My Type

At first, I didn’t have a type. My high school crushes were catholic: brunettes, blondes, and a redhead.
Then I fell hard, for Michelle, the woman I was to marry. She was a cute brunette (half-Italian, and other non-Nordic genes) who wore glasses, and the die was cast. As it happens, time and time again, that’s the type of woman I’m drawn to. (And, I should say: not just any kind of brunette.
Not that I’m exclusive, mind you: Marcy is a strawberry blonde, Ariel doesn’t wear glasses, though she is a brunette. (The “wrong” kind, however: her hair is medium brown, but “my” brunettes tend to have darker hair.)
The funny thing is, the pattern developed slowly. Looking back on my 11 mostly-faithful husbandly years, I don’t recall finding any particular “type” attractive, though I can remember at least one wistful interest who fit the bill.
No, my pattern emerged when I met Jeannie, the crazy woman who I dated on the rebound. (She was hesitant to get involved for that reason, but couldn’t help herself. But I digress.)
Jeannie was the only woman I ever met in a non-traditional way, on a phone personals site called TelePersonals. I was very clear that I was separated when I left my ad, and even (slyly) left it as a “looking for friends” ad. We started exchanging messages, and agreed to meet for coffee.
I went to her door, and there she was, an Italian brunette, wearing glasses. It took me a while, in fact, to decide whether or not I was attracted to her, but her attraction to me resulted in my attraction to her, and we had a lot of fucking like bunnies for the next 8 months.
About a month later, I met Misty. She came up to me at the social hour before a presentation, and I thought “Wow, she has good taste (in my lecture field), and she’s cute, too!” You guessed it: brown hair, glasses.
I noticed Hilary (my platonic Ph.D. student crush) across the room a few years later, sitting with Misty and pointing her out as someone I found attractive. Same routine, and it would never have gone further, but she came over to talk to me after my lecture, and when I found out she was a grad student in my field, I made a point of seeking her out for coffee. And lunches. And dinners. And drinks. All over the next 3-1/2 years. Each time framed by hello and goodbye hugs, and one kiss, the last time I saw her.
Imagine my joy when I realized that the internet is for porn, and I could search for girls (not just brunettes, mind you!) with glasses online. My favorite: Joy of Spex.
This is all by way of saying I’ve found a new favorite visual lady online: Dacia. Add her stunning tats (f-holes on her back, for you string instrument lovers) and piercings (only one these days, I think, but her now-retired nipple piercings are immortalized in various older sets), and if my type sounds like your type, you’ll be amply rewarded. Oh, and I should mention her smart, sexy writing in her blog and elsewhere: that’s what really seals the deal.

Template problems

Try to fix one thing, and the avalanche begins. I've noticed a little code problem (which only affects the sidebar in archives), and in trying to fix it, made it worse without noticing. So welcome to anyone who's come here via Sugasm, and anyone else, for that matter. I've still got some updating to do, but will be more careful of it.

What a boring post. More good stuff to come, I promise...

I spoke too soon

Phil called last night, about an hour before the appointed time. His resignation had landed him in a two-day funk of much sleeping, not enough bathing, and all the rest. So we spent a good hour processing that stuff (which, more than the extracurricular activities, was my purpose in going).

In the end, though, real life won out, and his feeling unsocial trumped anything else.


Not just for that: what a fucked-up Saturday it was.

Sugasm #18, featuring yours truly!

The best of the blogs by the bloggers who blog them (this week starting with the letter ‘S’):

• Sex Type Thing (chaosnoir.blogspot.com)
  
• Six Girls Skinny-dipping on Abby Winters (iloveabbeywinters.com)
  
• Coach T…..Chapter Two (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com)
  
• Sometimes You Just Miss Having A Penis (berkeleybiboy.blogspot.com)
  
• Strapping One On? (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
  
• Tangled up (lumpesse.com)
  
• The Listening Brief (gentlygently.blogspot.com)
  
• True Secret: A Night With A Star (secretbrain.blogspot.com)
  
• Vixen, In All Her Sultry, Devilish, Glory (tirepaddle.com)
  
• Brett and Hiromi interview themselves (sexblo.gs)
  
• Hot teen lesbian sex on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)
  
• Condom Conversation… (shayssexcolumn)
  
• Cherished (ambientstorm.blogspot.com)
  
• Dante’s Guide to Cybersex–Part II: Descriptive Writing (damneddante.blogspot.com)
  
• Darkness (nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
  
• Exactly where I want you… (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)
  
• Expectations (swelteringcelt.com)
  
• Father Knows Best (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
  
• Fucking Wifey To Make Me Jealous (radicalvixen.com)
  
• How do you jack-off? (whatsyourpleasure.blogspot.com)
  
• Join the Sugasm?
  
• More of Sugasm #18 here…
  

(All Sugasm participants should post the above links.) ...but the cool ones post 'em all!

• How to Get a Killer Lapdance (sugarbank.com)
  
• Hot teen lesbian sex on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)
  
• I might like you bettah if we shaved togethah (realadultsex.com)
  
• KITKAST #1.12 - AVN 1/2, Howard Stern and Porn Battle Kits (kitkast.com)
  
• Masturbation (sexinga.blogspot.com)
  
• Mindfucking and Oral Service (talkingdirty.blogspot.com)
  
• Men: What Are Your Best Blowjob Tips? (sexeteria.blogspot.com)
  
• More angie6969 (eroticandy.blogspot.com)
  
• My best fuck (damnjezebel.com)
  
• Phone (anyonesgirl.blogspot.com)
  
• My Fun Night at Work (MOCK POST) (tinastrangeworld.blogspot.com)
  
• Realizing Mortality (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)
  

Par for the course

This morning, we had been lazing around in bed, reading for a while. When we finally started going for the day, Misty came over to me and copped a feel. (Not in bed, of course, only after we'd moved on. But that's not the point.)

"Ooh, you're shaved!"

"Um, yep..."

...and the punchline?

"Only for the last three weeks."

Now let's ponder that for a minute. Monthly sex, I've long since gotten used to, and deal with it as I see fit. But this to me reached yet another new low: that over the course of three weeks seeing each other naked, including an abortive 2 am attempt at a handjob(!), she hadn't seen or felt, or noticed in any way that I had shaved my pubes, which is not the way I have usually kept them.

"Three weeks? Really? Where'd you do it?"

"Partly on a towel in the car, then I did the close work in the shower at the Y."

"That's a good place. No stray hairs around here for me to clean up," she said, laughing.

And yes, it's true, my lack of tidiness would likely have led to some telltale signs being left behind. But that's still rather beside the point, wouldn't you say?

Alas, this is just the latest in the death by a thousand paper cuts that is our sex life. 2 hours before I leave for a good three-way fucking tonight, and not a moment too soon.

Tonight, tonight

Phil was asked for his resignation the other day. We used to work together, and my replacement is his boss. So I don't exactly have a dog in that fight, but I'm trying to give him a sense of what his realistic political options are. After a couple of longish conversations, we decided I should pay him & Marcy a visit tonight.

"You know, she's been talking about the ol' DP lately."

"Is that so?"

I haven't been naked with them since before Christmas. I've packed my flogger (after their cheap one finally fell apart with a last thwack on Marcy's ass last time) and gloves. They've got the lube and other toys.

After a month of reading the endless variation in the lives of Jefferson and his gang, I'm ready to settle in for a good evening of food, liquid refreshment and some creative time in bed and anywhere else that comes to mind.

Don't worry, I'll fill you in.

Jesus: Soul Man

The Sydney Morning Herald reports on a new South African film portraying Jesus as a “modern African revolutionary”. I remember once hearing someone say that Jesus would have looked less like this and more like this.

Fine, as far as it goes. But the bigger question: is it a good movie? For 1200 years (from Constantine to the Reformation), the Church was the leading patron of the arts in the Western world (until the Puritan-types came along and ruined it all for us—see, it's not just sex!). And while religious art has had its ups and downs since, it's really only with the ubiquity of reproduction in the 20th century that insipid crap has become the norm for such things.

So the Passion movie and Narnia have been big hits, each for its own reason, including the fact that each in its own way was a well-crafted piece of work. In the long run, I'd like to think that high quality trumps good intentions.

Victoria, part II:

As I rolled over, Victoria stayed next to me, leisurely caressing my chest.

“Wow. You’re got a lot of hair,” she said, tugging at a bit of hair and twirling it in her fingers.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s actually kind of cool—more to play with. And what about this?“

What was “this”? My left nipple piercing. A 31st birthday present to myself. When I was 21, I found myself drawn to Modern Primitives, a picture book of tattooed, pierced, scarred, and otherwise modified bodies. Never had the nerve to do anything permanent, but I knew that my left nipple was especially responsive to attention.

So while I didn’t want anything showing (for professional reasons), I knew that getting it pierced was for me. I loved it, and was disappointed when I had to take it out for a hospital stay a couple of years later. The hole closed up, and I’ve never gotten around to getting repierced. But I digress.

“Go ahead, play with it.”

“Like this?”

Victoria gave it a gentle tug.

“Oh, you can do more than that.”

I pulled it and gave it a good twist.

“Really? Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not when I’m warmed up” (as I certainly was by that point).

“How’re you doing?”

“Just great. You’re really amazing, you know?”

She smiled shyly.

“Thanks. I’m having a good time too?”

Slithering on top of me, she began kneading my chest, leaning down to rub against me, and coming up as though to kiss me, moving over to nuzzle my neck and ear as she pressed against me. As she started to slide down, she found the spots that were, by now, awake to her attentions: my nipples and the insides of my thighs were especially responsive, and my cock twitched in anticipation of her touch, which she hinted at, but delayed, exquisitely.

“You can touch me too. It’s ok.”

“Really? How nice!”

And with that, I began to enjoy the feel of her back, tracing the outlines of her teardrop-shaped tattoo. As I said, it reminded me of the patterns in a Persian rug—mostly in blues and reds.

“I like your tat. I’ve never touched one before, but I’ve always been fascinated by them.” It’s true. I once spent half a morning waiting for jury duty admiring a shoulder design through a sheer white blouse. So up close and personal was pretty damn cool.

Victoria’s attention turned to my eager cock. She brushed it, held it, teased it with her hair and her breath, and ran it across her breasts and down her belly. I knew we weren’t about to fuck, and the forbidden fruit made the vibe electric as she continued up towards my face, lifting her hips so I could feel the heat of her pussy, she was so close.

With a smile, she slithered around on top of me, and I found myself face to face with her pussy. And for the first time, I saw that she was shaved. Oh, heaven.

She was swollen and wet, clearly enjoying herself. Her outside lips were swollen, and as she rubbed it along my chest, I could see the contractions of her lips and her cute pink rosebud of an asshole.

I put my hands on her ass, gently kneading her cheeks together and apart, moving down her thighs and back. With each stroke, I got closer to her pussy, pulling her close.

She turned back. “Don’t go inside.”

“I won’t, but I’d like to get as close as I can while staying out. How’s that?”

“OK. What you’re doing feels really good, you know?”

What she was doing felt really good, too, as she had begun playing with my cock and balls in earnest. But that wasn’t where my mind was—it was still on her, her look, and smell, so close I could almost taste her wetness.

As I pulled her toward me, I reached up to kiss her ass. A soft moan told me to go on. I began to suckle her, getting as close as I could to her pussy, all around, tugging her apart with my lips, without going past the limits she had set.

Moving away from my mouth and toward my cock, Victoria began to finish our time in earnest. Her hands were spectacular, as she varied her strokes—their direction, intensity, and everything.

She had my full attention.

With a steady rhythm and increasing intensity, my cock was straining as it sought release. Victoria was still doing double-duty, pressing her tiny body along mine while her hands kept up their own rhythm.

And it happened, as it had to: my body stiffened and I groaned as my balls drew up, pressing themselves into my body as they prepared to release their load.

With her unremitting hands, Victoria coaxed that load out, and I felt the shot over her shoulder and onto my belly.

But where I would have stopped, she kept going—more slowly, but even more tightly, her hands, lubed with her oil and my come, kept me coming, long after I had nothing left to give except the satisfaction of a job well done.

My whole body tingled. My heart pounded. My breath was hard, deep, and fast. And I’m sure I was making noise—anyone would have.

When it was over, Victoria turned to me, still holding my cock.

“Well?”

“Well, yourself. Do you really have to ask?”

She smiled, and said nothing as she went to the bathroom, ran water, and came back with a warm washcloth. After tidying up, Victoria slid up next to me, lying half on and half off, holding me with her arms and legs, and returned to playing with my chest—hair and ring alike.

“That was amazing. The best handjob I’ve ever had.”

“Really? Thanks. I’ve gotta say, it was nice the way you were touching me and responding. Glad you enjoyed yourself too. You want a shower?”

I did, of course, so she discreetly dressed and stepped out as I quickly ran the warm water over my body, washing my soft-but-still-sensitive cock a little extra carefully, basking in the glow of an hour well spent.

Once I had dressed, I went back out to the front room, where Victoria was waiting.

“I’d love to see you again.”

“Any time, sweetie. I’d like that, too.”

She opened the door, gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and off I went, back to work.

Postscript:
I saw Victoria six or seven more times, all but the last at the same place. the routine was always the same, but we talked about real-life things as we caressed and cuddled one another. I told her about life at work and with Misty; she told me about dinner with her mother and boyfriend.
The last time I saw her, she was using a different address, about half an hour away. I made a point of coming when I was in the area. It was good as ever, and familiar, and (need I mention) hot as hell. But I waited too long to call her again, and by early 2002 her number was disconnected. I figured she’d left the area or the business, or married her boyfriend, or something.
After over 2 years of this wonderful, fulfilling, ongoing relationship with a sweet, sexy young lady, that was that. I’ve gone to three different sex workers since, without any bad experiences, but Victoria set a high standard, and I’ve not found her equal since. Dammit.

Victoria, part I:

I found the intersection, just as she had described it, with a liquor store on the corner, back in the days (not so long ago) when every such establishment had a pay phone next to it.

“Hi, Victoria? It’s Adam. I’m here.”

“Hi, Adam. I’m right next door, in the yellow house. Come to the upstairs door, and I’ll be waiting.”

The door opened to reveal a tiny brunette.

“Adam?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on in. I’m Victoria,” she smiled, and welcomed me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She was wearing a diaphanous, Morticia Addams-style dress.

The place was comfortably, but simply furnished. Someone was in the room to the left, but Victoria led me around through the room to the right, through the bathroom, and into another bedroom. Cheesy easy jazz was playing, with dim light. A bookcase ran along one wall, with a chair and end table on the other side, and a large bed filled the space.

She was adorable! Barely five feet tall, and really petite, rather Goth-looking, with pale skin, against which her dark hair and richly-colored lips stood out, framing a cute smile, made the cuter by her slightly-crooked teeth.

“Why don’t you get comfortable, and I’ll come back in? You can shower if you want.
And go ahead and leave the donation over here.”

I had come for a massage—not my first or last time, though it was my first with Victoria. My first was just after I turned 18, and over the intervening 13 years, I had gone to sex workers of various types, and they had mostly been good experiences—either good enough for the moment, or, at least, good enough to get me to do it again.

Victoria’s ad in the Massage section of the local weekly paper had caught my eye:
Petite, friendly brunette will massage your worries away.

Simple, but it stood out for its lack of pretension. As I called a few promising numbers, hers stood out: she was friendly, and knew how to carry on a conversation. She also described it as a “sensuous massage, with full body contact.” Sounded perfect.

None of my past experiences had described themselves that way. Mostly, they were simply massages with a “happy ending.” This one seemed like it would be a little different.

So as Victoria left, I disrobed, took a quick shower, and came back in. She opened the door, had a quick look at the stack of bills on the table, and slid out of her clothes, climbing into the bed with me.

“With me” is the operative phrase, and already I knew I had made the right choice.
She snuggled up next to me, and I took the measure of her body, which seemed even smaller than I had imagined, with tiny, barely-a-mouthful breasts, and a tattoo that made me think of nothing more than a Persian rug.

“So just what are we talking about?” I asked.

“Just what I said on the phone—a massage, and I’ll be using my entire body.”

“Just massage? No sex?”

“I don’t have sex, but I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. Should I start with your back, or your front?”

I rolled over onto my stomach, wanting to go gradually and enjoy my hour.

To my great delight, Victoria gave a surprisingly good massage. She had strong hands, and the warmed baby oil felt great. But unlike any other massage I’d ever had, her hands were complemented by her body, rubbing across me as she worked her way down toward my feet.

As she got near my ass, I pressed up toward her, opening this most vulnerable bit to her. She worked her hands up the insides of my thighs, brushing my balls, and lightly working all around my crack, with just the lightest, teasing touches of the hole. I wanted more, but wasn’t about to raise the issue.

She moved back up, laying down on top of me, where I could barely feel her weight. But I could feel her hair and her warm breath by my ear, her legs grasping mine, and her breasts moving against my back as she worked her way along the length of her torso, including her pussy.

After a leisurely time on my front, she asked me to turn over.

To be continued…

Maybe there's hope...

Misty and I have been telling everyone we know that they must see Brokeback Mountain. Here's why: It seems that at least one person has actually had a revelation (this is inside Salon's Broadsheet blog on women's issues) about the way "Christians" have treated gays. Would that more folks like that see the film and have that same sort of enlightenment!

My sex toy resumé

I got to thinking about this when I bought an Aneros a few weeks ago. First, the list; later, some stories.

• “Swedish” massager: My family had this when I was quite young, and I discovered its use for masturbation at an astonishingly-young age, perhaps 5 or 6. I knew how to do it on my own, too, but when I could sneak off and use this baby, I was in heaven!
  
• Long white vibrator: Age 12 or so. At a church rummage sale, my grandmother picked up a vibrating pillow (actually, a wedge of foam rubber covered with a pillowcase); there was a hole cut in it, and I discovered its secret—a long vibrator made of hard white plastic. I tried pulling out the Vaseline, but my ass wasn’t willing. Maybe some fingerplay to warm up would have helped, huh?
  
• Pocket Pussy: Age 16. When we were granted off-campus lunch privileges as seniors, there was a group of 3 of us who would go to a nearby adult bookstore and video arcade. This was my first sex toy purchase, a sleeve to lube up and masturbate with. I lived in utter terror of being found out, so tossed it after a couple of months.
  
• Vibrating buttplug #1: Age 17. Bought it at a bookstore next to the Pussycat Theater in San Bernardino, about 20 minutes away from my college. It was flesh-colored, about the same size as my own cock, which I figured would be a good fit for my ass. It was, and I had it in my dorm room for a couple of years, until I started going out with my eventual first wife. I was shy about the whole butt thing, so away it went.
  
• Wahl Coil massager: Age 27. Yes, you read that right—10 years without a sex toy (that I can recall, at least). Having moved to San Francisco, one of my first field trips was to Good Vibrations. They highly recommended the Wahl , which looked less intimidating than the legendary Hitachi Magic Wand, plus it had attachments. My ex didn’t really get into it, but it lived through one apartment move, until I started dating Misty, and got rid of my couple of toys. Do we see an unfortunate pattern here?
  
• Vibrating buttplug #2: Age 27-28-ish. Another GV purchase; I decided to be sex-positive and go for it, given my ongoing interest in buttplay over the years. My ex, however, thought it was “kind of gay” for me to be interested in that, so in the drawer it stayed. (Kind of an ironic thing for her to say, as a year or so later she asked about trying anal—finally, after 9 years of marriage—and it became nearly as regular as “straight” intercourse. I’ve never understood why women getting fucked in the ass is “normal”, but men getting pegged is “kind of gay.” Memo to self: must tease her about this the next time we meet.)
  
• Cheap restraints: Age 31. Once we had established that Misty was interested in learning about bondage (not something I had ever given much thought to), we got the starter version of cuffs. Still have ‘em, actually (hooray! now the only toys to go in the trash are the ones that stop working). They didn’t hold well enough, but it was enough to convince us to try more.
  
• Bullet mini vibe: Age 31. Misty’s first vibrator. I wanted to get her something unintimidating, and this (no longer made, I think) did the trick. It got her through nearly a year of us living apart, and she still talks fondly of it.
  
• Leather restraints: Age 31 (lots of toys that year!). The full-on version: fake-fur-lined cuffs, with buckles and everything. Mmm, good.
  
• Flogger: Age 31. Purple leather flogger. Just about the right speed for our occasional BDSM dabbling, and it’s a nice prop to carry around Gay Pride, Folsom Street, etc. (We bought one for a friend’s 50th birthday, to his great embarrassment. But they love it!)
  
• Cock ring (rubber, adjustable). Age 32. Just not my thing. Never turned out to be a good fit, though it’s still in the box.
  
• Small buttplug, now known as the Buddy. Age 32. Bought in hopes of introducing Misty to buttplay, a virtual no-fly zone. Not her thing. Yet. (She doesn’t know what she’s missing, having never really given it a chance.)
  
• An original Rabbit. Age 32. “Everyone” raves about this baby (including Phil & Marcy, to whom I introduced it as well). Everyone, that is, except Misty. Even tied up and warmed up, she just feels it’s too big for her, and she’s never really wanted to take the time to give it more of a chance. (I love this lady immensely, but after our early years of great promise, it’s never gone much of anywhere.)
  
• Washable paints. Age 32. Bought on a lark for a trip. Getting the ring off the tub afterwards was a nuisance, though it was fun and silly along the way.
  
• Vibrating buttplug #3. Age 32. Finally, one that’s just big enough. And frankly, I’d forgotten about it until I opened the box to do this little inventory. Deep blue, with an enclosed vibrator, it’s the baby bear version: just right. (But I'll be damned if I can find one anywhere on the net to link to!)
  
• Silver Bullet vibe (note: it's the pulsing version). Age 34. Part of a package. The mini-bullet died, and when we went shopping, this was the closest thing to a replacement. (Misty is a consistency freak, and wanted to walk out when they didn’t have the mini anymore at all. Go figure.) The package was complete with…
  
• Cock ring/clit tickler (this, more or less). We love this little toy! (But I must admit, it’s a nuisance to clean, being jelly rubber.) It’s stretchy, with a ring for the cock, a ring to hold the bullet, and a big nub on top to complete the effect (or, I suppose, to be underneath, against the balls—thanks to Dacia for the suggestion, per #7 on her list).
  
• G-spot vibrator. Age 35. An experiment. It’s hard plastic, with a 6” wand ending in a vibrating tip bent at an angle. Nice idea, but it didn’t really seem to work from either side.
  
• Aneros. Age 38. Yeah, it’s been a while since buying any new toys. Another toy with rave reviews, so when I got a little extra Christmas money, a good chunk of it went into this little guy (the original, not the smaller MGX). I’ve used it just once, and it was pleasant enough, but not mindblowing. But I’ll be giving it another shot soon.
  
• Natural Contours vibrator. New Year’s Eve. Misty’s bullet has a short in it, so she has to hold it just so to do the job. Wanting to try something that wouldn’t have a breakable wire, this seemed to be the right thing. Wrong. It’s pretty, but just not strong enough. Happily, when I went in again (to buy The Klutz Book of Knots), I found a better, stronger replacement for next time. When I went to the counter, I mentioned my disappointment, and they were entirely too cool, offering a 10% discount next time to make it up to us. So we’ve got the next shopping list ready to go!
  
• Bronco Strap-on harness & Woody dildo. Also NY Eve. As yet, untried. We thought about getting their beginner kit, but went instead with a nice harness and a particular dildo—again, about the size of my cock—for a custom set. Now, it sits on the dresser, waiting. 17 days and counting.

So there it is, my sex toy resumé. Makes me wish I’d had a partner in crime who was as enthusiastic about them as I. But I love having the big blue box ready to go (not to mention all the lube, condoms and gloves tucked away in there too)!

She says "cli-TOE-ris"...

but she's funny anyway. Learn more about Cindy Pierce's vagina.

Out: Hanky codes/In: Kodesex

I want me one. Maybe more.

Kodesex has a series of personalizable shirts to announce one's preferred flavor of pleasure.

The easy part is the first symbol: I'm pretty damn flexible.










But then, what next?

Bisexual?










Group sex?











or do I want to just stand back and watch?










Definitely a spot for Burning Man shopping!

Boyfriends, Bending Over

Ah, another fan of Bend Over Boyfriend. Keep 'em coming, I say!

Best of blogs

Just a plug for one of my favorite blogs, Madeline in the Mirror. If you don't know about this sexy lady and her equally sexy paramours, you should!

She's been nominated for Best Sex Blog at Best of Blogs. She's in a strong second right now, so vote early and vote often!

Blondes have more fun

"Hi, I'm blonde. B-L-A-N-D."

My continental crush JaG just posted an even funnier blonde joke here.

Sometimes You Just Miss Having A Penis

She pulled back and looked me in the eye. “I knew you’d be a great kisser.” She grinned and we dove back in. The view from her small apartment was stunning, with tall windows looking out over the city.

“Quite the bachelor pad you’ve got here.”

“Yeah. Too bad I’ll be leaving in a month.”

You see, Chris and I had been working together for a couple of years. She was 12 years older than me, and about as dyke-y as they come. You know: short, squat build, short, spiky hair. Not a looker. But damn, we had some of the best couple of nights fucking ever. And she was leaving her job at the end of the month, which meant she was leaving the apartment, too—a real pity.

Me, I had just turned 30, and after a year of separation, my marriage was essentially over. So when Chris (her name was Christine, but she hardly ever went by that) told me she was quitting, I suggested we have dinner.

We had always been friendly, and mildly flirty, in the way that you can be with someone you’re not really attracted to. In the course of our time in the same office, though, I had begun to think of her as sexy. Not hot, but sexy. And here we were on the way to proving me right.

As we sat at dinner, sharing wine, there was a definite spark. Somehow, knowing that we wouldn’t be working together much longer was enough to shut off the little voice warning against sleeping with a co-worker. So when I walked her home, the wine, the dim lights and the view all worked their charms.

I walked up behind Chris, rubbing her neck. She hummed her assent, leaning back into me.

“I knew you’d be good with your hands,” she murmured, and turned into me, leaning up for a kiss.

She was a great kisser. And, if I may be immodest, she wasn’t the only one. She had the good grace to say so, too.

Things moved fast from there. I worked her t-shirt off, and her sensible bra followed quickly. Her small breasts were little more than a mouthful, and she pushed me down on the couch, working her way inside my shirt while I suckled her, tracing her small yin-yang tattoo with my fingers..

The sounds coming from her were different from anyone else I had been with, before or since. Low, guttural sounds, from deep within her, below the pitch her speaking voice.

As Chris pulled my shirt over my head, I came to my feet, and we fumbled to get our shoes off, while racing to undo each other’s pants. When she stepped out of her undies, I found myself face to face with a pleasant surprise:
Chris had a shaved pussy.

I didn’t know what the protocol was. Should I compliment her on it? (No, I’d seem weird.) Should I comment at all? (And say what, exactly?) So I had nothing to say, but she had certainly gotten my attention. My cock’s attention, too, I hasten to add.

We made our way over to the bed, where she had a dim nightlight burning, just enough to find our way around each other. And find our way we did.

She sucked me, hungrily. I felt her puffy, bald slit, and as I traced a line up to her clit, her moans became deeper—not just guttural, but primal—and she slid around, putting her pussy in my face.

Now I’m not a big fan of 69. It’s such a great idea, and a nice visual, but for most of us the reality doesn’t match up. This time was different.
Chris had the biggest clit I had ever laid my tongue on. It was prominent, and about the size of a chickpea. And that clit worked magic on her.

Her mouth left my cock as she bore down on my mouth. I fucked her with my tongue, and she came, long and hard. She rolled off, and kissed her juices off my mouth, hungrily.

“Mmm, that was amazing!”

“Glad to oblige, my dear.”

“I never thought a man could do that to me.”

“Well, now that you mention it…it’s funny, I always thought you were gay.”

“Well, yeah, I was with a woman for a while after my marriage. But you know, sometimes you just miss having a penis.”

And with that, she hopped on, grinding herself against me. She knew how to use my cock almost like a vibrator, getting herself off again by rubbing her clit along the length of it. And once she had come again, I let go, as she kept going, harder and harder, making me come, filling her already wet pussy with my own come.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

And with that, I was back down between her legs, licking and sucking her clean, but certainly not dry. As she kept pushing into my mouth, I gave her what she wanted, adding a couple of fingers, urging her to come, and this time the bed bumped the wall as she had the hardest orgasm of the night.

Finally, it was time for a bit of a rest, of sorts. She snuggled up to me again, as we kissed more.

I love kissing. I love kissing my friends hello and goodbye on the lips. I love lingering, tender kisses. I love deep, passionate kisses. I love playful kisses with teasing of tongues and sucking of lips. I love kissing.

And fortunately, so did Chris. As we kissed, she had her hand on my cock as she humped my leg. It didn’t take long, though, before she was between my legs, licking my balls and fingering my ass (just a little—it would be years before I knew to ask for that) as she sucked me hard again.

With one more in me, I was on top this time. Her knees were up as her legs wrapped around me, pulling me into her, ever harder. Her moans were punctuated with squeals as I nipped at her buds, nearly flattened against her.

And then, I started working. Really working. I rode up a bit higher, so my cock was moving up and down as much as in and out, keeping in touch with her clit as much as possible.

She couldn’t move much under me like that, but she gave what she could. And her intensity rose to match mine.

Normally, when I come, I stop moving. Bad habit, I think. And I’ve always had that love-hate thing when my lovers prolong that exquisite agony. This time, though, it was love-love.

As I came, I knew Chris was close again, too, and I wasn’t about to let her down. My instincts were right, and she twitched, groaned, moaned, and shook the bed, clutching with her legs and bucking with her hips.

Coming off of her, I worked down her body to spend just a little time at that magical pussy. This time wasn’t about the “O,” though. I nibbled and sucked at her lips, reaching her clit with my flattened tongue just to press against her, tasting the musk of our wetness, and gradually slowing down, as we both anticipated a long coda to the evening.

Evening, did I say? It was 2 am, and I had to go. I collected my things (except for a sock, discreetly passed to me the next day!, and made my way to the street. Even though the night buses were running, I hailed a cab, savoring the tastes and smells that lingered. I went straight to bed, taking an hour to get to sleep despite the late hour; the adrenaline rush wasn’t about to subside.

Postscript:
Amazingly, and for no particular reason, we slept together just one more night. I was coming down with a cold, but Chris came over to my place that Friday as a prelude to dinner. After a couple of hours in the sheets, taking every opportunity to give her my cold, we did manage to go out for a bite and return for a little, um, dessert. And that was that: she was occupied with leaving work and finding new housing, and we fell out of touch.

Post-postscript:
3 years later, shortly before I married Misty, I was at a concert and who should show up but Chris? We connected for lunch, and then found ourselves spending time together occasionally. We went back to her place one evening and got naked from the waist up, but her back acted up, the moment was lost, and we didn't follow through.
About a year later, I finally told her something I should have said at the beginning: She was, without question, the best lover I had been with, before or since. She couldn’t believe it, but I told her in great detail, and we agreed we needed to talk more.
After a long kiss goodbye, though, I never saw her again. I’ve thought about her a lot—this story didn’t come out of thin air. We didn’t speak after that, and when I’ve asked mutual friends (who have no idea, mind you), they haven’t heard from her either.
Damn.

Sugasm #17 Getting in on the fun:The best of the blogs by the bloggers who blog them (this week starting with the letter ‘H’):Head Case (domequeen.blogspot.com) Interview? (swelteringcelt.com) In Today’s Mail (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com) I Want Fingering In the Fast Lane (damnjezebel.com) KITKAST #1.11 - The Sex Party, Pamela Anderson and Kitkast Field Correspondents (mskitka.com) Phone Hoing 101: How To Get Into Phone Sex Part 1 (talkingdirty.blogspot.com) Pleasure Under Foot (4dirtylaundry.blogspot.com) Reader Question - Threesomes and Infidellity (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com) Secret Reads: SexWatts Per Hour (secretbrain.blogspot.com) Sexual imbalances and what to do (realadultsex.com) Shrunk Down to Size (radicalvixen.com) Sight Unseen - Short Fiction by Mr. W (insatiablemrw.blogspot.com) Simply Beautiful (mimredbeard.com) Super Hottie From Portugal (eroticandy.blogspot.com) The Good Girl (chaosnoir.blogspot.com) The Sacred Obscene (deltaofvenus.blogspot.com) Tip of the Tongue (theholidaylife.blogspot.com) zafira and jo on sapphic erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com) A massage (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com) Bloggers Wanted (sugarbank.com) Join the Sugasm(All Sugasm participants must post the first 20 Sugasm links above.)Cock For Me (sexinga.blogspot.com) Diana And Darcy On Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com) Does "Ugly is as Ugly Does" Also Apply to Vibrators? (sexeteria.blogspot.com) Girl Interrupted……Ch. 4 (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com)

Getting in on the fun:

The best of the blogs by the bloggers who blog them (this week starting with the letter ‘H’):

• Head Case (domequeen.blogspot.com)


• Interview? (swelteringcelt.com)


• In Today’s Mail (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)


• I Want Fingering In the Fast Lane (damnjezebel.com)


• KITKAST #1.11 - The Sex Party, Pamela Anderson and Kitkast Field Correspondents (mskitka.com)


• Phone Hoing 101: How To Get Into Phone Sex Part 1 (talkingdirty.blogspot.com)


• Pleasure Under Foot (4dirtylaundry.blogspot.com)


• Reader Question - Threesomes and Infidellity (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)


• Secret Reads: SexWatts Per Hour (secretbrain.blogspot.com)


• Sexual imbalances and what to do (realadultsex.com)


• Shrunk Down to Size (radicalvixen.com)


• Sight Unseen - Short Fiction by Mr. W (insatiablemrw.blogspot.com)


• Simply Beautiful (mimredbeard.com)


• Super Hottie From Portugal (eroticandy.blogspot.com)


• The Good Girl (chaosnoir.blogspot.com)


• The Sacred Obscene (deltaofvenus.blogspot.com)


• Tip of the Tongue (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)


• zafira and jo on sapphic erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)


• A massage (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)


• Bloggers Wanted (sugarbank.com)


• Join the Sugasm

(All Sugasm participants must post the first 20 Sugasm links above.)

• Cock For Me (sexinga.blogspot.com)


• Diana And Darcy On Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)


• Does "Ugly is as Ugly Does" Also Apply to Vibrators? (sexeteria.blogspot.com)


• Girl Interrupted……Ch. 4 (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com)

Can you tell me how to get...

to You-Know-Where? Turns out I'm Snuffleupagus. Thanks to Vesper’s Escape for sending me there. It's right, in so many ways:


Snuffleupagus



You scored 39% Organization, 53% abstract, and 64% extroverted! This test measured 3 variables.

First, this test measured how organized you are. Some muppets like Cookie Monster make big messes, while others like Bert are quite anal about things being clean.

Second, this test measured if you prefer a concrete or an abstract viewpoint. For the purposes of this test, concrete people are considered to gravitate more to mathematical and logical approaches, whereas abstract people are more the dreamers and artistic type.

Third, this test measured if you are more of an introvert or an extrovert. By definition, an introvert concentrates more on herself and an extrovert focuses more on others. In this test an introvert was somebody that either tends to spend more time alone or thinks more about herself.

You are somewhat organized, both concrete and abstract, and both introverted and extroverted.

I bet you didn't think you were Snuffleupagus. Let's find out why.

You are both somewhat organized. You have a good idea where you put things and you probably keep your place reasonably clean. You aren't totally obsessed with neatness though. Alloyius Snuffleupagus (and all Snuffleupagus') is not sloppy by nature, but he moves so incredibly slowly that it is impossible for him to be totally organized.

You both are about equally concrete and abstract thinkers. You have a good balance in your life. You know when to be logical at times, but you also aren't afraid to explore your dreams and desires... within limits of course. Snuffy generally has very basic interests, but he explores his abstract sensitive side when he plays his snuffleflute.

You both are somewhat introverted. Originally Snuffleupagus was very shy and was only Big Bird's invisible friend. However as he has aged he has started to build new friendships with new characters. Like Snuffy, you probably like to have some time to yourself. However, you do appreciate spending time with your friends, and you aren't scared of social situations.

The other possible characters are

Oscar the Grouch
Big Bird
Cookie Monster
Ernie
Elmo
Kermit the Frog
Grover
The Count
Guy Smiley
Bert

If you enjoyed this test, I would love the feedback! Also if you want to tell me your favorite Sesame Street character, I can total them up and post them here. Perhaps your choice will win!

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 11% on Organization You scored higher than 52% on concrete-abstra You scored higher than 61% on intro-extrovert

Link: The Your SESAME STREET Persona Test written by greencowsgomoo on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Tag: I'm it!

I don’t have enough readers yet, so I’ve taken matters into my own hands, and tagged myself. Inspired by Kim and others.

1. Have you had three-way or group sex?
Yep. Those are likely the highlights of this blog.

2. Have you had sex during menstruation?
Yes. The night I lost my virginity, I got to pull out my lover’s tampon and throw it out the truck window. But it was the end of her period, and there wasn’t any there there. The first time it happened more consciously was with my ex on her aunt’s bed. (Afterwards, she said her aunt always said it was actually best during her period.) But it never became a habit with her, and is less of one with Misty.

3. Have you had a sexual experience with someone of the same gender?
Yes. But not enough for my taste.

4. Have you had sex in your parent's home?
Yes. BFD.

5. Have you had hot interracial sex?
Only a little. And I paid for it. Literally. One cute Asian in an NYC massage parlor. One black streetwalker—she was way too cute for that—had small tits and big nipples. So hot.

6. Have you masturbated in front of another person?
Oh come on. Give me something harder (so to speak).

7. Have you had sex in a public place?
Nope. Never had the nerve or been with anyone else who would have initiated it. (Which is to imply that I just might go along given the chance.)

8. Have you been filmed or photographed having sex?
No. But I’m taking my camera next time I see Phil & Marcy.

9. Have you had anal sex?
Yes. Happily, the night I lost my virginity. (Tampons and buttsex both. What a start!) Not again until 8 years into my first marriage, where it became about as popular as vanilla for our last couple of years together. And not since, though much receptive buttplay on my part.

10. Have you masturbated today?
As it happens, yes. But not nearly as much as I used to.

11. Have you had sex in a car?
In a car qua car, just manual acts, so yes. In the back of a truck, under the camper shell, yes.

So that's what I've got. Quick-'n'_dirty. Cheers!

Mixed signals

By the time I got there, Ariel was there. She’s usually one of the first to arrive, and among the last to leave. Even though we’d had lunch just the day before, I got a big smile and hug, and as we stood in the doorway to the kitchen, she ran her hand tenderly around my back, and I did the same. A little handsqueeze as we separated, and on the evening went.

A minute or two later, Ariel is in the kitchen, sucking the last bits off a package of something sticky, and she catches my eye, giggling. And as she goes back to her package sucking, I can’t take my eyes off her. And she knows it. And we go our separate ways, talking with other people, in other rooms.

This little group is a regular weekly open-table sort of dinner at the home of some friends from church (the hosts and some, though not all, of the guests). It’s a slightly-hippieish feeling, with really tasty vegetarian food (you have no idea what a stretch it is for me to say that!); our hosts’ really great kids are part of the fun, too.

So unless I get there late and have been squeezed out of my accustomed place next to Ariel, that’s where you’ll find me. And that’s where the mixed signals come in.

Because…well, it’s hard to say exactly. There are good reasons to be discreet, and absolutely no excuse for being indiscreet. Ariel’s ex (?) boyfriend has been a regular part of the group, and came in late last night. Our hosts know me as the flirtatious married guy at church, and although Misty has never made herself part of the crowd, she’s there, lurking on the psychic sidelines.

It goes like this: Ariel and I sit together: close, but not intimate. Under the table, our legs rest—knee to knee, sometimes calf to calf—and neither of us flinches from the contact. Occasionally, there is even gentle back-and-forth sliding of the leg parts in contact with each other.

But a hand on her leg is too much, and she pulls away. Nothing is said, no looks exchanged, no break in the conversation. And then, soon enough, our legs are touching again.

That’s what the evening is like. Not just last night, but pretty much every week at this little gathering. We keep chatting, exchanging meaningful glances, but always under the radar.

And then, after dessert, I’m practically knocked over by a hug from behind. Ariel is leaving with her ex(?), and has practically tackled me to say goodnight. So we have a long, friendly, even affectionate hug, I kiss the top of her head (as I usually do), and away she goes.

Now the odd thing about all this is that when we’re together, just the two of us, none of this goes on. A hello hug, a goodbye hug, and hands off otherwise. Maybe that’s not as “safe” a situation as the big group, where there’s no danger of going “too far.”

If I were a different person, I would be frustrated, even angry, at these conflicting signals. But I love it. I love seeing her and having this (literally) sub rasa relationship. Do I want more? You bet. Am I going to press the issue? Not likely, knowing me.

But I’ll take it for what it’s worth, and we’ll see where things lead. As I put it in an e-mail to her earlier today:

That said, I know I'm an inveterate flirt. Good thing it's part of my charm. :-)

So we’ll just see. Heh.

A sweet lunch

Had lunch today with Ariel, the "cute and curvy 20-year-old" with whom I enjoy keeping time. She (a vegan, alas!) came over, and I cooked chili. We hadn't seen each other for a month or so, and it was good to catch up on both sides of our holidays.

A moment: she had just dropped her coat and bag, and we stood, talking, very close--within impulse kissing distance, had I the nerve. And on we went.

After the main course, I then surprised her with a little dessert--scotch (Glenmorangie Port Finish, a virgin bottle) and chocolate (Dagoba). We sat on the couch, and I so wanted to give her a footrub when the opportunity presented it, but again, I let the moment pass.

You see, when we meet with a group at another friend's house (as we will tomorro' night), we usually sit next to one another and surreptitiously touch. Just a little.

But two things: the one time I tried kissing her goodnight, she turned away; and second, over Christmas break, she expressed discomfort at an e-mail flirtation. So, OK--I really enjoy her company. Hugs at the beginning and end, and incidental touches along the way, made the more exciting for their rarety.

Then, my day was made: an e-mail from her, saying:

I had a very nice time today, and not only because of the soup & scotch.

Can't wait to pick up this flirtation tomorrow!

A fat president: why not?

Garrison Keillor suggests we need another William Howard Taft in office. Add bald, and maybe I've got a shot after all!

Sex Toy Resumé

I'm working on mine. Dates back to my childhood, actually, last updated on New Year's Eve. Turns out to be quite a list, and a large box to go through--and that's just the ones I either remember or still have.

So there's a teaser...

Hypocrisy-R-Us

I just hate this shit.

Now look, I'm a church person. Phil and Marcy are church people. Misty is a church person. 5 of the 11 people in my Burning Man camp were church people (and 2 others I knew out on the playa). But we're damn sure not about to turn around and condemn people like these creeps.

Wanna condemn someone? Let's talk about the way the Bible has something like 400 verses about how to treat the poor, and, say, 40 about sex. Let's talk about not using religious groups' money to support gambling. Let's talk about love and compassion. But sex? (not to mention "butt sex"!) We've got better things to worry about.

The safe friend

A pal took me to lunch the other day, introducing me to a little place right around the corner from a place where I used to regularly meet Hilary, the adorable doctoral student. My lunch friend knows Misty, and I’m not about to let him in on my other life. But I did make a comment about always having women friends who remain, unfortunately, platonic.

He laughed, and said “You know, of course, that’s because you’re married. Makes you a safe guy.”

That little exchange stuck with me, including when I awoke with a start at the ungodly hour of 5 this morning. I’m not just safe because I’m married; that has always been true.

All through high school, I had very close girl friends, but never a girlfriend. In at least two cases, if I’d had the balls to make any sort of move, I know I would have gotten somewhere. But (especially for an early-blooming porn hound in the early 80s)I had peculiarly old-fashioned ideas about how to interact with girls, and didn’t ever take chances.

Then came college. A chance to reinvent oneself, right?

Hardly.

Had it not been for an older woman taking me into her bed (well, the back of her camper, at any rate) the summer before college, the sum total of my experience would have been a chaste good-night kiss after my senior prom. A kiss initiated by my date, no less. But I had every intention of getting some action as a big, bad college freshman.

So first there was Kim. Cute blond from North Dakota. We spent some time together through the fall. Finally, in what in retrospect was probably her frustration, one night in November she suggested we go for a drive out of town. She parked in a lovely spot, and we sat in her car. And sat. And talked. And talked.

We then went a bit farther, up to a summer camp where she had worked, now closed for the winter. We walked around a clearing, looked up at the sky. And kept talking. And walking. And, finally, we drove back to campus.

She left at the end of that first semester to go back to North Dakota and try something different. The day she left, we stood in front of the chapel and hugged goodbye.

“Well, see you,” I said.

“Probably not.”

And she turned to go.

Then there was Wendy. I met her in our first week of orientation. Taller than me, she had a cool New Wave haircut, and sweet as she was, I was completely intimidated, sure she wouldn’t be interested in someone like me (whatever that was supposed to mean).

I hung on to that thought, even as, in the spring, I started helping her study. She, her roommate Lori and I all shared the same major, and Wendy was the least-experienced of the three of us. Lori could have helped perfectly well, but Wendy accepted my offer to work with her.

So I was over in their room pretty regularly that semester. Lori would leave, and I would help Wendy, who never really did catch on, despite my best efforts. (She, too, would leave at the end of the year. We kept in touch a bit through the summer and fall, and then, no more.) But again, I never picked up on what in retrospect were obvious opportunities. I was interested, but had no idea what to do next.

That explains in part why, when I had my first real relationship the next fall, it seemed so natural to marry the girl. No one else, I was sure, would ever be that interested again.

Pretty tame oats, I’m afraid. And here I am, married again, and “safe” as ever. Heh.

To cuckold, or not to cuckold?

Is it really cuckolding if you’re there?

The year before we married, Misty and I were separated due to a graduate program. I had a wonderful evening with A., a sexy classicist and poet (I’m such a sucker for smart women!), and we ended up at her place after drinks and dinner. She asked what it was like for a man to have a crush, and I chickened out, but just for the moment, because I had one. On her.

But I followed A. into the kitchen, waited for her to turn around, and said, “You know what it’s like for a man to have a crush? Like this.”

And I kissed her.

And she kissed me.

And then…we talked. She said she had no problems with seeing a married man; it was his business, not hers. (She mentioned one married guy she knew who just wanted her to fuck his ass with a dildo. A definite plus for my fantasy life ever since, I must say.)

At any rate, it was one of the most influential conversations in the journey of my developing relationship with Misty. A. asked two questions:

1. How would I feel if she slept with someone else?
2.Why was I getting married?

At that point, both questions stopped me cold. I had to admit I would have been uncomfortable if the shoe had been on the other foot and she had sought comfort in my absence. As to the second, I was simply a bit embarrassed to admit that I was marrying Misty in part because she took such great care of me. I had never lived as well as I did with her, and have freely admitted as much ever since.

It wasn’t until I could honestly answer these two questions that I felt comfortable considering the larger ramifications: Misty’s conception of herself as “Japanese wife” and its implications for my “just playing around,” or shared polyamorous relationships, or anything in between.

So now, returning to the first question, I’d be delighted to share Misty, if that would bring her pleasure. I’m secure that I wouldn’t be losing her, but would be gaining a richer part of our relationship. I know how hot Phil gets just watching me fuck Marcy, or even give her a good spanking, and I know what it does for their relationship aside from my presence. And there’s no way in that situation that I’d describe him as a cuckold.

To me, that term implies that there’s cheating going on, and that’s simply not what it’s about.

God: "Don't fuck with Israel, bitches!"

Your friend and mine, Pat Robertson, has the keen wisdom to know the mind of God, as we all know. Thanks, Pat, for warning us that if we're elected Prime Minister of Israel, we do the wrong thing. According to Crazy Rev. Pat, the stroke Ariel Sharon has suffered isn't a result of his weight, or his age; no, it's punishment dividing the land.

And that goes for you too, Venezuela!

Lovin' the Cock

I don't know who's luckier, Dee or Joe. But I resonate completely with Joe's ode to the cock, as both playee, and at least as much, as player. I'd feel like the odd man out in an FFM (not that I'd object to giving it a try, mind you), but put me in an MMF and I'm happy as the proverbial clam.

My Japanese wife

Not really, but Misty calls herself that. She spent time teaching in Japan, and was the "other woman" for part of that time. She didn't especially enjoy the relationship itself, but she enjoyed the travel and swanky perks, and has no regrets.

Well, ever since I moved in, she has called herself my "Japanese wife." And she described in no uncertain terms what that meant: I was responsible for most of the income, and she would see to the household, including paying the bills. Our social life might be together or apart, and sex simply wasn't a priority.

I went along with all this for a time, except for the "don't ask, don't tell" nature of the Japanese mistress situation. I couldn't believe that she meant all the implications of the term. But over time, it became clearer and clearer to me that it was exactly what she meant.

When we finally talked about my bisexuality (a label that had taken me quite a while to claim), we talked about polyamory as well. As it happens, she's not averse to the idea of our playing sexually with other people, but she's also not concerned if I do, as long as, essentially, we wake up together in the morning. Discretion, too, is crucial to us both.

So the overlay of this post and the previous one combine to give a picture of where things stand. I've only played with Phil and Marcy; Misty knows when I visit them that we are likely to end up playing, and she simply doesn't want to have it as an issue between the two of us. And so far, so good.

Phil & Marcy, and Misty & Me

This started out as a comment to a posting at Polyamorously Perverse, but it turned out to be too long. So here's a bit more of this very important relationship, where it belongs:

Phil and I have been friends for over 9 years. He was in a bisexual relationship before I knew him, in another part of the country. We first met when he was breaking up with his first wife, and first started talking about our sex lives in detail when he was about to marry #2. I, too, had just split up with #1 and was dating Misty, the future #2.

Fast-forward a bit: Phil & #2 were separated (after just over a year), and Marcy had moved in with him. Misty and I had been married 3 years, and the four of us socialized quite a bit. Phil and I had both talked about what fun a foursome would be, and we gave it the old college try; he and Marcy came over to our place for dinner and much drinking, and we watched a couple of sexy dvds. But Misty didn't pick up on the sexual vibe, and yawned her way toward saying good night.

At the door, Marcy gave me quite the french-good-night kiss, and I thought Misty was facing the other way. But later on the pillow, she mentioned it, just saying "That was quite a kiss there." I suggested that they might have liked to have sex with us, and she dismissed it out of hand. But she also knew that there was an attraction there.

A few months later, we moved in with Phil & Marcy, invoking a strict hands-off policy which we almost completely adhered to. But just a few weeks after we moved out (in less than a year...another story!), Phil & Marcy finally invited me to share their bed, something that has happened a handful of times since (most recently the day after Thanksgiving).

There's a parallel story here, though, which I'll continue in the next post.

Don't tackle Jesus

Just don't.
But do use lube.
Do these two really go together? Naah.

Most outrageous place I've had sex

At the Insatiable Mr. W.'s request:

See this chapel?


Now imagine yours truly and hers truly, with a blanket, at 5 am, outside the east (right) clock face, watching the sun rise over the mountains. Brings a smile to my face.
Oh, that dear old U of R...

Sex Blog Challenge 2006

I think I've found the perfect use for when we break in the strap-on. Incentive!

Come again?

Over at Our Dirty Little Secrets, Dirty Boy concludes his post on "sex" vs. "good sex" as follows:

Well, and I also learned that multiorgasmic women are much more fun it bed!

I'd agree, and thought I'd raise a question, seriously:

Is clitoris size related at all to multiple orgasms?

Now, the reason I ask is this: the two women I've slept with who have had that gift both had large clitorii. None of the women with smaller clits (Misty included) have been so blessed. So is it just my small sample size, or what?

Speaking of strap-ons

Over at Wants and Needs, I was reminded of one of our favorite, if unapplied, phrases: "Bend over, boyfriend!" She mentioned seeing

a crazy porny sex ed tape about boys who like their women to give it to them from behind

otherwise known as (you guessed it): Bend Over Boyfriend.
Misty and I watched it years ago (5 maybe, thanks to Good Vibes rental service!), and the phrase entered our lexicon, but not the act. Now that we're properly equipped, though, it'll be any day now.

Intimacy

I can't get enough of the bits and pieces of Everyday Nakedness.

A quick read

I'm not usually patient enough to read erotica unless it gets my attention right away. And I'm not a big fan of quickies in bed. Anakalia at Salacity has the best of both worlds.

Dyslexia = Daily Sex

Leela asks:
#1a) as a man, if you were to receive daily sex would you not be happier, more respectful & satisfied in your relationship?
In my particular relationship, well, no. That's actually too categorical and simplistic an answer, though. To use a cliché, it's quality, not quantity, and it's only a part (albeit an important part) of the relationship as a whole. I suppose if the question is a relative one, I would have to say that yes, more frequent sex would help, but only if it's good sex, rather than dutiful sex. But no amount of sex is going to make our marriage perfect.
#1b) would you be less likely to seek out porn/masturbation/other women for sexual release?
Again, that's rather beside the point. It's not about relief. Frankly, for me it's about variety. For some people, the infinite variety within the sexual encounter is enough; knowing the subtleties of one person's response leads to increasing intimacy, etc.
In my case, however, I've known exactly what I have from the start. And the joys of our relationship are virtually unaffected by our sexual relationship one way or another. Strange, but true.
So I would be unlikely to lose interest in seeing and being with other women as a direct result of daily sex at home. I might be less able to perform elsewhere, but there's more to the experience than the performance of the act. Which brings us back to square one, I suppose.

Freeze frame

Reminiscent of Eadweard Muybridge's famous studies of moving bodies, this is from here, originally. Thanks to Curious Pussy.

Holiday in Bi-land

Clayton Holiday describes himself as a "married bisexual without apology." Would that more of us did.

I Ms. Kitka!

Ms. Kitka has the most professional and elaborate video podcast I've seen. And she's cute as a button!

Pegging

Pegging: not a term I knew, but do now, thanks to MzEmily. Misty & I just bought our first harness and strap-on-able dildo on NY Eve, but haven't broken it in yet. Now I know just what to ask for!

In the flesh

Uncle Scoopy reminds us that 2005 was a fine year in film.

Curves

Maybe I was scarred by the hyperinflation of 80s porn, but I never shared in the big boob fetish thing. That said, thanks to Calvin for passing on this lovely, curvy lady!

So who knows I'm bisexual?

Besides all of you, that is. In order:

• Eddie. My oldest friend, dead from AIDS since 2002, dammit. We met in 1977, when I was 10 and he was 9. We all knew he was gay, even then, and I seemed to be the only who wasn't bothered by the idea. When we spent the night at each other's houses, experimentation was rampant, especially as I had a head start. We jerked each other off and tried blowing each other; we even tried anal, but didn't know about relaxation (though we did know about lube, to our credit). That all stopped towards the end of high school; he came out, and I went in. Actually, the only suggestion of bisexuality at the time was of the "hot bi chicks" porno variety, but certainly it didn't occur to me as a reasonable label until much later. Would have been handy, and not just with him in those days.
  
• R. A friend for almost 20 years, living in India for most of the last 12 or so. He stayed in my apartment for a week in 1998, and I went after him. We played in bed for a couple of nights, including him lubing me up to fuck his ass. Too much to drink that night, though, so I didn't finish. We didn't repeat that, but it made for a nice rest of the week sharing the bed. We never really talked about what my desires meant.
  
• M. An older friend, a southern gentleman and fashion designer. Stereotypically gay, yes. He's the first man I really talked with using the actual word "bisexual". To this day he's convinced that I'm really gay and stuck with a woman like he used to be. He says straight men are the best kissers, and I've done my best to prove him right. Misty and I socialize regularly with him and a particular group, most of whom are gay men. (One of the things that she found endearing about me was my comfort in kissing my gay men friends on the lips, so hooray!)
  
• Phil. You've met him, below. I think it came up when we talked about Marcy wanting to be tied up & blindfolded to be done by a stranger, and what fun we could have with that. At one point (before Misty and I moved in with them), it almost happened when Phil had gone to bed and Marcy was giving me a good-night kiss. I said we should surprise him, but she said he was cranky being awakened. I said I wanted to do him with her, but it wasn't to be for another 14 months or so.
  
• Belegon. Now my oldest friend; we had all the same classes all four years of high school. (He writes as "Belegon" at Literotica. We used to talk sex a lot, and he had flirted with bisexuality in high school. Still, for all the nights we did spend in bed together, nothing ever happened, as neither of us quite had the nerve (speaking for myself, at any rate). He and his young son spent a few days with Misty and me in 2003, and had lots of time to talk about my claiming of the bisexual label.
  
• C. A casual acquaintance from school of the androgynous-woman type I find attractive. She happened upon me one evening in a crowded pizza place, and I invited her to share my booth. We had spoken just a few times before that, and I decided to take a deep breath and tell her. She was skeptical; like so many gay people, she doesn't really believe in actual bisexuality. We didn’t belabor the issue, and when we went our separate ways after dinner, that was that. Haven't actually seen her since.
  
• Misty. I came out to her on Labor Day Saturday, 2004, in the same conversation where we first talked about polyamory. This gets its own post.
  
• D. & J. A gay male couple. Phil & Marcy and I had joined them for drinks later that same weekend, and let them know about my talk with Misty as we all sat around with gin & tonics on the porch. I told them about the poly discussion, too, for good measure (and partly because we all would have enjoyed a shot in bed with D. if not J. as well). They were skeptical about both the reality of my orientation and the potential ramifications of a poly relationship. But it was a good, if challenging, conversation. The best part, though, was going home with Phil & Marcy, where we got naked for the first time.
  
• V. A gay classmate in my current school program. He made a comment in passing, assuming that I was gay. I corrected him first, mentioning my marriage. Later that night, at a noisy group dinner, I asked him why he thought I was gay, explaining that I was actually bi. Pretty much ended the need to talk about it, and the conversation moved on.
  
• K., (of K. & C. fame). She was working on an LGBT project, and I realized that I had my chance to tell her as I'd wanted for ages. So I quizzed her a bit, drawing the analogy with "multicultural" generally equaling "biracial," rather than truly multicultural (whatever that's meant to mean). Similarly, the L&G are primary, with T somewhat more visible here than elsewhere in the country, and B pretty much ignored. She agreed, and I told her why I had brought it up. We had a great talk about it, with more to follow, I have no doubt. I don't know whether she's told. C. or not. I want her to know, but haven't yet managed to tell her.

So there it is. My own Dirty Dozen. More to come…

Who's who

Adam: that's me. Read on or back, or see the profile to learn more about me…all in good time. In a nutshell, I'm a thirty-something, twice-married, bisexual, native Californian, graduate student and artist (taken broadly, somewhere in the world of creative and/or performing arts). If I had a beard, I'd fit neatly into the gay realm of the bears. The biblical name Adam is sort of God's cosmic joke; it simply means "man." I share a cozy 1-bedroom apartment in Berkeley with my lovely wife,

Misty: A thirty-something, once-married, straight (mostly, so far) east coast transplant who once upon a time taught in Japan and is now working on her own new career. I call her Misty after a mis-hearing of her maiden name once upon a time. Misty is an elegant, bespectacled brunette; she looks something like this. She applies the motto: "nothing ugly in the apartment."

Phil: We've known each other for nine years, and have had no secrets from each other, especially once we realized we were both bi. He's a strapping southern gentleman in his mid-40s who runs a small video production company in the East Bay. We met at the end of his first marriage and worked through his brief second one. Misty & I spent a turbulent year (during which the three of us made out on the couch one night but didn't have the nerve to go further, alas!) living with Phil and his girlfriend,

Marcy: An intense, petite, bespectacled strawberry blonde paralegal (who looks a bit like this, this 41-year old drinks more cheap scotch than she ought. She and Misty were never close, but thought they could get along sharing a house. Nope. That also cut short the previously-promising potential that we might all get naked together. Hasn't stopped me from getting naked with Phil & Marcy a handful of times. We also hang out a bit at their place without sex; the cool thing is that we're really very good friends first.

Hilary: A quiet young lady who left the area in June to do postdoctoral work. Over the course of 4 years, we spent a number of lunches and evenings together, purely platonically (if that's really the right word, given that it certainly wasn't my preference). I miss her, but was always frustrated that our friendship never deepened to the point where we could really talk about things, nor did we have a physical relationship beyond hugging and one kiss the last time I saw her.

Rena: Marcy's friend from work. We've still never managed to work out our schedules, but keep hoping to do so. She's a fine kisser, and I bet she'll be great fun when we finally get naked together. (Notice I said when, not if.)

Ariel: Coincidentally, we met later in the evening of the same day I had my farewell lunch with Hilary back in May. A cute & curvy 20-year-old, she's the only woman on this list who doesn't wear glasses. She's brilliant, and it's a delight to spend time with her pushing me intellectually. We've had a few lunches and hung out together in the same groups quite a bit. I can flirt gently with her (touching her neck surreptitiously, for example), but when it's just the two of us, it's always very proper. I'm looking forward to buying her an official drink soon after her big day in May.

K. & C: I list them together, because that's how we usually interact; they get initials (how 19th-century of me! because they're the only ones I haven't yet pseudonymized (if that's not a word, it should be) elsewhere. They're a lesbian couple Misty and I spend a lot of social time with. K is one of the only people who knows I'm bisexual. She wears the pants in that family. C is the girly one, and dated men in college. She and I bonded over the topic of strap-ons. They both have a thing for Misty, who has no idea. I keep thinking that if the circumstances were right, they'd welcome me for a chance to share a bed with Misty. Adam sandwich, anyone?

Veronica An early-40s mom who is just adorable. I can't put my finger on it, but we seem to have this really nice, professional-yet-personal connection that has had me aware of her since the moment we met, just a few months ago. After some time from kind-of-afar, she's become involved in one of my projects, and I love having her around. It's hard to say just why that is, because there's absolutely nothing there...but there is, at the same time. So we'll just have to see.

So that's the cast of characters. There'll be more, old and new.
But now I can keep track, and so can you.

What's in the Sidebar?

I think the blogroll & links need a bit of explanation.

First, yes, it is a long list. And one of the wonders of Safari (I'm an inveterate Mac guy, and will mention it every chance I get, especially when PC people complain about media problems. Feh.) is tabbed browsing, with an "auto-click" option. This lets you set a whole list of links and open them in separate tabs (within a single window) all at once. I have a single button set for each category and can progressively open the whole lot of them, then hang on to them until I read them in bed at night. (Have I mentioned yet that I love my new—as of 6 weeks—laptop?) So I do check most of these sites daily, including all the blogs. I wanted to make that clear so that no one thinks I'm just indiscriminately listing a bunch of things I never pay attention to myself.

Second, like this blog, the links are very much about sex. Unapologetically so. Frankly, as I approach 40, I'm becoming increasingly unapologetic about quite a few things. I also realized that the proportions in this list pretty faithfully represent my own inclinations. So, with those disclaimers out of the way, a bit more about the listings:

I've tried to categorize the links in broad categories, alphabetized within each. There are some borderline calls, of course, as some belong in more than one place.

• The Ladies and The Gents: Most of these folks are single, but not all. Some might fit under Kinky or Partnered & Playing, about which more later. Their primary focus is on their own experiences, as opposed to, say, the Couples.
  
  
• LesBiGay: probably speaks for itself. Men, women, couples, you name it; but the LGBT part of their identity is the primary focus. This blog might well fit here, but that remains to be seen as I write more.
  
  
• Couples: Most of these are jointly-written, and even those that are primarily by one partner tend to focus on the life of their relationship. Some are playing, some are kinky, but they seemed to fit best here.
  
  
• Partnered & Playing: Some are couples, others are by one partner only, but in all cases, they focus on some version of polyamory, swinging, cheating, and the like. (Different writers all use all of those words and others, despite, or perhaps because of, their differing connotations.) This blog might also fit here.
  
  
• Kinky: Just like LesBiGay, there are single women & men here, as well as couples. The kinky aspects of their life is front and center.
  
  
• Photoblogs: Not all blogs, not all sex, but all are visual treats.
  
  
• Fiction: Less history, more story.
  
  
• Bigger than Bloggers: People who preceded and now continue to transcend the form deserve a place of their own. Violet Blue and Susie Bright are (deservedly) at the top of the list, and more will follow.
  
  
• Metablogs: The folks who turn over rocks, look in corners, and keep their ears to the ground to find all the stuff we need and want to see.
  
• Podcasts: This needs some filling out, and clearly will include bloggers, just as other bloggers in the list have podcasts. These folks, though will be best known (at least in my little world) for their aural skills.
  
  
• Churchy Stuff: I go to church. At least weekly. And the version of Christianity I know has a lot to say about how we treat others, and not a word about what pictures we look at, what we read, and who we sleep with (always keeping in mind the bit about loving your neighbor). Some are serious, others aren't; you can (I trust) tell the difference.
  
  
• Sexy Stuff: The non-blog world of my favorite stores & sites. Things from these places are taking up lots of space, either in the toybox or on my hard drive.
  
• Politics and the Rest: Actually, this is where I start my browsing. Salon is my homepage; The Well was my first home on the internet, over 10 years ago, and I'm still a loyal member. I mostly (though not always) agree with the other folks here, and at least find them thought-provoking.

So that's the bunch. If you've somehow found this site and waded through this long post, I'll be glad to get your feedback to keep the sidebar alive. If you're listed in the wrong place, I'll be glad to move you. If you're listed in the right place, I'll be glad to know I got it right. And if you find new and stimulating brain food here, come back and let me know that too. More to come…

Penii

Well, mine mostly. I've been away for a while, but have gotten into reading other blogs and decided to start contributing for real. The epiphany (as distinct from the Jan. 6 Epiphany this week) was when I realized I had a blog 2 years ago that I let go entirely and had forgotten about when I started this one. So I'm resolving (there's that New Year's thing) to do my bit to contribute.

The other thing (hence the posting title) was when Avatar got my attention by asking about the penis (scroll down to December 28). I said a bit about mine, and will undoubtedly say more, here and elswhere. So it's a new start, and we'll see how well I keep up.

Oh, and happy 2006!

First step: a vastly-expanded blogroll.