Meeting Rye: Conclusion

October 21, 2016 Jack1 Comment

On Thursday I woke to the sound of Jill getting ready for work. I turned over and kissed Rye’s neck and shoulder, feeling myself grow erect as I did. I pressed against her ass and felt her grind against me. She rolled over to face me and we kissed quickly, though hungrily.

We lounged in bed a bit, and it occurred to me that she was leaving in a couple short hours. We’d probably need to leave for the train station not long after Jill left for work. I’d enjoyed the two days we got to spend together, and while I wanted to fuck her one last time, I’d accepted that we would be too rushed to indulge this morning.

Jill hugged our guest good-bye, and I walked her to the door and held it open for her as I usually do. She kissed me, then said, “Enjoy your morning.” The mischievous tone in her voice made it clear she was expecting us to have sex, and probably wanted to get the low-down when she got home.

“We’ve got to leave in half an hour,” I said, almost apologetically.

“Then enjoy your half hour.” As she left I refrained from leaning into the hallway and blowing her a kiss, since I was naked. Just kidding. Of course I leaned into the hallway and blew her a kiss. I made it quick, though; our across-the-hall neighbor is a middle-aged woman who would either have had a heart attack or given me her number had she seen me in the altogether.

Back in the bedroom, I climbed back into bed and quickly nestled myself between her spread legs. I put on a condom and entered her, quickly and decisively. She was already wet, and as we began moving in sync I could feel her arousal building. She came suddenly, and though it didn’t feel particularly explosive at the moment the feel of the wet sheets against my legs said otherwise. I steadied myself against her, my hands on her shoulders pulling her down onto my cock as her moans of pleasure and release prompted my own climax.

I emptied out into the condom, moaning and shuddering as I collapsed against her. We lay together for as long as we dared, knowing the station from which she was leaving wasn’t close, and traffic en route might be treacherous. We showered quickly, then got dressed. While she put her bags by the door, I made myself a breakfast smoothie to take with me on the drive. She joined me in the kitchen and had a cup of coffee and a banana. Then we shared a kiss in the early morning sunshine and got on the road.

Traffic wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Despite the fact that it was nearing peak commuter time, there was no significant backup, and at any rate, we’d allowed plenty of time just in case. We spent the forty-five-minute drive talking about various topics that we either neglected to discuss during her visit, or wanted to explore in greater depth. Chief amongst these was religion, to which neither of us subscribes.

Being able to speak so openly not only about my atheism but also my Catholic upbringing, and the myriad reasons for my absence of faith, was so freeing that I momentarily wished Rye and I had spent more time during her visit talking about it. In fact, the conversation proved so engrossing that I nearly forgot to take the exit for the train station.

I suppose it might have been wishful thinking on my part that, rather than taking the exit for the train station, we might have been able to keep driving, and maybe return to my place. But no, as much as we both might have preferred that, her train ticket had been purchased and, well, reality. I pulled into the parking lot, hunted briefly for an available parking space, and then parked in an employee space.

We sat in the car, processing all we’d experienced. We talked about the last couple days, as well as the next leg of Rye’s California trip, and our plans to blog about her visit. Neither of us wanted our time together to end. We made out, too, because how could we not? I recall seeing a few bystanders milling about nearby, and I hoped our vigorous tongue-wrestling match didn’t bother them. But not enough to refrain, obviously.

What happened next was described by Rye as a “classic train station goodbye”. I think I’ll hold onto that wonderful little turn of phrase, because it fits beautifully, encapsulating the whirl of feelings as we finally parted company. I drove her to the main entrance of the train station, brought her bags out of the trunk of my car, and we kissed in this very sweeping, romantic fashion. While it was happening the instinct to prolong our final moments together blared urgently in my brain.

I knew I must eventually let her go, though I was certain it would only be temporary. As I got into the car I watched her walk through the door of the station, and then she was gone, and so was I. From there, I drove toward Jill’s school, which wasn’t far from where I’d left Rye. I found a Safeway and bought my wife a dozen roses. I delivered them to the front office in a vase, and headed home.

Meeting Rye: Day Two

October 13, 2016 Jack1 Comment

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Wednesday was full of lots of amazing things. There was incredibly hot sex, delicious food, and a lot of fun. From morning until night, there wasn’t a moment wherein I felt less than thrilled to be alive. And yet, one of the most memorable things that happened was when Rye and I finished having sex and we both reached for our glasses on my nightstand. We cuddled and talked for a bit, and it was several minutes before I noticed that the glasses fit my head differently than they usually do and realized I was wearing hers, and she was wearing mine. That means that our prescriptions are so similar that they might actually be the same. Which is a huge coincidence by itself, but added to the fact that we share a birthday it’s almost mind-blowing.

I reached out for my wife in the early hours but found her absent from the bed. As I stirred I could hear the shower running; she was already getting ready for work. I was pleased with all the elbow room; the bed had been cramped during the night, especially as I was sleeping between two women. Still, I didn’t waste time before turning onto my right side and spooning Rye. She was sleeping soundly, and I didn’t wish to disturb her. I figured she was still tired from her early start Tuesday morning, and jetlagged as well. However, I was already hard, and while I’d never begrudge somebody their much-needed rest, I hoped she wouldn’t sleep too late.

She did not. As I felt her stir I kissed her on the neck and shoulder. Jill emerged from her shower and got dressed, and once she was out the door we didn’t wait long before getting started. I placed my DSLR on its tripod and set it to take shots every couple seconds while we were fucking. I noticed as we kissed and teased each other that, with the initial explorations out of the way, the sex provided more familiarity and comfort than the day before, while still being incredibly exhilarating and gratifying.

Temporarily sated, we decided to take a break and move to the dining room, where Rye had her morning cup of coffee. Her love of the beverage was well-known to me; on her Twitter profile she describes herself as “obsessed with coffee”, and in fact when I asked her prior to her visit what food or drink she’d like us to have on hand, the first thing she requested was Coffee-Mate or a similar creamer. Another thing she requested was fresh fruit, which proved an excellent means of refueling during our periodic recesses. I cut up an apple, a pear, and a peach, and peeled an orange. We sat for awhile, talked, and ate.

After we were finished, we returned to the bedroom. She’d mentioned earlier that she wanted this to be “Use Rye Day”, and this definitely didn’t sound unpleasant. To say that Rye was determined to prove her oral skills after what I’m guessing she saw as a failure the previous day is perhaps an understatement, and while she had nothing to prove as far as I was concerned, there was no way I was going to stop her. I lay down on the bed while she knelt over me and swallowed my cock to the base. Quite a few minutes later, I felt climax approach. I somehow managed to alert my partner, and as the waves of pleasure washed over me, I felt it again. And again. And once more.

If you’re keeping track, that’s four multiples. Yep, that’s right – I occasionally have multiple orgasms. I know they’re far more common in women, and I understand a big part of the reason is that most men become too sensitive immediately following orgasm, but if my count is correct I’ve had legitimate multiples four times in the last four years. When it happens it’s always while receiving oral sex; being the receptive or reactive party seems to facilitate it much more than being the proactive party, i.e. fucking someone as opposed to lying still and being administered to, might. However, until that day I had never had more than two in a row. This was something new. An epiphany, if you will. I hadn’t come particularly voluminously as I frequently do. Even the first one was less generous than is typical for me. But the intensity of the sensations grew exponentially until the final orgasm, by which time I lay flat against the mattress as though trying to reverse-burrow my way to the boxspring.

We showered then, and decided to go have lunch. As we discussed options I found myself overwhelmed by the possibilities. Our locale is a veritable paradise for the discriminating food connoisseur and the slumming foodie alike; I immediately thought of more than a dozen musts, but before we left the house I’d decided on a favorite local taqueria. It was after the lunch rush and the restaurant wasn’t as busy as it would have been an hour earlier. We got enormous Mission-style burritos, so named for the district in San Francisco where they were first sold in the 1960s. They’re something I’ve taken for granted my entire life, but as it was Rye’s first time in California she’d never had one before. (Chipotle doesn’t count. Sorry.)

It occurred to me as we sat across from each other that I felt no concern that we’d be spotted by someone who knows Jill and I. This is something that is frequently on my mind when I’m out with someone other than my wife, and I realize that it’s likely mostly paranoia on my part. At any rate, I’ve been on dates before and it hasn’t happened, though given the size and omnipresence of my wife’s social circle, i.e. her outwardly traditional Catholic friends and extended family, I realize it could at any moment. It’s often on my mind and it leads me to pre-emptively concoct explanations, just in case. I’m not sure why I care, as Jill herself doesn’t seem to. Still, in the event that some judgy member of Jill’s family walked in, I was going with “This is a fellow parent from my daughter’s school.” It would have worked; my companion and I weren’t holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes, though I suppose I would have liked it if we were.

After lunch we walked around Downtown, eventually ducking into an independent toy-and-hobby shop to look around for a few minutes before returning to my car. The establishment has been a fixture of the community for more than sixty years, and I used to ask my parents to take me there to browse in the 1980s, when my tastes ran the gamut from G.I. Joe figures and Transformers to remote-control cars and Aurora-brand model kits. Decades later, I’d bring my daughter and she’d play with the slot cars and make delicious pretend treats in the play kitchen while I stood nearby, supervising her while texting sexy friends. Ahh, the good old days. 2013.

Back at my place, we had sex in the living room atop the Liberator Throe. And it was a good thing, too, because Rye squirted so much we would have had to replace the carpet. We switched from position to position, beginning with missionary, switching to spoons, then doggy style, and finally cowgirl. For a sub, she had no problem adopting a superior position, and I was impressed with her energy and enthusiasm. I fisted her then, and as she soaked the Throe and my forearm I managed to get a couple videos to send to her husband per his request.

We returned to missionary, and when I asked where she wanted to receive my cum, she said she wanted it on her. It didn’t take me long, especially since I could tell she was close as well. As I reached climax I pulled out and leapt up, whipping off the condom in a single fluid move. Rye fingered herself to orgasm as I stood over her and stroked, the streams spattering against her neck and breasts as she moaned with release.

In the bedroom, she got her Doxy out of her suitcase. I’d heard her reference it frequently in our chats and also seen it in action on her blog; when asked what items I’d like her to bring, the Doxy was the first thing I requested. She let me use it on her, and together we pushed her to another intense orgasm that soaked the towels I’d laid across the bed. It was hot to watch, and as she closed her eyes for a short nap, I tossed the towels in the washing machine with the saturated Throe. I spooned her then, even managing to doze off for a few minutes myself.

When she woke with a smile, Rye asked what I’d like to do next. I recalled her mentioning that it was Use Rye Day, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t yet fucked her ass, something her husband had strongly encouraged. When I made the suggestion, she got into position immediately. I put on a condom and lubed up both myself and my guest; I was about to attempt entry when I heard Jill’s key in the door.

Jill had a hair appointment scheduled after work, and I wasn’t expecting her to come home first. I froze where I was, much like the proverbial deer in the headlights. She walked into the bedroom taken somewhat aback by the spectacle before her. Clearly she wasn’t expecting to walk in on me fingering another woman’s ass. I suppose I’d screwed up, technically, as I’d all but forgotten Jill’s rule about us being dressed or otherwise not actively fucking when she comes home. In my own defense, however, we’ve never actually done anything like this before. I assumed when she gave me that rule that it only applied to the first meeting between her and the other person. In other words, I expected she didn’t want the other person to have to take my cock out of her mouth long enough to say how nice it is to make her acquaintance, but once the initial meeting was out of the way I figured anything goes. Besides, like I said, I figured she was going straight to her hair appointment.

Granted, Jill didn’t seem upset or anything, but Rye and I decided to hold off. We hung out with Jill and talked while she decompressed after work. Then she left for her appointment, and my guest and I went out to dinner. We hit a gathering of food trucks at a local park, ate delicious mobile-kitchen food while sitting in folding chairs and listening to live music, and witnessed to our amusement a kid with the most exaggerated, out-of-place rat-tail haircut I’ve ever seen in my life. While Rye inferred such a hairstyle was fairly commonplace back home, I can honestly say that if I’ve ever seen someone with a rat-tail in my locale, it’s been decades. I can’t fathom which 1980s time warp the kid stepped out of, nor can I explain why none of his friends was sporting a mullet.

After we ate we took a walk along the water before heading back to my car. We made out a bit, unconcerned for who might see us. Then we headed back home. Jill wasn’t far behind; she had declined an offer of dinner from the food trucks, and instead opted to drink when she got home. When we moved the party to our bedroom, Rye took a more active role than she had the night before and went down on my wife while I fucked her mouth. (That’s Jill’s mouth, not Rye’s, which would have been quite a feat!) I enjoyed watching and feeling Jill react to the new sensations of our guest’s mouth on her pussy; it’s been more than a year since she last played with a woman.

That night I drifted off to sleep very content, just as I had been the night before. Not even the fact that in less than twelve hours our guest would be boarding a train for the next leg of her California trip could dampen my mood.

To be concluded.

Meeting Rye: Day One

October 11, 2016 Jack2 Comments

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I asked her what she was wearing. It wasn’t a come-on, unlike all the other times I’d asked. No, this time I just wanted to know what sort of ensemble to look for as I drove through the arrival terminal. Her message came through while I was driving, and I glanced down at my phone while waiting at a red light: “Dress. Red bag. Boots.” As I drove I imagined her so dressed, and I imagined undressing her.

She’d messaged me after picking up her bag from baggage claim and let me know exactly where I could find her. When I arrived at the United terminal, however, she wasn’t there. I felt the familiar sensation of anxiety stabbing at my brain, though not because I thought anything had happened to her. I just didn’t want to have to exit the terminal and circle back around. Driving to the airport stresses me out under the best of circumstances, much less when things don’t go smoothly. As I prepared to leave and return, however, I spotted her a few doors up from where she initially told me I’d find her. When I checked my phone later, I would find a message telling me she’d moved. I wondered why, but not enough to ask.

She was standing by the curb, a laptop bag slung over her shoulder and the aforementioned red suitcase beside her. I eased my car in front of an idling taxi and popped the trunk, then got out and helped her with her bags. I welcomed her to California, but wasn’t sure what, if anything else, the situation dictated. We’d talked about being so excited about finally meeting that we wouldn’t even wait to drive away from the airport before we gave in to our long-simmering carnal passion. And while that was certainly an appealing scenario, I wasn’t looking to get arrested for indecent exposure while loitering outside an airport terminal. We didn’t hug, either. Generally speaking, I’m not averse to physical contact, but I don’t hug without asking if it’s okay. And I was so eager to get her to my house and into my bed that I didn’t bother to ask.

We’d first crossed paths online more than a year ago. I’m not sure whether we started by commenting on each other’s blogs, or whether we’d caught each other’s eye on Twitter, and took it to direct-messaging for sex talk. But we did both. When she was working from home, midday mutual masturbation sessions were so common that it really sucked for both of us when she got an outside job that precluded such play.

Jill and I live close to the airport, so the drive was thankfully brief. With all the talk of us being unable to wait until we got back to my place, I was impressed by our mutual restraint. Additionally, Rye declined my offer of breakfast out. I’ll be honest, I was glad. I was hungry, but after a few minutes spent peeking at the sexy expanse of bare leg between the hem of her dress and the top of her boot while we sat in slow-moving morning traffic, I sure as hell wasn’t craving bacon and eggs.

I gave her a quick tour of our modest abode. There’s not much to it, but I felt like prolonging the sexual tension which by then was so thick it could have been drizzled over pancakes, so I showed her around the living room and then the kitchen and my office. I walked her to the bedroom, where I advised her she’d be spending most of her time while she was here. The tour culminated on the balcony off of our bedroom; it was at this point that I realized I hadn’t yet kissed her, and I really wanted to. She must have felt the same way, because our mouths came together, open and hungry.

We kissed fervently, urgently, with the intensity of a dying star. As I felt her body through the slinky, sexy dress she’d picked out for our first meeting, I felt my arousal growing. My hands worked their way up her legs and under her dress. Her panties felt soft and feminine against my fingertips, but I was certain I’d find what was underneath even more pleasing to the touch. For a moment, I moved my hands up to her breasts, feeling them yield to my touch. I thought about the pierced nipples I’d seen in pictures, thought about rolling my tongue over them and feeling the contrast between the soft, warm flesh and the hard, cold metal.

I led her back inside, unable to wait a second longer. I offered her a seat on the bed and asked if I could take off her boots, and when she said yes they were quickly removed and discarded, along with her socks. Kneeling beside the bed, I caressed her feet and legs, basking in the all-encompassing anticipation. It occurred to me that this wasn’t the norm for her; as a sub she was undoubtedly unaccustomed to having a partner kneel before her, and I asked if she was okay with it. She was, so I kept it up for a few minutes, then I stood up and undressed her the rest of the way. The charge I felt upon beholding her naked body for the first time was nearly overwhelming. She helped me strip off my own clothing, and then we were on the bed, my face between her widely-splayed thighs. When my hunger was sated, I put on a condom and fucked her. The sex was quick and dirty, the kind you have when impatience overrules everything, and it culminated in explosive orgasms for both of us.

We lay together on my bed, bathed in the morning sunshine, trying to catch our breath. We caressed each other idly, enjoying the high even as we anticipated what the rest of the day would bring. Then we stripped the bed and threw everything, including our Liberator Throe, into the washing machine. It was the first of many loads of bedding that would be washed while our guest was with us. I joined her in the shower so we could get clean before getting dirty again.

As we huddled under the hot, steamy spray, I lathered her up. While my desire to help get her clean was genuine, I wasn’t unhappy to have the opportunity to cop a few more soapy feels. More than anything, though, I was amazed at how different she looked with her glasses off and her wet hair pulled back. I’m not saying that she looked better, just different. If not for the tattoos and piercings, she might have been a completely different woman for all I knew.

After the shower, we returned to my bed, where Rye gave me head for a very long time. I was aware of her love of and proficiency for sucking cock, and I was looking forward to feeling her thick, pleasing lips moving up and down my length. I didn’t come, however, and I got the distinct impression that this disappointed her. It’s not that she gave up or got tired; I simply don’t always come from oral sex, and for me to do so it requires much concentration. It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with my partner’s technique. My first time getting head from a new person, I am usually so excited by the new sensations, by the sight of her body, by the simple fact that it’s happening, that I can’t concentrate sufficiently. So instead we fucked again.

We kept at it for most of the day, though we had to be finished by 4:30 or so. Jill asked that we be finished and dressed by the time she got home; she has an issue with the idea of feeling like she’s imposing on someone, i.e. on me and someone I’m fucking, simply by walking into her own house. We had sex in many positions and shared lots of orgasms. The Throe went back into the wash, as did the sheets once more. While I was happy to take credit for the orgasms that soaked them, I was happy to know that our guest’s splash zone was vast as my wife’s, and proud of her for not feeling inhibited about expressing it.

We showered again, then got dressed and sat in the living room. We talked politics in advance of the evening’s Vice Presidential debate. When Jill came home she poured herself a cocktail and joined us on the sofa for awhile before making dinner. After we ate, we relaxed on the couch and talked some more. It was perhaps the typical getting-to-know-you chit-chat, but we enjoyed it. It occurred to me that while she and I had been in contact for quite a long time, both on Twitter and our respective blogs, we didn’t really know each other, exactly. We’d exchanged some minor life details and the like, but it was fun to actually open up a little and share.

We were all tired, Rye from jetlag and a long day of travel, Jill from a stressful day at work, and me from lack of sleep due to a minor cold, as well as from spending six hours fucking almost nonstop. However, we still managed some playtime once we’d led our guest down the hall to our bedroom. It was her first time having a threesome with a couple before. Jill and I undressed our guest, something we haven’t done with a playmate prior to a threesome in quite awhile. We lay her down and kissed and touched her. The festivities climaxed, quite literally, with me fucking Jill while Rye kissed her body. I came in my wife’s mouth, and we went to bed so satisfied that despite some crowding, we all slept soundly.

Although Jill and I have spent the night sleeping with other partners, this is the first time we’ve actually slept three to a bed. One of Jill’s initial rules for non-monogamy, established years ago, is that when having a threesome with another woman, she wasn’t allowed to spend the night. This is a seemingly sensible rule, as in the early days Jill was worried about re-establishing the connection with me following sexual contact with another. Hence, the guest left, and the two of us enjoyed some intimacy, or at least time for each other. Obviously this rule fell a long time ago, which is to say that Jill no longer feels threatened by such contact, and doesn’t feel the need to have me all to herself afterward. That said, as all of our bedroom guest stars have been local (or otherwise local to wherever we were at the time), it wasn’t an issue as they simply left afterwards. It was nice that Rye was visiting and had nowhere to go, as we enjoyed having her in our bed. In particular, it was nice cuddling with my wife throughout the night, then turning over and doing the same with her.

To be continued.

Sinful Sunday: A Sexy Guest

October 8, 2016 Jack14 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

This week Jill and I were graced with a visit from Rye, who you may know from her blog Chasing Me, Chasing You. If you hadn’t already gleaned from our tweets on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, we had an absolutely blissful time. You’ll likely be able to read about it here by the end of the week, but until then we hope you’ll enjoy this alluring view.

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

TMI Tuesday: October 4, 2016

October 4, 2016 Jack2 Comments

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TMI Tuesday time. Answer these interesting questions adapted from Red Lipstick Project’s Sexual IQ test.

Jack’s Answers

1. You want to make love, but your partner says they’re too tired:
A. You’re annoyed and frustrated.
B. It’s a bummer, but you understand they’ve had a long day.
C. You give your partner an awkwardly long hug and say you’re happy to wait. It’s better when you’re both into it.
D. You get nervous and worried. Maybe your partner is cheating or doesn’t think you’re attractive anymore.
B. Actually, this isn’t really a scenario. If I told Jill I wanted to fuck (because I don’t usually use the expression “make love”), she’d indulge me. Even if she was exhausted, she’d lie there and get fucked. It’s just who she is. The closest we really ever come to the described scenario is when we’re both in bed and very close to sleep, and we start groping and kissing. Usually this kind of play escalates to penetration quickly, but once in awhile it doesn’t. In such cases the play slows down and one or both of us falls asleep. It’s my own fault for not verbally expressing my need, but the fact that I don’t means I’m probably too exhausted to fuck anyway.

2. Who is having better sex? You or your best friends?
A. I am, obviously.
B. We don’t talk about our sex lives. Ever.
C. We all have our good times and bad times. We don’t usually compare.
D. My friends have all the good sex. I can’t keep up.
A. Of the two friends I’m likely to consider my best, one is single and probably doesn’t get laid, while the other has been married a couple years and probably doesn’t get laid. I have no concrete facts on the situation, but I can’t imagine either of them having as satisfying sex life as I do. Make no mistake, they both might be having plenty of really good sex. They might not be able to fathom better sex than what they’re having right now. But I’m guessing that for me it would fall short.

3. How do you feel right after sex?
A. Sweaty and ready to shower. A little gross.
B. Satisfied and energized. Ready to take on the world.
C. Calm and happy, falling asleep.
D. A bit let down and tired.
B. I almost always have a surplus of energy after orgasm, whether it’s during partnered sex or masturbation. In fact, I often want another one.

4. Which is better? Being a man or woman?
A. Men have it so much easier
B. Women have it so much easier
C. I’m having too much fun being me to worry about it.
D. Is there really much of a difference?
A. I’d love to have been able to answer “D”, but men have it easier and it isn’t even close. I’m not happy about this, despite the fact that I’ve continually benefited from male privilege throughout my life. As the father of a daughter, and a man who generally loves and admires women, it’s problematic. As comedian Dennis Miller once said, before he turned to the neoconservative dark side, “Having drinks bought for you and being able to cry your way out of a speeding ticket don’t make up for lower wages, date rape, pickup trucks with naked women silhouetted on the mud flaps, no affordable child care, happy-handed bosses, not being called on in class even when you know the answer, and having to take most of the responsibility for birth control.” What the fuck happened to you, Dennis? Your ass used to be beautiful.

5. You and your partner had sex that wasn’t that good. You:
A. Don’t say anything. Everyone has an off day.
B. Complain or drop hints that things better improve.
C. Consider whether you should break up. Sex is the glue to a good relationship.
D. Discuss it immediately and see if there is anything you should be doing differently.
Sex that wasn’t good? Does not compute.

6. What advice do you wish you had when you started having sex?
A. Sex is a great thing–healthy and fun.
B. A proper tour of the reproductive parts as errogenous zones and not from a biology point of view. Bodies are really strange and getting to know them can be awkward.
C. Sex is a beautiful thing but be careful to protect your body from STD’s and pregnancy or you won’t have as much fun.
D. Enjoy sex while you can, because it gets worse as you get older.
B, most likely. It’s important to look at sex as something more than a relatively dry chapter of one’s biology curriculum. That being said, I knew all about it long before I ever started having sex because I read literally anything on the subject that I could get my hands on.

Bonus: What will your sex life be like when you’re 70 years old?
A. I can’t imagine having sex when I get wrinkly.
B. Probably a little sex here and there.
C. Hopefully my years of knowledge and hard work in the bedroom will pay off when I am having good sex in my 70’s.
C. I hope so, anyway.

Jill’s Answers

2. Who is having better sex? You or your best friends?
A. I am, obviously.
B. We don’t talk about our sex lives. Ever.
C. We all have our good times and bad times. We don’t usually compare.
D. My friends have all the good sex. I can’t keep up.
A. Although I don’t talk to my best friends about our sex lives, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I definitely am. I know just enough about their sexual likes and dislikes and those of their partners to say (without meaning to sound boastful) that Jack and I are far more physically compatible than they are. Anyway, our sex life has always been amazing, and it’s getting better all the time.

3. How do you feel right after sex?
A. Sweaty and ready to shower. A little gross.
B. Satisfied and energized. Ready to take on the world.
C. Calm and happy, falling asleep.
D. A bit let down and tired.
B and C. When we have sex in the morning and the afternoon, I am always energized. When it happens at night, it’s the perfect way to end the day and I am relaxed and ready for sleep.

4. Which is better? Being a man or woman?
A. Men have it so much easier
B. Women have it so much easier
C. I’m having too much fun being me to worry about it.
D. Is there really much of a difference?
C. While I realize that both sexes are unfortunately not equal, I don’t wish to dwell on it. If I did, I wouldn’t enjoy life, and lately that’s all I’ve been doing. Things are pretty damn good.

6. What advice do you wish you had when you started having sex?
A. Sex is a great thing–healthy and fun.
B. A proper tour of the reproductive parts as errogenous zones and not from a biology point of view. Bodies are really strange and getting to know them can be awkward.
C. Sex is a beautiful thing but be careful to protect your body from STD’s and pregnancy or you won’t have as much fun.
D. Enjoy sex while you can, because it gets worse as you get older.
A. I could really have benefited from hearing that sex is healthy and fun. That’s really lacking in so-called sex education these days. Had I really known how amazing sex could be, I might have approached it with a different attitude in my early days.

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!

House Vs. Hotel

October 3, 2016 Jack2 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

On Tuesday we have a guest coming to stay with us for a couple days. She’s a Twitter friend and a fellow blogger; if you make a point of reading sexy blogs like this one, there’s a good chance you’ve read hers as well. Although we’ve been in communication for a couple years, this will be our first time meeting her in person. As she is a submissive, we were instructed by her husband and Master to do with her more or less as we please. In fact, as I was told back in August, “her trip this October is going to be a ‘loan,’ the same way I would let my neighbor borrow my grill if he promised to clean it before giving it back. The key thing in that analogy is that my neighbor doesn’t ask the grill whether it wants to cook chicken or steak. So I hope you feel empowered to make the most out of your ‘loaner’.”

Needless to say, I’m excited if a bit daunted by the opportunity to get my Dom on. While I am more dominant than submissive, I don’t lead with that. I mean, if I really have to choose a role from between those two, I’ll choose “dominant” ten times out of ten. But as you likely know, BDSM isn’t something Jill and I regularly practice. Sure there’s some restraint play on occasion, and impact play usually in the form of a spanking while fucking doggy style (though almost never for its own sake). We find the whole thing hot, just not something in which we’re compelled to engage very often. More than anything, I’m just looking forward to spending a couple days fucking a new person, especially inasmuch as my small but usually reliable stable of local play partners seem to have moved on to greener pastures.

Our daughter will be out of the house while our guest is visiting. Back in June I asked my mom if she’d take her to a hotel for those two days. (My mom isn’t local, and since it’s mid-week she can’t drive our daughter to her house several hours’ drive away; she’s got school, and a number of after-school activities that require her to spend her weekdays close to home.) Of course, since it might have seemed strange to ask someone to watch our child at a hotel, I had to lay the cards on the table, so to speak, and let her know we have an open relationship.

(Oh wait – we haven’t made the announcement here, have we? We’ve been completely open since April. There is a blog post or two to be written about our first forays into honest-to-goodness openness, and for that matter the aforementioned conversation with my mother. A couple are sitting in my drafts folder right this moment. But it’s been a busy several months and I suck at follow-through.)

Everything is ready for the arrival of our guest, who I’ve been referring to as “my new toy” on Twitter. The house is clean. Some requested foodstuffs have been purchased. Condoms have been purchased. The Liberator Throe is folded and ready for use. The only thing left to do was book my mother’s hotel room. However, when I told my daughter after school on Friday that she’d be staying with her grandmother for a couple days, she got upset. With good reason, I suppose; while my mother thought she would find it a treat to stay in a hotel, order in room service, and generally have a change of scenery for a couple days, in reality my six-year-old can be wary of changes to the routine. She likes her bed. She likes the couch. She likes her enormous stockpile of toys, Legos, books, and the like. Whereas my wife equates staying in a hotel with having someone else make your bed, clean your room, and basically wait on you, my daughter is in first grade, and the chores we require her to do aren’t such that she looks forward to a brief respite from them.

Then it occurred to me: Why not let them stay at the house, while Jill and I enjoy our plaything at a hotel? That would seem to make more sense anyway. We get to spend a couple days in a decadent king bed, eating room service and letting someone else clean up after us, and my kid doesn’t have to lug a ton of crap to a hotel or otherwise disrupt her routine. That sounded pretty appealing for all concerned. After all, our guest probably doesn’t necessarily care about our house beyond the bedroom, and while I’d thought about fucking her on our balcony I wasn’t necessarily married to the idea; the bed, the shower, and whatever other surfaces a hotel room might offer were plenty.

I considered the food situation; Jill was hoping to cook a nice meal one of the nights (we’d presumably order delivery the other night). While I doubt she would have been heartbroken over not being able to if we were in a hotel, she’s as skilled in the kitchen as she is in the bedroom (or in the back seat of her date’s Lexus – feel free to tweet her if you’d like details), and I know it’s an ego boost when she cooks for appreciative guests. On the other hand, having access to a full kitchen would mean my mother could make school lunches for our daughter the night before, rather than Jill or I having to make them all on Monday night and store them in the hotel mini-fridge.

Ultimately, though, Jill and I decided to remain in the house and let my mom and our daughter take the hotel as originally planned. A major motivator for this decision was our desire not to let our guest feel like we somehow didn’t trust her in our home. We both thought that hosting her in a hotel room, while surely a fun and sexy time, would be the equivalent of putting away the good china before visitors come over. She’s someone we consider a friend, and while she insists she is down for anything, we’d feel bad if she got the impression that we’d booked a hotel room just to deny her access to our home. Also, we’re looking forward to getting to know her better (beyond sexually) while she’s here, and trust me: There’s no better way to see exactly who we are than by spending some time in our home.

The decision to remain in the house was facilitated by our daughter suddenly being excited about staying in a hotel. But as it turns out, my mom and her granddaughter are going to be spending those two days at my aunt’s house. Our daughter will get to play with her second cousins, and the school lunch issue is negated by the presence of an actual kitchen where lunches can be prepared the night before. Additionally, eschewing a hotel will save Jill and I a couple hundred bucks, which I’m guessing my mother would have sought to pay anyway. It’s nice having supportive family.