Thursday, 5 March 2009

What do you do?

What do you do when the one you want to be with - the one person in the world that gets your juices flowing like no one ever has before - is ill and pretty much incapable of sex?

When masturbation isn't good enough, because it isn't just an orgasm you're wanting. It's the closeness. The touching and being touched. The intimacy required in the act. The feeling of not knowing where he begins and you end.

When every inch of you screams out "touch me, kiss me, bite me, fuck me"... and he just can't. What do you do?


Saturday, 21 February 2009

Turning Point?

I'm starting to wonder if Valentine's Day was a turning point for me. Of sorts, anyway.

We had sex 3 times that night, as I recounted before. Twice here in the computer room (we have a couch in here as well) and then one more time when we went to "bed". (I seriously thought he meant he wanted to go to sleep. We'd already had sex twice, which might not sound like a lot, but he almost never lasts more than once.)

The good thing about having sex in our bedroom rather than anywhere else in the house? That's where the toys are!

We were in his new favorite position (start out spooning, but end up in a formation somewhere between a 'T' and a '+') and he'd prompted me to start rubbing my own clit. I did, but found that I was quite dry up there. Hubby reached behind his head and got out the vibrator and bottle of lube. Squirting a little on the tip for me, he pushed it between my cunt lips so that I could take hold of it.

And proceeded to have - quite literally - the most amazing orgasm of my life so far. The kind of orgasm that, when I look back on that night, I get light-headed just thinking about it.

I'd rubbed that vibrator around my clit while his cock slid in and out of me until I hit the "sweet spot." And I don't know what made it so mind-blowing - whether it was the fact that his cock was inside of me as well... or if it was the intensity of the day itself... or if it was the depth of emotional connection I felt with him at that point... or maybe it was a combination of all those things. I honestly don't know. I just know that when that orgasm hit, and my pussy clenched down on his cock, it blew my mind in a way that no orgasm ever has (at least so far).

And I'm not entirely sure if it was multiple orgasms or one really long one, but the feeling lasted forever. Just when I thought it was about to ebb off, fireworks were exploding in my brain again.

Afterwards, my whole body tingled. I'd had that tingle before, but only in my thighs. I never imagined my entire body could feel like that.

Last night he seemed intent on making sure I came before he ever put his cock in me (which is a change from before; basically it was just enough foreplay to lube me up, fuck, come, done). But he's a bit... rough. The skin on his fingers is so rough it feels like sandpaper, and he sometimes uses so much pressure that I joke with him that if I wanted my clit sanded off, I'd go get a sander!

To be clear, it's not that he just doesn't give a shit whether it feels good or not. The problem is me. I've tried to tell him the "right" way (for values of right that simply mean right for ME), but I just can't seem to make myself clear. I try, and he does adjust his speed/pressure/whatever, but it's still not quite right. And that falls on me and my apparently lacking communication skills.

So. Last night. He's trying really hard to make me come - and does this thing with his fingers that is difficult to describe, but felt good in the most amazing way. But it's still not quite right.

So as we're fucking, he prompts me to start playing with my clit again. For the first time, E.V.E.R., I don't hesitate. Not even a fleeting thought of "Oh my god no! He can't see me do that!" Not one.

Unfortunately that orgasm? Never came. But definitely not from a lack of trying!! I think it's probably because I'm still sick. I've had a godawful flu for almost 4 weeks now, and I still feel like a truck ran over me, stopped, and backed up over me again for good measure. The funny thing is, while we're having sex, I forget all about being sick. I don't even cough or anything, even with all the gasping and moaning I end up doing. I suspect that probably has something to do with endorphins. But I think this sucks-donkey-balls-flu is probably why I was never able to come last night.

But it's the fact that I didn't hesitate; that, for once, I was able to just let go of all of those unwelcome thoughts and just abandon myself in the moment. That's what really gets me. And I think it has a lot to do with that mind-blowing orgasm on Valentine's Day. Because now that I know it can feel like that, I find myself trying to make that happen again. And yeah, that might be a waste of time... but I can certainly still have fun trying, right? ;)

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Firsts Meme

A Sweet Nectar has left an open invitation to anybody who wanted to do this meme... so I thought I'd take her up on it. I'm having one of those want to write but can't think of anything kind of days today anyway. Maybe answering some questions will get the "juices" flowing, so to speak.

Here are the rules to Isabella's Naughty Meme of Firsts:

1. Please post them at the beginning of your meme.
2. Please include a link to Sex Talk For Men.
3. Also, please include as many sordid details in your answers as possible -- if you haven't got any, make them up!
4. Tag 3 people.

1. First French kiss?

5 years old. My "boyfriend" and I were hiding behind some of the bushes around the apartment complex we both lived in. We started playing like kids do, but then we started talking about sex (he was incredibly knowledgable for a 7 year old!) and he wanted to "show me" what a "grown up kiss" was like.

2. First boyfriend / girlfriend?

See above answer. Not sure if it REALLY counts, but he was the first one to insist that I call him "boyfriend."

3. First type.

I've never really had a "type." Other than tall, really. (I have dated a few shorties, but they've always been the exception to the rule.) There's no one thing that has ever attracted me to someone. For one, it was his voice. Another guy, it was his hair. My high school sweetheart? His eyes. With the hubby, it was his mind (since that's the only thing I had to go on at first). After we spoke on the phone the first time, his voice certainly added something to it. (He's got a really sexy voice!) There are so many different things that attract me to different people, it's just too hard to pin it all down to one "type." Except for the tall thing. Maybe it's some ingrained power play thing or something, but I'm short and I've always been more attracted to the tall ones than the short.

4. First time you had sex.

(We're talking penetration, right? PIV sex? Because "sex" is too ambiguous a word, IMO.) 12 years old. There had been an older neighborhood boy that knew I had a crush on him and used it to his advantage, wearing me down with repeated attempts to get me to fuck him that eventually I gave in just to shut him the fuck up. I regret that.

5. First celebrity crush

David Bowie. It was NYE, 1986. I was having a slumber party with my best friend, and her parents had rented a couple of movies for us to watch - one of them being Labyrinth. I remember watching the whole movie with my jaw on the floor and a tingling in my nether regions.

Eventually, I got to the point where one entire wall of my bedroom was nothing but posters/magazine clips/etc. of David Bowie. I owned all of his albums on tape, and read every book ever published that had anything at all to do with him. I know way more about David Bowie than is healthy, probably. ;)

6. First sexual fantasy

One that I've had since a child: a "kidnapping" fantasy. The bad men would snatch me away and the good guy would save me. Which meant that I was going to have to show my appreciation properly, dontcha know.

7. First person you fell in love with.

Adam. Met at Ala-Teen when I was 14, he 16. Dated for a while, broke up. A couple of years later, dated again, broke up again. This went on for a good few years, dating and then breaking up. Eventually, when I was 18, I got pregnant, and that's why we ended up breaking up that time. His daughter is 14 herself now; the same age I was when I first met him.

8. First proper sex toy.

A strap-on that I cut the straps off of. I wanted a clit vibe and a penetration vibe, and this was 2-in-1. What can I say? I'm cheap. (This was 10-11 years ago, btw.)

9. First porn video.

While living with Sperm Donor of Second Child (the aforementioned Adam being Sperm Donor of First Child), Robert. He loved making me feel inferior, and porn was just one of the tools he used to make sure I was under his thumb good and proper.

10. First sexy lingerie item/sexy briefs owned.

A black satin/voile babydoll nightie. I actually only got rid of it a couple of years ago.

11. First time giving oral.

The real first time? You don't want to know. (See previous entries re: child abuse.)

12. First time getting oral.

14 years old. Jason was a virgin (good god, I actually had to direct him where to put it!), but he was so enthusiastic!

13. First orgasm given by someone else.

I think that would probably be at age 14, too. Jeremy, if I remember correctly.

14. First one night stand.

ONLY one-night stand. I was 22/23, and met a guy in a bar one night. He followed me home, we fucked, he left. (For the record, HE wanted to keep in touch, but *I* wasn't interested.) But he left me a bag of weed, too! (lol)

15. First dirty book/dirty mag read.

Well if romance novels count (and personally, I think they should - have you READ some of these books? *pantpantpant*), then probably somewhere around 11 or 12. I was a voracious reader that practically lived in the library, and I would read so many books that my grandmother just gave up even trying to keep up with me, and never really questioned at all what I was reading.

Since I'm such a "newbie" around here and don't really know anybody, I'll just slap on an open invitation here to anybody who happens across it. You want to do one, too? Be my guest. :)

Sunday, 15 February 2009

Oh what a night!

So Valentine's Day? Total hit.

First, I surprised him by dressing up for him. Sweater dress, tights, knee-high boots... the whole lot. I so rarely get a chance to dress up for him anyway, and I figured even though we weren't going anywhere, there wasn't any reason why I couldn't dress up for him for Valentine's Day.

He teased me a bit when he came home from town and saw me dressed like that. "Are you going somewhere?" No. "Is there a boyfriend on the side that I need to know about?" Nope.

"No, honey, this is just for you," I told him.

He actually called me "sexy". You have no idea what a big deal that was, for me to hear him say that. It's literally been years since he's said anything like that to me.

And it prompted him to get out his equipment and take photos of me. (He's a budding photographer, and plays around with his equipment all the time, trying to teach himself and build up his skills. But this is the first time he's ever been inspired to use me as a model.)

After the children went to bed, we ordered in some Chinese food, and because it was so cold in the kitchen, we ate it on the floor of the computer room (it's the warmest room in the house). I'd bought candles so that we could have a candlelit dinner, so I just brought them in here and set them up on the floor between us. :)

After dinner, he complained that it was getting late, and he still hadn't gotten his present yet. I was nervous, so I stalled for a little bit, but eventually got up the nerve to make a move. I told him that I was going to go get his present, but it was going to take me a minute. He was confused, but said "okay."

I went upstairs to where I hid everything. A black see-through babydoll & thong set, a pair of black fishnet hold-ups, a pair of FMS (Fuck Me Shoes), his card, and a tube of chocolate body paint. His present? Me. And chocolate. (He's the chocoholic in this house.)

I changed out of my clothes into the lingerie. And was pleasantly surprised at just how well the hold-ups fit. (I bought them from Ann Summers, and wasn't sure how the fit was going to be on a fat body. My only complaint was that the lace wouldn't lay flat; it kept rolling up on itself. But I was never in any danger of them falling down, so it wasn't all that bad.) Slipped on the FMS, grabbed the card and body paint, and made my way back down to the computer room to where he was.

I was really nervous now. It had been years since I did anything like this, and I just didn't know how it was going to be received.

I needn't have worried.

I stepped into the computer room and closed the door behind me. Hubby turned around when he heard the door close.

A few weeks ago, I blogged about wanting to make this Valentine's Day special. In fact, let me quote myself:

I want him to look at me like he did that night. I want to feel like I did that night. I want to make him feel the way I made him feel that night.

When he turned around and looked at me? It was that look. That look that I remember from that Valentine's Day 8 years ago. That look that I get so very rarely. That look that just drinks me in, and tells me everything I needed to know: that I am desired and loved at the same time.

It took less than 2 seconds before he was up out of his chair and taking me in his arms. The card and body paint were completely forgotten, he just couldn't wait to get his hands on me.

(Plus, he said he's too much of a chocolate snob: he really couldn't care less about the body paint, though I'm welcome to use it on him if I want.)

And then he proceeded to fuck my brains out until like 3 or 4 in the morning. Twice in the computer room and then again when we went "to bed." (Ha! Silly me for thinking he actually wanted to sleep!)

I will write a little more in-depth later. I'm too damned tired to think straight right now. I am just so fucking happy that Valentine's Day turned out to be exactly what I wanted. No... actually, it was even better.

And I felt like shouting it from the rooftops. But that doesn't seem such a wise idea, so I think blogging about it will have to suffice. ;)

Saturday, 14 February 2009

Happy Valentine's Day

As a wife who is ridiculously still in love with her husband, Valentine's Day is one of my favorite days of the year. Sure, I can show him how much I love him any day, but how many days in the year is it actively encouraged? Not too many.

So while I plan and look forward to our special dinner tonight after the children have gone to bed, this song will be playing in my head all day long:

The first time I heard this song, it surprised me how well it fit Hubby and I. We met on the internet, and became engaged before ever meeting in person. So I really DID know I loved him before I met him!

Besides, Savage Garden kick ass. :)

Tuesday, 10 February 2009


My friend* Nudiemuse has a post up that just boggled my fucking brain.

The other day someone sent me an anonymous note letting me know how disappointed he/she was to find my blog linked at AAG (...) and Best Sex Bloggers (...) and a few other sex oriented places. This persons whole reasoning for the disappointed is that I a.) don't talk about exclusively sex and b.) am not "anyone" in the adult/sex industry.

This person was also disappointed to find out that I am fat and into FA.

Wait... let me make sure I'm getting this right. So because she's a whole person, who actually does things other than fuck and think about fucking, and she talks about it on her personal blog... there's something wrong with this?


I mean... I could understand if she was part of a porn site or something, where people would have to pay to have access to her blog, but it's her personal blog. It's out there in the ether, where people can either choose to read it or not. On top of that, I think it's really ridiculous that anybody should expect her (or any other blogger out there, regardless of the topic they write about) to conform her content just to please their expectations of what she should be writing about.

Personally, I like it when bloggers write about more than just one topic. It gives you a glimpse into the person behind the words - the real person. Not the body, but the person living inside that body. It helps to remind me that there's a real person behind those words, not just some automaton. I mean sure, if you're going to call yourself a sex blogger (just as an example), then I would definitely say that keeping the majority of your content to the topic at hand would be a good thing. But as Nudemuse points out, she's not JUST a sex blogger. She's not JUST a (insert topic here) blogger, period. She's just a blogger. And she's never claimed to be anything else.

And the whole fat/FA issue? Yeah. I guess this person would be disappointed in me, too, then. 'Cuz I'm just about as fat as Nudemuse is. And I pretty much agree with everything she's ever said on her blog about fat and FA. Does that make me a disappointment? Maybe, but then again, anybody who is going to be disappointed that a fat woman can find the sexiness in herself? That a person who happens to be a little bigger than some unreachable social "ideal" can love herself that much? Yeah, don't need 'em, don't want 'em. Couldn't care less about 'em, to be frank. I don't need a person like that in my life, online or otherwise. And neither does she. (And neither does anybody else, for that matter!)

I know, I know. Some of you may be thinking "this is the internet, honey, some people are like that." And you may be right, up to a point. But just because somebody chooses to be a dickwad doesn't mean I can't take offense to it. As I may have said before, my approach to the internet is... well, different. What you see here? This is me, just in text form. I don't pretend to be something or someone that I'm not. Unless you see a tag specifically labelled "fiction" or "fantasy island", what you're reading is me. Laid bare here for all to see. Sure, I hide behind a fake name**, but that's the ONLY thing fake about me here. And because I AM like that, I literally cannot comprehend why somebody would use the internet as a place to suddenly turn into an asshole. I understand that it happens; I just don't understand why somebody would do it. I don't see the point.

And, as you can see, it irks the FUCK out of me!

* - We actually are friends, in the internet sense. We know each other - and have done, for at least a year now, quite possibly more - from other corners of teh internetz, though I use a different name there than I do here. (Nudie, if you read this, and you want to know who I am, drop me a quick note [heavenly dot sinful dot blog at live dot co dot uk] and I'll be happy to out myself to ya. That is, if you haven't already guessed! ;) )

** - There's two reasons why I hide behind a totally fake (as in different than any other name I've ever used on teh internetz) name here: 1, I've had some unfortunate experiences with internet stalkers, and would rather just avoid a repeat of that experience at all costs. 2, the name I usually use? Not quite appropriate to the subject matter here. So I wanted something a little more on-topic anyway.

Saturday, 7 February 2009

Indian Head Massage

I had no idea that something as seemingly innocuous as an Indian head massage would turn into something so wonderful.

I attend a coffee morning at one of my kids' schools every Friday. Every so often (at least once a month, sometimes more), the school staff that run the coffee morning try to get someone in to speak to us, or sometimes to teach us something. Yesterday it was aromatherapy and massage. I learned how to do an Indian head massage, and received one as well. (If you have some way of learning how to do this, I strongly urge you to do so. Honestly, I enjoyed giving one almost as much as receiving one!)

When I got home, Hubby asked what I'd been up to at the coffee morning. "Would you like a demonstration?" I asked him with a big grin.

(To be honest, as soon as we were done learning the technique, I couldn't wait to get home and give him one. For one thing, I actually do enjoy giving him massages. It gives me an excuse to touch him. ;) For another, he's been feeling as unwell as I have lately [we've both been fighting a flu for over two weeks now], complete with headaches, being unable to relax no matter how tired he is, and just a general short-tempered-ness that he can't seem to shake. So I thought it might be good for him, regardless.)

He seemed a little dubious, but agreed. I went to the kitchen to grab a towel (he'd need it for cushioning his neck) and had him sit up straight in his chair.

I started at his shoulders, lightly massaging in circles over the shoulder blades. I moved up to his neck and head, giving light but firm pressure. Placing my palms above his ears on each side of his head, I squeezed my hands together. Firm, but not too hard. I then moved to his left, one hand on his brow, the other on the base of his skull, and squeezed again. Then I started massaging his head all over, using my finger tips. If you've ever had your hair washed at a hairdressers, you'll know what kind of motion I mean. Firm, but not hard, all over the head.

I stroked his hair back, and using the heel of my palm, massaged in little circles up each side of his head. After stroking his hair some more, I laid the towel on the back of his neck and had him lift his head back, so that the base of his skull was resting on the towel and the crown of his head rested against my tits.

Using just my finger tips, I started stroking from the tip of his nose up to his hairline. One stroke after another, again using firm but light pressure. Moving to his eyebrows, I stroked inwards along the brows (both at the same time), down the bridge of his nose, around the eyes, and back up to the brows. Over, down, and around; again and again.

Stroking my way back up to his brow, I placed my hands on each side of his face and stroked my way down his face, to his chin, so that my hands formed a V with my fingertips touching each other, and the heels of my hands still in contact with his chin. Down... make a V... and back up again.

Then I placed one hand on his brow and the other on his chin. Using a half-circular motion, I stroked down with one hand and up with the other. (The hand that started at his chin ended up at his brow, and vice-versa.) First one way, then the other. And then I did it again.

Slowly making my way back to his shoulders, I used the same circular motion on the shoulders as I did to begin with, and ended the massage with a light but firm squeeze on both shoulders.

Apparently he enjoyed it just as much as I had, because the only response to "so? How was that?" that I got was an unintelligible moan.

After recovering from my massage, he said that he was hungry. I still had on my boots and everything, so I ran down to the corner shop to buy him a sandwich. We read some news online and chatted a bit while he ate, and then he shut down the browser window. I assumed he was going to go upstairs.

But instead of getting up and leaving the room, he reached over and grabbed my scarf, pulling me down to him. He kissed me senseless, his tongue darting in and out of my mouth. My head was spinning, literally.

He reached down and unzipped my jeans, finding his way into my panties. I gasped as he started to flick his finger over my clit and bite my neck at the same time. So many sensations all at the same time... it was all I could do not to just melt onto the floor. I braced myself on the arms of the computer chair he was sitting in, just to make sure I could stay upright.

My scarf disappeared somehow, discarded in his need to taste the skin on my neck and shoulders. He kept fingering my clit, bringing me just to the brink of orgasm before stopping and standing up, never breaking contact with me. His arms around me, his mouth on mine, he pushed me across the room to the couch, both of us falling back on it, he on top of me.

Pushing up my shirt, he kneaded my breast through the fabric of my bra. Desperate to taste my nipples, he reached under me with both hands to unclasp my bra. Pushing it out of his way, he bent his head and took one of my nipples in his mouth. Gasping and moaning, I arched my back to push my tits up to him, reveling in the sensation he created.

Without looking, he reached over and unzipped my boots, pulling them off and throwing them across the room. Standing up, he took hold of my jeans by the hem of each leg and pulled them off of me, tossing them aside as well. My panties and his sweats joined the heap of clothes on the floor, and he pulled my ass to the edge of the couch, entering me. Filling me.

He fucked me with long, slow strokes; pulling out almost completely and then filling me completely. Gradually he increased his speed, until my head was banging into the back of the couch and it was all I could do to keep myself from sliding off of it completely.

Pulling out of me, he asked me to get up, wanting to change positions. I stood up and he sat down on the couch, pulling me on top of him. I straddled him, impaling myself on his cock. Slowly I began to rock back and forth; kissing him from his lips, along his jawline, and up to his ear. Taking hold of my hips, he pulled me harder, telling me without words that he needed me to go faster.

Needing no more cue than that, I increased my speed, grabbing hold of the back of the couch for balance. Faster and faster I continued to fuck him, feeling my own orgasm building inside of me.

Suddenly he grabbed his chest. Worried, I stopped - but didn't get off of him. (He has periodic chest pains that doctors haven't been able to find the cause of, and the last thing I wanted to do was fuck him to death - literally - at the age of 32!)

So I just held myself still, helping him to massage his chest and using my pelvic muscles to squeeze his cock inside of me. Eventually the chest pains subsided and sexual need took reign again. He started bucking his hips, prompting me to resume fucking him. I started slow again, not wanting to bring on another case of chest pains.

After a few moments, he needed to switch again, and so he laid me down on the couch and climbed between my legs. Entering me again, he held one of my legs up so that he could drive himself deeper into my pussy.

With him as deep inside of me as he could possibly be, and his pelvic bone rubbing against my clit, it took no time at all before I came. Moaning and gasping, I called out his name as my orgasm took hold.

Whispering in my ear how much he loved me, he continued pumping in and out of me, seeking his own release. Knowing he couldn't keep this up much longer before the chest pains returned, I wanted to see him come. I'd had mine; it was only fair that he got his as well.

So I wrapped my arms around him, digging my nails into the flesh of his ass, turning my head so that I could take his earlobe in my mouth. Telling him how much I loved him, I urged him on. "Fuck me," I whispered in his ear. "Come for me, baby."

It must have sent him over the edge, for the next thing I knew, I could feel his cock spasming inside of me, filling me with his come.


All of that, because of a head massage.

I'd had no idea that it would have that kind of affect on him, but oh my god am I ever glad.

Note to self: give Hubby more head massages! ;)

Friday, 6 February 2009

Making My Way Back to You

I woke up one day and realized
We were separated by a great divide
I didn't know how, and I didn't know when
I only knew I wanted it the old way again

I sat myself down and I made myself think
What the hell had brought us to the brink?
And all at once, I had an epiphany
I had pushed you away from me

I built a wall and I shut you out
I realize that now, without any doubt
Unknowingly, you did the same to me
And THAT is how this came to be

We hold ourselves in, a death-grip of fear
And now we find ourselves lost and alone here
Both wanting and needing to reclaim what we had
Desperately craving it, so very bad

It took a lot of time, but I finally found the nerve
To sit you down and tell you what I'd observed
I cried on your shoulder, filled with contrition
Consumed with shame for my awful admission

"Don't worry" you said, "we'll figure this out"
But I had to admit I had more than a doubt
After ten years only now do I know
That I slowly but surely left you out in the snow

But I know what I want; I know what I need
And I'm determined to finally succeed
The love of my life you have always been
But I've held myself too far within

Now it's out in the open; it's up in the air
And I have to admit, you've been more than fair
I work on it slowly, but work on it I do
Slowly making my way back to you

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

Fear = Lack of Trust?

I've been thinking about this for a couple of days now. I was trying to get my thoughts in some semblance of order, but that doesn't seem happening. Sometimes when I try to write about things that are confusing me, though, the process of writing it out helps to get it clear. So I thought I'd give that a try. Be forewarned, though: it's entirely possible I might make no sense whatsoever.

It occurred to me after reading something on another sex blog. I can't even remember which one now - I had followed a link from a blog from a blog from a... you get the idea, right? Basically, I was sex-blog-cruising.

I do remember it was written by a lesbian sub, talking about her personal issues and how her "master" (is that even the right word? I don't know, but please don't take offense if it isn't) was helping her to work through them. Trust being one of them.

As I often do, I compared what I was reading to my own marriage. (If there's one thing I've learned, regardless of the dynamics of the specific relationship, there are many things that are common in all relationships.) And the truth is, trust has been a big issue in my marriage as well.

Obviously, the abuse I suffered as a child has a lot to do with that. I learned at a young age that even the people that are supposed to love you and protect you can't always be trusted. And when you learn that kind of lesson at that young of an age, you end up not trusting anybody.

The ironic thing, though? I had no problem trusting him when he was just words on a screen. Yeah, Hubby and I met on the internet, almost exactly a decade ago. (It was late March 1999, to be precise.) Back then, I honestly felt like I could tell him anything. And I never pretended to be something or someone that I'm not... I just felt more comfortable telling him things about me and about my life that I probably wouldn't have felt as comfortable saying to him, had he been in the same room with me.

But now that I look back on it, after his coming to the U.S., our getting married and starting our life together, I started to feel less and less like I could completely be myself around him. I started to build a wall around myself, including my sexuality.

What I don't really understand is why. Why would I do that? Obviously, it wasn't a conscious decision. I've only figured out in the last couple of days that I did it. But what was it that made me feel like I had to hide myself from him?

I wish I knew the answer to that. I feel like, if I knew the answer, it would be the miracle I need to make that wall vanish into thin air. As it is now, I'm using a pencil to break down the mortar and bring that wall down, brick by brick. It's exhausting, it's painful, it's scary, and I wish I could just have it done and over with.

Because it's too important not to. This is an issue which, if left unchecked, I could easily see destroying my marriage. After all, it's not really just about the sex. It's not just about what happens in the bed. It's about what happens in our heads and our hearts, and if I can't trust him enough to be able to tell him that... well, that's just really bad news. Really bad news.

Hell, now that I think about it... I think it might have been the catalyst that set off the events that ended in his having had an affair. Because I remember him drunkenly complaining about it only a few months prior. But that was the one and only time he'd attempted to talk to me about it. He gave up, in a lot of ways.

And yeah, his having had that affair plays a part in my not trusting him. That time of our life nearly destroyed me - literally. Not to sound all "poor me," but I seriously came close to suicide after that happened. I never want to have to go through that again. But I realize that I had an equal share in the problems in our marriage, and I just don't want us to even get to that point ever again... you know? I know it's possible for us to have not just a good marriage, but a great one. And I know that I have just as much responsibility for making that happen as he does. And the fact is, this is important to him.

When we talked about it, he said that sex had started to feel like "work," because he had to be the one to start things every. single. time. And you know what? That's absolutely true. I can't deny it, so I'm not even going to try. The thing is... that's not how I want things to be. So many times I've imagined myself doing something to show him how much I want him... but the thought of actually doing it? Sets me off in a panic attack. Seriously.

I'm that scared of it, that I end up having a panic attack. That's... well... that's just wrong, that's what it is. That's not how a marriage should be, and that's not how I want my marriage to be.

So I work on it. Slowly, but I'm making a concentrated effort here. I just wish I could snap my fingers or wiggle my nose and just be over whatever it is that's holding me back. I'm impatient to have the kind of marriage - and the kind of sex life - that we both want.

But the question I have now is: how do I fix it? If lack of trust on my part is part-and-parcel of my issues in the bedroom, what the hell do I do now? I can't just turn on the trust like it's some lightswitch or something.

If only it were that easy...

Sunday, 1 February 2009

Valentine's Day

I've been thinking about Valentine's Day a lot lately, because I want to do something special this year.

I remember the best V-Day the hubby and I have ever had. It was the second year of our marriage (when we were still living in the U.S.), we had an almost-yours-mine-and-ours situation: I'd come into the marriage with two children and I'd just had another baby 4 months before. Money, needless to say, was tight. We were still in the process of catching up with the post-baby bills, and didn't have a lot to spare. So even something as simple as going out to dinner was out of the question.

But I still wanted to do something that we'd both remember for a very long time. Something special that didn't cost a lot of money.

So I planned it all out. Dinner for the two of us after the children went to bed. No tv, no computer, no phone, no nothing. Hmm... but maybe I could get a new piece of lingerie, if I could find it cheap enough.

I went shopping after work, and managed to find a really nice babydoll negligee at Wal-Mart, of all places. A nice, dark burgundy color, spaghetti straps, and see-through. The sheerness of it made me a little nervous (I HAD just had a baby!!), but it looked like something he would like. Best of all, it was only around $10. (I don't remember the exact amount anymore, but I know it was somewhere around there.)

However, I conveniently "forgot" to get the food for dinner. And I "forgot" to tell him until I finished taking my shower and hiding my new nightie under my robe. So I sent him to the store to get what I needed, and while he was gone, I set to setting the scene I wanted.

Soft, fluffy white blanket in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by candles (I've always been a bit of a candle freak, so I've almost always had them on hand). I set up a playlist of love songs on the computer and let it play in a loop. And then I turned on the oven to heat it up while I waited for him to come back (I knew he'd only be gone 20 minutes, tops, but that was all the time I needed).

When I heard him pull into the driveway, I posed myself in the middle of the living room and untied my robe, letting it fall open to reveal me, in the new burgundy see-through nightie.

When he walked through the door, he literally dropped the bag he was carrying, breaking out into a big grin. (I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was definitely something along the lines of "wow.") Acting as nonchalantly as possible (though to be honest, my heart was about to burst out of my chest I was so nervous), I took the bag from him, telling him to go take a shower while I put dinner in the oven. By the time he got out of the shower, dinner would be done.

I'm not sure I ever saw him run up the stairs as fast as he did that day. ;)

I put dinner in the oven and then played solitaire on the computer to pass the time until the oven timer went off. He came downstairs just as I was bent over the oven, pulling our fully cooked dinner out. He came up behind me and put his arms around me, nuzzling my neck. "You better be careful," I warned him, "or this is going to end up all over the floor."

I put our food on plates, we each grabbed a drink, and sat down on the fluffy blanket to eat our dinner. He asked me if I wanted to put the tv on, and I told him no. "No television, no computer, no nothing tonight. Just me and you, and that's it."

"Okay," he said, smiling.

We made small talk as we ate, him asking about my day at work and me asking if the children had been unusually bad (or good!) for him. (He was a stay-at-home-dad at the time; I made more money than he did, and we couldn't afford childcare, so it was the most sensible solution.) But neither of us were really into the small talk. His eyes kept traveling down my body, as everything was on display in that see-through negligee. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My eyes kept wandering to the towel he had tied around his waist, wondering if he was getting hard under there.

Finished, we both set our plates aside and reached for each other. There was to be no pretense that night. We had one need and one need only: each other.

Unfortunately my idea of making love on the living room floor was better in theory than it was in practice. The floor hurt his knees and my back too much. So we ended up moving up to the bedroom.

But it was something so special that now, even 8 years later, I remember it in graphic detail. I remember how he turned me so that I was laying back against his legs, one arm behind my neck and the other roaming up and down my body, touching me everywhere as he kissed me senseless. I remember him bringing me to multiple orgasms, completely blowing my mind.

I remember how close I felt to him that night. If I were to make a flow chart of our marriage, that night would have definitely been one of the highest peaks. I felt so full of love - and so loved - that I literally felt as if I would burst.

I want to do something like that again. I want him to look at me like he did that night. I want to feel like I did that night. I want to make him feel the way I made him feel that night.

I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it, but I'm determined that it's going to happen.

Thursday, 29 January 2009

Wait a cotton-pickin' minute. Who's supposed to be teasing whom here?

It seems my little "plan" is backfiring in my face.

All day today (well, as long as he's been up anyway; he didn't get out of bed until something like 5 p.m. [yeah, still not feeling well; neither am I]) he's been torturing the hell out of me.

  • Biting my neck and then licking the spot he'd just sunk his teeth into. (God, that drives me crazy... and he knows it!)
  • Grabbing me by the back of my head, pulling me all the way back in my chair, and kissing me as if he were trying to devour me alive.
  • Tickling me (I'm uber-ticklish, and for some reason him tickling me seems to turn us both on).
  • Grabbing my tits (though this is usually accompanied by one of the above kisses and/or bites, it by itself is enough to torture me).

He leaves me literally panting for him. And cursing the fact that the tubal ligation I had almost 7 years ago didn't also take away my "lovely monthly visitor." Argh! It's just so... frustrating!

But at the same time, I have to admit I love it. =)

I look at it this way: why would he torture me so much if he didn't want me almost as much as I want him? (I say almost because of his no-go rule when it comes to my period.) Knowing how much I want him and feeling wanted in return? How could I not love that?

Now to continue my search for the perfect e-card to send him tonight. Gah, why do these things have to be so hard to find?

Bah. Period.

I hate it when Hubby's sick.

Earlier today, we had a conversation that had me looking forward to the time when the children would be asleep.

Him: Has the Red Baron landed yet?

Me: ??? (I looked at him funny, 'cuz I didn't know what the fuck he was on about.)

Him: Your period. Have you started your period yet?

Me: Nope, not yet. It's definitely coming some time in the next couple of days, though.

Him: Obviously. (I'm kind of PMSing at the moment. Okay, not kind of... I AM.)

Then he gave me one of his grins. The one where he looks like a little boy who's about to do something really evil.

Him: Later tonight then.

And he kissed me. The kind of kiss that makes my knees weak and leaves me breathless. I cling to him not only because I want to, but because if I didn't, I'd be in a puddle on the floor.

But... it didn't happen. Or isn't happening, rather.

For one thing, he didn't get much sleep last night, so he wanted to get some rest in order to be up for it - in more ways than one. But that didn't happen, either. If it wasn't the kids making noise and waking him up, it was the washing machine. (We have 6 people in this house - I have to do laundry every day in order to keep up with it.) For another thing, he's not feeling well. He hasn't been feeling well for a few days now, but it hasn't been too bad. It seems to ebb and flow. Some days he feels worse than others, but he really hasn't felt well for about a week now.

So I totally understand. But I'm disappointed. For one thing, he got me all turned on and I couldn't wait for time to pass so we could be alone together. I had memories of the last week running through my head, and it was so bad that I couldn't concentrate on anything. (Thankfully, housework doesn't take a whole lot of mental ability, or I'd be completely useless.)

And... I'm pretty sure "The Red Baron," as he called it, will be arriving tomorrow. I can feel it. I'm already starting to cramp up, and that's a pretty sure sign for me.

And Hubby isn't into period sex. Unfortunately for me. (One of my pre-marriage boyfriends - the biological father [unlovingly referred to as a sperm donor] of my 12 year old - was into that, and I found it quite enjoyable.) But when I'm having that lovely week of mine? Yeah... no. He won't come near me, at least not in a sexual way. He'll cuddle me (which is good, because I get hella emotional when I'm PMSing) and stuff, but he won't touch me in a sexual way at all.

So it'll be about a week before I have any chance of making love to him again.

But I had an idea.

What we both want is for me to be a little more pro-active in our sex life. I've never had a problem participating, but initiating and even so much as talking about it? Yeah, that's a big problem for me.

What I don't seem to have a problem with is writing about it. Right now I'm sharing most of that with strangers (I don't think he knows about this blog; he's not usually very nosy and I just don't think he's noticed me writing in here. I could be wrong, though), but I think I might start sharing a little bit with him, as well.

Just a little note, here and there. Maybe some romantic love notes... Valentine's Day is coming soon, after all. What better time of the year to purposely bring on the romance? And definitely some sexy notes as well. Tell him what I want to do to him, in glaringly graphic detail.

The goal is to make it so that - once my period is over - he can't wait to get his hands on me.

Not to mention I think it'll be a great exercise for me, in working on this whole married sex life thing.

Monday, 26 January 2009

A Revelation

I think I may have actually ejaculated (squirted, gushed, whatever) last week.

It dawned on me while reading something regarding female ejaculation today. After a particularly amazing lovemaking session, there was a huge puddle in the (dark red, so it was clearly visible) sheets. Two, actually - one puddle inside another. The larger puddle was clear; the smaller puddle was white-tinged - obviously Hubby's come. It seemed kind of strange at the time, but I didn't really think anything of it.

And all the "medical" reports I've read say that female ejaculation is clear, while we all know that come is usually a milky-white color.

The thing is, I didn't think I could ejaculate. I'd heard of it, of course, but I didn't think it was something that every woman was capable of. Kind of like how only 30% (or something like that) of women can orgasm from penetration only. The vast majority of us need clitoral stimulation to get to the point of coming. I thought ejaculation was similar - something some women could do, but not all. I figured I was in the latter category, since it never happened before (at least not to my knowledge, anyway).

Huh. I ejaculated. COOL! *grin*

A Lesson Learned

If I get dressed up


I feel sexy


I have a good time with my best friend


I get good and drunk


Hubby and I have amazing sex.

(And that's about all I can say right now, because I'm exhausted and a little hung over, but OMG so fucking happy I can't even tell you!)

Saturday, 24 January 2009

A Day of Firsts, Part III

Jim started to sit up but abruptly stopped. "Wait. I've got an idea."

Anya lay on the bed, legs askew, still gasping for breath. "What?"

"Just wait here for a moment. I'll be right back."

He got up, threw his robe on, and left the room. Anya could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs, and it wasn't long before she heard him running back up again. A huge grin on his face, he all but bounced back into the room.

Holding something in his hand, he lifted it up and said "this." It took a moment for her brain to click into gear, but Anya finally realized that he was holding up his electric shaver. "What's that for?"

"You, my dear," he said over-dramatically, "are in dire need of a trim."

She blushed. She didn't usually let her pubic hair get this long, but she kept forgetting to buy razors when she went into town. No razor, no shave. Growing more embarrassed by the second, she clamped her legs shut. "Yeah. I... uh... keep forgetting to buy razors."

"I noticed that," he said, a wry grin on his face. "That's why I got this. It won't be perfect, but it'll be better!"

"Um... I think I might be a little too... messy... for you to do that right now."

"No problem!" Jim said. "I'll go get a warm washcloth." With a shit-eating grin, he disappeared out the door, and she could hear him in the bathroom, water running from the tap. In no time at all, he reappeared, washcloth in hand.

"Open up," he said, his voice low. She did, slowly spreading her legs until her pussy was revealed. Gently, he washed her - warm, and wet, the washcloth ran over first her outer lips, then the inner, softly removing the evidence of her orgasms. Once he was done, he spread it out on the bed under her bottom. "So we don't have pubic hair all over the bed," he explained.

Grabbing his shaver, he popped the trimmer into position. Turning it on, he bent down and placed it gently on her mons. "Just try to hold still," he said. "It won't cut you, I don't think, but it might pull if you move too much."

Anya, breathless, just stared at him. The intimacy required in order to let him do this for her was turning her on more than anything.

Slowly and carefully, he trimmed her pubic hair, starting at her mons and proceeding down to her swollen, pink lips. The gentle vibrations from the device, in combination to the gentle touches of his fingers, were turning her on more than she could have imagined. She never believed that something as simple as shaving could be so erotic an event.

Finished, he turned off the shaver, and carefully folded the washcloth so that the hair that had fallen was trapped inside. Giving her pussy one last wipe with the (now much cooler) washcloth to catch any stray hairs, he folded it up even smaller and placed it on her bedside table. Reclining back on the bed, he reached out to touch his masterpiece. Running his fingers gently along her outer lips, he softly said "there. That's much better."

The only sound in the room was Anya's quickened breathing. Wide-eyed, she simply stared at him. Too befuddled to speak, she didn't even try.

The touch of his fingers was exquisite torture. Like butterfly kisses, he gently stroked her, fingers periodically delving between to touch the moist head. Looking into her eyes, he pushed a finger inside. "Oh my," he said. "That really turned you on, didn't it?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Good," he grinned, and bent his head, touching his tongue to her clit. Half gasp, half scream, she cried out and clutched at the sheets under her hands. He teased her mercilessly, flicking his tongue against her swollen bud until she was almost ready to come... and then stopping, running his tongue down the inside of her lips, shoving it into her hole. And then doing it again... and again... and again. Oblivious to anything but what he was doing to her, breathing became moaning; moaning became screaming.

Finally granting her mercy, he hooked two fingers into her, massaging her g-spot, and attacking her clit with his tongue.

"Oh God... oh God... Jim... oh my God, I'm going to come!"

The orgasm that washed over her was stronger than she could ever remember feeling before. Her pussy spasmed, clenching the fingers that were still inside her.

As she struggled to return her breathing to normal, he crawled up alongside her, kissing his way up her body. The curves of her stomach, the globes of her breasts... he blazed a trail of hot kisses that made it all but impossible for her to come all the way down. He held her up in that haze of orgasmic pleasure and didn't seem willing to let her come down.

And she wasn't really sure she wanted to.

Coming to her neck, he continued to kiss and lick his way up, finally locking lips with hers, shoving his hot tongue in her mouth. Breaking free, he kissed his way along her cheek to her ear, where he whispered "suck me."

"Stand up," she said, turning her head to look him in the eyes.

He stood; she sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. She just sat there for a moment, taking in the sight of him. God, how she loved his cock! She'd never told him, because she didn't want to inflate his ego too much, but he had the best cock she'd ever seen or felt. It was big - but not too big. Long, but not too long. A healthy pink color, the blue veins now straining under the skin. Uncircumcised, the head gleamed with the pre-cum that had gotten smeared when he'd moved.

Gently she took him in her hands; one wrapped around his beautiful cock, one cupping his balls. Bringing her head forward, she reached out with her tongue, tasting the bitter-salt flavor of his pre-cum. Gasping, he reached out and tangled his hand in her curly blond hair. Smiling to herself, she closed her lips around the head, squeezing the shaft with one hand and his balls with the other.

Teasing him with her tongue, she alternated rubbing the underside of the head and teasing his hole. Creating a buildup of her own spit, she started to take more and more of him in her mouth. She never could deep-throat him (though God knows she'd tried!), but she always tried to take him as far as possible.

Hands moving in time with her mouth and tongue, she began to bob her head up and down his shaft, eliciting groans and grunts of appreciation from him. His hands twisted in her hair, making her smile to herself. It's always nice to be appreciated.

He was close to climax; she could tell. She just kept at it, slurping at his gorgeous cock like it was the most delicious thing in the world. So it came as quite a shock when he suddenly pushed her off of him and back on the bed. She looked at him in surprise and concern, worried that she'd done something wrong.

Jim looked intensely into Anya's eyes. "I need to come inside you," he said. Relieved, she scooted back farther, to make sure he had enough room to climb on the bed with her.

He climbed on the bed, kneeling. Grabbing a leg in each of his hands, he pulled her towards him with her ass up in the air. Driving his cock into her, a sigh escaped her lips. He filled and stretched her completely, perfectly. As if he were made for her and her alone.

Wasting no time, he began to pump in and out of her with feverish abandon. Cock sliding in and out, her clit hitting his pelvic bone with each thrust, she quickly approached yet another orgasm.

Just as she felt the waves hit, just as her pussy muscles started clamping down on him, he came. She could feel his cock pumping cream into her, could see it on his face.

Collapsing on top of her, he couldn't stop his hips from twitching, still wanting to thrust. Panting, trying to catch his breath, he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her. Kissing her, he told her how much he loved her.

"Wow," he said a moment later. "That's a first."

Friday, 23 January 2009

A Baby Step

He "made" me play with myself last night.

As I've said before on this here space o'mine, I have a hard time putting into action those parts of my sexuality that I keep hidden in my head. Playing with myself in his presence happens to be one of those (hence the "masturbation on show" story - if he ever managed to get me to do that in front of him, it would probably start out very similar). Last night was not the first time he'd tried to get me to play with myself, but it was the first time I managed to push my embarrassment and fears to the back of my mind and just go with it.

I remember the first time. I was on my back with my head on the pillows, he was on his knees between my legs, holding me up by my hips while his cock thrust in and out of me. Letting go of one leg, he reached over and took me by the wrist, placing my hand on my pussy.

I about died.

Humiliation washed over me in waves, tears came to my eyes and I couldn't even look at him. I knew what he wanted; only a moron would have had trouble working that out. And while I knew in the back of my head there was nothing wrong or "deviant" about him wanting to see me pleasure myself, the humiliation was just too strong. I just couldn't. And I couldn't explain why. I just knew I couldn't.

Periodically over the years he's tried again and again, and while I had gotten comfortable enough to have my hand there, I never actually got into it. It was that fear again. That fear that somehow, letting him see me pleasure myself would make me a bad person. (I realize that makes no sense. It doesn't really make any sense to me, either. But it is what it is, and I'm just trying to be honest with myself here.)

But last night was different. I don't know if it's because I've finally gotten to the point where I'm sick and tired of being so afraid of my own sexuality or what. But last night was definitely different.

We were on our sides again. He had shifted so that he could enter me easier, while I alternated between clutching at whatever part of him I could reach, and clutching at the bedclothes. Suddenly his arm reaches around and grabs my wrist, putting it between my legs. I froze for a second, that old fear of mine starting to bubble up again. But this time, somehow, I managed to ignore my fear. Finding myself very well lubricated already, I tentatively started rubbing myself. After a few moments, he stopped his thrusting for a second - I honestly think he was checking on me, to see if I was actually doing it or not (we were under the covers [it's friggin' COLD in our bedroom!!], so I don't think he could have been able to tell otherwise). And I was. I basically told that fear-ridden part of my brain to fuck off and just enjoyed the moment.

Unfortunately I wasn't quite able to bring myself to orgasm, but that's mainly because I dried up after a while and was too frightened to say anything.

But I have to admit, I'm proud of myself for doing it. It might not seem like a big deal to some people, but for me, it really and truly is. It's only a baby step, but it's a step nonetheless. How could I not be proud of that?

Thursday, 22 January 2009


It amazes and offends me - in equal measures - when people talk about marriage being the death of sex. Not just the marriage, but the wife. As if putting a ring on a woman's finger is enough to completely kill her sex drive and her desire for the man that put it there.

I call bullshit.

Oh, don't get me wrong - I'm sure there are some women out there like that. And to those women, I say: you shouldn't have gotten married in the first place. While no, sex is not the most important thing in a marriage, it is pretty goddamned important! I could not imagine spending the rest of my life with someone I don't even want to have sex with. For one thing, it would be cruel to both me and him. Like some form of psychological torture. For another, I don't think that a marriage could survive intact without the intimacy that sex brings.

I am, of course, only expressing my own opinion, here (it's my sandbox, I'm gonna say whatever the fuck I want). I know some of you out there have relationships which work differently, and that's absolutely fine. I'm specifically talking about traditional marriages, like I have.

I actually get angry when I hear somebody say something like "Oh, don't mind him. He's married. You know, as in he gets sex once a year." Or something to that effect. To paint every traditional marriage with the same sexless brush just pisses me off to no end. Just because one person is like that doesn't mean every person in that particular group is. Generalizations. I hates them.

Why did this come up?

I realized something today. This year with be our 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years, and I still get wet from nothing more than a kiss.


From a kiss.

Is it any wonder those broad, sweeping, moronic generalizations piss me off??

Wednesday, 21 January 2009

Tease Me

I'd just finished eating dinner. He had finished first, but then, he always finishes first. I came into the computer room, and he was sitting in the chair.

"I'll be out of here in just a minute. I just wanted to check something."

That's kind of what I figured. I pretty much expected him to go back to bed once he was done eating.

Finished with whatever he was doing, he spun the chair around and faced me, pulling me in for a kiss. I lean down to kiss him and then stand up again, and he's pulling on my shirt, tugging me down for another kiss. Then another. And another.

"What?!" I all but scream. This is beginning to get annoying.

"I just wanted a kiss," he says, putting on his pretend pouting-like-a-puppy-dog face.

"I just gave you four!" I remind him.

"Yeah, well, I want another one." He kisses me for a moment, but then begins to kiss and nibble at my neck, my weak spot. I call him a tease, and tell him that he's evil. He responds by putting his hands inside my shirt.

Ack! Cold hands! Really cold hands. In fact, they're not hands at all. They're icicles, masquerading as hands.

He rubs them together, trying to warm them up. Marginally better, I can at least have his hands inside my shirt without wanting to scream.

He begins tweaking my nipples through my bra, at the same time devouring me with his mouth. I'm panting; I can't help it. The man knows very well how to get me panting for him.

Just when I think he's going to leave me hanging, he slides his hand inside my trousers. I wonder if it surprised him at all when he realized I wasn't wearing any panties today.

Finding my clit, he begins frigging it like mad. I'm moaning into his mouth as he's kissing me, and hanging on to him as if my life depended on it. I can hear the children running after each other and laughing right outside the door; I don't care what they do as long as they don't come in here.

Just when I'm about to hit the peak, he pushes me away and gives me a peck on the lips.

Damn tease.

(Yes, I love it. I admit it.)

Tuesday, 20 January 2009

Happy Birthday, Honey!

It's my husband's birthday today! :) In just a minute, I'm going to go upstairs and give him his birthday present.

A bottle of the massage oil/lube pictured here, and me in a pair of pink, frilly, lacy, crotchless french knickers.

If we had more money, I have SO many ideas for things I would have loved to have gotten for him, but alas. We're poor.

Oh well. Better than nothin', right? :D

Saturday, 17 January 2009

What a way to wake up! Twice!

I should have known something was up when, as I snuggled down into the bed to go to sleep, he surreptitiously (or so he thought) slipped his hand up under the tank top I was wearing as sleep gear, and took hold of a nipple.

He did nothing to it, just lay there, holding my nipple as we both drifted off to sleep. I smiled to myself, finding it endearingly silly, but not really thinking anything of it.

But why then, should it be a surprise that he wakes me up for sex not once, but twice?

Just a couple of hours after drifting off to sleep, I jolt awake as I realize he's slipped back into bed (obviously he'd gotten up at some point). He curls his body against mine, his warm hands rubbing my arm, my leg, my stomach. His hand - oh so blissfully warm! - slips up under my tank top again, tweaking a nipple, while his lips trail kisses along the back of my neck. I smile to myself, knowing that this is what I've been wanting for days. That's when it occurs to me that the nipple-holding should have given me a hint.

I lose myself in his touch. Warm hands that know how to arouse me are doing a wonderful job of it. I can't help myself; I start gasping and moaning. I try not to make too much noise - don't want to wake the children! - but I can't keep myself completely silent. (I'm a reformed screamer. I've had to reform myself now that my older 2 are old enough to know what we're doing, and my younger 2 are in the next room. We got caught a couple of months ago; I really didn't want that to happen again!)

That was all the encouragement he needed; he pulled my hip down, spreading my legs. His hand abandoned my nipple to slip inside my panties. He finds my clit and starts rubbing it feverishly. Too much, too fast. I cry out and he realizes his mistake; apologizing, he slows down a bit.

My ass is pressed up against his groin. I can feel his cock pressing against me. Partly on purpose, partly unable to control myself, I start grinding my ass against him. I can't just lay there!

I can hear him gasp and moan every time my ass makes contact with his cock. It doesn't take long before he's desperate to get inside of me, and he yanks my panties down one leg, lifting it so that he can get access from behind.

He shifts around a bit so that he's almost perpendicular to me, holding on to me for leverage, and starts pumping his cock in and out of me. I'm almost desperate to touch him, but he's behind me, so I settle for grasping the hand that's holding on to my hip.

Gradually his strokes become faster, and he switches from holding my hip to holding my shoulders, intermittently rubbing the uncovered skin on my back and reaching around to squeeze my nipple.

Still feeling the need to touch him, I reach back and grab his ass, digging my nails into the flesh. He sucks in a breath and begins to pump faster, harder.

Soon we're both close to coming; he while holding onto my shoulders as if his life depended on it, and me holding on to the mattress like it's going to fly away. It doesn't take long before he's coming; I can feel it fill my cunt.

I didn't orgasm, unfortunately... I was almost there, when he came first. But I don't care. It's not just the orgasm I wanted, it was the closeness. I wanted to touch and be touched.

I look at the clock, and I see that it's 4:34 a.m. So once my breathing went back to normal and my thighs stopped feeling like jelly (and cleaning up, of course), I went back to sleep.

Apparently he'd gotten up again, because I was again woken up by him crawling under the covers. He cuddled up to me, spooning me. After already having had sex once, I figured all he'd want was a cuddle. So it was quite a surprise when his hand reached up under my tank top and started tweaking my still-sensitive nipples again.

Turning my head toward his, I expressed my surprise. "Again?" I asked. His "excuse" was that he had a migraine and needed a distraction. Heh. Whatever works! :)

This time was a little different. It was a more... emotional. Lots of kissing and gazing into each other's eyes and shit like that. Which was good for me, but I'm not too sure anybody else is interested in my sappy, romantic leanings. :-P

I did get my orgasm in the end, though. ;)

Thursday, 15 January 2009

Just some random thoughts.

I'm sitting here thinking about my sudden increase in sex drive, so I figured I'd Google myself some information.

I liked this article. I have to admit, I like the guy's writing style.

But then I find this article, wherein it says that the "sexual peak" thing is just a myth. That it's just the woman becoming more comfortable with herself and her sexuality that moves things along.

The thing is, regardless of which one is true, it applies to me.

Pro-Sexual-Peak (for lack of a better term) articles will tell you that, on average, a woman hits her sexual peak anywhere between 30-40 years old. (I was thinking it was 35 - 40, not so much a broader age range). I'm 33. So yeah, that theory fits.

But as I said above, the Anti-Sexual-Peak information says that it's all about a woman being more comfortable with herself and throwing off the "sex = bad" or "sex = dirty" dichotomies we're brainwashed into believing when we're young.

But there's where I'm just a little... ehh. It partly fits. In the last 16 months or so, I have become a lot more accepting of and comfortable in my body. It has taken a lot of effort and some education on my part, but it has been such a wonderful change. And it had knock-on effects - good ones - that I just wasn't expecting.

But I have to admit that I'm still having issues with my sexuality. That's the whole point of this blog. I can't afford to go to a therapist (though, honestly? I would if I could), so this is kind of like one-sided talk therapy for me. Though it can morph into two-sided if anybody has any thoughts they'd like to share. :)

I'd love it if one day I could feel totally comfortable initiating and participating more fully in sex with my husband. Right now? It's only a dream.

That's one of the reasons I admire Curvaceous Dee. She is so comfortable with her lovers - or at least it seems that way - and knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.

I'd have to smoke or drink some really good shit before I could even come close to the level of assuredness that she has. At this point, anyway.

But I want to get there - without the use of chemical aids. I want to be able to actually do and say the kind of things that go through my head. I want to be free of the constraints that my own mind puts on me.

I've always wanted that, to be honest. This has been an issue in my marriage - and, truthfully, in every relationship I've had - for a long, long time. Because it's my issue, but it has a trickle-down effect on whomever I happen to be with.

(As an aside, I don't want it to sound like I'm all "poor me, I'm such a frigid bitch, this happened to me, that happened to me, I've had such a horrible life, oh noes." No. No, it's more this is how I am. I'm not happy with how I am. I know that X, Y, and Z have contributed to how I am, but I'm not sure I can pinpoint the hows. That's how I'd like to be (using Dee as an example). I'd like to go from this to that, and I'm trying to figure out how to do that. I just wanted to get that out of the way, because I don't always articulate myself as well as I think I do. [I write something, it looks good to me, but then somebody else reads it and doesn't get the point I'm trying to make - or worse, takes it completely the wrong way.])
Anyway... where was I? Oh yeah.

There have been times when the husband and I have been in the right place in our relationship to be able to talk about it. Unfortunately, sometimes due to external pressures (you know, like life), our relationship has its ups and downs and I don't always feel like I can talk to him about serious issues like that. Right now we're in one of those situations. Outside life isn't that great right about now (that's an understatement), and I don't feel like I could go to him wanting to talk about my sexuality and how its affected our sex life and have it result in anything more than him ignoring me or, worse, a fight.

(I mean, what do you do when you only have one person in your life that you could possibly talk to about these things and that person isn't emotionally available to you? You think up an anonymous name for yourself, start a blog, and start blathering on to anybody who'll take the time to read what you write. Maybe not the best solution, but a damn sight better than holding it all in until it explodes in some unhealthy manner, right?)

But it doesn't change the fact that I'm consumed by sexual thoughts. I've been masturbating every day. This morning, because I hadn't slept well last night, I went back to bed after dropping my two youngest children off at school. But I was so wet, and so horny, that I just had to masturbate first.

And yeah, I'm a one-woman slut; even my fantasies are only about him. So I lay there, fuelling my masturbation with fantasies of my husband... who was only 2 stories below me, sitting right here where I'm sitting now. If I was as comfortable with my sexuality as I'd LIKE to be, I might have been able to get him to come upstairs and give me the fucking I so desperately wanted. But because I'm not, I had to take matters into my own hands. Literally.

And I hate that. I feel like it shouldn't be happening; like it's wrong, somehow. But until I figure out exactly why I feel like this, what it is inside me that's holding me back, nothing's going to change.

Yeah, I guess I'm horny AND thinky today.

Wednesday, 14 January 2009

A Day of Firsts, Part II

"Jim!" she squeaked, snatching at the quilt and covering her face. Oh my God, oh my god ohmygod! No. Yes. No. I'm going to die of embarrassment.

Jim stood by the door - which he'd closed and locked behind him - absolutely entranced. He could still see her fingers glistening with pussy juices. But when he watched her cover her face, he laughed. She, it seemed, was sobbing. Or at least shaking really hard.

Taking a step, forward, he breathed her name. "Anya." She made no move to look at him nor even acknowledge that he'd said anything. Her body shook under the quilt, though she made no sound. Coming round to her side of the bed, he sat down on the edge and put his hand on what he thought was her thigh. "Anya. Babe," he said softly. "Come on now. You can't honestly think that covering your face is going to magically make me un-see what I just saw, do you?"

She answered with a shake of her head.

He just sat there looking at her for a few moments, still reeling from the shock of what he'd seen. He knew that she masturbated, but he also knew that she went to great lengths to hide it from him. He never quite understood why, but he always figured that if it bothered her that much, he'd respect that and not bring it up. But how could he not bring it up now?

Trying to ignore the hard-on he'd sprung when he walked in on his wife pleasuring herself, he made an effort to be gentle with her. After nearly 10 years of marriage, he sensed she needed sensitivity and encouragement right now, not mockery. I can always tease her later, when it's not such a big deal anymore. Heehee.

"Babe," he said softly, "take the quilt off your face. You can't be comfortable under there, for one thing. For another, it's pointless. I'm here now, you can't pretend that I'm not."

Slowly she brought the quilt down to breast level, keeping her eyes closed. Sure enough, there was the telltale shine of tear tracks down her cheeks. "Come on, stop being silly," he told her. "Open your eyes."

She turned her face away from him first, then opened her eyes, keeping them fixed on a point on the wall opposite.

Man, she really is embarrassed, isn't she?

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Why can't you look at me?"

"It's too humiliating," she said, her voice cracking.

Taken aback, he blurted out "why?"

"Because you saw me... you saw me... "

"Masturbating," he said. "Playing with yourself."

"Yeah. That," she said on a sigh.

"And why is that humiliating?"

She simply shook her head.

"Come on. Answer me. Give me one good reason why it would be humiliating for a woman to be caught playing with herself by her own husband?"

She was silent for a moment... until she realized he wasn't going to give up without an answer. He'd sit there and torture her all night until she gave him one. Angrily, her eyes flashed at him as she lifted her head off the pillow just long enough to hiss "I don't know, okay?!"

Jim smiled to himself. Hmm... maybe if he played this right, he might actually be able to help her to get over some of the 'issues' she had with her sexuality. This could turn out to be a good thing.

"So... you don't actually have a reason why it's humiliating. It just is, is that it?"

"Yeah. Pretty much," she said.

"Well, you know what?" he said, leaning over her and turning her face so that she had no choice but to look at him. "You shouldn't be. Embarrassed, I mean." He started nuzzling her face. "You're beautiful," a soft kiss on the lips. "You're sexy," trailing kisses down her neck. "And it looked amazing," he found the weak spot on her neck and started kissing and nibbling it. "I never realized that watching you from across the room could be hotter than watching you come under or on top of me. But it was. I just wish I'd been here to see it all, without the quilt."

Anya's breath was coming out in short bursts - even after all this time together, he could turn her on in an instant and knew just which buttons to push. She could already feel the fire beginning to blaze between her legs again. The humiliating burning in her cheeks started to fade, but only a tiny bit...

"Hell, Anya, watching you come gave me an instant hard-on. Here, feel." He took her hand and placed it on the bulge in his jeans. She sucked in a breath when she realized he wasn't just semi-hard... he was rock hard. Wow, she thought.

His kisses on her neck and the feel of his cock in her hand were both working to form a haze over her thoughts of embarrassment. As was the case every time they had sex, nothing mattered but what they did to and for each other. The world could be on fire and she wouldn't give a damn. Absently, she began to stroke him through the layer of denim.

One of Jim's hands reached up and pulled the quilt down as he kissed and sucked on her neck. She arched against him, completely lost in how he was making her feel. Taking hold of the tank top she was wearing he broke away from her neck to tell her "take this off. I want to see you. All of you."

In one quick motion the tank was off and lying in a heap on the other side of the room. Jim bent his head and resumed kissing and sucking on his wife's neck, leaving love bites along the way. His free hand reached up and cupped her breast, eliciting yet another audible gasp from her.

She could feel him smile against her skin. "You like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"God, yes," she breathed.

"Then say it."

"It feels..."

"No," he said, a little more forcefully. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Anya froze. "What... what do you mean?"

"I mean I want you to talk to me like you do when I'm fucking you and you're about to come. When all those naughty things build up inside of you and you can't help but let them out. I know you think like that more often than just when you're coming. I want to hear it."

Something snapped in Anya. Something for which she had no name, but to which she had been clinging as if her life depended on it. It really is okay.

Not quite brave enough to look him in the eye while she said it, she closer her eyes. "I... I want you to touch me," she gasped. "I want you to touch..." she wasn't sure what word to use. Breasts? Was that too clinical? Was 'boobs' too common? "I want you to touch my tits."


"I want you to rub them.."

"Like this?" he asked, covering both mounds with his warm hands, firmly but gently massaging them in circular motions. Arching her back, she let out a soft moan. "Oh yes..."

"What else? Is there nothing else you want me to do to you?"

"My nipples," she gasped. "Play with my nipples."

He took each nipple between a thumb and a forefinger and started rolling, pinching, and pulling on them. Each new touch elicited more gasps, sighs, and groans from her. He'd never noticed just how beautiful her voice sounded when she was crying out in pleasure.

It was as if walking in on her pleasuring herself lifted a veil from his eyes and he was seeing her again for the first time.

And he loved what he was seeing.

He leaned down and kissed the skin between her breasts, letting his tongue dart out to tickle the skin. Anya shivered and wrapped her arms around his head, hands absently stroking his back. He kissed his way up to one of her nipples; sucking on it, gently biting it, she began to arch her back even more, trying to give it all to him.

After paying just as much attention to the second breast as he did the first, he started to kiss his way down the curves of her stomach. He smiled at the aroused giggle that bubbled out of her when he stuck his tongue in her navel.

Kissing his way back up her body, he made as if he was going to kiss her, but stopped. He just stared into her eyes for an intense moment before taking possession of her mouth.

It was a kiss to eclipse all of the other kisses that had ever happened between them. It was a kiss full of love, of lust, and of passion. They were both gasping for breath when the kiss broke.

"I want you to do something for me," he said, locking eyes with her.


"I want you to play with yourself again. For me. So I can watch."

Anya's cheeks began to burn. The thought of doing it right there in front of him, with the intention of him watching her... it excited and frightened her at the same time. She wanted to do it... but could she? "Honey, I don't know if I could..."

"I'll make it easier for you," he said. Wrapping one arm around her upper body and letting his other hand take one of hers, he brought them both to her sopping wet pussy. "I'll help you at first, get you started. And then when you're really hot, I'll let you take over." Both hands dipped between her pussy lips and felt the evidence of her earlier orgasm. "My, but you are wet," he said. "You must have been really fucking wet to begin with to be this wet now."

Judging by the intensity with which he looked at her, she supposed he wanted an answer. "Yes," she said, half moaning. "Yes, I was wet before."

"Hmm... and what made you so wet, may I ask?"

"I... I don't know," she said, finding it hard to actually form a coherent thought, as there were two hands going to work on her clit. "I don't know why, but I've been wet for days. All I can think about is having sex with you, but you've not been feeling well, so I know it's out of the question."

He left her to work her clit on her own and instead pushed two fingers up her pussy, hard. Soft, soft, hard. Soft, soft, hard. He definitely knew what she liked. "What made you think sex was out of the question?" he asked.

"You... always say... that it... it doesn't... work... when you're not well."

"Hmm... you're right, I do remember saying that. I suppose it's my own fault then, huh? Although it's not like you usually get the courage to say anything anyway."

"True, but even if I... *gasp*... jumped you on a regular basis... *gasp*... I probably wouldn't have said anything, knowing that you're not feeling well."

Abruptly pulling his fingers out of her pussy, he stood up. "You just keep going. Anyway, I seem to be feeling a lot better all of a sudden," and for proof, he whipped his jeans down to his calves, letting his cock spring free. "See? So you know what? I'd like to revise that statement." He crawled on the bed next to her, kissing her and stroking his own cock lazily. "From now on, you can ask for sex anytime you want, whether I'm feeling good or not. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work... but I can't believe I would have missed out on this because of one stupid comment."

He kissed her again, deeply, prompting her to work more feverishly on her clit. "That's right. Rub it. Doesn't it feel good?"

"Yes," she breathed.

He shifted his weight around so that he was at the edge of the bed, lying on his side with one hand holding his head up and the other moving slowly up and down on his cock. He had a wonderful view, from her feet all the way up to her shining face. And a perfect view of her gorgeous pussy.

Her clit was swollen, a lovely shade of pink. He watched her fingers move up and down between her pussy lips and a slight frown creased his brow. "Use both hands," he said. "Hold your lips open so that I can see it."

Anya did, trying to concentrate on what her body was feeling, at the same time trying to ignore the voice in her head that was screaming "What are you doing?"

It didn't take long for her orgasm to build, he could tell. He could see her tensing up, teetering on the edge of release. "What's your favorite thing," he asked, "to have done with your pussy? Is it doing it yourself, having me do it, the vibrator... what?"

"Having... your... cock... inside... me..." she all but screamed as her orgasm washed over her in wave after wave after wave of pleasure.

Jim half-sat up and grinned at her. "Well then..."