The things no one tells you...

I'm pretty experienced. I've always loved to experiment and I've been through it all, almost. Anything I haven't done though, is usually covered by other bloggers, just waiting for my inquiring mind. This is great because it gives you confidence going into it...

But it seems, there's always some things people never talk about.... the "not as pretty" realities of sex.

First thing no one told me:

The delayed downpour:

So just got done with a steamy romp with a partner you trust enough to be condom free huh? Being handed a towel to clean up is awesome and courteous and a quick wipe down and you're good...

But then you STAND up. About 15 seconds later the flood comes and you're waddling as quickly as 

you can to the ladies, hoping it doesn't reach your ankles before you get there.

Lesson number 2: no, you AREN'T a gymnast.

Think the kamasutra has nothing on you, huh? Sure, you can get into all of those positions with ease...

Ever think to stretch first? I've learned now if I want crazy sex I need to sneak away to stretch first after a harrowing incident in which my hip popped out and I had to punch my partner to get him off because the pain was blinding.

Moral: limber up.

Lesson 3: what control?

As seen in my anal trilogy, you think you have things under control and then you take the dick out and WHAM, one deep breath and you're paying gas. See your muscles get stretched out and your iron control is non-existent.

Lesson 4: cum farts?

Yeah. Those are a thing. I know, gross, right? No one talks about those. You dabble in the world of anal and think you're a rock star... then someone cums in your ass and you think you've cleaned up...

Until an hour later, when no one is home and you have to fart. It's not pretty. It's awful to think of, but I think it's worse to have it unexpectedly happen to you.

Lesson 5: fishing in the dark

So you just got done with your sexy romp. You're both sweaty, sated, and enjoying those last few moments connected. But don't wait too long! As his body goes back to normal, your body might decide to keep a rubbery memento... once the condom gets stuck inside the game of paper, rock, scissors over who has to fish out the party favor is always awkward!

Sex is awesome, but there are some awkward, messy, weird and crazy things that go along with it. 

Comment and tell me some of your pro tips.

Also, see who is talking dirty, and probably more of the pleasant kind...

TMI: Men ask

1. Advizor:
I once overheard in a bathroom, “There is nothing as over-rated as sex or under-rated as a good bowel movement.” Discuss.

■Like Beck said: "clearly this person isn’t having the same sex as I am." Though with age, or meds, or heavily constipated, I'm sure that a good bowel movement would be pleasurable and relieving, just not nearly as much as sex - depending on their sex life and necessity of such bodily function.

2. the late phoenix:
Friendship lasts longer than cumming. which of your online friends that you’ve never met would you like to meet in real life? which do you think you could become life-long REAL friends with? Actual friends, like going out to coffee and movies with, gossiping with, kissing on the forehead, hugging, loving.

■There are so many people! Gaming I just met two over the summer, and one certainly fits the bill with the above. For bloggers, I can't wait to meet to Molly and her husband, Curvaceous Dee seems like she'd be amazing fun, and especially JohnDStories because both of us sisters are madly in love with him.

3. John D Stories:
In a parallel universe, who out of your blog or Twitter followers would you most like to spend a steamy evening with? What would you do? Why them?

■Such a difficult question to narrow to just one, so I'll go with the first man who made me want to straddle him from an image on SinfulSunday, Through the Lens

4. Virtual Sin:
(multi-part question)
a. What method of stimulation (intercourse, oral, manual, toy, whatever) gives you the strongest orgasm?
■Though his fingers will hit the gspot consistently and make me squirt, it is still intercourse that gives me the longest and strongest orgasms.

b. With what method of stimulation do you get the most orgasms?
■Would still be intercourse, again, a close second to his fingers.

c. If the answer to a is different from the answer to b, what’s wrong with your life?
■Orgasms are amazing, regardless.

5. Jon Pressick:
Would you rather have a life where you only had sex once a year for 2 minutes or where you have to have sex, every day for a minimum of 2 hours?

■The first one hardly even seems an acceptable answer. How is this even comparable?! I would love the second option.

Bonus:
Nero:
Is there anyone on your partner’s side of the family you find hot? If you could hook up with them without anyone finding out (ever!) would you?

■Don't find anyone hot in his family, though he thought I'd find his sister hot.

Click HERE to find/follow/join in the TMI Blog

FFF: Challenge

FFF - Who's watching? _follow to see who else is writing

Word Length = 200
Required Phrase = Obligation
Forbidden Words = Payment, Prediliction, Prostitution
Extra Credit = Make it personal
Bonus Words = 25 extra for explaining the tuxedos, 25 more if this isn't about the money

She had an obligation. She was to belong to the men in the room, to be whatever they wished for her to be. That was what her lover demanded, and his will was her pleasure, proof of devotion and love.

"Caress the tips of your breasts," was the first request, and she did until they stiffed and rose, gazing down instead of the men. One man was silent the entire time, almost detached from her actions, the other issuing the commands.

When he commanded she strip of her panties and ride him, she felt a pleasure in following through. She was good at being on top, knew when to tease and when to grind.

He grabbed her hips, and she was swiftly reassured in his moans, his body beginning to perspire, his hands clenching her more, and his hips thrusting. She arched back and her own scream of pleasure erupted.

She looked at the other man in the room, his body calm and composed. Did he even watch them, she wondered. She felt drawn to him, compelled to make him want her, to wrest the same pleasure from him, to make her lover proud. She felt herself growing excited with the challenge.

Kiss

I was drowning in a sea of hate and self-loathing. My eyes pooled and spilled over with tears of anguish. I wanted to scream "I don't want to DO this anymore! I just want to get AWAY!".  I wanted to pound on the walls and express my rage. I wanted to be someone else at the moment, anyone, as long as it was not me,  as long as I didn't have to feel this way, to be this person.

 I needed something from him that he cannot quite understand but I cannot live without. The jumble of feelings and emotions, I needed pain to overcome it all. Pain felt that was wholly my choice, not forced on me by another. To drown out the screaming in my head.

The strike of his hand and the grasp of his strong fingers was what I craved. I wanted the power stripped from me and unleashed through him. It was more than dominance I craved, it was consumption, ownership, to be absorbed into him. I quaked with my need and pleaded with a tear stained voice, trying to express that which was locked inside of me, trapped like I was in the place in my head.

"No."

I was being denied. This was MY life so I shouldn't be surprised, that sad pathetic thing I lived every day. I felt unworthy, wilted more than before, broken. Didn't he know? Couldn't he see I was in pieces on the floor, lying at his feet, at his mercy of which he was giving me none? How could he deny me the thing I needed most? 

Those fingers caressed my cheek and suddenly the dam within me burst. I had been pushed past the limits of my endurance and I couldn't contain it anymore. His cruel denial was the last straw and my anger bloomed in furious color in the staining of my cheeks and the sudden cessation of my tears. My hand came crashing into his cheek with a fury born of everything I was feeling and everything he was denying me. The sound was deafening and the feelings vibrating up through my fingers gave me a vicious satisfaction.

One way or another, someone was feeling the sting.

I turned as quickly as my hand had delivered the blow and tried to dam the hated tears that were brimming and threatening to spill and weaken me again; fully intent on leaving, on seeking solace in privacy from the Hell I was in. Strong fingers in a grasp that demanded my attention, but yet did not claw, suddenly gripped my arm and spinning me about quickly had me crashing into his arms on unsturdy legs.

Those beloved, hated fingers gripped my chin as he stared into my eyes. His lips brushed mine in a whisper. "No". One arm encircled my waist and the other held firm my chin as those same soft lips grazed mine. Once. Twice. Finally the lips took mine in a kiss that held all of the emotion I felt, and the deliverance from it. 

The tears I had so valiant a struggle against came now in torrents and rivers and flooded the earth and our cheeks. The salty taste of them intermingled and caressed our lips as they caressed each other in healing. He moved both arms around me in a tight embrace that told me I was home. The anger and the hurt had no room to be, for there wasn't even an inch between our bodies for them to gain space. He caressed my cheeks, kissed my tears, and stared into my eyes.

He knew me, better than I knew myself right then. I had lost myself, given myself over to things that are dark and seek to destroy but my lover was still there. He was my anchor and saw me when I could not see myself. I needed to see love, not power. The submission of myself and the power of his dominance was shown now not through force, but through an understanding that he would care for and protect me through  and from everything, even myself.

My clothing slipped to the floor in a pool as he slid his hands softly against my skin, caressing and worshiping every fevered inch as he went along. There were no restraints but I could not have broken free from the sensations now humming along my nerves. I loved the feel of his breath, the sigh lightly playing along my skin as his cheek rubbed against the side of my breast while he lowered himself to remove my panties. His head came to rest on my stomach and his arms encircled me for yet another embrace. There are no word I could use to express what the embrace of this man conveyed. As the last of my garments joined those on the floor, the last vestiges of my fury abated. I was soothed, I was loved, I was aroused.

He laid me gently on the bed and parted my thighs with kisses and caresses. He knelt down before me in worship and showed me the submission of his heart to my needs. His tongue was strong as it flicked across the very center of me; unlocking the secrets of me and causing my legs to quake.

The aftereffects of all of the heated emotions that had me so keyed up earlier were still coursing through my blood, making my nerves more sensitive and ready to explode. I could not contain my hands and needed as much as air to caress him, to touch every part I could. Within moments caresses turned into insistent tugging as I needed him to hold me again, to kiss me , to fill me.

No longer being denied, he rubbed his body over mine as the heat of him seared a memory onto my skin that would last an eternity. He was mine as I was his. He caressed my cheek, still damp with my emotion, and stared into my searching eyes.

As he slid into me, with one strong, fluid stroke, those lips, that had saved me from the precipice minutes before, formed the words I needed so badly to hear to heal my soul.

"I love you."

As my muscles melted with my relief they started gathering new tension in preparation for my release. My back arched and my hips rose up to meet his with increasing demand, my body expressing all of the love and need that my heart felt, to drive us forward to completion. As so rarely happens, the world fell into place and we reached our pinnacle together, my body tightening and wringing every drop of his orgasm at the same time, demanding it and claiming it as mine.

I had wanted his violence, but what I needed was his kiss.

FFF: A dream shattered

FFF Prompt - July 12 - Phone Lines

Required Phrase =
"Answer it"

Forbidden Words = Orgasm

Word Length = 661

Extra Credit = Tell us who's calling

Bonus Words = 50 if you tell us a phone sex confession

“Are you going to answer it?” The voice sounded wrong, really wrong. She felt drawn out of passion’s dream-like quality more from his voice than the phone ringing beside her head.

She didn’t open her eyes, just groped around for the phone. He stopped moving in and out of her, withdrawing, rolling onto the side of her. She could feel his weight beside her, and missed that feeling so much.

Her voice cracked with unexpected emotion. “Hello?”

“That guy you brought home isn’t Matt, honey. I saw you walking out of the bar with him. You can’t bring Matt back.”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, frustrated at her best friend. She went to hang up, hit the phone receiver, but if fell down. Refusing to her open her eyes, she grabbed at the cord and swung it up above her head. “Where were we?” she asked.

“Who was that?" A brief chuckle at her ridiculousness, "Why are your eyes shut? What’s wrong?” God, why did his voice grate on her nerves so badly?

“My eyes get very sensitive after I’ve been pleased.” She lied, rubbing his muscular thigh, feeling her way up to his balls, massaging them, feeling him shift and smiling a little.

His body covered hers again. He went to kiss her but she turned her head to the side, and instead his warm mouth molded itself against her neck, sucking and nibbling in the most delicious ways. He moved inside of her, parting her lips, and she relished the feeling of fullness. He began the rhythmical movements in and out of her again, and the ridge of his head felt so amazing when it slid in just the right spot. She moaned, moving one hand around him to stroke up and down, encouraging him to continue. He continued to feast upon the susceptible side of her neck, such an inviting mouth and tongue, and yet she shivered. His hand reached to capture her other hand, and he began increasing the movement.

For the briefest of moments, she believed that he was Matt. It was the right build, the pace was now similar to his favorite. A warm male body covering her own, filling her, loving her. He was here, now. She hadn’t answered the door to the men in stiff, formal uniforms, offering their immediate condolences about her husband. It didn’t happen…that was a dream.

A dream, she thought desperately, as the pleasure began building, and she felt herself drifting off with the indulgence, losing coherent thoughts for the briefest, most needed, escape.   

**Phone sex confession:
I suck at phone sex. I am okay in the beginning, though it feels awkward to me. But then I start touching myself, and listening to the voice on the other side, and lose myself to the pleasure. Eventually I abandon speaking to my lover, instead moaning or gasping at my own pleasurable sensations. Fortunately, they don't seem to mind this verbal communication on my end.  
Sadly, right now I am having far more phone sex than actual sex. 

Description of my orgasm(s)

After reading Girl on the Net, I decided to take the complicated challenge of describing my orgasm. They have some differences, which I tried to address as they occurred, but for the most part, they follow this pattern:

It starts with pressure inside of me, a pressure of fiction, an awareness of movement in and out of me.

Then I begin to tighten into the pressure. I can do this at whim, but more often than not, it just happens. When I am short on time, know this is a quickie, or am tired, I can tighten, making me come closer to the sensation faster. When I want a slow buildup, I just allow it to naturally happen, enjoy the other sensations besides the focusing on clamping down into it.

But my orgasm gets going when I tighten around whatever is inside of me,  increasing the pressure, not a consistent tighten, more like a gripping and releasing of muscles(my lover will feel this). My body grows taunt due to this tightening. I begin breathing heavier. My mind empties of thoughts. In and out, pressure on certain places, like the g-spot, deep inside, at my entrance; or held pressure in one spot that is almost so overwhelming I want it slid against rather than held against.

All my thoughts, all my concentration, is on my muscles, on feeling the pressure build, of the gripping and releasing. I feel drawn, almost leaning my body into my groin. My stomach clenches down, my whole body becomes tense. The clenching around becomes more intense, the coming and going of pleasure building, the waves of pleasure building higher and higher, crashing faster and faster.

It is not a letting go, unless of cohesive thoughts. It is an absolute building of pressure that is pleasant nerve endings being vibrated, thronged deeper and longer, spreading from inside my crotch, my lower belly, gripping tightly, spreading suddenly as if heat of a wildfire, moving up my torso and down my thighs at the same time, making me catch my breath, rending my limbs tense and immobile trying to clutch at anything (my toes may curl painfully at this point of clutching), my breath catching (sometimes too long), my head spinning, my thoughts completely blacking out. It is a force burning throughout my entire body, clutching it so tightly, making it rigid, flushing out even to my skin. An awareness of every muscle, a pressure so hard in my core – it is pleasure so focused, a tingling sensation that doesn’t lower or stop.

It is quick, but it leaves me weak with its force. The tingling begins to actually represent tingling, with the skin overly sensitive, my limbs tremble, I remember to breathe, my head is still slowly spinning, my thoughts seem so distant, as if I am far away from my body, amazed at the power of my orgasm. My body is aware of how tense it is, my sex completely lets go of what is inside of me – as if taking a deep breath and releasing it, my body and limbs heavy, my chest heaving from erratic breathing, my throat raw either from screaming with the force (which allows a deeper orgasm) or from the effort in suppressing any noise (a weaker orgasm as it requires me to focus on a place other than my pleasure).

I feel like I am sinking, my thoughts lazily floating back into my head, my body relaxing after its fierce control. I become aware of my lover again; or toy or fingers are removed. If my breathing was held, I may see black spots blurring my vision. My head may hurt, a throbbing headache, if I held my breath. This is the point where I become aware of my toes if they curled, as I try to painfully stretch them. My fingertips may have been too clenched into my lover’s skin, and just now feel the muscles protesting. I may become aware of the sting of raw skin that I scratched in my clenching (I will sometimes clamp nails into my thighs or calves if I am holding them up). My stomach may be sore, feeling as if I did too many crunches or sit ups. My heart hammers inside my ribcage, thunders in my ear.

If is a strong orgasm, regardless of movement inside of me, I may still feel my muscles clenching inside still, gripping and releasing, shuddering, giving lapses of pleasure still, echoing throughout my body but not causing that tenseness, just a brief flutter of pleasant nerves being surged through, slowly until they dwindle to nothing. I call them aftershocks (as they mimic an earthquake’s to me). Or if movement/stimulation is still there, the clenching follows the pattern of movement, gripping inside of me, releasing, quicker than the first time, with more intensity, until I clench around it tightly, my body reacting far quicker, the wave of pleasure rising far higher and crashing more violently than the first time, and another orgasm grips me.

A following orgasm; feeling just like the first, but more intense, spasms rippling through me. I become dizzy far easier, and more likely to hold my breath. Control over my noises is less likely after the first orgasm. I am less in control of it happening or the speed in which it happens.

I am capable of multiple orgasms. I have not tested nor counted how many I can achieve in one session, though I am sure the number is more than five that I have accomplished. It leaves me weary, shaken, depleted, incapable of sound thinking, my nerve endings so sensitive to touch of different textures. I am aware of the softness of sheets, the sheen on my skin, the air flowing across, the crispness of a sting of a spank of my ass, the burning of any skin been marked too roughly, the imprint of where pressure used to be, the chill and the heat of objects around me.

I am easier to get to orgasm from touches other than penetration, as my muscles inside my sex are far easier to tighten and clench, and need nothing to clench around to begin that cycle of spreading pleasure.  If I orgasm from clitoral stimulation, it begins in my clit, sliding, the pressure dances in time to my sex, pumping the pressure of pleasure from groin outward again. If I orgasm from my nipples, they are often pinched hard, the pinching becomes a focused pain of pleasure, it travels and tugs to my groin, which clenches tight down echoing the pressure on my nipples, so tight that my body comes again.  

Clear Vision

         She found herself standing in a dark room alone, silence except for the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning from a large window. She fumbled for the tornado radio on a table, next to the front door, hitting her knee in her effort and dropping something before feeling the radio, and turned it on. The radio crackled out a thunderstorm warning for the following counties, hers being one of them.

            She breathed a sigh of relief. Just recently, a neighboring county had been hit by a tornado, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction. She was glad that it wasn’t a tornado warning. And she cursed that she became so consumed in her work that it was now dark, and for all she knew, she was alone in the building.

            She wondered where a flashlight could be located, and reached into her purse, removing her phone. Turning it on, she used the feeble light to move in between the cubicles towards a large window, stumbling slightly from time to time. Through the window, the rain slashed and splattered down, and the lightning exposed the tips of the trees swaying violently, the moon completely hidden above the storm.

            Not just the darkness confused her, but she still felt as though she were in that book that she was translating. The book she simply struggled to render appropriately, as the words mesmerized her with their dark erotic fantasies. She had always felt superior translating, this book left her humble and hoping she eloquently did it justice; it provoked a physical reaction that still left her wanting.  

            Halfway to the large window, a flashlight’s beam shone directly in her eyes, blinding her. She stopped abruptly, squinting. A man’s voice stated with some surprise, “Ah, Jen, I had thought you had left with everyone else.” His accent thick, making him distinguishable even blind, Jen was glad she wasn’t alone in this frightening storm. He lowered the flashlight, but she still couldn’t see anything. Too bad, she thought, he was gorgeous to look at. Recently joining her department, she and other women would cast stolen glances at him when he was near.

            “I lost track of time, I guess.” She shrugged. Spots of lights still flashed before her eyes, but she could see his form silhouetted in front of the window. She noticed that the beam of light was pointed downwards, at a spot between them in the carpet. The light moved forward, towards her, and she looked up to see him closing the distance between them. She smelled his cologne when he was close enough to grasp her upper arm, and she felt like leaning into his smell, becoming enveloped in his scent that it became her own.

            “Are you alright?” the lightning exposed his smile, he was so close that his words were felt on her forehead. She shook her head a little, blaming her current thoughts and predicament on the book she was working on. Of course, there could be worse things than being stuck in a storm with a hot man. He mistook her shake, and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his hard chest through his suit. “It’s okay, the storm will pass over us soon,” he murmured, rubbing her upper back. She found herself putting her arms around him, holding him tightly. His heat seemed to cocoon her, and she felt so hot all the sudden she was afraid of perspiring. At least she could blame it on the storm, and his assumption that she was terrified.

            “I’m okay,” her voice came out muffled from his suit jacket; she felt oddly calm at the soothing strokes of his hand on her back, the other arm still holding her tightly to him. The hand moved a little lower, to her lower back, and the circles would sometimes reach the top of her ass. She was sure that wasn’t intentional, and decided to not protest it.

            Still holding her but allowing more room between them, he looked down at her face. “So lovely, Jen, even in shadows and darkness.” She was surprised at the words, but more surprised when his face could be vaguely seen lowering, lips came down to meet hers, his hand now firmly on her ass, pushing her towards him again. She found herself kissing him back, his tongue melding with her own, the taste of him unique. “So hot,” he leaned back and murmured, and she briefly felt his hardness against her through the layers of clothes. The hand caressing her butt gripped tighter, the arm supporting her shoulders was suddenly used to turn her around so fast that she was shocked, letting out a little cry, tripping over her own feet and grabbing in the dark a nearby desk. The arm snaked over her shoulder, pulling her up and against him, the other hand lifted up her heavy mass of hair, and she heard him whisper something in his native language, so soft she wasn’t sure what it was, as his mouth came down upon her neck.  She felt goose bumps along her skin, and her body tremored slightly.

She hazily wondered what she was doing, alone in a storm with a near stranger that apparently didn’t ask for permission to approach her sexually. She debated briefly if she would tell him to stop, or do something, but his other hand slowly started unbuttoning her blouse, the palm grazing the newly exposed skin as he unhurriedly went down the row. His mouth moved to the side, the hand still gently lifting the hair up to give him full access. She moaned, and decided that she would see where this would take her. She could always tell him to stop later.

Fingers deftly made their way into her bra, fingertips caressing nipple tip to a hardened point before tugging slightly. He lips and tongue so warm sliding along her jawline, she turned her head to be able to kiss him. He dropped her hair as his mouth seared against hers, his tongue probing and asking of her own passion. Suddenly, he pinched her nipple hard at the same time as he trapped all her hair in his grasp and pulled her head back, away from the kiss. “I wonder if you are ready, lovely,” he questioned to her ear, still holding her head back as the fingers moved from nipple down, pulling up her skirt so quickly and moving aside her panties that she didn’t even think to protest.

She almost felt panicked at his aggression, unused to it, unsure of him, but a finger stroked against her clit, sliding easily along her slickened lips to penetrate her sex. She gasped, and he inserted two fingers. His mouth again moved to the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, as his fingers moved quickly in and out of her. “So ready for me,” he said.

Yes, she thought, you and the book of words have me mesmerized in fantasy. She felt herself soaking his fingers, tightening around them, and began panting. He withdrew them right before she could clench around them in orgasm. He grabbed her hip, the hand in her hair now between her shoulder blades pushing, bending her. Her hands out, they felt the impact of the steady desk, and she laughed, curious if he even cared if she had smashed into it face first. Her skirt was hiked up above her hips, her underwear yanked down, and his mouth moved upon her clit. He pushed her legs further apart, and in her frustration to have him down there, she untangled her high heel from one side of the undergarment, leaving it like an anklet around the other. The tongue darted against her nub, once, twice; sighing, she felt him sucking on it.  She shifted slightly, bending more fully over the desk, pushing papers out of her way. The thundered boomed, the lightning flashed, and she prayed the electricity stayed off and not waken her to reality.

His mouth moved back, his tongue fucked her, his lips pulling at her lips. She moaned and pushed against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, before he moved, the fingers seeking where his mouth had been, his mouth moving up to licking her anus. The fingers sunk in deeply, curling, fucking her to an orgasm that she screamed more voraciously than the violent storm outside.

“Ready for me?” he panted, moving up to stand behind.

It took her a hazy moment to realize he had actually asked her a question. She heard his clothing shifting. “Oh yes,” she stammered, backing up slightly, bumping into his shadowy form. He chuckled, grabbed her hip with one hand, guided himself to her with the other, before both hands were on the sides of her hips, and he was moving them back and forth, pulling her upon him as he pushed, and roughly taking her to another orgasm, slowly the tempo slightly. She became briefly aware of the rain still pounding down to the earth, very aware of him still filling her deeply, and then thrusting fast again, competing with the speed of the rain, until they both shuddered and groaned.

He stepped back, smoothed down her skirt. He began reassembling his clothes before she even moved to stand up again, feeling wobbly, using the desk for support. She decided to lean against it, and turned, still just seeing him vaguely. She struggled to pull up her panties in the same amount of time that he dressed.

A dream lover, she mused. “My tempest,” he leaned down and kissed her forehead, his accent thicker from their passion. The thundered rolled, but it seemed so far away to her, a relaxing soothing background sound. “You were lovely,” he leaned down and picked up the flashlight, shining it again at the floor.

“What now?” she breathlessly asked. He put an arm around her shoulder, and steered her towards the front door.  

“Shall we get you to your car?” He handed her the purse she had dropped, grabbed an umbrella in the doorway, and continued to move her into the rain. As they stepped outside, the umbrella snapped open, lightning flashed, and the lights behind them were suddenly on again. They laughed as they walked away; she was grateful it was still dark outside. She wanted him to continue being a mysterious dream lover. Tomorrow back at work would be soon enough for her to cast furtive glances of longing or askance at him, translating his mood more than her current book project, amid the papers, chatter, clicking of keyboards, and clear vision.

Expectations

When I was younger, I slept with a (1) man for a few months. Unbeknownst to me, several months after we broke up, I hooked up with a (2) friend he had. While that relationship was no more than one of sex, we did have sex quite often, and I met some of their other friends, another (3) of which I hooked up with just once.

So when the three of them expected me to start sleeping with a fourth friend of theirs, I was mortified. Just because I ended up sleeping with three friends does not mean that I was going to passed around to their crew of friends. Just because I liked sex, and had it when I wanted it, doesn't mean that I would sleep with everyone who crossed my path, that I "ought" to sleep with men who offered me sex, especially if it was someone I knew. I was promiscuous with casual sex and having a good time, but not indiscriminately - I chose who I was attracted to, who I was going to have sex with, and if I even wanted another partner.

The friend was equally mad at me, and felt a sense of entitlement, like it was "his turn". They even went so far to show up at my house, these four guys, and try to sell/persuade me this the fourth guy. I was shocked, embarrassed, hurt, unsure of how to respond. It was one of those freezing up moments,
when time crawls so slowly, when you desperately want to hit fast forward and see it end.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep with that fourth guy, and the other three fast became a (painful) memory. I wanted nothing to do with them after that.

They had labeled me in their minds and to their friends, and they felt that I ought to stay within the boundaries and expectations of that label. It felt shameful that they labeled me at the time, though I hardly recognized that was the emotion. And I allowed that overruling emotion to define me, and I rebelled, and I shut off my own sexuality for a year. A YEAR, without intercourse, without finding a companion to share my desires and sexually fantasies with.

I can look back on that year and say I was proud of my self-control, except it wasn't my control that regulated it - it was the control that I gave those four guys. It was the control that I gave to society's definition that I was a slut, promiscuous with the negative connotations, an oversexualized female.

And I can even point the finger at myself that I had done the same negative judgments, criticizing my virgin friends for not experiencing sex, assuming they were scared, unable to find someone, or...or... the list goes on.

What I should have done is realized that they have a choice and they CHOOSE when to intimate, and with whom. The same choice that I had, that I wanted other people to respect. It wasn't until the judgment was cast at me that I realized that I was guilty of the same type of behavior.

Simultaneous Orgasms

The Dirty Normal discussed simultaneous orgasms as "nearly always requires that you both be fully present, attuned, and connected with your partner RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE, eyes open, hearts open, lights on, clothes off, breathing and connected, locked into each other, together, now, US."

I agree with parts of this, and don't others. My partner achieves simultaneous orgasms roughly 90% of the time.

Yes, my partner, and not me. I am capable of multiple orgasms, averaging (thank you Orgasm Race to showing me this) three orgasms per session; I've not met a man who has multiple orgasms, and therefore have never been joined for multiples. Most of the time, by the third orgasm, I am physically exhausted and make sure that he joins me on that ride to the top of three.

I agree with the Dirty Normal in that both of us, to attain an orgasm together, are present in the moment (one of the few times I am), attuned and connected to each other's body language. He reads my body's cues, or the "don't stop, right there" words I say (okay, let's face it, he probably relies more on the verbal cues), and moves accordingly - normally exactly as I've told him to. He feels me tightening with my orgasms, which requires him to be present enough and attuned to feel that connection between his penis and my vagina wall muscles. The tightening around his shaft is normally what pushes him over the edge towards his own climax. And usually the more orgasms I have, the stronger and easier they become, and the less control I have over them - which may be another reason we average three - he's already resisted being pleased with the first two.

But, I mostly control when he cums. It comes in handy when I want a quickie, it comes in handy for faking an orgasm (yes, I've been guilty of this a time or two, but only with new partners who lack self-confidence). I can control my muscles, squeeze him (I've read the term milking-not sure how I feel about that one). It increases my own pleasure; it speeds up his.

Now granted, if he wasn't attuned to me - say he was thinking about what to have for dinner later, then no matter what I do, it may not matter.

As for "eyes open" that just doesn't happen for me. And I can honestly say that I have no idea if any of my lovers have had their eyes open - I don't keep mine open. When it starts to feel good, I close my eyes, cut out the visual stimulation, and just feel. My eyes always being closed hasn't stopped simultaneous orgasms yet. And the lights could be off or on, for him or for me.

"Hearts open" is another one that (at least I) don't need. As much as it bothers my partners, I don't feel emotional when I have sex, they are two separate entities for me. I lived with a man for three years, had the most amazing sex, and didn't fall in love with him (but it wasn't for lack of trying). I've still managed these orgasms with that partner. Of course, I'd like to think that simultaneous orgasms are "more special" with someone I love, everything is more special when it is spent with a loved one. But I am a capable of timing the orgasms without emotional attachment.

As for the breathing, I've read some articles on how couples should play with breathing as an exercise to feel connected - same kind of exercise as to touch without sex, massage without being sensual, etc.. I haven't tried these, I would honestly feel like laughing the whole time, but one day when I mature more perhaps I can give these things a go. 

And of course, some may argue that these orgasms wasn't what The Dirty Normal intended, as they are manipulated at times, but even when I don't consciously do anything to have simultaneous orgasms, I do tighten in my own pleasure which pleases him - regardless of the circumstances of our connection.

FFF: First Time

Key word = Disclosure

word limit = 200

Extra credit = share your "real number" along side your Publicly Claimed Number

She raked his back, arching, before remembering disclosure: it's my first time - reminded herself. It kept her focused on that facade, away from the feeling sensations.

He gauged her reaction, trying to go slow. I've had so many women, he thought, but this is the hottest. When her nails clawed his back, he thought of other women doing the same, countless women. Faceless though, with this lovely in his view, eyes shut in concentration. Amazing, letting him have this moment.

"Is it supposed to be this big?" She murmured, eyes suddenly open, trying for bewildered.

He laughed. "Oh yes. You feel so tight. I've never had it so good. I'm going to try to get you cum. Relax." Whispered command, kissing her lips softly, thrusting faster with more force.

She closed eyes again, began arching purposely; couldn't keep appreciative moans silent. He knew how to move, and she found herself unwilling reaching orgasm.

When she tightened, he came, slowed, withdrew, and rolled over to his side, draping an arm across.

"Was that good?"

She smile. "So good. Too bad I'm your first and only, you'd be really good for virgins."

He thought how lucky that she had the experience to switch roles with him.

**This is completely inspired by my lover and myself. Full public disclosure of myself: I tell people I am more than 1 and less than 100. 

For Pity's Sake, No

I cried when he told me "no" after I proposed sex. It was a silly, immediate reaction that I tried unsuccessfully to hide. But the feeling of rejection was fierce.

Being aware that the no wasn't a rejection of me, but to the action at that specific moment, didn't help. It didn't help that we had sex four times already that day. I was unsure of the origin of the sudden tears, as surprised at their arrival as he was. Normally, this wouldn't bring me to tears. Hormones, melancholy that day? Regardless of the cause, there they were: fat, rounded, salty drops rolling their way down my cheeks.

I tried to hide the reaction, but he saw.

"Look at me," he ordered, but I shook my head and tried to duck into his armpit. He grabbed my chin and moved my face towards him. "Why're you crying?"

"I...I...d-don't know," I sobbed out miserably, ashamed at such a reaction that I was helpless to control.

"Let's have sex," he stated, matter-of-factly, kissing my wet cheeks softly.

"N-n-no, you don't want to, it would be pity sex. And I don't want to anymore."

He laughed, wiping my eyes. "Liar." He kissed me softly on the lips, his tongue briefly darted out to feel my quivering lips. "Besides, it doesn't matter what you want, I find myself wanting to have sex with you." He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me off of the couch where we were snuggling, but I stubbornly slipped my hand away from his.

He sat down next to me, and looked at me for a long moment. My tears were slowing, but I was embarrassed and rolled over, my back to him. His hand rubbed my back for a minute, then moved to my waistband of my pajama pants and pulled down. "What are you doing?" I protested, but weakly. I wanted to feel better, and we both knew that sex would make me feel better.

"Taking what I want," he said, right before his mouth breathed on my hip. His hand gently rotated me onto my stomach, and then parted one thigh from another. A finger gently touched my clit, then slowly stroked my labia. His finger slipped inside ever so slightly. I held my breath, until I felt his against the pink tenderness of my sex. His tongue traced around my entrance before slipping inside of me; he sucked gently at my lips as his tongue darted in. He began to move his tongue steadily, increasing the pace and pressure. My core tightened as I tensed, my hips began to move almost of their own accord. "Get on your knees," he told me, not quite taking his mouth away. I slowly moved to my knees, his mouth still sloppily kissing around my swollen sex. He slid his fingers in, first one then two, out and then deeper, probing for my g-spot. He kept pressure there as he moved, and I felt my myself squeezing tighter around his fingers, my body taut, my mind emptying itself of all thoughts save the feelings he was creating. Right before I orgasmed, he moved his fingers and again used his tongue to bring me the rest of the way.

I screamed, I pushed myself into his mouth as if he could devour me whole, as it felt as if I was utterly his. He kneeled behind my shaking thighs, pulled down his pants to his knees, and his cock nudged at my opening. Still swollen and responsive, I moaned as I leaned back into him, pressing hardness into my depth. "Oh god," I breathed, as I moved forward slightly, and then back again, trying for another orgasm, astounded at how ready I was.

"Slow down," he grabbed my hips, and began setting the pace. I began making soft noises that increased volume when he increased pace, and found myself alternating between holding and struggling for breath. Teetering on the edge of another orgasm, he began to slam his cock fully into me and my screams mixed with his moan. I collapsed with the force of my orgasm, my legs no longer wanted to support me. He rolled me onto my side, settled himself into the couch, and my body into his arms. He held my gaze, tried to gauge my mood, and suddenly I remembered how I cried, how absurd I was. As if reading my thoughts, he reaffirmed, "that wasn't pity sex, it was amazing and that's how we're going to remember it."

I nodded, and smiled. "It was amazing," I concurred. "And I'm sorry at how I reacted. It was silly."

To this date, I haven't reacted with tears when turned down for sex. I have, however, jumped up and stomped my foot impulsively, which received me a laugh and teasing: "is that a tantrum?" Where the hell had that reaction come from?

Room service

He opened the door and my heart was pounding like a mad thing. A million thoughts raced through my head becoming a jumbled blur. This was it then...

I'm a flirt. I love banter and I love the delicious interactions between men and women who aren't afraid of their sexuality. Since I had first entered the world of sex blogging he'd had my attention. Lighthearted, playful, and easy interactions flowed.

I was intrigued as well by this man for more than the delicious glimpses I'd gotten of his body and his intelligence, but also by his life. Beautiful family, open loving relationship with a gorgeous, supportive wife. I'd never been with someone in an open relationship. I'd never been a toy.

I'd never really thought, beyond the fantasy, to seek out such a person or interaction though. Until, amidst one of the flirtatious exchanges of words and images, he suddenly issued me an invitation to join him while he was nearby for work.

I knew it wasn't cocktails and a pleasant meeting he was proposing, although that was certainly part of the deal. Suddenly, this vague daydream was a real and actual possibility. I instantly got hot and wet at the thought and agreed. No hesitation, simply excitement.

We began making plans. Not only did his wife know, she bought the condoms for the trip, which just made me all the more in awe of her and excited. Being single, there wasn't really anyone to tell, except my sister, and that was something I was a bit hesitant to do. After all, how would that conversation go:

"Hi sissy! Just wanted to let you know that I am taking a couple days off of work to go have sex with this really pleasant married man I know from the Internet!"

Um, yeah. I avoided the scenario and imagined reaction throughout all of my planning. Instead I focused on the meeting and the items I wanted to pack for my little overnight adventure. He and I exchanged several emails about practical, logistical concerns  but there were quite a few more texts about what we wanted to do to the other when we were finally afforded the opportunity. Suddenly it became a question of "How many sex toys are too many?" and "Is lingerie overkill or killer?" One of the extremely exciting factors to this for me was the fact that I already knew about this man's sex life. I already knew he was just as open and adventurous as I was and that really, can you ever have too many sex toys?

Finally, the day came to make my trip. The only time I'd spent this much time in grooming prep was when I was doing photos (ok, you got me, I take photos constantly.... but there was extra attention given!). Well, and really, I WAS going to be doing photos. He not only liked photos as much as I do, he even had gorgeous equipment I lusted over almost as much as his beautiful dick.

I'd ran into a little problem earlier on in the week. This problem I refer to as "spray tan leprosy". I'd gotten a spray tan on my legs as usual for photos. The problem this time, was that it rained immediately after and my legs got wet. You aren't supposed to get wet for a few hours after application. So, thanks to in-climate weather, I now had light spots on my legs that needed to be filled in. A bottle of tan in a can and suddenly the holes were filled, even if my legs were now a bit too dark.

I dress immaculately normally. I am a woman who loves to ooze femininity and sensuality, so a lovely, form fitting dress to show of my curves and a pair of strappy heels completed my pinup hair and ruby red lipstick. I was packed, ready, and on the road.

The drive time between home and my destination was about 4 hours. I was overly excited and decided to make good use of the present my sister had purchased me for long car drives. So, thanks to that wonderful little bullet, my trip was made much more pleasant by the two orgasms I had while thinking about what was to come (no pun, okay, maybe a little, intended).

It was during the drive that I finally found my gumption. I'd always confided in my sister, and no matter what she said, I was already on my way, there was no turning back. I finally picked up the phone and told her. To my surprise, she not only said that was awesome (she knew the man too and had actually expressed an interest in meeting him and his lovely wife), she also said she envied my spontaneity. It was perfect, there was nothing left now to worry about...

Except actually BEING there. I pulled into the parking garage of his hotel already wound up. I was in a tightly populated business district with construction going on. I hadn't taken anything for my anxiety because I didn't want the dulled senses side effect. My anxiety was through the roof! I was here, he was so close and my heart began to flutter. I checked myself and decided I wasn't too rumpled from my car trip, it was time to go upstairs.

I knocked. Counted my irregular heartbeats, and suddenly, the door was opened. Bright eyes peeked out at me from behind the door where he had playfully hidden to perpetrate a joke we had previously discussed of him waiting naked for me. His tall frame moved from behind the door and I saw him, in front of me (dressed), for the very first time. The next couple of minutes are a bit hazy to me because my nervous system went into overdrive. Thankfully though, despite my pink stained cheeks and nervous glances away, he was able to make me feel comfortable with the lighthearted banter I'd enjoyed engaging in with him previously.

He cupped my cheeks and kissed me, taking the edge off while I got settled and we exchanged pleasantries. I can't describe the transition from friendly meeting to me yanking his shirt off. No more than a few minutes had passed since I had been in the room. He heeded to my earlier expressed desire of worrying about taking clothes off and foreplay AFTER I already had him inside of me. I am notoriously impatient. I wanted to taste him, I wanted to feel him, I wanted to fuck him.

See our next segment Special Delivery coming soon to hear what happens next.