Formspring Friday: Extremely Sexy

what’s the most extreme sexual act/encounter you have both experienced together?
In case you’re reading this blog for the first time, I need to state for the record that we’re not exactly the sort who consider their sex life “extreme”.  Varied?  Certainly.  Frequent?  No doubt.  Satisfying?  Even if you’re new here, you must know the answer to that.  But not exactly extreme in the sense that we require a fifteen-thousand-foot freefall or a depth of a hundred and fifty fathoms below the surface of the ocean in order to get off.  Electric shock, humiliation, amputation – these are all legitimate kinks that add a significant boost to people’s sex lives.  Not ours, though.
Make no mistake, we don’t consider ourselves vanilla by any means.  We’ve always stated that kink is relative.  One person’s wild and crazy new experience is another person’s passé been-there-done-that.  Many of the people to whom we’re closest would undoubtedly consider some of the sex we’ve had together to be far outside their comfort zone, if not flat-out wrong.  Fortunately neither of us lives our lives – sexual or otherwise – with anyone’s approval in mind.  
Our brand of “extreme” really isn’t all that extreme.  For us, stepping out of the realm of normalcy usually involves exhibitionism and voyeurism, and perhaps a little risk.  Webcamming, semi-public sex or masturbation, or on the rare occasion that the opportunity presents itself, having sex in close proximity as other people, whether we are actually interacting with them, or more likely just enjoying the voyeurism and exhibitionism.  It’s not something that we do often enough for our liking.
The most extreme sexual act or encounter that we have experienced together was likely our October 2011 visit to Power Exchange, a sex club in San Francisco, California.  We’d gone there more or less on a lark, hoping to people-watch and then cross “visit a sex club” off of our bucket list before hopefully returning home full of sexual excitement, and fucking until the morning light.  We hadn’t intended to actually have sex in front of a crowd of spectators, but we did.  And despite the fact that it wasn’t our ideal experience at a sex club, it was a very fun evening.  You can read all about the night in question here.
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!

Flash Fiction Friday: A Pretty Face

(Source image: “Hillary” by Bradley Thurber)

He acknowledged the absurdity of requesting admission to his own car, especially since he was holding the keys.  But each time he unlocked the door – going on two hours now – she locked it again.

Demanding that she let him in hadn’t worked.  Though he knew she’d be able to detect the scent of desperation, he adopted a conciliatory tone:  “Baby, please!  I’m already late for work!”

 “I’ll open up if you let me drive.”  He’d refused the first ten times she asked.  Now, though, he saw that it was the only way.  When he promised, she shook her head.  “Keys.  Now.”

He proffered his keys toward the open passenger window.  She snatched them and quickly started the car.  By the time he realized what was happening and made for the door handle, she was gone. (135/135)

Behind the Scenes 

This story was much easier to write than some I’ve done for Flash Fiction Friday.  On a couple occasions, I dated the kind of woman who might have locked herself in my car, cajoled me into relinquishing the key, and then driven off without me.  (No, that never actually happened.)  Because of this, I decided that rather than crafting a story about a guy who spends a carefree day tooling around the countryside in his impeccably-maintained 1952 Hudson Wasp with a beautiful, shapely woman in the passenger seat before pulling onto the side of a rural road for some sex, the story I told would be the exact opposite.  I’d question what that says about my attitudes toward women, but I have to think that anyone who’s read this blog for any appreciable length of time knows that they’re generally positive.

No, this dark story stemmed merely from a desire to think outside the box, so to speak.  My first thought upon seeing the prompt photo was that the girl depicted sure was pretty.  Dark, lush hair.  Attractive eyes.  Rich, red lips.  Sexy stockings and heels.  Bonus points for having her skirt hiked up a bit, revealing a lovely backside.  Numerous happy and sexy stories flashed in my brain as I took in the scene.  Ultimately I decided to go a different route.

The required phrase this week was “…the scent of [noun]…”  Rather than using an actual scent – perfume, the woman’s hair, sweat after a particularly vigorous episode of backseat sex – I knew as soon as I decided which story I would tell that it would be a metaphoric scent.  Once I began writing, it was clear that I would refer to the scent of desperation.  The first draft of this story, in which I ran out of words three quarters of the way in, included the required phrase from the beginning, but I forgot about it when writing the final draft.  While proof-reading, Jill reminded me of the omission, and I had to trim a few words.

Deleted Scenes

None, though I can admit to having a difficult time making the story, as originally envisioned, fit within the 135-word allotment.  Certain bits of plot detail, notably why the male character didn’t just open the driver’s side door, push his girlfriend aside, and get in the car, had to be truncated or excised completely, as did mention of whichever deep-rooted self-respect issues made him powerless to demand better treatment.


The song I heard in my head as I wrote was Johnny Rivers’ 1966 hit “Secret Agent Man”, specifically the line “A pretty face can hide an evil mind”.  I even used a portion of that line for the title.  However, other than that line the song didn’t fit.  Additionally, I considered Bel Biv DeVoe’s 1990 song “Poison” as the line “Never trust a big butt and a smile” seemed to fit the story perfectly.  However, as a musical genre I don’t think new jack swing fits either.  “Female of the Species”, by Space, had already been used in a previous Flash Fiction Friday installment, and I saw no reason to repeat myself.  Since I keep coming back to guitar heavy rock, “Bad Girlfriend” by Theory of a Deadman, or “Crazy Bitch” by Buck Cherry would provide a suitable audio track.

If you’d like to take part in the fun, or see who else participated this week, check out Insatiabear.

The Naughty Hangout: Peace and Quiet

This week’s secondary theme at The Naughty Hangout is “Desire”.  As the title indicates, what I desire more than anything right now is peace and quiet.  My entire work day involves noisy children.  When I get home in the afternoon, my daughter is so excited to see me that she doesn’t leave my side until bedtime.  This has been a difficult, hectic school year, and I look forward to summer when I’ll have two months off.  My daughter won’t be so clingy, and I won’t be so desperate for a little “me” time.  

Yes, this is the same rocking chair featured in last week’s Sinful Sunday.

This picture can also be seen as an interpretation of the primary theme, “Maturity”, because I’m forty.

Go see who else is being naughty this week!


Bedding Christine

Last week, I wrote about my former boss, Christine.  As I mentioned in the final paragraph of last week’s post, Christine and I eventually gave into the sexual tension that I’d like to believe was simmering beneath the surface from the first day that we worked together.  Over the course of the past week, I felt as though I’d set up the pins but had yet to actually knock them down.  Because of this, I am going to tell that story today.
Two years after the incident I described in On a Break, I was twenty-six, on the cusp of twenty-seven.  I was single, my girlfriend and I having taken a permanent break, and I worked at a different job.  The specifics of that job are irrelevent, but it’s worth mentioning that I was making less money, and for a couple months each year I would supplement my income by returning to my old job four nights a week in order to help Christine and company get through a particularly busy stretch.
One evening, while I was alone in the office, Christine called my cell phone.  She was at Costco picking up provisions for the next day’s Executive Board meeting, and asked if I could help her unload her car when she arrived.  I said of course, and she asked if I needed her to pick up some fast food or anything.  I was touched by her offer – Christine was always very sweet – but I told her no thanks  as I’d picked up dinner on my way in.
Most evenings, the time flew by as Christine worked late right alongside me.  We’d talk shop, discuss movies we wanted to see, or rock out to Metallica and AC/DC right at our desks.  But for the past two weeks she’d been leaving work before I arrived.  In theory I enjoyed the solitude as it allowed me to work unfettered, but in reality it was boring and lonely.  Seeing another human being for even five minutes, while carrying cases of sodas and pallets of bottled water, was a nice diversion.
Forget sex; that hadn’t even crossed my mind.  Yeah, I still had the hots for Christine, but rather than it being an everpresent phenomenon as it was when we worked together all day every day, my attraction to her had for the last couple years been on the back burner.  Besides,  at the moment I was hung up on a cute young barista who worked at the Starbucks a block from my apartment; Christine was, I’m sorry to say, old news.
But she didn’t look like old news when she walked into the office and strolled across the common room.  Her brown hair was tied back in a pony tail, her eyes unobstructed.  Her lips were soft, shiny, and pink, curving upward into a pretty smile when she saw me.  Her expression was warm and inviting, more of a friend than a boss.  I asked her how she’d been.
“Not too bad,” she said with a shrug.  “Things have been so hectic with the kids the last few nights.”  Her tone changed to one of urgency, almost excitement:  “Oh!  You know Greg moved out, right?  Did I tell you?”  She had not, and I told her so.  “Yeah, three weeks ago.  We’re taking some time apart.”
“That sucks,” I said, even as I realized that she didn’t seem upset.
“It’s just temporary, but we hope it’ll be for the best.”  She walked into her office, while I resumed my filing.  As I worked, she called out to me:  “Have the janitors been by yet?”
I leaned into her office doorway and replied that they had, about forty minutes earlier.  Christine stood in front of her window, closing the aluminum mini-blinds.  “Forty minutes,” she said absently.  It didn’t warrant a response so I didn’t give one.  She turned to see me in the doorway and invited me in, adding, “You want to fuck?”
I hesitated a couple seconds before giving her a noncommital “Sure.”  I didn’t want to sound too eager, certainly not as eager as I felt.  I’m not sure why this was, but the last thing I was hoping to do was betray the reality that what I was thinking was more along the lines of a sure and gleeful “Hell yes.” 
Christine wore a long-sleeved white sweater that flattered her curves and made her pillowy breasts stand out beautifully, and a pair of black jeans tucked into matching boots that reached mid-calf.  Not for long, though.
She spoke again:  “Turn off the lights.”  This time without hesitation, I flipped the switch on the wall and Christine’s office was suddenly dark.  The only real light came from the fluorescent fixtures on the common room ceiling, but for good measure I shut the door, leaving the room even darker.  Faint blades of dying daylight cut between the blinds, casting strips of vague illumination on Christine’s desk and on the walls.  She gestured to her desk chair, and I sat.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness.  In front of me, Christine was a fuzzy specter, slowly lowering herself to her knees.  My cock sprang up as I felt her hand on my thigh, and she placed her other hand over it, cupping it and caressing it.  
“Is this okay?” she asked.  I was surprised by the question; I didn’t expect her to second-guess herself.  I attempted to tell her that it was, but for some reason I couldn’t make any words happen.  Christine took my silence as tacit approval, and opened my jeans.  Her grip was confident, firm but not tight and certainly not uncomfortable.  She gave me a moment’s worth of pumps, raising me to diamond-hardness, and then replaced her fingers with her tongue.  She licked with long, elaborate strokes, the sort with which a child might lick an oversized lollipop.  Even though it was almost totally dark in the room, I imagined her licks to be showy and exaggerated, even theatrical.  
She closed her mouth around the head of my cock and lowered her head, drawing in my length as deeply as she could.  I felt her nose press against my stomach, my cock reaching the very back of her throat.  She held this position for a few seconds, then came up for air gasping and panting.  In response, my cock throbbed for attention.  I took off my T-shirt and tossed it in the general direction of Christine’s office door.  At the same time I felt her mouth once again encircle my head.  She sucked vigorously this time, her lips not reaching the base of my cock but instead moving faster, paying particular attention to the sensitive frenulum, and then my balls.
Christine worked her hands into my jeans, and with a tug she signaled that she wanted them gone.  I raised my ass off of her desk chair and she pulled my jeans to my feet, leaving them bunched up atop my shoes.  She gave me a few more licks, and took her mouth away.  I was disappointed momentarily, my mood lifting when I heard the clatter of her belt being unbuckled.  This was going to be very, very good.
I felt her bare legs against mine, and then her hands on my shoulders.  She drew her nails gently down my chest, then leaned close and pecked softly at my neck in the darkness.  Soon her lips found my own, kissing me with passion and desperation.  She clung to me like it was the end of the world.  Her lips tasted like wild cherry as her mouth opened, and her tongue felt just as good as it had on my cock.  I groped in the darkness for her full, generous breasts, feeling a surge of triumphant joy as I found them.  Her skin was soft, delicate like that of a ripe plum as I caressed them, my thumbs coming to rest on her nipples.  

She raised one leg onto the chair, and I felt her bare foot against my hip.  I wanted to caress her thigh, maybe find her pussy in the dark and see how wet she was, but I didn’t.  As our kiss intensified, I hoped she would just get on the chair and straddle me, but she didn’t.  Eventually she worked her leg behind my ass, and climbed up so that she was sitting on my knee.  She took my hand in hers and we traced a path down her stomach, coming to rest where her legs met.

I could feel her heat on my fingers as I deftly parted her lips, her wetness engulfing me.  I pressed two fingers into her as with my thumb I stroked her clit.  Christine still held my hand, now guiding me in order to show me exactly what she liked.  She moved her hips in time to my rhythm, the intensity of our dance growing by the second.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked when our lips had finally parted.

“Yeah, I said, trying to think of a way to gracefully retrieve my wallet from my jeans, still down at my ankles.

Christine dismissed my efforts, fumbling on her desk for her purse.  Mere seconds passed before I was wrapped in latex and deep inside her, her ass bucking up and down against me as she rode each upward thrust.  She was energetic, and had no problem taking what she wanted.  She asked me to stroke her clit again, and the sounds she made told me that my efforts weren’t wasted.

The first time she came, she nestled her head against my shoulder, burying her mouth in my neck to stifle her cries.  Her pussy clenched around my cock as her body rocked slowly against my own.  She undulated against me, and soon she was climaxing again.  By her fourth, she was sucking my neck insistently, and when she had her fifth, I came right alongside her.  I wasn’t expecting that.  My groans were deep and intense, cacophonous yet somehow in harmony with Christine’s own sounds of release.

She remained astride me as we caught our breath, then returned her mouth to my neck.  Her kisses were gentler now, like a gazelle grazing in a field.  I felt beads of sweat dripping from my forehead into my eyes and down my nose, and I tried to shake them off without distracting Christine from what she was doing.  She stopped kissing my neck and kissed my mouth instead.  I held her close, feeling her breasts against me, our hearts beating more or less in sync.

Finally, she spoke:  “That was fucking great.”

Though Christine and I maintained a working relationship for a couple more years, that was the only time we ever had sex.  I often wish I’d gotten to lay Christine in a bed, or maybe on a sofa or some other place more comfortable than her desk chair in total darkness.  In fact, maybe I should have titled this post “Desking Christine”.

TMI Tuesday: May 22, 2012 – The Inverted Poll

This TMI Tuesday is brought to you by Virtual Sin.

Oh. You didn’t mean inverted pole dancing? 
In many polls, you are asked if you strongly agree, somewhat agree, neither agree nor disagree, somewhat disagree or strongly disagree with some proposition. Today, we go the other way. We supply the answer, you supply the question.
Jack’s Answers
1. Tell us something with which you strongly agree, or greatly like.
I strongly agree that sex is a normal, natural part of human development, and therefore something that should be embraced.  Sex is healthy and positive, and there is no reason for the inexplicable taboo that surrounds it.  The right-wing nutbags who are so vehemently against sex while at the same time so pro-Jesus should understand that sex is our God-given right, and that the God they profess to love so much invented the clitoris – and slapped one onto every female He supposedly created – for the sole purpose of sexual pleasure.  Seriously – there isn’t a damn thing procreative about the clitoris.  What do you have to say about that, Rick Santorum?

“Clitoris?  I’m sorry, but I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

2. Tell us something with which you somewhat agree, or somewhat like.
I somewhat like pie.  I’m not crazy about it; I doubt it would rank among my top five favorite desserts.  But if it’s offered at a dinner party or some manner of social gathering and there doesn’t happen to be any ice cream, I’ll graciously take a slice of pie, and I’ll probably enjoy it, even if it’s not the wisest use of the calories.

My all-time favorite dessert?  Vagina cookies.

3. Tell us something to which you are indifferent, or have no opinion.
Manholes.  I understand that they serve a purpose in society, but if they affect my life at all, they do so in ways I can’t even perceive.

I know C.H.U.D.s use manholes to come to the surface, but that doesn’t necessarily make me dislike them.

4. Tell us something with which you somewhat dislike or disagree with.
Now, I don’t want to get off on a rant here, but I was a huge fan of Dennis Miller going back to his tenure on Saturday Night Live.  I was one of only four viewers who tuned in to his syndicated late-night talk show that aired in 1992.  Two years later I followed him to HBO where I was smitten with his sensible libertarian views (he stated in the wake of U.S. Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders’ 1995 dismissal that “a surgeon general who speaks her mind about sex education, teen pregnancy, and preventative health care doesn’t deserve to be surgeon general, she deserves to be the fucking President of the United States”), as well as the same smart-assed demeanor I’d come to enjoy on Saturday Night Live, here aided and abetted by copious usage of the word “motherfucker”.  His vulgarity earned him the ire of conservative groups, some of which accused him of being a liberal – something that Dennis certainly was not.  Despite the fact that he frequently sided with Gingrich against Clinton, many of Dennis’ opinions and indeed the intelligence of his humor made me even more of a die-hard fan than I already was.  In fact, I was such a fan that I found myself defending Dennis to friends and relatives during his ill-advised stint co-hosting Monday Night Football in 2000 and 2001.  And then the Towers fell, and Dennis took a hard right turn, shifting from championing a hypothetical female president (just not Hillary) and ranting against “rich, white, entitled, scotch-drinking, secretary-chasing old-school hacks” to swearing fealty to one of the richest, whitest, most entitled hacks ever to befoul the Oval Office.  Dennis’ comedy went from literate and thoughtful to reactionary and racist.  He regressed from a comedian to a right-wing pundit, a wannabe shock jock who aspired to the clueless bombast of a Don Imus and the hate-rhetoric of a Michael Savage.  While I suspect that some of Dennis’ views on social issues still correspond with my own, and while I may rewatch a recording of his HBO show or an old Weekend Update segment on Saturday Night Live, there’s nothing Dennis is likely to do in the future that will be fit for human consumption.  Of course, that’s just my opinion.  I could be wrong.

What happened to you, Dennis?  You used to be cooler than Fonzie and the other side of the pillow combined.  Now you’re Ann Coulter’s cabana boy.
5. Tell us something with which you strongly disagree, or greatly dislike.
I disagree that my marriage, divorce, affair, abortion, addiction, faith, or lack of faith is any of your business.
Bonus: What is an opinion held by others that makes you angry?
That sex is only for procreation; that anything sexual enjoyed by two consenting adults of any gender is wrong, immoral, or unlawful (with the possible exception of cannibalism); that fundamental human rights should not be enjoyed by 100% of the world’s population.
Jill’s Answers
1. Tell us something with which you strongly agree, or greatly like.
I strongly agree with the Golden Rule, and I do my best to live my life by it.  I believe that you should treat others the way you wish to be treated.  You should set the example that you would like others to follow.  But the reverse is also true:  If I or someone else treats you kindly, or with respect, you should reciprocate in kind.  The Golden Rule extends to the way I raise my daughter.  By my actions I demonstrate right or wrong, and hopefully she follows my lead.

Not what I was referring to.

2. Tell us something with which you somewhat agree, or somewhat like.

I agree somewhat with the values I was taught growing up in the Catholic church.  That is to say, I selectively retain some of what I was taught, while ignoring the things that don’t suit me, specifically those things I know to be contrary to my own beliefs.  I feel that people should respect others.  I feel that people should be honest.  I believe that family is important, and that one should respect and honor one’s parents (provided that they’re not abusers).  I believe in community, and I do my best to give back to the community in which I grew up.  However, this is really where the church and I part company.  I don’t believe that most of the choices people make with their own lives are the business of anyone but themselves.  I don’t believe that LGBT individuals are somehow evil or immoral, or that they should be shunned.  I don’t even believe in the “hate the sin, not the sinner” bullshit that seems to be a popular thing for religious people to say these days.  I do not feel that women who get abortions are bad people or that they’re going to Hell, if Hell even exists.  I don’t believe that a child who dies without having been baptised will go to Hell (again, if Hell exists).  The concept of original sin is like manufacturing a computer that’s full of viruses just so the purchaser will have to pay for expensive anti-virus software forever.  

In this analogy, the Pope is Bill Gates.

3. Tell us something to which you are indifferent, or have no opinion.
I don’t care at all about reality television and I do my best to avoid it.  I don’t partake in conversations about it at work.  It makes me weep to hear that people I look up to, people I respect and admire, are hooked on Big Brother, The Bachelor, Celebrity Apprentice, Real Housewives of Wherever the Fuck, Who Wants to Pimp My Mom, Jon and Kate, and The Show With Little People Who Have Normal-Sized Children.  I don’t give a shit about the Kardashians, or Snooki’s baby daddy, and in fact I’m a little bit ashamed that I even know that Snooki is pregnant.  On the other hand, I kind of like that show Chopped, with four different chefs competing to make a unique dish out of the same ingredients.

4. Tell us something with which you somewhat dislike or disagree with.
I somewhat disagree with the way the parents of my students are raising them.  It seems like parents today feel that they can’t discipline their children, even verbally.  Because of the threat of C.P.S., they let their kids do whatever they want, including but not limited to misbehaving, acting disrespectful and even violent, and essentially walking all over them.  I disagree with the belief that I am supposed to teach my students manners because their parents can’t be bothered or don’t know how.  I disagree with the idea that I should have to deal with the psychological and emotional issues that bad parenting caused, and the behavioral problems that bad parenting enabled.  I disagree that I am supposed to be a psychiatrist, a nurse, a referee, and a zookeeper in addition to being a teacher.  Actually, you know what?  I don’t disagree with this somewhat.  I disagree with this pretty strongly.  Unfortunately question #5 was the first one I answered, so when I got to this question I had to dial down my vehemence.
5. Tell us something with which you strongly disagree, or greatly dislike.
I strongly disagree that marriage is the right of only certain individuals.  I also strongly disagree that the government should have any say in the matter, nor should it be able to limit the rights afforded to married couples, including legal protection, insurance benefits and pension, family leave, hospital visitation, medical decision-making, the ability to file joint tax returns, and child custody.

Let’s not forget the right to go on a national talk show and make an ass out of yourself. 

Bonus: What is an opinion held by others that makes you angry?
That if you enjoy sex, and if you’re open to exploring different aspects of your sexuality beyond what mainstream society considers “normal”, you deserve to be judged harshly.  That we should only fuck for procreation, under the covers, with the lights off, in the missionary position.  That sex is harmful or detrimental to a happy life, and those who take sexual initiative and deviate from the norm, whether by swinging, group sex, polyamory, exhibitionism and voyeurism, or simply having sex for the fun and the joy of it, you are a bad person.

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!

Sinful Sunday: One Chair, Three Orgasms

My rocking chair is one of the most relaxing things I’ve ever sat in.  When I’m feeling aroused, I enjoy sitting in it and masturbating.  The slow back-and-forth rocking, accompanied by the sensations of my fingers or a toy, lead to incredible orgasms.  Since May is Masturbation Month, I thought I would share some of the fun I’ve had in this chair.
My purple rabbit

My pink G-spot vibrator

My blue waterproof vibrator

See who else is being sinful at Molly’s Daily Kiss!

Sinful Sunday

Formspring Friday: Weird to Watch

i would like to watch my husband have sex with his ex is that weird?

Disclaimer:  In my opinion, words like “weird”, and for that matter “normal” and “abnormal”, don’t really fit into the context of sex and sexual desire.  Applying “normal” standards to what turns somebody on is just another way for the mainstream to control human sexuality, stigmatize free sexual expression, and force people into a box, so to speak.  On to your question:

I don’t think it’s weird at all, but then “weird” is a relative term.  There are undoubtedly plenty of people out there who would disagree with me, but I see nothing wrong with your desire to watch your husband have sex with his ex.  You don’t specify why you want to watch, but I know that Jill found the prospect of watching me with one of my exes exciting mainly because she wanted to see how my performance differed between when I had sex with my ex and when I have sex with her.  Additionally, Jill is a voyeur, and likes the idea of watching something private, of watching two people (or more, possibly) let their guard down and become vulnerable.  There’s something powerfully erotic about that scenario.

Is it normal?  Well, that depends on who you ask.  Sex-negatives and die-hard monogamists who disapprove of extracurricular sex would likely find the scenario you describe deviant, and the thought of letting one’s significant other stray outside the boundaries of his or her commitment morally wrong.  Others would say that it’s normal to have such a desire and perhaps even normal to act on that desire, but might caution you against letting your husband have sex with his ex as there may still be feelings below the surface.  Still others would say that your interest in watching your husband have sex with his ex is not only perfectly normal but completely hot, and if all three of you are equally into it, and if there’s absolutely no possibility of still-smoldering emotions on their end or jealousy on yours, why not give it a shot?

Bear in mind that it’s possible you won’t know how you’ll really feel about watching your husband have sex with his ex until you’re actually in the situation, and by then it may be too late.  It might be the greatest turn-on you can imagine right now, when it’s still an abstract concept.  But once he’s inside her, doing things that were previously reserved for you, your feelings could very well change.  Even if you’re certain now that you won’t be jealous, what if you’re mistaken?  Even if you aren’t prone to jealousy, what if watching your husband and his ex simply turns you off, and alienates you from him?  I’m not in any way implying that you don’t know your own feelings, but we’ve heard stories of people who were so focused on their partner’s pleasure that they neglected their own.

I note that while you say you would like to watch your husband have sex with his ex, your question could be interpreted as relating to a fantasy as opposed to something you are interested in pursuing and making a reality.  If that’s the case, no one’s opinion should matter except your own, and possibly your husband’s.  No fantasy that remains completely in one’s mind can be harmful in and of itself.

However, if you are hoping to turn this fantasy into a reality, the first step is discussing it with your husband.  Is he into it?  I know that there are several exes of mine that Jill would probably enjoy watching me fuck, but I’m not getting in touch with them for anything.  Is the ex someone with whom your husband is still in touch, and with whom the topic could be discussed comfortably?  In other words, has she become a born-again Christian?  Is she married to someone who is under the delusion that she was a virgin when they met?  Is she incarcerated or institutionalized?  If your answers to these questions are all “no”, that’s potentially very promising.  Additionally, if you don’t think it’ll be anything more than a fuck – again, no chance of those pesky emotions rearing their heads – I don’t see a problem.

I’m no authority.  If there are any points I’m missing, I’d appreciate a heads-up from anyone more knowledgeable than I.

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!

Flash Fiction Friday: Stairway to Heaven

(Image source: “On the Stairs” by Samantha Wolov)

Before they could make it up the stairs they fell to the ground, peeling off each other’s clothes in a fit of frenzied passion.  They kissed hungrily, desperately, their hands pawing at each other’s flesh like playful kittens.  She found herself frantically trying to lower his double knit slacks even as he reached beneath her skirt to pull her panties aside.
The shag carpet ensconced her as he opened her.  His first thrust took him deeper than she thought possible.  The hair on his chest was rough and scratchy against her breasts, his lips pleasant and soft on her neck.  As she clasped her legs around his back, she was glad that she’d drawn his house key from the bowl. (120/122)
Behind the Scenes
I wrote this week’s Flash Fiction Friday challenge in a matter of minutes; other than my usual momentary “What three words can I cut to make it fit?” conundrum, it was one of the easiest ones in recent memory.  In addition to the photo prompt, participants were asked to write a story that was between 68 and 122 words, and incorporate the phrase “…rough and scratchy…”
The first thing I think of when I see the prompt photo is “crazy seventies hair”.  That’s not to say that the photo was taken in the 1970s, or even that it is meant to represent the 1970s in any way.  But for some reason the unkempt mop on top of the gentleman’s head makes me think of that glorious decade that saw my birth.  There really isn’t anything that specifically identifies my story as being set in the 1970s, though chest hair, shag carpeting, and the last-minute mention of the hookup occurring at a key party seems to cement it firmly in that era.  There wasn’t sufficient room to mention any other period detail.
It bears noting that I originally planned to use the required phrase to describe the shag carpeting and not the gentleman’s chest hair.  But it’s been years since I’ve had contact with shag and I don’t remember what it feels like.  Are the fibers all that scratchy?
Deleted Scenes
None.  I had no delusion that I’d be able to write more than a relatively small passage, and budgeted my words accordingly.
It’s got to be “The Hustle”, by Van McCoy.  It was in my head the whole time I was writing.
If you’d like to take part in the fun, or see who else participated this week, check out Insatiabear.

The Naughty Hangout: A Trip to the Park

Of the three themes at The Naughty Hangout this week, the one that most resonated with us was the primary theme, “Pastimes”.  So many things came to mind, and obviously the first one was sex.  However, we decided to tackle the theme with a different approach, one that you might not expect from us.

We talk about swinging a lot on our blog, but we’ve never meant it literally.

If you were expecting filth, we’re sorry for the tame pictures this week.  You’re welcome to check out the last photo shoot we did at a park.

Go see who else is being naughty this week!