Spent the whole weekend at the in-laws.
As expected, another sexless weekend. My in-laws live a couple of hours away in a new development full of old people. The neighborhood is uncharacteristically sandy, with some pebble-stone streets and newly installed faux European street lights, amplifying its already obsequious kitsch. They took the time and spent the money to renovate their pool and bought a hot tub three years ago, and that's pretty much the only thing that would convince me to go visit these days.
This trip was planned a few weeks in advance. Since D and I are still not talking all that much at this point, she made doubly sure that she demonstrated what she wanted to do over the weekend by loading up all her essentials into the car 24 hours in advance. We have two cars, and mine is a 5 year old Subaru Outback. It's really an ugly car, with a dusty dull green color and a hatchback that barely works. She picked up the kids on Friday, and I begrudgingly moved both child seats into my car. Those of you who have kids would know the awkwardness every time, as these torture devices are designed to barely squeeze through the car door in a conspiratorial way, and securing them can also be frustrating, especially with Henry fanatically complaining in repetitive verbal noises that vaguely resembled "out, get me out!"
D's parents are old school residents, and they've lived here for a long time. D's father, Ron, was a vet who barely avoided Vietnam by being a communications director working for the army. Even though he had a slight build and talked in a soft, barely audible voice, he boosted an extensive, ridiculous obsession with military things. He would often want to draft me into listening to his long diatribe against the current administration, mostly because of his belief that defense strategy had been unacceptably pathetic. Occasionally, especially when he had a few, he would talk about his sexual conquests when he was out of the country and stationed near Fiji, on an island whose name I can never remember. Most of the time, however, he along with her mother, are very much preoccupied with their grandchildren, and certainly do not pay enough attention to me for me to complain about it.
In the evening, the older and younger folks go to bed early, and I skinny dipped first in the hot tub then in the pool. The water in the pool was freezing, and it made me feel vulnerable and gave me a headache. The jets in the hot tub always had an erotic implication for me, though I truly did not have any energy to pursue such a massage on Saturday. I used to use that hot tub for that reason all the time, and it worked pretty well even over my swimming trunks, as the warm jets slowly massaged my swollen glans. It was always slightly too intense at the point of no return, and I would grab onto to the wall of the tub as the inevitable arrival of squeezing motion descended on me, and everything would tighten, then relax, then tighten again. A few seconds later, a few speckles of viscous threads would escape through the openings around my thighs and rapidly flicker out to the gutter with a moment of dance of the whirlpool. This Saturday night wasn't one of those nights. When I walked back to the bedroom, I was naked, D had her back to my side and the light was off.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
wife's work
D is extraordinarily busy lately. She leaves the house at 6:30AM and doesn't get back until 7:30PM at the earliest. I am in charge of picking up the kids from day care and making dinner, and though I am a pretty good cook in general I have been skimping lately, mostly ordering in pathetically bad-for-you options. Her conspicuous absence also makes it easier for me to write. Henry is at the age where he could sit in front of the TV for hours. His sister likes the big play area we have in the living room, with lots of plastic blocks and other noisy toys--her favorite is this green dinosaur that makes a squeaky sound every time someone hits it. I saw her biting it the other day. I saw a lot of aggression in her eyes, and I wonder if she got that from her mother or from me.
For a while I thought D being busy makes it easier for me to watch porn and take care of my business, but I was wrong. Children are demanding creatures, and once you have them you give up pleasurable things in your life, as part of that perpetual parental duty. Ironically I find myself doing it more at the bathroom at work and at gym, especially since cell phone signals are getting better and better. I don't particularly like it. Bathrooms are dingy and malodorous places, even the fancy ones at work, but I find that having that outlet of release makes me more content and satisfied with my life, which I don't really want to change in any way.
But there is always that sense of guilt every time afterwards. Like today, dick in hand, I was in the bathroom for all of 5 minutes when I heard a big thump and crying. Henry managed to fall off a dining room chair. The desire had all but retreated after I helped him up and used all my psychological wherewithal to stop his bawling. I wonder if this is the predicament of most married men here, this pathetic, anomic yet at times hilarious existence that defines us.
For a while I thought D being busy makes it easier for me to watch porn and take care of my business, but I was wrong. Children are demanding creatures, and once you have them you give up pleasurable things in your life, as part of that perpetual parental duty. Ironically I find myself doing it more at the bathroom at work and at gym, especially since cell phone signals are getting better and better. I don't particularly like it. Bathrooms are dingy and malodorous places, even the fancy ones at work, but I find that having that outlet of release makes me more content and satisfied with my life, which I don't really want to change in any way.
But there is always that sense of guilt every time afterwards. Like today, dick in hand, I was in the bathroom for all of 5 minutes when I heard a big thump and crying. Henry managed to fall off a dining room chair. The desire had all but retreated after I helped him up and used all my psychological wherewithal to stop his bawling. I wonder if this is the predicament of most married men here, this pathetic, anomic yet at times hilarious existence that defines us.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
play
That was a good night. I remember slowly unzipping her dress, feeling the silk strap of her push-up bra, with a subtle smooth texture that makes me throb. All erotic things ultimately become erotic because they remind you of that profound moment of entry, that smooth, unified feeling of reaching the bottom of all human ecstasy. Anything that resembles it provokes a repetitive relay of that sensation. Her nipples were a little more erect, poking through the thin layer of bra that I was about to shed for her. I kissed her neck, licked it, making some small dent of red marks.
The foreplay wasn't very long. I massaged her beasts with both of my hands as she put her hands in between my legs--that uncomfortable feeling of my khaki pants holding my expanding trunks in place, constricting its imminent aggression, how can I forget? I undid my belt buckles. That belt I still have, a thick brown one, a bit dressy and exposing my anxiety about the date in plain sight. I pulled down my pants and my underwear to my ankles, and my penis made that subtle skipping motion, at least that's how I'd like to recall it.
I remember that patch of water, the wetness, a dirty puddle, because I laid her on it. It was somewhere between a grab and a push, and she was so little and fragile, powerless to me, and I felt guilty about it. I rolled up her dress and pulled down her little panties, the color of which I've forgotten. I remember slowly going down on her, and inspected her for any signs of STDs. As I said, I have always been cautious. To my surprise, it was beautiful and had only a vague scent of woman-ness, which is a scent that always turns me on, though perhaps not appetizing to everyone, a mixture of smell of sweat, vaginal fluids and urine. She kept it clean and pink, and she was getting swollen and wet, absolving my worry that we would need to get additional lubrication.
As I slowly licked her clitoris, she moaned deliberately, started twisting her own nipples with her thumbs and index fingers, and closed her eyes. That rare and powerful sound came directly out of the depth of her throat and poured some gas on the flame in my groin. I took my time and let her do her thing and quietly enjoyed feeling my expanding and pulsating self exposed in open air in the cool summer breeze. When I lifted my head I remember seeing some fireflies flickering in the nearby bushes.
"Ah...fuck." I remember yelling out softly as I entered her.
As I moved slowly in and out of her, the tip of my penis started to emanate that strong sensual feeling of pleasure. I felt like I was losing it quickly, my sanity, my reservations, my reason, and I pushed my tongue forcefully down her throat, looking for some solace. Instead I found a certain almost spiritual moment of peace and emergence, as the unstoppable contractions began, and the raspy grunts came out of my throat. I felt my eyeballs rolling back and my ordinary being dying in a sensual bliss.
Of course, when it was over, I felt guilty again, as usual, mostly because as it dripped out of her I saw the evidences of my own lack of discretion. I felt some sadness inside of me welling up, followed quickly by that sense of equanimity. I remember somehow feeling less lonely. I remember thinking, hey if this is what being married is all about, sign me up!
The foreplay wasn't very long. I massaged her beasts with both of my hands as she put her hands in between my legs--that uncomfortable feeling of my khaki pants holding my expanding trunks in place, constricting its imminent aggression, how can I forget? I undid my belt buckles. That belt I still have, a thick brown one, a bit dressy and exposing my anxiety about the date in plain sight. I pulled down my pants and my underwear to my ankles, and my penis made that subtle skipping motion, at least that's how I'd like to recall it.
I remember that patch of water, the wetness, a dirty puddle, because I laid her on it. It was somewhere between a grab and a push, and she was so little and fragile, powerless to me, and I felt guilty about it. I rolled up her dress and pulled down her little panties, the color of which I've forgotten. I remember slowly going down on her, and inspected her for any signs of STDs. As I said, I have always been cautious. To my surprise, it was beautiful and had only a vague scent of woman-ness, which is a scent that always turns me on, though perhaps not appetizing to everyone, a mixture of smell of sweat, vaginal fluids and urine. She kept it clean and pink, and she was getting swollen and wet, absolving my worry that we would need to get additional lubrication.
As I slowly licked her clitoris, she moaned deliberately, started twisting her own nipples with her thumbs and index fingers, and closed her eyes. That rare and powerful sound came directly out of the depth of her throat and poured some gas on the flame in my groin. I took my time and let her do her thing and quietly enjoyed feeling my expanding and pulsating self exposed in open air in the cool summer breeze. When I lifted my head I remember seeing some fireflies flickering in the nearby bushes.
"Ah...fuck." I remember yelling out softly as I entered her.
As I moved slowly in and out of her, the tip of my penis started to emanate that strong sensual feeling of pleasure. I felt like I was losing it quickly, my sanity, my reservations, my reason, and I pushed my tongue forcefully down her throat, looking for some solace. Instead I found a certain almost spiritual moment of peace and emergence, as the unstoppable contractions began, and the raspy grunts came out of my throat. I felt my eyeballs rolling back and my ordinary being dying in a sensual bliss.
Of course, when it was over, I felt guilty again, as usual, mostly because as it dripped out of her I saw the evidences of my own lack of discretion. I felt some sadness inside of me welling up, followed quickly by that sense of equanimity. I remember somehow feeling less lonely. I remember thinking, hey if this is what being married is all about, sign me up!
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
the lake
There was a cool body of water near my college, not quite large enough to be a real lake, but that was what everyone called it. A couple of my friends from the area liked to fish there. The surrounding neighborhood started developing around the time I started college, and one development was an unremarkable little restaurant called "Ricky's." I still remember the name because Ricky Gervais reminded me of the owner of that place, when I fell in love with that show years later, and made a "that's kind of interesting" moment of synaptic linkage. Ricky's served mostly traditional American food, burgers, club sandwiches, etc. They had a period where they tried to revamp the menu to include more local food, and I liked the way they cooked their fish, but I doubt much of the yield came from the lake.
That was where I had my first date with Minnie, if I could call her that. I remembered it so well mostly because what happened afterward was one of the most intense sexual experiences I've had in my life. She picked me up from that small townhouse apartment. She drove a red American made car, Chevy or Pontiac, as everyone did around here, and my roommate laughed about the clear sexual role reversal when he saw her. Her car was a bit small and I felt a little suffocated in the passenger seat. We bantered a bit, and all I remembered was being strangely aroused the minute I stepped into that car. I really wasn't paying too much attention to what she was saying--a few details I don't even know if it was given to me then or sometime before. She was from a few states over in California. Her father was a dentist and her mother stayed at home. She had two brothers, and I eventually met one of them. She spoke with a certain slow, bewildering tone that was quietly sexual, and I remember distinctly that all I ever wanted to do was to grab her above and below at the same time.
Don't really remember what we had for dinner. After dinner we took a slow stroll down the lake. I remember it being very awkward until we reached a patch of mud, where I made my move. It wasn't very late and the sun was barely set. She took a good look at me and I kept quiet, and said "what?" As dull as I was, it was easy to grab her and kiss her. I kissed maybe a half dozen girls before her, and always marveled at the soft, fluid-filled texture of a woman's lips. But what struck me was how hard her tongue was, as it invaded me in an obvious passionate tension. I remember thinking, nobody kissed me like that before--what does she want from me?
That thought did last very long, and as I slowly touched her breasts with the tip of my fingers through her thin dress, I grew hard pretty quickly, a pattern that continues to this, when seeing a naked body doesn't necessarily turn me on but kissing it and touching it would make me feel that electric link from up here to down there, and that part of me become embarrassingly engorged and indefatigably yearning. The sense of touching is much more erotic to me than the sense of seeing. When that happens I often like to move closer, as I am taller than most women I have kissed, and I like to them to know that pushing right next to their pubis was my pulsating desire.
That night we did something pretty stupid. We had unprotected sex. I suppose she should've taken more responsibilities because of her age, and I always thought that I wouldn't be the type who would do things like that either, but it happened anyway. It was also the first time when I felt, after the sex, that I was falling deeply tangled into something emotionally viscus, like falling into a spider web, or stirring a syrup with a wooden rod. For a few days thereafter I was convinced that this feeling was Love.
That was where I had my first date with Minnie, if I could call her that. I remembered it so well mostly because what happened afterward was one of the most intense sexual experiences I've had in my life. She picked me up from that small townhouse apartment. She drove a red American made car, Chevy or Pontiac, as everyone did around here, and my roommate laughed about the clear sexual role reversal when he saw her. Her car was a bit small and I felt a little suffocated in the passenger seat. We bantered a bit, and all I remembered was being strangely aroused the minute I stepped into that car. I really wasn't paying too much attention to what she was saying--a few details I don't even know if it was given to me then or sometime before. She was from a few states over in California. Her father was a dentist and her mother stayed at home. She had two brothers, and I eventually met one of them. She spoke with a certain slow, bewildering tone that was quietly sexual, and I remember distinctly that all I ever wanted to do was to grab her above and below at the same time.
Don't really remember what we had for dinner. After dinner we took a slow stroll down the lake. I remember it being very awkward until we reached a patch of mud, where I made my move. It wasn't very late and the sun was barely set. She took a good look at me and I kept quiet, and said "what?" As dull as I was, it was easy to grab her and kiss her. I kissed maybe a half dozen girls before her, and always marveled at the soft, fluid-filled texture of a woman's lips. But what struck me was how hard her tongue was, as it invaded me in an obvious passionate tension. I remember thinking, nobody kissed me like that before--what does she want from me?
That thought did last very long, and as I slowly touched her breasts with the tip of my fingers through her thin dress, I grew hard pretty quickly, a pattern that continues to this, when seeing a naked body doesn't necessarily turn me on but kissing it and touching it would make me feel that electric link from up here to down there, and that part of me become embarrassingly engorged and indefatigably yearning. The sense of touching is much more erotic to me than the sense of seeing. When that happens I often like to move closer, as I am taller than most women I have kissed, and I like to them to know that pushing right next to their pubis was my pulsating desire.
That night we did something pretty stupid. We had unprotected sex. I suppose she should've taken more responsibilities because of her age, and I always thought that I wouldn't be the type who would do things like that either, but it happened anyway. It was also the first time when I felt, after the sex, that I was falling deeply tangled into something emotionally viscus, like falling into a spider web, or stirring a syrup with a wooden rod. For a few days thereafter I was convinced that this feeling was Love.
Monday, June 4, 2012
college sex
It occurred to me that I should write more about my sex life in college, which was not all that much, but nevertheless. After my first tryst that I told you about, I had a long period of involuntary abstinence. I lived in a dorm for the first two years, and the rooms were pretty small, and I remember long nights of myself jerking off to the flickering screen of my clumsy desktop. I learned a lot of techniques from online sources, and while I never considered my self a geek, I was an engineering major who was not part of a fraternity. It was a big school with lots of attractive girls congregating, and I had no game. I was still underage so I couldn't go to any of the bars on campus, and I had no car. The campus was in the middle of a small college town that emptied up during the summer. I went home for the first summer, but for the second summer I stayed behind to work for a local company as a quantitative analyst for their corporate development division. The internship paid pretty well, enough for me to get a moderately attractive used car. It was also where I met my first girlfriend.
She was 3 years older than me. She was a couple of years ahead of me at the company, just graduated college and working in the marketing division. I ran into her at a company function. It was very awkward that someone who was a full-time worker would approach me, who was clearly younger and insecure about his role in the hierarchy. The company was a regional powerhouse, and had a very conservative culture, and I remember wearing a pretty ugly department store suit at this particular party, while she was wearing a stylish red dress that was made out of a shiny material that I couldn't name. She looked substantially older than most of the college girls that I knew, yet her skin was impeccable. She walked over with a glass of white wine in her hand, and said, "I've never seen you around."
It was gutsy for her to approach me like that. I was at least 5 inches taller than her and a lot heavier--I put on some weight eating unhealthy cafeteria food. She asked me where I was from and so on, and told me that we should hang out and work on this particular project. This didn't make any sense to me because the project itself was unrelated to what I was doing. While I remember some bits and pieces of the conversation, what I really remember was the moment I realized that she was interested in me, and while I was still making conversation I started paying closer attention to her body. I could see her beautiful curves plainly in that dress, and when I looked into her eyes I was thinking about running my hands down her smooth back, over her buttocks, grabbing them and simultaneously feeling that tight grasp when I was inside of her. That is often my thought when I meet an attractive woman, that feeling of smooth, moist tightness around me. Because she was so small, I also had these images of grabbing her and moving her up and down, on top of me. I distinctly remember my own fantastical images, feeling that uncomfortable expansion in my groins, a sense of slight embarrassment tinged with longing, and that almost involuntary clench that tightened my groin muscles and produced some pre-cum on my underwear. I hope she didn't notice the change that happened inside of me. It's interesting how these details come back to you when you write about them. It was a very uncomfortable pair of pants.
It was the middle of the summer and the A/C was full blast, but I was sweating pretty heavily. I made an appointment to see her--an idea came to me while I was fantasizing: the lake. I told her about it but apologized about not having a car. "I'll pick you up," she happily obliged.
She was 3 years older than me. She was a couple of years ahead of me at the company, just graduated college and working in the marketing division. I ran into her at a company function. It was very awkward that someone who was a full-time worker would approach me, who was clearly younger and insecure about his role in the hierarchy. The company was a regional powerhouse, and had a very conservative culture, and I remember wearing a pretty ugly department store suit at this particular party, while she was wearing a stylish red dress that was made out of a shiny material that I couldn't name. She looked substantially older than most of the college girls that I knew, yet her skin was impeccable. She walked over with a glass of white wine in her hand, and said, "I've never seen you around."
It was gutsy for her to approach me like that. I was at least 5 inches taller than her and a lot heavier--I put on some weight eating unhealthy cafeteria food. She asked me where I was from and so on, and told me that we should hang out and work on this particular project. This didn't make any sense to me because the project itself was unrelated to what I was doing. While I remember some bits and pieces of the conversation, what I really remember was the moment I realized that she was interested in me, and while I was still making conversation I started paying closer attention to her body. I could see her beautiful curves plainly in that dress, and when I looked into her eyes I was thinking about running my hands down her smooth back, over her buttocks, grabbing them and simultaneously feeling that tight grasp when I was inside of her. That is often my thought when I meet an attractive woman, that feeling of smooth, moist tightness around me. Because she was so small, I also had these images of grabbing her and moving her up and down, on top of me. I distinctly remember my own fantastical images, feeling that uncomfortable expansion in my groins, a sense of slight embarrassment tinged with longing, and that almost involuntary clench that tightened my groin muscles and produced some pre-cum on my underwear. I hope she didn't notice the change that happened inside of me. It's interesting how these details come back to you when you write about them. It was a very uncomfortable pair of pants.
It was the middle of the summer and the A/C was full blast, but I was sweating pretty heavily. I made an appointment to see her--an idea came to me while I was fantasizing: the lake. I told her about it but apologized about not having a car. "I'll pick you up," she happily obliged.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Comments
Again I want to urge you to leave comments. Blogging is by definition an interactive process. Please let me know what you think. Anonymous comments are completely ok. I know you are reading it. Let me know what you think of it.
here we go again
I couldn't deal with it anymore last night. D still would't do it, so I had to take things into my own hands. It was around 11PM. I scrubbed myself clean and walked buck naked downstairs into the living room. I looked around for anything interesting to play with, and saw some magnetic clips on the fridge. I took a couple off and clamped my nipples. Immediate turn-on. It's a hard to understand this connection--as I slowly stroke the very tip, it becomes a little erect, and a warm sensation flowed down up deeply into my pelvis.
I suppose I could get caught, but who cares? Everyone has blocks of time everyday when he is by himself, and this I am sure is the kind of perverted thoughts and acts he does: if he is not playing video games, he is playing with himself.
I always like looking at myself becoming bigger and bigger. When I first discovered, around 8 years old, that it could change in size inordinately delighted my curiosity. I cleaned it over and over, as every time I cleaned it, it got bigger, and after a moment it shrank again. I thought maybe it just wanted to be really really clean. I took a bucket from the bathroom and filled it with warm water, and dunked my little penis into it, and felt my body relaxing and time slowing down.
The living room was dark. I sank into the black leather couch with resignation. It had a mind of its own, and even though I felt a little guilty and a little pathetic, it resolutely, like a king, wanted to be pleasured with impunity. I felt like using my middle finger of my left hand to softly brush behind my sac, a slight tender motion, and a nasal moan. I closed my eyes and images of tits and other pink things scattered, like neon billboards flashing by on a busy highway. I could almost hear the loud, lascivious moans, sounds that were produced for no reason other than to titillate. Pleasure arrived pretty quickly in waves and I didn't hold out, except I squeezed a few times, feeling it moving up and down with each squeeze, and the seminal fluid flowing up my sacrum, trying hard to jump out. I let it go, and feeling the enormous contractions taking over my whole body, and clenched my teeth. A low pitched noise came out of my throat. I felt like an animal that bled all over the floor.
I suppose I could get caught, but who cares? Everyone has blocks of time everyday when he is by himself, and this I am sure is the kind of perverted thoughts and acts he does: if he is not playing video games, he is playing with himself.
I always like looking at myself becoming bigger and bigger. When I first discovered, around 8 years old, that it could change in size inordinately delighted my curiosity. I cleaned it over and over, as every time I cleaned it, it got bigger, and after a moment it shrank again. I thought maybe it just wanted to be really really clean. I took a bucket from the bathroom and filled it with warm water, and dunked my little penis into it, and felt my body relaxing and time slowing down.
The living room was dark. I sank into the black leather couch with resignation. It had a mind of its own, and even though I felt a little guilty and a little pathetic, it resolutely, like a king, wanted to be pleasured with impunity. I felt like using my middle finger of my left hand to softly brush behind my sac, a slight tender motion, and a nasal moan. I closed my eyes and images of tits and other pink things scattered, like neon billboards flashing by on a busy highway. I could almost hear the loud, lascivious moans, sounds that were produced for no reason other than to titillate. Pleasure arrived pretty quickly in waves and I didn't hold out, except I squeezed a few times, feeling it moving up and down with each squeeze, and the seminal fluid flowing up my sacrum, trying hard to jump out. I let it go, and feeling the enormous contractions taking over my whole body, and clenched my teeth. A low pitched noise came out of my throat. I felt like an animal that bled all over the floor.
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