Monday, January 6, 2014

Living in Unreality

I know you're reading this. Dark-voiced stranger, bitter and dark like good chocolate, dark and sweet and bitter and good.

There's a writing shaped hole in my life. Maybe you can help me fill it. No, you don't have to do anything. Just be there, wanting me a little. Let my words be a letter to you.
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There are other friends I should be writing to, one dying of cancer, another of old age. Letters on paper would be the right thing to be writing tonight. I have dispensed with the right thing.

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The drugs I'm taking to keep myself panic-free have stripped me of the ability to orgasm, though arousal is possible. I used to fantasize about not being allowed to orgasm, so this ought to strike a kinky chord for me. I used to come over and over to the fantasy of being told I would never be allowed to come again. Like so many daydreams, it's better left in the realm of unreality.

Are you better that way, too, my dear?
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I saw my lover last week. I'd been staying away, not wanting to take what little sexual energy I have away from home, but it was his birthday, and I was in the neighborhood with an hour to kill, and honestly, I needed to feel something.

I wriggled my body underneath him and inveigled his cock into my mouth. Choking, suffocating under the blankets, I clutched at his ass, willing him to fuck my mouth. Stop trying to be nice: fuck me already.

And then we rolled over and I gave him the birthday treatment. And then I rolled him sideways and made him thrust into my mouth again. I didn't let him go down on me and I didn't come close to an orgasm but I felt energized and whole for a little while.

It seemed so simple and natural. I went to C's house and gave him a blow job for his birthday. I have to remind myself over and over again that my husband wouldn't see it that way. And you don't see it that way, either, do you? You see it with a mix of jealousy and love and regret and things I don't know. But not simply.

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I can't have orgasm and I can't visit the dark places where things are complicated. I'm experiencing medicated buoyancy, and everything is light.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

No spark

In my dream I was moving away, not to leave him, but to pursue other parts of my life. I thought sadly of the lover I'd also be abandoning.

In daily life, I'm trying not to move away. I keep searching for the spark. It could still be there somewhere. I try to maintain hope.

Despite my lack of attraction to my husband, we still used to have great sex. I'd go to sleep thinking, that was the best ever. And then, another night, it would be even better. So any excuses I have (and I have many) are invalid.

I do think he's lost the spark some, too. He's told me that his drive is much less than it used to be. We have sex because we ought to, maybe. We have sex because we need to, because it is an essential tie of our marriage. But half hearted sex does not fill the need, not really.

At the same time, I feel as close to him as I ever have. I've been emotionally needy, and he's been there for me. There's a depth to our connection I feel w/no one else. So maybe I worry about the sex aspect too much.

I know this is kind of a lame post. Probably that's all I'm up to these days. My spark has gone, after all.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Echos of Love Lost

I saw the love of my life last week on my vacation. Though that's not really what he is anymore, I guess.

He's the one I fell in love with so hard I nearly broke every bone in my body when I landed.

He helped me end my first marriage, and then nearly ended my second one.

I have a tattoo on my wrist inspired by him, and many more on my heart.

His is the cock to which I compare all others. He's the first man to make my knees weak, to make me crave his smell, to make me want to kneel and worship.

He was not subject to one of the many blowjobs described in my previous post. I didn't even kiss him. We held hands. I listened hard for the tiniest echo of the desire that once rang so loudly I could hear nothing else.

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The second night we hung out, I leaned on him. He slapped my knee when I made a joke. When it was time to say goodnight we stood by the side of his truck and hemmed and hawed. "Go home," I said, a hand on his chest pushing him away, but also, I knew, keeping him there. He bent his tallness over me. I could feel his breath on my forehead. If I looked up, he'd kiss me. I didn't look up. "Go home," I repeated, a hand on his wrist, pulling him closer. But then I stepped away. "Good night," I said, and walked away.

I was trying to feel something. I wanted to revisit the inescapable magnetic force field that once surrounded us. It wasn't there. As soon as I walked away I was glad. He loves the woman he's with and would have felt guilty about betraying her. I'm committed to never falling in love again with anyone but my husband.

The fact that I even risked renewing our obsession shows that the echo of  it still wields some dangerous power.


Sunday, August 18, 2013

Blow Jobs Great and Small

I've sucked a lot of cock in the past few weeks. Far more than usual for me. I'm losing count, thinking it over.

The queer boy. I didn't ask for hir story. Maybe ze is post-op? Whatever. No matter. There was a cock, somewhat small and inclined to floppiness, and I sucked it to the sound of moans and commendation and the taste of my stale spit.

The Craig's List couple. I wanted to watch, first. She went down on him and I found her clit with a finger, marveling narcissistically that even though it felt like I was touching myself, I couldn't feel it.  Their mouths were sticky sweet from diet coke and chewing gum, but when it was my turn, his magnificent dick tasted of warm flesh only and slid clean down my throat while she fondled my breasts and he fingered me to orgasm.

Complicated Lover, who has my favorite dick ever. Everything about him in bed is right. Why do I fuck anyone else when there's this? When I give him head I drool and slobber and lose my rhythm and probably bite. I mean, I've got no technique. He's too thick to swallow and besides the concentration that takes is impossible.

My husband. He'd just showered. I forgave a taste of salt and notched the tip of his cock into that spot in my throat that makes him groan He likes to keep his cock there, sometimes shoving my head down so I take it deeper but never slipping into my mouth to be sucked or stroked with my tongue. When we fuck, it's the same, he likes me to grind against him, and it's good, it makes me come. Giving head can make me come, too, with a little help, but instead he pushed his balls against my cheek and they were like used saran wrap, sticky and slick, and my desire died.

The Quiet Man, whom I've come to love. I enjoy the curve of his dick, which seems to send it exactly where we both need it to go. Sometimes the more I give him head, the softer he gets. I feel guilty. Not that I can't please him, because I know I do. I think he'll keep a hard on when he's with someone he can really open his heart to. He's waiting for true love, and I wish I could give it to him. Instead I give him tenderness and the best blow job I know how to muster.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Recriminations

I should have known it was over when they refused to move the meeting later so I could attend. When I called in at 8 everything had already been decided. All of my suggestions were shot down. "I don't know what you want from me," I said.

"We want you to think about whether this is really want to do anymore."

In other words, leave.

So I did, with minimal fuss. Because I could have fought but what would be the percentage? Revenge might have been nice, but I have no desire to destroy what I helped create.

I might even forgive them. Someday.

Monday, June 10, 2013

"I like you too much," I said.

He laughed. "I think you like me just the right amount."

Did I detect a note of triumph in his voice? A bit of gloating? Finally, a woman likes him uncontrollably, could even be falling in love with him. Finally a woman wants him more (maybe) than he wants her. The power dynamic is in his favor at long last.

I'm not frightened off by this. QP does not hate women, despite a lifetime of fearing their rejection. I'm happy for him to have this victory. I'm happy to be the one to give it to him. I believe he won't turn it against me.

And though I do like him more than is safe for me, I've grown adept at the balance of friendship and love. I'm keeping my footing.


Saturday, April 27, 2013

Imaginary Infidelity

I know a lot of people do it. I know it's ok to think about whatever you want during sex. It's just, I've never done it before, and it felt very different than I'd imagined.

My husband G and I were making out. He pulled me over so my nipple dangled in his mouth. He nuzzled and made that little snuffling moan I usually find so seductive. That night it just wasn't working for me. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want it to be him. So I imagined someone else.

I imagined it was Quiet Person, whose mouth I have yet to feel in such an intimate location. A tingle went through me. I closed my eyes and focused on QP's face looking up at me, QP's hands pushing my breasts together, QP's tongue making circles on first one nipple and then the other.

The tingle came again, more intensely.

G and I started fucking, and I pictured exactly how it would be if QP were underneath me. I imagined the sounds he might make, and my pussy quaked with desire. G was right there, but I was blocking him out of my concious mind so I could ride QP, slow and hard and on and on.

My orgasm was tremendous. I toppled forward and G held my head against his chest. I didn't want him there.

This infidelity feels worse than the ones where I actually AM with someone else. Kicking G out of his own bed -- out of his own fuck -- seems like a terrible offense.