Wednesday, May 30, 2012

how does this work

I was watching TV, and D came by and whispered to me, "I want to fuck your brains out."

It was 1AM.  I was very tired, so I went to take a shower.  When I walked into the bedroom I saw her beautiful naked body lying on newly washed satin sheets.

"I warmed myself up for you," she said.  In her hand is a 3 inch long pink vibrator that shaped like a little penis that she bought a while ago.  She claimed that it made it easier for her to cum during sex, which was  already frequent enough to me without it.  She closed her eyes and slowly moved the vibratory buzz up and down her flesh, seemingly absorbed in her own pleasure.

I climbed on top of her and started kissing her shoulder blade.  She opened her eyes and looked down, and said, "you look like you aren't very turned on tonight."

"I'm really tired," I flustered, "but I just need some time."

"That's ok.  I am really tired too.  I just need to sleep."  She glibly skipped back into the bathroom to take her birth control and wash her face.

I felt lonely and out of control.  I squeezed my nipples a bit and grabbed myself and gave myself a few good tugs, and unexpectedly it grew in size and became engorged.  Maybe she will get on top of me and ride me for a bit so I don't have to move too much, I thought to myself sarcastically.  I imagined doing it doggie style, and not seeing her face might make it easier for me to not think about what exactly had been going on between us while losing control over my involuntary contractions.

In her bathrobe, she leaned against the door frame and said in a surprising voice, "oh, you got yourself warmed up."

"Wait, I thought you wanted to do it."

"Well that was before.  I thought you didn't want to do it.  Now it's too late, and I have to get up early tomorrow."

Alright.  I smiled uncomfortably.  The pale of silence dropped between us as she turned off the light.  I wonder if she could sense my anger.  I wonder if she would care.  She always falls asleep so quickly.  I stumbled back into the living room.  Feeling my testicles full of fluids, I needed a release.  I was naked and rough with myself, and it came out suddenly and in a somewhat terrifying way, as if I was in a sustained electrocution with that addictive, volcanic quality of oozing.  I squeezed a few more times to let the last drop fall squarely on the brand new linoleum floor that we installed a few months ago, and wiped it off, miffed, with a large piece of paper towel.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

without my kids

Things are not going too well with D.  She took the kids with her and went to her parents house on Memorial Day without me.  She called twice over the weekend, once for me to pick up the groceries and the other time to do some paperwork for some investment that we jointly own.  Her voice was emotionless and strained, and she seemed exhausted.  I don't think her parents have ever been particularly helpful with the kids.  I tried to engage her in a conversation, because I wasn't even sure that she was angry because of me.

"I don't really want to talk about that right now."  That has been a pretty frequent response these days.

Over the weekend I had no sex drive whatsoever.  I watched some porn: xhamster is always my favorite, and I find that I often get turned on by amateur porn.  I always think that the best sex is between one and someone he loves, if not for the fact that the subjective experience of love gets you away from all the inhibitions.  I have been an avid Internet porn consumer since the early 1990s, when the best you can get is newsgroups.  I remember sitting at the computer at my school's computer lab, all the way in the back corner, and looking at these pictures and getting hard.  Back in the days they never checked who logged on and when, and I was therefore never reprimanded.  My parents later warned me of the dangers of looking up porn at work, as an elderly gentleman got fired at my father's firm for porn hunting with the company's computer.  

"They gave him 2 hours to clean out his shit," said my father sternly over a bowl of chilly, "he got two paper boxes."

I remember going to the bathroom at the library, and jerking off furiously fantasizing over the sketchy, evanescent memory of the photos.  Sometimes I would have a couple of more elaborate fantasies, stories of pillage and seduction, begging, power struggle, themes and reflections of my deepest insecurities.  Coming back to the computer station, I was always flushed and a bit paranoid, wandering, trying to figure out if anyone had figured me out.  Nobody had.

D came back last night, and was pretty satisfied that all the housework was done.  I cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed.  I was allowed back into my bed at night, and the summer has become scorching in my part of the country.  The backyard looked parched and I didn't feel like doing anything about it.  I mused over the work that needed to be done with the pool and the deck furniture.  After dinner, which I cooked out of the ordinary, I poured myself a big glass of whiskey and pulled out a dining room chair to sit outside.  I sucked on a cigar for a while.  D didn't want to talk so I stayed outside alone and watched the evening sky turned azure, then purple, then tinctured with handful of blinking stars--it was cloudy.  My two-year-old toddler briefly waddled out to the pergola and tried to have a conversation with me, but he couldn't get me interested.  I wonder how he's doing at daycare.  The baby is quiet today.  She has always been the good one, and doesn't need nearly as much attention as her brother did at her age.  I wanted to take her portable swing out in the backyard but D said it's still too cold at night and she'd catch a draft.  I didn't feel like arguing with her.  I am not sure what's going on with my marriage.  I'm scared that it might be getting close to the end.

Friday, May 25, 2012

big fight

I just had a big fight with D.  I'm in the living room now and she's in the bedroom.  I don't even know what this is all about.  The kids are asleep.  I don't know what I'm going to do.  It's only 10:30PM and it sure looks like I'm not gonna get any tonight.

I guess I just didn't want to see her parents this weekend.  It's a long weekend and I wanted to rest and be at home, writing long and barely comprehensible run-on sentences on my blog, instead of spending hours bantering with her pretentious father and neurotic mother.  Is this really so out of ordinary?  I needed to hide this diary from her.  Yesterday she saw me typing into my iPhone and asked me, "what are you writing?"  Maybe she saw the "sex" in the title in big letters.  I lied to her.  I said it was for work.  Why did I lie to her?  Why can't I just tell her straight: I am not getting enough from you so I am venting to the web, because at least I have an audience there, listening to me masturbating to practically everything.

Whenever we fight she just says "I don't really want to talk right now."  She storms into the bathroom, puts on her bathrobe and ignores me.  We never raise our voices to each other--look at us, a nice, college educated, well employed couple who have lots of friends in the area and barbecue on weekends.  It is Memorial Day after-all.  Two cute little kids, well-behaved, no trouble whatsoever at day care.  And look at us, our sex life, twice in the past two months.  Sometimes, like right now, I am so angry, and I look at myself, my aging, wrinkling body and I feel so alone.  Nobody understands because I drive an Infinity and have a 4 bedroom house.  I smile and I watch sports.  People just assume that I don't have feelings because I have a beer gut even though I go to the gym and I work on my Powerpoint whenever I have time off.  I have feelings.  I have lots of feelings.  I really want to yell at someone all the time but I can't--I am Mr. Nice Guy.  I am a reasonable, quality husband and father.  I am your next door neighbor.  I don't gamble.  I don't have a gun.  I shoot some hoops in the backyard.  That's all I get to do these days.  I haven't even bought a decent pair of sneakers for years.  And my own wife would not appreciate me because I dared showing some hesitation driving 5 hours to see my decrepit yet self-aggrandizing in-laws.

So I beat off.  I abuse myself.  I do it over and over and watching every kind of ridiculous porn I can get my hands on.  Because what else can I do?  I suppose I will have to apologize to her a little later and crawl pathetically back into our bed, because she would want me to and she would want a warm body next to her.  I can't yell at her.  She's the only thing I've got and I'm terrified of losing her.  Absolutely positively petrified.

I have that vision of myself, 50 lbs heavier, sitting in a pile of my own excrement, inside a dirty, dingy apartment--no, a motel room, divorced.  A dirty canvas couch, grime on the wall, stained carpeting.  Nothing would be left.  Maybe I would just beat off, eat a slice of pizza, beat off some more, vomit... and that would be my life.

I am gonna grab a glass of Bourbon.


Friday afternoons are my obligatory time at the Starbucks.  It's a little one sitting quietly down that strip mall 5 minutes from my house.  I like to drive home a little early on Fridays, because things are often slow at the office.  I get to the Starbucks and order a tall vanilla soy mocha and take out my laptop and check my E-mail and read the newspaper and occasionally write my blog.  This is one of those days.

The Starbucks isn't very full.  It's mostly suits--men like me who are working diligently in a city that just recently expanded because of the arrival of a couple of coastal financial houses.  They live here, often with a couple of young children, just like me, with their smart phones that have the family photo as the screensaver.  Occasionally there are a few attractive women there, though they aren't usually very young. People from my parts are still attached to the old school values, and more than a handful of men have their wives stay at home and care for the children.

One of those ladies today was sitting at a corner table with her son, a beautiful toddler with blonde curls and blue eyes.  I myself have always been a little jealous of blondes, that whimsical eastern European blood in me boiling with a frequent and physical inferiority complex.  I watch the slightly plump woman tending to her son and wondered what it would be like if I did something violent to her.  I occasionally have these violent thoughts, which sometimes disturb me, but my old therapist told me that intrusive thoughts are normal things as long as I realize that all of us have them and none of us, save a few, would act on them.

I imagine myself tying her up in long leather belts.  She's naked.  She's lying on a large soft pillow top bed--itself wrapped up in a plastic cover.  Her hands were grasping at things involuntarily.  Her wrists were tied up to the bed frames--a bit rusty.  It was a dark, damp, dusty basement in a suburban house.  My house, maybe, where all my old furnitures are stored.  Her mouth was stuffed with my socks.  My dirty, sweaty, smelly socks that I just took off.  She is struggling a bit now and making muffled noises, but her red lips are still as titillating as ever.  I climb into the bed, slowly unbutton her translucent skirt, and a couple of smooth round sweet things jump out at me, and I squeeze them really hard.  I bite down on them.  She squirms a little.  Her feet are kicking.  I slap her hard, and her lips start to bleed and she stops kicking.  I slowly slip her panties down.  It was black and silky.  I lick her slowly, deliberately, listening to her failing miserably in holding her moans.  I put my finger into it, feeling that moist warmth inside.  I am still in my office gear, and I decide to take her right then.  I unbutton my pants, pull off my underwear and direct myself straight at the depth of her and push onward.  I roll up my sleeves and grabbed her ankles so she can't struggle.  I hold her legs up high so I can penetrate her as deeply as possible.  I feel the tightness and the squeezing motion.  I curse a few dirty words at her.  I can already feel the tide of pleasure coming up higher and higher--I know I wasn't going to last very long and suddenly through that flood gate I give into that fall, into an abyss, and I wake up.

My imagination makes me erect for a few minutes, and my underwear is stained with a few drops of clear liquid.  I see her smiling at me and saying hi to me.  I reciprocate the courtesy.  I wonder how much she knows and how much she would want to know.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

my first time

Hmm.  My first time.  What do I remember about that?

It was in college.  It was a beautiful campus.  Lots of trees.  It was sometime in the spring--I was up in the north and I remember it as a rainy night in sophomore year, slimy and moist, but not very cold.  I was in a band, and sometimes I would make up little songs and sing them under a tree, sitting on grass, and that's how I met her during freshman year.  My voice was not very pretty but I was a good guitarist.  My father insisted on me learning it, having grown up in the bluegrass region.  Guitar and fixing cars, those were the two loves of his life, and even though he tried to teach me how to fix cars and I can deal with minor issues, I never really loved doing it much.  I met her during freshman orientation, and she loved sitting next to me to listen.  I was going through a religious phase, getting gung-ho about my daily prayers, participating in the campus Christian organizations and we just talked and talked.  She was an atheist and didn't really care much about Jesus, but I was drawn into discussions with her about god and faith, and sometimes sex.

She had a boyfriend then, and even though she had a great ass, the rest of her wasn't terribly attractive.  I was pretty bogged down by freshman year, planning on becoming an engineer and suffering through the prerequisites.  She was never girlfriend material in my mind, but gradually we talked more and more, often about my troubled dating life and my yearning for true love.  I was tall and muscular, and was on the crew team--I guess a lot of girls told me that I was attractive--but I always felt really awkward with women, and as hard as it might be to believe, I never even kissed a girl during all of freshman year.

I thought about getting a hooker, and being a virgin at 19 was an unbearable shame.  Thinking back, the incongruence between my sexual desire and the strict, Byzantine religious teachings was pretty jarring in my subconscious.  I lied all the time to people about the girls that I supposedly slept with, even though I felt pretty insecure about sex in general, and especially my lack of any experience.  I was joined a fraternity the second half of freshman year, and spinning that tale was the only way for me to fit in.

Nevertheless, with all the booze and burgeoning internet porn, I didn't really care if she liked me or not.  That night I invited her over to watch Star Wars, because I hadn't seen it yet and it was such a classic.  I remember the smell of her perfume, some kind of summer flower, very clear and somehow befitting the gaudy orchestral score.  My room was on the small side, and an enormous TV was stuffed squarely into the middle.  I remember seeing her watching that movie and wanting to lick her from top to bottom.  I don't really know which part of me was driving my desire but I made a move, and kissed her, and all of the sudden I was really hard and we were groping each other.  I remember grabbing her small, barely post-pubescent breasts, and was in awe of such small things giving me so much pleasure.  I took off her panties.

"We need a condom.  I'm having my period."

Luckily I bought a few condoms months ago.  Sometimes I use condoms to jerk off when I want to fall asleep immediately and don't want to clean up.  But that night when I tried to put it on it went soft.

I remember still my heart pounding.  I remember her whispering softly to me, "it's ok."

I wasn't ready to give up.  I tried and tried, with my hands, with her hands, and it finally got to the point of penetration, and I gave it a shove.  I remember her moan as a soft, sustained decrescendo, "aah..aah.aaaaah~~"  And a few seconds later, it came out, without my consent, without an inkling of pleasure, my heart pounding still.  I pulled it out, dumped the condom, and surveyed the damage.  Fear and guilt was overwhelming.  Would she get pregnant?  Did she have an STD?  Why did she do this?  Would we have to be married at this point?  But I wouldn't date her.  I couldn't.  Was I the biggest jerk in the world?

"I'm trying to figure out if I should like you more or less," she said.  "Less, of course," I retorted lugubriously.  I couldn't date her.  She was too ugly for me.  

After she left, I sent her a long E-mail explaining to her why I couldn't see her again.  She called bullshit on me, as expected.  She was not dumb.  I late found out that it was her first time too.  I remember dumping the bed sheet because of a few bloody spots.  That summer she left for a study abroad program.  I haven't spoken to her since.  I've heard that she became a lesbian and now lived in Hong Kong, but I don't know.

i'm pathetic

I spent hours watching porn and jerking off last night since D wasn't home.  This morning I slept right through my 8:00 appointment.  I really need a porn detox.

Monday, May 21, 2012

my sexual awakening

D wasn't my first.  I am starting to doubt that she would be my last.  I was a late bloomer.  I couldn't find the right girl to go to the prom with, so I went with my skinny, tall friend from gym class.  Nobody thought she was terribly attractive, but I just wanted to go and see.  I got a nice little pink corsage and I still remember driving her to that place--the backside of some mega-church, a big ball room full of parents and no alcohol.  I thought it was cool even though deep down I knew it was a sad, lonely place that sat at the boundary between my adolescence with my adulthood.  My date danced with me, made fun of me, hugged me, and kissed my face.  I remember not shaving that night, thinking a little bit of stubble would make me look more masculine, but it was probably not true.  

I remember going back into the car with her.  We kissed passionately.  We licked each other's tongues.  We grabbed onto each other, two lonely souls braiding for that cold spring night.  I fondled her breasts and moved my kisses downward, her neck, her collar bone.  I pulled off her bra and licked her nipples.  I still remember her beautiful small nipples--smaller than D's, but tender and erect, with their wrinkles, exposing themselves ruthlessly with that extreme texture, their bare essence of sensitivity, in my mouth, massaging my lips.  I remember being so hard, so ready to let it all out, and giving myself up to that feeling of heat and sacrilege.  

I remember her pushing me away.  She pulled herself together and told me to take her home.

I remember being in that empty car.  She waved me good bye.  I remember feeling lonely and crying, even though I didn't think that she was necessarily the one for me.  I remember driving into a dark, quiet corner in a neighborhood park, parking under a dense canopy.  I remember the moonlight, and I was bawling.  Then I jerked off.  I pulled off my tuxedo and came all over the dashboard. Pathetically, it was my father's car.  I cried some more after that, wiped it off with my handkerchief and drove home.

I never told anybody and I don't expect anybody to understand.  That was how my adolescent ended, with a rejection and a whimper.  I never talked to her again.  

A request for comments

D is away this week at her folks with the kids. Thank god! Well I ask you my dear readers to post some comments about what you want to hear about other than my perverted fantasies. I have all the time this week to write.

Sunday, May 20, 2012


Finally a reprieve! D was lying in bed wearing her delicate little black nightgown, and winked at me. "Do you want to fuck?". She reminded me of Nicole Kidman in that movie, Eyes Wide Shut, with something slightly sinister about her. I was worried about the kids. After all, they could wake up. But I just couldn't care much anymore. Taking her gown off revealed two perfectly sized, round, gorgeous things, and when I squeezed them slightly she squirmed a little, then moaned softly, which was a huge turn on. She reached under me and grabbed me, and I felt her warm hand. I started biting on her nipples. Just a little bit, a little harder. "Aw," she said, "you have to be gentle." I moved downward, toward her beautiful, pink luscious place. She made a long, melodic sound.  It was heavenly.

Her skin was so soft. I love feeling her thighs up and down. As I went down on her my mind started to wonder again. I have this habit of thinking about irrelevant things when I do that. Cars, food, other women, sports, etc. Sometimes I even go soft a little because of that. It's not that I don't love eating her up, I do. It's just that there is always something mechanical about that aspect of sex that is only pleasurable to one person, and it's almost work. This makes me not want to have her go down on me for very long, because I dread that thought that she might be thinking about other men while going down on me. On the other hand, I suppose I don't care about that much.

As I entered her, I still appreciated every time how smooth and soft and warm and wet it felt, and it always amazed me what a perfect fit the two of us shared. Well, evolutionary forces pushed toward maximizing pleasure. As I moved in and out, I felt that amazing pleasure first near the tip, then gradually extending to the entire shaft, floating gently throughout the pelvis. I felt the seminal fluid climbing, up and up, slow, gliding into the back of my perineum. I couldn't help myself. I bit her, squeezed her, grabbed her legs. I fucked her hard. It has been three weeks. I finally ejaculated when she jumped on top of me. My legs were parted in a lotus position, and her bottom could touch my balls with every move. I love that position. Sometimes I can't control myself in that position and just come instantly when she rides me. But tonight it was different. I was slowly savoring every bit of that moment. Sometimes the pleasure was so intense I curled up my toess.

Fuck, this was it. I could feel that it was a big one. It went all the way down deep inside of her. Three seconds later she erupted too, amazing. And it was only 15 minutes.

I love how efficient we have become.

Thursday, May 17, 2012


One of my superiors is a woman in her late 40s.  Once or twice a week she gives an office presentation.  Her presentations are pretty boring, but she is quite attractive for her age.  Likely she was frankly stunning when she was in her 20s.  Her hair is now graying, but her body is still taught, with nice curves.  Whenever she speaks I end up not hearing her, and my mind wanders. I think about what it would be like if I was with her, somewhere nice, somewhere with green grass and wildflowers, and sunshine.  I turn and look at her, and suddenly she notices the tension--our eyes meet.  Then I simply grab her and kiss her, and tear her $500 charcoal gray jacket apart with my arms, and keep going at it until it was standing bare, her skin showing some signs of aging.  I would then push myself deeply into her, and listen to her shut up about whatever it is she wanted to say, and simply cry out in pleasure, in pain.

As I sit in the chair I would feel myself getting hard, and smile a bit inside.  I am looking at her still going on and on, and her loyal ass-kissers in the audience making a few clever remarks here and there.

I would pump her up, ride her, on top of her, grab her wrist and manhandle them, no matter how delicate they are.  They are pinned on top the grassy soil, as I assault her, over and over again, and bring her to the inexplicable peak of pleasure, and eventually dump every drop of my power in her, as she shuts up helplessly underneath me.  Then I take myself off of her, stand up, naked, towering over her, eclipsing the sun.  I spit on her, and I feel the suffusion of pity and joy simultaneously as I see her lying on grass, wanting more.

The meeting is over.  We better go back to work.

shower fun

Pornography.  The modern technology's little peccadillo.  There is even a book for married men sex detox, detailing a 12-step way to be freer of porn and closer to god.  But really, what is the point of spiritual blueballs when you can find a release on your own?

"I can't do it tonight.  I have an early presentation tomorrow."

That is what I hear every night.  A man's gotta take care of himself.  I took off my T-shirt and underwear and stepped into the shower.  I looked at my shrived manhood, feeling a moment of profound envy at a youth that quickly swooshed by, like the warm, leisurely jet coming out of the brushed nickel shower head, spiraling into the dark drain hole.  Suddenly I was inspired.  I pulled the shower head out of the mount, switched it to massage mode, and aimed the faster, more focused spray directly at the back, above the frenulum, like a laser beam, and a soothing warmth rose from within my pelvis.  I let my mind wander, thinking about pink, soft, slippery things, and me on top of her, ravishing her.  I squeezed my nipples with my left hand, feeling the sensation somewhere between pain and pleasure.  I felt the muscles between my legs tighten involuntarily and moaned softly with pleasure--am I taking too long to shower?  Will she hear me?  I bet she doesn't care anyway.  The pleasure built up slowly, but definitely, in waves after powerful waves, and suddenly reached its apogee and with a series of cataclysmic contractions.  Yet and again.  Me and myself.  Live together, die alone.  I quickly rinsed it off the tiles--the advantages of doing it in the showers--waited a few minutes for the tumescence to resolve itself and dried myself off with a towel.

Perhaps I will sleep better tonight. 

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Sexless night

Another sexless night.  After putting the kids to sleep, D jumped into the bed buck naked.  She engulfed me with her silky smooth body, and I can feel myself harden and a cloud of warmth rising from deep inside my loin.  But she was too tired, she said, and so was I.  She would have a bad dream and we would not want that.  Alas, perhaps this weekend, if we drive somewhere nice and the sitter can spare us a day.

Now I'm up drinking a cup of coffee.  The sitter's not here yet and she is already gone.  As I write these things down I feel the desire again, but it's a workday.  There is no time.  I need to get the car started.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Morning routine

I see her every morning at work. She is maybe 35, blonde, pretty but in a non-threatening way. I see her across the big conference table and I imagine her naked, taking each layer off slowly, first her pink velvety sweater, then her graphic t, finally her large cups, and me fondling her big round nipples. Then I imagine myself sucking on her nipples. Often time would pass by quickly when I let my mind go free like that. It was hard otherwise to listen to the same inane drivel everyday. She once invited me to her birthday party, even though she knew I was married. I wonder what she wanted from me. I was tempted to go, but I supposed I would have needed to bring my wife with me.