7. Sunrise or sunset? Which is your summer favourite?
Definitely sunset. I love watching the sun go down while sitting in a comfortable lounge chair on the beach. Or on a cruise ship. Or the Eiffel Tower. Or anywhere, really.
The thing that really quenches my thirst is a frozen drink like a daiquiri or a margarita, ideally consumed on a tropical beach at an all-inclusive resort, preferably a swingers’ resort. The thing that quenches my lust is sex, obviously. Lying on a beach being licked to orgasm? That would quench my lust for sure.
Bonus: Summer is the time to participate in outdoor activities. Where would you most like to have sex :
– on the beach?
– at a picnic?
– camping?
Definitely on the beach. Like in Grease. Can you tell I’m a fan?
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!
You may be aware, if you’ve been reading our blog for awhile, that group sex is something of an obsession of mine. “Obsession” may be too strong of a word, but it really is something I enjoy. In particular, I like the idea of group sex with me and several women. Two is fine, but there’s really no topmost limit. As I wrote last August:
Ever since I’ve been aware that sex existed, I’ve wanted to find out what it was like to have sex with two women. I think this is evidence of my greedy nature; if sex with one woman is fun, sex with two women must be really fun, right? Given my singular focus, it’s accurate to say that virtually everything I’ve done over the past fifteen years-plus has been in the hopes of making my fantasy come true. Studying a particular discipline? Choosing an apartment? Picking out a tie? Yes, every one of these decisions and countless others were made with the thought of pleasing two woman at once, and of course being pleased by them as well.
While going through some boxes last week, I came across some old MAD Magazines. Though I hadn’t seen this issue, from April 1985, in possibly a decade or more, the sight of the cover immediately triggered something in my brain. Certain that I knew what I was looking for, I flipped through it in search of one specific article – nay, one specific frame! – that, when viewed at age eight would have a profound, indelible impression not only on my sexual development, but on the entirety of my life from that moment on.
The article in question was entitled “Where Your Rock Album Dollar Goes”, and takes a satirical look at why records cost so much. This was long before music downloads were a realistic concept, and the only way to acquire music was to walk into a record store and purchase a physical album or cassette.
The panel that potentially altered the course of my sexuality can be seen below. It depicts a stereotypical ’80s rock star surrounded by a multiethnic bevy of groupies as a physician administers penicillin. Admittedly, he doesn’t appear to be having a very good time. In fact, he doesn’t appear to be in particularly good shape, hence the physician. But I didn’t care. From that point on, having two (or more) women at once became my singular focus. This is (a) disturbing considering that I was eight years old and (b) pathetic considering that it took me twenty-six years to achieve this goal.
Nothing says “child-friendly bathroom” like a shower curtain with fishies on it.
-Jill
See who else is being sinful at Molly’s Daily Kiss!
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Carla’s feet rested against Maggie’s hips as she explored beneath the beaded silk. Maggie pushed the dress up, letting it bunch at Carla’s waist as her tongue lapped and licked with abandon. The intensity was too much, and she soaked Maggie’s face as orgasm overcame her.
Their bodies pressing together, they kissed hard, passionately, as though it were simultaneously the first time and the last.
They lay together in dreamy silence. Maggie spoke: “I was sorry that I didn’t get an invitation.” She savored Carla’s taste on her lips, savored the memories that accompanied it.
Carla’s supple breasts rose and fell urgently as she caught her breath. “He doesn’t know about this. About any of it.”
“You could have introduced me as your old college roommate.” Maggie’s expression indicated half-seriousness, though it was practically the truth. During college, they spent as much time in the other’s dorm as they did in their own.
More silence. Maggie expected more of a reaction from her belated wedding present. She got up, found her panties, and slipped them on.
“Well, glad I got to see you in the dress, anyway.” (187/187)
Behind the Scenes
For the first time in four weeks, a new Flash Fiction Friday prompt has been issued, this one courtesy of Ram the Sunlover. In addition to the 187-word limit, participants were required to include the word “belated”. I found the prompt photo fairly inspiring, though it was Jill and not myself who looked at the photo and immediately said, “That’s her belated wedding present.”
My first draft was a mere ninety words long. Though it was very lean and far less detailed than the final draft, this initial take told the complete story. I actually prefer it when my first draft is drastically under-budget, as it gives me some breathing room and allows me to flesh out aspects of the story that I initially could not. I padded the story with some florid description, though in my opinion what was added doesn’t seem like fluff.
True to form, I forgot to include the required word, and after writing what was to be the final draft I spent twenty minutes attempting to incorporate mention of the “belated wedding present”. It was difficult to determine the ideal place for said mention; I wanted Maggie to be the one to use that expression, either in her dialogue or in her inner monologue, and for some reason I had trouble making it sound natural. Eventually I tacked on the reference in the penultimate paragraph, but I worry that it sounds stilted.
Deleted Scenes
Thanks in part to the larger-than-expected word allotment, there was nothing that had to be trimmed. Quite the opposite; as stated above, I added a bit of prose to pad the story. I also considered ending the story with Maggie telling Carla, “Maybe you should tell him.” This would have implied that she was open to a polyamorous relationship with Carla and her new groom, or at the very least a threesome.
Additionally, I considered the title “Wedding Present”, but ultimately decided that it was a little too on-the-nose. Though perhaps more of an obscure reference, “Bridal Shower” is suitably sexy, as it refers directly to Carla’s orgasmic emission.
Soundtrack
I like the sensual sound of “The Look of Love”, especially Dusty Springfield’s 1967 original. However, Isaac Hayes’ cover is bold and brassy and would work as well. Additionally, Sade’s “No Ordinary Love” fits well; the lyrics seem to fit Maggie’s perspective of a lover who has given her all and perhaps feels abandoned.
The main theme at The Naughty Hangout this week is “Peak”. We thought about posting a shot of me standing at the summit of Mount Everest, but for some reason we can’t find that picture anywhere. So you’ll just have to settle for a shot of me climaxing.
Go see who else is being naughty this week!
-Jill
I sent her an e-mail letting her know that I was on my way. She might not have seen a text message until she was leaving work to come home, but I knew she’d get my e-mail right away.
She replied immediately. She was excited. So was I. We hadn’t seen each other in days, and while every instinct we possessed dictated that we immediately find a quiet place to indulve the unbridled passion we both felt, we wanted to enjoy a night out. Soon, our opportunities to do so would be limited.
We found ourselves at a nearby movie theater. The movie we saw is unimportant, and long since forgotten. What is important, however, is the fact that we were the only ones there. We arrived at an empty auditorium, and spent the twenty minutes before showtime watching the entrance with much greater attention than the screen.
We had naughtiness on our minds. Why not? We always do. The thought of a little pre-show hanky panky was appealing, but we were certain that the moment things began to happen, the theater would fill with popcorn-munching, soda-slurping moviegoers who would quickly ruin our fun.
It never happened. The lights dimmed, the trailers played, and the movie started, all without so much as an incursion from another human being. We were well into the first act when it became clear that we had the theater to ourselves, and that there was no ignoring our desperate physical need.
Jill opened my jeans and fished out my cock, watching it rise to full size in her grasp. As she pumped her fist up and down along its length, it occurred to me that the school where she worked was less than a mile away. Granted, we were alone in the theater. But what if we were wrong? If we only thought we were alone, and we really weren’t, there would be repercussions.
These thoughts left my head as Jill leaned close and I felt her lips envelop me. Her mouth was warm, her tongue damp. She slowly slid down, swallowing me to my base. She lingered there for one exquisite moment, and when she came up for air she swapped mouth for hand and resumed pumping.
My attention had already turned away from the movie, moreso when Jill got out of her seat and knelt in front of me. Rather than squinting through the shadows to watch her head bob up and down, I tried to focus on the movie. It was too late; I wasn’t into it anymore. Instead I concentrated on how good my wife’s mouth felt on me, certain it wouldn’t be long before I was cumming down her throat.
When something near the theater entrance caught my eye, I tensed up. Jill could sense it, and she stopped what she was doing. She looked up, her eyes meeting mine in the darkness. She didn’t speak.
“Get up,” I said. “Hurry. Sit back down.” She did, and as I put my still-throbbing cock back into my pants and buckled my belt, I could see that she was staring at the door where I’d seen whatever it was that had made me tense up.
“Did someone come in?” she asked, her voice tiny, barely a whisper.
“I don’t think so,” I said. She moved to open my jeans again, and I dissuaded her. I pulled up her skirt, somehow unsurprised by her lack of panties. She was wet, her arousal a welcoming scent. My fingers parted her lips, holding her open as my thumb found its way to her clit. As I stroked her, my fingers slipped inside, finding a molten reservoir of lust.
My fingers reached her G-spot as my thumb circled her clit. Jill threw back her head, gasping with pleasure. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as I pressed into that familiar mass of flesh, the one that had all too often unlocked the most intense orgasms imaginable. Her fingers dug into the armrests on her seat, squeezing as though her life hung in the balance.
When she came, when the torrent of her essence came gushing forth, I was surprised, if only because she had managed to keep fairly silent. She drenched not only my forearm, but also quite a bit of her skirt as well. I couldn’t help but muse that if anyone had entered the theater, we’d put on a much better show than whatever was playing on the screen.
“You want to…”, Jill began when she could speak once again. I thought she was going to ask if I wanted her to finish what she’d begun with me. She started over: “You want to switch seats?” We moved to the seats directly in front of us, and continued to watch the movie as best we could. It wasn’t easy. Our minds were on something much different.
As for whether or not anyone had walked in, we’re pretty sure no one had, but it doesn’t matter. In the more than two years since this incident occurred, nothing ever came of it.
