Do you mind if I look?

This is a question for all of the women who read this blog (based on my current traffic, that number would round-down to zero, but what the heck).

How much do you want to be noticed when you walk down the street?

What is the difference between an admiring glance and a leer?

When you, as a woman, consciously choose an outfit that is sexier than usual, are you offended when people notice you walking down the street, or at a club, or in the office?

I wanted to ask these questions because two or three days ago, when I was a lunch with a friend, she got mad at me for noticing a beautiful blonde walking down the street toward us. I tried not to give her more than one glance, just to see what she was wearing, just to see what she looked like, but my friend thought that even that was too much.

But it was obvious to me, but the blonde in question had dressed especially nice that day. She must've known, when she got dressed that morning, and she was going to get a lot of attention for the outfit she picked. It was a snug blouse, contrasting color bra, and a short skirt with killer heels.

What I like to know, as a sensitive male of the new century, what is my obligation in this situation? Should I ignore the efforts of a beautiful woman to look nice? Am I allowed to look at her and smile, nod, or wink? (Okay, I won't wink, that's just too cheesy)

What am I supposed to do?

Monday Night Sex

This was written (again) in response to a post on Leesa's Stories (http://dsmoya31410.blogspot.com/)

I highly recommend her site

Her key paragraph, in a posting called "More on Sex" reads as follows:

Even when I was just married, I thought that men just wanted sex, because when my man had sex, I got more romance, more attention, more everything that makes my heart pitter-patter. But, years into my marriage I figured it out. [I am such a dolt.] Men derive more pleasure from giving pleasure than they do by receiving pleasure (at least in a committed relationship). My man would get puffy-chested after loving me so well, regardless of what he experienced. And lets face it, men get an orgasm every time they cum. But sex still the thing that gets him to connect with me. I am not talking about sex all of the time. But through sex, he seems to become more sensitive, more caring, more in touch with his feelings. And not because he experiences an orgasm.

I think your clarification was right on point. I can get off on my own with ever I want, in fact, most days I do, it's simple, easy, and has a real calming effect on the rest of my day. So, when I have sex, that's not the only goal. Granted, it's a wonderful final touch, but it's really not the goal for me. I'm in Tony's camp on this one. It's always the biggest rush when I can help my wife cum. Last night, in fact (big grin), we had sex and it was wonderful all around. I know that yesterday I was saying that I don't like "obligation sex" but Monday night is sex-night at my house so it was good that I was home for it. The kids got in bed on time, our little one fell asleep, and we had locked the bedroom door by 10:15.

Now, when I posted my response to Leesa's post, I left out "the details" but since I love writing about sex, I came back to my own site to keep going.

When I got there, my honey was laid out on the bed wearing my favorite panties (red & purple paisley) and old soccer shirt from high school (it's cut short enough that it barely covers her chest), and she had a drizzle of chocolate sauce on her tummy as a reference to a joke request from late last week. After getting the chocolate taken care of, I got to kiss her all over. She asked if I wanted her to get undressed, but I said know, the tiny g-string and cut-off shirt made her look wonderfully sexy. After a few minutes I got her up on her hands and knees facing the headboard. I flipped on my back and crawled between her slim thighs and began kissing the silky fabric. I could feel her through the thin cloth, and it felt good to be there without getting right to work.

The teasing was working as she started pressing herself against me. A few minutes of this and she was ready, so I pulled her panties to one side and started working on her with my tongue. She tastes great and was very relaxed since we took a shower together before we got into bed. Being relaxed and in a good mood must have been the ticket, because after a few minutes she started talking, something she rarely does.

Usually, when she's not into oral, she'll say, "That's nice." Last night, it was a different story as she started running her fingers through my hair.

"That feels good." she said and I felt her hips move against my mouth.

"That feels really good." and her hand was pulling my head into her body, forcing my lips and tongue deeper and more urgently against her.

Then I feel it, the final move, the shift that tells me she's close, that she's ready and that she wants to cum, she leaned forwards, grabbed the headboard, and let her knees slide wider, lowering herself onto my tongue, forcing me inside, and forcing her body to open.

Then it hits.

Her groans are hard to describe, but they are music to my ears. Her hands came to my hair, and she was alternately pulling me closer and pushing me away as waves of orgasm and sensitivity washed through her. I was lost inside her moans, trying to coax another wave of pleasure from her twitching body. It was wonderful, fun, and amazingly arousing to hear her voice quiver and shake as she told me to slow down.

Usually she gets hypersensitive after cumming from oral, but last night she let me keep going, albeit very gently, for about 5 more minutes. Her lips were puffy and really firm, almost springy, and had turned a deep, beautiful red. I kept tracing her lips from back to front, just barely touching, enjoying the taste and the fullness of her lips. She kept shaking with every touch of my tongue, for me, that was almost enough to put me over the edge, even without her touching me at all. Just hearing her climax, knowing that I helped it happen, was an enormous rush.

After she calmed down, she stayed on her hands and knees and offered herself to me. It was sweet, and very sensual. It didn't take long for me to finish after the turn-on of her orgasm. We have a large mirror by our bed, and I was able to watch from two angles, it was a great sight and a terrific ending to a wonderful session.

I complain a lot about my love life, but when the planets align and the mood is right, there is nothing better.

By the Pool

I hate Houston. I hate their traffic, their roads, and especially last night, their weather, humidity, and heat. My company keeps asking me to move here and, promotion or not, I keep saying now. I figure I have to turn them down three more times before they stop asking and take me off the "move" list. On the economic front moving wouldn't be too bad. They'd give me a promotion, housing is cheaper, and I'd be closer to all of the bosses and "the powers that be."

So what. So f***** what. And I'll tell you why. It's hot, muggy, and I can't run in crap weather like this. Last night I left the hotel around 6:oo for what was going to be a 6-mile/55 minute run. 3 miles out, three miles back, no problem. Six is a little over my daily average of 4.5, but I've been known to go 8-10 on my good days when my knee isn't screaming at me. So I leave the hotel, set my GPS to track distance and pace (I shoot for 9:30, but settle for 10 min/mile). Within one block, one long, sweaty, broken sidewalk block, I know I'm in trouble. I can't breathe, I'm having trouble getting a rhythm, and if feels like I'm swimming.

At the 1.5 mile mark I turn from heading east to south and my shirt is soaked through. At three miles I turn from south to west and I'm almost 5 minutes behind schedule and I've had to stop and walk three times because I'm short of breath. That hasn't happened for two summers when I had to take 2 months off and rehab my knee. To make matters worse, because I'm behind pacing and schedule, I know I'm never going to make it back to my hotel without stopping for a bathroom break. By now it's almost 7, everything except restaurants is closing and they normally don't let unshaven, sweaty guys use their bathrooms, I can almost hear them say it, "Here is you salad M'am, sorry that stranger walked by and dripped a pint of flop sweat into it, I'm sure it will save money on salt...."

Luckily I find a Subway sandwich shop (www.subway.com) that was staffed by two cute Thai girls who let me in without ordering a sandwich. Their little shop was an oasis of air conditioned heaven. When I walked out, relieved, but still a long way from home, the humidity hit me hard enough that I considered, for a brief moment, calling a cab and cutting my losses.

The lack of cash or credit made my decision easier and I plugged along. By now my shirt is clinging to my chest and rubbing my nipples raw (http://www.nipguards.com/quotes.asp), and, according to my GPS, I'm still about 2.5 miles from home.

Now, Houston is pretty. I was jogging past million dollar homes, stately old trees, and parks that were manicured within an inch of their pretty green lives, but it was still hot, muggy, and miserable.

As the sun began to set another check of my watch showed that I had drifted off course by following the main road and now I still had almost three miles left. I changed from an out-and-back course to a square (I LOVE my Garmin GPS unit - I have the 301, but I'm secretly lusting after the new 305 http://www.garmin.com/products/forerunner305/)

I love running. I love being able to take off in a new city and just run, knowing that I can go for an hour plus through neighborhoods that are filled with real, local, and ordinary people. I love seeing their houses, their yards, their kids and dogs playing in the street. I love running the back alleys and main drags. I like cutting through parks filled with love-struck teenagers and old people holding hands. I love running up and over the hills that give the land movement and motion, I love almost everything about running, but, last night, coming home in the dark, my nipples bleeding, my feet sore, my clothing soggy, my head pounding, my lungs aching, and my iPod frozen, I almost decided to give the whole thing up.

But then,

But then, I got back to my hotel and went straight to the pool. Too small to do laps in, my pool is a little gem of minimalist design and is a beautiful spot, tucked away in the privacy of the back corner of my hotel, almost completely hidden from view. Triangular in shape, it has a waterfall at the apex, and stairs on the other two corners. The walls are simple and straight, and the depth if 5 feet across the entire bottom.

Without hesitation I grabbed a towel and stripped down to my shorts, tight Blue Lycra with a marbled white pattern that I bleached in myself. I wrung out my shirt and water poured forth. Even my socks were wet with nasty Houston sweat. I dropped everything on the grey slate tiled floor and with a giant leap, plunged into the cold water.

My breath left me for several seconds and the cold gripped my lungs and my skin reacted to the shocking change in temperature. I blew out all of my air and allowed my body to sink to the bottom. I swam from one edge of the pool to the other, feeling the water wash over my arms and legs, feeling my body heat dissipate into the cold dark water. I swam until I hit the wall and then turned back and allowed myself to come up for air. My lungs were finally clear, even though the outside pool was under the same thick blanket as before, I felt refreshed and cool and wonderful.

Night had settled in and the pool was a swirl of shadows and light. Ferns swayed in the night breeze casting shadows on the water and the walls. As I sat waist deep on the stairs at the far corner of the triangle, I realized that I wasn’t alone. I was startled at first, hoping that I hadn’t embarrassed myself with my youthful display when entering the pool. My eyes adjusted and I realized that my pool companion was younger than me, long dark hair, and the beautiful eyes of the Land of the Rising Sun. She was on the last step, covered up to her neck in the cool water, her hair wet and glistening in the light. She was the first to speak.

“Out for a run?” Her accent had faded, but still gave her voice a girlish quality.

“I’m a visitor here, I didn’t know any better.” I replied.

“Too Hot, too sticky.”

“Well, you’ve found the right place to cool off.”

“Yes, very nice here, nice hotel.”

I let myself slip into the water and with palpitating heart; I swam across to her stairs.

She smiled as I came up out of the water, and shifted her body up one tall stair and leaned back against the upper steps. She was in a halter-top bikini, pale, almost faded barn house red. It was held together in front by a small square metal clasp. The bottoms were dark blue, small, and rode high on her hips. A large label, a stylized designer mark made up the strap that was closest to me, giving the impressing that the suit had no, or very small, straps. Her chest was small, but stood out from her ribcage nicely, and as we talked she kept adjusting the fabric of the top, giving me little hints of what was underneath, but at the same time, and even more arousing, it appeared that her fingertips were grazing against her own skin.

“Where are you from?” A dull line, I know, but it was obvious she wasn’t from Houston either.

“Um, originally from Japan, but now, Oklahoma.”

“Tulsa?”

She giggled and rolled her eyes, “No, I wish for Tulsa, but now we in small town, far from everyone.”

“Is it lonely out there?”

“Yes” and her hands dropped into her lap, splashing us both. I raised my hands to wipe the water out of my face, but her hands were quicker and her soft thumbs gently cleared the water from my eyelids as her fingers cupped my face. I tried to return the gesture, but was too slow, too nervous, and I ended up poking her in the forehead with the thumb of my left hand. We both laughed this time, her eyes sparkling under long dark bangs. As the laughing stopped, I found my hand on her knee, and her hand on my hip.

“Is it lonely here in Houston too?”

This time she didn’t move, “Yes, it is very lonely here. My boyfriend is presenting big idea tomorrow, and is still at work, with his friends, working, always working, and I am alone, always alone.”

I moved through the cool water, grateful that my hips were still under water and out of her sight. I stood between her knees and she opened them further to allow me within her personal space. I took a deep breath, hoping to sound cool, debonair, and experience, instead of nervous, scared, and in water up to my hips, but way over my head.

“You don’t have to be lonely tonight.” I said, my voice almost cracking, my heart racing.

I put my hands on her hips, on the waist band of her small bikini bottom, and hooked my thumbs into the fabric, just barely lifting it off her skin.

“I can’t go.” She said, her voice full of sadness.

“Go where?” I said, intrigued by her thoughts.

“To hotel room. Mine or yours…” she whispered this time as her hand moved to my arm.

“Then we will just swim, you and I, and we will not be lonely.”

I took my hands off her beautiful hips, turned, ducked under the water, and propelled myself to the other side. When my hands touched the wall, I stood, turned, and held out my hand to her.

She stood on the upper step, fully out of the water. Her body shivered in the cool breeze. The shadows of the ferns danced over her body, revealing curves that I had not seen under the water. She dove in with a light splash and dolphin-kicked her way across the pool. As she came to me, she stood, letting her body touch mine, the soft fabric of her top brushed my skin and I felt the firmness of her breasts. She pressed herself against me and turned her face upward for our first kiss.

It was soft and gentle, a gesture of her loneliness, her sadness.

She pulled away from me, wiped away a tear, ducked under the water and pushed herself to the other side. I stood and waited for her to surface. She stood close to the wall, her back to me, and spread her feet and hands against the wall. A quick glance over my shoulder was my invitation.

I set my sights, took a deep breath, and pushed off against the tall marbled wall toward her open legs. With my contacts in, my eyes were closed, and I reached out for her. I found her right calf and pulled myself between her legs, my shoulder and back brushed against her open body, against the fabric of her bikini. I stopped when my shoulder found the soft spot between her legs and I gave her a little increase in pressure, almost lifting her out of the water. As my heartbeat sounded louder in my ears, I turned to face her body under the water, my hands reaching around the backs of her knees, and then drifting up. I pulled my face into her and gave her underwater kisses right below the belt line of her bikini bottom.

Needing air, I came up, trying not to gasp, but at the same time hungry for air and for her. My kisses trailed up her stomach, her soft skin was warm in contrast to the wet fabric of her suit that I had just tasted. Her arms wrapped around my head and she pulled my kisses closer. At first I kissed her straight ahead, on hardness of her breastbone, but she had more in mind.

Her hand came up to her suit and she pulled the fabric aside, revealing herself to me, to my mouth. I shifted slightly and took her darkened nipple into my mouth. It was electric. She was hard in my mouth, from excitement, the cold water, the night breeze? Who knows, but she pressed herself into my open and eager mouth and I sucked with need, rolling her nipple over my tongue, biting gently, pulling, and tugging on it as she moved her body against my face. With a smooth motion, she pulled me off one breast and moved me to the other, covering her now aching nipple so that the other could get its attention.

My hands began to move and they went lower. I found her hips, but not her suit. Probing lower, trying to keep my mouth on her nipple, I found it on her upper thighs as she grabbed my searching hand and brought it firmly between her legs. She was shaved, but not bare, and the curly hair felt stiff and full under the water. She wrapped her legs around my hand and pressed it against her skin.

The curled lips of her vagina were folded tightly closed in the cold water.

“Inside please.” She whispered in my ear.

I tried to open her up the cold water had closed her completely.

“Spread your legs for me.”

She filled my request and opened her legs wide, resting her knees on top of mine, keeping her breasts above water and in my mouth.

The move had the desired effect and her lips spread for me, allowing me to stroke her softly under the water. With her natural lubrication washed away, her skin was soft and sticky, and I had to move carefully to avoid pulling her skin uncomfortably as I probed and explored.

Moving upward I found her clit and began to circle it slowly. Her arms wrapped around my head and pulled me off her nipples and back into a deeply passionate kiss. Her tongue entered me as my fingers entered her. She was tight and if felt like entering a virgin for the first time. To help me, she lifted her knees further until she was floating in my arms. Her knees were up against her chest and my fingers finally found a home deep inside her warm pussy. My thumb rested on her clit and I circled it as she bobbed and floated in the water. The uncertainty of my touch, the hard then soft cycles as the waves lifted and dropped her, added mystery to her growing passion. It felt as if I was holding her entire body on the two fingers that now penetrated her young body.

With two fingers deep inside her and my thumb on her clit, I carried her to the far steps, the ones most hidden in the shadows of the pools canopy of plants and tarps stretched tight between the polls that supported them.

I laid her back so her shoulders were supported by the steps, her body was almost covered with water, but her small breast broke the surface just enough for me to see her nipples pressing through the fabric. I pulled her bottoms completely off with my free hand and tucked them inside my shorts; we were, after all, in a public pool. With my thumb still working her clit in small firm circles, I could tell that her orgasm was approaching.

She lay back, giving herself over to the water, her legs spread wider in the night pool. Her hips bucked against my hand and I pressed deeper into her tight body. Using the stairs for leverage, I pressed hard and harder against her. She was wet now, wet inside, slippery, and it felt warm and contrasted with the other wetness that surrounded her. As her breath became more rapid and shallow I pressed into her clit, rubbing in small back and forth motion, pressing it back into her own body, against the slippery lips of her open cunt.

A motion on the pool deck caught my eye but it was just the flapping of a stray towel. She was close and ready, and wanting. As I slipped a third finger inside her, I reached up with my free hands and pulled her bikini off both breasts. Naked to the night sky, I took her left nipple in my hand and gently pulled. She gasped. I pulled harder, and I felt her hips flex, I pulled harder, visibly stretching the dark puffy skin, and then I pinched it as I felt and heard her orgasm wash over her.

She twitched and splashed, and called out something in Japanese and with a wicked swipe knocked my hand away from her now inflamed nipple. I put my newly unoccupied hand to use and covered her breasts again with her suit. Her free hand was holding my wrist tightly, keeping me inside of her as I felt her orgasm hit again and again from within.

Her hips twitched and twitched again in small, jerky movements as she came back down to reality. With one last whole body shudder, she pulled herself off my fingers and closed her legs up tightly against themselves. She put my hand into the water and tried to wash her juices off it. In a blur she grabbed her suit bottoms from their home in my waistband and pulled them up and over her sweet hips.

She stopped for just a moment and looked into my eyes and let her hands drop to my shorts. She pulled my shorts away from my body and let the cold water rush in against and around my erection. She reached in and gave it a squeeze, let go, and then started walking to the stairs at the other end. I stood watching her walk away in disbelief, both at what had just happened and what had just NOT happened. At the top of the stairs she pulled on an oversized t-shirt, some baggy shorts, and flip flops. Water from the pool immediately soaked through the dry clothes and she turned to the door. With one hand on the handle, she waved and stepped through the door.

I looked down at my quickly shrinking member and walked up the stairs and toweled myself off. Dressing more slowly than did my vanished friend, I walked over to where she had been sitting. In her haste to leave, she had left her vacation guide book on her lounge chair. More in frustration than in anger, I picked up the book and tossed it against the wall. As it spun across the room something flew out and hit the hotel door. I walked over and picked it up.

The red booklet had a large gold flower on the outside and a picture of a very beautiful woman’s face on the inside. “Kieko Matsumo” was the name on the passport. I smiled and tucked it inside my bundle of sweaty running clothes.

Perhaps Houston isn't so bad after all.