Let's watch a movie

That's right. We've all heard it, in fact, we have all probably said it at some point. Online dating has taught me a thing or two about the classic lines people passively use for "Let's have sex".

The most prolific of our offenders:

1) "Let's watch a movie"

Let's watch a movie is such a commonly used statement that even the most novice person on the dating scene knows it's merely code for "let's have a movie playing in the background while we have awkward, groping couch sex".

2) "Why don't I cook you dinner at my place, maybe have a bottle of wine..."

This is the classy way of saying "I want to lure your to my house with promises of a meal, then get you pleasantly buzzed before I cajole you into my lair, where we have sex."

Moscato is a gateway drug to bad food and sex!

3) "We can just hang out at my place, get to know each other..."

This one isn't even just blatantly obvious, it's cheap too! Dude, if you want me to come knock boots after hardly knowing you, at least fork over the couple bucks for Red Box!

There are a lot more examples of these euphemisms for let's have hot steamy casual sex, but it seems like, with the false courage people are getting from the variety provided by the internet, even a simple dinner out leads to expectations.

I'm sorry, simply because you paid for my meal doesn't mean I OWE you, and even if I like you, if you assume we're hooking up I am then forced to disappoint my inner slut and shut you down.

It's become such a common trend on my dating sites that I even posted a joke about people's unrealistic dating expectations on the internet:

"Sorry boys, I don't believe in anal on the first date"

Because truly, the assumption of sex on a first date is as unrealistic as the assumption that I'm going to believe you when you say you're packing 9 inches...

Come see who else is being wicked...

After party

The sea of rumpled sheets and discarded undergarments are the only testament to the wild night...

See who else is being sinful...

Unknown Leads to Desire: Mating in Captivity

Esther Perel's book Mating in Captivity: Unlocking Erotic Intelligence was suggested by My Dissolute Life.

I cannot read a book without writing in it (I never borrow books for this reason). I had an English Professor tell me that "books talk to us, talk back", and that seemed like as good as motivation to explain to people as ever. And yes, because most of my reading is done in the bath, I still read actual paperbound books (shocking, I know, but imagine how expensive an electronic book would suddenly become if I dropped it).

As I've been reading this book, I've been reflecting. This seems like a good place to share. I'm strictly going to speak from a military spouse, and generalize that most spouses are females to a military man.

Perel states that unknown factors increase excitement and desire, hence the giddy love-rush feelings at first. But unknown isn't synonymous with security, so we seek to make each other more known in a commitment: "to control the risks of passion, you have tamed it out of existence." (Perel, 10)

She suggests looking at your partner with a new perspective (ever seen someone appreciate something about your partner, and realize that you've been taking that very thing for granted in them?). For example, I go to the same local family business to buy my ball gowns. The seamstress met my husband, and commented on his slow mannerisms, his thoughtful consideration, his absolute respect, and his gorgeous body. By that point, I had taken some of these things for granted, and no longer saw them until she pointed them out. He does have a slower mannerism than say a person from California (who always seems rushed); I’d forgotten how I used to think that too.

Gorgeous, well I can’t forget that. For some reason, even after years, he still takes my breath away. When I told her one year that we were done having babies, she declared, “no baby, no. He is gorgeous and he needs to make gorgeous babies.” She’s right: he is gorgeous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was not having any more babies. Now, we were all for practicing.

Now in the military, the odds for taking someone for granted aren’t as high as perhaps some other couples. For one: there’s deployments. Depending on what branch depends on how long they are gone. The fear of them being in harm’s way makes them that much more precious. And you are away from them – aware of the emptiness of the bed beside you, the lack of tripping over their boots, their interactions with the children. Communication is often short and random, words become that more important, preciseness to convey a message is hard but so importantly necessary. Their voice inflections travel from the ear and burrow deeply into the heart, to nourish until the next time. And when you finally see each other again, it is falling in love all over again. Often spouses have lost weight, change a hairstyle, become more independent, developed a new routine; kids have grown. Military personnel are often more muscular and defined, tired, perhaps have even changed emotionally and mentally from what they’ve experienced.

Trainings/schooling tend not to be as long, but it is still a breaking apart and coming together again. Also, spouses will often travel and visit family if they’ve moved far away for extended periods of time. There always seems to be a reason for parting and coming back together in the military lifestyle.

It is getting to know each other again; they are unknown to each other again depending on the length of time; and their unique and completely individual experiences. The fact that they are married changes nothing of the newness of each other, that is more based on the love and commitment to each other, not in the actual wanting of each other. "Love is about having; desire is about wanting. An expression of longing, desire requires ongoing elusiveness." (Perel, 37) These couples are often elusive, and want to recommit to each other, to discover and delve into each other again, and desire tends to be very high at homecomings. A new lover delivered safely, an "oh yeah, I forgot how that feels" touch or caress, a new trick heard and now tried. Even old tried and try methods are made new and appreciated.

The up and down rollercoaster of the relationship in a military lifestyle isn’t all grand; it is downright challenging. At a recent marriage retreat that my husband and I went to, we heard from the chaplain that the divorce rate was currently 75%. There have a lot of studies debating if it is higher than the average national norm or not, I’ve read a lot of it and it seems pretty undecided as a whole. But it is challenging. Some couples become addicted to the partings and homecomings, and cannot handle their spouses for long periods of time - they've become stagnant and lose that desire. Some have lived apart for so long that when they finally come together, they discovered they didn’t want to be married anymore, the desire simply wasn't there at all and was perhaps more of an illusion sustained by distance.

I am going to suggest her book to many of my friends, especially if they are ready to transition to civilian life where separateness may be more challenging. Perel in no way suggests living separately to gain individuality, those are my own thoughts based on a military lifestyle. She discusses reawakening the newness when there has been no new element in a long time (which the military provides); of desiring each other again. When not forced apart, I can only hope that my spouse and I retain our individual selves and continue to view each other with desire from different perspectives.

*As a side note: even reading other bloggers really helps my own sex life. It has made me curious to try new things, to get out of my comfort zones, to point towards someone else’s words who have more effectively communicated wants that I’ve been trying to tell my husband. There are even some great videos that bloggers provide to offer how-to for so many numerous kinks.

With bringing in new ideas, or often being reminded of old favorites, I believe that we will keep our sex life and desire fresh just because we are so fluid with it.   

Independent Princess

FFF Prompt - July 5 - Independence Day

Key Word - Independence or Independence Day
Word Limit - 237
Forbidden Word - Fireworks
Extra Credit - Put the action on July 5th

It is hard being a famous princess. The woodland creatures and children look up me.

Worse, I had to plan a wedding once a year, because everyone knows that weddings are the “happily ever after”.

My handsome prince, was impatient during the umpteenth wedding, as he muttered: “every stupid July 5th.”

I kept my smile, and nodded slightly. We knew the routine, kissed when expected with large smiles on our faces, and rushed towards the carriage with rice being thrown, amidst trumpets, people cheering, the creatures waving goodbyes, even the doves calling down a congratulations as they flew over.

The white carriage, with its perfect-heart-shaped-carved-out-backing, so people can observe our happiness. I leaned my head on his shoulder, conscious of the numerous eyes watching our departure. He also knew the eyes were directed to the back of us. He kicked the basket at our feet, the clink of glass apparent; I gave a sigh of relief at seeing the alcohol bottle with glasses. He reached over, seemingly to embrace me closer, reached in and pinched my nipple, hard. He began twisting it viciously as he whispered his commands, the eyes peering at our backs us becoming farther away. Those wicked words wound me up. He ordered me to lift my dress, slipped his hand up my thigh, then grasped and ripped my panties off. A little bit of lace is hardly a barrier.

His fingers sought my already dripping sex, and he roughly pushed three inside me, his other fingers still created a wave of pain to my nipple. As his fingers fucked me, he told me how I was to strip naked once we got to the secret glade and serve him, the tortured foreplay that was going to occur as I was tied to a tree, how he was going to fuck me raw against a rock till my back bled. “Cum,” he commanded as he felt the tightening around his fingers. “Cum,” and I convulsed around his fingers, the pain and pleasure so exquisite.

As with the first honeymoon, I gave up complete independence, and loved every minute of submissiveness. 

Fulfilling Bruises

When I first got together with my husband, I had bruises on my knees. We both had no idea why, but it had been a very long night of all foreplay, and no sex. Literally, all night long. So I shrugged my shoulders at the unknown source of the bruises, but he worried that I bruised easily.

A year later…As a professional, he marked me on the neck: a small hickey, but one that I had to cover in makeup and hair, and I was extremely upset over it. I cannot have a visible mark on me for my career, especially a teenage-ridden one. He remembered to be more careful from then on.

And later…With our more passionate lovemaking, I would often have finger bruises on my thighs. I loved these marks, small little marks that often I was only aware of, a secret reminder of our time together. The marks became more numerous if we saw each other for any length of time, and I marveled how dark they could get, how lovely they looked against my milky thighs.

When we would wrestle, I would sometimes bruise, mostly it was me bruising myself trying to get the upper advantage, occasionally on my wrist from him managing to pin me down. I loved these playful moments; he always worried about me getting hurt.

I am so much shorter than him (over a foot), and he outweighs me almost double. I am grateful for his concern, but….

I wanted him to spank me. We had already learned I liked my nipples played with rough, orgasm harder from rougher sex, and my hair tugged. But when I asked him to spank me, it was lightly. It didn’t do the job that I wanted, that I was curious about. He was scared to mark me, to hurt me, to bruise.

Just like the finger bruising, or the sore nipples, I wanted to both see and feel our time together, even after the fact. I wanted to be reminded of it. I wanted to savor it.

It took a lot of talking, reassuring, instructing, demanding to get where he finally smacked my ass to sting. We both marveled over how red, how we could see his hand and finger imprints. It felt so deliciously warm to the touch; I smiled and even giggled when I kept looking back to see it. Sadly, it didn’t last throughout the night, but he was so worried about spanking me that hard, I worried not only what it would take to get it to bruise (and if I would even like it), but more how I was going to convince him to go even harder. I was working against his own preconceived notions, and society's, of never to intentionally hurt a woman. But it was kink/pleasure, and at my consent; he needed to see it differently.

My loving husband, who protected me and sheltered me, who thought I bruised so easily, so was cautious about marks (my point was visible marks, but he was still cautious), was now being asked to bruise me – someone much smaller than him.

It went against his protective nature, but fortunately for me, his nature is ultimately to please me. He is truly a lover that is flexible, adaptable, and open-minded. And we did finally accomplish a bruised and marked ass (which I was thrilled about, but that experience also taught us limits and timing on spanking). Since then, I’ve asked for much more from him.

I am such a lucky wife, that I married a man who is changing and evolving with me to keep our sex life interesting and new. That if I become curious, I feel comfortable enough to discuss it with him; or vice versa. And if we are ever uncomfortable with a suggestion, we simply don’t do it or discuss our way to comfortable at a much later date.  

Many married couples do not share their fantasies with each other; we not only share ours, but do our best to fulfill them. Even if that means bruising.

Not all marks are visible; he has left so many invisible, deeply imbedded traces throughout the years, and those are certainly savored, cherished, felt, and loved.

Jolly June

M's picks:

Category: Strong Personal Response. From the very first day of June, I'd already found a favorite. A Firmer Hand: Play Time: “On all fours little one,” what about that first line had me going? I'm little and that's a title I'm familiar with, and the immediately being thrusted into a command in the story had me immediately responding to it.

Category: Poetry with a new kink of mine. FridayErotica: When the Hand Talks Back. The colored beginning from the "dark eyes hidden in dark hair" to the pinpointed body parts' tension and position, kink was the last thing I expected.

Category: Slow sensual seduction. Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen speaks of anticipation that made me shiver and need. Bound is accompanied by pictures and small details like fingertips following along the collarbone.

How you know I'm ready

The buildup, it takes me higher and higher until I can't think. Tied up, immobile. Unable to move and at his mercy.  He knows my limits and he pushes them always.

I haven't seen him in so long and he is determined to make up for lost time. New pleasures, new tortures, all await me. I brought toys of the delightful kind, he brought toys of the torturous.

I'm bound from head to foot in a delightful design with the ropes that were cut just for me. He fits a ball gag in my mouth, a new toy for us. He'd had me wear my plug out all afternoon while we running errands and now, he was making me enjoy its presence.

My heart rate spikes as he tells me it's best not to have the plug in for what comes next, it might be too intense. That's when I hear something click, and a whoosh; just before something small has a sharp impact on the tender flesh of my inner thigh...

Gloves have spanked and smoothed skin, a leather belt has lashed welts into tender flesh, and now this new tantalizing curiosity. I've no idea what it is. Another click, another sharp sting of impact. A few more and he asks if I know what it is.

I'm forced to answer in the negative. I've no clue as to what the object is, and frankly, it's hard to think clearly with the exquisite torture I'm being put through as is. That's when he raises my blindfold and it takes me a moment to identify the bright orange and blue object in my lovers sadistically clever hands...

It's a nerf gun. I'm currently being shot in the pussy with a nerf gun. He switches now to the gloves again, my tender flesh brightly red from its abuse. Suddenly my lover uses yet another new implement he's bought: an industrial abrasive scrub brush. It's rubbed on my raw skin and my eyes begin to water... I moan into my gag and stretch against my binds...

The exquisite torture he is putting me through has come to a crescendo and I'm crying. The gag is new to me and the saliva pooling from my mouth, coupled with the ache in my jaw from the size of it, are adding to the intense sensations I'm experiencing throughout the rest of my body. Mascara is running down my face and I'm moaning for all that I'm worth when my lover stops and comes to my head to remove my gag. He's petting my tear stained cheeks and kissing my forehead and asking if I'm ok.

I'm confused and befuddled. I don't know why he stopped. He suddenly wipes a tear from my cheek and examines it shining on his finger. He looks past to me to say something I was definitely not expecting.

"I hate to see you cry, I can't stand it."

My heart melts just a little bit more as I point out I almost always cry when we play rough, it's honestly just one of the steps to subspace. He assures me he knows, but that this time of play was particularly intense and he never wants to hurt me beyond that which I enjoy.

I love this man and his care of me. We are far from perfect, but we are perfect for each other. As he soothes me and I sooth him of his worries, the heat of desire returns to our eyes. We use the smaller ball for the gag to ease my aching jaw and he kisses me and returns the blindfold to my eyes.

I know he has gotten over the heartbreak of my tears as he makes me pick a number between 1-40... I low ball it, instinctively knowing I won't like it and less is better. 4 is the number of thumb tacks I chose to sit on with my abused posterior. I've no idea of this prior to him assisting me down (of course, I am still tied and blindfolded) onto the sharp needle points. Those hateful tears sporting back up instantly and I'm furiously shaking my head no. No no no! I can't, I won't, it's too much.

He instantly picks me back up and soothes me again. I'm in for more intense treatment throughout the night, more tears, deep subspace, then finally that heightened crescendo of being filled with him, the thing I've been longing for all day.

Although my tears had moved him that night, despite being tears from the incredibly sweet pain I craved and which he gave me to heighten my pleasure, it is the true tears I must hide. For come morning we must part and my love will no longer be mine again for quite some time to come.

The tears from pain are how you know my body is ready, the tears from parting are how you know my heart is ready.