Given the nature of my family life, and my job, it is often hard for me to create alibis that will sustain an entire day spent in someone's company. It is easier to break the day up, by going here and there, doing this and that, and carve out a couple of shorter sessions. These could, of course, be devoted to the same person - but they need not be. Today, they were not.
This morning I was with F just after 9.30, and stayed until a little after 11.00, under the cover of errand-running, subways, and so on. A good, intense session, ending with what may be the best ass-fuck I have ever had with F. I had been fucking her cunt, with her legs up on my shoulders. I put a pillow under her ass to raise her up a little, lubricated her asshole with her own cunt-juice and my spit, and worked my cock into her gently. F comes relatively easily when I am fucking her cunt, but just about all of the stimulation that does the work is external grinding on her clit. With some manouevering, I found that I could get almost the same angle and pressure on her clit with my pubic bone and the very base of my cock, even though the shaft and head of my cock were in her ass. She told me she was going to come, and that helped take me over the edge too. So we came together with me plugged inside her - not something that has happened before, except possibly months ago when I was still using condoms with F. And condoms are, of course, designed to prevent coming inside a woman rather than enabling it.
By 1.30 pm or so, D and I were installed in a 'deluxe' room at the Kew. Deluxe rooms there typically have a wall of mirrors along one side of the bed but none on the ceiling. This was one of those, with a high bed ideal for one of my favourite positions - me standing, D lying. We got to that position later on. First we got stoned and fucked with D in a chair and me kneeling between her legs, and then on the bed, me on top. Excellent stoned fucking. The order or events, and even the list of them, is unrecoverable, but there was a long bout of face-sitting in which D came at least three times in a row. After a conversation about how both her nipples and her armpits can function as triggers, I fucked her while telling her at great length and in considerable detail how I was just about to take her nipple into my mouth. As I drew the waiting out, she neared the tipping-point, so when, finally, I merely touched the tip of my tongue against her right nipple, she immediately began coming. A little later, we performed a similar trick with her left nipple. Another aspect of the 'orgasm-trigger' phenomenon with D occurred later, when she had what she described, jokingly, as an earlobe orgasm. Just as with her armpits, so with her ears - licking and sucking is enough, on top of the clit-grinding at the base of my cock, to help her come.
Almost every time that D and I get stoned and play around for a couple of hours, we describe the sex as the best sex we have ever had. This is I suppose another aspect of the drug-induced heightening of sensation. Yet it seems utterly true at the time. Certainly, this afternoon was spectacular. I came several times, I think, though a couple of these orgasms were of the strange 'I will come a little now, just to juice things up, but no way am I going to stop fucking' variety that seem to happen when I am stoned. I am not, in these cases, completely sure whether I am ejaculating or not, but the sudden extra lubrication, particularly noticeable if I am fucking D in the ass, suggests strongly that I am. I came for the final time in D's cunt, and was already half in the shower when she begged to have the 'last orgasm'. I ate her out, and kept on going once she had come so that she could come again, and then we were done.
Either one of these women would count as providing more than enough joy and delight and satisfaction and ecstasy. Both in one day is obviously far more than I, or anyone, needs or deserves. But if sexual liberation means anything at all, it means liberation from thinking of sex as justified only by need or merit. None of this is about what I need, or what I deserve; it is just about what I like.
Showing posts with label alibi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alibi. Show all posts
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Alibi drought
In the summer, the stream of alibis reduces to a mere trickle. A precious resource, it is necessary to use them wisely. But what does that mean?
If I were a conquest maven, it would suggest that alibis be saved for new encounters. But I am uninterested in notches on the bedpost, and the new is also the unpredictable and the unreliable. I therefore use my few alibis on D and F, who are familiar, consistent, reliable.
But not too familiar, or consistent. Both D and F have a sexual depth that it takes time to plumb. D, in particular, is remarkable - just today I was with her (alibi = yoga) for a little under three hours, not in the best of circumstances. Yet she managed to amaze me again, marching through a series of orgasms while on top, riding my cock. I am sure she has never done anything quite like that before, not even when stoned. And today she, like me, was not stoned, but stone-cold sober.
D spent many years in a sexless marriage. She had a brief fling, with a trombone player, and then met me. I have been the lucky beneficiary of her sexual awakening, or at least the major part of it, and that has been an extraordinary honour. Over the course of a year-and-a-half, D has discovered or rediscovered her joy in her own body as well as her confidence in her ability and desirability. An alibi used on her is well used.
Addendum: Today I had a decent alibi for the entire afternoon and early evening, and so I saw both F and D.
F: we began, somewhat unusually, with her on top. F is by far the best fuck I know in that position. Over the course of more than an hour-and-a-half we rang the changes on fucking, finger-fucking, oral. Eventually F gave me a handjob while I stuck a finger up my ass, and then we swapped roles, with me jerking off while she probed for my prostrate, triggering an orgasm that produced a very large load of ejaculate.
D: we were in my office. Fucking on the floor, me on top. D then sat on my face. Then more fucking, but I went rather limp. So D then lay back on the desk and I sat in the desk-chair and ate her out. By the time that she had finished coming I was very hard and so fucked her for a good while, at one point helping her to come again by fingering her clit. Then I ate her out again on the desk, and then she knelt on the floor and game me a blowjob. That petered out and we chatted and then lay down on the carpet and fucked. She was extremely wet, and so I stuck a finger in her ass, and then, using her cunt-juice as lubricant, my cock. After a little while I came deep in her ass, with several distinct, delightful spasms. Coming in D's ass is always good, but this was especially enjoyable.
After that, D sat on my face again, as she wanted another orgasm. And then we washed up, and went for a drink.
When alibis are scarce, it is good to make the most of them.
If I were a conquest maven, it would suggest that alibis be saved for new encounters. But I am uninterested in notches on the bedpost, and the new is also the unpredictable and the unreliable. I therefore use my few alibis on D and F, who are familiar, consistent, reliable.
But not too familiar, or consistent. Both D and F have a sexual depth that it takes time to plumb. D, in particular, is remarkable - just today I was with her (alibi = yoga) for a little under three hours, not in the best of circumstances. Yet she managed to amaze me again, marching through a series of orgasms while on top, riding my cock. I am sure she has never done anything quite like that before, not even when stoned. And today she, like me, was not stoned, but stone-cold sober.
D spent many years in a sexless marriage. She had a brief fling, with a trombone player, and then met me. I have been the lucky beneficiary of her sexual awakening, or at least the major part of it, and that has been an extraordinary honour. Over the course of a year-and-a-half, D has discovered or rediscovered her joy in her own body as well as her confidence in her ability and desirability. An alibi used on her is well used.
Addendum: Today I had a decent alibi for the entire afternoon and early evening, and so I saw both F and D.
F: we began, somewhat unusually, with her on top. F is by far the best fuck I know in that position. Over the course of more than an hour-and-a-half we rang the changes on fucking, finger-fucking, oral. Eventually F gave me a handjob while I stuck a finger up my ass, and then we swapped roles, with me jerking off while she probed for my prostrate, triggering an orgasm that produced a very large load of ejaculate.
D: we were in my office. Fucking on the floor, me on top. D then sat on my face. Then more fucking, but I went rather limp. So D then lay back on the desk and I sat in the desk-chair and ate her out. By the time that she had finished coming I was very hard and so fucked her for a good while, at one point helping her to come again by fingering her clit. Then I ate her out again on the desk, and then she knelt on the floor and game me a blowjob. That petered out and we chatted and then lay down on the carpet and fucked. She was extremely wet, and so I stuck a finger in her ass, and then, using her cunt-juice as lubricant, my cock. After a little while I came deep in her ass, with several distinct, delightful spasms. Coming in D's ass is always good, but this was especially enjoyable.
After that, D sat on my face again, as she wanted another orgasm. And then we washed up, and went for a drink.
When alibis are scarce, it is good to make the most of them.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Alibis
Though my therapist is sceptical, I believe that just about all the thrill of being a liar, cheat, and adulterer derives from the sex itself. The lying and cheating are means, not ends, and not themselves the source of any pleasure. But like any craft, lying and cheating can be done well or poorly, and there is a satisfaction in doing them well.
Lying and cheating in the service of adultery is mainly a matter of coming up with alibis and sticking to them. Alibis are of critical importance for me, for I am practising adultery from home, rather than on the road. MJ, a man who A fucked once (and chose not to go back again) is in a totally different position, as he lives in a state far away - the one that looks like a flaccid cock dangling off the right coast of the US - and travels to NYC on business once a week or so, staying in an apartment he owns here. So he has evenings and nights with no marital supervision of any kind; he can, if he chooses, talk to his wife while a woman is sucking his cock. I, on the other hand, must return home each evening; unless my family is away, I cannot bring women to the place where I live. I must find time to be away from home, and in order to do that I must have alibis. Work provides some of these ready-made, and not much of interest can be said about those, as the details anyway would vary from one job to another. The non-work alibi, on the other hand, is a fascinating topic, of general interest.
An alibi must, above all else, be plausible. But plausibility is itself malleable. My career as a liar, cheat, and adulterer has lasted a little over a year-and-a-half, and in the course of that time I have slowly altered my habits. I now swim regularly, using the pool at work. I go to yoga. I have joined a small instrumental group that gives occasional concerts. In other words, I have been improving myself in ways that my wife could not fail to approve, and these alibis have a special strength because that is so. Three years ago I was depressed, lethargic, took no exercise, had no interests, was miserable, but I was truthful, honest, and faithful. Now I have more energy, am busy at work and with my other activities, exercise and extend my body in healthy ways - these are all changes that my wife supports. Unbeknownst to her, they accompany my becoming a liar, cheat, and adulterer.
Swimming is, in many ways, the perfect alibi. It is a solitary activity, so there are no issues about your wife wanting to meet your swimming buddies. It takes place in the sort of venues where cellphone reception is crappy, and anyway your cellphone bleats harmlessly in the locker while you do your laps, so being incommunicado is neatly explained. Pools are slippery places - that weird scratch must have happened when you fell getting out of the pool. And swimming is followed by a shower, just like sex, so it is hardly surprising that you come home smelling of strange soap and shampoo. On top of all of this, because of the moralism surrounding physical fitness, swimming is a virtuous activity, not one to which a wife can easily object, and so not like, say, shooting little birds.
Yoga is another excellent alibi, and sprains or contusions from complex sexual positions or over-energetic pounding can easily be attributed to some new pose. I know almost nothing about yoga, but I believe that Iyengar is probably the style of yoga that functions best as an alibi, as it involves the use of odd equipment, and so has the potential to explain even such incriminating marks as rope burns. At my yoga studio - well, the one I went to just a few times in reality, but have gone to very many times in LCA-land - the Iyengar studio has a rope wall, and straps are often used around the arms, or the legs. Iyengar is also relatively strenuous, so showering is neatly explained.
A good alibi is a fine thing, but only because of what it enables. Two hours at the Liberty Inn with L and her delightful, grabby cunt is the end; the alibi of yoga is the means. Perhaps there are men for whom the lying and cheating are what gives adultery its zest; if so, they are, to my mind, confusing the means with the end. But they might retort that I am the one who is confused, thinking that sexual delight is the goal, rather than the pleasure of putting one over on the wife or girlfriend. Well, I think I have the better view, and I suspect I am having better sex too.
Lying and cheating in the service of adultery is mainly a matter of coming up with alibis and sticking to them. Alibis are of critical importance for me, for I am practising adultery from home, rather than on the road. MJ, a man who A fucked once (and chose not to go back again) is in a totally different position, as he lives in a state far away - the one that looks like a flaccid cock dangling off the right coast of the US - and travels to NYC on business once a week or so, staying in an apartment he owns here. So he has evenings and nights with no marital supervision of any kind; he can, if he chooses, talk to his wife while a woman is sucking his cock. I, on the other hand, must return home each evening; unless my family is away, I cannot bring women to the place where I live. I must find time to be away from home, and in order to do that I must have alibis. Work provides some of these ready-made, and not much of interest can be said about those, as the details anyway would vary from one job to another. The non-work alibi, on the other hand, is a fascinating topic, of general interest.
An alibi must, above all else, be plausible. But plausibility is itself malleable. My career as a liar, cheat, and adulterer has lasted a little over a year-and-a-half, and in the course of that time I have slowly altered my habits. I now swim regularly, using the pool at work. I go to yoga. I have joined a small instrumental group that gives occasional concerts. In other words, I have been improving myself in ways that my wife could not fail to approve, and these alibis have a special strength because that is so. Three years ago I was depressed, lethargic, took no exercise, had no interests, was miserable, but I was truthful, honest, and faithful. Now I have more energy, am busy at work and with my other activities, exercise and extend my body in healthy ways - these are all changes that my wife supports. Unbeknownst to her, they accompany my becoming a liar, cheat, and adulterer.
Swimming is, in many ways, the perfect alibi. It is a solitary activity, so there are no issues about your wife wanting to meet your swimming buddies. It takes place in the sort of venues where cellphone reception is crappy, and anyway your cellphone bleats harmlessly in the locker while you do your laps, so being incommunicado is neatly explained. Pools are slippery places - that weird scratch must have happened when you fell getting out of the pool. And swimming is followed by a shower, just like sex, so it is hardly surprising that you come home smelling of strange soap and shampoo. On top of all of this, because of the moralism surrounding physical fitness, swimming is a virtuous activity, not one to which a wife can easily object, and so not like, say, shooting little birds.
Yoga is another excellent alibi, and sprains or contusions from complex sexual positions or over-energetic pounding can easily be attributed to some new pose. I know almost nothing about yoga, but I believe that Iyengar is probably the style of yoga that functions best as an alibi, as it involves the use of odd equipment, and so has the potential to explain even such incriminating marks as rope burns. At my yoga studio - well, the one I went to just a few times in reality, but have gone to very many times in LCA-land - the Iyengar studio has a rope wall, and straps are often used around the arms, or the legs. Iyengar is also relatively strenuous, so showering is neatly explained.
A good alibi is a fine thing, but only because of what it enables. Two hours at the Liberty Inn with L and her delightful, grabby cunt is the end; the alibi of yoga is the means. Perhaps there are men for whom the lying and cheating are what gives adultery its zest; if so, they are, to my mind, confusing the means with the end. But they might retort that I am the one who is confused, thinking that sexual delight is the goal, rather than the pleasure of putting one over on the wife or girlfriend. Well, I think I have the better view, and I suspect I am having better sex too.
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