Her hands groped for him on his side of the mattress as her eyes adjusted to darkness.  She squinted at the shadows, wondering if one was him, just coming to bed after a late-night workout.  She even called out, “Craig?”  The shadows didn’t reply.

She donned her bathrobe and went downstairs, moving quietly so as not to disturb their guest.  She assumed he’d fallen asleep in front of the TV as he sometimes did.  But at the bottom of the stairs the sounds of sex filled her ears and she realized exactly where he was.

She stood at the open doorway, watching as her husband fucked her best friend with wild abandon.  She stared at Julie’s legs, splayed wide, as Craig pounded her with what she knew to be eight thick inches of throbbing, steel-hard cock.  Julie’s feet tensed, toes curling as he drove her to orgasm before flipping her onto all fours.

They were going at it like – what was that old song lyric? – like they do on the Discovery Channel.  Her instinctive jealousy gave way to intense arousal, and as she felt the wetness flow, her robe fell to the floor and she dammed the flood with her fingers.

She wanted to walk right in and join them.  But first she would enjoy the show. (218/219)

Wondering whether Jill’s been naughty or nice?  Simply mouse over the image and find out!  We don’t think you’ll be particularly surprised.

See who else is being naughty this week!

Naturally, we don’t exchange these gifts in mixed company, but rather in private on Christmas morning.  We’re pretty sure that the relatives with whom we spend Christmas Day probably wouldn’t know how to react if they saw me unwrapping a Duet vibrating cock ring, though I’d like to think that her sisters would respond with great interest.

“Why would it be embarrassing to unwrap a sex toy in front of the family?” asks Beck in an recent article for SexIs Social, the online magazine of EdenFantasys.  “After all [a gift] should be something that is useful.”  She goes on to analyze the numerous benefits of masturbation, including lower risk of prostate cancer in men, prevention of cervical infections in women, prevention of premature ejaculation, ease of sexual arousal and orgasm, and self-reliance.

Masturbation is something that virtually every single human being on the planet has done at some point in his or her lives, and more than likely does regularly.  It is a natural part of human sexual development, and not only is it not harmful in and of itself, regular masturbation seems to actually promote good health.  Why, then, is it viewed in such a negative fashion by the general public?

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that the stigma surrounding masturbation is tied directly into the stigma surrounding sex in general.  While partnered sex is something to which most would admit, for many people masturbation carries a large degree of shame and guilt.  This is due in part to claims by the religious establishment that the Bible specifically forbids masturbation, as well as the misguided notion that masturbation is only for those who are incapable of sex with a partner.

Society in general must bear the blame for furthering such misinformation, or for allowing the furtherance thereof through its own inaction.  Masturbation has never been taught in American schools, to the best of my knowledge.  Even if it were, I imagine that it would be “taught” from the false perspective of “masturbation is morally wrong.”  If we were capable of engaging in a serious discussion on a topic as needlessly controversial as this, we might be able to deflate the myths and shine some light on an unfortunately-maligned practice that hurts no one.

So why aren’t we?  Why is discussion of masturbation more off-limits than politics and religion these days?  It’s pretty clear that it has a lot to do with the false but still pervasive notion that the primary function, if not the only function, of human sexuality is procreation.  Obviously countless people regularly have sex for pleasure.  But sometimes it seems as though no one is willing to admit it.

I’ve long wished for a society that was more relaxed with regard to sex.  I daydream about a world that isn’t so uptight, that doesn’t necessarily laud depictions of violence while criminalizing depictions of consensual sexuality.  A world wherein we could openly discuss things like masturbation, sex toys, and partnered sexual activity in so-called polite company without receiving dirty looks, being cut from everyone’s Christmas card list, or even being giggled at.

Were society to adopt a healthy attitude about sex, many of its dysfunctions would likely cease to exist.  There would be fewer hang-ups.  There would be far less pressure to conform to what the general public believes a relationship should be, and as a result, less tension between the sexes.  There would be more open communication.  Once people stopped feeling the need to stifle their sexual urges there would conceivably be less aggression.  War, and even road rage, might be a thing of the past.

The downside, of course, is that if I am able to openly discuss sexual matters in mixed company, then my parents might feel free to do the same, and that would totally squick me.  Hell, just the thought of it is squicking me right now.  But why should it be distasteful?  Presumably if we lacked our puritanical upbringing and the sexual hang-ups that accompany it, talking to my parents about sex, or even overhearing them talk about sex, would be no different than overhearing them talk about, say, their taxes.

Beck closes her article by asking her readers if they dare gift a sex toy this Christmas.  To reiterate my earlier point, we aren’t going to be exchanging naughty gifts in front of my in-laws this year.  But we did place an order for an nJoy Pure Plug, and – drumroll, please – the fabled Hitachi Magic Wand.  Though we ordered them together, they will likely be wrapped and placed under the tree, then unwrapped on Christmas morning, or more likely Christmas Eve after our daughter has gone to bed.  Reviews will follow.

On Friday evening we planned to hang out with M, our frequent bedroom guest star.  We always try to get together shortly before Christmas to exchange gifts and hang out.  In 2010, after our friendship added a sexual component, we had a fun holiday threesome.  This was unfortunately not repeated in 2011 because she was dating someone.  Since she’s currently single we figured why not?

As we’ve mentioned elsewhere on the blog, there is a dearth of available, reliable babysitters who are able to watch our daughter overnight, or even until late at night.  We’ve got relatives who live locally and who will watch her until, say, midnight, but we can’t count on their availability.  At any rate, midnight is hardly sufficient time to have a threesome, though when we’ve had to wrap it up early, we’ve never complained about the looming deadline.

The only person who was available to watch our daughter on Friday night was Jill’s sister.  As I went through my way-too-short short list of prospective babysitters, getting some variation of “Sorry, I’ve got plans Friday night” from each one, my heart sank because I knew that I would soon reach the bottom of the list and be forced to call quite literally the most unreliable person we know.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like Jill’s sister is a bad person, or even a bad babysitter.  On the rare occasion that she’s babysat at our house as opposed to hers, she’s never raided our liquor cabinet, or invited her rowdy friends over.  (Disclaimer:  She has no rowdy friends.)  She doesn’t get high, rarely drinks, doesn’t subject our daughter to R-rated movies, or do anything else that might make parents dread leaving their child in her custody.

No, our frustration stems from the fact that she is completely unwilling to watch our daughter late at night, especially if our daughter doesn’t sleep.  And she rarely does; Jill’s sister can’t or won’t consciously put her to bed, meaning that if our little one is asleep when we arrive to pick her up it’s because she stopped playing and lay down because she was exhausted, not because she was compelled to do so by an adult.

In January, we had plans to meet friends at a local bar.  Jill’s sister agreed to babysit, but only at our house, which meant that we had to clean thoroughly, hide all sex toys, and shut down and password-protect our computers lest she stumble upon this blog, or our Twitter accounts or Moby album.  She arrived at 8:45 and we planned to get to the bar around 9:00.  Our friends would be there between 9:00 and 9:15, and Jill’s sister asked that we come back at midnight.  This was hardly ideal for a Saturday night, but we had three hours, and we were going to make the best of that time.

We made sure the baby didn’t nap all day, and by the time Jill’s sister got to our house she was fast asleep.  We arrived at the bar close to nine and got drinks.  Our friends hadn’t yet arrived when the text messages began coming in asking us if we could come back; apparently our daughter had awakened and the babysitter had no clue what to do.  Note that this was not her first time babysitting, or even her first time babysitting our child.  Most of Jill’s siblings have children, and her sister has had ample experience.  No, we were certain that despite her preference for not babysitting at her own house, she was probably scared to be at our place more or less alone.

As the text messages grew more insistent, we realized we had to leave.  Jill offered to leave me there while she ran home in the hopes of getting the baby back to sleep, but I wasn’t going to let her do that.  We waited until our friends arrived, said a quick hello and good-bye (with an explanation thrown in right between the two) and headed home.  We relieved the help, and Jill got the baby back to sleep in moments.  It occurred to me that had the babysitter gone into her room and made an effort, she would have been able to do the same.  But between the fact that our daughter was expecting to see her Mommy and Daddy and not her aunt, and the fact that her aunt (a) couldn’t be bothered or (b) just wanted to go home at that point, it simply wasn’t meant to be.

This is why I hate using this particular babysitter.  Given her lack of a social life or any real commitments, she is almost always available, even when others are not.  However, she is very much a “bare minimum” sort of caretaker.  Our daughter has never been grievously injured while in her care, knock on wood.  On the other hand, if we don’t prepare dinner for her, she isn’t going to eat while in her care, either.  And as stated earlier, she’s not going to make a conscious effort to put our daughter to bed so that she is asleep when we arrive to pick her up.

This was the case in October, when we had M over for dinner and hopeful hanky-panky afterwards.  The fun had barely gotten started when her sister texted me – a half hour before the scheduled pickup time – saying that she needed us to come get the baby up so she could go to bed.  I left the ladies at home and headed over to pick her up, my fingers crossed the entire way that she was asleep.  Of course, she wasn’t.  I sang lullabies all the way home, but she made it very clear that she was wide awake and ready to party.  We were disappointed by the lack of clothing-optional fun that night, but salvaged the evening as best we could.

Last night, on the other hand, the festivities were already underway when the ten o’clock pickup time rolled around.  All three of us were naked, and I smelled, to put it bluntly, like multiple women.  But Jill and I both noticed that her sister never called, which seemed to imply that our daughter had somehow fallen asleep.  I reluctantly got out of bed, put on some deodorant and Skin Bracer, gargled with mouthwash, and got dressed.  As I drove over to my sister-in-law’s, I imagined myself returning home with a sleeping child, putting her in her bed, and returning to my own where four breasts, two vaginas, and two mouths were waiting for me.

I arrived at the house to find my daughter sleepy-eyed and yawning but awake.  Jill’s sister confirmed that she had in fact fallen asleep at eight o’clock and just woken up.  She’d been napping for two and a half hours.  There was no way she was going to sleep anytime soon.  What’s more, I was told that she barely touched the dinner we brought her, which meant she’d also be hungry.  Right before my eyes, my Christmas threesome flew out the chimney faster than Santa Claus.

I tried not to be upset.  Frustrated with my sister-in-law’s half-assed babysitting, definitely.  But upset?  For all intents and purposes it was in fact a threesome, just not as much of one as I wanted.  As I strapped my daughter into her car seat and mentally prayed that she’d somehow fall unconscious for the rest of the night, I called Jill to tell her that I was more than likely returning home with the same rambunctious child we’d dropped off earlier.  I took a circuitous route home in the hopes of giving the two ladies a few final orgasms, some cuddle time, or whatever they needed.  I ended up taking around half an hour to drive less than three miles, and they used that time to take a shower that I really fucking wish I’d been there for.

As I said, I tried not to be upset.  Jill was pretty pissed off though.  And yet it was no one’s fault, really.  Her sister had done what we’d asked of her, with no further effort put forth than we’ve come to expect.  When we ask her to babysit our child essentially what we can expect is that she will not die or sustain the sort of injuries that will have Child Protective Services investigating us.  That’s it.  She’s not going to put her down for the night.  She’s not going to cook dinner for her.  I presume she’s not even going to change her unless she can tell without looking in her diaper that she needs it.  On Friday night, we needed a babysitter and this is what was available.

We’re not ready to dip into the local talent pool to find a reliable babysitter with whom we’re not personally acquainted.  Yes, we realize that we could find someone who will, for pay, feed our child, tend to her diaper rash, ensure that she’s just fallen asleep when we pick her up, and for that matter maybe even keep her overnight.  We know that.  But we’re not ready.  Bear in mind that we just spent our first night away from her in April.  Baby steps, as they say.

When we arrived home, I can admit to being disappointed to find Jill and M already out of the shower and dressed, but it was inevitable.  Jill had a light snack ready for the baby shortly thereafter, and put her to bed around eleven-thirty.  As expected, she didn’t fall asleep quickly or easily.  M and I drank a bottle of wine on the couch while watching Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and eventually dozed off.  All things considered, it wasn’t a terrible night.

As we approach the one year anniversary of #FormspringFriday, can you reflect back on the year? What has been your favourite question? What was the hardest to answer? What has #FormspringFriday meant to you and your blog?

(Submitted by Cougar in Training)

Great question!  It’s hard to believe that Formspring Friday is almost one year old!  The small-scale, homegrown meme that Cougar in Training and I cooked up while trying to figure out what to do with our Formspring questions is still fairly small-scale, but we have greatly appreciated the opportunity to answer questions posed by our readers, and in doing so bare even more of our souls than we otherwise might.

This is the fifty-fourth edition of Formspring Friday.  Over the course of fifty-four posts and almost as many weeks, we’ve answered questions that ran the spectrum from light-hearted, fun, and fairly shallow all the way to deeply personal.  Some questions have been easy to answer, and others were the sort that we dreaded having to address, usually because of the seriousness of the subject matter and the weight of their answers.

Perhaps that’s an overstatement.  Yes, some questions have been difficult to answer, but we’ve never deliberately avoided such a question, or for that matter any question.  On the contrary, we sometimes found ourselves hurrying to address a question that we knew would conjure up painful or otherwise unpleasant memories from our respective pasts.  For example, The Worst Sex Ever and Sexual Healing both concerned a traumatic incident from Jill’s past.  While she was initially nervous, she found it empowering to get her feelings out.

Behind the Scenes

This week’s Flash Fiction Friday challenge was created by regular Flash Fiction Friday participant Advizor54.  Along with the prompt photo came the challenge phrase decision.  For extra credit, participants were to write the story from the perspective of both individuals depicted in the photo.  For extra extra credit, participants were to refrain from using the word fuck.  If writing from both perspectives, I was unsure as to whether participants were supposed to include the challenge phrase in both segments, so to play it safe I did.  As is typical, in both segments I forgot to include it initially, and had to go back and shoehorn it in.