Tweeted this on Tuesday.  It didn’t get much of a response, but even if it had, it bears repeating.

Just walked into the children’s section at my local library, where storytime had just let out. A huge group of moms were gathered.
— Jack (and Jill) (@jackandjillcpl) March 26, 2013

One dad playing lovingly with his child amidst a sea of moms. I might as well have been the hairless werewolfboy from Twilight.
— Jack (and Jill) (@jackandjillcpl) March 26, 2013

I like the idea that I will inspire many vibrator-assisted orgasms amongst these ladies when they get home.
— Jack (and Jill) (@jackandjillcpl) March 26, 2013

Not only is stay-at-home fatherhood a great opportunity to bond with one’s children, but it can also be an enormous ego boost.

– Jack

In our last post, published way back in mid-February, we talked about an “anti-Valentine’s Day party” thrown by some friends of ours.  We’d been invited to said party despite the fact that we assumed it was a singles-only event, and while I joked that we might be set upon by a crowd of bitter singles and mutilated beyond recognition, I can say for the record that we did attend the party and we are still alive.

Beyond that, we managed to have a pretty good time.  We were, despite my assumption to the contrary, the only couple in attendance.  The gathering consisted mainly of women, though there were a handful of single males as well.  Some people I knew, though some I did not.  Some of the attendees were members of my high school graduating class, others were people I knew from elsewhere – friends of friends and such – while others I was meeting for the first time.  No one looked down their noses at us for daring to breach their romantically-unattached inner sanctum.  Overall, we had a good time.

Especially Jill.  She tends to drink at home, though when we go out she is often the designated driver.  That night, however, we hadn’t discussed which of us was going to take one for the proverbial team and stay sober.  We hadn’t planned on being at the party very long; we’d only gotten the babysitter until 9:30 and figured even that was probably pushing it.  Over the course of a couple hours, one drink, or maybe two, for each of us, was probably reasonable.

I should also mention that we managed to enlist Jill’s sister to watch our daughter.  She’s unreliable as a sitter, often calling us home long before the agreed-upon end time.  Her general flakiness has proven frustrating on more than one occasion.  That we offered to let her babysit at our house rather than hers probably sweetened the deal, and while we told her we’d be home by 9:30, both Jill and I expected to start receiving texts shortly after we arrived at the bar.  Because there’s precedent for that.

As soon as we arrived, before I could get myself a drink even, I got pulled aside to catch up with a couple friends.  By the time I looked over at Jill she had a beer in hand and was engaged in raucous conversation with M and a couple of our mutual friends.  She wasn’t drunk yet, but I knew it wouldn’t take long.  As the evening continued on, I looked over and saw that my wife was having a blast.  I didn’t mind staying sober.

Eventually I made my way over to Jill.  By this point she was more or less drunk.  Jill gets affectionate when she drinks, and while the requisite flirting with M did occur, she also flirted with a number of the other women at the party including M’s conservative best friend, who had fortunately had a couple drinks herself, flirted right back, and laughed it off.

Jill whipped out her tits so many times that the bartender named a cocktail after them.
— Jack (and Jill) (@jackandjillcpl) February 16, 2013

Other things Jill did that night include pulling out her tits ostensibly whenever she got the urge, though in a fairly surreptitious fashion; and talking quite loudly about our having had a threesome with M.  No one seemed to hear – she didn’t mention it when engaged in conversation with anyone else – but that didn’t stop M from playing along.  If anyone overheard, she rationalized, they’d assume it was a joke.

By nine o’clock neither of us had heard from Jill’s sister, which was encouraging.  Still, we expected to start getting texts around 9:15, asking if we were going to be home on time.  We didn’t.  We didn’t even get a text at 9:30, or 9:35.  Around ten o’clock, after more than a half hour of avoidance on my part, I asked Jill if she’d heard from her sister.  She said she called her right around 9:30.  Our daughter was fast asleep, and her sister told us to stay out as late as we wanted.  That was unexpected.

We finally left around 11:45, stopping to pick up Taco Bell en route because my wife craves cheap pseudo-Mexican fast food when she’s been drinking.  M was close behind us; we had her hang back until we verified that our daughter was still asleep and dismissed the babysitter.  When that was done, we texted her the all clear.

Jill had already poured wine by the time M got upstairs.  I took a seat on the armchair while the two ladies got comfortable on the sofa and picked up where they’d left off at the bar.  I felt my arousal build as I watched them kiss, first tentatively, teasing.  Before long, though, their play intensified, hungry mouths biting gently as tongues darted between lips and hands found thighs and breasts.  As Jill nuzzled and sucked on her soft neck, M beckoned me to the couch with a cocked head and a raised eyebrow.

I wasted no time, squeezing in behind my wife and freeing her breasts.  As I kneaded them with my hands, Jill leaned back so our guest could have a taste.  It was only a moment before I moved around to join M, stopping only long enough to cast off Jill’s top.  We sucked her nipples heartily, noisily, eventually coming together on the same breast, then switching to the other.  Jill reclined on the sofa and caressed her thighs, her moans soft and steady.

It was then that I noticed that M was unbuckling Jill’s belt and opening her jeans.  Her hand sunk beneath the soft fabric of her panties, and the smile on M’s face when she discovered Jill’s wetness betrayed her elation.  As her fingers danced within, Jill hurried to open my own jeans and withdrew my cock.  As she swallowed it whole, M stripped her from the waist, leaving jeans and panties discarded and out of sight.  Now wearing just her bra – barely, I might add – Jill licked and sucked as M got to work, caressing her wantonly before replacing her fingers with her tongue.

As my wife drew me deeper into her mouth, M applied long, deft strokes to Jill’s wetness, making eye contact with me every few licks.  I tried to concentrate on Jill’s mouth and the erotic things she was doing with it, but as she neared climax it became evident that I was but an afterthought.  And rightfully so.  I slipped from her mouth and lowered my mouth onto her breast just as she began to convulse.  Her moans were loud and unrestrained.  She reached down and held M’s head in place as her hips bucked.  I imagined the tightness of Jill’s thighs against my face as I licked and sucked her nipple, and when her orgasm had subsided I lay against her chest, still rising and falling rapidly even as M came around to resume their makeout session.

When she could speak again, Jill expressed amusement at the fury and intensity of her orgasm, and suggested we move things into the bedroom.  On the way, she stopped in to check on our daughter, still fast asleep.  And that’s how we found her later, as we walked M to the door.  Given the number of near-misses and babysitter-related drama we’ve experienced on the quest for another threesome with M, we couldn’t have imagined that all we needed to do was let her fall asleep for the night.

Three years ago we published a post wherein we talked about how an unattached female friend of ours threw a Valentine’s Day party for single people, an anti-Valentine’s Day party if you will, designed for single women to network with other single women for the purposes of analyzing their failed relationships, complaining about how they’d been screwed over by men, and presumably organizing some sort of hunting party and killing and dismembering either their unfaithful and/or emotionally distant ex-boyfriends or else successful couples that have the audacity to be happy.

It appears that I may have been hasty in my assessment of the party in question.  First off, it apparently wasn’t a women-only event.  Couples might even have been invited, though at the time it didn’t seem that way, and I know that Jill and I certainly didn’t get an invite.  But whereas I categorized it as a get-together for bitter, lonely individuals who can’t get dates, much less find love, it was likely a low-key gathering of single people held for the purposes of deflecting societal pressure on that most Hallmarky of Hallmark holidays.  I can’t fault any single individual for wanting to be part of something like that.  Hell, I can’t fault the attached for it either.  As someone who has no problem making grand gestures of love on random days throughout the year, I’m all for ignoring Valentine’s Day.

Let me rephrase that:  I would be all for ignoring Valentine’s Day if my wife didn’t have co-workers and friends whose envy motivates me the way revenge motivates the protagonist in a squalid 1970s grindhouse flick.  Essentially, the holiday – sorry, “holiday” – does little for me; while I enjoy hearing Jill gush and brag about the dozen roses I had delivered to her place of work, I know that she doesn’t expect them just because it’s Valentine’s Day.  While I am comfortable being romantic on February 14 each year, I am also pretty romantic on February 13 and February 15, and for that matter August 29.  I love the fact that my wife is aware that Valentine’s Day is a corporate holiday designed to sell greeting cards, chocolate, flowers, and lingerie, and for that matter I love the fact that she refuses to go out on Valentine’s Day as restaurants are overcrowded and often feature a limited and expensive prix fixe menu.

That doesn’t mean that, to some extent, Jill doesn’t want me to pull out all the stops on Valentine’s Day.  We may sidestep the issue of overcrowded and overpriced restaurants by having a nice dinner out several days beforehand – this year we celebrated Valentine’s Day with a four-course dinner out more than a week in advance – but for us Valentine’s Day still tends to include cards with heartfelt messages, gifts including candy, and hot sex that generally incorporates a half-dozen or more positions.  But then all of those things are fair game on any other day.  Jill just doesn’t want to have to forego them on the one day a year that everyone she knows is openly talking about them.  Except for the hot sex.  Most of our friends aren’t the sort to talk about that.

Getting back on topic, the friend who was responsible for that jaded anti-Valentine’s Day party is throwing another one tomorrow night.  We’ve been invited.  Now, knowing the friend as well as we do, we are reasonably certain that we will not be tarred, feathered, and set ablaze.  In fact, we will not be the only couple in attendance.  Upon perusing the guest list, it appears that the couples-to-singles ratio is such that the couples could easily take the singles should they try anything.  And they’d have to be crazy to try anything.  We may be happy, relaxed couples and they may be on-edge, perpetually-pissed-off singles who haven’t gotten laid in months (not saying they are, just that they might be), but the first sign of aggression will be met with swift and decisive action on our part.

Ahem.  I’m not expecting a battle royale tomorrow night.  Just some laughs, some dancing, and probably some magnesium hydroxide slipped into my cocktail by some single guy who wishes he was married to Jill.  We’ll keep you posted.  Until then, however, we just wanted to wish you all a good day, whether you celebrate Valentine’s Day, Singles Awareness Day, or some other fringe holiday or pseudo-holiday.  (Did you know that today is my half-birthday?  It is.)

-Jack

We’ve had a nice month off.  It was definitely a necessary break, as we were aware of feelings of burnout toward the end of our long near-daily blogging run.  We like blogging, and we don’t want to feel burned out by it.  But our determination to publish more blog posts in 2012 than any sane blogger should drove us to extremes.  We thought that having a few weeks off would help refresh us.

Then it hit us:  Terminology like “a few weeks off” is a clear indication that we’ve been viewing our blog in the wrong fashion.  It’s not a job.  To be fair, we never really thought of it as a job, exactly; however, the routine into which we fell, complete with deadlines and performance reviews, was very reminiscent of a job.  And while we didn’t get paid for doing said job, the amount of satisfaction we get from knowing that other bloggers, and even non-blogging lurkers, enjoy what we do here is just as appreciated as a salary.*

That’s when it hit us:  Over the past year-plus, we slowly shifted focus from blogging for ourselves to blogging for feedback.  You’re likely aware that we have always been our own biggest motivation for blogging.  We started this blog as a means of vocalizing things, typically sexual in nature, that we often can’t say in mixed company.  We needed an outlet where we could write about our own sexual lives, and to a lesser extent discuss with like-minded individuals the things that turn us on and the experiences we’ve had.  We wanted this blog to exist as a repository of our writings and a record of our relationship years into the future, perhaps even after we’ve stopped contributing to it.

But as our following grew in the months following our return in August 2011, we found ourselves greatly enjoying the feedback we’d get from an astute political post, a sexy HNT picture, or a particularly funny set of TMI Tuesday answers.  While we continued to blog for ourselves and for the most part resisted the temptation to write for our audience, we did feel pressure to continue posting nearly every day, if not to regularly outdo what had been posted the day before.  Granted, virtually all of this pressure was self-imposed.  Well before the end of the year, we had resigned ourselves to continuing on our regular blogging schedule, participating in each meme.

Wait a minute.  Resigned?  People don’t resign themselves to doing the things they love.  They resign themselves to a long wait in line at the DMV.  They resign themselves to paying taxes.  They resign themselves to being lied to by politicians.  We shouldn’t resign ourselves to doing something that we enjoy.  We should do it without reservation, or hesitation, on a schedule that works for us.

We’ve spent a couple weeks focusing on the future of this blog.  We’ve brainstormed ideas for new posts.  We’ve thought about activities in which we could engage that might inspire future posts.  We’ve picked at the threads of potential erotic stories in the hopes of bringing to life something promising.  We considered various means of preventing overwork and the burnout that is likely to accompany it.

So we’re back, more or less.  That doesn’t mean that we’re going to blog as regularly as we did last year.  That was never a pace we were going to be able to sustain for long, and the fact that we did so as long as we did says something about us, I guess.  But don’t expect us to start participating regularly in memes just yet.  No, a gradual return seems the wisest course of action here, and will hopefully enable us to publish the kind of original non-meme content that was our original intention.

Yes, I realize that in doing so our readership may decline.  It’s likely declined significantly in the last month; I’m certain that, in light of four weeks with no posts, many readers are now former readers.  Not participating in TMI Tuesday, Sinful Sunday, Wicked Wednesday and the like every week is unlikely to change that.  On the other hand, we broke 200,000 page views sometime in January, so it stands to reason that people are still checking us out.

If you’ve read this far, thanks.  We appreciate you sticking around!

*Well, almost.