“Slippery Stuff”, posted May 13, 2010
TMI Tuesday: April 10, 2012 – Love, Hate, and Guilty Secrets
Today’s fun TMI Tuesday questions were submitted by Jz from “A Reluctant Bitch” blog. Enjoy!
Love, Hate, and Guilty Secrets. We never mind telling people about things we love or hate, but how about the things we love, but would hate for anyone to find out about?
Well, it’s time to free yourself of that fear!
For each of the categories below, list one thing you love, one that you hate, and then, take a deep breath and tell us something you hate to admit you love.
Really.
You’ll feel better for it!
Jack’s Answers
1. Food
I love almost everything. Seriously, it’s not the type of thing that I can narrow down. Asking me to choose one favorite food is like asking me to choose one favorite movie. Or, in keeping with the spirit of this blog, one favorite sex act. Which, if I recall correctly, I’ve been asked to choose during some past installment of TMI Tuesday. It’s true, though: I love food. Steak, pizza, hamburgers, fried chicken, baby-back ribs, lobster, hot dogs, tacos, clam chowder, crab cakes, burritos, pasta, ice cream. Just pick one. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, after all. The way to a man’s cock? Through his pants, if he’s wearing any. (I’m not.)
I hate eggs. Since I was a child, I’ve never been a fan. This makes going out to breakfast problematic, as just about any breakfast dish served in a restaurant incoporates or includes eggs in some way. I suppose I could have them make a substitution, but let’s face it, International House of Pancakes isn’t going to substitute a New York Steak for the two eggs any style I don’t want. I should probably just order the steak.
My guilty secret is Taco Bell. It’s not nutritious. It isn’t really even Mexican food. But there’s something about what’s on their menu that makes hitting a Taco Bell drive-thru after a late night of drinking with friends a no-brainer. Hell, I’ll even eat there sober, though I won’t necessarily feel happy about it afterwards.
2. Apparel
I love plain white T-shirts. They’re comfortable, versatile, and say so much without saying anything at all. Dem Franchize Boyz said it best: “Fuck a throwback, I look clean in my white T.” In fact, the humble white T-shirt is the only thing that can redeem the piece of clothing I hate.
I hate V-necks, unless we’re talking about a V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt underneath.
My guilty secret is actually not a secret. I frequently wear semi-blasphemous T-shirts to church events we attend with Jill’s family.
That, or my banana hammock.
3. Books
I love non-fiction of all kinds: Reference works, history books, how-tos, exposés and tell-alls, and hell, cookbooks too. Nothing against fiction – I’ve read plenty of it – but given the choice I’ll go with non-fiction almost every time.
I hate novelizations of the movies I grew up loving. I was an insatiable reader as a child and a teenager, and liked the idea of getting a bit of background information on the movies I enjoyed. Unfortunately, most novelizations, if not all, are crap, and some actually manage to diminish the films themselves.
My guilty secret is my hitherto unknown love of Archie comics, in particular the Betty and Veronica characters. There’s no way in hell I would have let anyone know I read these when I was a kid. I wasn’t interested in the storylines whatsoever; I just liked the idea of banging both of them at the same time. Or, you know, I would have if they were human beings and not comic book characters.
Makes sense now, doesn’t it?
4. Songs
I love “Keep Ya Head Up” by 2Pac. It’s such a socially-relevant, empowering feminist anthem that belies the usual attitudes of gangsta rap. In this day and age, we need more young urban voices speaking words like these to an audience that may not fully understand how valuable women are to society.
Who did you think I was talking about?
I hate the music associated with most of the children’s shows my daughter watches, in particular anything from Dora the Explorer. Dora is the bane of my existence, and I’m convinced that her theme song will play in my head long after my daughter outgrows her.
My guilty secret is Raffi’s “Bananaphone”. I love it, I frequently make Jill listen to it on long car trips, and because of that she says I have to list it here.
If this guy really tried to “call the White House [and] have a chat” he’d be in Guantanamo Bay faster than you can say “Bananaphone”.*
5. Movie
I love too many movies to choose just one. And you know this; you read my answer to #1. To name a very small sampling: Raiders of the Lost Ark, Pulp Fiction, The Big Lebowski, Dazed & Confused, The Godfather, Aliens, Snatch, Bride of Frankenstein, Goodfellas, Harold and Maude, Clerks, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Taxi Driver, The Empire Strikes Back, Ed Wood, Office Space, Swingers, and Casablanca. Like I said, pick one.
I hate Forrest Gump. Yeah, I know that no matter what else I say here, this is what people will mention in their comments. I didn’t care for the ideology behind the film, which to me says that men and women should fall into a predetermined place in society and be rewarded or punished accordingly. You may say that I’m reading too much into the film – many have – but conservative groups have claimed Forrest Gump for their own.
My guilty secret is undoubtedly ’50s-’60s B-grade sci-fi and horror films. I love these schlocky spectacles featuring bargain basement special effects, ridiculous spacemen, inexplicable monsters, and performers who either underact or overact, but never quite hit the mark, so to speak.
From the 1958 Bert I. Gordon hit Attack of the Pubic Lice
6. TV Show
I love very little of the current crop of television. Sorry, let me rephrase that. I watch very little of the current crop of television, and I love even less. To me, television reached its zenith with The Wire, which aired its final episode in 2008. Though I’ve seen quite a few complex, entertaining, and even enlightening television shows in the years since, nothing even comes close. Nor, do I suspect, will it ever.
I hate formulaic police procedurals. Doesn’t matter if it’s one of the various iterations of Law & Order or CSI, or one-offs like Cold Case, Criminal Minds, or NCIS, I can’t watch shows that present police work as simple and efficient, implying that all parties work together as a well-meaning and cohesive unit for the betterment of society. Nor can I believe in protagonists as unflawed as David Caruso’s Horatio Caine, a one-dimensional action figure of a character. I liked Caruso much better as Detective Kelly on NYPD Blue.
My guilty secret is Pee-Wee’s Playhouse. You got a problem with that?
7. Celebrity Crush
I love being so far out of the loop with regard to current pop culture that I can’t think of anyone to name. Even if I could, I tend not to crush on celebrities. They’re totally unrelatable to me, as I don’t read tabloids, follow celebrity Twitter feeds, watch reality TV, or remotely give a tumbling fuck about any of these people.
I hate the way certain of my friends look down their nose at me because I can’t tell Current Trending Hollywood Starlet A from Current Trending Hollywood Starlet B. Hey, fuck you. While you’re keeping up with Hollywood, I’m getting shit done.
My guilty secret is Asia Carrera. See? The celebrities about whom I do give a shit are porn stars. Retired porn stars, even. That’s how out of the loop I am.
8. Music Group
I love The Red Hot Chili peppers. I’m a huge fan of their music, and I’ve seen them every time they’ve toured since ‘ninety-six.
I hate Third-Eye Blind. I dug Semi-Charmed Life, which was their first release from their debut album. “Graduate” was pretty good too. I thought “Never Let You Go” was decent. But every other song of theirs that got major radio play – sorry, I never liked them enough to buy or even download their albums – was a major whinefest. I’m thinking primarily of “Jumper” and “How’s It Going to Be”, both of which got more airplay in 1997 and 1998 than all their other stuff combined.
My guilty secret is probably Creed. I’m not into Christian rock – to be fair, I had no idea they were Christian rock until they’d been around a few years – but I like a good number of their songs.
Creed or this guy.
9. Sports Team
I love the San Francisco 49ers. They are my team, and there is nothing more that needs to be said.
I hate the Oakland Raiders. Sorry, but you just can’t like the Niners and the Raiders. It’s a classic sports rivalry. You pick your side and you stick with it. End of story.
My guilty secret is something I can’t think of right now. Are there sports-related guilty pleasures? If the XFL still existed and I somehow found it worth watching, I guess I could say that. But if the XFL still existed and I watched it, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell anybody.
Bonus:
Sex Position or Sex Act or fetish
I love sex.
I hate not having sex.
My guilty secret is I occasionally masturbate. Shhh! Don’t tell anybody.
Jill’s Answers
1. Food
I love potatoes. I’ll eat them almost any way you can think of. Mashed, baked, broiled, french fries, potato chips. Anything but scalloped.
I hate liver. Not just the taste and the smell but the color and the texture as well. It’s the one food I hate more than any other.
I don’t care if he does have Chianti, I am not letting this guy cook for me.
My guilty secret is Kentucky Fried Chicken. I don’t eat there often, but just the thought of their extra crispy chicken breast and mashed potatoes and gravy makes me wet. Despite the fact that it’s chicken, I am under no delusion that it’s healthy. That’s why Kentucky Fried Chicken is a once-in-a-very-great-while treat.
2. Apparel
I love flowy blouses that accentuate my breasts. I like looking like I have a nice rack sometimes.
I hate pajamas. They are way too constricting and hot to wear at night. I would much rather be naked. I hate it when we have to share a hotel room with family, or more often when we stay over Jack’s parents’ house. I have to wear pajamas, or at the very least have them nearby so I can put them on when I leave the room in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom or check on the baby.
My guilty secret is I love wearing sexy lingerie under my work clothes. Though I have no way of knowing for sure, I’d bet that most of my teacher colleagues don’t have thongs and demi cup bras under their clothing.
3. Books
I love mysteries and detective novels by authors such as James Patterson, Michael Connelly, and Janet Evanovich.
I hate the Twilight series. I got halfway through the first book and quit reading. To be honest, I knew it wasn’t for me way before that.
My guilty secret is erotica. Well, it’s not a secret to anyone who reads this blog, but I’m sure there are those who would be very surprised to find out that a bookcase in our bedroom is filled with books on human sexuality and erotic fiction.
4. Songs
I love just about anything by Billy Joel. I’ve been a fan of his for years, and I enjoy his entire catalog. In fact, he’s the only recording artist I’ve seen in concert more than once.
I hate country. There are a few random country songs that I like, but it is definitely not my preferred genre.
My guilty secret is Neil Diamond’s album You Don’t Bring Me Flowers, because it brings back happy memories of car rides with my family.
5. Movie
I love Field of Dreams. I enjoy the story, I like the characters, and it always makes me cry.
I hate Cry Baby, John Waters’ 1990 film starring Johnny Depp. My friends and I attended a free screening when it was in its theatrical release, and the projector broke down halfway through it. We really should have left right then and there, but they eventually fixed it. I found it to be a horrible waste of time, and to this day I mourn those couple wasted hours that I’ll never get back.
Somehow, I have no problem with John Waters’ earlier, less-mainstream works.
My guilty secret is Poison Ivy, a TV movie from 1985 starring Michael J. Fox and Nancy McKeon. I watched it on TV when it originally aired, taped it during a repeat broadcast, and watched it over and over again. A few years ago I found the tape and watched it again. It’s still as great as it was the first time, more than twenty-five years ago. I’m not sure why I love it so much, but I do. I’ve got to have it transferred to DVD.
6. TV Show
I love police procedurals. The same shows that Jack hates, I watch as much as I can. Sometimes, especially after a night of little sleep and a long day of work, I really want an easy-to-follow story that I don’t have to think much about and that is completely resolved in an hour. My favorite police procedural at the moment is Castle. I love Nathan Fillion.
I hate CatDog, a late 1990s cartoon that aired on Nickelodeon. The premise, involving a cat and dog hybrid with two heads, always seemed so stupid to me.
My guilty secret is probably Pretty Little Liars. It’s such a trashy soap, but I like it. That, or old game show reruns on Game Show Network.
7. Celebrity Crush
I love Mark Ruffalo. You people should know this by now!
I hate anyone who’s ever appeared on Jersey Shore, or for that matter most people whose claim to fame is having appeared on a reality TV series. I don’t believe in glorifying sleaze or stupidity, so I’ll pick any one of these losers.
My guilty secret is Joshua Jackson. I followed him from Dawson’s Creek to Fringe, and even watched the Mighty Ducks movies because he was in them.
Here’s Pacey, back when he was the captain of a scrappy team of hockey-playing misfits.
8. Music Group
I love The Beach Boys. Their music is fun and happy, and reminds me of simpler times, and summer days at the beach. Party anthems like “Barbara Ann” and “California Girls” never fail to put me in a good mood.
I hate techno music. I know it’s not a group, but there aren’t many groups that I actively dislike so I’m going with the entire techno genre. It’s loud, repetitive, headache-inducing, and it goes on and on all night until the drugs wear off and you wake up in an alley behind the club.
My guilty secret is The Barenaked Ladies. I like their mellow style of alternative rock. I never said I was cutting-edge when it comes to music.
I prefer these barenaked ladies though.
9. Sports Team
I love the 49ers. I grew up in a very large, very passionate football family, and Sundays were spent watching football, either on TV or at the park. When the Niners made it to the Super Bowl (and inevitably won every single time), my neighborhood always came together, and families gathered at the homes of whoever had the biggest televisions to watch with excitement. I used to love tailgating with my family in the parking lot at Candlestick, and when I was around seventeen I got a job there selling concessions. The Niners have always been my favorite team, and they always will be.
I hate the Raiders. Forget the fact that there is a long-standing San Francisco-Oakland rivalry, I take the defection of several of my favorite players (including Roger Craig, Ronnie Lott, and Jerry Rice) from the Niners to the Raiders very personally.
Here’s another reason.
My guilty secret is I love it when we’re in the park and we see old Italian men playing bocce ball. There’s something so cool about watching them standing around the court, laughing and sharing stories while they play. I imagine my brothers standing around a similar court in thirty years, having the same kind of fun.
Bonus:
Sex Position or Sex Act or fetish
I love doggy style.
I hate breath play. I know it’s not unsafe if done with a trusted partner who knows what he or she is doing, but it still scares me. I once nearly drowned, and the thought of my airway constricting is not something I would care to revisit on a recreational basis. A lot of my orgasms do involve shortness of breath, though it isn’t as extreme as having my breathing deliberately restricted.
I know it intensifies the orgasm. I just wouldn’t trust someone like Homer to do it properly.
My guilty secret is tasting Jack’s cum after he ejaculates inside me. I’ll slurp it up right off of his cock, but I really love it when he fingers my pussy after he cums and lets me lick them clean.
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!
*I wrote that joke in 2008, when Bush was in the White House and Camp X-Ray was still an operational entity. I guess it didn’t age well.
While the Baby Slept
On Friday we had a nice evening out. It wasn’t exactly date night – truth be told, we’re not partial to that expression and have never used it with any modicum of seriousness – but we did go to dinner. As we couldn’t get a babysitter, the baby came along. That meant no four-star dining but it was just as well.
The baby fell asleep on the way home. Once she was in bed we shot our Sinful Sunday pictures, and then took a few minutes to sit on the couch and enjoy some rare silence. It had been a hectic week. I wanted sex, though to be honest sleep sounded good as well. We wouldn’t be able to sleep in on Saturday nor on Sunday, and since I never get to sleep in during the week I considered saving sex for Saturday night and trying to get as close to a full eight hours as I could.
The decision was made for me. Jill dozed off in my arms as we sat on the couch. She needed it; though we try to split up the responsibilities equitably, let’s face it: she does the lion’s share of the work around here. I wriggled my arm out from behind her neck and extricated myself from the couch, careful not to disturb her sleep. Then I read a few blogs, took out the trash, and tidied up the house as my parents were coming first thing in the morning.
I would have loved to have sat and watched a movie – it’s been way too long since I was able to do that – but there was no way I was going to turn on the television and wake my wife. So I headed into the bedroom where I considered getting into bed and watching a movie there. Instead I watched some porn, and masturbated while recalling the last time Jill rode my face.
After I came, I took a quick shower. By the time I got out, Jill was asleep in bed. That she woke up, came into the bedroom and did not join me in the shower is testimony to her extreme exhaustion. I would have loved the company, especially if it had led to sex. On the other hand, I’d already gotten off, and sleep was sounding even better than it did before. I turned off the lamp on my nightstand, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over myself.
I snuggled up close to Jill. “Hey,” she said dreamily. Once again I held her in my arms, feeling her naked body against me. She was warm, inviting. She leaned in for a sleepy kiss and I reciprocated. What began as a gentle but intimate kiss, the sort that says “I’m tired so let’s just go to sleep”, progressed quickly to a hungry open-mouthed kiss, a kiss full of fire and passion.
One mouth pressed against the other, tongues lapping shamelessly together as the kiss intensified. In the dark, my hands quickly found her breasts, handling them roughly as my fingers pinched and squeezed her nipples. She moaned in ecstasy even as I felt her hand encircle my cock, engorged with anticipation. As she rubbed the already-sensitive head with her thumb, I lowered my mouth to her nipple and sucked deeply.
“Fuck me,” she said. I moved on top of her, settling between her legs and rubbing my cock against the slick lips of her pussy. I could feel her heat as I entered her, as well as her ankles locked around my waist. Her feet pressed against my ass, drawing me ever deeper inside her, and as I filled her she moaned. She sound was, the proverbial music to my ears, a much-needed drug that took me to heights I’d never achieve otherwise. She reached for my ass, her hands joining her feet and pulling me in.
My hand reached down as well, three fingers coming to rest on her clit. I imagined the sexual charge that overwhelmed her as she felt my touch. Her body tensed at first, then relaxed as I moved inside her, thrusting deeply even as my fingers drew circles on her erect bud. She tensed back up as she rode intene waves of pleasure on the way to her climax. The sounds she made told me that it wasn’t far off.
I nuzzled her neck, sucking teasingly. My lips bit gently, not vigorously enough to leave a mark. Jill’s moans grew more urgent as I continued to touch her, my fingers insistent upon pushing her to the point of no return. And suddenly she was there.
When Jill’s orgasm passed, I lay beside her, the only light the faint glow of the moon. We listened to each other breathe. Silently counting our blessings that the baby hadn’t yet seen fit to wake and interrupt our fun.
A few moments later, she ran her hand over my chest. She spoke, her voice relaxed and ready for sleep. “Your turn.”
“I’m all right,” I said. “How about I go first tomorrow?”
Mimicking Monday
Who am I trying to mimic? Our friend and former blogger 13messages, whose shower and locker room self-photography is something of an art form.
-Jack
Sinful Sunday: Happy Easter!
Easter has never been our favorite holiday. For us, it lacks the imagination of Halloween, the excitement of Christmas, and the sexiness of Valentine’s Day. That is, until now.
Be sure to click for a closer look!
The Easter Bunny is overrated. I prefer the Easter Rabbit, seen above.
We hope you get something nice in your Easter basket!
See who else is being sinful at Molly’s Daily Kiss!
Spilling the Beans: On Discretion and Trust
When you use your phone to tweet, read blogs, and perv to homemade porn as often as Jill and I do, people are bound to notice. If we had a dollar for every time a a relative at a family gathering asked, only half-kidding, whether the two of us were texting each other as we jabbed away at our smartphones like gunshot victims desperately clicking their morphine buttons, we’d have a small fortune. Perhaps not enough of a fortune for us to retire immediately and live a life of leisure, but certainly enough to justify traveling the world to visit and fuck our favorite sex bloggers and Twitter friends.
If that weren’t enough, I have a tendency to read blog comments as soon as, or shortly after, they come in. If Jill and I are together, chances are that I’ll read them to her, or at the very least call her attention to them. It doesn’t matter where we are, or who’s around. Hey, call me crazy but to me it seems pretty normal for a married man to show his wife something on his phone in a semi-surreptitious fashion without everyone in the vicinity asking to be let in on the secret. Because it is apparently not, at least in my social circle, this is a habit I need to break posthaste.
As we’ve said elsewhere on this blog, most of the people we know personally have no idea it exists. This includes both of our extended families, most of whom would likely not approve. The handful of people who are aware of this blog are those we trust implicitly. To be fair, however, were we starting the blog today, we might be a bit more judicious with regard to who we tell. Our decision to let certain friends – again, close, trusted friends – in on it was made out of our own need for validation when we began blogging. We no longer feel this need. At this point, we are somewhat relieved that these friends no longer visit, and we choose to believe that they’ve all forgotten the URL.
Last week, we met M for lunch. In the middle of food, drink, and conversation, I got an email notification about a comment that needed approval. I told Jill that we’d gotten a blog comment. Then I remembered that we weren’t alone.
“Blog comment?” M asked, one eyebrow raised quizzically. Though I couldn’t see Jill’s expression, I could imagine the “Oh you stupid moron” look she was likely giving me.
Being just as sarcastic as I am, I suspect that M takes everything I say with a grain of salt. Quick on my feet, I replied, “Yeah, I just launched a blog detailing my work on the first artificial heart.” Not sure out of which orifice I pulled that particular lie, but I was confident that I had spun it along the lines of “I like to say stupid shit that has no basis in reality” as opposed to “I am trying to distract you from something I didn’t mean to say in your presence.”
It worked. After a possibly unconvinced, “Oh really?”, conversation shifted to Dick Cheney’s heart transplant. On the way home, Jill said that it was lucky that M hadn’t pressed the issue. But what I think she meant was that I need to be a hell of a lot more careful, lest someone much nosier than M gets wind.
In retrospect I could’ve handled it better; I’ve had vanilla blogs in the past, and had I explained that the comment was in relation to one of them, she would have bought it. She’s not the sort to ask for proof. She trusts us. Why, then, do we not trust her?
On the contrary, we do trust her. M attends family functions, including birthday parties and the like. She is frequently in close proximity to our parents, and to Jill’s siblings. Given some of the things that have transpired between the three of us, if we didn’t trust her we would allow her absolutely no contact with anyone who might be offended to hear about them. It’s true that she has a boisterous personality and at times lacks a decorum filter – these are things that make us good friends – but we know she’ll never blurt something out for the sake of getting attention, never use our relationship as leverage, never tell anyone anything we didn’t want her to.
We do trust her, about as far as we do any of the friends who actually know of this blog. But as I stated above, were the blog launched today certain of those same friends might not be made privvy; at present we are more concerned with discretion than we ever were in the past, and no longer so desperate for validation that we need to out ourselves as sex bloggers. It is for this reason that M, like most of the people we know personally, remains blissfully unaware.
I’d like to say that even if we didn’t trust her to put our experiences in a vault and keep them there, it’s one thing to have experienced something and have stories but it’s something else entirely to have a website – complete with pictures – to share on your iPhone while drinking with mutual friends at a bar. But the truth is that if we didn’t trust her to put our experiences in a vault and keep them there, we wouldn’t have had these experiences in the first place.
She’s trustworthy. If we had to pick someone to tell about our blog tomorrow, she’d be as good a person to tell as any. In fact, she’d be better. After all, in a manner of speaking she’s already involved. But barring some unforeseen extenuating circumstances, we think the days of telling personal acquaintances about this blog are over.
-Jack
Formspring Friday: The Worst Sex Ever
If you’re looking for our Flash Fiction Friday story, it can be found here.
Well, it’s likely the most poorly-written and directed sex ever.
Can you recall your worst sexual experience? Why was it so awful? Did you do anything at the time to try to make it better?
Jack’s Answer
This was a very difficult question for me to answer. Unlike Jill, I’m fortunate to not have a sexual experience that sticks out negatively in my mind. I don’t have a story about a shotgun-toting overprotective father coming home while I was fucking his daughter doggy-style over the arm of the sofa. I don’t have a story about a fortysomething divorcee who, once the sex was over, told me that we had sinned and now needed to kneel before Jesus and pray for forgiveness. I don’t have a story about a Craigslist hookup gone completely wrong. I don’t have a story about falling asleep in a stranger’s apartment and awakening in a bathtub full of ice with my kidney missing. I don’t have a story about unexpected or unwanted pegging. (Actually I do; it was this week’s Flash Fiction Friday.) I don’t have a story about getting head from a woman who afterwards revealed herself to be physically male. (Actually, I do; it’s The Crying Game.*)
It’s true that when I was single I didn’t have many bad experiences, but I also usually had a very positive outlook about sex. To use Academy Award terminology, it was an honor just to be nominated. I was happy to be getting laid, and never really considered that being on a different sexual wavelength than my partner made the sex bad. Everyone is different, after all. There were times when the sex wasn’t particularly spectacular, especially with someone I’d just met. There were times when I didn’t get off. There were times when my partner was not especially good at it, or even bad at it. There were times when my partner was just not into it. There were times when I was just not into it. There were times when I was fucking beneath my station, so to speak. (Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of arrogant asshole – there were far more times when my partner was fucking beneath her station.) But of all these examples, there is absolutely nothing that I can say was so awful that I would have been better off staying home.
I’ll tell you what makes for a really bad sexual experience. It’s something that I experienced more than a few times during my twenties. It involves going to a bar, trying desperately to pick someone up by the time the place closes, failing to do so, returning to my apartment, masturbating, and going to sleep. And you know what? Even that wasn’t so bad.
Jill’s Answer
If you’ve been reading our blog for awhile, you probably already know about the incident I consider the worst sex I’ve ever had. It occurred pretty early on in my sex life, and I’m very proud of the fact that I didn’t let it shape my attitudes about sex, trust, and relationships forever.
I was dating a guy who was pretty hung, and the sex was really good. He was also preoccupied with anal sex, and even asked for it the first time we had sex. I’d never had anal sex before and I wasn’t ready to start. Even if I was, I would have had a lot of apprehension about taking a cock as big as his in my ass. He and I had been dating for three months, and one Saturday morning we were fooling around in his living room. I’d just finished giving him oral sex and he bent me over the couch and fucked me doggy style, my favorite position. Right out of the blue, he pulled out of my pussy and literally slammed it in my ass. He made it about halfway in. I screamed, and then I cried. It hurt worse than I could have imagined, and I went into shock as a means of dealing with the pain.
I didn’t really do anything to make it better while it was happening. He was only inside me for fifteen seconds, but the pain and the shock took a lot longer to wear off. He initially claimed that it was an accident, but as he had been asking since almost day one for anal, I didn’t believe him. Later he confirmed my doubts when he contradicted his earlier claim by saying he thought I would enjoy it. I couldn’t trust him, and the fact that he was unconcerned with my feelings meant that he and I could go no further. I broke up with him soon after. He just wasn’t the person I thought he was. No, I mean he literally wasn’t the person I thought he was. The name he had given me was a fake name.
Because of this experience, it took me a very long time to try anal again. But I’m very glad that I did. With the right person, someone who cares about me and is considerate of my feelings and of my enjoyment of it, anal is awesome. I was worried that it would be difficult to trust my next sexual partner. But I realized that it wasn’t fair to judge the next guy based on the actions of some asshole and his obsession with my asshole.
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!
*Spoilers my ass. The movie is twenty years old.
Flash Fiction Friday: Wild Thing
He should have known she was trouble when she pulled out his cock in the middle of a crowded bar.
Sure, she tried to be sneaky about it, but he’d already bought her two Long Islands to chase the first one, and “subtle” wasn’t in her repertoire. When she climbed off of her chair and started giving him a sloppy blowjob, he tried to play it cool. It had been too many months since he’d gotten one and he wanted to seem appreciative, but he was mortified. If this seemed even slightly normal, all the wide-eyed, gape-mouthed onlookers said otherwise.
A bartender yelled at them to take it outside, and held up a phone to show he was calling the police. She flipped the bird to the entire bar before grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet. He barely had time to zip up before following her out of the bar. As they ran down an alley, she found a beat-up Datsun and smashed the driver’s-side window with a trash can.
When she asked if he knew how to hotwire a car, he took her hand and pulled her on, just as a police siren sounded in the distance. His car wasn’t far away.
She led him to a dilapidated apartment in a neighborhood where he didn’t want to leave his car parked overnight. As soon as he got onto her bed, he noticed the strap-on dildo atop the dresser.
“You like to fuck women with that thing?” he asked.
“No.” (253/255)
Behind the Scenes
After a week’s hiatus, Ram the Sunlover has presented another Flash Fiction Friday challenge. Upon seeing the prompt photo, I knew I’d have no trouble coming up with something, though as I considered the possibilities I always had the first line (“He should have known…”) in my head.
I was pleased to find that this week’s prompt included a higher-than-expected word limit, though 255 is really only high when compared to previous weeks’ word limits. I burned through my allotment relatively quickly, which is why the beginning of my story is relatively heavy on detail and the conclusion lacking.
As seems to be standard of late, I omitted the required phrase (“…too many…”). Fortunately, the higher word limit meant I didn’t have to trim any verbiage in order to make it fit. I considered incorporating the phrase into the final line of the second paragraph, i.e. “too many wide-eyed, gape-mouthed onlookers said otherwise”, and likely would have done so had the word count been too high.
Deleted Scenes
I considered structuring the story much differently, beginning with the same opening line, then flashing forward throughout the couple’s relationship and eventual marriage. I would have depicted them raising children together, with the wife a much less stable presence in the lives of her children and of her husband. The story may have concluded with the husband, now balding and paunchy with middle-age, asking for a divorce after bailing her out of jail for one of countless possible offenses. The story would have had an epic feel to it, spanning perhaps twenty-five years. However, this sounded like a serious downer, and I decided to go with the comparatively light-hearted story I ultimately wrote.
Soundtrack
Rick James’ “Super Freak” would work nicely during the sequence at the bar. During the couple’s exodus from the bar and attempted car theft, either Hall & Oates’ “Maneater” or “Le Disko” by Shiny Toy Guns. As they’re about to get down to business in her apartment, I like “Devil Woman” by Cliff Richard.
The Naughty Hangout: Like Mother, Like Daughter
The main theme at The Naughty Hangout this week is “Youth”.
I love my baby.
-Jill
Shush
She woke him with a blowjob, sighing contentedly as he swelled in her mouth. Her sex grew moist as she listened to his faint moans in near darkness. She loved it when he provided her with feedback, the sounds of his arousal wordless proof that her efforts were appreciated.
As she licked him from his balls up to his head, she felt him grasp a handful of her hair. He tugged softly, guiding her rhythm and her movements. She liked it when he did that. As he pulled with greater force she increased her speed, finally bringing her mouth up to his cock and swallowing him all the way to the back of her throat. She didn’t gag.
She took her mouth off of his cock, gasping desperately for breath. The sound cut through the still of the night and he shushed her insistently. In spite of herself, she laughed, and in order to silence her he tightened his grip of her hair and pulled her back down.
She got back to work, doing her best to balance her hunger for his cock with their need for quiet. She focused on his orgasm, though she knew that for all his shushing he’d never be able to shush himself when his big moment came. She didn’t mind; if he was able to remain quiet, she wasn’t doing her job properly.
All at once, she felt him tense up. She heard him stifle a moan. She imagined him biting his lip to keep from making a sound. And then his hands tightened in her hair and pulled her head down. He cried out, making no attempt to drown out the noise.
As he erupted against the back of her throat, she swallowed voraciously. It coated her tongue as he pistoned in and out of her mouth, hands still guiding her head in a steady up-and-down rhythm. Hearing his moans grow even louder, she saw no reason to keep silent. She sucked him noisily, slurping traces of cum from his cock.
The flame of the candle flickered on her nightstand. Though neither of them could see the sleeping form beside them, both felt the mattress shift with movement. They froze.
“Can I join in?” he asked playfully. He moved behind her, his hardness pressing against her opening and his hands on her hips. She gave a muffled noise of consent as she resumed cleaning the cock in front of her face.
See who else is playing this week at Wanton Wednesday and Wank Wednesday!
This week’s Wank Wednesday prompt was “flame”.