It's official

This blog is on wordpress now. That makes me sad, but you do what you gotta do.

Problems

I've gotten several reports of people having problems commenting on this blog. Thanks for letting me know. I'm thinking of moving over to WP if I can get off my ass to do it. I used WP years ago but didn't like it so much. Times have probably changed, and it looks like the party is better over on WP lately.

PSA #1: Magic Wand

I haven’t been very good about not blogging. Well, I’ve been pretty good about not blogging, but not so good at not writing. I’ve written about a couple of things since August. One thing I wrote about I sent to a friend, the illustrious and cerebral Lady J. My original intent was simply to ask her whether, as a woman in pursuit of an all-too-elusive orgasm, she had any experience with the Hitachi Magic Wand. But in my usual way I wrote more than I intended, and in her usual way she found more meaning than I thought I put in. She has graciously allowed me to post this from her reply to me:

Thanks for sharing that with me. It really helps to get the male POV. Why not blog this? I really think other women should hear it. It’s good stuff. It could be healing for women who think that men don’t care about women. Who think that all men are assholes and don’t value the delicacy of a woman’s body. Even with all the ups and downs of being in a longterm relationship, you love your wife. That always comes through...

Well. With a reply like that, how could I not blog it?  Here’s what I had written to her:

I got River a Magic Wand a few years back because I wanted to see what all the hype was about. One woman did a video review saying “If you have a clitoris, you need one of these.” I was sold, and put my order in on Amazon.

It arrived a few days later. We were both curious. We plugged it in. That’s right, plugged it in. No batteries here. The thing’s got a powercord that plugs into the wall. Which has been a small bit limiting because our house is fairly old (100 years this year) and doesn’t have as many outlets as modern standards dictate, so we can't always use it in our first choice of locations.

We switched it through both of its settings: “high” and “holy fuck”. I’m not even sure it’s got “off”. The motor is powerful enough to cause snow on old analog broadcast TVs. (I’m dating myself there. Good thing I’m a cheap date.) I could not believe River was going to put that thing anywhere near her clitoris. The little knob I manipulate with my soft fingers in the way she showed me. The button I lave with my tongue. And here’s this industrial vibrator going to wear it down to even more of a nubbin than it already is. How could I possibly have bought this for her? I can’t believe she’s going to buzz herself with it there . . .

It worked. Oh my god it worked. River doesn’t orgasm easily. She always needs manual stimulation, maybe ten minutes worth, or more, and often that doesn’t even work. This thing got her off in under 30 seconds. I wasn’t even sure what had happened. “Did it work?” “Yes.” Damn. “But it happened so fast I almost missed it.” That’s not good. The analogy that comes to mind is taking a sightseeing tour of the Grand Canyon, from north to south in an F-18 on afterburner.

We’ve used it a couple times since. Most recently was a few days ago in the afternoon. This time it took several minutes to do the job. It seemed like it might not work. River wasn’t even sure she could orgasm lately. She’s given up before even when using the wand. But she closed her eyes and concentrated and worked with it while I watched and felt her nipples under her shirt and finally had a really long one that looked and sounded worth the wait.

That really got her going. I got to fuck her in her second one, during which I had my own non-stop “I’m not sure what just happened” orgasm, and we went on to give her several more.

Watch this space

After conferring with River, and swayed by some feedback from some of my dear readers, I've almost decided to make a couple of what I'll call Public Service Announcements here.

There. I've pounded the stake. Now I pretty much have to do it. Watch this space.

I've made up my mind

I'm tired of wasting all my precious time.

I haven't been writing. And I haven't been reading much. Turns out I like it that way.

The sex is just as good.

And my life is better.

Thanks for reading!

Sincerely,
Reed
reed.kisatchie@gmail.com

Waterpark wonderings

Well look at that. I’ve written 100 posts, but I’ve only published 95 of them, not 100 like I thought. So it looks like I gave myself an “out” to keep writing for a while. And I've been writing. Just not feeling like blogging. But today I’m going to take advantage of my wiggle room and blog a little bit.

The kids and I went to the waterpark today. I spent a lot of time checking out the various flotation devices. As in, “In the unlikely event of a water landing, your breasts will become flotation devices.” Lucky for me, I know how to swim or I’d go straight to the bottom.

But you know what got the best physical reaction out of me? (Not as good as this one, fortunately. I guess I’ve been trained out of that by sleeping with a naked woman for so long. How sad.) A trim woman with some mommy pooch and hardly anything up top. I just can’t stop looking at tiny titties. Breasts that leave something to the imagination. And my imagination can be pretty good.

Anyway. Not only was I gauging the flotative capabilites of various females, I’m pretty sure I was being checked out by one or two or three. And naturally (for me) I have to wonder why. Is it because I look like a male model? Hah. Maybe a male model of a drowned rat. Is it because I’m halfway in shape compared to most people? I can only hope. Is it because I’m some kind of spectacle? That would be ok too. But then I had this thought that maybe they’re just staring at my nipple ring. And perhaps wondering if I’d like to see theirs. Well, yes, I would, now that I imagine you asking. (I told you I had a good imagination.)

And once again I wonder, has this been going on my whole life (assuming I’m not imagining it with my good imagination)? How would my life have been different if I hadn't been so shy?

P.S. One thing’s for sure. After all that female flesh on display, I really hope we’re getting some tonight. It’s been 9 days. We haven’t had a dry spell that long since our restart 3½ years ago.

Happy 100

When River and I started fucking again in 2009 after a year and a half dry spell, I took careful notes to try to determine whether anything -- time of day, time since our last fuck, etc. -- was affecting the erectile dysfunction I was left with after getting a vasectomy five months previously. I never discovered any correlations. I had bad times and ok times (there were no longer good times) with no correlation to anything that I was aware of.

My notes eventually morphed into my first anonymous sex blog. But they also made it easy to keep track of how many times we’d fucked since what we called our “restart”. One day I announced to River, “Happy 100!” “100 fucks?” “Yeah!” River smiled and said “Here’s to the next happy 100!” And sure enough, some time later we’d racked up another 100.

I no longer keep track so I have no idea where we’re at now, nor does it matter. “Enough” is how I think about it, at least until tomorrow.

I was reminded of that happy 100 because this is the 100th post on this blog.

I started this blog to cure myself from blogging. At least from the kind of OCD blogging I used to do. I wanted to write more about the real life Reed and River, more backstory, etc. And to be more inviting to comment on.  And to have more time to be the real life Reed -- to hang our with my kids, play guitar, be a good friend, whatever it is that I do.

It’s sort of worked, and sort of hasn’t worked. I’m no longer OCD about blogging. But because of wanting to maintain the anonymity barrier for various reasons, I haven’t been as real life/backstory as I want to be. So in that respect, this blog hasn’t been successful for me, and I don’t think it’s fulfilling any needs.

I’m also finding myself wanting to blog, but not wanting to write. I look back on some of what I’ve written and wonder how I ever did it. I’ve started but not finished any number of posts, about kiddus interruptus, fantasy fulfillment, unintentional delayed gratification, dripping pussies, being on an SSRI, River’s infrequent orgasms, being on vacation, porn for women, and some hot fucks with (my) screaming orgasms and whatever else. I start them with the intent to come back to them, but I don’t.

It’s been that way with my whole life lately: wanting to do things, but lacking motivation and/or follow through.

Even this post was begun several weeks ago, and now I’m finally making myself finish it.

I’m not sure there’s going to be another happy 100 here.

To everybody who's commented, thanks!  That's what I've been in this for.  I regret that in some cases I haven't been up to returning the favor.

Fox in socks, our game is done, sir.

Thank you for a lot of fun, sir.
-- Dr Seuss, "Fox in Socks"

“I’m horny.”

“I’m horny.” I’m snuggling on River at bedtime and feeling it. If you really want to know, I was looking at the pictures of the soccer babe with the body paint bikini in the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated that I made off with earlier in the week. Even though I don’t read magazines. I show River. “What do you like about the picture? The suit? The small boobs?” Well, yeah, I like the small boobs, but there's that other question. “Is it a suit?” “Oh. It’s the paint. But what do they do with her nips? She’s gotta have pasties.” “Nope. See?”

Soccer babes are good. River and I used to play together when we met. Now I’d like to paint something on River. She’d look good in a suit like that. I’ve heard stories from women going out in public like that without being noticed, but I’m not sure I believe them. Wouldn’t it be kind of insulting not to be noticed? Maybe they just didn’t notice anybody noticing.

“I’m horny.” “I like that. It’s cute. What do you want to do about it?” “Fuck you.” “Anything in mind?” “A nice weeknight fuck.” “Sounds good.”

I straddle River and we talk about all kinds of weird stuff while I’m stroking my cock and feeling her tits and looking at her face and getting hard. Something about Jesus I think. Mostly stuff I can’t remember. Something about how she looks resigned to being fucked tonight. She denies it. I believe her.

When I’m good and ready I do the left/right thing to get between her legs and rub my stiffie on her. It’s going in with no hands tonight. Just a smooth segue.

Or not. It’s not going anywhere, despite my efforts. “Is that the right place?” (How long have we been doing this?) “Is something in the way?” She reaches down and spreads her lips. There it goes. Just a little fuck at first. But every little bit feels nice. Gradually deeper as her lubrication penetrates bit by bit along with my cock. I like it that way. More anticipation. And more satisfaction when we finally grind all the way together, my pubes against hers. And fuck.

“The problem with having me on top is that I always want to go slow.” She’s always liked it fast and hard. I like to savor the fuck, every nuance of feeling as the head of my cock slides between her lips, through the frill at the opening of her pussy, into her depths, the sleeve, the box, the varying amounts of friction, sometimes sticky, sometimes smooth, my shaft pushing deeper into her until I feel the soft yielding of her cervix, feel my breath moving in and out, shudder involuntarily at our mutual . . . mutualness.

“Slow is good.” It’s intimate and bonding. Fancy hug. Everything I like. And . . . “I’m getting there.” “Slow finish?” “It might take a while.” I have to work at keeping the feeling building without losing it. Deep down I don’t want to work that hard. Deep down I want to fuck. I’m going faster. “Are you doing that for me?” “I’m doing it because I want to. I don’t really know why.” Something instinctual I guess.

I keep the speed up right through my orgasm. Variety. It can be almost painful sometimes. And confusing. Am I coming? Of course. Then why does it feel like this? Why do I feel like this? I don’t care. It still feels good. Variety. Anticipation and release in a strange and long-lasting combination that often leaves me wanting more the next morning.

But for now it’s a nice horny weeknight fuck.

What am I like?

SophiaX asks, upon reading "In the kitchen": "What are you like ; )".

Maybe I should have an about page that says something like I'm a nice intelligent monogamous guy with kids and the best sweetie ever, who strives, perhaps too hard, to be non-creepy, and how I started blogging after River and I started fucking again after a year and a half dry spell, and remark on how having a sexual renaissance has a way of turning people into bloggers, and say something about being (among other things) a guitar player and a photographer.

Or maybe she wants to know how every little thing River says or does reminds me of sex, much to River's chagrin.

Or maybe she wants to know how mismatched our libidos are.

But I think this little composition of River's that I found in the kitchen a few years ago might be more like what SophiaX is looking for:

Homework

River is seeing a physical therapist for some issues concerning her girl parts. They can be somewhat painful after sex, she tells me, especially if she has an orgasm.

Well that explains a lot. I wonder why she didn’t tell me sooner. Like ten years ago. Ok, she probably did, but since it didn’t seem to be an ongoing issue it wasn't something I remembered.

Anyway, she’s got homework this week: have a lot of sex and see what hurts. Sounds good, right? Except if it’s going to hurt, I’m going to have to let her initiate.

In the kitchen

Look what I found in the kitchen this morning!

What does this make you think of?

I hope you know what it made me think of. You may even know what I ask River when things make me think of that:

“Is that a hint?”

Surprisingly, River didn’t come back with her usual answer, some variation on “What isn’t a hint for you?” This time it’s more of a puzzled, “What??”

I can’t believe I have to explain it.  But, I guess I do see hers more regularly than she does.

“It’s rather vulvacious.”

“Oh.”

Sigh. That’s what I have to put up with. Of course, she has to put up with me, so in some unfortunate twisted mismatched way I guess we’re even. Lucky for us, we don’t seem to mind too much.

Outdoor sex season?

It looks like outdoor sex season has finally arrived here. I’ve taken care of the kids all day while River’s at work, done fun things with them, made sure they’re fed. “You’re a good boy. What do good boys get?” “The balcony.” “Ok.”

River joins me in the bathroom. “I was expecting to find you waiting expectantly on the balcony with a candle lit.” “I’m getting there.” First I have to bring up a River-sized cushion from downstairs, then strip and wait in a chair.

But when I get up to the balcony, things just don’t seem right. It’s not quite dark enough for one. But mostly I can hear neighbors talking somewhere. That’s something that might turn me on, but our neighbors are not sexy, and the voices are more of a nuisance.

I report back to River. “It just doesn’t seem right.” “I’m kind of relieved. Maybe a quickie and the balcony tomorrow.” Wow. Where did that libido come from? I should take advantage of it. But I’d rather hold off the extra day and do things right. Even though that hasn't always worked out. “I’m fine with not doing anything tonight.” “I’m grateful.” “I’d think you’d be more relieved that I’m not into doing weird things like the balcony at all costs.” “I am.” “I love you.” “I love you.”

The next morning I wake up with a pounding hardon. I didn’t used to like to fuck with random morning erections. Something about it didn’t feel quite right, like it wasn’t really part of me somehow, and it was hard to orgasm. It seemed like fucking for the sake of fucking. I would rather let it subside, and get another one for what I called “the right reasons”.

My attitude is now a little different. I’m ok with not always coming when we fuck. And I like thinking that we’re in the middle of a fuck when I don’t come and we have to finish later. If River were facing away from me I’d at least slip it between her legs along her vulva. But she’s sleeping on her back. She doesn’t wake up when I put my hand on hers, but it does trigger her periodic limb movement disorder. I consider waking her up by getting on top for a little sex therapy, maybe just stick it in and have a fancy hug, but she got up early yesterday morning and we’ll both be better off if she gets her sleep.

Tonight on the balcony. My parts will be aching all day thinking about it.

Maroon and blue

Maroon and blue. Those are the colors I see on River this morning. Maroon spaghetti strap top. Dark blue panties. A dark striking colorful contrast to her light skin.

It’s evening. She’s stripped down to the colors again. I know what I want. I want her. In maroon and blue. I aggress.

My hands feel her body. The firmness. The sweetness. Find her nipples through the cotton. I love the gentle texture. Even better than silk. Especially with River underneath. Her nipples push against me through the maroon.

Her hands reach down to slip her panties off. I stop them. “I want the maroon and blue.” On her.

I pull the crotch aside. Her vulva presents itself. I rub the underside of my stiff cock against it. Up. Down. Usually she’ll get impatient and slip it in and sigh as I push into her. Today it’s my call. I'm aggressive, but patient. Feeling the shaft of her clitoris against my cock. Hearing the wet smack of her opening as my cock slides over it. My cock likes being hard. Likes the teasing of her pussy. Likes teasing it back.

I slip it in. Push into her. Into the dark blue. Into the mutual sighs. And we fuck.

Pool girl

“I may be wrong about this, but was that girl with the sunglasses looking at me?” “Which one?” “At the pool.” “It’s hard to tell with sunglasses.” True. But her face and hat were often pointed directly at me from the far side of the hotel pool. And there wasn't anybody else near me, other than River. When I turned my head suddenly to look at something, her head turned, too.

She wasn’t slim or slender, but she was well-proportioned and nicely feminine. Maybe she noticed my interest in her tits. They were bigger than the ones that usually get my attention, but in a good way.

I overcame my shyness and stared back at her while she seemed to be looking over at me, and a couple times I swear she motioned for me(?) to come over, but my vision isn’t that great so I can’t be sure.

I looked for her at breakfast the next morning but she wasn’t there.

Have things like this been happening my whole life but I just haven’t noticed?

Popcorn for breakfast

Popcorn for breakfast is a hazard of staying at my parents’ house. It sure is more fun making it when the pot has a glass top. There might even be a metaphor in there somewhere amidst the happy popping kernels. There are other things that seem more fun here for some reason, but I don’t think we’re going to be doing any of that this time even though the parents are away and we’re using their house for a few days. What are our kids going to be doing in a few years, or a few decades, when we’re not at home?

A good commercial

River and I have a morning “date”. We’re about to get to it. But here comes our daughter Brook, opening the bedroom door right on cue. Usually she wants to crawl into bed with us. But this time, she’s on a mission. “Mom, where’s your iPad?” “Upstairs.” “Ok, bye.” “Well, we won’t be seeing her for a while.” “That would make a good commercial.”

Emotional warmup

I call them emotional warmup days. The days when River and I are bound together. Doing the same things. Thinking the same thoughts. Like the today a couple yesterdays ago. We were out prepping the garden. Working together to get the weeds pulled and the warm earth turned over. River being an affectionate tease. Me being . . . me. The perfect day to have a perfect ending.

Will there be a perfect ending? I thought so. Now I’m not sure. “I thought something was going to happen.” “Oh, really?” Well, yeah. We’d talked about finishing what we started last night. River was an affectionate tease. It was a good emotional warmup day. For me, at least. Then I realize: I can make something happen.

I roll on top of River and straddle her. She knows what’s happening. Kiss her. Stretch her nipples between my thumb and finger. She takes over, one hand moving to her breast while I stroke my stiffening cock and watch. Then the other breast. My left hand reaches behind me, feeling the flaps and folds of River’s pussy, down to her wetness, up to her clit. My right hand working my cock the whole time. I like doing both of us. I’m getting surprisingly hard. Possibly a result of not coming last night.

“You’re my always-ready sweetie.” “I’m ready tonight.” “How do you know?” “By how good it feels.” In a rare show of confidence I take my hand off my cock, leaving it to support itself between us, showing it off. My hands return to her compact tits, smearing and pushing them. Her hand grabs my cock. Slides down to the base. It feels nothing like my own hand. It’s so much better. “That’s a bony bone.” “I’ll bone you with it.” “I’d like that.” “Let’s see if you’re ready.”

I’m thinking no-hands stick-in. But River reaches for my cock. Rubs her clit with it. She's confident, too. And I like being her sex toy. “You can do that as long as you want.” “But I’m greedy.” She dips my cock down, the head lodging in that familiar place. I push, clearing the lips. And we fuck.

The word cunt has been on my mind. I only use that word when I mean it. I mean it now. “Your cunt feels nice today. It’s a cunty cunt.” “Yes, it is.”

River gets the fuck she deserves as I bone her with full long strokes of my hard cock, from her lips, through the improbable spot at her pussy entrance, deep into her cunt. When I come my whole body goes stiff, my legs leave the bed, I’m grabbing her, she’s holding me up with her pubic bone, until I’m spent and fall back limp. There’s not even an afterfuck tonight. I just gasp for breath and slowly soften until I feel her squeeze reflex trying to push me out.

I must be satiated. It’s been days and I haven’t needed to fuck.

I hope it has bad dreams

My laptop just swallowed a bunch of blog ideas I had sitting around. Oh well. They’re probably mostly not worth resurrecting. If that’s true, then I’m (once again!) questioning why I’m in the blog business. Oh yeah, I remember now. Because it’s something I (usually) like to do.

I should have died out long ago

According to my reading of an article in Psychology Today (how many people out there even knew I could read? Surprises abound. And since I'm hanging out in parentheses here, I'll add that I typically don't actually read this magazine or any other magazine unless I'm in a waiting room. Hey, parentheses are fun! I should use them more often. Ok, back to the regularly scheduled blog post . . .), I should have died out a long time ago. "Dozing off right after sex provides an evolutionary advantage to men: It shuts down the opportunity for a commitment conversation and increases their chances of reproducing with other mates." I do not doze off right after sex. I used to go ride my bike for an hour or something. River weighs in: "They make that shit up and print it like it's true. How can they validate that scientifically?" If anything, I think I have an evolutionary advantage with my penchant for morning and daytime sex, and avoiding the commitment conversation by going out for bike rides afterwards.

Lesbian dream

“I had a dream last night. I dreamed I was a lesbian.” “How did that go?” River knows what I mean by that but she doesn’t want to say. Turns out, she’s got good reason. “Did you have an orgasm?” “Maybe.” That means yes. I wish I could have no-mess orgasms in my sleep, and fuck afterwards. I wonder how her body does it without clitoral stimulation. But, she didn’t say yes. For a reason. “You had an orgasm last night and you didn’t wake up and want to do it?” “I didn’t say yes because I knew you’d say something like that. It’s a turn-off.” That’s why she didn't tell me. “You wake up after an orgasm with a naked sweetie and don’t want to do it? Maybe you are a lesbian.” Turn off. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to do it. I just didn’t do it.”

I have to change my tactics. I come up behind her and snuggle her. She’s in her scrubs drinking coffee. I’m naked. “Girls sure feel nice. Soft. And warm. Easy to talk to. And you sure are a cute lesbian.” Is it just me, or is it every guy’s fantasy to be the guy, the kind of guy, who can get a lesbian willingly into bed with him? “That’s better.”

I brush my teeth and pee while she drinks coffee. When I come out of the bathroom she’s curled up on the bed in her scrub tops and nothing else. Sexy wow.

How do I convince a lesbian to fuck me? I feel like I’m fumbling with her. At least my cock is responding to her attentions. It’s not fully hard yet when River adjusts our positions. I think she's just giving me better access, but she sticks my cock in like she can't wait. Her post-orgasm pussy is wet wet wet, but not noticeably tighter. And we fuck.

There’s lots of dirty talk about doing it with a penis, fucking her lesbian pussy and filling it with come, her saying it’s her first one, me saying it probably doesn’t compare to the dildo she was dreaming about. “Bang me like a guy.” “I don’t bang guys.” “Like a guy bangs a girl.” We bang, hard and fast, our bodies slapping together, my hand on her shoulder pulling her body onto mine, her foot driving me, pulling my body into hers, her voice telling me it’s what she wants.

But in the end, I can’t fill her lesbian pussy with come. “That’s ok. All of the fun and none of the drip. And the promise of more later.” Nice reframe.

It must be the juxtaposition

We come back to the bedroom in the morning after going pee. River has her robe on, lying on the bed with her knees up. She looks inviting. It’s unintentional, I’m sure, but inviting nonetheless.

A night or so back I was showing her some pictures I’d taken of her. “That looks inviting. If I were a guy I’d want to do something with that.” “I’m a guy. I want to do something with that.” Not tonight, she said. I don’t think she would have ended up minding if I had, but I agreed for once. Some other night.

Back to morning. I’ve never been one for robes. I just don’t get them. I’m naked. And she’s inviting. I part her legs, move her robe out of the way, get into position. My cock dangles against the tickly stimulating fuzz of her vulva, rubbing up and down, wishing it were hard. I want to fuck. But it’s going to take more than that. Stupid ED.

We talk while I stroke myself and gradually become erect. Rub my cock between her lips. Push in. And we fuck. Well, not quite yet. Once again she’s got to reach down and spread her labia out of the way. She never used to have to do that. I’m losing my touch. Or maybe I’m not getting hard enough to penetrate through obstacles anymore. Or maybe I just like how she opens herself to me. I do love her labia. Now we’re fucking.

It’s a nice fancy hug fuck, me holding her face in my hands, saying I love you, and getting some hard banging action, but I don’t feel a finish any time soon. I sit up, trying to work up the willpower to pull out, but I can’t, and we fuck with my knees spread and her legs held together in front of me. Now we’re really going. Hitting her g-spot in this position. “If that feels as good to you as it does to me, you’re going to finish.” She’s right. It's good, hitting the stimulating terrain of her g-spot. But it’s still taking a while, and before I finish I tire and need a break. We’ll finish later.

I like how every time is different. I especially like the lead up. Today I like the short and sweet spontaneity of the lead up, the giving in to the inevitable. And I like what happens after we fuck.

The kids aren’t up yet. River goes to the kitchen to make her coffee. Since I didn’t come, there isn’t even any drippage for her to deal with. I pull on some boxers and hang out with her. It’s really early, but I’d feel bad going back to bed after fucking her, when she has to get up.

As I walk into the kitchen I feel my cock tumble out of the fly in my boxers. My cock, or, as I often like to call it, my silly penis thing. There it is. Hanging out with River and me. River doesn’t ever notice when my pants are unzipped, but at least she notices when my cock is spilling from my boxers. We both like silly.

I untie the belt of her robe to reveal 100% girl. We hug. My reaction is visible. She goes about her business.

I grab a camera. Come up behind her. Slip the robe off her shoulders and let it fall. Snap some pictures of her ass as she stands at the sink. Why is the kitchen such a sexy place to be naked?

Won't you dilate?

We're on the bed. River stripped to her panties, me on top in cowgirl position. We stare into each other’s eyes. “That was cool, watching your eyes . . . dilate. You can’t fake that. That’s probably the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Happy TMI

I guess my last TMI was so good that I got another (dubious) award, this time from lurker extraordinaire Lady J. Thanks, Lady J, you're very generous, I think. And your generosity will be rewarded, not because I'm generous, but because you didn't follow the rules and that kind of thing always scores points with me.

Sorry about all the ado. Here we go.

I was 19. I was on the beach in Alassio, Italy. Wearing a speedo-syle suit. Amongst topless women. You got that, right? 19. Speedo. Topless women. You know where this is going. All you need is the details.

I think I managed to keep my excitement down and keep it in my suit pretty well. Until the topless teenage roller skaters came by, with their perky bare breasts perking toplessly. There are so many reasons why that would not be legal in the US. There are so many reasons why the US sucks.

I couldn’t help it. The more I tried not to think about the perky breasts on roller skates with the perky young women attached to them, the more I thought about them. I seared the image into my memory to this day. My cock hardened, trending up and to the left as it prepared to do its business, my suit making a valiant attempt to keep it constrained within its boundaries. I doubt it was entirely successful.

I had to walk around like that for a while with my by now self-perpetuating erection lurking quasi-hidden. Why should getting an erection be so embarrassing? “Look, I’m so manly I don’t even get hard for nubile young women on roller skates.” Uh, yeah, whatever.

When I took the suit off back at the pensione, there was dried pre-cum where the tip of my hard cock had lodged.

A nice day

I can’t believe I wrote this. Once again I’d like to stop, partly because blogging and attempting to be social is a big time-suck in my overwhelming and chronically fatigued life, and partly because blog-land seems to contribute to my depression. I have a better feel for addicts who keep doing things that are bad for them.

I’m sitting on our porch swing on a nice day. The kids are at friends’ houses. River is off being a nursing student. I’m alone at home. At some point I realize the nicest thing about today: no lawnmowers or other gratuitous noise. It makes the day noticeably nicer. A truly beautiful day. I don’t get why so many people have to mow their little lawns with stinky noisy fossil fuels instead of using a quite, eco- and neighbor-friendly push mower. Especially on a nice day. Spray-painting over the Mona Lisa is what they're doing.

River is back. She walks up to the porch, smiling. “I’m home!” I smile back. “The kids are gone and I’m home alone.” “What should we do with ourselves?” “Have a quickie.” Did the person walking by hear that? I hope so. I’m not sure River’s taking me seriously, but at least there wasn’t a dismissive laugh. “I have to go pee and change out of these scrubs.” She is taking me seriously. It is a nice day.

I unload the dishwasher. When she comes around she’s still got the scrubs on. Hmm. “Did you go pee?” “I just need to change out of these.” I wonder why she hasn’t yet. Second thoughts? No, she’s never thinking what I think she’s thinking.

I load the dishwasher while she goes off and does something. I’m patient. We’ve got at least an hour before any kids come home. Enough time for a couple quickies.

She comes up behind me. Is she going to be all sexy about it? She is. I feel her hands on me. I reach back, expecting to feel the smooth warm skin of her hips. But I feel scrubs. Huh. “Were you expecting me to be naked?” “Actually, yes.” “Now I have to pee. And get out of these.” She peels her top off while she heads to the bathroom.

She opens the bathroom door and comes out. I’m standing there. Naked. “Well hello.” She turns into the bedroom and strips, revealing the enticing curves of her ass. The enticing curves of her. “Did you close the front door, or is it still wide open?” “I closed it.” She bends over, her hands on the bed, her legs slightly apart. “Do you have a plan?” “No, but it looks like you do.” I move into place behind her. I wish I were hard. But I have to get hard. Rubbing against her ass has been doing it lately, but she’s in position for a replay of what we did a week or so ago. I drop to my knees. We make silly grins at each other between her legs. The lips of her snatch beg to be parted. I spread them. They stay parted, their gaping edges inviting me to explore the territory between them.

“I’m always worried I’m going to have toilet paper shards.” “I’m worried I’m going to have leftover Chinese food in my mouth.” I stretch my tongue out and probe. Traverse the expanse of pink between her frilly opening and her clit. The tangy taste of her pussy excites me. My cock hardens quickly as I stroke it, while my tongue fucks her and reaches for her clit. “My part likes this. This sure seems like a strange thing to like.” Even stranger than liking fucking. “Yes, it does.”

When I’m ready I stand behind her. River’s hand guides my cock into her. I push. And we fuck.

Clothing optional

So there River and I are at the outdoor clothing-optional hot tubs. Our clothing is, of course, optional. Strangely to me, some people’s clothing is more optional than others. But there’s a man and a woman in the next tub, and her clothing is definitely optional. Her tits are large but nice, and she’s very female. Clothing should always be optional.

River and I finish soaking, dry off, and clothe. I wait outside while River goes pee. She does that a lot.

Clothing-optional girl stands up in her tub. Her ass, although larger than what I’m used to, is well within the bounds of good proportion. Her tits are prominently visible around the side of her body, and have a nice shape without support. I get a good long look. Why is she standing? Is she cooling off? No. Showing off. I’m nearly sure of it when she raises her arms and puts her hands behind her head. I'm flattered to be her audience.

Her companion has moved to an adjacent tub. I look over to him, and he’s looking at me. I hold my gaze steady, long enough to let him know I know he’s watching me watch his woman. They’re both showing her off. I like it.

She turns. Faces me. Her breasts with their dark-tipped nipples confront me full-on. Her waist nips in nicely. Her hips are classic female. Sadly I can’t make out the details of her bush. The area is somewhat darker, but I can’t say whether it’s trimmed, shadowed, or just a light color. A hint of labia flashes when she shifts position and her legs part for an instant.

She faces me a long time. Her companion’s eyes are on her now. After what seems like a long time, but not long enough, River returns and clothing-optional girl sinks into the tub as we leave and I watch.

“She reminded me of someone. But I couldn’t make out her bush. What did she have?” “I don’t know. I wasn’t looking.” “She was showing off. Her man liked it. Like I like showing you off at the mall.” “I can see that.”

Excuse me, I'm a professional . . .

We’re spending the weekend at a place with outdoor hot tubs. Clothing optional. The sun has set. At this time of day, minors are not allowed at the tubs. We strip on the deck and submerse ourselves luxuriously in the hot water.

We're here with a mission. I try to set a good example for other people by not assuming they're ok with what we're about to do. “Excuse me. I’m a professional photographer. I specialize in erotica. Would you mind if I take some photos of my lovely model here?”

The other guests at the tubs are cool with a shoot. As long as they’re not in the photos. Too bad. I’d do some of them for free.

River stands in the tub. Is anybody watching her show off her sporty body with its compact tits and landing strip and perfect ass curves? I’m watching. And my camera is watching. It’s mere inches from going for a swim. The lens is steaming up. Focusing in the low light is just one step beyond hit-or-miss. We get some interesting angles. River sits down, her nipples peeking just above the waterline. “Look into the water.” She sits her ass on the edge. “Lean forward like you’re going to stand up.” Gives me a mud-flap girl pose. “My boobs aren’t big enough for this.” “Nobody’s are.” I’m almost hoping someone will come forward and say “Mine are!” River steps out and stands at the railing, facing out through the woods into the cool dark of the night air. Showing us what a girl ass is supposed to look like.

I bring the camera over so I can show her what she looks like to me. We like this one. River’s pale warm skin is a striking contrast to the piercing dark blue sky. Erotic. That’s how she looks to me.

We soak together in the tub until we’ve had enough. River walks to the outdoor shower. When I join her, I see her silhouette showering in the light pouring through the water from behind her. Time for more. “Step towards me.” “Hips to the side.” She puts a hand on her breast as I shoot. That’s a keeper. River’s a keeper.

Is that a quickie?

I follow up on River’s innuendo earlier in the day. At least I hope it was innuendo. Maybe it was just a friendly feel.

“Can I bang you tonight?”
“Sure. But . . . can it be a quickie? I’m kind of tired.”
“Uuuh . . . I guess I could do that.”
“You make it sound like a chore.”
“It’s early.”
“Says who?”
“You. And besides, you’ve said less than 20 minutes isn’t worth it.”
“I can’t imagine saying that.”
“Well you did. Or maybe it was your sister.”
“I like a quickie as much as the next girl. Have I ever complained about a quickie?”

She’s got a point there. I’ve been stroking myself, feeling my favorite tits, and getting hard while we’ve been talking. As usual, River prefers to skip the warmup and get right to it. Quickie-style. I sit between her legs, rub her clit, put the tip of my cock in, then grab her legs and pull her towards me, sliding her onto my cock. “I’m being manhandled.” Like she likes. And we fuck.

Today I’m trying to stop writing there but I had a quite extraordinary orgasm. River was arching her back, pushing against the wall, fucking herself onto me. When I came we kept going, especially her. She does that sometimes, I think just to see what I’ll do, how I'll react when my spurting cock goes supersensitive. This time it almost hurts but I don’t want it to end. When we first met I used to be more vocal about orgasms then I quieted down to match her but I’ve been getting louder again and this time I really let loose. She seems to like my “aaaaauuuus” and “nnnnnngs”, knowing she can do that to me. And it's cute, she says.

“How long was that? I didn’t look at the clock.” I never look at the clock either, but I happen to know approximately when we started because I did look at it earlier when I made my “It’s early” pronouncement. “10 or 15 minutes.” Is that a quickie?

Today, or tomorrow?

“What?” River asks. In a what-are-you-thinking sort of way. How does she know I’m thinking something? Do I have some kind of look when I do that? “You’ve got a look.” Apparently yes. “I’m thinking, do we do it today when it’s only been two days, or do we wait for three days tomorrow? It’s hard being me.” I look down. The shower is not an easy place to get hard. “Well, not that hard.” I don’t want to overthink things, but the timing and frequency of sex is complicated by our upcoming trip to what is hopefully a conducive place. I don’t want to burn River out before we get there. She says every three days is good for her, but lately it’s been more like every other day. But, she’s usually all for fucking in conducive places so I probably don’t have to worry about it. I’m over-thinking it. I’ll get her input. “Today or tomorrow?” “Today.” I’ll shoot for both.

What I might tell my kids

I was recently asked what I’ve had to say about sex when talking with my kids. Not much so far. They're not that old yet. Getting there, though. River has had more opportunity than I have. She's gone well beyond answering the questions I had as a 4-year old. Not that I haven’t offered. And when the time comes, I want to listen as well as talk, because I tend to talk too much.

Maybe the time won’t ever come, but I don’t want things for my kids to be like they were for me. When I was maybe four I remember asking my mom if a woman could have a baby if she wasn’t married. “I guess that could happen.” Things didn’t go much further than that. I was left wondering how a woman’s body knew she was married so it could make a baby. And how the baby could end up looking like both the wife and the husband. My parents never did fill in that particular blank for me. The only other thing that was said on the subject, when I was a teenager, was some vagary about “sharing my body” with somebody.

Somehow I got the impression that sex was not something good boys and girls did, and that if I wanted a good girl, which I did, I would have to be a good boy. This despite all the popular culture to the contrary. I wasn’t quite tuned in, I guess.

So I was good, except for falling into bed with, then living with, a girl. She wasn't a good girl, and I didn't care. Just like a girl wouldn't have cared whether I was a good boy. Some years later we got married and, some more years later, divorced. I didn’t know any better. She did, and why she didn’t blow me off early on is a mystery, especially since I found out after we were divorced that she’d cheated on me before we were married.

So, what might I tell my kids about sex?

• Know the risks and responsibilities (this needs some elaboration). Showing some signs of responsibility by moving out first sounds good, but is probably too hopeful on my part.
• It’s something boys and girls do.
• Girls like it as much as boys.
• For some reason it’s got a whole pile of baggage and non-openness (even I’m not completely open). I wish it were more like being rock climbing partners or something.
• It may or may not be mixed up with love and/or relationships.
• But it’s a nice way to top off a loving relationship.
• Relationships are ephemeral.
• Fuck first ask questions later is fine.
• But River and I are glad we fell in love the old-fashioned way.
• Don’t marry your first girlfriend.
• No means no

Update:
And how could I forget:

• Pay attention, ask questions, and be enthusiastic.
• Give feedback.
• Ask for what you want.

Impressionable

We had a nice romp a few days back. I think I’d like to write about it but I’m really burning out on everything right about now. I’m not even sure how we got going, and to me that’s one of the most interesting things about each encounter. If I write a little bit maybe it will come back to me. For now I’m going to have to start with River in low doggy position at the edge of the bed, me doing just enough pussy licking to get hard, then standing up, looking at the edges of her lips still spread open, pushing into her spit-slick pussy, and having a nice fuck. (“We’re fucking.” “Yes we are.”) It was rear entry all the way, with a bit of 180-degree my-head-at-her-feet action where the usual hip thrust doesn’t work at all and I have to move my whole body in what seems like the wrong direction to fuck her (“I still feel like I’m being fucked”) and a grand finale in hello kitty with River doing most of the work and me grabbing her tits and pulling her nipples for the full hello kitty experience until I had a rather enjoyable orgasm. Being on an SSRI not only makes coming harder, it seems to lessen the intensity of the orgasms, but mine have been in good form lately.

After writing that, I still can’t remember how we got started. Just that it had something to do with rubbing against River’s ass in the bathroom.

But I do remember one thing. We were in doggy, she had her legs spread (she usually keeps them together) and things were extra-queefy. But that’s not what I remember. I remember putting my right hand on her left ass cheek, porn-style, I guess they do that to keep the sight lines clear or something because it's really kind of ridiculous. I’m sure most of the positions we fuck in would not make good porn. Anyway, I smacked her ass a couple times, getting a good crisp thwap. And it didn’t really seem to do anything for either of us. Smacking somebody totally goes against my nature. But for some reason I couldn't resist. I'm impressionable, I guess.

We Vibe 3, take 1

I was gonna write up a steamy drippy sex scene involving the We Vibe and River’s sweatshirt and the afternoon but it would take too long and I want to be lazy and write badly for a change(?).

So let’s just say that within about an hour of getting it we were trying it out, with some thick water-based lube that my favorite sex shop had recommended for anal but which we’d never yet used for anything and maybe never will again because with the time and effort it took to successfully squeeze some out of the bottle I almost went soft. I will probably never get used to having ED. But maybe I should get a job in the product test department of some of these companies.

We stuck it in (right way round, thanks petunia!) and fucked in flying v and River seemed to be liking it but after a while I thought I’d probably get a blister from rubbing against it even though the skin on my glans doesn’t seem to blister it just sort of ablates in a thin layer. The vibrations were neither good nor bad for me, but I really missed the feeling of the ridge of my glans pushing through the tightness of River's frill and into her vagina. That's the feeling I look for when I'm aiming to come in a hurry.

We went through a couple rounds of childus interruptus, River using it as a regular vibe, rear-entry hello kitty for blister avoidance, and poignant conversation such as “Do you want me to do anything?” “Yeah, get a boner.” Eventually the batteries ran out (we hadn’t given it much time to charge) and we fucked face to face until I came, then River took quite a while finishing herself with her hand but had what seemed to be a long, intense orgasm. Then another. “That second was better than some firsts.” Then at least two more.

Next time we try it we want to do interlock so my cock goes in sideways which might be more comfortable for me with the thing in her pussy, and I can press the vibe end against her clit with my leg, or she can do it with her hand.

Getaway observations

We recently had a family weekend getaway at a family-oriented resort. It was nice and escapist, and we'd go back.  And I had a few observations:

• There were a lot more overweight and obese people than statistics predicted, although fewer on Sunday and Monday than on Saturday.
• I had very little interaction with other families, except when I talked to a few people and had a few short conversations with kids. I was surrounded by people wearing very little but we were all isolated, doing our own thing even though we were all doing the same things.
• Throwing things away is such a way of life in our society that receptacles for doing so are ubiquitous. Maybe by the time my kids have kids we’ll look back on that and wonder what we were thinking.
• Most of the parent/child interaction I saw made me happy.  There are some fun parents out there.
• Lots of body art on display, but the only remotely memorable and interesting one was an attractive 20-something woman with a matching pair of mudflap girls tattooed on her upper back. That one made us think. It occurred to me too late that I should have asked her about them. I was in isolationist mode, I guess.
• You’d think a family oriented resort would make it easier for the parents to get a little action. Or maybe we’re just somewhat squeamish about doing it with our kids in the room. What’s up with that I wonder. We did snag some in the middle of the night.

Smells

I’ve wanted to write this up before, but I haven't. Even though I wrapped up my old blog, which was nearly pure erotica, so I could devote more time to ditties like this one. Credit my friend Anisa’s forwarding me some kind of TMI chain letter for getting me off my ass. If I don’t forward it on to any of you, don’t be offended. I’m not forwarding it to anybody. But you knew that.

Some years ago River and I were in relationship therapy. That was actually before our dry spell, which I used to call a long dry spell but which in comparison with some other people I’ve learned about was not so long. But it was long enough. And stupid. Miscommunication run amok. I’m not sure we got a whole lot out of therapy directly. My main memory is the therapist always seeming to think I was far more reasonable than I actually am. I am not reasonable. But there she was, agreeing with me, taking my side. Maybe she knew better than to cross me. Except every so often it backfired when I chewed her out for thinking I was so goddamn reasonable.

But this isn’t about therapy. It’s about smells. It came out as part of therapy that one of River’s turn-ons is nice smells. As in me smelling nice. Wearing cologne at the proper times, and such. Ok, I can do that. Especially if it will get me more sexy sex (at the time it was known as “sex”, not “fucking”). I’d do almost anything for River. Ok, I’d do anything. See how reasonable I am? And we’d even gotten me some nice-smelling stuff a while back. I just hadn’t worked up the courage to actually do anything with it. Like wear it. Or apply it, or whatever one does. In fact, I wasn’t actually sure how to do it. Girlfriends and babies and cologne should come with instructions. In retrospect, I could have just asked River what to do, because she knows everything, but I wanted it to be a surprise.

So there I was, hyperventilating and shivering with the thought of doing something really scary, and somehow my brain dredges up “put some on your neck, you idiot.” But how much? My brain left that up to me. On the basis that I could always put on more but I couldn’t put on less, I put on a smallish amount. Enough to smell, certainly. And hopefully enough to smell nice. And be a turn-on. And have fabulous sex for the rest of our lives. Which was the whole point, after all.

I ducked under the covers in the dark, expectantly awaiting my sweetie so I could surprise her.

She came into the room, peeled, and got in bed with my self-conscious self. She sniffs. And then she said it. “Did you fart?”

O. M. F-ing. G!!

I probably turned 17 shades of red in the dark. I wanted out. I wanted to die. I wanted her to die. No rock could possibly be big enough for me to crawl under. Complete humiliation. No sexy sex tonight. Or ever.

Nowadays I’d just say something like “Of course I did, but I was hoping this nice-smelling cologne I put on for you would cover it up.” But even though we’d been together 14 years, let’s just say we’ve come a long way in the last 5.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom and at some point I realized cologne does not wash off. At least not with soap and water. You put that stuff on and you’re stuck with it. For better or, in my case, worse.

I washed as well as I could and slunk back into bed. No sexy sex tonight. I guess I'd cleaned up enough because she didn’t say anything. I just laid there mortified. Maybe she still thought I was farting. At least that would explain my urgent trip to the bathroom.

It was weeks if not months later that she finally found out. “So how come you haven’t worn cologne? You know I like it.” “Well let me tell you about the time I tried it . . .” We both had a good laugh, and eventually I tried it again, and we did have some nice sexy sex.

Hello girlfriend

A nice emotional warmup day. We go shopping for clothes for River to wear to an interview. “I hope a never have to wear a suit to an interview,” she says. “You can wear a suit to an interview with me.” “Huh?” “A swimsuit.” I carry her shopping bags. “I have a valet.” “A full service valet.” There’s no direct talk, but we both know what’s going to happen tonight.

She goes out with “the girls.” That’s good. Comes back with a bit of a buzz. Not so good from my pov as a non-drinker. “You can take advantage of me.” Ok, maybe it is good.

“What would you like for a warmup?” “Rub my ass with oil.” Her ass is cold. As usual. “I need to warm it up first.” I get on top of her, face in her hair, hands on hers, resting against her ass, strangely stimulating in its coldness.

Oil her ass. Rub it with my elbow. Spend an inordinate amount of time spreading her cheeks, trying to make her pussy gap open with its wet smacky sounds. And getting an idea. “If you’re drunk, maybe I can do you in the ass tonight.” “Not drunk. Buzzed.” She didn’t say no. “Especially since I’m having problems finding your pussy.” “Let me help.” She reaches back and spreads herself wide. Hello girlfriend. The pink of her pussy gapes open, darkly mysterious, glisteningly wet. And relentlessly inviting. “I want to feel my penis inside you.” “I like it when we both want the same thing.” I get hard and push it right up her hole in one shot. And we fuck.

It’s nice how many ways there are to fuck with her on her front and me on top. I lie on her feeling her ass against my stomach. Lift myself off her and feel my cock drop into her on each stroke. Her feet curled back to push my ass. My foot on the floor. Sit up and watch my cock disappear into her. How can that feel so good. I’m always surprised that she likes it, too. Lucky us.

“How drunk is she?” I’m about to find out. Oil us both up. Press the tip of my cock against her butthole. Push. That was too easy. “Missed.” On the second try my cock head slips through the ring into her ass. “That hurts today.” Uh oh. I try again with more lube. “Still hurts. Is that different lube?” “It’s the oil. We used it at my parents’ house.” To good effect, I might add. But that’s enough for tonight. I’m not hard enough for a third attempt, and that would be beyond the bounds of good relations anyway. “Thanks for trying.” “You’re welcome.”

I go wash off. I’m now noticing that our new bathroom sink is farther off the floor than any sink I’ve ever washed myself in. I have to climb on the counter to get my parts wet and wash them.

“Now what?” “Face to face.” There’s just something about it. I run my thumb over her clit while she plays with her nipples. I like to watch that. She’s got a nice body. I’m glad she puts it to good use. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off it if it were mine. My cock hardens. I push back into her pussy, our mouths lock together, and we fuck long and hard. Her cervix is taking a real beating tonight. I can feel it, and I can tell she feels it, too. I love the extra stimulation at the end of each thrust.

I hold off. I haven’t done that for a long time. The SSRI makes it hard enough to come that I usually just take an orgasm if one comes along. But I want a good long physical ending to our good long emotional warmup day. “Was that an orgasm hold-off twitch I felt?” “No, but I did hold off. When I get to the twitch point we usually have to be completely still. The slightest movement could set it off.”

Something about this fuck is just right. My cock jumps and twitches in her pussy as I hold off two more times. It’s like old times. When I finally come it’s easy. And incredible. My balls pulling up, the heat spreading from them and reaching the tip of my cock, then my orgasm exploding through my body. I must be filling her with jizz but I’m barely noticing that part. I’m breathing so hard I suck her hair down my throat when I inhale.

Our afterfuck is long. Finally my cock softens and the head comes to rest cradled in her dark labia.

Mine's not quite as long

Since we're not fucking tonight, I'll take some time and copy-cat Liza's post where she lists her and D's firsts for the past year after they ended their long dry spell. Since River and I ended our dry spell three years ago and I hate lists, my list of firsts for the past year is much shorter.

• We were walked in on by our daughter, Brook.  If I blogged that one, I can't find it.  We've been able to dive under the covers before, but this time she got quite a view, straight up the middle.
• We fucked in River's car (first time in a car for either of us).  Next time I want to do it on the side of the freeway.
• We said "I love you" while fucking.

The Art of Happiness

I’ve been reading The Art of Happiness, ostensibly by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. I like HH the DL. He’s got a lot of good stuff to say about anger and internal disarmament. I think the Buddhists are onto something. But I’m not sure what kind of right somebody with such a bad take on suicide has talking about happiness.

But that’s not why I’m here today. Today, I found a shiny metal screw sitting on the cover of The Art of Happiness. Finding screws all over the house is one of our running jokes that never seems to get old. I send River an email: “Nice one. I’m patiently awaiting your initiative.”

Orgasms

It can be kind of hard for me to read about all you women in blog-land having orgasms every time you fuck, when River’s are so far between. At least when she has them, she usually has at least three. We counted eighteen one time. And she did have some nice ones just a few days ago.

It’s not that it makes me feel bad for myself, or about myself, like I'm not enough to get her off or something. She can't always get herself off. I feel bad for her. Even though I now get how fucking without orgasms is still intimate and bonding, creative and energetic. Ok, I do feel bad for myself. I enjoy her orgasms as much as she does, like she enjoys mine. I wish I could enjoy her orgasms more often. And maybe if she had them more often, we’d fuck more often, or she’d want me to eat her pussy more often.

She's never been big on foreplay. Likes to get to the good part. With or without simultaneous clitoral stimulation. At least she enjoys fucking, with or without orgasms.

Audience fantasy

We light candles and River gets a back massage. It’s been too long since we’ve had candle light. She looks so smooth and lush.

“You know what I want to do?” “I can guess.” “I want to eat your pussy.” We set up at the edge of the bed and I probe between her lips with my tongue and spend some quality time with her clit. “I ate fresh pineapple today. Do I taste any different?” Whenever a pineapple appears in the kitchen I’m always quick to ask, “Is that a hint?” But I’m honest. “No, you taste the same.” Well, ok, her usual tang is even tangier today. I feel my cock getting heavier.

I get a few moans, but she’s not moving back against me so when I’ve satisfied my hunger I gaze at her candle-lit pussy, finger it, get hard, rub my cock on her clit. But we both want to fuck. So I slip into her and we do it.

“It’s kind of wet down there.” She doesn’t like it when it’s too wet. We stop and I wipe her up with a t-shirt. When I penetrate her this time the friction is just right.

I’m pounding. She’s spreading her legs wide for me. For her. I know if I look to either side I’ll see her feet in the air. But I don’t look. I’m fantasizing. We’re fucking with an audience. Putting on a good show. And I like it.^*

“Here it comes.” Deep against her cervix. As usual she helps with my orgasm and makes it awesome. She likes to feel my goosebumps. “I usually enjoy your orgasms vicariously.” That’s good, because she isn’t having many lately. “But this time was different. There was a kind of physical response . . .”

I tell her about my fantasizing. “I’d do that. In a place where people expected to see and be seen.” I’ve never seen anybody else fucking in real life. I’ve never even seen another guy with a hardon.

^* Fantasizing inspired by Liza’s sex club posts.

Easter

Today I was reading about the pagan origins of Easter after the Easter bunny visited our house but it got tedious and boring. So I started remembering another Easter, many years ago, shortly after we’d moved to our new town. Out of nowhere, River said, “I bet you can’t find us a porn video today.” Where she came up with that I’ve got no idea. I think we’d only watched porn together once before, courtesy of a friend who worked in a video store. If I had to guess, I’d think it was backlash against Christianity appropriating pagan things in a “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, then kick ’em the fuck out” kind of way. “Sure I can,” I replied quickly. There was an adult video store right there in the yellow pages and it didn’t take long to get there and return with a video and a rapid heartbeat.

At an appropriate time we went into what was then the guest bedroom, which had the only tv in the house. It lived in the closet, which is a good place for a tv to live. We fired up the video, which I think was something silly about a screen that showed what people were dreaming. I want to have dreams like what we saw on that screen. Actually, I have had dreams like that. Hasn't everybody? Even some lucid dreams like that. Everybody who has lucid dreams dreams about sex it seems. Anyway, I prefer golden age porn, back when stuff was shot on film and shown in theaters and women had pubic hair and real breasts and pornographic priestess Marilyn Chambers thought she was being the new breed of serious actress by going all the way on the big screen.

I guess it’s a girl thing, but River isn’t generally turned on by visuals. So surprisingly at some point during the video she pulled her panties down and stuck her ass up in the air. I still remember asking “Are you presenting?” and her answer, “Yes.” So I got in position behind her and we fucked while watching other people fuck on the small screen, although with much larger apparatus than ours. We had more fun, though, and that's what it's all about. It was the most memorable Easter we’ve ever had.

Easter. Ēostre. Estrus. Pagans are all about fucking.

Permission

“Are you going to stick it to me in the middle of the night?” It’s been four days. Last night didn’t seem right, this morning didn’t seem right, and fucking this evening would seem like fucking just for the sake of fucking. “Maybe.” I’m not sure I’ll wake up. I’m not sure I’ll be horny. “I kind of like it you know. Especially when I give you permission.” “You do?” I guess I’ve converted her on yet another thing. “It’s like you said -- kind of dreamy.” “Next you’ll be asking me to eat your pussy.”

I wake up randomly at 12:30. Can I get an erection? Yes. Easily. Thank you, night-time. River is on her back. I push her and she rolls over. “All the way.” She keeps going into inviting with her right knee out to the side. I pull the covers down, straddle her leg, feel her body heat. Feel her pussy, waxed along the sides. Dip my fingers into her wetness. Get harder. My fingers guide my cock into her in the dark. She wiggles back against me. I push in a few inches. And we fuck.

I plant myself against her warm ass. Feel my balls sliding along her warm leg. Pull the covers up to keep the warmth in. Fuck into her warm wet pussy, deep, all the way. We both moan as my cock slowly slides in and out of her.

Sit up. Grip her ass in both hands. Feel my cock sliding past my fingers, between her lips. Feel her cervix at the end of each stroke, begging me to push deeper. Support myself with a hand pressed into her back while my other hand roams her firm ass, her smooth leg, grips her hip and pulls her warmth towards me. Slides under to feel the curls of her bush and the soft bare flesh on either side.

Her hands move to the wall as I speed up. Can I finish? Maybe. If I can’t we’ll finish in the morning. I press against her, my lips grazing her shoulder, listening to her breathe, watching her face, her eyes closed dreamily. We haven’t spoken. Long, fast, deep strokes. Shallow strokes. Hitting her g-spot. She feels very wet. She sounds very wet. The sounds, her breathing, her warmth, her softness, her wetness, the dreaminess, everything pushes me over the edge and I come deep inside her, gyrating with her as we make my orgasm last, until finally I rest against her and breathe hard and we keep fucking in my come.

I soften and pull out. My hand goes to her pussy, sliding over the orgy of our juices, mine and River's, my fingers on her wet lips, between her lips, smearing pussy juice and come over her vulva. Finally I reach for our traditional t-shirt, wipe her clean, push the cotton into her pussy and stir. She approves.

“I like it when you give me permission.” “I like it, too.”

Danger-fucking bad girl

We pulled it off last night. Literally. Why a landing strip should be so cute and hot, I don’t know. “Because it’s different.” “We could dye your bush orange.” “That would work.”

It’s one of those days. I’m waiting for my tip from last night’s waxing, but it’s shaping up to be a day without fucking. Stuff keeps coming up and River has to keep going out and doing things. “I’ll meet you at the end of the day,” I say. At least I’m in a good humor about it this time. But one of these days I want to be somebody’s problem instead of being an anonymous domino at the end of somebody’s solution.

Hey. We might be able to squeeze something in. Even though somebody’s stopping by in a half hour. There’s a cushion on the kitchen floor that’s just begging to be used. “We’ve never done it in this corner of the kitchen.” “You’re starting to sound like me.”

River pulls her pants off. Her pussy winks at me from between her up-stretched legs. I admire last night’s handiwork. Peel my clothes off. There’s a neighbor visible across the alley. She’s probably not thinking that there’s fucking all around. I’m the only one who thinks things like that.

I’m coaxing my cock to hardness while I finger River and we listen to something distorted and electronic. I have to prop my dick up to get the fuck started but I follow the beat and we fuck.

It’s nice hitting it to the beat. I’ve got my hard on now. “It’s been feeling nice lately.” Doesn’t it always feel nice? We kiss. We hug. We fuck. My knee hangs off the cushion and pounds the floor. River rolls into doggy. I watch my cock disappear into her, my freshly trimmed pubes making it look longer and thicker. Hello kitty. I let her do all the work. “I’m watching the trees bounce up and down outside.” “I’m watching your ass bounce up and down inside. You really should see this. You’d see why I want to do it all the time.”

I fuck back, we fuck together, my balls dangle on her feet. Press against her ass and use my hips to work my cock in and out. She likes it. “Does that work for you, too?” “Everything I do works for me. That’s how I know what to do.”

I feel my orgasm gathering. We squeeze together as I come in her. I voice my thought. “Danger-fucking bad girl.” “I like that.”

That didn't go very well

Well that didn’t go very well. We’ve been having lots of sexy sex lately. Twice in one day, River initiating during her period, a blowjob, on the living room floor. Lots of sexy sex.

I thought we’d have some more today. I was waxing River for an upcoming outing. She was pretty cute when we did the landing strip so that’s what we’re going for. I’ve waxed her with wax before but it’s been kind of messy so this time I wanted to use sugar like I used to good effect on myself some years ago. But I couldn’t find any sugar kits. So I got something called “Honey Wax” from the same company which according to the ingredients looks like sugary stuff.

It didn’t work worth crap. I hadn’t even gotten one side of her bush down to landing strip proportions when we had to stop.

No sexy sex for me this afternoon.

We’ll give it another go with wax this evening. I want some sexy sex.

One of these times

River comes downstairs, holds something small out for me to see, and grins.

“What is it?”

“The tooth fairy already done come and gone.”

“She’s too fast for me.”

“Not always.”

“Is that a hint?”

“I don’t know.”

Regular readers of my little corner of the world (all four of you) know that I’ve had this long-standing fantasy of catching the tooth fairy in the act and having my way with her in exchange for preserving her anonymity. I guess I’ve still got a few years before our kids lose all their teeth. If her cover hasn't been blown by then.

Again

River was happy to be caught up on her homework and hinted that something might happen in the evening and advised me to be hydrated. I went to bed and read and eventually turned the light out. A half hour after going to bed I wonder where River is and find her upstairs studying. I must have made the wrong assumption. And I forgot, River doesn’t hint. Apparently she wanted to get some more studying in. I suggest she do it afterwards next time. We stay up talking about crap again.

The flu

Is the flu an STD? We’re about to find out.

---

Three hours later. Well, we tried. River was gone for hours, ostensibly at the physical therapist’s. Hopefully they were working on kegels. She’d given me quite a warmup in the bathroom earlier today, me sitting on the heated floor, her standing over me and doing a reverse striptease while my cock wanted to get hard and she told me she had plans for later.

But how much later? Not this evening when we're both worn out, I hope.

She comes home. Can I jump her? If I want. I want. I think.

In the bathroom again. Grinding against her ass, cradled in my favorite comfy jeans. Watching ourselves in the mirror. Unbuttoning her comfy jeans. Unzipping. Off. Then mine. My cock hardening. My hands running over her body. Her breasts, behind their padded bra. Her sides. Her stomach. Into her panties. They're off. My boxer briefs are off. Watching. Feeling. Pressing. Breathing.

River leans into the mirror, looking hot, looking sweet, her ass thrust back seductively, my fingers playing in the juice of her slit. But it’s not happening. I’m nowhere near hard enough for the standing rear-entry stick-in.

“Should we try later?” “I don’t know.” I feel unvirile. But I can’t let it get to me. “You can throw me on the bed.” “Let’s try it.”

My finger slips into her wetness. She talks about viruses. That’s usually a good combination, but if we can fuck at all this afternoon it’s going to be a limp dick fuck.

And so it is. It’s a bit silly trying to squeeze my mostly limp dick in and out of her as she spreads her legs wide in her trademark vee, but at least we’re trying. My cock perks up a little bit, but not much. Not enough to get the true feeling of fuck. At least we've had a nice time together. I close her lips over her wetly gaping pussy. We plan to resume in the evening.

River says flu isn’t an STD because it's all about oropharynx, not vagina. Maybe via blowjob then.

Dee Ess Tee

Daylight Saving Time has never messed us up as badly as it recently did. On Sunday I told River I had a nice plan that involved a mutual bath. I didn’t say anything else, but she knows what I mean by plan. All indications were that she’d be a willing participant.

She comes down from Brook’s room around 10 (formerly known as 9) and I bring up the plan. I’m not sure what all she says. I can only remember two words: “Well, actually . . .”. And I really laid it on her. To me those words made it seem that everything she’d said before was a bunch of crap to be henceforth ignored and if possible forgotten, while everything she was about to say was the actual truth that she should have said earlier. In the back of my mind I knew things would spiral out of control and they did. It’s a combination of River taking things too seriously, and me not taking things seriously enough.

No, I can remember more. Part of the “actually” was that it had gotten rather late. That old excuse/reason again. As if she hadn’t noticed everything was an hour later when she changed the kitchen clocks.

So that plan died a horrible death. Somehow we can always stay up later talking about horrible crap, but stay up later to have a nice time? Not so easy. Note to self: don't give negativity so much influence.

We both came around and we snuggled our way to sleep.

The next day DST was still messing us up, but that's a different story.

Sunny spots

When River and I go for walks, we almost always stop for a nice full-body-plaster kiss in a sunny spot. If it’s not sunny, we make our own sunny spot.

There were a lot of sunny spots on today’s walk.

---

When I started this blog, didn’t I say I wished I’d done more outtakes? Here you go. We’re walking past a rock sculpture in the park. A nice sunny spot. There’s a guy raking the ground nearby. I want to push River up against a large boulder and plaster myself to her and smooch her good. I grab her hand and start heading across the grass with her. She’s unsteady on the soggy ground. “Is it too soggy?” We turn around and walk the few steps back to the path. Missed opportunities can still make me sad, even though I look on the bright side: it was a record-setting sunny spot walk on a romantic day. “What better compliment could there have been for rake guy than to have his nicely raked ground used for a nice sunny-spot kiss?” “Actually I was worried I might puke all over his nicely raked ground.” “Oh.”

Crash landing

“Any requests?” River thinks for a while. “No. You?” “I was hoping we could have some sex tonight.” I rarely call it having sex. But sometimes it’s got a certain clinical casualness to it. And I do hope we can have some sex tonight. “I thought that was a given.” She did say we should do something friendly tonight. “Just making sure.”

We stare at each other. “Well, do something.” “Like what?” “Get my dick hard.” “I can do that.” “Yes, you can.” Her hand circles my shaft. Her left hand. She prefers her right, but her left is just as skilled. I feel my cock react to her gentle pull and push. She switches hands while we talk. “Now what?” “I fuck you with that thing.” “Your thingy-thing.” “In your thingy-thing. T-bone. Remember it?” “I’m on my side, you’re . . .” “Right here.” “Visually stimulating.” “Yes.” The secret darkness between her pale legs. Where I'm going to fuck her. “I see pussy.” My finger slides along her lips then slips between them. “I hear pussy.” The smacky sounds make me harder. “I smell pussy.” I’m ready.

I watch the tip of my cock disappear into her darkness, the shaft chasing it deep into her interior. And we fuck.

It’s a creative night. A silly night. When we kiss in t-bone it’s a jarring mix of face-to-face intimacy and rear-entry fuck. I roll into topsy-turvy, my head at her feet, and peer up at her from between her legs as we fuck. I turn face down. Usually we shift positions without disengaging, but this time I must have pulled out. The position we end up in is completely improbable. She’s sprawled on the bed face up and I’m sprawled on her face down, our legs scissoring together twistedly, one of her legs hugged to my chest. “What will you call this one?” That's easy. “Crash landing.” She watches my ass and feels my balls. I feel her feeling my balls. That always adds an extra something. Something warm. It’s almost like having an orgasm before I have one. And I watch our thingy-things. Mine sliding in and out of hers. It seems closer than usual. My own private porn video.

It gets sillier. She’s on her back with both legs in the air. I’m facing the other way with my legs spread on either side of her. At least, that’s what I think we’re doing. I stare down under my own body and yes, we’re still fucking. We even slot it back in a few times when it comes out. Humans are so weird.

But it’s time to get real. Face-to-face with me on top. “I want to come tonight.” I haven’t come for about a week. I didn’t come during our last two fucks. I’ve gotten to like fucking without coming, fucking just to fuck, but I want to come tonight. Sometimes the longer we fuck, the harder it is. So I hope it’s not too late.

“What can I do to help?” “Fake an orgasm.” I’ve always told her if she wants me to come, that’s all she has to do. But it’s a tall order for her. She’s never faked one. She doesn’t even really know what she sounds like when she’s coming. She’s paying attention to other things. So she gives me more of a porn soundtrack. But it’s working. For both of us, by the sound of it. Is she still faking? “I can’t tell if you’re faking or not. No more faking.” “I’m not faking.” She’s not having an orgasm either, but she’s got her nice sounds of River being fucked and liking it going on.

It’s a hard bang now, my balls are warming up with impending orgasm, then I’m coming, pushing in deep, feeling her cervix get smashed rudely aside, holding still, feeling the subtle tickle of my load flowing up my cock then bursting into her, against her cervix, squeeze after squeeze. It’s a good one. Worth waiting for.

And I have something to ask tonight. “Will you drip on me?” I’ve never asked that before. But I want to see my load come back out of her. My own white goo dripping from her pussy. “I don’t know if I can.” She straddles me, her lovely labia hanging below her bush. She tries, but all she can get is a smear as she rubs her lips on my cock. “It helps if I pee.” Neither of us wants that to happen here, so we go to the bathroom and she pees and drips. “That was a big load.” “Thanks for trying.”

The worst fuck I ever had?

River and I were talking last night while I rubbed her back with oil. The topic of the worst fuck I ever had came up. And I told her my worst fuck or two have been with her, when she was non-participatory. Completely inert. Like fucking a blow-up doll. “I was never non-participatory!” “Yes, you were. A couple times when I said I’d do all the work.” Which means she gets to lie face down on the bed while I get hard and fuck her. “I remember saying after one of them that I think I know why some guys never called you back.” “Oh yeah. I remember. I suppose it’s fitting that I’ve been both your best and worst fucks.” “Easily the best.” It was a nice talk.

Cooking dinner, or, how does she put up with me?

I convince River to let me help cook dinner. “Ok, the first trick . . .” She bends over for something in the cabinet, her ass flesh filling out her jeans in a nicely shaped way. I have to feel it. “That’s my first trick.” Mmm, River ass. “Actually, my first trick is to wash my hands.” I turn the water on. “Careful, it’s hot.” “It can’t be as hot as the ass I just felt.” I don’t know how she puts up with me. If she talked about my ass all day long I’d feel like a sex object.

“Look. I’m cooking dinner! Isn’t that sexy?” She’s said it’s sexy when I cook, so she better say yes. “Yes.” “That’s why I’m always thinking you’re so sexy. You cook a lot.” Uh oh. Now I don’t feel sexy, so much as sexist, and that’s not sexy.

“Hey, we’re working in the kitchen together.” “Yeah.” “I like doing things in the kitchen with you! Did we get that new counter installed at the right height?” “Yes.” Did she catch my angle? She’s a little slow on the uptake sometimes. She just doesn’t naturally put things together the way I do. Would she even realize that last sentence has my usual sexual slant to it?

Happy mom and dad

It’s been at least three months since we last used the sex dice. For anybody who doesn’t know what the sex dice are, they’re a pair of dice we would roll after having sex to see when we would have sex next. They took a lot of pressure off me as the primary initiater and the primary rejectee, and I credit them as one of the things that helped me (mostly) turn my mood around last year.

So what have we been doing if we haven’t been using the sex dice? We’ve been having sex. Or as I prefer to put it, we’ve been fucking. River seems to be finding me more irresistible. We’re fucking a lot during the day, and she’s mastered the best way to put me off in the evening: “How about tomorrow morning?” I love a good morning fuck.

Like yesterday, when I spooned her, slotted my hard cock against her vulva, and she helped get it pushed into her. Then she fucked me on top for a while. Her running has increased her endurance for squatting over me and gliding her pussy up and down my cock. Her aim was a little off and I was literally bent out of shape while she slid on and started fucking. She hadn't had her coffee yet, or something. I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s aim is a little off sometimes. No orgasms, but I’m starting to like that. River’s always said sex is still nice without orgasms, and she’s right. After such a nice morning, I felt extra-motivated and got a lot of things done that I hadn’t been motivated to do for a long time.

And this morning. I woke up next to River, feeling her nicely shaped body against mine. My cock slid onto my stomach as it spontaneously got hard. “Good morning.” “Good morning.” “What are you thinking?” “Nothing.” “I’m thinking about this.” I roll between her legs and spread them, humping my cock against her slit. This morning I want to fuck as a fancy good-morning hug. But when I try to push in it doesn’t go. What was I just saying about aim? “Is that the right place?” “There’s a wing in the way.” She moves her labia aside and my cock slips into her. It doesn’t take long before I’m fully inside her. And we fuck. Slow and easy. Fast and vigorous. It’s a good morning.

She flips her leg over me, I roll one way, she rolls the other, and we’re in spoons. I love how her muscular ass feels against me. Another benefit of running. “Did you mean to leave it in?” “Yes.” “You’re sweet. But you know what’s going to happen now.” I push my leg against hers and push my cock all the way into her pussy, feeling her walls part and make way as my cock slides into place.

The sensations this morning are incredible. Maybe it’s because we didn’t finish yesterday. I moan involuntarily. Breathe in and out as my cock moves in and out. I could pass out, it feels so nice. “I’m practically having an out-of-body experience back here. This can’t possibly feel as nice to you.” “Why not?” “Because if it did you’d want to do this every day.”

We’re still fucking in spoons when our daughter comes into the room. Maybe not fucking so much any more, as relaxing with my penis in River’s vagina. We make room for our daughter to crawl into the bed with us. I'm still inside. It seems almost normal. She sees us spoon in bed all the time, only this time it’s a little bit different. I like to think we’re setting a good example of being happy mom and dad. I hope so.

Valentine's day

It’s Valentine’s day. River has a plan for a romantic picnic. I used to be romantic. Used to walk by her work on nice days and take her out to urban picnics in the park. I wonder what happened to me. Today she’s toasting tuna sandwiches with melted cheese, putting carrots and raisins and sweet potato chips and yummy strawberries in bowls. And something fizzy to drink. Not champagne. Canada Dry. What we call burp drink. We’re having a picnic in our living room in front of the gas fire in the afternoon. I put on some classical guitar music. It’s a clear day outside. It’s romantic.

She’s got on her soft sexy sweater dress. I’m guessing that’s all she’s got on. She’s definitely braless. The dress conforms to her shape in just the right way. I hope it feels as nice to her as she looks to me.

“I forgot one of the bowls.” “I’ll get it. What’s in it?” “Chocolate.” That’s important.

The sandwiches are delicious. The carrots are crunchy. The raisins are sweet. We take turns biting strawberries and grabbing smoochies. The chocolate is divine.

I’ve had glimpses. She’s not wearing anything underneath. I slide my hand up her thigh and park it on the outside of her ass cheek.

“You won’t want to hear this. I have to pick up the kids in eight minutes.” “That’s enough time.” “For what?” “To bang you in the living room.” “This strawberry has a petal on it. That’s cute.” “You’ve got petals, too.”

My fingers find her petals as she lies on her back in the classic position. I pull my clothes off. I’m halfway hard already.

She reaches down and stirs her clit. Is her wiring reconnected? Does she have one in her? My cock hardens fully as I watch her lips follow her circling fingers. I push a thumb against her opening, and a knuckle against her perineum. “I’m trying fast today.” “Am I distracting you?” “No.”

Anybody walking up on the porch will get a nice view of River fanning her fur while I sit between her legs with my erect cock in hand. The mail and UPS have already come. That just leaves neighbors and contractors. I don’t mind.

Surprisingly, it only takes a few minutes before she says “here it comes” and I move forward, position my cock, and push into her. It takes a few strokes for full lubrication then I’m fucking her in her orgasm like crazy, hard and fast, then slowing down and giving a hard push at the end of each stroke. Her orgasm keeps going and going. I feel one, too. I’m going to get it. I maximize the feeling of fuck for myself, which usually seems to do it for her, too. “My turn.” “Yes.” I bore into her as I come, hugging her, squeezing on her shoulders, almost hoping somebody is watching.

“When you fuck me in the orgasm they just keep coming. Again, and again, and again.” “That was a good Valentine’s surprise.” “And a speed record.” “For who?” “Both of us together.”

River's recipe for good sex: chocolate, strawberries, fire, painting, and love.

She puts on panties, drip protection, leggings, and goes to get the kids.

Dressing room?

“You’re a bad boy. Would you really do it in a dressing room?” “Well, yeah.” Who wouldn’t? “People aren’t as unobservant as you seem to think they are.” They’re not? So what?

We’ve been shopping at the mall. We’re both trying on clothes at the Gap. “Can we go in together?” I can’t believe she asked the salesperson that. I’m actually a bit flustered. “Sure, you can even have the big room at the end.” It is big. And the door goes all the way to the floor. It doesn’t go all the way to the ceiling but it has a deadbolt lock. I take a few pictures of River with my crappy cell phone but they don’t turn out well. I’m having body image problems and she’s trying to convince me everybody looks like crap in dressing rooms. Then why does she look so good?

At the next shop we’re looking for stuff for her. She goes into the dressing room by herself, then comes out and pulls me in with her. “Is that a hint?” “No.” She tries on some pants, makes me look at her butt in them, then pulls her panties down, waggles her ass at me for a second, and pulls them back up. How can I not want to do it. I want to squeeze my cock into her, right between her dark, fleshy lips, and fuck her. Stupid ED. I’m not remotely hard. “Is everything ok? Do you need another size?” No thanks, River is a very nice size.

And we’re leaving. Two seize-the-moment opportunities lost. “That might be about as close as I get to doing it in a dressing room.” That’s River talking. “I probably wouldn’t finish.” That’s me. “How long?” “Fifteen seconds?” Sounds like that might be too long for her. “Five seconds? In and out? Long enough to say we did it.” “If things were less busy, and the salespeople were less attentive, I might do it in a dressing room.” I smile. Just like River always says, there will be more opportunities to seize the moment. “Would you blog about it?” “Probably. Unless you didn’t want me to.” She might not.

Crappy little cell phone

River called today. I’ve got a crappy little cell phone but at least I know how to make calls and take pictures with it. I kind of like the aesthetic of the crappy cell phone pictures some times, especially when done lomography-style. I can even answer calls with it, especially from River. And I’ve even managed to give her her own special ring on my crappy little phone, but today my phone is on buzz. I don’t ususally answer buzz, but I do when it’s River.

“I want to fuck you later today.” I’m glad I answered. “I’m in an elevator.” I like the association of elevators and fucking. “Is anyone else in it?” “No.” “Too bad.” I’d love to be in an elevator with someone telling her sweetie she wants to fuck him later.

But I want to fuck her now.

I got to have sex and you didn't

“I got to have sex last night and you didn’t.” That doesn’t really seem fair, but I guess it works out. I get to fuck, she gets to sleep. It seems more than fair, with each of us getting to do something we like.

I did my typical 2am insomniac wake-up and wishing I could do River in the middle of the night. She’s recently given me permission for that as long as she doesn’t have to wake up early the next day. I love fucking in the half-asleep state. The amplification of the feelings, both emotional and physical, can make me feel like I’m going to pass out from pleasure. Even if in reality I’m just falling asleep. Reality doesn’t matter in dreams.

But I wasn’t getting hard enough at 2am and River was facing the wrong way for a proper snuggle and stick-in, so I got out of bed to do some other insomniac things like checking my email and writing. Fucking insomnia, feeding my compulsions.

For most of our relationship River has been the insomniac and I didn’t understand it. I still don’t understand it even though it happens to me now. Now it’s River who can fall asleep, and back asleep, in minutes while I can take hours.

When I come back to bed in an hour she’s facing the right way to snuggle but now I’m tired and fall asleep. I think.

But an erection wakes me up at 5am. I stick it between her legs from behind and let it ride against her vulva. She gets up to pee and as usual starts some gentle snoring a few minutes later while I periodically rub my cock against her bush to keep it hard and fall half asleep. I don’t need to fuck. Feeling my hard cock against her is enough.

Somehow my mind has changed. I work a finger between her lips. Slide the tip of my cock into her wetness. Push. Feel her push back. And start a gentle fuck to the rhythm of her breathing as she snores and I pass out from pleasure.