I don't know how long I'll stick with this one, but I loved this post...
Smart Girls make better lovers
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
A response to another blog - HyperSexualGirl
This is a longer response to HyperSexualGirl's post about a young woman seeking to lose her virginity. I thought my response was getting too long for her comments section, so you really have to read her posts to have this make any sense. And, BTW, her blog is fantastic, I highly recommend it.
Read part 1 first, and then part two for the whole story.
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Wow, this is quite a story. But I'm not sure if this is really a happy ending yet or not.
Let by cynical for just a minute.
A younger girl (20) seeks out an older man (40?) to "awaken her sexuality." Sounds great.
She sees a tender, patient, handsome guy who, after a few dates, makes sweet monkey love to her. She is smitten, and begins the process of "coupledom".
Reverse the scenario.
Older man seeks vulnerable young woman for sex and social servitude. Unable to maintain relationships with women his own age, he seeks out women in need of a father figure and, to his amazement, finds a girl seeking the same.
After being patient for, what, 2 weeks, he take her virginity, claims her heart, and brings her in to a relationship where he is in control, he is the boss, and she, unaware of the alternatives, is bound to him as he becomes more and more controlling, and eventually abusive as she realizes her mistake, and desires to date men who won't need adult diapers before she finishes college.
Cynical? Yes. But, I'm seeing that happen with my niece and sister-in-law right now. Both married older men who wanted malleable young trophy wives who would worship and adore with little in return.
Both women are becoming progressively more miserable as they realize how little they get out of the relationship and how nice it would be to love someone their own age.
One of them spends all of his money remodeling "his" house, though they have been together for 7 years. Her car is dying, his is new, he's getting a new BBQ patio, she didn't get her sewing room, she scrambles around the house after two kids, he calls out from the dinner table, "Can you get me some more milk" and hold up his empty glass like from frikin' noble. She's changing a diaper and he's 4 feet from the fridge, and he sits there like a lump.
The other one is no better. He married her, 11 years his junior, because she had a smokin' hot figure, could dance, and because she made him look good at corporate events. She upgraded his wardrobe, hairstyle, taste in cars, everything. Now, with her considerable help, his business is taking off and his time is spent at the office, and she feels abandoned in her own home.
He doesn't let her socialize with women her own age, she is to stay at home with their baby, to watch and protect the little prince at all times, and he has even moved out of the bedroom because the baby is still nursing and he doesn't want to be woken up in the middle of the night to help.
I hope the girl from the story is happy 6 months from now....
Read part 1 first, and then part two for the whole story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wow, this is quite a story. But I'm not sure if this is really a happy ending yet or not.
Let by cynical for just a minute.
A younger girl (20) seeks out an older man (40?) to "awaken her sexuality." Sounds great.
She sees a tender, patient, handsome guy who, after a few dates, makes sweet monkey love to her. She is smitten, and begins the process of "coupledom".
Reverse the scenario.
Older man seeks vulnerable young woman for sex and social servitude. Unable to maintain relationships with women his own age, he seeks out women in need of a father figure and, to his amazement, finds a girl seeking the same.
After being patient for, what, 2 weeks, he take her virginity, claims her heart, and brings her in to a relationship where he is in control, he is the boss, and she, unaware of the alternatives, is bound to him as he becomes more and more controlling, and eventually abusive as she realizes her mistake, and desires to date men who won't need adult diapers before she finishes college.
Cynical? Yes. But, I'm seeing that happen with my niece and sister-in-law right now. Both married older men who wanted malleable young trophy wives who would worship and adore with little in return.
Both women are becoming progressively more miserable as they realize how little they get out of the relationship and how nice it would be to love someone their own age.
One of them spends all of his money remodeling "his" house, though they have been together for 7 years. Her car is dying, his is new, he's getting a new BBQ patio, she didn't get her sewing room, she scrambles around the house after two kids, he calls out from the dinner table, "Can you get me some more milk" and hold up his empty glass like from frikin' noble. She's changing a diaper and he's 4 feet from the fridge, and he sits there like a lump.
The other one is no better. He married her, 11 years his junior, because she had a smokin' hot figure, could dance, and because she made him look good at corporate events. She upgraded his wardrobe, hairstyle, taste in cars, everything. Now, with her considerable help, his business is taking off and his time is spent at the office, and she feels abandoned in her own home.
He doesn't let her socialize with women her own age, she is to stay at home with their baby, to watch and protect the little prince at all times, and he has even moved out of the bedroom because the baby is still nursing and he doesn't want to be woken up in the middle of the night to help.
I hope the girl from the story is happy 6 months from now....
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
TMI Tuesday #171 -Movie Edition
I love movies so I thought I'd throw this TMI list in today.
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1. What was the last movie you saw in a theater?
Quantum of Solace – A good “Bourne” movie disguised as Bond
2. What is your favorite movie theater snack?
Popcorn with M&Ms and a Sprite. It’s the only time I drink Sprite.
3. Have you ever snuck in 'outside' food into a theater?
When I was a kid, my mom and I got busted trying to sneak a whole Wendy’s meal in to the theatre in her giant mom-purse. You could smell it from 20 feet away, we had the whole thing, burgers, fries, drinks. They wouldn’t let us in to the theatre but we had already bought out tickets so we just plopped down on a lobby bench and ate it right there. We missed the first part of the movie but my mom and I had a great time.
4. Have you ever made out in a theater?
When I was a kid, my mom and I…. well, that is for my therapist…..
Actually, given all of the places I have made out, church, parks, school, sauna, haunted house, parties, steeple, ski lifts, scuba boat, etc. I’ve never had a serious make-out session in the movies. I’m there for the film.
5. What is the 'farthest' you have gone in a theater?
I reached up my wife’s skirt once but she slapped my hand so hard it hurt for a week, so the honest answer is “Not very far….”
Bonus (as in optional): What is one of your favorite movie sex scene?
Wow, so many to pick from.
“Desert Hearts” was the first movie to give me an orgasm w/o touching myself.
AngelHeart’s rain/blood scene has stuck with me for years.
Seeing Gwenyth Paltrow topless in Shakespeare in Love was fun.
Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon in Bound is wildly over-rated.
I rented “The Postman Always Rings Twice” with Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange and had started watching it. They have a very hot scene on the kitchen table. Sizzling. Then, for some reason I had to take a break for the night. The next day my dad tosses it to me and tells me to return to the video store at once. Apparently he started watching it and he told me that it was “Kind of a rough movie, and you shouldn’t be watching it.” Of course I watched it that night after he went to bed.
Here is a list of lists of movie sex scenes…
And here is one for lesbian scenes…
Friday, January 23, 2009
If I had my way....
She would have taken me up on my offer and come to my office to get ready for the gym.
Her husband, waiting patiently in the lobby as always, would wonder why she was late, again, but he wouldn't complain. He never did. She had lots to do each day, and because of our time zone difference with HQ, he knew that a lot of her work happened after 3:00 pm.
What he didn't know, was that she was in my office getting ready, getting naked, getting ravaged.
Dressed in conservative black slacks and a cream colored sweater over a cream colored tank top, she was the poster child for boring corporate America. That made her boss happy, an 65 year old dowager on the verge of retirement who missed the good old days every day. But under those slacks was the first hint of her real nature.
Bright pinks, hot reds, silky blues, lacy purples, barely-there black, see-through whites, and playful yellow wrapped sensuously around her smooth-shaved body. Totally waxed, buffed, smoothed, and exfoliated she was my bald princess. Puffy lipped, erotically wet, juicy and luscious, fragrant and tasty she was mine.
She stepped in to my room and locked the door. "He's in the lobby" meant that we had 10 minutes to play, to taste, to touch, to begin, to finish, to love, to want, to have and to hold.
First off were here sensible flats and slacks. I dropped to my knees and helped her step out, pushing her backwards in to my chair as soon as her feet were clear. The sweater hits the floor next, followed by her silk-thin tank top. No bra is needed with her 34A breasts and her always aroused nipples. They stand perky and proud.
Down to only her sheer purple thong she slides down in the chair and opens herself to me and I eat. I lick, I taste, I drink like a man rescued from sea. Her arousal grows quickly as the anticipation has been growing since a stolen kiss at noon.
"Pull them off" and I do
"In, In, In" and I am. She thrusts against me angrily, hungrily, and I answer in kind. Her orgasm is sharp and harsh, her fingernails leave their mark and my DNA under her tips.
Still panting, she stands and dresses quickly, pulling on the sensible underwear that he will help her out of at home. A large wet spot forms instantly, and she rubs it for my enjoyment.
"Thanks for the warm-up" is all she says as she leaves my office door open.
I call down to the lobby and tell my brother that is wife is on her way and apologize for keeping her late again.
Her husband, waiting patiently in the lobby as always, would wonder why she was late, again, but he wouldn't complain. He never did. She had lots to do each day, and because of our time zone difference with HQ, he knew that a lot of her work happened after 3:00 pm.
What he didn't know, was that she was in my office getting ready, getting naked, getting ravaged.
Dressed in conservative black slacks and a cream colored sweater over a cream colored tank top, she was the poster child for boring corporate America. That made her boss happy, an 65 year old dowager on the verge of retirement who missed the good old days every day. But under those slacks was the first hint of her real nature.
Bright pinks, hot reds, silky blues, lacy purples, barely-there black, see-through whites, and playful yellow wrapped sensuously around her smooth-shaved body. Totally waxed, buffed, smoothed, and exfoliated she was my bald princess. Puffy lipped, erotically wet, juicy and luscious, fragrant and tasty she was mine.
She stepped in to my room and locked the door. "He's in the lobby" meant that we had 10 minutes to play, to taste, to touch, to begin, to finish, to love, to want, to have and to hold.
First off were here sensible flats and slacks. I dropped to my knees and helped her step out, pushing her backwards in to my chair as soon as her feet were clear. The sweater hits the floor next, followed by her silk-thin tank top. No bra is needed with her 34A breasts and her always aroused nipples. They stand perky and proud.
Down to only her sheer purple thong she slides down in the chair and opens herself to me and I eat. I lick, I taste, I drink like a man rescued from sea. Her arousal grows quickly as the anticipation has been growing since a stolen kiss at noon.
"Pull them off" and I do
"In, In, In" and I am. She thrusts against me angrily, hungrily, and I answer in kind. Her orgasm is sharp and harsh, her fingernails leave their mark and my DNA under her tips.
Still panting, she stands and dresses quickly, pulling on the sensible underwear that he will help her out of at home. A large wet spot forms instantly, and she rubs it for my enjoyment.
"Thanks for the warm-up" is all she says as she leaves my office door open.
I call down to the lobby and tell my brother that is wife is on her way and apologize for keeping her late again.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Saria
Thick black hair
Irresistible accent
perfect olive skin
wonderfully proportioned
slim girlish hips
strong cyclist thighs
beautifully full chest
flat stomach, even after three kids
brilliant white teeth
bright smile
nice lips
dark eyes
tight white spandex t-shirt
dark blue zippered vest, unzipped enough for cleavage to show
black shorts, boy shorts, so very tight, so very thin
the curves of her body, the outline of her panties,
the soft folds that reveal themselves as she does her stretches.
I finally had the courage to ask if she was also a runner,
but no, she would just slow me down, she said.
I don't mind, I replied, but it was still no.
Irresistible accent
perfect olive skin
wonderfully proportioned
slim girlish hips
strong cyclist thighs
beautifully full chest
flat stomach, even after three kids
brilliant white teeth
bright smile
nice lips
dark eyes
tight white spandex t-shirt
dark blue zippered vest, unzipped enough for cleavage to show
black shorts, boy shorts, so very tight, so very thin
the curves of her body, the outline of her panties,
the soft folds that reveal themselves as she does her stretches.
I finally had the courage to ask if she was also a runner,
but no, she would just slow me down, she said.
I don't mind, I replied, but it was still no.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A sex quiz....
I read this on Lust Puddle, but couldn't get to the test myself since I'm at work. But I took her version and put my own answers in...
TAKE THE TEST HERE!
TAKE THE TEST HERE!
1. Lets start off with the basics.
Are you:
Gay
Straight
2. How often do you think about sex?
Every waking minute, well not every minute, but close.
Never
Maybe a few times a week
Just as much as the next person
3. Say you have a regular sex partner and do the deed often, do you still find the need to masturbate anyways?
Yes, I love it, it’s quick, simple, and gets my day off to a nice start.
No
Maybe so...
4. Lets say you do not have a sex partner, how often do you masturbate?
Everyday
Never
Only when I feel really irritable from lack of "release".
5. What is your method of pleasuring yourself?
Dildo or some kind of sex toy
Good old fashioned way..fingers and hands and lots of conditioner in the shower
A washing machine on spin cycle
water play (say like if you are lucky enough to have a hose attachment that turns on to give that nice massaging feeling)
6. How's your style of kissing?
Just a quick granny peck on the cheek
Long and passionate
Slow but playful slips of the tounge now and then
7. Does kissing always lead to groping?
Sure, might as well cop a feel
Depends – My wife hates being “groped” unless it is agreed to before hand
My kisses are so hypnotizing that the person always goes to the next step
Nah....
8. Does gropping lead to hot foreplay..say like oral sex?
Fuck yes always
Oral..gross no way
Depends – As stated in #7, random groping is forbidden.
Whats oral sex?
9. If not oral sex, what other means of sexual experimenting do you or would you do for pleasure of the individual?
Anal beads and vibrators (basically anything she asks for - but she doesn't ask for much)
Massaging lubricants that stimulate the clit or penis
Ice
Nothing
10. Time for intercourse!!!! How do you give it to your partner?
Slow and sensual, I want this to last forever – The longer I take the harder she cums
I don’t know how to fuck or I’m a virgin
Fuck the hell out of the person just to hear them scream my name
Depends on the mood
11. Uh-Oh!!!! Starting to feel a little too good and the sensation of cumming is building up. Do you:
Keep going and hope for the best
Consider your partners feelings and stop to bring them to the point of no return
Screw them..Oh yah... Im fuckin' cumming
Cum,but promise them it wont happen again
12. After its all over do you:
Bask in the glory of your personal release
Get up and light a smoke
Cuddle with your partner and ask them how it was and how you can improve your ways next time (after sex critiques are NOT welcome. Save that for later)
Start the fucking all over again
13. Just a few random questions here so answer wisely......How do you feel about pornos and dirty magazines?
If I could go back in time and shake the hand of the person that started it all I would be there with bells on
Bunch of mindless garbage and filth
It doesn’t bother me, but it isn’t my thing
14. How much does say like girl on girl sex or two guys and a chick turn you on?
Sick, stick to the male/female togetherness
Its alright I guess
Just thinking about it has given me the "tingle" As long as the guys are doing each other, I’m good with just about any combination
Its just a money maker........
15. Do you have a sexual fetish or like to roleplay?
Ummm.......Silk scarf anyone?
Hell no..fuck that shit
Hey baby if you dress up like Leglas and I dress up as....
Sure ,but that’s my secret
16. Have you or would you consider going to a prostitute or a nicer word a call girl/guy for sex if you knew it was safe?
Done it
Never, ever, ever
I never have to pay for sex all the bitches want me
Maybe.....do full-contact strip clubs count?
17. If you are in love with someone but the sex was horrible would you secretly cheat on them just so you could have some hot pussy or cock?
I couldnt because I wouldnt want it done to me...
Sure I guess if I aint gonna get caught..
Never I go sexless forever
But of course I wouldnt survive without awesome sex in my life
Been there – done that, not worth it
18. Do you believe that being in love makes a greater sexual experince with someone?
Yes because its a special thing to be able to bond with someone sexually
No, Sex is sex and thats that!!!!
Hard to say now adays...
Meh........
19. When's the last time you got laid?
15 minutes ago....
Never
2-8 years ago
Last week..Sex on the 13th, hand job in the shower on the 15th.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
TMI #170
1. Have you ever dated/married purely for money?
Yes. One girlfriend in college had a condo at a ski resort and a dad who liked to by everyone’s lift passes. Sorry Sharon.
2. What is your type?
Female, upright, a regular pulse, a sense of humor, a well defined (big or small) ass, the ability to run 3 miles without dying, breasts that won’t injure me in a fall, shaved, or at least trimmed short, no more than 2 tattoos, only one non-facial piercing, someone who will swallow on the right occasion, being double jointed is a plus. And, I like strawberry blonds, redheads, or brunettes. Bald is OK too if they have nice skin.
3. What is the best sex game you have ever played?
Got Married. Game Over.
Or “Guess the Mood” – I always loose at this one.
4. Have you ever given or received an orgasm from a person whose last name you did not know?
Yes. At a bar in Salt Lake City after flying out to see a friend of mine from college. She was celebrating her 21st birthday and was wicked drunk. I was the designated driver. She came just from drying humping outside in the parking lot. She finished me by hand. I think her girlfriend saw us, ‘cause she got really pissed and told me that they were lesbians. I think she was wrong.
5. Have you ever masturbated in front of a sexual partner?
YES, YES, YES, but the people at the DMV got really mad.
Actually, yes, she likes to start me off, but doesn’t feel like she does a good job finishing me. She actually does it very well, but she likes me to finish my orgasm. Plus, if feels great when she plays with my chest while I do it.
Plus, a few years ago, during one of my affairs, I would masturbate while she watched because she didn't think it was right for her to touch me directly. But, she sure loved to touch me through my clothes and watch me cum. The best time was on the top deck of our parking garage at work. She had been rubbing me through my gym shorts all the way to work (we carpooled) and then I pulled it out and let fly. If I ever run for president, look out for a story about a red sweatshirt.
Bonus:At what age do you think men and women reach their sexual peak? Do you think you have hit yours yet?
Can’t speak for the women folk, but I reached my physical peak at 21 or 22 when I was getting off 2-3 times a day for months. As for my creativity, enjoyment, desire, and abilities, I hope I’m still improving. I just need a little longer to rest in between…..
Yes. One girlfriend in college had a condo at a ski resort and a dad who liked to by everyone’s lift passes. Sorry Sharon.
2. What is your type?
Female, upright, a regular pulse, a sense of humor, a well defined (big or small) ass, the ability to run 3 miles without dying, breasts that won’t injure me in a fall, shaved, or at least trimmed short, no more than 2 tattoos, only one non-facial piercing, someone who will swallow on the right occasion, being double jointed is a plus. And, I like strawberry blonds, redheads, or brunettes. Bald is OK too if they have nice skin.
3. What is the best sex game you have ever played?
Got Married. Game Over.
Or “Guess the Mood” – I always loose at this one.
4. Have you ever given or received an orgasm from a person whose last name you did not know?
Yes. At a bar in Salt Lake City after flying out to see a friend of mine from college. She was celebrating her 21st birthday and was wicked drunk. I was the designated driver. She came just from drying humping outside in the parking lot. She finished me by hand. I think her girlfriend saw us, ‘cause she got really pissed and told me that they were lesbians. I think she was wrong.
5. Have you ever masturbated in front of a sexual partner?
YES, YES, YES, but the people at the DMV got really mad.
Actually, yes, she likes to start me off, but doesn’t feel like she does a good job finishing me. She actually does it very well, but she likes me to finish my orgasm. Plus, if feels great when she plays with my chest while I do it.
Plus, a few years ago, during one of my affairs, I would masturbate while she watched because she didn't think it was right for her to touch me directly. But, she sure loved to touch me through my clothes and watch me cum. The best time was on the top deck of our parking garage at work. She had been rubbing me through my gym shorts all the way to work (we carpooled) and then I pulled it out and let fly. If I ever run for president, look out for a story about a red sweatshirt.
Bonus:At what age do you think men and women reach their sexual peak? Do you think you have hit yours yet?
Can’t speak for the women folk, but I reached my physical peak at 21 or 22 when I was getting off 2-3 times a day for months. As for my creativity, enjoyment, desire, and abilities, I hope I’m still improving. I just need a little longer to rest in between…..
Fashion Crimes
I don’t usually say mean things on this blog, or really ever, but as my bus was working my way away from the office I was looking out of the window and was just amazed at the bad fashion choices that women make. Men too, but a bad outfit on a man is like a bad haircut on a dog, no one really notices, and the next day, it will be fine.
Men have so few fashion options that we can only do so much damage. Bad pants can only hang so low, a bad shirt on a big belly or hairy chest can be bad, but there is a lower limit that keeps most men at a disappointing buzz that allows women to write off must of us appearance only.
Women, however, have a plethora of choices that allow them to go wrong on many, many, levels. Too Tight, too short, too loose, too old, too strappy, too bright, to dull, form-fitting, form-hiding, prone to wardrobe malfunctions etc, etc, etc. At one intersection was a girl, maybe 5’2”, at least 150 pounds, in a handkerchief dress that barely hid her big flabby boobs and showed off her puffy, pasty thighs in a way that frightened small children. Even the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man thinks she needs to lose weight before wearing that outfit. And this is not just a complaint about fat girls. Two girls on the corner were in dressed in these awful t-shirt dresses that hung like damp dish rags on their bony, undernourished frames. I thought the “Heroin Chic” look went out when Kate Moss went in to rehab for the 3rd or 4th time.
Even friends here at work (a professional situation) wear things that constantly surprise me. Meredith wears skirts that are too short and expose her cellulite. Beth tucks herself in to outfits that are two sizes and several pounds too small, like a overstuffed Puerto Rican sausage, she teeters around on heels that might have looked good in a Madonna video’s from the 80’s, but not now, not ever again.
And don’t get me started on the old women, the old secretaries that wear push-up bras that make their chest look like a big puddle of melted breast tissue that threatens, at any minute, to spill over the top of their too-low cut blouses and just drop to the floor in big drops of ick.
I don’t expect all women to dress like fashion models. I don’t even expect most of them to look like anything at all. Most of us put on enough clothes to keep from getting fired or arrested, and we are done. But what happened to mirrors? What happened to friends that give their friends good advice, and tell them that NO, hooker boots, a mini-skirt, and too much make-up, do NOT look good as you walk down the street. Unless You are A HOOKER!
And why is it that so many Asian women dress just like this? I know this sounds terribly racist, but a large share of them in my neighborhood, next to a major university, look like street walkers. Why? Are they all issued denim mini-skirts, torn pantyhose, and high-heeled boots when they register for school? Do the sunglasses and giant hoop earrings get passed down from generation to generation? Do mom’s slip their baby girls in baby-stiletto’s and help them learn to cock their hips and smack their gum? Please, buy a skirt wider than your belt, and pull out the flats that make you look cute, not like a street walker.
Please, please, please, go here or here, and spend some money….
(OK, back to my normal, mild-mannered, somewhat angry self..... thanks for listening)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
More thoughts on writing.
Please keep reading, this is not a repeat post, but the original version of a post that went a very different direction than planned. This is what I meant to write about….
While ago I shared a little tidbit from my real life, either through e-mail or a blog entry, I can’t remember right now. Either way, a couple of days later I got an e-mail from a friend that had found my blog and had e-mailed me some nice feedback and shared a bit about herself. Nothing too personal, but enough to establish a bit of connection.
All I shared was that, while at work, the lights went out. Our building lost power. Using my laptop’s battery and the emergency power that feeds our network within the building, I was able to work for another hour before my Internet server powered down and my laptop started to complain that it was loosing touch with the outside world. So I shut down, caught my bus, and went home.
Imagine, if you will, and I hope you will, my surprise when I got an e-mail from my friend with a story attached. She had mentioned in her notes that she liked to write be found it difficult to find the right convergence of mood and time to write erotica. I have to agree, finding time is the hardest part, but the mood has to be right as well. OK, it is right here that I go completely off track from the goal of this post. Completely. If you want to go where I was supposed to go, click HERE, if not, then keep reading. You have to be in a good mood or it turns out angry. My very first blog entry was written in a bad horny mood. I go back and read it and my mood returns.
So, what kind of “good mood” does it take to write a good dirty story? For me it’s a combination of happy, horny, rebellion, with a bit of bravado mixed in. Good sex and good sex stories make me happy, so I have to be in that mind-set when I start. I have to imagine two, or more, people who want to be together, who find the first touch of skin, the meeting of new lips, the insertion of foreign objects, or the new taste of a stranger to be exciting. They have to anticipate, expect, enjoy, and revel in the tension between “Yes” and the action that follows.
Good sex means good chemistry, and for me that is difficult to write, but important to the back story, even if the back story never gets written.
I have to be a little bit horny when I start writing, I have to feel that itch, the heartbeat at the end of my dick, the memory of the girl at the gym, you know the one, she’s always cute, but today was hot, and her new thong peeked out just so from her running tights. Or maybe it was a memory from a past lover, a girl that got away or maybe even a video clip of Jennifer Anniston on a chilly day. Something has to spark the fire.
And rebellion. Yes, the best writing comes when I’m fighting with my wife. I turn to my stories and my blog, not to bash her, but to write about things she doesn’t want to think about. I shout dirty words from the rooftops of the Internet when she only whispers them in the dark of the bedroom. If she asks for missionary, I write about doggie. If she worries about locking the bedroom door, I write about fucking in Times Square at midnight or in the middle of the deserted gymnasium floor after the high school reunion is over. Sometimes it is more mundane. I write about sex when she gives none. I write about love when I feel little. I write about intimacy when I feel lonely.
And what of bravado? We all know that our blogs are driven by ego more than anything else. Why would someone really want to read about the sex-life of a forty-something guy with a bit of a belly and an average penis in the first place? No one, but my ego tells me that someone, somewhere, is listening. My blog only has one follower. Her website is well worth checking out. Her stories are interesting and arousing, and I love hearing from her in comments and e-mail. But only one follower?
Do we judge ourselves, our writing, our self-image on the number of hits we get, the number of followers we have, the amount of hate mail we receive, or, as in the case of SinSecret, the number of penis pictures she gets in an average week?
I’m not sure why I write beyond the pleasure of thinking about sex, the fun of trying to arouse others, and the small ego boost I get when someone takes the time to comment. I find writing good erotic very difficult, but a fun challenge. I find that writing short stories that make sense and end well also very difficult, but I will keep trying my hand at both.
I want to say how much I enjoy reading those around me. Some write stories, some tell the truth, and some just lead extremely sexy lives and have decided to share them with us. So to all of you who share…
Thank you very much.
While ago I shared a little tidbit from my real life, either through e-mail or a blog entry, I can’t remember right now. Either way, a couple of days later I got an e-mail from a friend that had found my blog and had e-mailed me some nice feedback and shared a bit about herself. Nothing too personal, but enough to establish a bit of connection.
All I shared was that, while at work, the lights went out. Our building lost power. Using my laptop’s battery and the emergency power that feeds our network within the building, I was able to work for another hour before my Internet server powered down and my laptop started to complain that it was loosing touch with the outside world. So I shut down, caught my bus, and went home.
Imagine, if you will, and I hope you will, my surprise when I got an e-mail from my friend with a story attached. She had mentioned in her notes that she liked to write be found it difficult to find the right convergence of mood and time to write erotica. I have to agree, finding time is the hardest part, but the mood has to be right as well. OK, it is right here that I go completely off track from the goal of this post. Completely. If you want to go where I was supposed to go, click HERE, if not, then keep reading. You have to be in a good mood or it turns out angry. My very first blog entry was written in a bad horny mood. I go back and read it and my mood returns.
So, what kind of “good mood” does it take to write a good dirty story? For me it’s a combination of happy, horny, rebellion, with a bit of bravado mixed in. Good sex and good sex stories make me happy, so I have to be in that mind-set when I start. I have to imagine two, or more, people who want to be together, who find the first touch of skin, the meeting of new lips, the insertion of foreign objects, or the new taste of a stranger to be exciting. They have to anticipate, expect, enjoy, and revel in the tension between “Yes” and the action that follows.
Good sex means good chemistry, and for me that is difficult to write, but important to the back story, even if the back story never gets written.
I have to be a little bit horny when I start writing, I have to feel that itch, the heartbeat at the end of my dick, the memory of the girl at the gym, you know the one, she’s always cute, but today was hot, and her new thong peeked out just so from her running tights. Or maybe it was a memory from a past lover, a girl that got away or maybe even a video clip of Jennifer Anniston on a chilly day. Something has to spark the fire.
And rebellion. Yes, the best writing comes when I’m fighting with my wife. I turn to my stories and my blog, not to bash her, but to write about things she doesn’t want to think about. I shout dirty words from the rooftops of the Internet when she only whispers them in the dark of the bedroom. If she asks for missionary, I write about doggie. If she worries about locking the bedroom door, I write about fucking in Times Square at midnight or in the middle of the deserted gymnasium floor after the high school reunion is over. Sometimes it is more mundane. I write about sex when she gives none. I write about love when I feel little. I write about intimacy when I feel lonely.
And what of bravado? We all know that our blogs are driven by ego more than anything else. Why would someone really want to read about the sex-life of a forty-something guy with a bit of a belly and an average penis in the first place? No one, but my ego tells me that someone, somewhere, is listening. My blog only has one follower. Her website is well worth checking out. Her stories are interesting and arousing, and I love hearing from her in comments and e-mail. But only one follower?
Do we judge ourselves, our writing, our self-image on the number of hits we get, the number of followers we have, the amount of hate mail we receive, or, as in the case of SinSecret, the number of penis pictures she gets in an average week?
I’m not sure why I write beyond the pleasure of thinking about sex, the fun of trying to arouse others, and the small ego boost I get when someone takes the time to comment. I find writing good erotic very difficult, but a fun challenge. I find that writing short stories that make sense and end well also very difficult, but I will keep trying my hand at both.
I want to say how much I enjoy reading those around me. Some write stories, some tell the truth, and some just lead extremely sexy lives and have decided to share them with us. So to all of you who share…
Thank you very much.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Sleeping while writing
I was trying to start a new story while I was coming to work on the bus today, but I must have been pretty tired, because this is all I got.
I knocked on her door and waited. She was never ready on time, ever. I don’t know why I agreed to carpool with her again, after she had made me late so many times. It always started the same way, “Are you taking the bus tomorrow?” she would ask. Hopefully ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Friday, January 16, 2009
Writing for Others
It is interesting to think about the process of writing erotica with someone else in mind. I used to write custom stories for a couple of my friends whose interests were more literary than physical. One was a single mom, twice divorced, who was going through a period of involuntary celibacy. She admitted to me that she had discovered masturbation late in life, but that she didn’t have any inspiration. Online porn didn’t do anything for her and she didn’t know what do think about while she got herself off.
I suggested flashing back to her past lovers, but all of her breakups were so bad that it was hard to get aroused thinking of guys that she hated. I asked her what turned her on, and she said, “I don’t know.” To get her thinking I came up with a questionnaire. I still have her responses at my desk in a special folder.
Questions included
What are the 5 most romantic words?
What are the five sexiest words?
Tell me three words you hate.
Describe the perfect penis in 5 words
List the top three places to have sex
What is the favorite room in your house for sex?
Describe a fantasy location that you have never tried
Describe the perfect kiss
Where do you masturbate most often?
Which hand do you use?
Which finger?
To my shock and delight she actually filled out the answers and, based on that, I wrote her a wonderful story, that, unfortunately, I no longer have. I sent it to her hard-copy and then lost the file when I got a new computer at work. It may exist on my company server, waiting to derail my political career some day, but for now, it’s gone.
The story had the desired effect. She came back to me a couple of days later, locked the door, and gave me a huge and enthusiastic hug.
She said that she loved the story, the twist at the end, and that it was just the ticket. I asked for clarification, and she blushed deeply,. She pulled me close again and whispered in my ear, “I came three times last night.”
I wrapped her up in my arms and held her tight. I’m glad I could help, I said, and she pressed her hips in to mine, and felt my hard-on through my thin wool slacks.
“That’s nice” she said, and ground herself in to me a little.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to cum.” I whispered, and she backed off, leaving me very aroused.
“Can I see it?” She asked.
“Now?”
“Yes”
“If I take it out, I’m going to cum. It will be too much.”
“What if I clean it up for you.”
“I don’t understand….”
She explained by walking over and locking my door. She wrapped her arms around me and looked me straight in the eye.
“You gave me a wonderful gift last night. I just want to repay you.”
“You don’t owe me anything”
“I know, it’s not a debt, but a gift.”
She put her hand on my erection and stroked gently up and down.
“Please stop. It’s too much.”
“Are you sure? You seem to be enjoying it.”
“I know, it’s not that, it feels good, but I don’t want to change things”
“Change things? Things changed for me last night as I had my fingers up inside me with your words in my head. They changed when I started reading your story and couldn’t help but take off all my clothes. Things changed when my fingers were covered in cum and my nipples were on fire, and my orgasm crashed through my skull, and all I could do was think of you, your words, your cock, and my body. Things have already changed.”
She had dropped to her knees as she spoke and I felt her hands on my zipper. The sound of the fabric parting and the metal teeth disengaging filled the room.
I was harder than ever and I could feel each beat of my heart.
“Your story seduced me last night. Your words made me yours.”
She reached inside my fly and touched me for the first time.
I was amazed that I didn’t cum instantly.
Her hands moved again and undid my belt and dropped my pants to the floor. I saw myself in the third person and laughed at the image. The 30-something business man with his pants down around his angles while the cute girl from the steno pool was on her knees, ready to service him. The stereotype was so perfect that I had to laugh.
“What’s so funny,” she asked
“This is just so funny, and so dangerous, and so…”
She shut me up by engulfing my cock in her mouth.
I stared down in disbelief as her beautiful brown hair moved and swayed over my hips.
She pulled back and brought her hand to my shaft and flipped her hair out of the way so I could see myself in her mouth.
“You like to see it, don’t you?” She giggled.
“Yes” I whispered.
She stuck out her tongue and licked the tip like a ice cream cone, long, slow, fat-tongued strokes that drove me closer and closer to climax. Then she switched and took me in deep, for long warm, wet sucking.
“I’m going to cum soon,” I gasped.
Without taking her mouth from my body she nodded yes and increased her actions. I felt one hand on my shaft, stroking me as I moved in and out of her mouth, the other hand, I noticed, was between her legs, pressing against the fabric of her slacks.
That was too much for me to handle and I started to cum.
Shot after shot filled her mouth and she pulled me in deep and began swallowing. I could feel her lips tighten around my shaft as she tried to keep it all contained.
I stopped moving my hips and just felt the pleasure of contractions fill her sweet mouth.
I don’t know when she did it, but I looked down and saw that she had opened her slacks and that her hand was well hidden deep inside.
She pulled herself off my cock and leaned against my legs as her hand moved furiously inside her pants.
“Cum for me” I whispered in her ear.
And she did.
Her body convulsed and she let out a stifled cry that was a cross between a gasp, a whimper, and a blend of explicit expletives all rolled in to one fantastic outburst.
She tried in vain to hold on to my legs for support, but ended up puddle at my feet , looking very much like a pilgrim in prayer, her knees spread, her head to the ground, her arms extended. Well, one arm, the other was still inside her pants, no longer moving, but buried between her beautiful thighs.
I reached down and pulled up my pants and then sat on the floor besides her. Our bodies shifted and soon she was in my arms, one hand caressing my face and chest, the other drifting slowly over her own body as if to calm it down. I reached over and zipped up her pants, but first reaching a finger inside and finding skin where I expected to find silk.
“Commando?”
“Yes,” She admitted, I took them off in the bathroom on the way down here. I guess I was being an optimist.
She stretched her body out to its full 5’6” frame and let a long suppressed yawn overtake her body. I felt her stomach and hips, and let my hand drift lightly over her blouse, feeling the soft fabric and letting my fingers trip lightly across her breasts.
“This was unexpected,” I said,
“Only for you.” She replied.
“You had this in mind for a while?”
“I’ve been thinking about is since I finished the first paragraph in your story., it was wonderful.”
“I’m glad you liked it, I’m glad it helped. I had no idea that it would lead here though. I want you know that, OK?”
She nodded, I continued, “I didn’t write it to make this happen”
“I know, and I believe you, that is why I wanted it to happen so much.”
“Besides”, she said, getting to her knees and then to her feet. “I had to give you ideas for your next story….”
Thursday, January 15, 2009
For Greek Girl
While ago I shared a little tidbit from my real life, either through e-mail or a blog entry, I can’t remember right now. Either way, a couple of days later I got an e-mail from a friend that had found my blog and had e-mailed me some nice feedback and shared a bit about herself. Nothing too personal, but enough to establish a bit of connection.
As a side note, it is interesting how the Internet has changed the meaning of the phrase, “Nothing Personal” when it comes to personal information. We are more likely to know our on-line friend’s sexual preferences, masturbation habits, kinks, hobbies, indiscretions, than we are to know their real first names.
Our deepest, darkest, most hidden secrets are posted to our blogs while we choose not to share where we live, where we grew up, where we attend church, or who we voted for.
We expose every weakness, yet refuse to divulge a phone number. So when I say, “Nothing Personal” it could mean a lot of different things.
All I shared was that, while at work, the lights went out. Our building lost power. Using my laptop’s battery and the emergency power that feeds our network within the building, I was able to work for another hour before my Internet server powered down and my laptop started to complain that it was loosing touch with the outside world. So I shut down, caught my bus, and went home.
Imagine, if you will, and I hope you will, my surprise when I got an e-mail from my friend with a story attached. She had mentioned in her notes that she liked to write but found it difficult to find the right convergence of mood and time to write erotica. I have to agree, finding time is the hardest part, but the mood has to be right as well.
The story was based on my real life power outage. She took my life and put it in the middle of what is turning in to a very erotic encounter. She has sent me parts one and two, and I’m eagerly awaiting the next part.
When I got part two and read it at my office desk, I got hard. When I finished combining them together and read it from the start, I got harder. It was so sexy to have someone writing about me. All sorts of thoughts crossed my mind, was the girl, the aggressor in the story, her? Was this her fantasy or her guess at mine? Was she the barefoot girl with the sexy lingerie under the starched white blouse? Who is she writing about when he kneels before the mysterious girl who comes in to the office in the dark seeking comfort?
Is she touching herself while she writes as I do when I read?
Does she get as wet as I get hard?
She asked me what happened when I read her stories. I admitted that I got an erection and she asked me what I did with it…
Well, silly question, silly answer, I play with it of course. I touch it through my pants at work, and if I have time, I unlock the door, close the blinds, and bring it out. I even used it to fuel the fire while getting a little hand job from my wife this morning. It was wonderfully erotic thinking about the story while being serviced in bed. It made for a very, very good morning.
As a side note, it is interesting how the Internet has changed the meaning of the phrase, “Nothing Personal” when it comes to personal information. We are more likely to know our on-line friend’s sexual preferences, masturbation habits, kinks, hobbies, indiscretions, than we are to know their real first names.
Our deepest, darkest, most hidden secrets are posted to our blogs while we choose not to share where we live, where we grew up, where we attend church, or who we voted for.
We expose every weakness, yet refuse to divulge a phone number. So when I say, “Nothing Personal” it could mean a lot of different things.
All I shared was that, while at work, the lights went out. Our building lost power. Using my laptop’s battery and the emergency power that feeds our network within the building, I was able to work for another hour before my Internet server powered down and my laptop started to complain that it was loosing touch with the outside world. So I shut down, caught my bus, and went home.
Imagine, if you will, and I hope you will, my surprise when I got an e-mail from my friend with a story attached. She had mentioned in her notes that she liked to write but found it difficult to find the right convergence of mood and time to write erotica. I have to agree, finding time is the hardest part, but the mood has to be right as well.
The story was based on my real life power outage. She took my life and put it in the middle of what is turning in to a very erotic encounter. She has sent me parts one and two, and I’m eagerly awaiting the next part.
When I got part two and read it at my office desk, I got hard. When I finished combining them together and read it from the start, I got harder. It was so sexy to have someone writing about me. All sorts of thoughts crossed my mind, was the girl, the aggressor in the story, her? Was this her fantasy or her guess at mine? Was she the barefoot girl with the sexy lingerie under the starched white blouse? Who is she writing about when he kneels before the mysterious girl who comes in to the office in the dark seeking comfort?
Is she touching herself while she writes as I do when I read?
Does she get as wet as I get hard?
She asked me what happened when I read her stories. I admitted that I got an erection and she asked me what I did with it…
Well, silly question, silly answer, I play with it of course. I touch it through my pants at work, and if I have time, I unlock the door, close the blinds, and bring it out. I even used it to fuel the fire while getting a little hand job from my wife this morning. It was wonderfully erotic thinking about the story while being serviced in bed. It made for a very, very good morning.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Family Pictures - part 2
Part one is here.
"This is going to be weird." She repeated to herself as she walked back around the front of the car. I was puzzled by her comment but decided against asking her about his right away. I closed the back hatch, quickly sliding my Penthouse magazine into an outside pocket to avoid detection.
As soon as the back hatch closed, the car began to roll away from the curb without me. A couple of feet later it jerked to a stop and she rolled down her window and yelled, "sorry." I quickly stepped to the side to avoid being run over in case you decided to back up and gets me. Without opening the door, she rolled down the passenger side window and asks me if I was going to get in.
"Are you going to leave without me if I don't?"
"I said I was sorry," she yelled, "just get in the car John. I'm freezing in this skirt."
"Then take it off." I yelled at her back through the window, catching the attention of a cute security guard patrolling the curb.
"I will if you get in the car so we can go."
I turned and looked at the guard and shrugged my shoulders, "what should I do?" I said in an exaggerated voice.
"If you're not going to get in," she said with a smile, "then I will."
"Now that sounds interesting." I said.
"Just to get in the car Sir," your girlfriend is blocking traffic.
I quickly jumped into the front seat of the car and rolled up the window to shut out the cold Denver air. "Well that was fun."
The snarl of holiday traffic was intense on the small airport roads, and I tried not to say anything as she weaved in and out of traffic to get us back out on the highway headed North. Once we cleared the airport grounds and got up to freeway speeds, she relaxed noticeably and turned on the radio. She picked up a station of alternative rock which suited me just fine. I know I am a little bit out of my expected demographic in my music tastes, but I like to keep up with the latest music trends and how they can enhance my iPod.
"So should I ask," I started, "or are you going to explain things on your own?"
"What do you mean?" She asked, staring out at the freeway as a way to avoid my eyes.
"What do you mean by ‘ weird’?"
"This is going to be weird." She repeated to herself as she walked back around the front of the car. I was puzzled by her comment but decided against asking her about his right away. I closed the back hatch, quickly sliding my Penthouse magazine into an outside pocket to avoid detection.
As soon as the back hatch closed, the car began to roll away from the curb without me. A couple of feet later it jerked to a stop and she rolled down her window and yelled, "sorry." I quickly stepped to the side to avoid being run over in case you decided to back up and gets me. Without opening the door, she rolled down the passenger side window and asks me if I was going to get in.
"Are you going to leave without me if I don't?"
"I said I was sorry," she yelled, "just get in the car John. I'm freezing in this skirt."
"Then take it off." I yelled at her back through the window, catching the attention of a cute security guard patrolling the curb.
"I will if you get in the car so we can go."
I turned and looked at the guard and shrugged my shoulders, "what should I do?" I said in an exaggerated voice.
"If you're not going to get in," she said with a smile, "then I will."
"Now that sounds interesting." I said.
"Just to get in the car Sir," your girlfriend is blocking traffic.
I quickly jumped into the front seat of the car and rolled up the window to shut out the cold Denver air. "Well that was fun."
The snarl of holiday traffic was intense on the small airport roads, and I tried not to say anything as she weaved in and out of traffic to get us back out on the highway headed North. Once we cleared the airport grounds and got up to freeway speeds, she relaxed noticeably and turned on the radio. She picked up a station of alternative rock which suited me just fine. I know I am a little bit out of my expected demographic in my music tastes, but I like to keep up with the latest music trends and how they can enhance my iPod.
"So should I ask," I started, "or are you going to explain things on your own?"
"What do you mean?" She asked, staring out at the freeway as a way to avoid my eyes.
"What do you mean by ‘ weird’?"
Monday, January 12, 2009
Pity Party - table for 1
I haven't been in the mood to write much lately. Things have been tense at home, as always, and the stress of being with my family over the holidays has taken its toll and has yet to dissipate.
We had no sex while on vacation, not once in 8 days. Eight days of a new bed, of chilly nights snuggle under down comforters and warm blankets. Eight days of a shower built for two, of snowy evenings before the fire and quiet nights under a winter moon.
She chose to spend time with family, I understand that. But am I to be cut out when others are around? It is an old and familiar pattern. Sex is lost when others arrive, when other entertainments, other distractions keep her up past the witching hour of 11:00 pm.
This is just another pity party (table for 1), I know. But it has set a mood that I haven't been able to shake. We had sex on Saturday night. I'll say more about that in a separate post, but it still didn't shake the mood.
Blame it on the New Year, on an empty calendar at work, on another cycle repeating itself, and another year of frustration staring me in the face.
Pity Party Over and out.
We had no sex while on vacation, not once in 8 days. Eight days of a new bed, of chilly nights snuggle under down comforters and warm blankets. Eight days of a shower built for two, of snowy evenings before the fire and quiet nights under a winter moon.
She chose to spend time with family, I understand that. But am I to be cut out when others are around? It is an old and familiar pattern. Sex is lost when others arrive, when other entertainments, other distractions keep her up past the witching hour of 11:00 pm.
This is just another pity party (table for 1), I know. But it has set a mood that I haven't been able to shake. We had sex on Saturday night. I'll say more about that in a separate post, but it still didn't shake the mood.
Blame it on the New Year, on an empty calendar at work, on another cycle repeating itself, and another year of frustration staring me in the face.
Pity Party Over and out.
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