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.

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!)

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."

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?

Wet

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.

Wet.

From a kiss.

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

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.)

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

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. ;)

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.

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."

"How?"

"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.

"What?"

"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..."

A Day of Firsts, Part I

She slid under the warm covers, settling down into the mattress and sighing. She hated it when he started feeling unwell and sleeping crazy hours. It meant that when he got up, she was going to bed, and when she got up, he was almost ready to go to bed. Completely opposite schedules.

And she was so horny, too!

She'd been hot and wet all day. She was seriously beginning to wonder if maybe she was hitting her sexual prime a little early, because she'd been obsessed with sex for a while now. Trying to ignore it didn't seem to be working. She just kept getting hornier and hornier, no matter what she tried to distract herself.

Absently her hand traveled up under the quilt and started to massage her own breast. God, she needed a good fucking. But she wasn't about to risk her marriage for a roll in the hay. She'd just have to wait until her husband was feeling better. But God, what torture it seemed to be!

As she lay there thinking and rubbing her own tits, her breath quickened. She had to do something about the throbbing between her legs or else she'd NEVER get to sleep.

Wriggling out of her pj bottoms, she spread her legs wide under the quilt. One hand still tweaked, rolled, and pulled at a nipple while the other slid down to her crotch. Rubbing her outer lips, she felt how much hair there was down there. Man, I need a shave, she thought. Must remember to buy razors the next time I go into town.

She slid one finger between her pussy lips and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Wow. I don't think I've ever felt myself this wet before. Running her finger along the inside of her pussy lips, she gently traced her way to her clit. Jesus! I really AM horny, aren't I? She'd never felt her clit so engorged before.

Ah well, she thought. I guess it's a day for firsts.

Running her fingers in circles around her clit, she thought of the last time they'd had sex. It had been a better-than-usual encounter, and she'd came at least twice. Switching to two fingers to rub up and down both sides of her clit, she remembered how he'd lifted her up by her hips and slammed his cock into her. God, that had felt so good. Her pussy had been on fire and she felt it all the way up to her chest.

Seriously worked up by now, she was almost desperate for release. Reluctantly she let go of her clit to reach over to his side of the bed. Getting the pink vibrator from the miniature chest on his table, she lay back down and brought the quilt back up to cover her shoulders, stopping for a minute to listen for any sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Hearing nothing, she spread her legs wide once again and slipped the tip of the vibrator into her. Realizing that she was so wet that lubrication wasn't even going to be a problem, she shoved it in all the way and turned it on, dialling it up to maximum speed.

One hand returned to her clit, while the other resumed its nipple play. God, she thought, I wish he understood just how much I love it when he plays with my tits. I'd probably come all over him if he did.

It didn't take too long for the fire in her belly to start growing. Feeling her orgasm building, she finally abandoned her tit to spread her pussy lips wide with one hand while the other rubbed frantically on her clit. Images flashed in her mind: him, kneeling on the bed, naked, with his magnificent cock sticking straight out at her. Him, laying on the bed naked while she sucked his cock. Him, in the house they'd moved into shortly after getting married, sitting on the desk naked while she sat in the desk chair, sucking his cock and talking to her sister on the phone at the same time.

That one still made her giggle.

Impatient now, and finding the desperation to come too much to bear, she slipped the vibrator from her hole and pressed the tip to her clit. A slight smile flitted across her face the moment it touched - though she much preferred sex with another person, there was just something about the way a vibrator felt.

Very gently, she rubbed the vibrator around her clit, trying to find just the right spot. It never seemed to be in the same place twice! Damned thing has a mind of its own, that's for sure. Finally finding it, she threw her head back on the pillows. Oh God yes.

The more she felt her orgasm build up inside of her, the more she felt she needed it. Quickly alternating between rubbing the tip of the vibrator against her clit and pressing it into her sweet spot, she felt the heat inside of her grow.

Just as she came, she pressed the vibrator firmly into her clit. As wave upon wave of her orgasm hit, her eyes rolled back into her head and she began bucking against her own hand and the vibrator. It seemed to take forever for the waves to subside completely.

Switching off the vibrator, she opened her eyes...

... and looked directly into her husband's.

Porn and Contradiction

It pains me to admit this, but I have a problem with porn.

Not in the abstract, just for me personally.

In the abstract, I think there's absolutely nothing wrong with it. I mean, a person who watches and reads rape-fantasy-type stuff and then goes out and DOES it... yeah, that person's got a problem. But the porn isn't the problem, and even taking that out of the equation isn't going to change the end result. But for the majority of the population, I don't see anything wrong with it.

But me? It makes me uncomfortable. And I'm not sure why.

The thing is, it only makes me uncomfortable in certain situations. Specifically with The Husband. Hell, even particularly raunchy scenes in movies make me uncomfortable when I'm with him. I can't even look at the screen if we're both watching together. (Example: the early scenes in From Dusk 'Till Dawn where the strippers are actually, you know, stripping. As opposed to trying to suck the life out of their customers.)

But if I'm alone? Nope, they don't bother me in the least. In fact, I quite enjoy them.

What the fuck?

I mean seriously - that's pretty fucked up. I can watch porn on my own but not with my own husband? What the hell is going on here, brain? (I don't know, Pinky. But I'm going to find out!)
I know it ties into this whole "can't let hubby see who I really am" thing, but I'm not sure exactly how. Is it the puritan ideals I was bombarded with growing up? Is part of me still thinking that porn is something to be ashamed of?

Is it my fear that if he knew what was really going on in my head, he'd think less of me?

Or does it have to do with me being afraid that if we watched porn together and then had sex, he'd actually be fucking one of the women in the film and just using my body to do it with?

I honestly don't know. I know that all of those things go through my head, but I honestly couldn't tell you which is the one that tips the scales.

I couldn't even watch the homemade porn he made of the two of us together! See what I mean? How fucked up is that, if I can't even watch MYSELF?

It's embarassing, just how fucked up I am.

Why?

Why a blog?

Well, to be quite honest, I'm doing this more for me than I am for popularity or entertainment. See, I have this problem.

In my head, I am a nymphomaniacal, sometimes dominating, hotter-than-the-fire-of-a-thousand-suns sex goddess that has my husband on his knees begging for mercy.

In reality... not so much.

Occasionally we've gotten glimpses of that inner sex goddess - but only when I've been heavily impaired by alcohol or marijuana or a combination of the two. (And for the record, I'm of the camp that doesn't believe that a person behaves OUT of character when under the influence. I personally believe that those chemicals - whatever they may be - simply bring things to the surface that the non-impaired person goes to great lengths to conceal. You're seeing the real person - just another side to that person, a side that they normally wouldn't want to reveal. For some people it's violence, for some it's bigotry of one form or another. For me, it's my inner slut.) But in our "normal" sexcapades? No.

Why the hell not? you're probably thinking. And the honest answer is: I don't know. I know that there is nothing wrong with being the slut I picture in my head. I know that there really isn't a "bad" thing about being fully in touch with my sexuality. And yet there is still the fear and shame I feel when I consider actually DOING some of the things I fantasize about.

In some ways, I'm a generation behind my own times, because I was raised by my grandmother. So at home, it was like being in the 60's and early 70's. Euphemisms for everything revolving around sex, sexuality, and reproduction in general, and even then it was hardly ever talked about (example: she was absolutely flabbergasted when she realized I knew what a period was and knew that I'd gotten it). And yet in the outside world, it was the 80's and early 90's. To call me confused was an understatement. And since it was mainly just her and I (my aunts and uncles all scattered to the 4 corners of the country), there was no one else for me to turn to, so I just stayed confused.

But then there's also the fact that, before my grandmother regained custody of me at age 8, I was abused. (It's a long story, but here's the Reader's Digest version: at 18 months old, my grandparents went to court to get custody of me. I lived with them until I was 5, when my grandmother shattered her hip in a motorcycle accident and had to have a full hip replacement; it left her unable to care for herself, much less me. So I went back to live with my parents. Between then and when my grandmother got me back at 8 [by which time my grandparents had also gotten divorced], I suffered major abuse at the hands of my father. Every type of abuse imaginable. By the time I went back to live with my grandmother at 8 years old, the damage had been done.) So yeah, that adds a second level to my issues regarding my sexuality.

And I became sexually active young - way too young, to be completely honest. In no way, shape, or form was I even remotely ready to handle the emotional consequences. Not that I would have admitted it then. I felt like 12 going on 20, mainly due to what I had gone through already. And yeah, I was way more mature than an average 12 year old. But nowhere near ready to make a decision on my own sexual health.

And the last ingredient for the mix, self-esteem issues. For most of my life, I had little to no self-esteem. And you'd be surprised how many aspects of your life are affected by it. My sex life suffered tremendously. It wasn't until I finally started to get myself some self-esteem that I realized just how badly it had been ruining my life. Everything was suddenly better, including our sex life.

I guess this is kind of a self-therapy, if you will.

Because... we've got the Sex Bomb in my Head competing with the Angry Nun in my Head. Think of this blog as a little bit of each, with a little creativity thrown in for good measure. Because it's likely that my posts with rotate between the three. There may be times when it seems like I've got multiple personality disorder or something, the difference is so distinct. But I assure you, it all comes out of my head.

I'm not saying my head is anything close to a sane place, though.

About the creativity... I've been itching to write some more erotica. I wrote and published a few stories years ago, and then it kind of just fell to the wayside. But lately I've been feeling the urge not just to write, but to write specifically erotica, and I figured a blog was as good a place as any to do that.

I suppose it would probably be good for me to give some idea of who I, and we, are. I am 30-something, mother to 4, American ex-pat in the UK, monogamous and faithful to my husband. He is 30-something, father to 2 and stepfather to the other 2, British, monogamous, but previously unfaithful. (He had an affair in '04. We're working through it. It'll never be "done" with, but time has proven to me that I CAN trust him again.) We have been married nearly a decade. We agree on pretty much all of the big things and most of the small things. We're alike in good ways and different in good ways, too. We are not perfect, though, and our relationship does have its ups and downs. Thankfully things always swing back up again, though. :)

I suppose some people would think us boring - monogamous, faithful, heterosexual, white. But that's why we work so well: we both agree on those things. I could never be in an "open" relationship, and neither could he; we're just not built that way. However, having said that, neither do we judge nor condemn people whose sexual lifestyle might be described as "alternative." Polyamorous, queer, whatever... We are not the kind of people that think that what works for us is the ONLY way to go. Um... no. What works for us works for us because we ARE us. What works for other people is going to be different because they ARE different people.

So I guess we're open-minded bores. ;)

I'd also like to go on record here as saying that if you want to comment, please feel free. Dialogue is one of the best ways to get a person thinking and self-examining, and I wholeheartedly welcome it. All I ask is that you be respectful - both of me and of anybody else you might be responding to. Even if you disagree with something - you can disagree with somebody without being an asshole. So let's everybody NOT be assholes and we're all good. 'Kay?

And if I post something you particularly like, telling me that ain't gonna hurt, either. ;)

God Bless the Missionary

I am all for experimentation in sex, but sometimes... sometimes plain-old "vanilla" sex just hits all the right spots.

Last night was everything I was anticipating, and more. I don't know if it was because of the anticipation or what, but everything seemed to feel... more. I'm not exactly sure how to put it into words. It was like every nerve in my body was aching for his touch, and when it finally came, I burst into flames. Everything was more intense than the night before, which was strange. You would have thought that the night before - the first time in weeks that he's wanted anything to do with me - would have been the most intense of all. But no. Marital Sex Take 2 was the big one.

It was also the first time in a long time that Hubby managed to do the missionary position for the whole duration. He had an accident in 2003 that permanently fucked up his back, so sex for us usually involves at least 2 positions - usually more like 3 or 4.

And there's also the fact that the missionary has become my new favorite position, post-children. (Yes, I am a mother. And I have sex! Shock of all shocks.) Pre-children, doggy was my favorite. But my insides seem to have permanently shifted, in such a way that doggy is excruciatingly painful now. Which is a total bummer, yeah, but at least there are other options. And it was only through trial and error that I realized that missionary now gives me everything that doggy used to give me. Mainly, it puts his cock in just the right position to get to both my g-spot and my cervix, not to mention there's the whole friction thing between my clitoris and his pelvis.

Um yeah. Can we say mind-blowing orgasm? 'Cuz that's pretty much what I had. And just so it doesn't seem that I'm totally self-centered, I feel the need to say that he seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself just as much. After nearly 10 years of marriage, I can tell when it's just "okay" and when it's "wow."

Last night was a "wow... why can't EVERY time be like that?" occurrence.

And then this morning, just as I was about to get out of bed, he puts his arm and leg over me like he wants a cuddle... and proceeds with some nipple play.

The teasing bastard! I've got to get up and get the children ready for school, and he wants to leave me all teased and horny like that?

Yeah. Pretty much!

Sweet Anticipation

First, since this is my first post on this blog, I suppose I should take a moment to introduce myself and this thing here.

I'm obsessed with sex lately. This is not a "normal" occurrence for me, but neither is it "abnormal." I tend to go in phases, though I have a high sex drive anyway.

But lately it's been bad. Real bad. I'm reading erotica and fantasising about having sex with my husband, who either isn't interested or simply isn't available. Then I masturbate, imagining myself and said husband in whatever story it is that I've just read.

When I'm horny, I turn to erotic literature more than I ever would porn. Porn is okay, and it has its place, but language is the medium that speaks to me. I suppose it's because I love language anyway - I've always considered myself something of a writer (amateur, yeah, but still...) and I much prefer the images my own mind's eye comes up with than some director's "vision."

And so I turn to blogger, where I can get my frustrations at least out in the open, even if I choose to do so anonymously. And anonymous I plan to remain, at least for the time being.

Oh, I should give credit where credit is due, though. The blog name/my pseudonym? Inspired by Deliciously Naughty. I've been lurking - on and off - at her blog for quite some time now, and as soon as I saw that name, I was miffed that I hadn't thought of it first. And then I started reading, and realized that she damn well deserved that name. So, instead of ripping her off entirely, I came up with what's basically a synonym for her name. But I am a fair person, so I thought I should give her credit (since she did come up with the idea first!).

But back to the topic in the title... Hubby must have picked up on my pheremones or something, because he's suddenly interested. He surprised me last night by suggesting I take a bath. Especially when it comes on the heels of my period finally leaving for the month, "why don't you take a bath" is code for "I want to have sex but you know I'm squeamish around your womanly stuff, so go take a bath so I don't have to think about the fact that you were just bleeding down there for a week."

Fun Fact 1: Hubby is notoriously squeamish around blood and guts. Even seeing them on television - when he knows they are real. He can watch a horror movie just fine, even the most gory of them. Because he knows it's fake. But watch - for example - a surgery that was filmed? Yeah, he actually gets sick.

I laugh at him.

So I took a bath and then replaced the bath water for him, so he could take a bath. (Hey, he might be squeamish about my having been on my period, but at least he's fair! *grin*) While his bath filled, the foreplay began, vibrator included.

I love him so much for buying that vibrator. It was a surprise for me, and BOY was it ever a good surprise! He didn't even show it to me first - he just hid it until we were in the middle of sex and then just shoved that thing inside me, going at full tilt. My eyes popped out of my head and I had the best orgasm I'd had in years. But anyway.... ;)

After his bath, the festivities continued. So much so that it eventually became too much for me and I had to ask him to stop. I was actually hurting, we'd fucked so much. I realized why when I looked at the clock. We'd fucked for 2 hours straight.

I can tell you the last time that happened. Last May. There was a period of about 2 weeks when he would keep me up literally all night.

And earlier tonight, he warned me: "don't go staying up all night... or you'll really be up all night!" Which is again, code for "take 2 scheduled for whenever you come to bed!"

So here I sit, in sweet anticipation, unable to think of anything but the fact that I'll be having sex with my husband later.

And I'm still so pathetically in love with him that just that knowledge is enough to have me throbbing in breathless anticipation.