Betty was nine years old the first time she saw the film.  Soccer practice was rained out and she found herself home after school.  Her parents were still at work, and rather than starting her homework she ventured into the sitting room where her grandmother was watching a worn-out VHS tape on her sixteen-inch television.  She sat at the old woman’s feet, wishing she could watch Nickelodeon instead.  But once she saw Bogart she was smitten.  And once she saw Bacall, she wanted to be her.

It was her grandmother’s favorite movie, and Lauren Bacall was her favorite movie star.  In time, Betty came to love her as well, but To Have and Have Not remained her favorite film of Bacall’s entire body of work.  When she was twelve years old she had her first kiss, with a boy she imagined was Bogart’s tough, sardonic Harry Morgan.  Trying to appear worldly and mature beyond her years, she gave him Bacall’s iconic line but he just laughed in her face.  He still kissed her, of course, but his cold dismissal really turned her off.  A week later she had moved on to another boy, and then another, all in search of her leading man.

She met him in a bar in the theater district.  They sat in a darkened booth, talking over gin.  She spent the first ten minutes of their chat bringing to Rick’s attention the fact that he had the same name as Humphrey Bogart’s character in Casablanca and what’s more, that they had met at the Café Paris was obviously a sign because Bogart’s Rick owned the Café Américain.  Of course, she was quick to point out that Casablanca was only her fourth-favorite Bogart film after The African Queen, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and of course, To Have and Have Not.

After another round, he asked Betty if she wanted to leave with him.  They had barely left the bar before her lips found his, and as their mouths pressed together she silently rebuked herself for not trying out the line on him.    His hands found her breasts, barely hidden within a silk blouse, and caressed them for all he was worth.  She reciprocated by dragging the heel of her hand down his chest to where his legs met.  He was aroused – so was she, of course, but his arousal was much more obvious – and she began to fumble at his belt.

They ducked into an alley where she opened his jeans.  His cock sprang free, thick and heavy in her grasp, and though she couldn’t see much of it in the darkness she imagined that it was beautiful.

“You know what to do,” he said as she sank to her knes.  “Just put your lips together and whistle.”

Her mouth enveloped his cock and she felt the head at the back of her throat.  As she began to suck, she realized that while she’d long heard the word “whistle” and thought “blow”, she’d never heard the word “blowjob” and thought “whistle”.

3. To what song do you most like to play air-guitar either clothed or naked?
None.  I haven’t changed my stance on air-guitar since the last question.  Although I do not play it, I will sometimes find myself drumming on the steering wheel of my car when I hear a song with a good beat.  “You Shook Me All Night Long”, by AC/DC, will usually inspire a great air-drum solo.

4. Are you good in bed? Why?
Yes I am.  As far as the “why”, I asked Jack and he said that I never leave him unsatisfied.  I have always made a point of ensuring that my partners have everything they want or need sexually.  I try to read their body language and interpret their moans, and then I use my hands and mouth (as well as my pussy as much as possible) to increase their pleasure.  I feel that, since I’ve been with Jack especially, I have pushed my boundaries in order to enhance our sexual experiences and our mutual sexual pleasure.

5. What FEELS Sexy to you–tactile sensation? (Leave sight and taste out of this)
Strong shoulders.  I love to rub my hands up and down Jack’s strong arms, from his forearms up to his shoulders, while he is fucking me.  Of course, I love feeling his cock in my hand as well: The way it grows hard in my fingers, the way it throbs, the sensitive skin on the underside.  I love touching him when he is asleep, too.  He always wakes up aroused.  But his shoulders are almost indescribably hot.

Bonus: Write a six word autobiography.
Sexy wife who enjoys feeling loved.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she said, as I uttered a similar sentiment.  We told our guest to be here at five, and it was exactly five.  I assumed she’d text, maybe ask for our unit number or something.  But no, there she was.  Jill leapt to her feet as I moved to the intercom.  I buzzed our guest into the building, unlocked the door to our condo, and followed Jill into the bedroom, carrying my clothes with me.

We hurried to get dressed, then stood at the bathroom sink, washing our faces with some sort of hand soap that smelled of fresh mint.  Unsatisfied with this measure, we took a few swigs of mouthwash, and by the time we walked out our guest was none the wiser.

-Jack

Because October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, the theme of Sinful Sunday this week is “Get Positively Pink”.  As we have both been affected by breast cancer, we are pleased to have this opportunity to help raise awareness.

First off, Jack is taking a pass on this one.  He claims that his relationship with his mother didn’t affect his sex life in any conscious fashion and from what I know of it I would say that he is correct.  Additionally, Jack read the words “your mother” and “sex” in the same sentence and pretty much shut down.  So I’m all you get this week.

Growing up, sex wasn’t something that was really addressed in our household, certainly not by my parents.  Of course, my siblings and I knew that they were having sex.  Even if we couldn’t hear their bed frame moving late at night, there were eight of us so it was clear that there was nothing dysfunctional about their sexual relationship.  We just didn’t discuss it, or anything sexual, with them.  Also, my parents frequently took weekend trips in order to be alone.  We all knew that their alone time didn’t just involve quiet dinners and sleeping in.  But again, no one ever talked about it.

I don’t remember my mother and I having any sort of sex talk when I began dating.  I learned about sex from a variety of sources both reliable and otherwise including my friends, romance novels and porn, women’s magazines, and the limited sex ed program offered by the Catholic high school I attended.  In the days before the internet, it was pretty difficult for me, as a young woman raised in a religious household, to find unbiased, positive information about sex, specifically sexual pleasure.

One of the first times I can recall having a vaguely sexual discussion with my mother was shortly before Jack and I got married.  After we met with the priest who was going to marry us, my mother asked me what he had to say about the fact that Jack and I were living together.  He hadn’t mentioned it and we got the sense that it wasn’t a real concern of his.  Technically while Jack stayed with me when he was in town on the weekends, we were not living together before we got married.  We weren’t even living in the same area code.

My mother and I have a very close relationship today.  Since I’ve been married she comes off as much more sex-positive than I ever thought she was.  I’ve been able to talk freely with her about the importance of sex and intimacy in a relationship.  The one piece of advice she’s given me that has stood out more than any other is to make a conscious effort to continue to be intimate after having children.  It’s something that I’ve taken to heart, and in some ways it is part of the reason that Jack and I enjoy such an active sex life today.

– Jill

If you want to ask us a sexy question, drop us a line on Formspring, or use the handy Formspring widget on the right-hand side of our blog.  To see who else participated this week, search #FormspringFriday on Twitter!  If you have a Formspring account and you aren’t already participating, feel free to join in the Formspring Friday fun!

We considered including a mouseover image incorporating one of the backup themes – “Massive” and “Blossom”, but felt that the importance of the primary theme was such that nothing else was needed.  That, or we’re just lazy.

See who else is being naughty this week!

Her Skype status read “In the mood…”

In the mood for what, exactly?  Love?  I knew the old standard, famously performed by “Alfalfa” Switzer in a Little Rascals short from the 1930s.  But I suspected that her status was not in reference to this.  In the mood for ice cream, perhaps?  Definitely appealing, but again, this was probably not what she craved.

I clicked on her name and began typing.

In the mood for ice cream?

She replied with a smiley face, and then the following:

You know what I’m in the mood for.

I smiled in spite of myself.  Want a show?

She wrote back quickly.  Yes, baby.  I was hoping you’d offer.

I clicked the “Video Call” button and in seconds I was looking at her beautiful brown eyes.  Admittedly I would have preferred to be gazing at her full breasts or her perfect ass, but I wasn’t complaining.  We had plenty of time.

She spoke first, a simple hello.  I returned the greeting, and we exchanged a moment’s worth of small talk, both of us making no attempt to hide the eagerness we felt.

“So,” she said before long, “Do you have something you’d like to show me?”

My cock bulged against the inside of my jeans.  I unbuckled my belt and opened my pants, setting it free.  As I dropped my jeans to the floor I stood up, revealing to her my throbbing member.

She licked her lips.  She sighed, purred even.  “You look delicious.”

I kicked off my jeans and sat back down in front of my laptop.  I began to stroke my hardness as I gazed at her.  I imagined taking off her top and nuzzling her breasts as I lowered my hand to part her damp petals.  I imagined slipping a finger inside of her while I caressed her clit with another.  And I would have imagined much more had she not interrupted.

“I like what you’re doing, baby,” she said, “but I can’t see.”

I tilted the screen of my laptop downward in the hopes of giving her a better angle.  As I did I realized that in doing so I would be unable to see whatever she might do.  I tilted it back up.

“How about if I stand?”  She nodded her approval of my suggestion and I rose from my chair even as she began to unbutton her blouse, revealing a silky black bra that could barely contain her assets.  I stroked faster, as though demonstrating my appreciation.  She caressed her breasts, eventually freeing them from their constraints.  As she rolled her hands over her hardening nipples I felt orgasm drawing near and I slowed down.

Her hands drifted down her body and out of frame.  It looked like she was trying to tuck one inside of her waistband.  Her arm began to move slowly, and there was no mistaking what she was doing.  “No fair!” I said.  “Now I can’t see!”

“Is this better?” she asked as she stood up.  She was naked from her waist down, her every inch a tantalizing pleasure.  Her fingers strummed her pussy, dancing erotically over her lips and her clit.  The sight inspired me to stroke faster than I had before, and I could see the edge approaching.  I wanted to slow down again.  But I watched as she began to work her fingers in and out, and I knew that it was too late.

My moans were loud, uncharacteristically so.  It was the sort of release I don’t always allow myself when I masturbate.  Sometimes I just can’t.  But she made it easy.  I came without concern or inhibition, erupting much like a volcano might.  The first bursts of my ejaculation arced high, fortunately missing my laptop.  I wondered how it looked on her end.

The rest of it ran down my hand and over my fingers, thick and sticky.  When my orgasm subsided and my noises ceased, I used a tissue to clean up as I caught my breath.

“Fucking hot!” she said with a smile as she sat down.  I could tell that she was still playing with her clit.

“So,” I said.  “What are you in the mood for, exactly?

“An orgasm!  It’s my turn now.”