What sex is like

If I were asked, 'What is sex like?', I would not know what to say. Comparable questions seem equally mystifying: 'What is eating like?', 'What is drinking like?', 'What is breathing like?'. But think about what is good to eat, or drink, and the questions become more manageable.

Good sex is like . . . Well, some good sex is like a conversation, where I say something interesting, and you respond, and what I say next depends upon your response, and you react to me, and off we go, probably to somewhere we did not expect to be, or anyway could not have predicted that we would end up.

But some good sex is more like two lumberjacks setting out to fell a tree with a two-handled saw: we know what the task to be accomplished is, we have the tools, we know how to start, how to continue, what to do at the end. The saw has two handles, and cannot be used by either one of us without the other.

You and I are digging a hole. Perhaps I wield the pick and you shovel out the debris, and then we swap roles for a while. Sometimes we both hack at the ground, sometimes we both clear the ground for the next attack. Some sex is like that.

Sometimes sex is like performing for an audience of one - like singing, I would say, because I do not play an instrument other than my own body. But perhaps it is like extemporaneous oratory for others, or like improvisation in jazz. And sometimes I am the audience and it is you who puts on the show, riding my cock while I provide the post around which you whirl.

Like piling up bricks - you do the same thing again and again, but the pile grows higher and higher. Like quenching a thirst. Like going back to a familiar place and re-touching all the old points of contact. Like entering new territory.

What sex is like is not what sex is. And for the most part, writing about sex is simply writing about what sex is like rather than writing about sex itself. Yet the kind of writing that seems to be about sex itself is just the dry catalogue of acts and emissions that fills most of this blog. That is pointless.

I suspect food writers find themselves in a similar bind. The facts are straightforward, the onions were caramelized, the lemon zest was barely noticeable. The food was good, goddammit! Go try it yourself! But sex is not food, and having sex is not like eating food, for there is really nothing that sex is like except sex.

Unfuck

I paid a snap visit to J in the afternoon. She had been to the gynecologist after an anomalous Pap smear and had some non- or pre-cancerous growth sliced from her cervix, and so had been forbidden sex for a week, perhaps more. J omitted to tell me this when I called proposing a visit, but I would have gone anyway.

The gynecologist had said, 'No sex'. What does that mean? Obviously, in this case, it means no fucking, and we barely disobeyed - I did put the head of my cock into J's wet and pretty cunt and tease her with it at one point. J has never been fucked in the ass, and this did not quite seem the right time to go all the way in that regard, though I did also put the tip of my cock in her asshole.

Because J is especially keen on being fucked long and hard, and because our times together are rarely very long, we have not played around a lot with acts other than fucking, so it was fun to go down on her as a good-in-itself rather than as a prolegomenon to future pounding. Eventually, I ended up with a finger in her ass and another in her cunt while she rubbed her clit and brought herself off. She looked wonderful, and at the end of our time she did the same thing again, while I jerked off alongside, so that we could come together.

Smell

Many things that are true of smell are also true of Taste.

I smoked for thirty years, and gave up just a few years ago. I loved everything about smoking - the rituals of buying, unwrapping, opening; tapping the top of the pack to encourage the first cigarette to offer itself up; the spark of the flint; the petrol flare of the Zippo; the grey-blue skeins of smoke from the burning end of the cigarette; the grey-brown fog exhaled from deep in the lungs; the smells of a smoky room, a brimming ashtray. I was sceptical of stories about the delights in store for me once my sense of smell recovered from the assault of twenty a day, and that scepticism has been largely borne out - things smell much the way they always did. Bad things smell no worse; good things smell no better. But I pay more attention to smell during sex than I used to, and perhaps this has something to do with not smoking.

One of the things that is frustrating about the friendly, functional, efficient five- or ten-minute fucks with C is that there is no time to build up any real smell of sex. Someone walking into the room thirty seconds after we were done would probably not notice anything. It takes time to work up a sweat, to pump the molecules out of her cunt and into the air, to dampen the sheets. C, who is post-menopausal, insists on applying Astroglide beforehand too, and I think this has a neutralizing effect on the smell of her cunt. Afterwards, there is no slow leaking, no smearing of the residue of cunt-juice and come on our bodies; for it is time to be up and wiping off and getting on with the day and its business.

It is not just a matter of time, of course. Five minutes with Q is probably enough to perfume a large room, what with the pace of fucking, her lavish ejaculations, the fact that we both delight in our own and each other's smells. F is acutely aware of smell too, and routinely interrupts fucking to point our how great the smell of our sex is. Like Q, F is an enemy of deodorant, and I have largely given up on the stuff because of the pleasure that it prevents. D is perhaps a bit less enthusiastic about my ripe armpits, but does her best to avoid deodorant in the run up to seeing me, and that together with the fact that she has not shaved since the end of the summer makes her armpits unbelievably erotic.

Smell persists. Typically, I have to shower after extra-marital sex and so do not get to carry the smell of sex away with me. But I like, if I can, to dip a finger before departing, to take at least a little along. On the subway, I can then lift my finger to my nose and catch the scent of cunt. When I was a smoker, this smell overlaid that of tobacco, and I liked the blend. When I visited MRR for long weekends in my twenties, I would carry her cunt on my fingers all through the long cross-country train journey home, sniffing until I could no longer tell whether any of her scent remained, or whether it was just the tobacco. And that, in turn, eroticized the smell, so that for many years I associated the tobacco smell on my fingers with M and her cunt.

In fabric, smells persist for longer. Before I became a liar, cheat, and adulterer, I subsisted sexually on intra-marital sex plus liberal amounts of masturbation, and this I would often fuel by sniffing C's underwear (all of it black). At times, it almost seemed that sniffing alone could practically bring me to orgasm. I don't recall having access to any other woman's underwear in those years, so I am not sure if the effect was C-specific: certainly I thought about her when I jerked off and came. Opportunities to sniff other women's underwear since I became an LCA have been irregular, but if I could be sure they were safe from discovery, I would love to have a collection of underwear, suitably scented and stained. I am not confident that I could tell which belonged to whom by smell alone.

Taste

Porn movies work with light and sound, and cannot capture or convey touch, taste, or smell. Yet arguably, vision and hearing are the senses least involved in sex. I do like to see and hear the person I am fucking, but I think that is mainly because seeing and hearing are important to reading their responses, and because it is delightful to see and hear another person's delight. Touch, taste, and smell carry for me a stronger and more direct sexual charge: I am more aroused by sniffing the crotch of a pair of C's panties from the laundry-basket than I am by the sight of her undressing. However wonderful a bloody finger looks after it has been in a bloody cunt, it tastes even better.

Taste and smell are senses that run parallel to each other, and smelling a cunt tells me a lot about how it will taste. A finger dipped in a cunt can be smelled and then tasted, and what is tasted is just what was smelled. Yet there is also discontinuity between them, for tasting requires contact, in some way or another, and so brings in sensations of texture, temperature, touch. D finds the moments when I merely sniff at her cunt, before I extend my tongue to taste her, exquisitely arousing: she knows the touch of my tongue is coming, but not when; meanwhile, I am smelling her, and she knows how much that turns me on. This kind of smelling is quite unlike tasting, and delays it; the delay is itself erotic. The smell of a woman's armpits, if she has avoided deodorant for a while, is also extremely arousing, and tasting her armpits, nibbling at the hairs, sucking on her flesh, is delicious too, and I can play with delay in that case as well.

Q, because she ejaculates, adds an entirely new dimension in terms of taste. When we were together at the Liberty Inn, we conducted an experiment to see if eating asparagus had a noticeable effect on the taste of her come, as it does on the taste of urine. She ate a bunch of asparagus stalks and after a suitable interval, sat on my face. I sucked and licked at her clit and she came copiously in my mouth. I shared the liquid with her, and we agreed: no 'asparagus pee' taste at all. What that shows, I am not sure. But by producing this liquid in such quantities, it is possible to drink from Q, to swallow her, and so to taste her without touching, or at least, without being in contact with her at the moment of tasting. She could position herself over my face, bring herself off, and come in my mouth without there being any contact between us at all.

I love to taste cunts, and envy women who get to suck my cock after I have fucked them: they get to taste themselves on my cock. For similar reasons, I like to taste my own seed leaking out after I have come inside a cunt or an ass (or for that matter, a mouth). Semen - my own anyway - varies a lot both in terms of taste and texture. Sometimes bland, sometimes salty, sometimes frothy, sometimes gritty. From the time that I began masturbating, I have always tasted my come, and very often cleaned up after ejaculation by scooping as much into my mouth as possible. I remember being surprised and incredulous when I first discovered that there were men who had never tasted their own seed, and who thought the idea disgusting. Even odder, that there are men who would not taste their own seed but still want women to swallow it.

Clean assholes have their own taste, which I am also a fan of. The taste of shit I do not seek out, as some people do, but I do not balk at it either. Anal sex is sometimes messy, and going back and forth among ass- and cunt-fucking, cunt-eating, face-sitting, cock-sucking, the mess can get spread around. Whatever comes with sex is sexy, in my view. That principle certainly extends to cover shit and piss, as by-products. But I think this is a different sort of sexiness, one that is derivative rather than, as with seed and cunt-juice, come and sweat, constitutive.

Blood - menstrual blood - is for me in the constitutive category too. I have not had the pleasure of being with Q during a period yet, but I am looking forward to that very much, as she delights in her own body and blood. F loves a bloody fuck, and by now, D is as turned on by period sex as I am. Menstrual blood varies in taste a lot, both from woman to woman, and from one stage of a period to another. It can, I admit, sometimes smell and taste rank or rancid, usually towards the end. But even then, I have no qualms about going down, and I can't imagine why anyone would have any hesitation in fucking. A bloody cunt is one of the most exciting things to taste and to smell, to finger, to fuck. The blood can be smeared on nipples or used as lipstick, and so tasted and retasted. Daubed on thighs or breasts it can be admired, licked off, reapplied.

C no longer menstruates, which saddens me. I think it would sadden her, if she thought about it, but - perhaps sensibly - she does not. As a signal of fertility, menstruation is tied to reproduction, and no doubt that fact is at the root of its erotic power. But what then accounts for the fact that many cultures prohibit or frown upon period sex, that many men and women find the idea repulsive? As usual with evolutionary psychology, its pseudo-explanations have a momentary charm, but dissolve into nothing once serious thinking begins.

[The picture at the head of this post is Louis-Leopold Boilly, Les Cinq Sens (The Five Senses), 1823.]

Running Up That Hill

Last Friday was an interruption to my standard pattern, as I did not spend the afternoon at the Kew Motor Inn with D. This Friday, everything was back to normal - though 'normal' is not really a word that can ever be used in relation to sex with D. Here is her report, pasted in (without her knowledge) from her recap e-mail to me:

I think everytime I attempt the daunting task of writing a recap, after one of these afternoons at the Kew, I simply think I can not do it. If I try to remember really hard about what transpired in the hours between 1 and 4 I can remember how we started, how we ended, some things in between. But there are no words that can describe these hours at the Kew when we get stoned and get to be together.

I love this part of my life, the time that I get to drive my car from my job and find you. I love the short ride to the Kew and how it only takes minutes to get from the car to a room where we can first kiss and touch each other. I love to get stoned with you and talk first about what we are about to do. We started talking about this, and I remember saying to you that this was great sex, this conversation about masturbating in front of eachother that we were having. Of course you knew exactly what I was talking about. It was wonderful to spread my legs in front of you on the floor and show you my cunt. I know you adore it so much, and I have grown to adore it too. My ability to make myself come with my fingers is a testament to that. But it is also very personal in a way that sets it apart from my vibrators. When I thought of doing it in front of you last night I thought of (believe it or not) you sitting in back of me on the bed, facing the mirrors like we did when I jerked you off. I thought of you holding back my legs and spreading my cuntlips apart with your fingers. And then my finger rubbing my clit while we watched together in the mirror. But then when we got stoned together I kind of clammed up thinking about it. I know we will do that, perhaps the next time at the Kew.

So for this time I sat you on the floor facing me. I started rubbing my clit, looking down at my cunt, seeing me all open and pink for you. But I don't remember how I came. I know you were doing something to me. As I told you it often takes me a long time to come this way. And I wanted to come and it was so tempting to have you right there before me. I know you cannot resist me sexually, and you were just dying to touch me, lick me, smell me. That is always what makes me so crazy horny, your expertise with my body and how we read each other's minds sexually. I came, and we kissed and held each other. We moved over to the bed and we began the most amazing fucking. You on top of me, pushing your way into my tight cunt. Soon I was very wet and you slipped in and out of me slowly. I began to come again and again. You were grinding on my clit and looking at me, so happy. We were as close as two people could be. We fucked for a long, long time. At one point you suspected I might be tired so you warned me that you would continue to fuck me. And then we had our little "fuck me harder" battle... and we both won as that morphed into a soft erotic fuck after we became so heated we could do nothing more but switch gears.

Most of the afternoon we spent having oral sex. I sat on your face at first and then you ate me out while I sat up on the bed for a very long time. I must have come tens of times. The orgasms were just rolling over one after the next. I was really enjoying how relaxed it was, how I knew you would spend as much time between my legs licking my cunt as I wanted. How you would not stop. How much you enjoy giving to me in this way, and how much you take from my experience which is ours together.

Then I got crafty, with the musical blowjob stuff. The first song, Desert Rose, I think is very erotic . . . a safe, maybe anyone can do it, classic musical blowjob (MBJ) song. I have listened to that song so many times stoned on my deck, imagining sucking your cock. I hope I did as good a job as I have always wanted to do when I imagined it. You were shaking and moaning and climaxing over and over. And then Fragile, and of course I have sucked your cock many times to that song. And so I think that along with this building that occurred from the other song, and the soft guitar guiding my tongue on the head of your cock , my hands up and down your shaft. You nearly exploded. And then, Running up that Hill . . . I think that was your favorite because it connected you to the past and as you said, it put me back there with you. That is pretty cool and a really great way to listen to this music now. I wonder if you listened on the way home on the subway? But perhaps you had to start the detoxification.

I never sat on your cock! How did that happen? I did however get fucked continually and at one point you started talking to me about how clever I am, how I continue to amaze you, how we are so good for each other in all these different kinds of ways that make it so wonderful to be together. You were just so adoring of me today, and I felt so loved and adored. I can't tell you how happy I was to see you. I was starving for you.

I loved jerking you off in front of the mirror, holding you in my arms. That was the perfect ending to a perfect day for me. I adore you so much and I love to see you so comfortable with me, so relaxed and yet incredibly excited in my arms with my hand jerking your cock. You had to come for me.

So that is my recap. Thank you, my very dear friend and very best lover. D

D is right that it is hard to reconstruct these intense sessions. Part of that is being stoned, but only part, for it is almost as hard to remember the order and details of equivalently intense and active sessions when we were not stoned. Sex is not memorable, as I have observed before. D's recap fails to capture what our time together was like, but not through any failing that could be remedied by better note-taking or more complete recall. Each entry in this blog that recounts some sexual encounter or other fails in similar fashion.

Besides all the activity mentioned by D, there was one round of ass-fucking, or two if you count a change of position as constituting the end of one round and the start of another. The very first thing that we did was stand next to the mirror and kiss and make out, feeling each other up through our clothes. D kept her clothes on while we got stoned, but I removed mine. I sat at her feet while we smoked, and we talked about how she jerked off at home. I took off her shoes, and eventually helped her out of her hose and the tight, short black skirt she was wearing, so she was in her pale blue lace panties, but still with her blouse on. I unbuttoned that, and played with her nipples inside her white, lacy bra. She then took off her panties, sat on the floor facing me, and started fingering herself.

By deciding that her first orgasm should be from her own hand, and that I should not touch her at all until she had come, I turned myself into a spectator - but not a passive one, for of course D and I could talk, I could tell how pretty and pink and tempting her cunt was, how wonderful she looked with her legs spread, her fingers methodically working her clit. The noli me tangere rule got broken, however, as D asked me to pinch and tweak her nipples, and it was that as much as anything she was doing to her clit that took her over the edge.

The 'fuck me harder' contest was fun, but D is generous in describing it as a draw, as it was really a victory for her. She can take harder fucking than I can give her, for longer than I can give it to her. This is true whether it is her cunt I am fucking or her ass.

There was a great deal of oral sex, as D says. The musical blow jobs were not quite as intense, as the splitter was not working properly, so we were only getting the left channel. But still extraordinary, exhilarating, ecstatic. I am at my noisiest under those conditions - stoned, listening to loud music, with D relentlessly working my cock with her mouth and her hand. The music provides a level of ambient sound that makes it easier for me to vocalize my pleasure in moans and gasps and groans and shouts. By contrast, D is quieter when music is playing, at her noisiest when I go down on her, wrap my arms around her thighs and refuse to let go of her clit with my lips and tongue. That kind of determined and forceful pleasuring is something I am driven to do by an urge deep within me, and not something that could easily be elicited by attention to music as well as to D's sexual response. So perhaps she is quieter when music is playing because my approach to her is generally quieter under those conditions.

We were in a room with a high bed, and so did some edge of the bed fucking, first ass fucking and then cunt fucking. At this point, D's armpit hair is luxuriant, and she does look incredibly sexy lying on the bed in the half-light, arms raised above her head, with my cock driving into her cunt or her ass. If I lean back slightly, she gets no clitoral stimulation and so cannot quite make it to the point of no-return, and it is fun to play with delay. But after a while, D demanded that I lean forward to allow her to synchronize her pelvic movements with mine and to generate enough pressure to get herself off. She can do this about as easily whether my cock is in her cunt or her ass in this position.

The final handjob was very joyful - I put my glasses on so I could see clearly, and sat close to the edge of the bed, facing the mirror. D sat right behind me, one leg either side, put her right arm around me and took my cock in her left hand. Resting her head on my shoulder, she could see just what I could see. At some point she changed hands, and jerked my cock until I came. Though this had the formal structure of a 'money shot', the mood and tone was utterly at odds with anything in porn: affectionate, amused, light-hearted, happy, and playful. But it was also fucking hot to watch.

Home visits

I went to see Q at home, and spent a little less than two hours with her in her marital bed.

Q's sexual responsiveness is so direct, immediate, and lively that the question, 'How would you like to come first?' needs to be addressed very quickly. I asked it while fingering her, and I am sure that she would have come from that very soon; she kindly warned me that the decision had to be made right away and gave me the choice, so I mounted her. She then came with my cock inside her within a very short time - I mean in seconds only. After five minutes she had come either nine or ten times (we lost track at one point). It was extraordinary to me, though ordinary to her. Most of these orgasms were ejaculatory, and the sensation of her coming all over my crotch was wonderful: the sudden rush of heat and damp, the drenching of my balls, the soaking of the sheet beneath. But even without the added delights of her gushing, she would be an absolutely amazing fuck. Nine or ten orgasms in five minutes? I have never encountered anything like it. I am sure readers are sceptical. But I was there, and know what happened; you weren't, and you don't.

Q has a collection of toys, and we put a couple to use - cuffs to hold Q's hands above her head while I fucked her, clamps for her nipples while she sat on my cock and fucked me. The use of these felt slightly early to me, but still they were fun. And Q cannot easily take her toys about with her, so she gets to use them only at home, either with her husband or with visitors such as me.

Q has entertained a number of men in her marital bed, as I have entertained a number of women in mine. Though there is definitely a delight deriving from the naughtiness of this, I think the most important pleasure it yields has to do with cross-fertilizing between the different strands in my life. If I thought about other women while fucking C that might achieve something of the same goal, but, for reasons that I do not entirely understand, I find that too uncomfortable and also unerotic. It is not fastidiousness that holds me back - I can't wait to get Q into my bed at home, soaking my sheets with her come - but the way that I approach sex with another person, which is always centred on the particular person that they are. Yet I do not think I would much mind if I learned that C thought about other men while fucking me.

Homes are fine places to fuck in. There are important differences among them, however. A sleeps in the same bed as her husband, but they have not had sex in years. D's husband does not have sex with her and sleeps in the basement (where D and I have also fucked). Q has sex with her husband, and they sleep together; the same is true of M and her husband. D's bedroom is therefore her room in a strong sense, and being in her bed is more like being in F's or J's. In each case, though, there is a pleasure in being with these women, fucking them and being fucked by them, in the beds where they sleep, the places where they live. With A, I remember feeling that, if her husband would not fuck her in their bed, then with me she could experience what she desired in a place where she desired it but was denied it. That is obviously a quite different kind of motivation and reaction than with Q. But still, Q can now lie in her bed, next to her husband, and be in a place where she has been fucked by a handful of men, including me. I like and enjoy the fact that in my home most of the suitable surfaces have been put to use with women other than C: the marital bed, the day-bed in my study, the couch, the kitchen counter, the floor. D clearly shares this impulse, for both times that I have been at her house we have had sex in just about every room except the kids' (though I did once have to hide in a closet in one of those).

Enough

I understand what it means to have had enough to eat. I also understand what it means to have had enough to drink, though acting on that understanding is sometimes difficult. A long day's work is often quite enough work for one day; perhaps even more often, half a day's work or less is enough work for one day. I do not have enough money, but still, I think there is such a thing as enough money, and I have almost enough. In all these uses, 'enough' makes sense to me; I know how the word works. But 'enough sex' is an expression that is dead to me. I cannot imagine what it means.

I suppose that having had enough sex would manifest itself in not wanting any more - and that is not something that happens with me. If I cannot get it up, and so cannot fuck, still I can be fucked myself, or else I can use my mouth or my hands on the person I am with. If I am not capable of being pleased myself - but that is not something that I understand either - still I am capable of pleasing, and that is enough to make it true that I have not yet had enough. If I could have sex 24/7/52, I would at some point opt for something else. I would read, would listen to music, would walk in the park. But as sex is not available continuously, there is plenty of time for those other activities anyway. And some time does have to to be devoted to work, to family, to sleep.

I have mused before on the notion of addiction in relation to sex, and how different so-called 'sex-addiction' is from classic forms of addiction such as alcoholism or smoking, where the treatment model for overcoming addiction is total abstinence. This model would only make sense for sex-addiction if sex is in itself bad, and justified only for the purpose of reproduction. I do not think this is a crazy view, and it seems to have been St Paul's position, and that of many other Christians. But as there is no reason to think that sex is bad in itself, and as we can easily sever the connection between sex and reproduction, this view can be ignored.

Someone who spends a few hours a day masturbating, taking time and effort away from work and family and friends, would probably be thought to have a problem. I am not sure why. It depends on how they jerk off, I think. If it is wanking fuelled by violent pornography or degrading fantasies, done guiltily and furtively, accompanied by shame, it is problematic. But if done happily, out of love for one's own pleasure and the joy of sexual self-expression, I cannot see much that could be wrong. Addiction to bad sex is bad, but addiction to good sex is good: that means it is not a case of addiction at all.

Can there be too much good sex? Only if there is an answer to the question: how much good sex is enough? When D and I have had a long time together, we have fucked about as much as it is humanly possible to fuck in the time available. Our trip upstate more than a year ago, for example, contained about as much fucking as could have been fitted into the time, given the need to travel, to eat, to sleep at least an hour or two. But that was a special occasion, honeymoon-like. The nights or weekends that I have been able to spend with D or F or A are also unrepresentative, setting a sexual pace that could not be maintained over a longer period. For a more representative sample, take a few days at random; say, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Yesterday: I fucked C in the morning before going to work - fifteen or twenty minutes of fucking, in the course of which she came and then I did. Then in the afternoon, D came to my office and we went at each other for about seventy-five or eighty minutes, with hardly a break. Cunt-fucking, ass-fucking, cunt-eating, cock-sucking. She came any number of times, I came just once.

Today: somewhat excessive, as I spent two hours with Q at the Liberty Inn, which was quite stunning. The active sex was perhaps only ninety minutes, but a huge amount got done in that time. Then, somewhat later, I spent a brief hour with F, all of it devoted to one sex-act or another. And then I spent approaching two hours with J, though chunks of time in that period were spent talking.

Tomorrow: as far as I know, the day's activities will be confined to a visit to Q at her home, for around two hours.

Too much? Well, today I was a little stretched out even by the time I got to F, as Q is really amazing, and a big drain on resources. But even with J, I managed to get it up for long enough to give her a decent fucking - the best fuck she has had since the last time I fucked her, she said.

I understand that, in the absence of wealth sufficient to permit it, a life devoted entirely to sexual pleasure is not possible. I have to work, and given that I have to work, it matters that I do it well rather than badly. So one criterion for assessing whether some amount of sex is too much is whether it has a deleterious effect on my work. And that is hard to determine - it is true that I shirk some duties in order to fuck, and others I do more hastily, less carefully. On the other hand, it is easy to do about as well as anyone else does while maintaining an over-active sex-life. I may be a shirker, but so are many of my colleagues, and they are not having as much fun as I am (or at least, they surely don't look as if they are).

I have more sex than most people do, and perhaps that is all that 'too much sex' means. But I like sex, and I am quite good at it, and there is not much else that I like that I am good at. So it is not surprising that I devote more time, energy, and attention to it than most people.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday

After Wednesday's several delights and the spectacular surprise of my first time with Q, Thursday was somewhat calmer. I spent a little over two hours with F, including a lot of gentle exploration of her cunt with my fingers. Q's ejaculations were in my mind during some of that, I confess. But it is obvious to me that Q's talent is her own, and not something that I could gather from her and transmit to another. And I do not like sex in which others are present in thought but not mentioned. There is nothing wrong in thinking about one woman while fucking another, but I do think there is something wrong in keeping quiet about it. My notion of sex is a complete attention and absorption in the sensations, perceptions, emotions and thoughts that are generated in me and in the particular person I am with, but when I was with F, flashbacks of Q did keep breaking in.

When I arrived, F was wearing a silk robe over a black lace bra and g-string, and at some idle moment much later I put the g-string on. Liking the way it looked, I kept them on through the afternoon at work, enjoying the constant sense of restriction, and the reminder that gave me of the morning's pleasures.

Between the morning with F and the afternoon at work, I had lunch with M, and thanked her for putting me in contact with Q. M reads this blog, so I will take the opportunity here to thank her again.

On Friday, I met Q again, for about an hour and a half. With other midtown options exhausted, we ended up at La Semana. It is shabby and seedy, bordering on sordid, but was adequate to the purpose. With a high bed, I could fuck Q in what is perhaps my favorite position of all - me standing by the side of the bed while the woman lies on her back with her cunt hanging just over the edge. Higher beds are required for this, or else a desk (but then issues of comfort come up). With Q's gushing in mind, we began with a towel underneath her ass, but it was fairly rapidly soaked and abandoned. Fucking is almost effortless in this position, as hardly any muscles get tired, and varying the angle and pressure of penetration is simple. The reason to do this with Q is not to find the particular angle and tempo and pressure that works, as it pretty much all seems to work - she can bear down on my cock and bring herself off whatever I am doing. But there were also moments when my thrusting together with her extraordinary grip took her from one climax to the next, and that was amazingly enjoyable. It all felt great - grinding, side-to-side, rotary thrusting, the quick shallow pokes and the slower, deeper thrusts.

At some point, we moved fully onto the bed, and made moderate use of the mirror on the wall. I had some minor erection problems off and on, but we fucked a lot, she sucked my cock, I fingered her a lot, she sat on my face and quenched my thirst, and finally we ended back in the edge-of-the-bed position for another long, hard fuck. Through all of this we talked and joked and told each other how pleased we were with ourselves, how lucky (and grateful to M) to have met, and so on. Perhaps, to a fly on the wall, this would have seeemed sickeningly self-congratulatory. But in my opinion we had a lot to congratulate ourselves about.

Q says that many men, confronted with the amazing grip of her cunt on their cock, either come rather quickly or withdraw in order to avoid coming. I do not generally have this problem, though I am slightly surprised that I did not in this case, as Q really is unusual. When I first began fucking as a teenager I was a chronic premature ejaculator with some women, but not with others, and that remained true for a long time. With both F and L, I came very quickly the first time I fucked them, but in both cases was able to stay hard, so it was not any sort of problem. I think that coming and just carrying on is typically a better tactic than pulling out or trying strange mental tricks like thinking about laundry or your dead grandmother in order to hold back from orgasm (there is some discussion of this on Y Tu Hermano Tambien: A Word of Advice).

Q could not stay very long, and though I came at the end of our time, I was still very sexed-up after we parted. Fortunately, F was home and available for a swift visit, so I went by and we spent a little over an hour fucking, though I began by going down on her for a long while.

On Saturday D was in town for a day-long workshop on sexual addiction, sexual dysfunction, and allied topics, so it seemed appropriate to fuck her in the back of her car on a major cross-street during the lunch break. Though we fucked briefly - D sitting on my cock - I wanted to go down on her, and it was that way that she came.

I saw D again on Sunday, for perhaps twenty-five or thirty minutes of great car sex. She was going off to meet friends for dinner and I wanted her to be leaking throughout, but after I had come in her she insisted on sitting on my face to come again, and of course that meant that I had to suck most of my seed back out of her. Before we parked and fucked we were stuck in traffic that threatened to wipe out all our sex-time, so we entertained ourself by pretending that she was someone to whom I was trying to describe what sex with D was like and how good it was. Though initially a little artificial, this game managed to take on a life of it s own, and was in fact very arousing. I ended up arguing that the only way to tell anyone how I fucked D was to show them, and D picked up nicely on this conceit. Still, when we finally fucked, we were back in our own skins.

Precious bodily fluids

A remarkable day, but one that began quite unremarkably, with a straightforward intramarital fuck with C. I do not mean to come across as dismissive - this is good sex, fun for both of us, and I did not need to fake orgasm as C climbed on top and fucked me until I came. I am not sure that she came at the same time, but if she did, that would have been her second orgasm, as she had come when I was on top a little earlier.

On to F, with whom I spent just over an hour, nearly all of it fucking F, being fucked by F, or going down on her. Delightful, friendly, fulfilling.

Not much more than an hour after that, I was sitting on the bed in a room at the Herald Square waiting for a woman whom I had never met to knock on the door. Q is an old friend of M's. M had mentioned this blog to her, and Q, having read some of it, expressed an interest in meeting me, so M put us in touch. Today we met, with me knowing not much more about Q than that she was a friend of M's, a redhead of sorts, intensely sexual, married, a mother, and gamine (M's word). She knew about me only whatever M had told her (not a lot, it turns out) and whatever can be gleaned from this blog.

The experience of anticipation - waiting for Q - was very interesting, in terms of the intentional content of the waiting as well as the feelings elicited. As to the latter, 'butterflies' hardly seem adequate to the force or the location of the feeling, for though it seemed rooted in my stomach it also diffused through my chest and into my upper arms, my neck, and descended into my thighs and calves. What explains this? What is it that makes the uncertainty of expectation pleasurable rather than menacing? For though I can describe my thoughts as those characteristic of 'waiting for Q', I do not know, have never met, the woman for whom I am waiting. The next time that we meet, if I am kept waiting, I will then be waiting for Q. But today I was waiting for what I did not know at all, and that was very exciting.

Q had very sensibly told me nothing about herself sexually, reckoning that the obvious and salient features of her sexuality would be apparent enough, and that there was plenty of time later for discussion of details. Once she arrived, that was pretty much my attitude too - let's get our clothes off, get on the bed and see how this is going to work. But Q's telling me nothing also meant that I was taken by surprise when, as I was in what I assumed were the early stages of a rather langorous exploration of her cunt with my fingers, she brought herself off on my finger and spurted hot liquid into the palm of my hand. Female ejaculation, no less! I felt a little like Jamie and Andy on Mythbusters: Myth Confirmed!

I had never encountered female ejaculation until today, or not knowingly. Given how amazing and distinctive it felt, I find it hard to believe that it has ever happened without my knowing. It was a huge amount of fun: repeated drenchings of my hand, my cock, my face in hot come. But Q is even more remarkable in the ease with which she can orgasm and the degree of control that she has over her own sexual response. She has stronger and more active muscles inside her cunt than I have ever encountered, and a range of internal actions - an ability to clasp what is inside her, grasp it, clamp down on it - that is far greater than any woman I have ever fucked. She told me that one of her lovers had described it as her 'turning her cunt inside-out', and that is a good description, though the lead-off motion is one of contraction, with the expulsion implied by 'turning inside-out' a consequence of the contraction. I was not always hard enough to resist the expulsive force, but when I was, it seemed that Q could then shudder through a series of ejaculatory orgasms, each one bathing my groin in hot come.

This ejaculate: not ammoniac like urine, but nothing like male semen - watery, far more copious, with some of the pungency of cunt-juice but expelled in a flood. I have been sceptical about female ejaculation. Now I know better.

Yet already I can see that this ability or capacity is by itself of no significance, but matters only when married to a sensibility that can make of it a gift to give, and that in turn requires someone ready to receive the gift. It was magical to be that person for Q today, most emphatically when she came sitting on my face, flooding my mouth with her come. I have swallowed when a man has come in my mouth, but this I would rate much higher - I am, when all is said and done, a straight man who loves women. Come in my mouth? Oh, yes, please do - give me all there is to drink! In Q's case, all there is was more bodily fluid than I have ever had to swallow, but still by no means enough. I want more.

We were together for two and a half hours. It would be futile to tally the orgasms that Q helped herself to in that time. She seems capable of climaxing again and again. Every moment was entirely absorbing, whatever we were doing. And she is a really good cock-sucker too! I have no doubt that this is a connection that is going to prove extremely rewarding. If, that is, I can keep up with her.

By the time we had to stop, I was liberally coated in Q's come - on my face, my neck, all over my crotch, and also everywhere else that I had smeared and splashed myself with it. I can see that clean-up is going to become a more serious issue.

Full-time

My last post covered opportunities seized along the edges - an hour with F here, an hour in the back of the car with D there. I do not think such times are enough in themselves to sustain sexual connections of the depth and intensity that I desire. But once that connection is established, they can assist in its maintenance. It is important, though, to find ways to be together for longer. Today I managed that: by a subtle juggling of obligations and alibis I cleared about four hours, which D and I spent in a mirror room at the Kew.

The mirror room was chosen in part because D had expressed interest in fucking me with the strap-on and watching herself, which she could do easily enough in the wall-mirror, while I watched myself get fucked in the ceiling-mirror. And we did get to do just that, late on in the four hours. D fucked me with the new dildo and then, when it was obvious that I just wanted her to be deeper, with the older, larger dildo. Even that, I felt, did not cleave me in quite the way that I wanted. But it was very good, very intense and demanding. And D looked great fucking me.

We had begun with D climbing on top, lowering herself on to my cock, and fucking me, and many aspects of being fucked by D are the same whether she is fucking me by riding my cock or fucking me by taking my ass with the strap-on. I encourage her in the same way, try to give myself to her just as much. But she cannot come while fucking me with the strap-on, whereas when she rides my cock she can and does come again and again. I am not penetrated in the same way when she rides my cock as when she fucks my ass, obviously. I can, when she is fucking me by riding my cock, if I am stoned, grant her the role of fucker, me the role of the one who is being fucked. And once that is done, it is possible to interpret the sensations of fucking as those of being fucked in such a way that I feel she is penetrating me, coming inside me. Today, then, I was encouraging her to come in me, again and again, and she obliged.

The stoned fucking was not the first act, for we had fucked before we smoked: I took D's ass the second we were in the room, pulling her jeans down and working my cock into her ass with minimal lubrication or preparation. That led into some edge of the bed cunt-fucking, more ass-fucking, and eventually to the decision to take all our clothes off and get stoned.

I am so happy, so relieved of the boredom of the rest of existence, when I am fucking or being fucked, that it is difficult ever to stop. D asked today, during one of her cigarette breaks, when I was lying tense and impatient on the bed, if it was painful not to be fucking, and I was inclined to answer 'yes'; but I realized that she was asking something else, to do with the idea that for men it is difficult to be aroused and not fucking, that women somehow inflict pain upon men by saying 'no'. I do not think that this is true - what I find hard is the diminution of arousal in myself. But perhaps the end-result is the same. Still, there is no arousal damper more efficient than the realization that the woman you are fucking no longer wants to be fucked, so it is not as if I am impatient for anything except more pleasure for her as well as for myself. The standard, 'blue balls' story is meant to persuade women to give men what they want even if they don't want it themselves - that it would be cruel to say 'no' once the man is aroused, because it is painful to be aroused and not permitted to act upon it. My complaint is a different one - that it is painful to feel arousal begin to slip away and the world as it is otherwise begin to reassert itself. I am typically quite happy to have my cock ignored, so long as I am not asked to ignore the woman I am with at the same time.

Nearly four hours with D means a lot of sex, and any day with a lot of sex in it is a good day. So this was a very good day. We did all the things we always do, watched ourselves doing all those things in the mirrors, congratulated ourselves on how fucking hot we looked doing all those things, and so on. And we did look hot. True, I looked like a grey-haired old man fucking a woman a good ten or more years his junior, for though D and I are only six months apart in age we look to be separated by at least a decade. You could not market film of this as porn, as she is not young enough for it count as old man/young girl, and the MILF must be fucked by someone younger rather than older. Still, I say we looked hot.

The fiercest of D's orgasms are so intense that 'coming' seems a strange word to use. Falling, bursting, going - or the French petit mort. Wonderful to behold; even more wonderful to be a part of.

Coming and going

On days when I have things to do, and places to be, I can sometimes fit little fucks in along the edges. Today, for example, I visited F for about an hour on my way out to some meetings, and spent an hour or so in the back of the Pacifica with D on the way back.

With F, it was relatively early in the morning, and we knew that time was short. We undressed and she immediately straddled me and lowered herself onto my cock. F's body is entirely beautiful when she is on top of me this way. It is entirely beautiful anyway, but with her on top it is possible to appreciate her more fully. I find the texture of her skin, the constellations of moles and freckles, the odd scars and blemishes just as affecting and arousing as the curve of her breasts or the angle of her thighs as she fucks me.

The brief hour ended with F jerking me off. Between the first act and that last we had swapped top and bottom a couple of times and I had gone down on her and also fingered her. F is the woman who I can most easily imagine taking my whole fist, and today I think I had most of my hand inside her at one point.

From F to a couple of tedious meetings, and then D picked me up and we drove to one of our regular parking spots. As with F, this session began with me underneath, but D is quite unlike F when she rides my cock. Ever since she came while fucking me that way, she has honed her skills, so now she takes herself from one orgasm to the next with not much assistance from me besides the occasional tweak of a nipple or a flicker of a finger at her asshole. Though I intended to keep a rough tally, D rapidly left me behind, and I simply gave in to the experience.

It is hard to describe the position: I was on my back, lying on the folded-down backs of the middle row of seats, with my ass just resting on the front edge of the seat of the back row, and with my feet up on the top of the backs of the back row. D was sitting on top of me, using the gap between the middle and back rows for her feet, while her knees were either side of me. I could use my feet and also the hand-holds above the side windows to give myself extra leverage and upthrust, while she could brace her feet against the front edge of the back seats to add force to her grinding. Very intense.

After that, face-sitting, some fucking with me on top, a short rest, and then I went down on her, this time with her lying back on the folded-down middle row, while I sat on the back seat, leaning forward to fix my mouth on her cunt. That led somehow into more fucking with her on top, and finally more face-sitting, during which I jerked off and sprayed seed on to her back and ass, and onto my chest and stomach.

An hour or so of intense sexual activity is a lot. With C, sex rarely lasts more than fifteen minutes, and she shows no inclination to want it to last longer. What she needs to get done can get done in that time, so why stretch it out? Both D and F find an hour far too short. And it is too short with them, in the simple sense that, if more time were available, more sex would ensue. There is an intensity generated by the lack of time, I admit, but in my experience three hours with D or F is just about as intense as any three one-hour periods put together. More time allows for some moderation of pace, but I think the main advantage is the opportunity it gives to explore the backwaters and side-channels of sexuality. It is in our longer times together than D and I get into role-reversal, gender-bending, and so on. That is likely to be the case tomorrow, for D and I are set to have several hours together. I will record that occasion in due course.

Interleavings

After a session together, D sometimes sends me a recap, which I return with my own comments interleaved. Sometimes I do the recap and she interleaves, as here:

Dear D,

Though I couldn't see, I am pretty confident that I have never produced as much seed as in that last series of ejaculations - certainly the most amazing handjob I have ever had. A wonderful way to finish three crazed and ecstatic hours together.

Yea, that was fucking hot! Sitting on your face like that jerking you off as you shot your hot come all over my body. I do like all that come all over me especially right before we have to part. It's a way I get to keep you.

Remember the first fucking - when you just impaled yourself on my cock and worked your way down it until you could grind your clit against me, and propel yourself up the slope to the first peak? You fucked me hard and long, coming any number of times. We watched ourselves in the mirror, you riding my cock through wave after wave of pleasure. Remember also when I was holding you tight against me? You on top is not one sexual position but a whole set of them, depending on how you angle your cunt against me, how I angle my pelvis, how much you sit up, lean back, lean forward.

I was happy to climb on top of you and impale myself on your erect cock. I wanted to do that since the second I left you on Wednesday, I kept thinking about it. The elation when I am riding your cock is very unique, just like ass fucking, sitting on your face , you eating me out in the chair, you fucking me on top... they are all different in their own way. But riding your cock and knowing that was the first way I orgasmed when fucking, and how far I have come since then... I just want to get there as soon as I'm on. And I know exactly how to make myself come now, with exact precision so I just completely use you for my own pleasure. And you just love it! So that is very sexy to me.

I think we went from you on top to me on top, and when we took the first break - when you took the first break, I should say - we had done nothing but fuck. No oral either way. I think I had come once, and you had come a bunch of times.

My god we fucked for an hour! You were so exhausted that you didn't even eat me out when I was on that chair smoking. I didn't like that.

After that, we had a lot of oral - you sitting on my face, me going down on you, you sucking my cock, and also another of our attempts at 69, which ended up as usual with you blowing through a series of orgasms. I know I go at you hard, relentlessly, and I do sometimes worry if I am little too rough, but I always think that each time is unique, and if I stop, I will never find out what would have happened if I had carried on. What will your next orgasm be like, given that you seemed almost to pass out during the last one? Let's find out! What will happen if I fuck you even harder, or start thrusting rather than grinding, or move to fucking your cunt from your ass, etc. There is always more to try, more to do.

I know darling but you are relentless. You are never too rough though. I want to get as much out of you as I can too, but you are much more driven.

The ass-fucking was certainly relentless, and again watching in the mirror was great - your ass, still or bucking up towards me in response, my hips driving my cock into your ass again and again, my body above yours, your body given over to my pleasure and yet taking all the pleasure you can yourself. You are indeed a strong and powerful sexual woman, D - just as much when you are taking a heavy pounding in the ass as when you are riding my cock to the point of exhaustion. Am I right that you came from that anal penetration without any direct clitoral stimulation at all, when I was fucking your ass deep and steadily?

No.. I did not come in the way of a clitoral orgasm. But often when you ass fuck me like that I feel like I'm coming in another way. It is hard to describe , it is the sensation of being completely filled up by you and open. It is wonderful. I want to do that all the time. I loved watching you fuck me like that. I can't wait to do that again.

I came in your ass, I am sure - but maybe it was an orgasm without ejeculation, like the (two?) orgasms I had during that long blowjob that you gave me.

I LOVE to suck your cock like that. I did such a good job sucking your cock today.

Eating you out in the chair, your feet on my shoulders, your cunt positioned precisely at the edge of the seat so that I can use my lips, my tongue, my chin on you. Again, we just went right back to work after you came, and it was from the chair that we moved to the bed so you could sit on my face for the first time - so there were definitely at least two separate sessions of face-sitting. You know that eating you out in a chair is one of my real favourites, and today I think I did more clit-sucking than ever before. There were a couple of times when I had your clit and the hood and the whole upper part of your outer cunt-lips sucked into my mouth, and I was flicking the very end of your clit with my tongue. When I fucked you after the face-sitting I think you were as wet as you have ever been.

Oh my god, it is so hard not to have that right now! I wish I could be with you in the middle of the night, to wake up and just start fucking.

You watched me tonguing your clit, you watched yourself sitting on my cock, my face, you watched yourself sucking my cock, being fucked hard in the cunt, the ass - all of it so amazingly natural and beautiful. I am not sure if the shrieking from next door was a porno movie, someone faking, or someone fucking, but I did not mind it at all, except that it seemed to bother you a little. Yet there is nothing that could possibly have taken my sexual interest away from you today D. Whatever goes on in other rooms at the Kew - those threesomes or foursomes or moresomes, or stranger things - are of no consequence. I love the three hours spent squeezing every drop of pleasure out of you that I can.

Well I think someone was watching a loud movie. So I'm very happy that we have never watched TV at the Kew or anywhere else. Us watching porn... we rather make our own porn. That , we should do. When I fuck you with a strap on that looks really hot... I would like to watch that! I'm sorry there was no time for that today... we need four hours at least. Otherwise we just do the three hour routine.

That huge ejaculation - I think I have done that before, maybe that time at the Grand Union when we were in the room with about four beds. I came three times in quick succession. Today, I was not holding back exactly, but I let you drag me to the point where I had to give you every drop that I could, and that somehow stretched the orgasm out, or distributed into distinct phases. It was a lot of fun.

Yes... lately when I sit on your face you get so turned on you have to come. Remember when I sat on your face today and you said it was the best orgasm you ever had and you didn't even come. Ohhh.. that was so sweet.....

Fridays at the Kew are great, aren't they?

We love them very much ... but I'll take you anywhere.


What is the point of recapping? The same, perhaps, as the point of blogging - the futile attempt to hold on to what is already gone. Sex changes nothing, and leaves no trace; once over, it might as well have never taken place. But once written about, this is no longer true. I can delete this blog when I wish, and also every e-mail I have ever received; perhaps I can eradicate all records. Still, someone has read this post meanwhile, and that trace remains.