Screw the Repugs!

With the rest of Berkeley, I've been on a high since waking up Wednesday morning and realizing it was real. And I've been hearing a lot about being conciliatory. Well, screw that! The Dixie Chicks got it right:

What about Misty?

So here I am, giving Doug a blowjob in my living room, as he's lying back on the same chaise where he slept when he stayed with us 4 years ago. And you may be wondering: Just how does this fit in to my "quietly-polyamorous marriage"?

You wouldn't be the first.

A few weeks ago, I was driving through the city where Gina, my psycho ex, lives. I've driven through there many times over the intervening 8 years, and often thought about calling her, at least in the last couple of years.

Frankly, I wasn't unhopeful that it might lead to a little mutual nakedness. Sex with Gina was the best ever, before or since. The rest of the baggage was too much, though. I had met Misty about a month after starting to date Gina, and jumped when we finally had the chance for a drink about 7 months later. The rest is history.

So I phoned Gina (I hadn't ever forgotten her number anyway, but have it in my cellphone memory for good measure), and we ended up having a really nice talk. She sounded...well, sane. And I was delighted.

But here's the thing: I have a tendency to go a bit overboard at times in my enthusiasm. And I put my foot in it a bit, first on the phone, then in an e-mail.

The last time I saw Gina was just about a month after we broke up. I had given her a gift certificate for a massage, and she asked me if I would pick her up from the train so we could have coffee before she went to the spa.

It was a cordial conversation, but I didn't know quite how to respond when she asked:

"So, how's the sex?"

It sucked, frankly. And after how mind-blowingly good it had been with Gina, I wasn't about to admit as much. So I said something minimal--"It's great"--or something of that ilk. But that little white lie had stuck with me all those years, especially as things never really improved.

So on the phone with Gina, after we'd been talking for just a couple of minutes, I (nochalantly, I thought) said:

"Well, the sex sucks."

So there it was. Mind you, I had been talking about Misty in only glowing terms, completely truthfully. And when Gina seemed caught a bit off guard, I reminded her that she had asked me that all those years ago, trying to put my little gaffe into context.

And actually, it led to a fun conversation for a while--seems Gina has found out she's a squirter. Damn, I missed my chance! (I'm not a bit surprised, given everything else about her sexual responses, just sorry I didn't find out for myself.)

The conversation went on from there, for quite a while. She told me she still had the same e-mail, and would like to keep in touch.

So far, so good.

But I stuck my foot in a bit deeper when I wrote her an e-mail later that afternoon. I was a bit enthusiastic and flirtatious--and there was my mistake.

Gina had never been much for flirting. She was much more direct, and didn't ever take well to even the mildest teasing. When we were first corresponding, she told me she didn't have a car, and I made some comment about not being sure if, as a native Californian, I could trust anyone without a car. She flipped a bit, and our budding friendship almost came to an end before it had really begun.

But forgetting this, I was a bit flirtatious in my e-mail to Gina, and it didn't go over well. Her response was titled "Red Flags", and while pleasant enough, turned very serious very quickly.

It turned out she had been thinking about my overly-soon turn to talking about sex, and was bothered by it. And granted, it was at best premature to have gone there so quickly, let alone to follow it up by trying to be flirtatious.

I compounded things a bit, replying witht the subject, "Not red flags...yellow, perhaps?" That led to a quickly-escalating series of e-mails, which escalated quickly into testiness on her part, and defensiveness on my part. I mentioned that Misty and I have played around, and Gina got rather nasty, accusing me of being a jerk for "cheating on her" after all she's done for me.

When I pointed out that I had meant it when I said that "we" had fooled around, i.e. together, Gina went practically ballistic. It seems I had invaded her boundaries, just the way I had invaded her boundaries by fucking up our friendship by getting her into bed, and she had vowed never again to ruin a friendship with sex...blah, blah, blah.

So all this was a bit of a reminder that our marriage is unconventional, to say the least. All this is a long way around of getting back to that question about Misty and me as the giver of blowjobs.

Just about a month before Doug visited, we were talking about my experiences with men. It wasn't something we had really talked about much, part of the "don't-ask-don't-tell" aspect of our marriage. The parameters are clear; the details, we keep to ourselves unless we play together. But if either of us asks, we're happy to share.

And it was in just such a conversation that Misty asked about what I had done with men. She knew I had slept (actually slept) with Doug, but she didn't know we had fooled around. So I told her, and she was a bit surprised, as Doug is definitely not her type. If she's going to watch me giving a blowjob, it'll be with someone else (preferably someone who would be interested in her too--and Doug is about as gay as they get).

We had already made arrangements for Doug to spend the night elsewhere, just for convenience. And Misty didn't ask further about whether I planned to fool around with Doug while he was here; if she had, I would have said that I probably would, of course. But having put it out there, knowing he would be here for the first time in 4 years, there was really no question that it was in the air.

Have I told Misty about the blowjob? No.

Would I if she asked? Yes.

Will I if she does? Absolutely.

So that's how Misty and I fit all this together. I'd rather play with her than without her--if she and Marcy got along, we'd have a great time getting naked together. But it just ain't gonna happen. So while we wait and look for the chance to play together, we also lead our separate social lives, and have a happy marriage because of, not despite, our social independence.

Works for me. And to hell with Gina. But I'll still fuck her, too, if I get the chance. A girl can dream, can't she?

A mouthful of cum, part 2

(read part 1 here.)

I took Doug in my hand, enjoying its weight and feel. As I've mentioned before, I'm a grower, not a shower, so it's fun to have something more to play with--it's just not something I'm used to. Even soft, Doug's cock filled my hand, and there I was, face to face with it--only the second one I've ever really played with in that sort of context.

Doug hummed with pleasure as I licked the head, tracing circles around the rim, and he started to grow in my hand and mouth. It was so much fun to try out all those tricks I'd always intuitively known even before reading about them in one place after another. You know the ones: play with the frenulum, swirl your tongue around while you hold the head in your mouth, stick your tongue into the opening--all that stuff.

And it worked! Doug's hums turned into soft moans as I started to explore the rest of his hardening cock. I worked my way down the shaft, nibbling and sucking along the way down to his balls, which were pressing upwards, pulled snug.

The next revelation? I now know the attraction of the clean-n-tidy look. As someone who first shaved in high school (long before it was popular, especially for men...even more for "straight" men), I had always loved the feel of being shaved myself. For a while, I sprang to get waxed (if you're stoned enough, the pain isn't an issue, I hasten to say), but cut that out of my student budget a while ago. I started shaving again last spring, though, and don't think I'll ever look back again. But I digress.

Doug's balls were enmeshed in a thicket of blonde hair, sticking straight out in all directions. Not that they were wiry or uncomfortable, but I would have been glad to get straight down to the skin. But it didn't stop me from a little more nibbling and nuzzling, while keeping my right hand busy, milking his now-hard cock.

Time, you'll recall, was short, so I decided to make Doug's orgasm a priority. So I worked my way back up, licking my way around and up his shaft, getting back to business at the top.

Now as I've also mentioned earlier, I've had some practice learning to take strap-ons nice and deep, even getting close to deep-throating. But I was keenly aware that I didn't have to give the same attention to keeping my teeth out of the way with silicone, and knew from experience that a little nibbling and biting are one thing, while scraping up and down...not so much.

So I decided to keep my mouth and tongue busy at the head, my right hand keeping the action going on his shaft, and my left hand playing with his balls. With all this, I was enjoying Doug's responses--he was getting more verbal and starting to squirm a bit more.

I started chasing his orgasm intensely now. A few strokes in and out, using my mouth and hand as one long tube, a pause for more attention on his head, and back to the strokes; this was my rhythm, and it was working.

Suddenly, Doug started helping my rhythm by thrusting up into me. I kept going, even as my mouth was getting tired. Again, I knew this feeling from the strap-ons, but also knew it was no time to give in, so I kept at it, moving faster and harder.

Doug started holding my head down, and I went deeper, keeping up the tempo and intensity. With that guttural sound, verging on the animalistic, I felt my mouth get wetter with a sweetness (not the saltiness I expected) that was surprisingly subtle. I happily swallowed, wanting to clean up the mess I was responsible for.

It went down easy--easier, I discovered, than when Misty blows me and then kisses me with a mouthful of my own cum. (What's the differnce, I wonder? Is it just my diet? Definitely something to explore over time.)

I kept milking Doug's cock, squeezing every last bit into my mouth, letting my tongue explore his reactions--I knew those twitches from being on the other side. When it seemed that he was done, I gently, but slowly, slid my lips toward the tip, pressing down with my tongue, finally releasing him from my mouth.

One last soft lick elicited a twitch and an "uh" from Doug's mouth. My hand still gripping his shaft, I slowed down that action as well, bringing things to a close.

"Well, that was fun," I said.

And I told Doug that it had been my first actual blowjob, start to finish. I think he was neither just being polite or suggesting that he thought I was sluttier in the way he responded with mild surprise.

But I knew this much right away: it definitely won't be my last.

Doing my bit to prevent rape

So sez Steven Landsburg in Slate. Turns out a Clemson University study shows that rates of online access actually have a measurable impact on reducing rape. Similar finding exist with regard to violent movies as well.

The bottom line:

More violence on the screen means less violence in the streets. Probably that's because violent criminals prefer violent movies, and as long as they're at the movies, they're not out causing mischief. They'd rather see Hannibal than rob you, but they'd rather rob you than sit through Wallace & Gromit.

Now I know what to say next time it comes up!

Welcoming myself back

Since I'm halfway through my story, I thought I'd mention the other thing that got me back here after way too many months of slacking: it's all Jefferson's fault. One Life, Take Two is perhaps the greatest single influence on why I decided to start writing more seriously last winter. Not only is it one of the best-written sex blogs around, it is, for my money, the hottest. Bar none. (We're not worthy, Jefferson!)

So when I saw Jefferson mention his listing in About.com's best bisexual blogs, I was interested, of course. How could any listing of our little community have Jefferson only listed fifth?

Imagine my surprise, then, to see that I was listed second! Clearly, there was some other odd method of sorting in order...me, at #2? I'm delighted, of course, but realized that I had an obligation to you, gentle readers, so here I am.

Last time I checked in, I was at a couple of hundred hits. And half of those were me double-checking my early post formatting. I come back to see 5,000+, and think "Well sheeit, I've got me some writing' to do!"

So here I am, back at it, and wondering why the hell I stayed away. I'm just hoping you don't. Because some of this is going to be pretty damn good, and there's definitely more on the way. Both figuratively and literally, more to come.

A mouthful of cum, part 1

We raised our glasses, Phil, Marcy & me. Good red wine (a Robert Sinskey meritage, if you must know) was in Phil's glass and mine, and Marcy's usual cheap scotch with lots of rocks. De gustibus...

I had gone over ostensibly to finish off some paperwork--Phil's a Mason, and I'm going to join, so needed to give him my application. But I wanted to celebrate, too. Those two are the only two people I can share everything with, at least among people I see with any regularity. And boy, did I have a good milestone:

You see, this past Tuesday I gave my first-ever blowjob all the way from start to finish.

Yes, my first ever. So we drank to that.

One of the questions that the few people I've come out as bisexual to always ask is whether it's strictly a fantasy thing, or whether I've actually had any experience. And by and large, I haven't. There are lots of reasons for that, and while I've played around a few times with men (and enjoyed it mightily!), I've never had a mouthful of cum all to myself.

Until Tuesday, that is.

My second-oldest friend (19 years), Doug, has lived in India for the past 6 years, as a missionary and professor. So as you can imagine, I don't see much of him.

Some years ago, I was at his apartment, and bent over to check out a copy of some dirty gay magazine. He said something like "I don't think you'd be interested in that, Adam!"

As wrong as he was, I was all of 20, and didn't really know how to manage the idea of being bi. So I let it go.

Fast forward to 1998. Doug was in town for a conference, and stayed at my place. (Alas, a female-but-platonic friend was on a sleeping bag in the front room at the same time.) At any rate, the plan was for Doug to take the bed (me being a good host), and I would be on the couch.

But we had come in rather tipsy after an evening of professional socializing, and after smoking a little non-tobacco herbal supplement, I reached up to kiss him. Surprised, he kissed me back and said "I must admit I always rather wondered."

So we decided to go in and hop into bed. It was the first time I had been with a man as an adult, and I had a great time, as did he. The lights were out, and I've been remembering for years that his cock was quite long, but seemed not too thick. I had a great time blowing him, but he didn't finish. He lubed me up and put me in his ass, but again, I didn't finish. It was probably more about the drinking than anything else, but was great fun.

We spent another couple of nights sharing the bed, and fooled around some more, but never had an actual orgasm, either of us. (Well, at least I didn't--he may have on his own, but you get the point.)

By 2002, Doug was living in India, and came for a week with Misty and me, on a great chaise longue (about which more presently) in our front room. Much drinking and that non-tobacco smoking, and I certainly could have hit on him, but didn't have the nerve. I sure did want to, though!

Now this week, I had Doug here for just 1-1/2 days (down from 2-1/2). His one night, he spent at a nearby apartment; we're just not set up well for visitors on the couch these days. We spent a good bit of time together, though. By Tuesday afternoon, I had started talking more about sexual stuff, but he didn't seem to be gettting the hint. And after 8 years of thinking about his cock in my face, I wasn't about to let another chance go by.

So with about an hour to go before we went our separate ways, he went in for a pee. I was in the next room, took a deep breath:

"When you come out, I'll blow you."

Yep, just like that.

When Doug emerged a minute later, he hadn't said anything in response, so I said,

"I was serious, you know."

"I didn't zip my fly."

Aha.

So I had him lay back on the chaise, and I knelt on the floor. Doug tugged at his belt, and we got a little something to work with.

"It's pretty soft. You'll have to do something about that."

I was actually delighted. It's one thing to suck a hard dick, and I've had some practice on strap-ons. But this was a chance to really play with one. And play I did.

As it turned out, Doug's cock was nice, but not as big as I had thought, remembering it only with the lights out. (Is that a good thing or a bad thing about sex in the dark?) I'd say 4 inches soft, and maybe 6 hard--pretty average, or just over.

(to be continued...)

Keeping promises

So, I spoke with my oldest, bestest friend today (he needs a pseudonym for this blog, bi the way...), and he chided me for not keeping up with things here.

Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima (minima?) culpa.

That said, it's been a few months, and an interesting few months at that. So here goes, with a little something to get restarted...