Friendship, with benefits - and a farewell

This is the title of a "final" post which I've taken down due to a specific request from someone very important to me.

Suffice it to say that there may be some more closure to this blog, and I may even return some day. But for now, it's not been getting my attention, and so I'm on to other things. Thanks for reading, commenting, and sharing this part of my life.

Friendship, with benefits - and a farewell (edited)

OK, so I’ve not been able to make this into the regular blog I’d hoped for. Rather like letting correspondence get away from me – I feel like longer responses are warranted, but then I don’t get around to writing them, so nothing happens. Also, I’ve started (at last) keeping a professional blog with my real name, and that’s not really getting enough attention either, along with the rest of my personal and professional life.

So in the interest of fairness, I’m pruning this blog, at least for the time being. I was thinking the other day about Victoria (part 1, part 2), and the person I was telling about her noticed a little wistfulness in my writing about not having any closure. This post, then, will round things off a bit on some of what’s appeared here, and fill you in on the current state of things.

To start with, Phil & Marcy.

I last saw them the weekend after the infamous first blowjob. We talked about it at some length, and I was actually hoping to talk Marcy into showing me how she blows Phil, ideally letting me join in the fun with her. He and I would both dig it, to be sure.

Well, we did get naked, and I gave Marcy’s ass one helluva reddening with my hand (having broken the flogger last time), and Phil (always the boss) took charge, watching me fuck her as he directed the action. It may be his favorite role in a threesome – watching her get off.

I did get some blowjob lessons along the way, both as observant and as recipient, with narration, which was pretty damn hot. But I just couldn’t come easily, either in her mouth or her pussy, and I finished myself off, jerking onto Marcy’s belly. That whole pornstar thing has never really been my thing, to be honest, and it was kind of fun to do, but there was something else going on.

It was just a little weird, frankly. We all kissed goodnight, but I felt uncomfortable about the whole thing as I went home, and thought “Yeah, this is the last time for this, at least for a while.” Well, I was right – Phil & I talked a day or two later, and it turned out that Marcy had some second thoughts as well, and was planning to avoid me if I came over anytime soon.

At Phil’s suggestion, I tried calling her directly to reassure her that what we agreed at the beginning – that we’d be friends, regardless of anything else – but I never reached her. It wasn’t until February, when Phil’s father died and I saw them both at the funeral, that things seemed to be ok. I’ll be seeing them again in a more public setting soon enough, and I’m sure I’ll be able to see them again and have everything be cool. But I don’t expect to be getting naked with them again.

I’m glad to have had these experiences, though. My little mostly-vanilla life has been immeasurably enriched by sleeping with Phil & Marcy, and heck, these have been some great memories to have.

As for the present: there is something going on. Life with Misty is still great, 95% of the time, but even more sexless than ever – it’s almost as though we’ve given up entirely; I can’t remember (literally) the last time we even tried to have sex, and the last couple of times weren’t exactly successes. Meaning: I really can’t even remember the last time I had an orgasm with her. C’est la vie.

So what’s going on? I hear you asking.

Well, there’s something else, definitely. There’s someone else who I’ve had my eye on since we met, and it turns out that she’s felt the same. By “since we met,” I mean about 2 years.

We’d been spending more time together, flirting more and more outrageously. Finally, she came over to my place after a little Peet’s run, and we scooted ever-closer on the couch, finally kissing. And man, what a great kisser she is—I’ve had lots of opportunity to find out in the meantime.

We’ve talked a lot about our respectively spoken-for situations, and how each of us fits in to the other’s life. We’ve been meeting and kissing, and kissing, and kissing more. Man, do I love kissing! And these lips – soooo deep, so soft, so warm, so wet. We’re both head over heels, but in it for the long run, both with our spouses and with each other, so we’re also taking things very gently and carefully – “petting” almost exclusively above our clothes, and talking regularly about limits or other things that have come up along the way.

So yes, I’m playing with fire – I know that. We both do. But we also both think this is an outlet that can take us both a long way and give us a unique depth of true friendship, with benefits.

And that’s where I leave you, dear reader, at least for now. I may pop in from time to time (which is different from the past just how?), but I think we’ve come to an appropriate apostrophe in the life of this blog. Be well – I certainly am!

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...

Spring Break = Too Much Telly

Write long-overdue papers? Nope.

Post here? Nope.

Get ahead on stuff at work? Nope.

Watch too much teevee? You betcha.

My cable company has DVRs (the poor man's TiVo) available. With dinner getting ready 2 minutes into the Sopranos season premiere, I decided that being tied to the broadcast schedule (even with many replays each week) was no longer tenable. Spoiled, aren't we?

So I went the next day to pick up the DVR. Now I'm hooked. It's not so much that I'm watching things I wouldn't watch otherwise...it's more that I don't have to either catch them live or juggle a limited amount of VHS space. The latest: "Producing Adults," a Finnish film from 2004. Granted, it was on Logo, with commercials, but even those are now less of a nuisance, being so easily skippable.

Part two: I'm finally online at home! Dragged out the old Airport (Apple's wireless modem hub) and got DSL. Now if I could just bring myself to actually read the last 3 weeks' worth of e-mails, I'd really be getting somewhere.

Anyway, that's where I've been, gentle reader. Oh, and finding a couple new people/sites worth your attention:

Drive Time, a very cool video blog,

and

Elizabeth, blogging as the
Libertine Wife.

Trust me, check them both out.

And I'll try to get back to all those posts promised a month ago. Yeah, I know. Promises, promises...

Long overdue

I had to get one in so my archives wouldn't have a blank month. But sheesh! School started, and it's just been madness. But I promise to do some updating soon, on some hot (if humanly imperfect) times:

Pegging! Yes, we finally broke in the strap-on. Twice!

Hot water, naked people, drinking and driving. I really love living near the wine country, not to mention going just a bit farther to a clothing-optional hot spring.

A still-unconsummated tryst with Phil & Marcy. Why did they have to move out to the other side of the hills?

So there are a couple of teasers. And I'll be back with more details. Soon.

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…