Author: jackandjillcpl

What We Did Instead

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We were planning to Skype with a really hot couple on Friday night.  They’re Twitter friends, we’ve been chatting with them for months, and this was to be our second time camming with them.   We’d scheduled it a week or so in advance, and we were all really looking forward to it.  We even got a babysitter for a few hours, something increasingly necessary given our daughter’s unreliable sleep schedule.

A minor medical issue on their end curtailed our Skype fun shortly before it was to begin.  While it was disappointing, we understood completely.  There are no guarantees, and the health and well-being of our friend was our main concern.  However, this development did leave us with a bit of a dilemma, namely what was to be done with our evening.

We had a couple options.  We could cancel the babysitter and save it for our inevitable Skype reschedule, or we could keep the babysitter and return home for a little off-camera fun.  We ended up keeping the babysitter, partially because our daughter was excited about the prospect of playing with her grandson, who was staying the night.  The real tragedy is that we’d already eaten dinner.  It would have been great to have gone out to a nice dinner, just the two of us.

After we dropped off the baby, we came right home.  We had plenty of time, but we knew it would go fast, especially since we were hoping for a shower and a nap in addition to the sex.  As we pulled into our space in the parking garage, Jack suggested that we fuck right there in the car.  We do this sometimes, even though we can easily go upstairs and do it in the privacy of our own home.  Sometimes when Jack’s parents are staying with us we tell them we’re going out and then have sex in the car.  And I would have gladly gone down on him at the very least, but some people were unloading a truck parked in a nearby space.  We decided to just go upstairs.

We left a trail of clothing from our front door to the balcony, and were naked by the time we stepped out into the night air.  It was chilly, not so cold that it was uncomfortable, but pleasantly breezy.  Jack pushed me against the wall, and I braced myself with my arms.  He knelt behind me, holding me by my hips as he lowered his face into me, lapping noisily, lasciviously, at my slippery lips.

Waves of pleasure cascaded over me as his tongue found my clit.  At the same time he moved one of his hands between my legs, inserting two fingers.  I arched my back, allowing him greater access, and he slipped in a third.  My moans were loud and excited.  There was no way to hold back now.  As he pressed down on my G-spot I imagined myself exploding, soaking Jack’s mouth and face, my wetness dripping down his arm and splashing all over his bare chest.  It turned me on.  But I didn’t want his fingers to make me cum.

“Fuck me,” I implored him.  In seconds his fingers were replaced by his wonderful, thick cock.  No sooner had he entered me than I came, his first thrusts triggering a mind-blowing orgasm that made me scream the sounds of my pleasure against the quiet of early night.  I could feel myself gush with the force of a ruptured dam.  I imagined my juices clinging to Jack’s balls, dripping down his legs.  I gripped the wall, riding every intense second of my orgasm.  And when it was over, he kept right on fucking me.

I listened closely for the tell-tale signs of Jack’s approaching climax.  Sometimes I feel his body tense up.  Other times he tightens his grip on my hips.  Still other times he pulls my hair.  And while I enjoy noticing those cues, this time I really wanted to hear him.  His breathing changes, or else he’ll just tell me he’s close.  When that happens, I know I have to move quickly.

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, I’m cumming.”  He pulled out, and I quickly whirled around.  I found myself face to face with his cock, the head red and swollen as he beat it furiously in a tight fist.  His moans rivaled my own as my mouth engulfed him, swallowing first his length, and then each spurt as it shot past my gag reflex and straight down my throat.  He made no attempt to stifle himself, his hands holding my head until he was spent.
Afterwards I licked him clean for good measure, noticing that he was fragrant with the scent of my earlier eruption.  I love tasting traces of myself on his cock, and briefly lost myself in a fantasy in which I was tasting not my own pussy on him, but someone else’s.

We came inside and took a warm shower.  As we dried off, Jack checked his phone.  We still had a couple hours before we had to pick up the baby.  He asked me if I still wanted to try and catch a nap.  I had different ideas, and we spent the rest of our alone time sitting beneath a blanket in our camping chairs, drinking hot chocolate and listening to the quiet.

-Jill

Formspring Friday: Mouth Magic

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What is your single most important tip for giving oral sex? The one thing that you think makes you great at giving. Also, what’s the one tip you would give a partner to get you off?

Jack’s Answer

Oral sex is one of my favorite things ever.  Not just to receive – though I certainly do enjoy receiving it – but also to give.  Going down on a woman is one of the most intimate, sexually exciting activities I can think of, but it’s also a lot of fun.  Getting up close and personal with her pussy is exhilarating, as is listening to her breathing and verbal cues as she approaches orgasm.  And the orgasm itself is most definitely the icing on the cake.

My most important tip  for giving oral sex?  That’s a tough one, because every woman is different.  What works for one person will not necessarily work for another.  In fact, one of the most exciting things about oral sex, or for that matter sex in general, with a new partner may very well be figuring out what works and what doesn’t.  Rather than listing a specific “move” that may or may not do the trick, I suggest learning what your partner enjoys, and what leads to orgasm, and do that.  Never leave her (or him, even) unsatisfied, even if that means moving aside and letting your partner take care of things.

The one tip that I would give a new partner who is determined to get me off is not to be afraid to use your hands.  That is not to say that I require hand usage, or even that it will necessarily make the oral sex better.  In fact, when being deep-throated, hand usage is pretty much impossible.  But in general I find that stroking and sucking together rarely fail to get me off.

Jill’s Answer

I love giving oral sex.  I have always admitted to being submissive, and I know that for many women giving head is a submissive act.  But while I love being on my knees, looking up at Jack wide-eyed as he feeds me his hard cock, and I love feeling his fingers tugging on my hair as he fucks my throat, there is something about giving head that is, for me at least, very dominant.  When I’m sucking cock, I usually feel like I am in total control.  Not always, though.  Sometimes I don’t want to be in control.  Sometimes I want to have control taken away from me.

My single most important tip for giving oral sex is to pay attention to your partner.  When I give Jack head, I notice that he gives off subtle cues, such as the sounds he makes and his body language.  Sometimes he is more vocal, and tells me exactly what he wants, or how much he enjoys what I am doing.  But other times he has to really concentrate on the pleasure he is receiving, and the only feedback I get is feeling him tense up and listening for changes in his breathing.  Fortunately, I have a lot of experience giving oral sex, especially to Jack, and I know exactly how to respond to these cues.

As for the one tip I would give a partner in order to get me off, it’s difficult to narrow down, but the main thing that never fails to make oral sex a memorable experience for me is when Jack (or whoever) gives me long, slow licks all over my pussy.  I enjoy having attention lavished on my clit, but that’s not the only spot that is receptive to stimulation.  As I get excited and react to these long, slow licks, I want the pace maintained.  I try not to react too much because I don’t want Jack to change the pace.  If it slows down or speeds up too much, it can throw me off and I have to get used to the totally new rhythm.  On the other hand, I want him to know that it’s working.  If I say, “Just like that”, or “Don’t stop”, he knows not to vary his pace or change what he’s doing.  If the pace does change, I can usually compensate by moving my body in sync with Jack’s tongue.

If you want to ask us anything, drop us a line on Formspring, or use the handy Formspring widget on the right-hand side of our blog.  We like sexy questions!  To see who else participated this week, visit Twitter and search for #FormspringFriday!

The Naughty Hangout: A Beautiful View

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The main theme at The Naughty Hangout this week is “Vista”.  According to Dictionary.com, “vista” refers to “a view or prospect, especially one seen through a long, narrow avenue or passage, as between rows of trees or houses.”  I think this shot fits the theme perfectly.  It also qualifies for the secondary theme, “Heights”.  

Go see who else is being naughty this week!

-Jill

Wicked Wednesday: The Reception

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They met in the coat room.  He pulled the door shut behind them as she stepped out of her light brown platform heels.  They had precious little time before the champagne was opened and the celebration began.  
They spoke no words before getting started.  There was no idle chit-chat, no “I can’t wait to hear your speech”, no “I’ve wanted this for so long.”  They both had, of course.  Though they’d known each other only a short while, the attraction was strong.
Their kiss was brief, neither one wanting to waste the few minutes they had.  Their hands met at his zipper, both trying to lower it.  He let her handle that, and unbuckled his belt instead.  Soon his cock was in her hand, raised to steel hardness by her touch.
“You got a condom?” she asked.
He grunted, still enjoying her manual ministrations, and took his wallet from the pocket of his slacks.  He withdrew a condom before replacing his wallet, and began to tear open the foil.
“Want me to do that?” she asked, taking the condom from him.  She placed it between her lips, then lowered her mouth onto him, taking care to unroll the condom slowly to squeeze out the air.  He stifled a groan, then watched her bobbing up and down.  He could have enjoyed this pleasure all day, but they had to get moving.
He pulled her to her feet, turned her around, and pulled up her long, billowy dress.  She wore a tiny black thong beneath, the material smooth against his fingers.  Holding the dress in place with one hand, he slipped the other into her panties, feeling her warm flesh as he began to slide them down.
Her hand joined his.  “Yeah,” she said breathlessly.  “Just take those off.”  The thong slipped to her ankles and she stepped out of it.  He put both of his hands high on her hips, keeping the dress bunched up at her waist, and entered her, feeling her slick wetness as she swallowed him up.  He filled her completely.
She moaned, less from the considerable physical pleasure than from the release of tension.  The anticipation of this moment had dogged her every move for months, and seeing him in his tuxedo that morning made her wet.  She had longed to be this close to him, to have him so deep inside her.  He, on the other hand, was sure that the sound she made was caused entirely by his member.
She leaned against a counter as he moved inside her, bracing herself against the force of his thrusts.  Each motion brought his cock up against her G-spot.  She leaned her head back toward his, and they exchanged a precarious kiss, tongues lapping at one another because their lips weren’t close enough to touch.
“Fuck me,” she said, even as her climax was beginning to envelop her.  Her voice was merely a whisper.  He tightened his grip on her hips and thrust even harder, moving faster, feeling himself sink even deeper than he had before.  Her moans were passionate, energetic, and erotic, and the sound filled his ears with arousal the likes of which he couldn’t have imagined.
As she came, he felt her contract, squeezing his own orgasm out of him.  He filled the condom, then slowly withdrew.  He dropped it into a wastebasket near the door, then zipped and buttoned his slacks and buckled his belt.  
He opened the door a crack, and peeked out.  She protested, as she was only now putting her thong back on.  He could see into the hall; the guests were all seated.  On the other side of the lobby, the wedding party stood in line, bride and groom standing in front and waiting to be announced.  
“We’d better hurry,” he said, opening the door wide for her.  
She stepped into her heels.  “All right, stud,” she said.  “Let’s go celebrate.”  

This week’s prompt:  Celebrate

Wicked Wednesday

TMI Tuesday: June 5, 2012 – Think kink!

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From the kinky mind of Cara Sutra.
Jack’s Answers

1. What’s the kinkiest thing about you, either mentally or physically? 
For me, sex is ideally a social activity.  Don’t get me wrong, my sex life with Jill is amazing, easily the best I’ve ever had.  But my incessant desire for variety means that throwing a few other people into the mix – whether just watching and being watched or actively participating – will result in good times.

Cheapest joke of the week.
2. Do you have any fetishes? If so, what are they? 
I don’t know that I consider it a fetish, exactly, but I am attracted to women’s feet.  I’m not so attracted to feet that I require seeing them in order to achieve arousal or orgasm, but I’d say that a woman with nice-looking feet turns me on nearly as much as a woman with attractive breasts or a firm ass.  Beyond that, I don’t believe I have any other fetishes, certainly not toward inanimate objects or specific sexual practices.  Shoes?  Nope.  Cross-dressing?  No.  Leather?  Uh-uh.  Bondage?  Nah.  
3. Have you ever been spanked? Did you enjoy it? Tell us more… 
Yes I have been spanked.  No, I didn’t enjoy it.  The circumstances involved me misbehaving in some fashion:  Typical childhood stuff like stealing cookies or telling lies.  Though the specifics are lost to time, I’m pretty sure that my mother, and not my father, was the one who administered the actual spanking.
4. Have you been tied up, or tied someone else up? Did you use rope or  restraints? 
I’m certain I’ve never been tied up, though I can vaguely recall being handcuffed by someone (not Jill) during sex.  Clearly the experience wasn’t particularly memorable, and I want to say that it only happened once.  I actually have no problem being handcuffed or otherwise restrained by a woman for whom such submission is a turn-on, provided I trust her.  But I don’t get much out of it.
5. Would you classify yourself as more dominant, submissive, a switch or entirely vanilla? 
I’m more dominant than I am submissive, though I can be somewhat submissive if the situation calls for it, or if it’s requested of me.  I don’t think I’m sufficiently submissive to qualify as a switch, and I’m definitely not vanilla.

I’m not even crazy about vanilla ice cream.
6. What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done? 
Same-room sex, possibly?  Yeah, it’s not all that wild in the grand scheme of things, but given that Jill and I are equal parts exhibitionist and voyeur, it’s something we enjoy on the very rare occasion that we can make it happen.
7. Have you been to a BDSM club? What was it like? If not, would you ever go to one? 
We have been to a BDSM club, specifically Power Exchange in San Francisco.  It was a fun experience, and we’d definitely return even though it wasn’t the kind of experience that completely satisfied our voyeur and exhibitionist tendencies.  For starters, a more equitable ratio between males and females would have been nice.  Rather than rehash the specifics, you can read all about it here.
It was a lot like this.

8. What’s your favourite fetish item or implement? 
Does my cock count?
9. Favourite kinky clothing material? 
I’m going to go with silk.  Or maybe lace.  I’m not so kinky that I associate clothing with kink, even though I’m aware that leather and latex, for example, are common.  If I had to pick a favorite, though, it’d be something a bit more traditionally feminine.  Silk and lace are two fabrics that I associate with Jill’s panties.
10. Thigh boots – love ‘em or hate ‘em? 
I love thigh boots on Jill.  She looks incredibly sexy wearing them, and I think they give her a lot of confidence.  True story:  The day she got them, we were out shopping together.  She showed me the boots and asked if I thought she should get them.  I asked her what she’d wear them with.  She told me nothing.  I bought them for her.
Now that I think of it, these don’t quite reach her thighs.
11. If you’re kinky, who knows about it? Do you tell people or is it a closely guarded secret?
Several of our friends know that we’re kinky, though very few know the extent of our (relative) kinkiness.  Generally speaking the friends who know are those we feel we can trust implicitly, as discretion is very important to us and we wouldn’t want Jill’s parents, for example, finding out that we enjoy fisting.
12. What are your personal limits? 
There are a lot of things that don’t turn me on, but which I would at least consider trying if Jill wasn’t into it.  Fortunately, our sexual tastes seem to align nicely.  My limits include anything involving pain, because that’s simply not something I am interested in receiving or inflicting; and poop/pee play, because that totally squicks me.
13. What’s your safeword and why did you choose that one? 
Our usual safeword is “harder”.  When things get too intense for Jill, she simply says the safeword and all activity stops.  As you may have guessed, it can get confusing.
14. Which fetishes do you just really not get?
See #12.  
Bonus:  Complete this sentence:  To me, Fetish, Kink and BDSM means…
Isn’t fetish some kind of Greek cheese?

Wocka wocka!
Jill’s Answers
1. What’s the kinkiest thing about you, either mentally or physically? 
Probably my attraction to my sister-in-law, something I mentioned in last week’s TMI Tuesday.  This is my brother’s wife, not Jack’s sister.  She’s fun, sexy, and statuesque, with blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and not only a sexy, tight ass that I envy, but a luscious pair of D-cup breasts that I’d love to get lost in.  She’s also a great dancer, as she regularly proves at family weddings.  Speaking of which, she was one of my bridesmaids at my own wedding, and I got to watch her change into her dress.  So.  Hot.  I’m pretty sure she is unaware that I want to have sex with her, though I suppose it’s possible that she follows our blog and is reading this, has figured out that the co-author is her husband’s sister, and has determined that she is the sister-in-law who is being discussed. 
2. Do you have any fetishes? If so, what are they? 
Not really.  I have quite a few very prominent turn-ons, but none of them are fetishes as I understand the term.  If you have read this blog for awhile, you can probably say them along with me:  I like to be watched.  I like watching others.  I like to be tied up, blindfolded, and spanked.  

I also like breakfast in bed.  Jack, how about it?

3. Have you ever been spanked? Did you enjoy it? Tell us more… 
Did you read #2?  Because I’m pretty sure I answered this one there.
4. Have you been tied up, or tied someone else up? Did you use rope or  restraints? 
I have been tied up.  We have never used rope, but since the sash of my bathrobe is always close at hand (and because I’m not particularly interested in explaining rope burn to my colleagues, students, and the parents of my students), we use that.  We have also used handcuffs and thumb cuffs.
5. Would you classify yourself as more dominant, submissive, a switch or entirely vanilla? 
Although I can be dominant if the mood strikes me, I am mostly submissive.  I absolutely love being on my knees, looking up at Jack as he fucks my throat, his hand tangled up in my long brown hair.  I love it when my face is pushed down into the mattress and my hands are cuffed behind my back while he fucks me from behind.  I love being manhandled and moved from position to position by a pair of strong hands.  Whew!  Gotta change my panties.
6. What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done? 
Probably have sex in front of a crowd of masturbating onlookers at a BDSM club.  
7. Have you been to a BDSM club? What was it like? If not, would you ever go to one? 
Once again, this question has already been answered.

8. What’s your favourite fetish item or implement? 
There’s honestly not all that many to choose from!  We have a lot of sex toys, but no paddles, floggers or clamps or anything.  At the risk of sounding terribly vanilla, I think my favorite item is probably our handcuffs, but only by default.
9. Favourite kinky clothing material? 
It’s a toss-up between leather (which is what my super sexy thigh boots are made of), or silk (which is what some of my favorite lingerie is made of).
10. Thigh boots – love ‘em or hate ‘em? 
I get the feeling you’re not actually reading any of my answers, as I have already answered this question above.  In case you can’t tell, I love my thigh boots!  They’re fun to wear, and I feel sexy in them.  I love the looks I get when I wear them out in public, and more than anything, I love getting fucked when I’m wearing my boots and nothing else.
11. If you’re kinky, who knows about it? Do you tell people or is it a closely guarded secret?
Except for a few extremely close and trusted friends, our kinky side is a closely guarded secret.  Most of the people we know casually, as well as virtually everyone in our respective families, presumably have no idea that we’ve been to a sex club, that we have invited more than one individual into our bedroom, or that we maintain a blog for the purpose of sharing very intimate details of our sex lives.

They are also unaware of our penchant for cosplay, but that’s another story.

12. What are your personal limits? 
As I mentioned before, I’m okay with being tied up or restrained, blindfolded, and spanked.  I’m not into electric current, choking, wax play, blood play or anything that breaks skin, rape or simulated rape, watersports or coprophila, bestiality or anything involving children or any partner who is unable to give consent.  As far as swinging goes I enjoy threesomes and monogamous group sex (also known as same-room sex).  I am really into the idea of light swapping including oral as well.  As far as full-swap goes, some days it’s something I really want to do, as there are a lot of guys I fantasize about and who I’d like to think I would have sex with given the opportunity (with Jack’s blessing, of course).  On the other hand, some days I just can’t get past my vows.  Stupid Catholic upbringing.
13. What’s your safeword and why did you choose that one? 
Our BDSM experience is so limited that we don’t really need one.  If I’m tied up and I tell Jack to untie me, he knows that it’s not part of the scene, and that I really need to be untied.  When I’ve been restrained in the past, the absolute lack of movement was a concern, as it’s not something we do so often that I’m totally used to it.   The only thing we do regularly for which a safeword might be a good idea is fisting.  Fisting is something that requires a very deep level of trust, and which is very intense both physically and emotionally.  A good fisting session can leave me in tears and shaking uncontrollably.  But even when we’re fisting, no safeword is required.  That’s a good thing, because I usually can’t speak when I’m having the kinds of orgasms that result.  Jack is so in tune with my body, and pays such close attention to my movements and my sounds, that I know I’m in good hands.  Or rather, that I have good hands in me.

Kind of like this.

14. Which fetishes do you just really not get?
I don’t get the very intense manner of flogging that results in breakage of skin.  I guess I understand that for some it is a sexual release like any other, and I don’t judge consenting adults doing what they need to do for their own satisfaction.  But deliberate harm isn’t really my thing.

Accidental harm, though?  Huge turn-on. 

Bonus:  Complete this sentence:  To me, Fetish, Kink and BDSM means…
…whatever you want it to mean.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

I Can Be Pretty Clueless When It Comes to Women

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Seen on Etsy.

I know what you’re thinking:  Really?  Jack, the guy who comes across like he’s got all the game in the world, doesn’t get women?

First off, slow down.  I never said I don’t get women.  (But sometimes I don’t; they’re extraordinarily complex.)  What I’m referring to specifically is my occasional inability to read a signal.  This deficiency doesn’t affect me as much now as it did when I was single.  Being happily married, I don’t find myself on the receiving end of signals from available, interested women every day.  I notice them when they do occur, and I am generally intrigued, though given the nature of my relationship it’s not something of which I am generally able to take advantage.  The irony, of course, is that being married affords me the clarity that allows me to read signals – something I didn’t always have in my single days.

I’m a pretty straightforward guy.  I always have been.  I value honestly, and I never cared much for the games society requires one to play when dating.  If I liked someone, I would tell them so.  If I had a good time on a date, I would probably call the other person the next day, rather than allowing for some arbitrary post-date waiting period.  Maybe that eagerness killed off promising relationships before they had the chance to get off the ground, but if being in a relationship required me to change who I am as a person so as to better conform to what was expected of me, I was usually content to hold off until I found a more suitable partner.

It is this straightforwardness that is partially to blame for my occasional inability to read a romantic or sexual signal.  If someone thought I was attractive, it would have been a lot more expedient for them to simply say so, rather than perform some manner of complicated interpretive dance.  I understand that some people – for the purposes of this post I’m talking about women, though I am not implying that this does not apply to men – are afraid to take a risk lest they be rejected, or are unwilling to be completely honest about their sexual desires for fear that they will be judged.  But the fact is, not every man knows what to do with a signal of interest when one is thrown their way. This has certainly been true of me at various points in my past.

I’d actually forgotten about this phenomenon, this wealth of missed opportunities, until I was chatting with our friend Nastassja Kinky, and she mentioned having “a huge blindspot” when it comes to reading signals from flirty people.  Suddenly I was reminded of several instances, most of them during my college years, in which I missed a signal, and with it the opportunity for relatively effortless sex.

Don’t get me wrong, even then I was more than capable of reading a signal under the right conditions.  But in my younger days – think age eighteen, newly arrived at an institution of higher learning, surrounded by attractive, sexually-available women, and completely at the mercy of my overacting hormones – asking me to focus on body language and other subtle cues was like asking me to stay awake during my 8:00 AM class.  Simply put, it wasn’t happening.
During my first semester in college, I found myself participating in a group project with three other students.  One was a fairly attractive blonde woman of nineteen.  We knew each other from high school where she was a year ahead of me, though I don’t believe we spoke to each other more than twice.  Our desks grouped into informal circles, this young lady was seated across from me, and I noticed that when we spoke she maintained eye contact.  Her face was warm, more than friendly.  She didn’t hold eye contact with the other two students in our group as long as she did with me, and I found that promising.  
I also noticed that she got very fidgety everytime we spoke.  She would play with the hair scrunchie she kept around her wrist.  She would drum her fingers on the top of her desk.  She would touch her face or rock slowly in her seat.  These subtle movements seemed to betray the confidence she demonstrated in holding my gaze, but at the time I did not understand their significance.  
A few weeks after the project had wrapped up, one of the other students in our group asked me if there was anything going on between her and I.  When I told him no, he posited that she liked me, as she was throwing off very obvious indicators of interest.  It turns out that fidgeting is a common means of releasing tension, including sexual tension that occurs during flirting.  Unfortunately, when I failed to follow through, she’d lost interest and presumably found some other guy to date or just fuck who knew how to read a signal.  Lesson learned.
When I was twenty years old, an old friend of mine returned home during her summer break from school.  She and I had known each other since we were seven years old, and while high school didn’t find us as close as we were during elementary school, we still considered ourselves good friends.  During her visit, we hung out and got caught up on the previous couple years.  Remember, this was the mid-nineties, and social networking was in its infancy.   Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter were years away.  Although we both used email, for some reason we weren’t regularly emailing each other.
We also went out several times.  I say “went out” to indicate that we turned off the television and actually left whichever house served as our meeting place.  We went to the movies.  We hung out at the mall.  We went to the beach.  I must state for the record that at no time did any of our outings take on the connotation of a date.  We each paid our own way.  There was no romance, nor was there any intimacy or closeness beyond that of two friends.  Sometimes we would call mutual friends to join us.  There was no good night kiss at the end of an evening out.  There was no pressure; we were simply two individuals spending time together, one of us male and the other female.
She also mentioned her tongue stud several times.  The first time, it was just the usual mindless, boring, getting-to-know you chit-chat: 

So what have you been up to so far this summer?

Oh, not much.  Sold my books back, booked my flight home, got my tongue pierced, put my car in storage and flew home.

With each increasing mention, she was a bit more forward, and it was obvious that she was coming onto me.  Sorry, let me rephrase that.  It’s obvious now.  At the time, not so much.  This is easily the case of missed-signal obliviousness of which I am the most sheepish, even some sixteen years later.  In fact, when she and I ran into each other at a party in 1999, I was embarrassed at my earlier failure to get a clue.  She didn’t mention it.

You know that a tongue stud is really good for oral sex, right?

Yeah, I saw Pulp Fiction.  So what?

So why did I miss this particular signal?  I’m guessing that a major reason was our long-standing platonic friendship.  Because of the fact that, while we were in elementary school, we attended each other’s birthday parties, had dinner at each other’s houses at least once a week, and played Transformers in her enormous backyard, I assumed that she didn’t view me as a possible sexual partner.  I knew that sex was a potential friendship-killer, and it didn’t occur to me that she could have been as capable of emotionless sex as I was.  
As I mentioned above, when it occurred to me that I missed out on the chance for some head (at the very least), I was stunned.  Oh, and she eventually told me.  She eventually said outright that she was giving me signals.  She wasn’t upset; she was more amused that I didn’t reciprocate.  I pleaded ignorance, and told her that, due in part to our friendship, I wouldn’t in a million years have thought that she was scoping me out in that fashion.  Lesson learned.  I’m just going to say it, guys:  If a woman makes repeated mention of her tongue piercing, she may be willing to suck your cock.
Oh, and she had a boyfriend at the time.  So there was also that.
Some years later, there was a grad student with whom I was friendly.  I’d known her for a year or so, as she had been a T.A. in one of my classes.  She was a couple years older than me, which probably made her twenty-four or twenty-five.  She was pretty, bespectacled with black hair usually tied back in a pony tail.  We’d talked on several occasions, and we seemed to have a lot in common, notably comics and movies.  At the time, I was content to consider her a friend, especially given that I was dating someone semi-seriously.
That’s part of the reason why I missed her signals.  They weren’t overt signals, really; sometimes I’d be hanging out in the cafeteria or on the quad with a few friends.  She’d come up and say hi, and despite the fact that she knew some of my friends it was clear that she was saying hi just to me.  I didn’t realize this was a sign of interest, and in fact I’m not sure I even noticed that she was only addressing me.  But my friends noticed, and once again it took an unbiased male to bring to my attention exactly what was happening.  
As previously stated, I was technically unavailable.  Though you might not believe it, I wasn’t the sort of guy who was constantly on the prowl for other women.  Therefore, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to realize that she was interested in me.  This actually happened a lot while I was in a relationship; actively dating someone usually boosts one’s confidence, and regular sex takes away some of the urgent “I need to get laid” desperation.  Both of these factors increase a man’s sex appeal.  Therefore, attached men are frequently flirted with, whether they realize it or not.
After my friend brought to my attention the grad student’s behavior, I observed for a couple weeks, and came to the conclusion that he was right.  She and I hooked up a couple times when I was single.  Unlike my old elementary school friend, however, she was most definitely not capable of separating love and sex.  Which sucks.
I’m not clueless solely when it comes to reading signals sent by single women.  In my mid-twenties I missed an opportunity to have a threesome with a married couple.  I’ve blogged about this incident in greater depth, but suffice it to say that the same social constraints that caused me to overlook opportunities with the aforementioned single women also led to my being a spectator while two of my friends had sex, even though they were open to more.  Look, they didn’t make an actual verbal invitation, and I didn’t want to get my ass kicked.
In conclusion, misinterpreting or overlooking a sexual or romantic signal is something that happens to most of us at one time or another.  There’s a very fine line between being so clueless that you miss an obvious overture, and being so clueless that you see one when it has not been made.

Sinful Sunday: Diamond Jubilee

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As this week marks the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II, the theme of Sinful Sunday is Rude Britannia.  In keeping with the theme, we visited a British-themed inn and pub here in Northern California.

 They’ve got not one but two double decker buses parked outside.
Apparently one is the pub’s designated smoking section, while the other is for…video games? 

 Jack wishes they had the TARDIS instead of this telephone box.
It’s not a mailbox, it’s a postbox.

 Jack points out that you can see the reflection of my legs in the hubcap of this taxi.
See who else is being sinful at Molly’s Daily Kiss!

Peeping

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My heart pounds with excitement and anticipation as I crouch beside the door.  I’ve been waiting for this a very long time.
I peer into the keyhole, feeling cold metal against my face.  I see the shower curtain pulled shut, and I imagine Ginger behind it.  I picture her shampooing her hair, and soaping up her body.  I imagine that her full breasts are covered with bubbly lather and in desperate need of a warm hand.  I imagine standing behind her, my hardness right up against her as my hand settles into the warmth at the junction of her thighs.  
I imagine Ginger standing before me, her full, pleasing breasts pressing against my chest like vine-ripened tomatoes.  I picture her hand closing around my erection, stroking it in a tight fist.  I fancy that I can taste her lips and tongue against my own, that I am aware of our hearts beating in unison.  Speaking of heartbeats, my own continues to pound.  Mentally I will it to slow down, to hush, lest my voyeuristic tendencies are discovered.  
I imagine Ginger kissing down my neck, along my shoulder, and down my chest.  I picture her pausing long enough to draw my sensitive nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue all around it before continuing on her way.  In my mind she drops to her knees, kissing down my stomach and finally wrapping her lips around my throbbing, eager cock.  For a moment, I lose myself in that little fantasy, wishing desperately that it is reality.
At last the water is shut off.  My heartbeat thunders in my chest.  The anticipation is almost too great to bear until at long last the shower curtain slides open, revealing Ginger in all her radiant glory.  Naked, she is truly a sight to behold.  Her curves are exquisite, the sum total of her every beautiful inch no less than a masterpiece of feminine beauty.
She reaches for a towel and begins to dry herself.  As well as the sight, I enjoy the voyeuristic thrill of observing her in a vulnerable moment.  My cock pulses and palpitates in my jeans, straining at the material as though threatening to bore its way free.  I lower a hand to it in the hopes of calming it down.
Ginger turns to face the door.  Her eyes focus on the doorknob.  I freeze, my heart leaping in my chest.  She can’t possibly know I’m there, can she?  She can’t possibly see my eye through that tiny hole.  I can’t tell whether she’s caught me.
“All right,” she says at last.  “You’ve had your little thrill.  Now are you going to come in here and fuck me or not?”
She’s so accommodating. (451/500)
Behind the Scenes
There was no new Flash Fiction Friday prompt this week.  When I complained on Twitter that I was having trouble coming up with something spontaneous to post in its place, GingerBlackfox suggested that I take inspiration from a recent photo she posted.

@jackandjillcpl write something inspired by my latest image and the word “Hush” please?
— GingerBlackfox (@GingerBlackfox) June 1, 2012

In addition to the required word designated above, she suggested a word limit of 500 or 1,000 words, whichever I found more suitable.  As you know if you participate in Flash Fiction Friday or if you read my Flash Fiction Friday posts, the maximum word count is usually less than 150.  Thus, even 500 was relatively extravagant, though it did present its own unique challenges.
In particular, after months of working with a much smaller word limit, I had to push myself to write something that suited 500 words.  I had to consciously remind myself that I wasn’t likely to run out of words, and that if I did I could always extend the count to 1,000.  
Deleted Scenes
Given the high word limit, there were no elements of this story that had to be excised for lack of space.  However, while I knew from the beginning that this story would involve voyeurism, there were a couple different concepts I considered.  One was that the narrator observes and leaves the scene without Ginger noticing.  In another, Ginger notices.  To the surprise of the narrator she is excited by being observed, and invites him in.  Ultimately I decided to write a story wherein the voyeurism was planned by both participants.
If space allowed, I planned to include a sex scene following Ginger’s “discovery” of the narrator’s voyeurism.  While writing the story, however, I decided that the twist – that Ginger is aware of her observer – made for a better ending.  Therefore I included the sex scene as a figment of the narrator’s hopeful imagination.
Soundtrack
Something slow and sensual would probably work here.  How about “Feelin’ Love” by Paula Cole?