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Sinful Sunday: Suitporn

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The last time I was the subject of a Sinful Sunday post, it got a very positive response, likely due to the fact that I look pretty good in a suit.  (If you haven’t seen it, head right over and check it out.)  Seeking to capture lightning in a bottle, we’re doing something similar this week.

Sinful Sunday

Formspring Friday: Share and Share Alike

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Jill, do you ever let Jack wear your panties?

I never have, but not because I find the idea unpalatable or because I am so possessive of my panties that I won’t let my husband wear them.  I’ve never let Jack wear my panties simply because he’s never asked, and I’m guessing that he never will.

Jack and I are pretty open with each other in terms of sexual desires and fantasies, and we never pass judgment on what turns the other on.  So I don’t have any reason to suspect that Jack secretly wants to wear my panties and just hasn’t figured out how to bring it up.  He’s incredibly vocal about the things (and for that matter, the people) he’d like to do.  He thinks nothing of making a sexual request, with the understanding that I’m unlikely to fly into a rage or even look at him funny over the fact that he’d like to fuck my best friend.  If he wanted to wear my panties I am certain that he would have asked by now.

If he asked, I would have no problem handing over a pair for him to wear, but it isn’t something that turns me on.  I’ve never been aroused by the idea of a lover wearing my panties.  But if it turned Jack on, I see no reason to deny him.  In fact, if it turned him on, it stands to reason that it might turn me on as well, since I get very excited by indulging a naughty request from the man I love.  Maybe he would be so turned on by wearing my panties that he’d fuck me better than he ever has before.  With that in mind, how could I refuse?

I do my best to be, in the words of Dan Savage, GGG:  Good, giving, and game.  I have fulfilled requests for my husband and did things that I never could have imagined doing when I was much younger.  For example, most of the group sex that I have experienced, including threesomes and sex with a woman, has been at his suggestion.  The thing is, once Jack pushed me out of my comfort zone I found that I really loved it.  I don’t think there is anything prudish about me when it comes to trying something new, within reason.  So if Jack ever asked to wear my panties, of course I would let him.

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!  If you have a Formspring account and you aren’t already participating, feel free to join in the Formspring Friday fun!

Flash Fiction Friday: Cruising Altitude

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The plane was well over the ocean when it began.
The flight had been underway for several hours and the cabin was quiet.  Most of the passengers were asleep.  Feeling drowsy himself, Jim set down his magazine, intent on catching a couple hours’ rest.  That’s when he peered across the aisle and saw them.
The blouse hung off of her pale shoulders, revealing soft flesh beneath.  The man seated beside her nuzzled her breasts as his hand snaked beneath her skirt.  Jim watched as she tugged her panties over her hips.  As the man began to move his arm slowly, deliberately, his seatmate writhed in ecstasy.  He lifted his magazine again in an effort to hide his gaze.
He continued to enjoy the show until he heard a voice behind him.  “How can I help you, ma’am?”
The other voice was soft, elderly.  He could hear the embarrassment in her tone.  “Why is this happening?  Why doesn’t someone stop them?”
“Ma’am,” began the stewardess, “please read the fine print on the back of your ticket.
Curious, Jim withdrew his own ticket from his coat pocket.  Printed in bold type were the words  Passengers may have sex on flight. (198/199)

Behind the Scenes

Unlike recent Flash Fiction Friday challenges, in particular last week’s, I found this one surprisingly easy.  As soon as I saw the prompt photo I knew exactly how I was going to handle it.  I didn’t begin writing until relatively late Thursday night, and managed to complete the story in a matter of minutes.

The only aspect of the story on which I wasn’t certain right at the beginning was the ending, for which I intended to include some manner of twist.  I wasn’t sure whether the person complaining about the copulating couple would be Jim, the character through whose eyes we view the events; or someone else.  I ultimately decided that it would be more fun to have Jim enjoying the show rather than to have him react with distaste at the exhibitionism across the aisle, and I assigned the objection to an elderly passenger in another row.  In doing so, I attempted to research whether call buttons were in use on commercial airliners in the 1970s, when the prompt photo appears to have been taken.  (Hence my use of “stewardess” rather than “flight attendant”, although “stewardess” is a whole word shorter.)  Gleaning no definitive answer from a twenty-second Google search, I decided to sidestep the entire issue.

As was the case last week, the twist here is that the characters inhabit a world wherein behavior currently considered indecent or lewd is acceptable in public, or at least on public transportation.  As was the case last week, one character is unaware of the change in society’s mores.  I’m not certain whether this recurring theme is related to my own desire for society to loosen up, but it might be.

In addition to the prompt photo, the other requirements imposed by Ram the Sunlover were the inclusion of the word “bold”, and a word count of between 195 and 199.  Regarding the former, I considered using it to refer to the actions of the couple; it is a bold display in which they’re engaging.  But I prefer my use of the word to describe a printed disclaimer that allows for public sex on this flight.

Regarding the latter, I can’t imagine that I’m the only one who finds a required word range much more challenging than a maximum word limit.  I’m not in any way saying that it made this installment of Flash Fiction Friday unpleasant or even necessarily difficult.  But as I was writing I found myself at one point ready to wrap up the story only to realize that I was fifty words or so short of the minimum.
Incidentally, an account of our own experience with mid-flight hanky-panky can be found here.

Deleted Scenes

None.

Soundtrack

Jet Airliner by Steve Miller Band, from 1977.

The Naughty Hangout: Nightmare

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This week’s main theme at The Naughty Hangout is “Fear”.  Rather than going with our instinct and shooting something tongue-in-cheek – dead vibrator batteries, an extended visit with the in-laws, a toddler that won’t nap – we decided to get a bit more creative.  Jill sits upright in bed, her sleepy eyes adjusting to a most unsettling sight out on the balcony.

Thanks to Nolens Volens, we’re trying a mouseover image for the first time.  This enables us to interpret this week’s two backup themes, “Addiction” and “Pleasure”, as well.  (As you’re undoubtedly aware, we’re addicted to pleasure.)  So don’t forget to mouse over the main image for a surprise!

See who else is being naughty this week!

Wicked Wednesday: On Reaching Thirty-Six

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I woke to warm sunshine washing over my naked body.  It had to be almost nine o’clock, and I silently thanked my wife for letting me sleep in.  I leaned close to my nightstand and opened the top drawer.  My phone lay within, sequestered there around six-thirty once the Facebook greetings began coming in, not to mention the text messages and, most inexplicably, several phone calls.  The nerve of some people, I thought.  Who in their right mind would call me before eleven on my birthday?
I set the phone on my nightstand and shut the drawer.  Slowly and only half-committed, I sat up on the edge of the bed, almost certain that I was ready to enjoy my day.  We had planned an outing to the beach, and a delicious lunch at a restaurant overlooking the ocean.  I held my arms out to my sides and stretched, yawning silently.  It was when I finally stepped out of bed that I heard her.
“Oh, you’re up,” Jill said walking into our room.  She shut the door and walked around to my side of the bed.  I could hear disappointment in her voice as she spoke:  “I was hoping to wake you up myself.”
She dropped her bathrobe to the floor, revealing nothing beneath but bare flesh.  I could see where this was going, and so I got back in bed.  Standing before me, Jill gazed at my arousal and licked her lips.  Then she climbed on top of me.
I didn’t have to ask about the baby’s whereabouts.  I assumed that Jill had parked her on the sofa with breakfast on a plate beside her and cartoons playing on television.  And I mean live television, not On Demand or something for the DVR.  Otherwise as soon as the show ended we would have been subjected to persistent knocking on the bedroom door and an adorable voice asking Mommy to put something else on.
Jill kissed me hard on the mouth, her tongue making a swift but brief entrance before retreating.  I caressed her breasts, then moved my hand between her legs and settled into the warm wetness of her pussy.  I found her clit and began to stroke.  Only then did Jill stop me.
“It’s your birthday,” she said.  “It’s all about you.”
It’s rare that I cum first.  I prefer to make sure my wife’s needs are met, or better still exceeded, before focusing on my own pleasure.  Sometimes, when we’re in a hurry, Jill will insist that I cum now and she’ll cum later.  I usually put up a fight.  But it was birthday.  If she wanted the focus to be on me, I wasn’t going to argue.
She kissed her way down my neck and over my shoulders, then along my chest.  As her mouth found my nipples, my cock throbbed insistently, announcing its need.  It wasn’t long before her lips enveloped me, her mouth sinking all the way to my balls.  I closed my eyes and felt her hands on my thighs, her lips and tongue continuing to pleasure me all the while.
I reached down and placed a hand on her head as it bobbed rhythmically.  I didn’t pull her or push her; I simply guided her ministrations.  As she continued to lick and suck, I let my fingers get tangled in her hair.  Eventually I took her locks in either hand, holding it like reins.  I pulled her down, feeling the head of my cock lodge in the back of her throat.  I relaxed my grip and she rose back up, gasping for air.
Eventually the end was in sight.  Hearing my orgasmic moans, Jill closed her lips around the swollen head, and with her hand she stroked me vigorously.  The final stroke brought forth an eruption of such volume that it seemed as though I hadn’t climaxed in weeks.  She didn’t miss a drop.
Needless to say, it was a very happy birthday.
-Jack

Prompt:  Happy

Retro HNT: You know you want to…

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“You know you want to…”, posted September 23, 2010

In 2010, we posted fifty-two consecutive weeks of pictures at OHNT.  We’re posting them on our blog, one per week.  They can be found here, along with background information and all the comments they received.

TMI Tuesday: August 21, 2012 – Pain and Pleasure

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This week’s TMI Tuesday theme and questions come from Bi and Bi.

Jack’s Answers
1. Which do you enjoy more in bed, pain or pleasure?
Definitely pleasure.  That’s not to say that I haven’t experimented with pain (as a recipient); in my younger days when I had no children and plenty of time, I would occasionally clamp a big black binder clip to my nipple during masturbation.  It was kind of fun, it possibly being my first real sortie into the realm of kink, but the fact is it didn’t do much for me.  And this is coming from a guy with really sensitive nipples.  Seriously, it’s like there’s an air hose going from my nipples to my cock.  If you’re ever in the same room as me, try it:  Put your mouth on one of my nipples – you don’t even have to blow – and see if something doesn’t inflate.
2. Do you like being tickled during sex? Where?
No.  Please don’t tickle me.  Caress me, stroke me, kiss me, lick me, suck me.  But there’s no need for tickles, thanks.  I’m a firm believer that sex should be fun, and that laughter during sex is perfectly acceptable as long as it’s not at my expense.  But I’m not a fan of being tickled, if only because I think there are a lot more useful things for my partner to do with her hands.  Also, while I’ve never accidentally peed while being tickled, I’d hate for the first time to occur during sex.
3. Have you ever used feathers during sex?
Yes.  Years ago, curious about fucking an emu, I broke into a local zoo after hours.  I had made myself an intricate suit of feathers with which I thought I hoped to avoid raising the emu’s suspicions.  Unfortunately the only feathers I had were synthetic ones from a down comforter, and the emu bolted.  Turns out that they can run up to thirty miles per hour.  Defeated, I headed to the penguin exhibit, figuring that he or she wouldn’t be able to get away.  After all, the movie was called March of the Penguins, not Race of the Penguins.  I selected a suitable-looking specimen, hopped into the exhibit, and got started.  Unfortunately a zookeeper caught us – I mean, caught me – and I had to cast off my feather suit before hightailing it out of there.
Call me a wide-eyed optimist, but I was  hoping we’d raise a family together.

4. Do you like to be blindfolded during sex? Why?
No, but all of my partners have all seemed to prefer it.  And when a blindfold wasn’t readily available they all insisted that I fuck them from behind.  Not sure why.
5. Have you ever used cold or heat as part of your sex play? What provided the cold or heat?
In my single days I was actually infamous for my tendency to incorporate intense cold into my sexual activity.  The cold was provided by my failure to pay the heating bill.
6. Do you enjoy being spanked, giving spankings, or both?
Being spanked?  No.  Giving spankings?  Yes.  I’m sure someone with a background in psychology could successfully analyze why I’m not into receiving; perhaps it has something to do with a spanking-related trauma from my childhood, or maybe it’s because I’m too dominant to allow myself to be put in a submissive position for anyone, even my wife.  But who cares?  One thing I do know for sure is the reason that I like to spank Jill.  It has nothing to do with the way her soft, supple ass feels against my hand.  It has nothing to do with the excitement I derive from inflicting pain (note: I don’t derive excitement from inflicting pain) or even how turned on she gets from behind spanked.  It has everything to do, however, with the fact that I am  a stay-at-home Dad who does not spank his frequently disobedient child.
7. Do you have a safeword? Have you ever used it?
Yes, we have a safeword; it is “harder”.  
Bonus: Tell us in 3-4 sentences the most painful or pleasurable sexual experience you have had.
Tough question to answer.  With twenty years’ experience under my belt, most of it good, it’s difficult to narrow it down to just one most pleasurable experience.  But I’m inclined to go with the most recent time Jill and I had sex, as it’s always very pleasurable and in being the most recent experience it’s still very fresh in my mind.  As I write this on Monday, the most recent sex between Jill and I occurred on Sunday night.

Jill’s Answers

1. Which do you enjoy more in bed, pain or pleasure?
Definitely pleasure.  I love to be kissed, touched, cuddled, caressed, and fucked.  I love G-spot play.  I’m not really into pain, beyond the occasional playful spanking, and even when I am restrained in a less-than-comfortable position it’s about the pleasure, not the pain.

2. Do you like being tickled during sex? Where?
No, I don’t like being tickled during sex.  Tickling makes me jumpy, and in the context of a sexual experience I just don’t enjoy it.  If something (or someone) tickles me during orgasm it can ruin it, and if it happens right before orgasm it can throw me off completely, forcing me back almost to square one.  I am a very ticklish person, and at times in the middle of sex, especially oral sex, Jack accidentally touches me in a way that registers in my brain as tickling, and it gets me off of my game a little bit.  The closest I get to enjoying tickling as part of our sex play is when Jack sucks my toes.  This really straddles the line between intense pleasure and tickling.  Fortunately Jack knows what he’s doing, and tends to land on the “intense pleasure” side rather than the “tickling” side.

3. Have you ever used feathers during sex?
Not that I can recall.  I know we’ve done some tactile play while I was blindfolded, but I don’t recall Jack using a feather as one of the items.

Doesn’t count.  The feathers aren’t real.

4. Do you like to be blindfolded during sex? Why?
Though it’s not something I need to experience every single time, yes, I enjoy being blindfolded during sex.  There is a lot of excitement in not knowing where Jack is going to touch or what he is going to do.  The next lick or suck could be going literally anywhere!  Plus it makes me feel vulnerable to put on a blindfold, especially if I am also restrained in some way, or if I have other senses cut off as well.  That requires a lot of trust, and strengthens the bond I have with Jack.  Another exciting aspect of being blindfolded involves fantasy.  Those lips, those hands, and that cock could be anybody’s.
5. Have you ever used cold or heat as part of your sex play? What provided the cold or heat?
We have used cold as part of our sex play, usually in the form of ice cubes.  Most of the time Jack sucks on the ice for awhile, drastically bringing down the temperature of his mouth.  Then he sucks my nipples or my clit, or licks my pussy with an ice-cold tongue.  I also love it when he leaves the ice in his mouth.  The heat of my body melts the ice in seconds.  I also vaguely remember using something minty in my mouth, not an Altoid but something similar, while giving Jack a blowjob.  As I recall, it didn’t really intensify the experience for him.
6. Do you enjoy being spanked, giving spankings, or both?
I enjoy being spanked occasionally.  Like blindfolding, I don’t want it all the time.  I prefer to be spanked when Jack is fucking me doggy style as I don’t get much out of spanking for its own sake.  As for giving spankings, sometimes I will swat Jack’s ass, but I don’t do it in a dominant way, and neither of us really gets off on it.  It’s more playful than erotic.  The truth is that I’d much rather squeeze his ass like a package of Charmin than spank him.
7. Do you have a safeword? Have you ever used it?
No, we don’t have one.  Our BDSM experience is so limited that it has never been an issue.  In the past, when I’ve been restrained in an uncomfortable position, I’ve been able to wriggle into a better one, or else tell Jack that I need to be repositioned.  We don’t do scenes of any kind, nor are we into rape play, so if I indicate to Jack that I am uncomfortable or that I need the handcuffs removed, he knows that I’m not acting.  
Bonus: Tell us in 3-4 sentences the most painful or pleasurable sexual experience you have had.
I’ve had lots of pleasurable experiences, certainly more than I’ve had painful ones.  (If you want to read about a particularly painful sexual experience, you can do so here.)  Lots of different things like having sex outside, being fingered in public, G-spot play and fisting are all indescribably exciting to me.  But even our “routine” sex is very pleasurable.  Jack knows my body well and can read my cues, plus we have great communication and that helps as well.
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!

Our Saturday Night: A Tale of Two Parties

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While hanging out with friends at an outdoor concert on Friday night, someone asked me if Jill and I were coming to a couples’ Pleasure Party at her house on Saturday.  I pleaded ignorance.  Ostensibly the evite she sent out for this little gathering ended up in my spam folder because I’m pretty sure I would have noticed had I received it.  Come to think of it, I still haven’t checked my spam folder to see if it’s there.  And I doubt I ever will.

Our friend spoke in a hushed voice, as hushed as possible without being drowned out by the 1980s cover band.  The party was for adults only, she said apologetically.  I don’t know whether her sheepish tone was due to the fact that she was acknowledging that Jill and I would have to get a babysitter in order to attend, or whether it was because, possibly for the first time ever, this particular friend was attempting to discuss something with me that is, at best, on the periphery of the sexual realm, and was perhaps worried that I was going to be offended.

I should mention that M, our sometime unicorn, was there; surely the things she knows about me (and Jill) would surprise everyone else present.

We told our friend that we had plans Saturday night, and in fact already had a babysitter lined up.  However, since the party began two hours before our plans did, we’d do our best to show up for a bit.  But the truth is that the last thing I would ever want to do on a Saturday night – or for that matter a Wednesday afternoon – is attend a party, even one at the home of close friends, for the purpose of listening to some thirty- and fortysomething hens, glasses of pinot in hand, cackle way too loudly at the sight of sex toys proffered from a trunk by a professionally-dressed, neatly-coiffured pitchwoman while their husbands and boyfriends fidget awkwardly in their seats and pretend to be focused on the playing-on-mute Giants game.

Okay, the truth is that I’ve never been to a Pleasure Party.  But I’m guessing that my description is accurate.  We’ve got nothing against vibrators, obviously; far from it, in fact.  Unless this post is the first of ours that you’ve read, you are undoubtedly aware that we have a small fortune tied up in sex toys that see regular usage.  But generally speaking, when we’ve bought a sex toy we’ve done so by walking into a brick-and-mortar shop and making the purchase.  On occasion we’ve ordered a toy online.

What we’ve never done, however, is gather in a private residence with other people for the purpose of hearing a sales pitch and deciding based on same whether to purchase the  We-Vibe 2 or the glass double-ended dildo.  Which leads me to believe that the sort of people who purchase their sex toys in such a group setting are those whose confidence isn’t sufficient to walk into their local adult store for fear of being seen and judged.  This is extra perplexing considering that, by attending a Pleasure Party it stands to reason that these same people may then be browsing sex toys in the presence of people they actually know.

Understand that, as always, I’m not judging anyone for their sex toy-purchasing habits.  My belief is that any means of acquisition short of shoplifting is preferable to going unsatisfied, or worse, turning up one’s nose at masturbation in general.  In theory, and with the right attitude, Pleasure Parties could be a step in the right direction toward greater sex positivity in suburban America.  But I got the feeling that, given the crowd that had assembled at our friend’s house, the attitude was all wrong.

We walked in an hour after the party started, but at least forty-five minutes before the vibrator lady showed up.  The mood in the house was tense and uncomfortable, similar to how it feels when you’re a passenger and you notice that a police car is behind you.  It was the sort of paranoia that sets in after a thirty-six-hour weed-and-coffee jag, with everyone cycling mentally through a catalogue of tension-diffusing jokes that they would be too flabbergasted to recite properly.

The conversation shifted between anything-but-sex (not to be confused with butt sex), including but not limited to work (several of the guests were co-workers of our friend), sports (the Niners had a disastrous exhibition game against Houston, and the Giants played simultaneously), and food (by either an unfortunate coincidence or clever but admittedly juvenile planning, the menu included chicken breast, meatballs, and sausage); and at the opposite end of the spectrum, vibrators.  Makes sense, considering the nature of the party, but to me it seemed like someone released a pressure valve.  What follows are actual snippets of overheard conversation, presented verbatim:

“You know, I want to get another vibrator, but my husband is way too uncomfortable with it.”
“What’s the one that has batteries, a dildo or a vibrator?”
“In college I had a vibrator that was shaped like a huge black dick.  My boyfriend said if I ever brought it out around him I would never see it again.”
“Vibrator vibrator my vibrator the vibrator vibrator vibrator.”

We had every intention of getting the fuck gone before the sales pitch began.  Not because we’re uncomfortable, though we are certain that that was the assumption among the Vibrator Lady (now capitalized because for all I know that was her fucking name) and the assembled guests.  No, we wanted to leave before the Magic Trunk of Dildos was opened because, well, frankly, we didn’t want to be lumped in with the gaggle of vanilla hausfraus and their frazzled significant others for whom this Pleasure Party was a sojourn into taboo waters.
We sat on the sofa, balancing our paper plates precariously on our knees as we tried to cut our chicken breasts and sausages with plastic utensils.  As we watched the Vibrator Lady carry in her wares from her car, I imagined myself staying for her presentation, and listening to her stammer cluelessly the first time I asked her if a particular product was phthalate-free.  I imagined listening to her promote a product I know to be unsafe, or simply unsatisfying, and calling her on it.  Yes, I realize I’m smug.  But I’m entitled to be, I think, certainly in that situation.
As she set up the presentation area – a blank expanse of our friend’s living room wall – she told somebody that she still had to go out to the car to get “the pillow”.  At first I had no idea what she was talking about.  Perhaps it was a giant throw pillow that she was going to place on the hardwood floor so she could sit on it.  But when she mentioned that the pillow was needed because all the guys “need extra help”, I figured it was some sort of oversized plush vagina with all the parts clearly visible.  I know that such things exist, and while I found her presumptuousness a turn-off, I understand that she’s likely given many such presentations at Pleasure Parties and can probably predict the expertise of any given group.  Based on my own initial impression I would assume that the average guest didn’t know the clitoris from a chrysalis, the labia from the labroid, the vulva from a Volvo.

The woman who’s holding the pleasure party has a vagina pillow because all of us guys need “extra help”. That’s cute.
— Jack (and Jill) (@jackandjillcpl) August 19, 2012

As our friend Mr. AP pointed out, my ability to regularly locate Jill’s G-spot and make her squirt probably qualified me to lead the presentation.  I imagined Vibrator Lady producing the pillow, to a chorus of gasps and murmurs.  I imagined her pointing out the various parts of the female genitalia, and me raising my hand to ask where the G-spot is located.  I imagined her dismissing my question and saying, “The G-spot is actually a myth.”
Yeah, this wasn’t going to be fun for anyone.  It wouldn’t be long before my need to prove myself the smartest, most sex-positive person in the room – something I’m now convinced was evident to everyone anyway – brought the party to a screeching halt and challenged our friendship with the hosts.  With presumably seconds to spare, we rose from the couch and announced our departure.  We said good-bye to our friends and the handful of people with whom we had actually spoken.  I told M that if she bought anything I expected a review, or better yet, a demonstration.
So we hustled out of there.  I wasn’t concerned over anyone suggesting that we were too squeamish to stick around, or over some overcompensating husband or boyfriend projecting his own insecurity onto me.  The truth is, we were heading to a much more exciting party, that being BiblioBound, a play party held at the Center for Sex & Culture.  We’d missed the opportunity to attend their Masturbate-a-Thon in May, and having been invited personally by one of the event’s hosts, we weren’t about to miss out a second time.
Fortunately, the environment at our second party of the evening was much more our speed, and despite the fact that we are settled into suburban life we found it well worth the drive out to the City.  When we arrived at 9:30 the CSC seemed fairly packed, with guests practicing their ropework, enjoying erotic storytime, admiring the artwork on display in the gallery, and perusing the library’s floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
I should point out that the most renowned feature of the CSC may very well be its expansive library, a unique collection of “books, magazines, journals, zines, comics, dissertations, works of art, videos, memorabilia, and the personal papers of key members of the community“.  My own love of books is familiar to those who know me well; every room in every house in which we’ve ever lived (other than the bathrooms) has contained at least one bookcase (and in most cases several), each jam-packed with a variety of printed literature.  To say that the library’s collection is impressive is an understatement of the worst sort.  There doesn’t seem to be a word that accurately describes the massive scope of the collection.
By comparison, this is our sex book collection.  It takes up three shelves.
Over the course of the evening it became clear that the tall library ladders, so useful for climbing in order to reach that desired tome on the highest shelf, were also perfect perches on which to facilitate spanking and other sexual pursuits.  That wasn’t for us, though; with our luck our relative lack of grace would manifest itself in a fall from the ladder at which point we’d be asked to sign liability waivers and our names would be permanently removed from the guest list for all play parties to come.  Rightfully so.
No, our public play was largely confined to one of the benches that line a wall of the facility, whereupon I hiked up Jill’s skirt, pulled her panties aside, and fingered her for about half an hour.  She was beyond wet to the point of being, for lack of a better word, gushy.  I considered heading right for her G-spot, but the CSC has a well-publicized policy prohibiting the exchange of fluids, and while making her squirt wouldn’t constitute an exchange of fluids, exactly, we both recognized that it was probably best to avoid her G-spot altogether, especially as we hadn’t brought any towels.
Nothing against Power Exchange, the BDSM club where we attended a Halloween party last year and performed for a sizable crowd, but the environment and the atmosphere at the CSC was exactly what we’ve always wanted in a public play space.  I’m not trying to compare Power Exchange negatively against the CSC, as we didn’t find it to be an unsafe place to play, but the environment at the CSC felt particularly safe and secure, clean almost to a fault while still being conducive to sexual activity.  We found it to be the sort of place where we might take off our clothes and fuck with wild abandon without fear of judgment, or for that matter unwanted advances from aspiring play partners incapable of understanding refusal.  
Other than some technical problems with the overhead lights, the facility was generally well-lit.  This made it easy for us to enjoy a show when one was offered, whether a demonstration involving a violet wand and a chair that conducted electric current, or a couple enjoying doggy style up against the stacks.  Insufficient illumination would have limited or completely prevented reading, mingling, admiring the art in the gallery, as well as the various demonstrations.  In addition, the music was for lack of a better word ambient; while there was a variety of musical genres represented, I didn’t once get the impression that I was at a club.  Nothing against techno*, but I doubt I would have had a very good time if I was popping Advil every couple hours.  
Beyond the aesthetics of the facility, the real draw lay in the sensibilities of our fellow guests who, like us, were sex-positives, members of a community to which we longed to belong.  Presumably these were people who could be shown a vibrator and refrain from giggling or pretending they hadn’t noticed it.  They were there because of an abiding interest in sex and sexual health that transcends mere horniness**.  They were the sort likely to stand up and fight over some asshole politician trying to restrict women’s reproductive rights.  And though we conversed with just a few of them, we felt camaraderie.
The event ran from 8:00 pm until 1:00 am.  We were there from 9:30 until 12:30.  I would have gladly stayed the last half hour but Jill was exhausted, having started work a couple days prior.  Add to that the fact that she’d been walking around in her fuck-me heels all evening, as well as the fact that her panties were drenched, and she was ready to go once she’d recovered from her last orgasm.  
We bid farewell to our hosts, thanked them profusely, and expressed genuine interest in returning the next time such a party is held.  I snagged a couple condoms and a sample of lube, while Jill took a Lemonhead from the snack table.  Then we headed home and finished what we had begun.
*Okay, everything against techno.  Look, it’s just not my thing.
**Not that horniness is “mere” by any means.

Memento Monday

jackandjillcpl7 Comments
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On Saturday night, we attended BiblioBound, a library play party at San Francisco’s Center for Sex & Culture.  Hosted by bibliobutch and Midori, the event was geared toward “sapiosexuals* of all orientations, genders & inclinations”.  We had a great time, mingled with sexual luminaries including Reid Mihalko, and indulged our voyeuristic and exhibitionistic tendencies.  Also, for the first time ever we met two of our Twitter followers, bibliobutch and Library Vixen, the Center for Sex & Culture librarian.  We first interacted with Library Vixen three years ago this month, long before we joined Twitter.
Pictured are some mementos from Saturday night:  Our tickets to the event, as well as a couple complimentary condoms and some lube.

*Sapiosexual: 1. (n.) A behavior of becoming attracted to or aroused by intelligence and its use.  Quickly becoming one of our favorite sexuality-related terms.