TMI Tuesday #180, Sexting, Booty Calls and other such nonsense

1. Have you ever sent or received a sext message?

Not via cell phone, but my e-mail streams got pretty steamy with my first girlfriend, and I’ve never sent pictures of anything but me fully clothed. Pictures are forever, and it’s really hard to say, ‘No honey, I don’t know where the picture of my penis came from….”

2. Have you ever made or received a booty call?

I didn’t define it as such when it was happening, but my first college girlfriend spoke well of my make-out skills to her roommates, and Daria, the cute one who couldn’t dance, asked me over a couple of times. We would make small talk and snuggle on the couch, only on nights when Cynthia was gone, until she’d pull me on top of her and she’d start dry-humping my leg (we were young and innocent back then). She would just rub her crotch against my thigh until she’s climax and then she’d straddle me and let me rub myself against her until I came. I guess what made it a bootie call was that we never went on a date, never talked about what happened, and my GF never found out.

But, that same girlfriend, Cynthia, called me months later, after we had broken up and had both moved home from school. She asked if we could go out to lunch. She picked me up and said that she had a picnic basket as she drove up the canyon into a shady grove of trees. As we pulled into a secluded picnic area, she confessed that she hadn’t brought me there for lunch. She slipped off her pants and pulled me in to the back seat. She said “I want you to make me feel good one more time.” I thought that it was a little crazy, since we had a nasty split months earlier and hadn’t spoken a word to each other since then. But, being the nice guy that I was, I got in back with her and fingered her under her panties until she had a massive, and very loud, orgasm while Phil Collins’, “I can feel it coming in the air tonight”, played through the car stereo. That was the first, and only time that I had touched her like that, all of our other times had been over the clothes and maybe a little under the bra action.

When we got back to my house, she cried a little bit, said thank-you, and told me that she was getting married in two weeks.

3. Have you ever added or edited a word/entry to Wikipedia or Urban Dictionary or any other online reference?

I have added comments and corrections, but never edited a reference directly.

4. At what age did you have your first consensual sexual experience?

I was a late bloomer. My first kiss wasn’t until almost 17, my first orgasm with another person was the next summer, and the first time I made a girl cum was just before my senior year in high school at a church summer camp. She was wearing really thin sweat pants and she let me rub her between the legs. I’m not sure if she knew what she was doing, but she said that it felt really good and that I should never, ever, stop. She started twitching and clenching her teeth and I was a bit freaked out, but she held my wrist and rubbed herself with my hand, so I figured she was enjoying it.

As I type this up, I’m flashing back to when I was about 11 and a few of “the boys” went up in to the orchards behind my friend’s house and ran around naked. I’m trying to think if we did a circle jerk, but I’m sure I would be able to remember that.

5. What has been the greatest age difference between you a consensual sexual partner?

I graduated HS at 17 and worked at a local amusement park. I started dating my boss who was 25, I think. Not much happened, but we felt each other up a lot. Later, when I was in Grad school, I was dating a freshman, so the roles were exactly reversed. I was 25, she was 18, artistic, horny, and had the best hair ever. I remember unbuttoning her blouse, unlatching bra, and kissing her breasts while she was on the phone with her mom. She told her Mom that she had to answer the door so she put the phone under a pile of clothes to kill the noise, had a wonderful orgasm, and then went back to talking to her mom. I loved her for that and for many other reasons. We broke up 3 months later. I still miss her.

Bonus (as in optional): Why do you blog?

Because I can’t talk to anyone else about this stuff. In real life, admitting any of this would ruin me.

Ramifications and misplaced confessions

I wrote the first draft of the post below the day after a very discouraging conversation with my wife. I invoked the "Love Letter rule" to let myself calm down. So here it is, with a few changes and a calmer heart.

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

14 years ago I had an affair. Two years ago I confessed to that relationship.

The confession, not the affair, did the most damage.

I moved on from the relationship years ago and had not had any contact with her for 10 years. During a momentary crisis in my marriage, completely unrelated to past relationships, I admitted that I had been unfaithful to her. I tried to explain that this past relationship, and two others, never involved sex, but that did not matter. I tried to explain that I never had sex of any kind with these women, no vaginal, oral, or anal, nothing. When I tried to explain what actually happened she would not listen. She was so wrapped up in the revelation itself that she was unable to hear me, and since that time, for two years, she has been unwilling to go into any further detail so that I may put her fears at ease, and put my guilt to rest.

My confession was two years ago but it continues to haunt our relationship to this day. I believe that it is because she will not listen to a full confession to get things out of the way, to get things off her worry list. She needs to know that nothing has happened in the intervening years, but she is unwilling to broach the topic. Like a patient unwilling to take her medicine, she prefers the long run of the illness.

If any of you read my blog on a regular basis you'll know that February was a very good month, I thought, for my wife and me. We had sex several times, including a couple of hand jobs, a couple of quickies, and several evenings in bed together. While I had a terrific month, apparently she was miserable.

On Monday night we were snuggled up on the couch watching TV and it appeared that things were progressing nicely. At the end of our show, she turned off the TV, pulled me to the floor, and we started kissing. It wasn’t passionate, but it was nice, and I thought things were going to escalate. Instead, she got the look in her eye that meant that the mood was about to change, and that I might as well settle in for a "long talk." And that is just what I got.

After much internal debate, she said, she decided that we are going to go on a 30-day experiment with our love life. The experiment, however, did not go in the direction I hoped. In my mind when I hear "experiment" I anticipate new and interesting things. Instead I was told that we were going to go “back to basics."

She said that February was a very difficult month for her and that my newfound enthusiasm for our sex life was making her feel miserable, used, and that sex was driving us apart rather than bringing us together. Several months ago, perhaps even a year ago, she had suggested that the solution to our lack of sex life was to focus more on quick and spontaneous sex rather than long drawn out productions that tended to begin too late at night for either of us to have much energy.

She initiated "the quickie" as a way to keep me happy, check sex off the list, and share some time together without feeling the pressure. At the time I expressed my concern that I didn't like having sex with her if she wasn't even trying to have an orgasm or enjoy it. I told her then that this approach made me feel selfish, and I felt like I was just using her as a masturbation toy. She dismissed those concerns and stayed on the path of the quickie for quite some time. I agreed to go along with her new approach and take advantage.

We had sex more often, I had more orgasms, and I loved seeing her naked on a regular basis. I thought it was a win-win situation for all of us. We expanded the quickie notion to include hand jobs in the shower which I thoroughly enjoy, and even the occasional handy in the bedroom after I got home from work.

On Monday night she told me that that approach is not working for her, that it was actually making her feel like a hooker, someone who was there to service me without any emotional connection. In my head I was saying, "No shit. That’s what I warned you about." We were supposed to have more sex with less worry; more orgasms with less overtones, more fun without oh yes the fuss.

So as I sat on the living room floor I listened to her tell me that's the quickie was out, hand jobs were out, oral sex was out, and that foreplay, or sexual touching outside of the sex act itself, was gone for the next month.

I didn't know what to say. I asked her why we were making such a dramatic cutback in our sex life and she repeated the thought that our current approach was making her feel used and distant. My emotions fluctuated from furious to confused, to resignation to incredulous, and then just landed on defeated. I told her that I was worried that this would be the start of the end of our sex life. I was afraid that she would continue to cut back further and further until he realized that we hadn't had sex for several months, that it had become infrequent, sterile, and restricted, to the point where was just no longer worth the bother.

She laughed it off but I told her that every couple, every sexless couple, as a "last time." At some point it just stops, someone decides that enough is enough, and they never initiate again. The other partner, usually the husband, may he continue to try for a while but then gets beat down and rejection and decides it is not worth the pain anymore.

She assured me that this was not the end of our sex life, but I expressed out loud that I doubted that she was correct. I told her that I was worried that this would be the beginning of the end. That she would find more and more excuses to restrict and curtail our intimacy. She countered that this was just a way to refocus on our emotional relationship over our sexual needs.

She used the word "lustful" several times in describing our conversation and told me that instead of trying "new things" that we would get back to basics. When pressed for details, she said that this meant no oral sex, and no sexual touching outside of the bedroom. I don't understand this crap. She knows that I enjoy oral sex (giving and receiving) but I rarely ask for it. She thinks that it's obligatory to go down on me for a little bit before we have sex, but I've told her on several occasions that she doesn't have to. I think she has gotten stuck in what she thinks is "my routine." I don't have a routine, I just like sex. I like all kinds of sex; I think that perhaps, is part of the problem.

She has always claimed that she has no sexual fantasies, that she does not think about sex either before or after the act. If things progress in the bedroom and we have sex fine, if they don't, that is just as fine. I think she would miss sex if we never had it, but it would not be a sexual need at that level, it would be at the “wifely duty” level. I think she would miss sex pictures she feels obligated to provide sex, I don't think that she needs it for herself, or ever wants it.

She also informed me that I was no longer allowed to tell her how attracted I was to her, how hot I think she is, or how much I want her. She has never enjoyed "dirty talk," and so I don't talk dirty to her, but I do tell her the truth, but I find her beautiful, that I love her nipples, and that I absolutely love the feeling of slipping my cock inside of her. She hates all of that. She hates expressing her passion, her needs, her lust, or her desire for an orgasm.

The more I talk to her about it, I am starting to realize that it is not because she does not like to talk about it, but that she does not want it. She is not suppressing feelings because she has no feelings. You can't play hide and seek when there is nothing to hide.

I have never been allowed, or felt safe, telling her why I cheated on her so long ago. I did not cheat for sex, because I never had sex. I did not cheat for love because I was felt loved at home. The relationships I had outside of my marriage were all based on the fact that these women, these friends of mine, wanted me. They wanted me and they were not afraid to tell me they wanted me.

It was an amazing rush to have these women flirt with me, to talk dirty to me, and to admit things. My first fling was with a woman who I have talked about before on this blog. She would admit to thinking about me when she was with her husband, she told me that she could no longer climax without imagining my hands on her body. She told me that the memory of our time together fueled the majority of her sex life.

Another friend admitted to me that she thought about me when she masturbated. She thought about me in the shower at home, the shower at the gym, and even at her desk at work. She told me that it made her wet, that it turned her on knowing that I was just a few floors away.

I loved it. It fueled my ego, made me feel good, and pushed all the right buttons for me to make some really bad decisions. However, it is a constant source of frustration to know that my wife does not feel any of these things for me. She has never called me at work to tell me that she was hoping I would come home soon, that she was dreaming about my hands on her body, she was hungry for me, that she needed me, that she couldn't wait to get naked, climb up on the bed, spread her legs for me.

I know that my wife does not desire me sexually. I know this to be a fact based on 16 years of evidence and testimony.

It is a frustrating situation because I love her and I need her.

I love the way she looks, the way she tastes, and the way she smiles. I hunger for her. I long for her touch, for her lips on mine, for her hands on my back, for her legs wrapped tightly around me.

I need and want these things, and she does not.

TMI #178 - A late response

I tossed this in my "drafts" folder because I liked the questions, but am only now getting around to answering ....


1. Don't tell us what it is, but do you have a sexual secret you have never told anyone?
Yes - Only two other people know about it because we were all involved. Oh, yea, and this entire blog is a secret....

2. Do you have a nonsexual secret you have never told anyone?
I know that my friend cheated on his wife and I believe that I am still the only one who knows beside him and his affair. It was difficult to keep the secret for years, but luckily they moved away, still happy, him still repentant, and I haven't had to worry about it since.

Also, I know that my friend helped cook the books at his old job. He's afraid that a really good audit could send him to jail.

3. Did you ever tell someone a secret only to have them spill it? What were the repercussions?
High School secrets shouldn't count, but my best friend ratted me out of cheating on a test and I almost got expelled from the honors program at school. He was no longer my best friend after that. In college, my roommate kept bragging that he was going to have sex with his girlfriend, a confirmed virgin. I thought he was being a shit, and so I told her, she broke up with him. Later he threatened to beat me up, but backed down after realizing that I was going to call the cops if he laid a hand on me or her. Later he was kicked out of school for other violations. I was glad to see him go.

4. Did you ever spill a secret someone told you? What were the repercussions?
Ooooh boy, yes. Again, I should be forgiven for high school, but two of my female friends admitted to me, in confidence, that they both liked the same guy. Since the girls were talking ot me every day, I lost track of what I had said to whom, and it blew up in my face. They both realized that I was giving them advice on how to get this guy and they hated me for the rest of the year. In the end, he didn't like either one of them.

5. Tell us a secret someone told you, however along ago, that you've never told. (You can disguise name or details)
My brother told me that he had sex with his girlfriend before they got married. While this doesn't sound shocking today, it was a huge secret for me to learn, and keep, as a 14 year old boy in a very conservative Christian household... I think my mom figured it out years later, but I don't think dad ever did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now that I've answered, it doesnt' seem like such a big deal, but a lot of my family life before I got married was wrapped in secrets. Some were active lies, some were just well-practiced denial, but it all felt untrue.

My brother was (is) gay, but no one talked about it until just 2 years ago, and he's 50.
My parents didn't have sex for the last 25 years of my mom's life, we all knew it, but nobody talked about it.
My mom got a hysterectomy without telling anyone, including my dad.
My mom would go on "vacation" without my dad and none of us knew where she went.
I dated a devout Catholic girl for 6 months without ever telling my dad, he would have died.
(she was the best dry hump/make-out girl I ever had.)
I hid my porn habit for years from my parents all the while being actively asked about it.

Ther was just a lot of hidden subtext, unspoken tensions, and voluntary ignorance. It's seeping in to my own relationships now, and, while it feels very comfortable, it worries me that I'm repeating the past.

A cliche...

I know that it's cliche to say, but
MAN! My babysitter is hot!.


Have a great weekend!

More on the sitter later....

Friday's Final Thoughts

1. I worry sometimes that I think about sex too much.
2. I love having my admin around me at work. She is young, beautiful, fun, and doesn't give me a hint of hope of anything inappropriate happening. She is the safest flirt in town.
3. I love going to the gym and am extremely frustrated that my shoulder is not healing as fast as i would like.
4. As a life-long student of politics and American culture, I am discouraged with the direction and tone that is being set by our new President.
5. As a Republican, I am mad at the Bush Administration, but furious at the Democrats for lying about how they are going to fix it.
6. I believe that the AIG bonuses are immoral, but it is grossly unconstitutional to pass a law after the fact to take the money away. The Dems new this would happen but hoped to get away with it.
7. If I spent as much time reading and studying the scriptures as I do reading and studying sex, I would be the Pope by now.
8. I really love beautiful women, especially when they are naked.
9. I love my wife dearly, I just wish she found me more enticing.
10. My job is good right now, but I'm afraid I'm putting it at risk by wasting too much time on the Internet, like right now.
11. I believe in God, but I'm not sure if I trust Him.
12. Coming home to see my kids is the highlight of every day.
13. Kissing my wife comes in a distant second.
14. I wish I was skinnier, but I really like food.
15. My deepest fear is that I have no creative talent worth talking about.
16. I wish I had more time to play golf.
17. I wish that I had some one to play golf with.
18. I miss my mom, mainly because I want my daughters to know her.
19. My dad is getting older, and that frightens me.
20. I don't feel bad when I walk by the homeless without helping, that makes me feel bad, a little.
21. I saw a really hot girl go in to my neighbor's house and felt guilty when I realized it was their daughter.
22. I will never write a complete screenplay, though I want to
23. I am lazier than I dare admit.
24. I hate being bored at work.
25. Only 3 of these 25 ideas are even vaguely interesting, even to me.
    

Who do you fantasize about at work?

My company is NOT known for having many pretty women. The average tenure of our employees is over 15 years and a lot of the secretaries have been here for 20+. I have joked that if we ever did a company calendar, we would only make it until about June, and that is only if we just KS twice.

But, there are a few which make coming to work worthwhile.

First off there is that actress in finance, the secretary in accounting, the older, but very hot cougar up in legal, but most of all, it’s my very own admin. She’s not mine, but she supports me and the rest of the floor. She’s young, has a radiant smile, a beautiful, but not showy figure, and dresses with great style. She looks fantastic in her workout clothes and since we share a gym just a mile down the road, it is easy to fuel the fantasy.

But, yesterday, I was in a meeting with another girl I’ll call “Rocker.” She isn’t classically pretty, she’s had three kids, her husband is a roadie for a rock band, she grew up riding horses, and she has a bit of a mustache, but… But….

Yesterday, as we sat a few feet apart in a meeting, facing each other, talking about a project we were both interested in, the only thing that was running through my head was, “Suck my cock.” Not in a demanding or lustful way, but this woman, who I have known for many years, who has been my co-worker and my boss, who’s had burgers at my house and who’s split the bill over dinner, suddenly seemed very sensual to me.

We were sitting close, just the two of us, I saw a vision of her smiling at me, slipping to her knees in front of my chair, and just slowly, and very matter-of-factly, pulling out my cock for a long, tender, gentle blow-job. I imagined it from start to finish, from first kiss to final swallow and it was all I could do to keep track of what she was saying and to make semi-coherent responses.
What was it that made my mind go there with her? I was aroused for the rest of the day.

So, who do you fantasize about at work? Who fuels the fire? Share with me….

The Love Letter Rule...

I have only a few moments to post something up to make sure that I don’t fall in to complete apathy. I have a very long angry, ranting post that it percolating in my drafts folder right now, but I’m invoking the “love letter rule” before it goes public.



The “Love Letter Rule”, or LLR, is this, “No letter (or e–mail, or post) that declares undying love may be mailed within 24 hours of it being written.” The corollary to that is the opposite, “No letter that ends a relationship, is filled with vile and venom, or that is written with the intent to inflict emotional distress, can be mailed within 48 hours of being written.”



Both of these rules came out of my college days when I spent long hours writing and regretting letters that never, ever, ever, should have been mailed. There was the letter to Sylvia, my first serious college girlfriend that stated how much I loved her and was mailed just days before I decided to break up with her in a messy scream-fest over Easter break at my dad’s house.



The was the letter to K informing her that it “would just never work out” since we were of different faiths and that God meant too much to me to continue. God is still important to me, but as I have come to understand Him more, I realized that K loved me in ways that He would have approved of, even if we didn’t sit next to each other in church each Sunday.



I regret the letter to Sunshine (her real name) not for what it said, but for making her feel like she was leading me on. I shouldn’t have dumped Lisa with a letter without finding out that her bad moods and tears were caused by her parent’s divorce and a face-to-face conversation would have solved a lot of problems.



I never should have given Donna the note, and the necklace, without, at least introducing myself first, and I profusely apologize for all of the anonymous gifts last Christmas that reminded everyone of the Anthrax scares of a few years ago.



So now I’m sitting on a post, long and angry, about my wife and some decisions she has made “on our behalf.” I need to re-read it before posting, to allow her words to soften and age in my head before I react in public. I need to pause and think and give us time to laugh a little before I counter-punch. Maybe the post will never, should never, see the light of the blogger day. Maybe I should invoke the “”You don’t want to get divorced so don’t say anything stupid” rule.



Maybe, but I probably won’t

Lyrics for Spring Break

To be sung to the tune of "My favorite things" from The Sound of Music

Small thongs on cute girls, and babes in bikinis,

Deep golden sun tans and dykes in tankinis

Really loose women with no wedding rings

These are a few of my favorite things

Girls who will swallow and don’t ask for last names

Girls with cute roommates who enjoy my sex games

Girls with their dildos and lotions and toys,

Hearing them cum is my favorite noise.

Doing it doggy right on the beach blanket

Then reminiscing while I start to spank it

Leaving them wanting more trinkets and things

A girl who likes anal’s my favorite thing

When I come home

And my wife nags

When I’m feeling sad

I simply remember my Spring Break ‘09

And then I don’t feel so bad…..

TMI Tuesday #177

Not much is going on today, so I thought I'd take a few minutes for TMI...

1. Are you pro-marriage? Why or why not?
The longer I'm married, the less "pro-marriage" I am.

2. Have you ever invented or thought you invented a sexual position?
I think it was Hunter Thomson who offered $10,000 to anyone who could come up with a new perversion. No one ever collected on the money. Between The Karma Sutra and the Greeks I think they've covered most of the bases. The fun is that each couple gets to discover them anew for themselves, to it doesn't matter if someone did it first. My favorite "discovery" was made last summer when our kids were away. After making out on the couch I slipped my wife's jeans off her and went down on her. A few minutes later I wrapped my arms around the outside of her lower legs and placed the palm of my hands on her inner thighs, slipping her ass off the couch and bringing her into alignment with my cock. It supported her back while letting her "float" off the edge of the couch and left her hands free to stimulate her clit. It was new to us and quiet wonderful.... Of course, with the new couches, I'm not allowed to do anything there anymore...

3. Do you like to be tied up? Always or sometimes?
I would love to try it, but she's always had a minor freakout when I even suggested it, so I don't think it will happen soon. Pity too, because my physical therapist gave me these great green rubber straps that would be perfect.

4. Do you consider online cybering adultery?
I agree with other bloggers who say that while not "adultry" it is emotionally dangerous ground. I used to cyber a lot when AOL was new and my wife and I were fighting all the time. It certainly felt like sex to me. I once seduced my friend while posing as a woman. She had a tremendous orgasm after a really steamy lesbian scenario played out between us. She e-mailed for a month or two under my assumed name (shitty of my, I know). The next time I saw her in real life I was so turned on by her and the images I had in my head, that it was difficult to be next to her.

5. Do you prefer masturbation over real sex?
I love masturbation for the convinience, the speed, the lack of emotional baggage, the ease of use, and for how it makes me feel at the start of the day or at the end of a workout in the hot shower. I ahve strong orgasms either way so the quality isn't the issue. Sex can be great, but when my wife just gets me off to shut me up, it makes me feel like crap. I would rather have her permission to yank it in the shower than get obligation sex.

6. Do you want sex more times a day than your partner?
By a factor of about 100. It's one of the biggest problems in our marriage.

7. Do you get offended when you partner openly flirts with others or are you okay with it?
She doesn't, ever, so I wouldn't know. I'd be OK with it if she did, at least I'd know that she can. She doesn't even flirt with me.

8. Do you think you're flirty by nature?
I have learned to flirt late in life as my confidence level has increased and my inhibitions have been banished. I think I'm pretty good at now, but it is definately a learned behavior and not something I as born with. :-)

GiGi goes to the doctor - Part 1

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I wasn't sure if I want to be hearing it alone, so I called my nurse in for backup.

I introduced Nadine, my nurse, to GiGi, a new patient with complaints about neck pain.

"GiGi," I asked, my voice quivering a bit, "Can you explain the problem again. Nadine is not only my primary care nurse but a registered physical therapist. Perhaps she can help."

"Well," GiGi began again, "It's like this. I love oral sex. I mean, I really love it."

Nadine suppressed a giggle and gave me a knowing look. "Go on," she said, smiling.

"I love kneeling in front of him and taking him deep in my mouth. I love the feeling of almost choking, of feeling that tickle right in the back of my throat right before he…"

Her voice trailed off and she dropped her face, blushing, and stuttering an apology. She shook her head causing her long dark hair to fall out of the scrunchie that held it at the back of her neck. I looked over at Nadine who had her arms folded across her chest. She was staring intently at our newest patient and I saw the long manicured thumbnail of her right hand moving back and forth across her left breast. Her nipple was visible through her dark purple scrubs.

She saw me staring at her and gave me a sheepish smile, but, instead of stopping, she used her thumb and forefinger to give her nipple an obvious and aggressive pinch.

Nadine pulled my exam stool to our newest patient, and sat, putting herself at eye level with GiGi. "GiGi," she said, "There is nothing wrong with admitting what you just said. I think it's wonderful that you were honest with us. Now we can help you. Neck pain from sex is no different than getting hurt playing softball, except the rehab is a lot more fun." We all laughed and I was glad that I had called in Nadine. Her woman-to-woman connection with my patients was invaluable in moments like this.

"So tell me more," she continued in a clinical tone. "How often do you engage in oral sex? When does it hurt? Is it immediate or after you've been going for a while? Does it hurt in certain positions?"

GiGi raised her hand to interrupt the flow of questions. "It doesn't hurt right way, but after a few minutes of having him hard and in my mouth, it gets real intense right at the base of my neck. If I let him cum in my mouth and he thrusts too hard, it spreads up to my skull."

"OK…" Nadine was making notes on her medical history form and trying to prevent her nipples from poking right through her bra. She could feel them swell and get tender, a sure sign of her arousal. The feeling was starting to head down, into her hips as well.

"GiGi? How often do you engage in this activity?" I could hear her trying to control her breathing and remain professional.

"About 8 times a week. She replied after thinking a bit and counting on her fingers.

"OK…" another entry get recorded, but the handwriting is a little shakier. "And GiGi, please forgive me for the personal nature of this next question, but is it always with the same man?"

"No." It was barely a whisper.

Nadine placed her pen in her pocked reached out and put a hand on GiGi's knee. "Don't worry. The privacy of your medical information and history is strictly confidential. In fact, nothing, nothing that happens in this exam room today will be discussed except between, you, me, and Dr. Anburton. Ever. Do you understand that GiGi? This is 100% private.

GiGi gave Nadine's hand a squeeze and nodded her head and whispered "Thanks."

"OK then." Nadine picked out her pen from her jacket pocket and continued.

"How tall is your husband?" Nadine asked.

"About 6'1"," said GiGi

"Then how tall is your other partner? Nadine was treating this as if it were a softball injury with simple questions and no overtones, but I was having a hard time staying soft while I listened.

"He's about 5'10", I guess."

"About the doctor's height or a little taller?" Nadine asked, smiling at me knowing that I wanted to be just a little taller than my 5'9 ½'.

"About the same, I guess. I was wearing heels when I met him and so it's hard to guess."

"Let's do this," Nadine said, she pulled GiGi to her feet and moved the stool and told me to come closer. "Kneel down."

GiGi complied with surprisingly no objection and Nadine grabbed my elbow and positioned me uncomfortably close to this beautiful woman on the floor. She reached into the breast pocket of her shirt and handed me a tongue depressor. "Let's pretend," was all she said and we all new what she meant.

I held the thin wooden stick in my hand but hesitated. Nadine gave me a "don't be a school boy" look and forced me to hold it at crotch level. Her hands brushed against my now obvious erection and I and blushed deeply as I held it out to GiGi.

Nadine was now standing behind my beautiful patient and I mouthed the words, "I'm going to get you for this." Nadine just laughed silently and shocked me further by pressing her hand against her pubic bone in a Michael Jackson style crotch grab.

GiGi shifted her weight back and forth on the hard tile floor waiting for instructions.

"Doctor?" Nadine asked, "Can you take off your jacket and give it to GiGi so her knees won't be so sore?" Now I glared at my slim and curvy nurse. My jacket was my last hope of hiding the full erection that had taken over my trousers.

I shrugged my jacket off my shoulders and handed it to Nadine who folded it in quarters and knelt beside GiGi and slipped my jacket under her knees.

In almost a whisper, Nadine asked GiGi to show us what was causing her so much pain.

GiGi looked up at me and gave me an embarrassed smile. She knelt up as tall as she could go and wrapped one arm around the back of my thigh and placed her hand around the base of the tongue depressor. This put her hand directly on my cock and I couldn't help but flinch a little at her touch. It wasn't helping that, from my vantage point above these two beautiful women, I could see down GiGi's loose fitting t-shirt. She wore a very thin, very sheer white t-shirt bra, and her full breasts seemed about to break free.

Nadine saw how silly this all looked and asked GiGi, "Do you really want to find out the problem?"

GiGi nodded yes.

"Then let's do this examination right." She pulled the small stick out of my hand and tossed it behind her. Her hands came to my zipper and pulled it down and open in one smooth motion. Before I could react, she reached inside my fly and pulled my full-mast erection out in to the open.

"Now that's more realistic, don't you think?"

GiGi stared at my hard purple head and nodded, "Much better."

Rope Broke, Nicoli Missed - Part 1

A blogger I enjoy posted a note saying that she was fighting writer’s block and asked for suggestions. The excerpt below was my suggestion, but, since I don’t think she is going to use it, I have taken it back and decided to make a go of it….

Your sister’s best friend’s mother died during a freak accident while performing in a traveling Romanian circus the same weekend you are visiting your sister. You are invited to the funeral along with your sister, her hunky boyfriend, and have been asked to “comfort” the grieving family consisting of two beautiful twin sisters, a handsome brother with no hair, and mismatched eye color, and their father who, as the local priest, has a bit of reputation among the town folk of the village.


Based on your history as a student of Yoga and baby oil, you are in instant celebrity, but expectations are high as you approach the family’s home after the funeral….

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Here is my version of what happens next…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The telegram was simple enough to translate once I got to the right dictionary.

“Rope Broke, Nicoli Missed, Mom Dead, Please Come.”

I couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Jensel was dead. I had grown up with Jezebel Jensel, and unfortunate name born of two divorces and the misguided arrow of Cupid’s love. She was the neighborhood mom that every kid in the projects wanted to adopt as their own. She was forever clowning around, doing magic, climbing their high back fence, and leaping down with such grace that we all thought she had been kidnapped from a circus as a child.

We were right, in a way, but we had it backwards, the circus was about to kidnap her.

It was summer of 2002 when Circe de Soliel came in to town and stole Jezebel and her mom; forever, according to the telegram that lay on my kitchen table. Ms. Jensel bought us all tickets, me, my sister Alyssa, Jezebel, and Tommy, Jezebel’s first love and high school sweetheart. Ms. Jensel thought she was doing us a favor that night, introducing us to the sights and sounds of the French circus, but it was her who sat spellbound. They were in town for five nights and she bought tickets for everyone.
Jezebel was increasingly worried as the week wore on, telling me that her mom was becoming obsessed and had started climbing and dancing and cartweeling all over the house. But, what disturbed her most, was the sewing. Strange mannequin costumes of red, green and bronze. Spandex suits with purple tassels, Velcro hearts, and detachable harnesses of indeterminate use. She stayed up all night stitching and cutting and trimming and hemming, all the while spouting bon mots about circus life, the adventures of the road, and the call of the stage.

Several days later I picked up the phone and heard a teary-eyed Jezebel on the other end, begging me go come over to the house as quickly as possible. I made my excuses to my mother and dashed out the door. 3 blocks later, out of breath and breaking a sweat, I saw her crying in Tommy’s arms. She broke free and ran to me, held me tight, and broke the news.

“Mom’s running away to join the circus! Can you believe this? Can you believe this witch, this psycho, is actually taking me with her?”
“What?” This couldn’t be real. Let Mr. Jensel go, let her fly off the handle and join my dad in the loony bin, but taking Jezzie was out of the question. I felt tears pour down my cheek as I repeated “No no no no no.”

I called my mom, was soon locked in a heated debate over a kitchen table full of half-finished hats and a box full of fuzzy ball tassels. Jezzie, Tommy, and I sat in the yard and listened, helpless, as my mother stepped out on to the porch, rubbed her red and swollen eyes, and shook her head.

She took Jezzie by the hand and had her stand, and gave her a big hug.

“Take lots of pictures, protect you mom, and write everything down.” She hugged tighter, “It’s going to make a hell of a book when you get home.”

“No! No! No! No!” I screamed, yelling at my mom to get back inside and “DO SOMETHING!”

“She’s made up her mind,” my mom said with resignation, “They leave in the morning.”

Mom left us alone on the porch as the June bugs flittered around the light, taunting us with their freedom.

Tommy got up to leave and kissed Jezzie deeply. “I’ll send e-mails every day.” He lied, kissed her, and held her tight.

Their kisses became more passionate and I turned to walk away, giving them room to say good-bye. I stepped over their flower patch by the mailbox and stared at the full moon, thinking that a full moon was appropriate for a night as crazy as this.

“Kati,” my friend’s voice called out quietly, “You can come back now.”

I turned to see them still in a deep embrace and she reached out her hand to me. I took her hand and she pulled me in tight, and kissed me on the cheek.

Jezzie and I had kissed before, many times as friends, many times to “practice”, and lately, as tentative lovers, exploring what it meant to be 18 and curious.

Her lips moved from my cheek to my mouth and I took her in, surprised at how little I cared that Tommy’s arms were around us both. I felt the love and pain and fear and comfort of our relationship in every kiss and my body craved her arms, her smell, and warmth.

Unseen from the outside of our three-way hug, lit by only the 60-watt bulb on the porch, I felt her hands move to my chest, caressing with gentle urgency. She lifted the soft cotton of my t-shirt and revealed my small chest to the intimacy of our circle. I kissed her fiercely as she pinched my hardened buds and then gasped as I felt a larger, rougher, hand join her softness.

Tommy and I had gotten along well as the two of them started dating; none of the normal jealousies arose because I knew that we both helped Jezzie be happy. Now, I could feel things changing.

Jezebel’s lips left mine and she kissed my cheek, gently nudging my face to Tommy’s. I was confused but compliant and let Jezzie take the lead. Tommy’s lips were larger, drier, and his upper lip prickled with a three day beard. His approach was tender, inviting, not demanding, and I accepted and kissed him with encouragement from his girlfriend.

As Tommy’s hands moved across my chest I felt Jezzie’s move lower, unbuttoning and opening my pants to her touch. Her hand slipped under the waistband of my panties and between my legs as I gasped and opened my thighs to give her entrance. The pleasure was alarming and I could make neither heads nor tails of my feelings. I knew we were in transition; I was being passed from one to another, as a gift, a remembrance, as a link between two lovers.

Jezebel’s free hand slipped down the back of my panties and found the same wetness as the first. She circled her fingers inside me, her long nails clicking as the touched and moved within my walls. My hands reached out for her, but she guided me to his chest, his strength, his hips, his pants, his hardness.

Like she did to me, I opened his zipper and touched him, as she was touching me. Within the house, through the flimsy screen door, we heard movement and froze. I felt Tommy’s heart beating through my hands. It was silent except for the circling bugs and the interstate through the trees.

The porch light turned off and Ms. Jensel went to bed for the last time in our little town.

Engulfed by night, we returned to our passion and Jezzie grew bolder. She withdrew her hand from me and placed it over mine on his hard and swollen head. With one hand on my lower back, she guided my hips to his. Unsure, I began to kneel, to give him the pleasure I knew he loved from Jezebel’s many stories, but she stopped me.

Using her hands to guide us, she pressed him lower and leaned him against the house wall and pressed me on to him. As he and I positioned ourselves, Jezzie lowered my pants to allow me to straddle him. She leaned up against my back and wrapped her hands around from behind and held my lips open, using her thumb to caress and tease my clit as he slipped on the condom that was surely meant for my best friend.

She held my lips wide and caressed us both as he penetrated me for the first time. “You are his now,” she whispered, “Please take good care of him.” She held me tight while he lifted his hips up and into me, filling me, and making me swoon.

As he pace increased and his urgency mounted, Jezebel touched me in the ways she loved so much, gently on the breasts, aggressive on the nipples, soft and tender on my belly, and then she moved downward and spread my cheeks wide. We had never done this before and I was unsure of her intentions. I felt her tickle my backside, gathering wetness from his cock as he continued to pump steadily in and out. When she judged herself ready she pressed in and I felt a new sensation, and my climax engulfed me.

I know that somewhere in the next unknown segment of time he exploded with orgasm within me as well. I have vague, distant memories of him swelling and pressing and cumming and though I learned to know it well in the months to come, that of that night I remember only her hands, her fingers, my clit, my ass, my climax, my cum, my orgasm at the hand of my very best friend, who was being kidnapped to run away to the circus.

Completed, spent, and emotionally drained, we dressed and hugged and cried while Tommy held us quietly on the porch of 253 Birch Place.

The harsh whistle on my tea kettle shook me out of my memories and I shook my head, and felt a tear running down my face. I sensed motion and pleasure, and looked down and realized that I was gently rocking my pelvis against the corner of our large oak table.

I dropped the telegram and called upstairs where my sister was watching TV with her latest boy-toy.

“Janice! Start packing, we are going to a funeral.”

Someday she’ll leave the door unlocked.

Someday she’ll leave the door unlocked.

Our afternoon conversational pitter-patter is always about the same. I ask her when she’s leaving for the gym; she asks me when I leave for the train. She asks about “big plans” and I talk about changing diapers, mowing the lawn, and doing dishes. I ask the same and hear tales of dinners out, night clubs, and homework, and we both feel envious of the other.

“Call me as you walk out.” I text

“Gotta change first” she replies

“Wanna use my office? I promise not to peek”

“Dream on”

“That’s just what I do.’

I head down to her desk to get one more glimpse of her long red hair and her faint freckles. Yesterday’s outfit, a soft-shouldered blazer and a tight lycra top made me swoon as we talked about computer parts, expense accounts, and the latest layoffs.

“You heading out?”

“In jus a sec” she says as she closed down her computer, gather’s her bag, and her thoughts.

She stands tall and looks me in the eye. “Ready”

“Always”

Minor chit-chat about her new dog fills the time as we walk down the hall to the handicap restroom where she can lock the door and change for the gym. Why doesn’t she change at the gym? I don’t know. She gives me one more radiant smile and steps through the door and I hear the lock engage.

I step to the men’s room next door and drop my pants, relieving myself, enjoying the rush of fluid through my semi-erect body. The walls are too thick to hear anything but the rush of water upon flushing, but I imagine her, just inches away, stripping of the formal clothes of the work day. She would be standing just in inches away, naked except for her low-rise panties that I bought her for Christmas. Maybe this is when she pauses to pull her hair up into a workout-focused ponytail. Her breasts would lift and separate their young fullness mocking gravity, her nipples hardening in the cool bathroom air.

Her fingers fluff out the straggling strands of hair that tickle down her neck. Staring in the mirror, seeing her nakedness, knowing that I am just inches away, she begins to caress, touch, to imagine.

At first lifting and caressing, then pinching and pulling as the feelings build. Her hands move downward across her tight belly and she stops to fiddle with the belly ring that marked last year’s birthday.

Her feet shift, making room, creating space, allowing access, as her left hand steadies herself on the bathroom sink. Her mirror image is flushed and she smiles in delight as her reflected fingers make their way inside the lacy purple fabric. Her feet move again and the cold tile floor reminds her that she is at work, naked, and about to climax.

The sight of her hand in the mirror, wrist deep beneath the purple lace, arouses her and she allows her fingers full reign as they lead her ever closer. The warmth of her body, the coolness of the ceramic sink, the boldness of her desire, and the danger of the moment pushes her quickly over the edge and she let’s out a high-pitched yelp that penetrates the corporate walls and fulfills my fantasy.

I run the water and wash my hands, cleaning off the warm white drops. I flush and walk down the hall to retrieve my mail to read on the way home. As I pass by the locked door I gently rattle the handle and ask her if she’s alright.

“I’m fine” she stammers, “See you tomorrow…”

“OK” I reply softly. “I hope you’re OK.”

I hear the door lock turn and I step back to give her room. Her pale skin is rosy pink, her breathing rapid, and she tries to suppress a smile and avoids my gaze, “I’m fine, just late for the gym.”

“OK. You just seem a bit flustered.”

We walk together to the elevators in silence.

She hangs her gym bag off her shoulder and looks at me as the elevator descends. Knowing that I have only 5-6 seconds, I reach over and take her right hand and lift it to my lips. I kiss her fingertips as we watch each other closely.

The bell rings, the door opens, and I step back.

Some day she’ll leave the door unlocked for me.

TMI Tuesday - Missed Opportunities

1. Is there a sexual act/position/practice that you were sure in advance you would hate (or never try) and then discovered to your surprise you loved?

Not yet, because so far, I haven’t though of something that I would like to try. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to try anything new these days. “No funny business” she says with pointing finger.

2. Is there a sexual act/position/practice that proved a lot less interesting in practice than you thought it would be beforehand?

Reverse Cowboy is the most over rated sexual fad in the world.
And 99% of the Karma Sutra is just crap.

3. How do you let your significant other know you're in the mood? How do you let a new person in your life know?

“Can we lock the door?” or, “Can we make tonight Monday night?”

With 3 kids the door must be locked, and if the stars align just right Monday is “sex night”, so any other night gets designated as “Monday” when I’m in the mood.

4. How does your significant other let you know he/she is in the mood?

She will lock the door behind her as she comes in, or ask me if I’m “staying up late” then encourage me to come to bed. Occasionally, she will already be in bed wearing something cute that I have bought for her, or one of my old t-shirts.

5. Is there one that got away - a sexual opportunity you didn't realize was one at the time, or weren't ready for and regret missing ever since?

Going down on Kristen when I had her naked on her apartment floor. It was the first time for me to be naked with a girl and I was too nervous to realize that YES, she was inviting me to get started. It would have been a MAJOR escalation in our relationship and since I hesitated, she pulled back. Eventually nothing happened between us, but I can still tell you exactly what she looked like, and I still have her picture in my desk at work.

Tara at the gym. Yes, she really was serious about going to her place for a shower.

Kati at the pool. I should have gotten in the hot tub.

Margo at her apartment – I think she wanted more than a foot rub.

Nancy on moving day - she didn't get on her knees to find her glasses....

Caroline in her dorm room

Lisa in my car at the park, when she said she “wanted more” she meant sex.

All of these were real opportunities that I missed out on based on religious hang-ups and inexperience. I regret them all, but I’m glad I don’t have any “mini-me’s” walking around. But I mi

I promise to stop complaining….for a while...

February, the month of Valentines and kisses was a very good month for me, and for her, I hope. She has been making an effort to find more time for sex and it is paying off. I also think that telling her that I was keeping a sex calendar put her under some pressure to keep the numbers up. J

To recap.

9 orgasm total for me, 5 for her

2 hand jobs in the shower, one right before a funeral.

1 lunch time blowjob (I love love love working from home)

3 quickies – but March 24^th was particularly memorable

3 intense discussions about sex while having sex

One about my “new found enthusiasm” for sex. New found? I’ve been hot for her for 16 years, not that she’s noticed until now…

One question about how much my sex technique is influence by the porn I’ve seen (interesting question really, maybe I’ll write about it some day)

And one about my technique and that I’m too “pokey” as in “too deep” not “too slow” and that when I cum really hard beneath her that it hurts her inside. That is good to know. My goal is to please, not punish.

1 of the quickies was an amazing doggie-style session that lasted about 30 minutes and resulted in a huge orgasm for her after initially not being in the mood.

So what does this tell me?

One – I am grateful that my wife is making an effort to save time and energy for sex.

Two – I love it when she initiates.

Three – I need to accept sex even if it is just for me and my pleasure. It bothers her when I put pressure on her to have an orgasm. I don’t want to feel selfish, but I need to allow her to give me sex as a gift, even if she doesn’t feel the need to cum. This is a really guy/girl dichotomy because I can not imagine sex without an orgasm. For me, the orgasm is sex. I’m sure my pyschiatrist would have a heyday with that, but what the hell.

Four – I really love fucking my wife. I like everything about it.

Five – Keeping my calendar is a good way to feel grateful, because I see that she is trying.

Oh, yes, and one really, really, really good wet dream. So 10 orgasms....

February was a very good month for sex, and March is 1 for 1 so far. Off to a good start.

PS.

If anyone is interested in seeing my calendar entries, I’d be more than willing to share, but I’m not quite ready to make the entire thing public to the world. Google Calendar only offers adding “specific users” and EVERYONE IN THE WORLD settings. I have to add people by their e-mails, which may not work for everyone. If there is enough interest, I could just start posting them to the blog…