fell against the wall of the makeshift room. Penny was breathless from the struggle and the strange sensation of having another woman, my wife, run her fingers across the bare skin of her ribs, stomach, and arms.

My wife said that Penny’s voice was tight and nervous as her hands continued to roam over her body. Up and down her stomach they moved, closer on each up stroked to her full breasts and quickly hardening nipples, closer, on each down stroke, to the shaved lips of her pussy. K (my wife) pinned the dress and Penny’s elbows against the wall of the room and whispered, “Do you want to remember this trip forever, Penny?” From within the folds of fabric, her face hidden by the hand-dipped designer dress, a weak and submissive “Yes” was heard.

K said that she didn’t hesitate and took her friend’s engorged nipple into her mouth and suckled gently. Her free hand moved down along her hip and then crossed over Penny’s already opened thighs. “You like this, don’t you Penny.” My wife whispered. A whimper and a nod of the head was the only response she got. With that confirmation, her fingers spread the bare lips of the President of the John Adams Elementary School Parent/Teacher Association and plunged in. Penny felt my wife’s fingers pressing inside of her wet body and, as they curled and opened and moved, she came with an orgasm that shook her body to the core. Her knees buckled and her hips twitched and her juices spread over my wife’s beautifully long fingers. As Penny’s body slid to the floor my wife followed, using her fingers to stroke the inner walls of her best friend’s body.

As her story unfolded K could tell that my orgasm was near, and with a couple of quick licks and a stroke, she released my cum all over her beautiful smiling face. I was fully immersed in her beautiful recollection and could picture the two of them entangled in post-orgasmic quivers in the middle of the convention hall as other women queued up to try on their “special dress.” As Penny’s orgasm subsided, K helped her up off the floor and removed the dress from her friend’s arms.

The tension was immense, K said, as they looked into each other’s eyes with a whole new relationship in the offing. K gave her a quick peck on the cheek and helped her get dressed in her jeans and her tight American Eagle t-shirt. They exchanged on more kiss, K said, and exited the dressing room to the glaring eyes of those waiting in line.

Penny quickly walked on a head to talk to Jennifer, causing my wife to worry that things had gone too far, but was relieved as she overheard Penny asking Jenn, “Can I sleep on the big bed with K tonight? The couch really did a number on my back.”

My wife smiled at me as she finished her story and moved to the bathroom to wash her face.

Hmmm, well what do you know? There was a little story in that weekend after all.

Next – I reveal why all my wife’s friends are seriously delusional about their sex lives and how happy they make their husbands…

Hotel Guest - Part 1

I hadn’t seen her in over 21 years, and now I was standing in front of her with my head reeling as I tried to formulate a coherent sentence. I reached out my hand to say hello and she just started talking. She was going on and on about how much she hated her room and how the room system was awful, and how her dog wasn’t happy, and how the towels were “like sandpaper” and the shower head wasn’t the kind she liked and the chocolates on her pillow were domestic instead of French as she had requested.

It became clear to me, during her long and angry rant, that she had turned into a raging diva since college and, more importantly, she didn’t recognize me one bit.

Somewhere along the path of her life, she had come into money, and a lot of it. She was staying in the Wright suite on the top floor, north east corner. Named after Frank Lloyd Wright, whose custom designed furniture was featured in the suite, she would be facing the sunrise each morning as the sun glinted off the river and exploded into rainbows on her walls, as it came through the specially designed floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

Her accommodations were the finest my hotel had to offer and ran over $15,000 per night. Three chambermaids were assigned and a personal concierge was available for her every whim. The TVs were all the latest in flat panel digital technology, the computer links were at backbone speed, and the private deck on the roof gave her unsurpassed privacy and view in the same breathless moment. By walking up 12 steps she would have a panoramic view of the Shenandoah valley with rolling hills, trees alight with dazzling fall colors, lush green meadows, with winding river, and thousands of birds in migration as they moved majestically to their fall feedings grounds to the south.

Yet here she was, complaining in a voice that was shrill and hollow, dripping with sarcasm and condescension, about accommodations that had been given a 5-start rating by the New York Times, the Paris Review, Conde Naste, and every guest who had ever laid their head on our 600 count pillow cases.

I realized that I was no longer listening to her and tried to bring my eyes in to focus, bring my mind back in to the conversation, as to not insult her delicate sensibilities further. As I was struggling to make sense of the squawks and bleats from the upper-crust harpy, I felt gentle pressure on my left elbow and turned to see Melisa, my assistant manager, fully engaged in the conversation. She nodded her head and smiled in spite of the vindictive tone of Ms. Kristen Hicken, my college sweetheart, the love of my life, and the bane of my existence.

My thoughts finally caught up with the conversation as I heard Melisa giving her confident assurances that all of Ms. Hicken’s concerns would be addressed by the time she returned from her day’s activities. To keep her happy during her day, Melisa offered Ms. Hicken the use of the company car and driver, and said that she’d phone in an appointment for our in-house masseuse for “Night Cap” special. Kristen accepted both as if they were a given and even demanded “somebody good” for the in-room massage.

“What time shall I have them come by?” my capable assistant asked.

“I’ll ring for them when I get in,” she snorted, “Sometime betwen11:00 or midnight.”
The rich and haughty Ms. Kristen Hicken turn on the heel of her Bruno Magli shoes and stomped across the Italian marble floor. As soon as she was out of site, I stepped back in to my office and started to close the door. Melisa’s hand blocked me and she stepped through the door after me and then closed the door. She stood on her tip toes and wrapped her arms around my neck as she kissed me as she started to laugh.

“Oh my goodness, that bitch was a piece of work.” She giggled from nervousness and relief that she was out of our lobby, “Where does she get off complaining about the Wright suite? It costs more per night than my car!” She pulled me down and gave me a longer, softer kiss that reminded me of all the reasons I had fallen for her. I put my arms around her waist and pulled her to my chest as I moved backwards and sat on the edge of my desk. Her body melted in to mine and we just relaxed into long and languid kisses. My hands drifted lower and caressed the soft wool slacks that covered her perfectly round bottom.

“Hey now Boss,” she whispered, “Don’t make you sue you for harassment.”

“Harassment?” I replied.

“Yes sir,” she said in a poorly faked pout, “You tease me with your beautiful hands, you kiss me with your delicious lips, and yet you keep your wonderful cock tucked away, unwilling to punish me like the bad employee I am.” Her hands moved towards my fly, “I think you are a bad boss all around.”

“And I think you are a very bad girl.” I replied quietly, letting my hands drift inside her custom tailored jacket, coming to rest on the well-filled silk blouse. I rubbed her sides and her back and her shoulders, feeling her warmth under her jacket.

Her hands continued to search for my zipper, and, upon finding it, slowly pulled it down. Her manicured fingernails reached inside and pulled out my growing erection.

“Don’t Melisa.” I groaned, quite unconvincingly, “Don’t.”

Her hands teased the tight skin and began to tickle me, lightly dancing across the head and spreading the little drops of pre-cum over the dark pink cap.

“You have to stop,” I said. I pulled her tight to me to stop her hands from moving across my cock. “If I cum it’s going to be a huge mess.”

“I can take care of that, you know I don’t mind, you know I like it.” Her lips moved across my ear as she whispered quietly. I could feel her swallow loudly for effect and she started to kneel down. I grabbed her tightly around the waist and tried to hold her up. I kissed her deeply and held her on her feet. “Not now, please.”

“Why not?” she held me in her hands

Juror #4

Her name was Clair. Long auburn hair tied in a knot with a mother of pearl clip to hold it all together. She had a beautiful smile, wonderful teeth, bright green eyes, soft red lips, and a marvelous chest, petite and firm, with a super thin lace bra that she showed to me on a break during jury selection. Recently laid off from an electronics company, she had all the time in the world to be on jury duty. Me? I had a major project underway, a job evaluation coming up, and a wife that wouldn't let me out of the house until the government compelled me to appear.

I'm glad I did.

We started talking when she pulled out a camera and started reading the manual. I commented that no one actually read the book, you were just supposed to start shooting. She admitted that the manual was usually tossed in the rubbish bin with the packaging, but that a girlfriend wanted her to do some special pictures for a audition portfolio with one of the local agencies in our valley.

Having a PowerShot camera myself, I moved closer to her and started pointing out some of the features on her camera. In the middle of an overly detailed explanation of shutter speed, the court clerk stepped out in to the hallway and announced that we were being excused early for lunch and that we should be back in the courtroom by 1:30

I told her that there was a great park just a mile from the courthouse and suggested that we drive over together and put her camera through it's paces. Too lessen the pressure, I suggested that we take our own cars. I didn't want her to feel trapped or obligated if my plans for the park didn't pan out.

The morning rain had deepened all of the colors and the park looked amazing. Deep green lawns and brilliant flowers of red and orange bordered a small grove of trees that formed a natural arbor in the middle of the park. With the rain clouds overhead, the usual contingent of moms and homeless men had cleared out, leaving us all alone except for two young lovers kissing on a bench on the far end of the park.

I demonstrated the zoom features, the macro lens, the automatic white balance and the burst modes on her small silver camera. Most of the shots were of flowers and trees, but when she tried out her 12x zoom on the teenagers across the way, she caught him with his hand up his girlfriend's shirt. She giggled and showed it to me and said that it looked like they were having a good time. I said that we could take the same picture and showed her the automatic timer.

I found a place to rest the camera that pointed at a fallen tree. I told her to sit on the trunk facing that camera and to leave room for me next to here. "No Way!" she exclaimed, but I promised her that I wouldn't recreate the picture completely. "Just shake your hair out" She pulled the clip out of her hair and it cascaded perfectly down her shoulders. "Should I do anything with my jacket?" she asked? "Take it off and hang it on the tree behind you." I directed, feeling more and more like a professional.

She pulled the jacket over her head, tussling her hair and covering her beautiful eyes. I started shooting as she was undressing and caught her smile and hair in a perfectly relaxed moment. The chilly air had an immediate effect on her and her nipple appeared through the snug white cotton of her blouse. "OK, get ready" I pressed the button and ran into the frame, straddling the tree and trying to get close to her. Not being so bold, I told her quickly to look at the camera and I leaned in and kissed her on the neck just as the camera took three frames in quick succession. Each one caught a different smile, but all of them were bright and airy.

"Let's do another!" she enthusiastically said. "This time, let's make it more like the others." Unsure exactly what she meant, I reset the camera and ran back to her. She snuggled in more closely this time and took my face in her hands. As the camera began beeping it's 2 second warning, she pulled me in and kissed me softly, but held the kiss until the camera had clicked off its three frames. I leaned in slowly for another kiss, and she pushed me away smiling. "Let's take some more."

While I reset the camera I saw her run back to the car, her unfettered hair flowing in the wind. He speed was surprising and her form exquisite, and I imagined that she must have been an athlete when she was younger. Breathless, she returned to the grove and held a small silver cube in her hand, "It has a remote!" she said.

I framed her in the LCD on the back of the camera and watched her chest expand and contract as she caught her breath. Her nipples were still visible, and her eyes were staring at me through the lens. "Hurry" she said, "Lunch is 1/2 over."

I sat down next to her and leaned in. She pointed the small remote at the camera as I tried to kiss her, "Wait for it." she said. When finally the beeping started, I leaned in and kissed her. 'Lips like sugar' I thought in my head, recalling a song lyric from long ago.

"Again?" she said, and pressed the button on the remote. Again I leaned in, and again she stopped me, telling me to wait for the shot. The 10 second delay seemed like forever, and as the beeping started, she pulled my wrist up from the log and place it on her breast and kissed me. It was full and firm, and soft in my hand, and we kissed long after the shutter fell silent. As our kiss ended, she put my hands back down on the log.

"Again." this time it was a command, and again she pressed the button, and again she made me wait through a maddening 10 second delay. This time she brought my hand to her chest and put her hands on my face, bringing her arms up over mine, letting the camera capture my hands on her chest without interference.

"Again." 10 more seconds, but this time her hands were busy during the delay, and three buttons were undone and her soft white skin was revealed. Click, click, click.

"Again." This time she shifted and place her back against my chest, and undid the final two buttons. She placed my hands on the e soft fabric of her bra and my thumbs caressed her erect nipples, eliciting a grown of satisfaction from her pink lips.

"Again." 10....9.....8.... her hands came up to the middle of her chest and she opened her bra and place my arms around her waist, holding them down firmly so the camera could see everything.

"More." 7.....6......5.... this time she brought my hands to her bare flesh and I felt their warmth in contrast to the cold, rain leaden air.

"just a couple more." she said, standing. She straddled the log and her jeans pulled tight against her dancer legs. With shirt open, me sitting, and her standing, she pressed the button and pulled my lips against her hard and puckered nipple. "Take it in your mouth." I followed her directions without hesitation and suckled gently. As the shutter fired, I began to pull away but she didn't let me move, she just pressed the button and started counting down in a whispered voice.

The seconds now were moments of heaven. I felt her hands in my hair, her soft blouse blowing around my face, and her wonderfully soft nipple in my mouth. "Switch sides" she giggled, and she directed my tongue and attention to her other breast. Instinctively, I cupped her free breast in my hand as I absent mindedly heard the shutter go off again and again.

As her breathing grew more shallow she reached over to me and felt my body through my pants. I was full and hard and bursting at the seams. "Good thing you wore black slacks." she said, and began stroking me with fervor. "I'm really close." I whispered, and she pressed the button again. 10...9.... she deftly unzipped my fly and released me. Click, click, click... I heard the lens as her hand wrapped around me.

10.....9.....8..... she had pressed the button again and was leaning in, closing the gap between her lips and my body. The camera's beeping filled the still air in our private grove, and she took me in, and I exploded. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the shutter fire as I filled her mouth. I felt her tongue move as she swallowed and swallowed, and then another click, click, click, as I finished.

She looked up at me and kissed me again, softer, more gently, more caring, more connected.
As we sat up, we continued to kiss and touch each other. I closed her bra and buttoned her blouse, As she stood up and tucked in, I put myself back together and collected the camera. We held hands as we walked out of the park and back to the car.

The drive back to court was quiet and tender. We held hands and spoke softly of the trial and the random drawing of numbers that had brought us together.

As we parked and arrived at the courthouse steps, I stopped her and looked into her eyes. "What are you going to do with the pictures?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she said with a bright and friendly smile, "I don't have a memory card yet, today was just for practice."

Too Late

It's late,
I'm horny
I'd love to have sex,
but my wife is already asleep.

What should I do?

Wish me luck - Follow-up

Last night, as I said, I was in the mood for some lovin'. Well, with three kids to put to sleep, two kids with homework, and 1 kid with a diaper, nothing happens quite on time. I was on the floor playing matching games with my little one, and my wife, the subject of my lust and affection, was on the couch reviewing science homework with our oldest one. As daughter #1 was reading her answers, my lovely wife's eyes started fluttering shut and shorter and shorter intervals. It was kind of cute. Watching her fight with the Sandman was almost painful and she fought to keep eyes opened and her attention focused on the names of Saturn's moons, and the time it takes light from the sun to reach Pluto.

It was a losing battle for her, and I knew that there would be no sex for anyone tonight. As soon as the homework was done, she was off to bed. I took care of our littles one's bottle and bedtime routine and joined her 20 minutes later, but she was dead to the world.

This morning, she woke up at 4:00 AM to pee and the crawled back in bed and snuggled me. We both fell back to sleep until my alarm went off at 4:50. I, as usual, was sporting my morning wood and started the great debate in my head. Should I take care of things myself? Should I wake her up for a hand-job? Or, do I wake her up for a quickie?

In my mind, a guy's mind, I decided that a half-asleep, warm and snuggly hand job would be just the ticket. She didn't have to wake up too much, I'd get my little pleasure punch for the day, and she would be able to go back to sleep. So, I slipped on a condom to prevent a mess, and gently woke her up.

She surprised me by saying that she didn't want to do it that way, that it made her feel distant and uninvolved. I think she was trying not to call me selfish, but there was that overtone to her voice. I said that I didn't want to impose on her, and that I thought a little handy would be better than full-on sex from her perspective. It almost turned into an argument, but I gave in and agreed to have sex? What a sacrifice.

This leads me to my question of the day, so if you are reading this far, PLEASE answer the survey question above, especially if you are a woman....

If your husband/boyfriend/lover/etc is horny, and your aren't in the mood, what would you prefer to do to help him out.

Please answer the survey!!!

Wish me luck

Last night I was in the mood for some lovin’ from my honey. It’s been a little over two weeks, and we missed our regular “Monday Night” schedule (which we do about ½ the time). So with the kids in bed by 9:00, and the dishes done, my lunch packed, my clothes laid out, and the lights turned off, I got my hopes up (but luckily, nothing else).

I go to the gym early in the morning so I sometime shave at night, and when I do, it’s a pretty clear signal that I’m in the mood. My wife hates kissing me when I have any stubble, and oral sex is completely out unless I’m as smooth as possible.

I joke with her that I have my work shave (I look shaved, but you can still feel the stubble with your hand), and I have my sex shave. I take a lot longer, always switch to a new blade, and make sure that there’s nothing left on my chin, especially right below by lip. If there’s anything left there, it scratches her in all the wrong places and kills the mood.

I have found, however, that 69 is fine if I haven’t shaved since my chin is rubbing her in a different spot in that position.

Anyway, I just e-mailed her that I wanted tonight to be “Monday Night” and she seemed agreeable. Now the challenge is to get home on time, get the kids to bed on time, and not say anything stupid to break the mood between now and 10:30.

Wish me luck.

1 minute movie review - The Big Bounce

Awful, pointless, slow, unbelievable dialog, poor script, bad acting, a complete waste of time.
That being said, Sara Foster looks great in a bikini, and Owen Wilson is a hoot.
But please, don't waste your time on this movie. It really stunk.

entering in

Two weekends ago I was in my garage, cleaning out space to put away all of my family’s Christmas decorations. We store it all in the attic, so every year, I pull out the boxes, rearrange the long term storage, and try to come up with another idea on how to fit things more efficiently so I don’t have to rearrange the next time around.

On this particular morning I woke up with the usual stiffy. I lay in bed for a while and played with it, debating between waking up my wife for a quickie, or knocking one off by myself. While I decided to avoid an argument and let her sleep, I also declined to pleasure myself.

Why? Several months ago, 158 days, to be exact, I promised my wife that I would stop masturbating without her knowing about it. It’s part of an attempt to repair some of the damage I have done to our relationship over the years, but it’s not really working. Contrary to their intentions (my wife and her therapist – I say “her” therapist, because none of this was my idea) it has added a great deal of tension to our relationship because I no longer have a simple, trouble-free sexual release. Now, more than ever before, I’m bugging her for sex, and she, like always, resists, makes excuses, and minimizes the number of times we are intimate.

So, being more true to the promise than to the idea behind it, I got out of bed with this enormous and quite beautiful erection, and got dressed. It took several minutes for it to subside, and, after a quick breakfast standing in the kitchen, I got to work in the garage.

The day was already upon us since I slept in past 8:30. This is a minor miracle in itself because our two kids are normally up and running by 7:15, their normal time to get up for school.

I felt guilty, but I was glad to be out in the garage and away from the family for the morning routine. I was in my element, straightening my tools, organizing my projects, and eventually, cleaning the attic. Through the garage wall I could hear the muffled sound of the morning trauma beginning to unfold. Wife and daughter were arguing over breakfast, daughter and daughter were arguing over clothes, and then TV, and then clothes again, and I was on the latter climbing into the attic, blissfully away from it all.

I say this just so set the scene for a very odd moment in the attic. I woke up hard, which is not unusual, but I had also been horny, itchy for release and really in the mood for the feeling of penetration that goes along with sex. Porn, and porn writers, discuss and show penetration of all sorts, but sometimes it is the act of penetration itself that brings the emotional payoff. The act of putting part of your body inside another human is powerful.

My wife complains that she’s too tight, or that I’m too big, right as the sex is getting started. I just reach for the KY to ease things along, but I only use a little, just a dab on her, because I like that feeling of tightness, that feeling of entry, the sensation of her body opening up to mine, the knowledge, as simple as it sounds, that my erection is inside her.

Which brings me back to the attic; I was dressed in my painting shorts and a t-shirt. My shorts fit well when I was a little heavier, but now they are a bit loose and I wasn’t wearing a belt. As I kneeled in the attic and the warmth of the new day baked its way through the roof, I put my hands on the plywood floor in front of me and stretched. My fingers crept forward, stretching my back, and forcing my chest to the floor. The position lengthened my torso and caused my pants to scoot down, probably giving me the classic “plumbers crack.” But it was in that position, stretched out, ass up, that I got the strangest sensation of wanting to be fucked.

I wanted to be the bottom, the receiver; I stopped and pictured my wife with a strap-on, pulling my shorts lower and taking me from behind. The heat of the attic, the arousal of the morning, and this image in my head, combined to make me dizzy with lust. I unzipped my pants and let it hang out for a while, the throbbed and pulsed as I let the fantasy roll around in my head. I rested on my back and watched the dust motes float in and out of the shafts of sunlight as my fingers played gently across my skin.

The desire for penetration, both as giver and receiver, is a strong emotional drive. We want to trust, and be trusted enough to be let inside, literally and figuratively, and while this conclusion may be obvious and heavy-handed, it’s nonetheless true. I love my wife, and I want her to want me inside her. I want her to open herself to me, to give me the gift of penetration willingly. For if it is given begrudgingly or as an obligation, then it becomes intrusion and invasion, and that is not what I want.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One acknowledgment before everyone states the obvious. I know that this moment has serious homosexual overtones, so be it. Analyze all you want, but the roots of those feelings are well-known to me and oft discussed in the right environment. Maybe it will be discussed on this blog some day, but not for now.

Porn if for Men - Extended response to Leesa's post

Thanks, again, to Leesa for an great topic. It sparked a whole blog entry of it's own, but I won't take up her valuable real estate for all of my ramblings.

Porn is like a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. Every PB&J is made the same. Sure, the PB may be chunky or smooth, the jam may be strawberry or apricot, and the bread may be white or dark, but it's always the same.

It's always tasty, and it does for a quick snack, a tasty treat between real meals, but it's vaguely unsatisfying and leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Porn is the snack, but soon you want higher quality, and more authenticity. Porn gets us going and gets us off, but it's inherent PB&J sameness gets old.

I would like to see more high-end sex in well-written movies. “9 1/2 Weeks” tried it, “AngelHeart” pulled it off in a weird way, “Last Tango in Paris” broke new ground, but what I really want to see is more of Gweneth Paltrow in “Shakespeare in Love”, more Anne Hathaway in “Havoc”, and more sex between characters I cared about. Katherine Heigl almost pulled it off in “Knocked Up” in the love scene where she asking for it “harder” and “deeper.” The dialog was deeply arousing, the comedy funny, but they stopped short, kept her bra on, and made it an American movie.

I know I’m fooling myself if I think that American moves will ever be truly erotic. They can be horrible violent, angry, torture and death laden, but to show a real orgasm, a beautiful sex scene, or an full-frontal and shaved woman, seems to be beyond the pale.

Porn is for men (until they get bored)

I know that I've gone through various stages of attraction to Porn, and its interesting to get a woman's point of view. Porn is for Men - by Leesa

I remember discovering AOL and the Internet on a very slow dial-up connection. I downloaded 1,000's of Playboy-type pictures. I remember going to bed with dozens of download sessions open and my poor little modem chugging away.

Then there were pictures with two girls, and then three, but no touching, just posing. And then I found pictures where they were touching, kissing, licking, and (oh shit!) fingering each other.

About the same time, my connection speeds got better, dial-up was replaced by DSL, and then DSL gave way to Cable, and then came the movies. OH MY STARS, the movies. All sorts of movies, small, low-resolution, and grainy, but the women moved, and they had sounds, and the sounds were fantastic (OK, the sound was crappy, but the fact that I could hear them orgasm was amazing).

As Internet speeds improved, and compression algorithms were perfected, the quality improved, so my time on the web increased. I went from girl/girl to boy/girl, to girl/boy/girl, to boy/girl/boy, and I loved it. But then, to my horror, it got boring.

Boring Porn? How could it be? The women were beautiful but artificial, the acting was horrible, the orgasm fake, and the stories non-existent. Could it be that I was growing past the attraction of robotic pussy pounding? I never fantasized about the women I saw in the movies. The movies got me aroused, don’t get me wrong, but they weren’t the kind of images that got me going when I was on my own. I always found myself fantasizing about women I knew in person, friends from church, or work, or school.

Then I found amateur porn. Wow. The film quality was/is usually awful, the sound is garbled, and the lighting is always too dark, but man-oh-man was it a turn-on.

These were real women, real women that I might actually meet, women I might actually have a shot at (if you ignore the reality of my marriage and two kids).

Amateur porn was amazing. To imagine that some women, some ugly, some gorgeous, most average, would set up a camera and masturbate for me, get naked for me, fuck for me, and let me watch them cum, was just mind blowing. It was a form of intimacy that I had never imagined. I had never even dreamed that someone would be so free, so comfortable, so horny, as to have sex for total strangers.

I remember feeling that this was different than the Pamela Lee and Paris Hilton sex tapes. Those were shot in private, for private use, and then stolen and released. They were sexy for other reasons, the forbidden glimpse into the sex lives of celebrities. Watching Pamela touch herself on the bow of their boat, or seeing Paris suck her boyfriend’s cock was stolen intimacy, and the thrill came from knowing that you were never meant to see.

But these other women, they wanted me to see, they wanted me to watch, the wanted me to listen. It’s similar to women who wear extremely small bikini bottoms. You know that when they walk out on to the beach with a see-through or micro-mini bikini bottom that they are totally shaved. They made a decision to shave their pussy bald, smooth, and exposed, because they were going to wear a particular bikini that demanded that they be shaved. This decision, to knowingly expose themselves to the eyes of others, is very sensual and sexual at a deeply intimate level.

It’s not the accidentally panty slip, the up-skirt, or the cleavage shot. These women woke up, decided to show their bodies to the world, and shaved themselves bare. That boldness, that sense of purpose, arouses me to no end.

So, when I discovered “real world” porn, I was back in all over again. The boredom was gone, the arousal was back, and my cable-modem was kept very, very busy. Now, the porn industry has co-opted the “amateur” niche with professionals who claim to be real girls. So the fun has gone out of it again. The lighting is better, the girls are prettier, their skin is smoother, and their boyfriends don’t blow their load in 20 seconds, but it’s no fun.

I still go back to my favorites, some of the celebrity tapes, the cute reported in the news van. Some of the real girls are still out there, but I’m fading again, my modem gets a lot more rest, and strangely, I’m not walking around with a stiffy 24/7.

But back to Leesa’s original point, mainstream porn is boring. No matter how beautiful the women, how erotic the setting, how professional the cinematography, it’s just too fake, too set-up, too fantasy for me. So excuse me while I go set-up my camera, my wife will be home soon.

Time to Shower (Part 1)

“I’m Dana” I shouted, as I extended my hand, trying to make introductions over the thumping techno beat that filled the cycling room at the gym.

“I’m Nikki” she replied, “Thanks for helping me.”

“No Problem, I’ll talk to you after class.”

I hurried back to my bike in the front left corner of the room and clipped my shoes into the pedals and quickly fell into cadence with the instructor. Looking back across the room, Nikki was finding her pace as well, clipped in to her bike for the first time, and realizing how much harder she was going to be working than before.

The class was almost full, 36 bikes, 32 riders, one hot instructor, and, now, a new friend across the way to make the time pass more quickly.

I settled in quickly to rhythm of the music and the well-designed workout Logan had prepared for us. She was a monster athlete outside of the gym and didn’t want us trailing behind here. She was a cycling specialist, but competed in triathlons and distance swim events as well. Her slim frame sliced through the water, and the few times I had been in the ocean besides her, I was no match, and she quickly left me behind, like a struggling dolphin that had lost its way.

After we reached the shore and were stripping out of our wetsuits, I said that she’d feel guilty if I got eaten by a shark as she was walking up the beach, but she just laughed, smacked me on the ass, and told me to swim faster next time. She looked so cute as she peeled off the thin black neoprene of her wetsuit.

Underneath it she always wore a simple, sleek bathing suit in case we arrived at the beach and the water was warm enough to swim in. I never admitted to wearing the wet suit for the buoyancy, and to keep my massive fear of drowning at bay. Wearing just my bikini, I felt like it would have sunk like a stone without the protective suit. With it on, I could pause in the water and talk without having another panic attack.

As she bent over to pull the legs of her suit over her feet, the thin material of her suit slipped deep between her beautiful cheeks and it was as if her suit disappeared. Knowing that she couldn’t see me from her position, I let my hand drift over the wet material of my bikini top and my fingers dragged roughly over my nipples, sending a shiver down my spine and raising goose bumps over my entire body.

A change in tempo, and a new song, louder than the last, startled me out of my reverie and I tried to refocus on my surroundings. Logan was up off the seat, challenging us to a hill climbs, and Nikki and her new shoes were keeping pace and putting me to shame. My little daydream into my memories made my feet slow down, but my heart rate never dropped a beat.

I kept glancing over at Nikki but she was too engrossed in class to return my look very often. I started to question the vibe that I picked up before class and I resigned myself to a good workout with no expectations of anything happening after class. My work day had been long and difficult and coming to the gym was my solace, not matter what happened socially.

With my head back in the game and determination to work of the 5 pounds I had gained over Christmas, the hour went quickly. At the end, I closed my eyes and went through my cool-down and stretching routine, concentrating on my long leg muscles and my Achilles, trying to hold off a return to an injury from the previous summer.

While so engaged, I almost missed the light tapping on the back of my hand. I opened my eyes and saw Nikki standing there, her shoes in her hand, covered in sweat, and glistening. She looked at me expectantly and waited for me to finish my stretch.

“I’m meeting some friends at Carbon down in Culver City, for drinks in a while, do you want to come?” she asked.

I tried to suppress a smile, “I’d love to, but all I have is work clothes with me.”

“That’s OK, you’re about the size of my roommate, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing.” She was grinning now, “come get cleaned up at my place and we’ll be able to meet them by 8:00”

Part 2

Time to Shower (Part 2)

“Do you live around here or should I go get my car?”

“I’m just over on Ophir, so we can walk, where’s you car now? Can we leave it? Is it going to be OK for a while? I’ll drive to the club if you want.” The questions bounced out of her cute little mouth as her nervousness started to show. She even covered her mouth with her towel as she smiled to hide the fact that she was blushing.

“Relax,” I said, placing my hand over hers and pulling her towel away from her face, “One question at a time, please. But to answer your little burst, I’m parked at work just two blocks away, so yes, it’s safe and we can leave it for a while, I’ve even left it over night several times.”

Her eyes flew open and she started to blush again, but I quickly corrected myself.

“I leave it overnight at the office when I travel.”

“and occasionally when I spend the night with a cute, sweaty, Thai princess from the gym.” I added in my head. Her eyes calmed down and her shoulders dropped as I explained myself.

“Are we ready to go?” I asked with my gym bag in hand and my water bottle emptied.

“Uh, yea, yes,” she stammered, “Let’s go, we’re walking, let’s go, go, go, go.”

Her nervousness was endearing and I made sure to brush up against her shoulder as I slipped out the gym door, just to keep her nerves up and her mind tingling.

We left the gym and started west towards the sunset and the darkness of the residential streets just south of UCLA. As we walked the conversation was light and informal. Trading information about my job, “Assistant Junior Museum Curator” for the Anderson museum, and her school, “Business Art” senior in a combined UCLA/Vanderbilt program for, as she put it, “MBAs who like art, but can’t make it, sing it, paint it, or draw it for themselves.”

Our walk took us past several shops, including a Victoria’s Secret, and she stopped to appreciate the window display from their “PINK” line of panties. “If I wasn’t careful,” she said, mostly to herself, “I could spend my entire paycheck here.” I told her that I though it would be a good investment, and we continued up the gentle hill until we got to her corner. We were next to a large condo complex made in the California Modern mode: lots of white stucco, green and brown awnings, little patios with matching lawn furniture.

“This way,” she beckoned and turned down a little path to unlock a tall gate that led directly into a patio.

“Not much privacy” I mused, a little too loudly.

“Oh, this isn’t my place,” she corrected me, “We are upstairs. This is just a friend’s place that I use as a shortcut. He’s traveling with the football team this weekend so I’m watering his plants and getting his mail.”

“OK, how did you meet him?”

“Just hanging out at the pool.” She replied as she roamed around the apartment, straightening little things here and there and watering the few plants that were still alive. “He used to hit on me and my room mates all the time.”
“Did anything ever happen?”

She paused in her watering for a minute, unaware that I could see her hesitation in the mirror. With a deep breath she resumed her watering and called out, “Yea, he fucked me a few times.”

“Wow.” I whispered to myself.

“What happened?”

“I decided I liked his girlfriend, and he decided he liked my roommate. So we all decided to go our separate ways for a while.”

“But you’re friends again now?”

“That was a couple of years ago,” she tried to sound nonchalant, “so it doesn’t count anymore.”

“Do you still like his girlfriend?”
“No, but I still like girls.”

We both stopped and stared at each other for a few seconds.

“How long did you way he was going to be gone for?”

“Three days”

“Does he have roommates”
“Yes”

“Where are they” I asked and started to look around the room again.

“With the team.” She whispered.

“Good.”

I turned and started to walk towards the bedroom. “Where does he keep his towels?”

“Why?”

“Because we need to shower.”

“What?” she exclaimed…

By the time she reached me I had pulled my hoodie sweatshirt over my head and dropped it on the hallway floor. I was reaching for the bottom of my t-shirt when she caught me from behind. Giggling, she said that we couldn’t do anything in his apartment. “It would be too weird.” She said, trying to pull me away from the rooms.

“Why would it be weird?” I pulled away, teasing her by lifting my sweaty top, “Isn’t this where you two used to, you know, fuck.”

“Come on Dana, don’t say it that way.” She looked a little hurt, and a little aroused, “But yes, Dana.” She pulled me down the hall to the bedroom and sat on the bed, “this is where he would fuck me.”

“Tell me about it.” I said, pulling my sweat pants off, revealing my Lycra biking shorts.

“What do you want to know?”

I reached down to her and pulled her t-shirt up and over her head, her breasts were small and perfect, and hidden by a thin white sports bra, yet her nipples were clearly visible and cast a distinct shadow as the evening sun filtered through the shrubbery that gave her ex-boyfriend’s bed some privacy.

“I want to know everything.” I smiled at her as she pulled her sweats down around her ankles. The sweat on her light gray shorts had dried during the walk home, but as she raised one knee to pull off her pants, a small dark spot was clearly visible deep between her slender thighs.

“Everything? Hmm, that could take a while.” She laughed, “after all, he really liked to fuck me.”

It was obvious that she got off on dropping the “F-bomb” as my mom called it, so I played a long.

“Really? And did you like to fuck him?” I pushed her back on the bed and lifted her legs high and spread them. “Did he fuck you in the morning?”

“Yes” she giggled as I pulled her feet further apart.

“Did he fuck you in the evening?”

“Oh yes.” She replied, but with less giggle, and more breath.

“Did he fuck you in the afternoon?”

“Yes” she whispered as I pressed my hips into her upturned ass. Her hands came to her chest and she unclasped the latch on her bra. The thin material snapped outward and her breasts were revealed to me for the first time. Her fingers immediately started to pull and twist the dark brown nubs.

“Did he fuck you in the pussy?” I moaned, letting my right hand caress her growing wet spot, pressing hard into the soft flesh, feeling the outline of her lips, and digging in with my knuckle where I guess her clit to be.

“YES” she gasped, proving that my knuckle had found its mark.

Her hands were moving back and forth across her chest now, squeezing and teasing her breasts, pulling and clutching at her thighs, and moving downwards between her legs, wrapping her hand around my wrist, urging me to deepen the touch.

“Did he fuck you in the mouth?” My other hand moved up her chest, over her exposed breast, across her neck, applying a gently choke as it moved, and over her chin were she sucked in two of my fingers in hungry passion.

Her lips closed around my fingers so she could not respond, but she nodded furiously up and down as her tongue slid and darted over my fingers.

My right hand moved lower and I took hold of the waistband of her thin workout shorts. I pulled slowly and her shorts slid off her well-toned hips and exposed her bottom to me, and a wicked idea entered my head.

I pulled my fingers out of her mouth and reapplied a gently choke hold on my writhing lover. My right hand moved downward, tracing the back of her thigh and towards her now exposed bum.

My fingertip stopped at first contact with the puckered skin.

“Did he?” and I poked her gently.

“Did he?” I poked her again, pressing my finger harder, she fought me at first, and then relaxed, letting her legs fold up against her naked chest.

“Did he?” and I pressed in, penetrating her for the first time.

“Yes.” She moaned as her fingers found their way to her engorged clit and began to circle.

“What did he do Nikki? What did his big cock do?” I pressed in further

“He fucked me Dana, he fucked me, he fucked me, he fucked me.”

Her orgasm hit her with such force that she kicked me off the bed and on to the bedroom floor. I lost my balance and landed on my back, panting heavily.

I sat back and watched her masturbate herself to wave after wave of climax. I knelt up beside her and pulled her shorts all the way off and dropped them on the floor. Her beautiful body shivered and shook as the memory of her old lover possessed her as she lay on his bed. Her free hand clutched at her breast and pulled and twisted the sensitive nipples and her face, so calm and determined at the gym, reflected the passion that was throbbing through her body.

As the explosion subsided, she curled around a pillow that lay on the bed and gasped for breath. Her gracefully curved back heaved and moved as she tried to refill her lungs with air. Her knees opened and released her glistening hand and she clasped her fingers together and pulled them tightly to her chest. I grabbed the nearest blanket, a heavy UCLA throw, and covered her to keep her warm, though the dappled-sun of early evening was still shining through the large sliding glass door.

She turned towards me to face the sun. “I used to come in through that door to be with him.” Her voice was full of memory and longing. “That’s where I would” and she stopped herself from finishing the sentence.

“Would what?”

She considered her answer for a while, but thought better of it, and pushed the question away. “Oh nothing, nothing you need to hear tonight."

She sat up on the bed and let the cover fall from her body. She pulled her panties off and knelt in front of me naked. Her skin was a beautifully light brown, like, she would tell me later, the spicy sauces from her native Thailand. Her skin was smooth and radiant in the soft evening light and she lifted my hand and placed it on her breast. She leaned in, and guided me to cup and squeeze, and feel the firmness of her chest.

Her lips nibbled their way up my neck and across my cheek until her lips rested gently on my ear. “Thanks for making me cum.” She sighed into me, “thanks for making me cum.”

“It was my pleasure.” I moaned back as my fingers fell in love with the curved weight of her chest, “Now what?”

“Now,” I could feel the smile form on her lips, “Now, I have to pee and we have to shower and get dressed, and it’s almost 7:30”

With that she jumped up and dug around for her shirt and sweats and pulled them on. I tried to pull her back down to the bed, luxuriating in the idea of being in an abandoned apartment for three days. “What’s the rush?”

“Well,” she smiled at me as she ran down the hall to grab the clothes I had shed so eagerly. “All my party clothes are in my apartment upstairs, and this place?” she swirled her finger in a circle, “is my brother’s, and he gets off work at 7:00. He’ll be home any minute.”

“You brat!” I screamed and laughed at the same time and tried to smack her as she ran down the hall. I struggled to get my hoodie over my head and my pants back on while my new lover pulled me towards the door. She fumbled with the three deadbolts on the door and threw it opened. “Come on!” the laughter in her voice was infectious and I was soon laughing along with her as we stumbled in to the hallway holding our gym bags and shoes in our hands.

We scurried down the hall towards the elevator lobby and heard a “DING” as we approached.

A tall, muscular kid of 19 got off the elevator, gave a half-hearted wave and ducked his head and avoided my eyes, “Hey sis.”

“Hey Tall Boy” she replied back, obviously a little peeved and relieved that he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

She laughed and pulled me into the elevator and pushed me against the wall and launched our first kiss.

She pressed away from my and leaned against the far wall of the small elevator. I was still holding her hand when she startled me with a loud “Oh Shit!”

“What?”

She grabbed my hand and put it on her left breast, it was warm and firm, and inviting. I leaned in for another kiss but she stopped me short.

“I left my bra on the bed.”

“Oh shit, is right.”

The elevator chimed and we stepped out in to the quiet hallway and imagined the scene downstairs in her brother’s bedroom.

She broke the tension as she grabbed my hand, pulled me down the hall, and exclaimed, for all to hear, “Now I really have to pee.”

At the St. Julien (Part 1)

This started out as a fantasy scenario about my morning run, but morphed into Part 1 of a longer piece.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was coming up the hill as I rounded the corner and our shoulder’s hit with a sickening thud. Outweighing her by 100 pounds, I merely rocked backwards as she twisted around and hit the dirt, landing on the small of her back on the rocky trail.

Startled as I was, I turned to see who I had bowled over in the early morning mist. I asked her if she was alright, but she didn’t hear me. She lay still on the cold ground, holding her shoulder, with her eyes tightly shut. I pulled my headphones out of my ears and out from under my knit cap, and knelt down beside her. I slowly reached over to remove her ear buds so I could talk to her.

With a gentle tug on the white cord the speaker popped out of her left ear and I could hear “The Cranberries” playing over the sound of the traffic that buzzed by, just 50 feet to the north through the trees.

“Are you OK?” I asked in a firm voice, not knowing how alert my victim might be. At the same time, I didn’t want to scare her since we were in a spot hidden from the road, a spot that gave a sense of quiet isolation in the middle of a bustling neighborhood.

I got no response, just muffled groans as she rocked back and forth on her good shoulder, holding her left shoulder in her right hand. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and laid it across her back to cushion her from the hard ground and to keep her from catching a chill.

“Are you…” I began to repeat my question.

“I’m fine.” She said, but there were tears in her voice.

“I don’t believe you,” I responded with a smile, “How bad is it? Scale of 1-10?”

Affecting her best rock-star accent, she said, “This one goes to 11.” With that she started to cough and laugh, and grimace as the movement shook her injured shoulder.

“Oh shit,” she moaned, “It’s starting to hurt.”
“Do you have your cell phone?” I asked, “Mine’s at the gym”

“Back pocket” she winced in replay. Placing my hand on her shoulder I rolled of forward until the top of her pocket was visible.

“Sorry for the reach”, I said, and I put my fingers gingerly inside the pocket of her sweat suit to reach her phone. I pulled the phone out slowly, perhaps more slowly than I should have, and handed it to her, placing it in her free left hand.

She used her thumb to flip it open and the top half of the phone fell to the ground.

“Shit” she said.

“Oh man, I’m sorry” I said.

“Now what?” She looked up at me with accusing eyes, and for the first time we looked at each other directly.

Her green eyes, partially hidden by a soft red bandana, were vibrant in the light of the mountain sunrise. Her teeth, now exposed in a smile, were white, perfect, and the obvious result of some talented dental work.

“Uh, now what, hmmm, let me think.” I stammered, suddenly shy and more than a bit nervous. “We can walk back to my gym to get my phone, but that’s two miles back down the hill. I could leave you here, jog back, and get my phone, and tell my buddies about how I ran over a hottie on the trail…” she laughed quietly, trying not to move her shoulder.

“How about you help me up, and walk me back to my hotel.”

“Are you really staying at the St. Julien?”

“Yea,” she replied, almost embarrassed, “I’m there for a work retreat that starts tomorrow, and now I’m a cripple. Thank you very much.”

I started at her and tried to asses the tone in her voice. Was she kidding? Was she really mad? The Julien was one of the most exclusive hotels in Boulder and I’m sure anyone who could afford to stay there could afford a really nasty lawyer.

“How far is it from here?”

“Well, I had just passed my ½ mile split when you attacked me, so it can’t be more than a 10-15 minute walk if we stick to the trail.”

“Are you ready to stand up?”

“Yea," She winced, “Give me a hand.”

I braced myself and reached out to her and she took my hand. She rolled on to her back, squared her hips, and began to stand. I pulled her towards me and she stood, but as soon as her weight settled on her right foot, she cried out and fell forward. I dropped her hand and caught her as she hit my chest.

“It’s my hip,” the tears welled up in her eyes, “It really hurts.”

“Hold on to me,” I said, trying to use my calmest voice, “Let me check it out.”

I helped her hop over to a tree that stood just a foot behind me and told her to balance herself on her good leg. Recalling a ½ finished EMT course from a misguided career change, I stood at her side and tried to assess the damage. From her right side I could see that the fabric of her sweats was torn, revealing pale white skin with a nasty bruise and a large raspberry from where she hit the ground. The dark blue and thin waist band of her panties was visible and I was embarrassed to have noticed it.

But once it caught my eye, I didn’t resist the urge to see where it went. The panty line was visible as it arched over her hip and to the small of her back where it vanished, undoubtedly finding its way between her dirt covered bottom.

I placed my left hand on her hip and slowly lifted her knee, testing for soreness or resistance. A small series of “Ow, ow, ow” escaped her pink lips, but she didn’t fight against the slow and steady motion. The tear in her pants stretched open as her knee came higher, but she either didn’t notice, it or was more concerned with the pain, to cover herself.

I lowered her knee again and shifted my hand slightly, cupping the inside of her leg, and gently lifted her knee outward, testing for her reaction to the new motion. Her breathing was slowing down and even her quiet exclamations of pain were receding as I lifted her knee higher, and wider. I looked up from her body and saw that she was staring at me as I lifted and spread her legs apart. The soft drone of the traffic and the shrill call of the morning birds was the only sound as our eyes met.

She relaxed her leg into my hand and even turned it just a bit, as if to say that she knew her position of openness and welcomed it. In a whispered voice, she said, “Thank you for taking care of me.” and she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the softness of her kiss and allowed my hand to drift up the inside of her thigh. Though m hand moved only an inch or two, it felt as if she was inviting me to do more. Unsure now, at the unspoken words, I withdrew to her knee and helped her straighten her leg. She rocked back and forth on her feet and declared that nothing was broken.

“I’m still going to need some help getting back to the hotel,” she said, “do you mind walking me back?”

“Well,” I replied, “Since I’m the forest troll that knocked you to the ground in the first place, I had better see you safely back to the castle.” I cursed myself silently for slipping into the corny metaphor, and vowed to keep my mouth shut until further notice.

She smiled at me and put her arm around my waist and settled her weight against me for the walk. “Every fair maiden needs a hero once in a while” she said, and my heart skipped a beat.