Normal service

I returned from family vacation on a Wednesday afternoon. By 11.00 am on Thursday, I was in a room at the Herald Square Hotel with D, working my impatient cock into her anxious cunt.

In the two-and-a-half years of our affair, we have never gone quite as long - two weeks - between fucks. We were delayed on our way to the hotel by a meeting with D's sister, who was on her way to her very first extra-marital encounter but interested beforehand in setting eyes on the man who has been fucking her sister; delayed at the front desk at the Herald Square, which is increasingly unwelcoming to short-stay customers; delayed by the slow, slow elevator to the eighth floor: D and I were desperate to fuck the second the door of the room closed behind us. With a high bed for use, we went straight into an edge-of-the-bed fuck. I hiked up her skirt, stripped off her panties, dropped my pants to my ankles, lifted my shirt, took aim, and with my eyes locked on hers, drove my cock steadily into her cunt, all the way to the root. D angled down on my cock and took herself straight up to her first orgasm. That was the start of three hours of continuous sex, followed by another three hours of equally intense, making-up-for-lost-time sex the next day at the Kew Motor Inn.

Sexual pleasure is typically understood as issuing from the satisfaction of desire, and sexual desire is typically interpreted as an appetite, like hunger or thirst. In this model, pleasure comes from the satisfaction of desire, but the desire is not itself a source of pleasure: sexual desire is like hunger, sexual satisfaction like a food that quells hunger, at least for a while. The distinction between good sex and bad sex is like that between good food and bad food, having to do not with the character or strength of the desire but with the manner in which it is satisfied.

This account gets sexual pleasure and sexual desire almost entirely wrong (and isn't much better as a model of food and drink, hunger and thirst). Sex is as much about wanting as it is about getting; getting fuels wanting as much as it feeds it. But going without for a little while definitely does add an edge, as intense hunger can intensify the pleasure of a meal, prolonged thirst make the quenching of that thirst more delightful. After two weeks of not fucking D, it was wonderful to re-establish the circuit that runs through her cunt and my cock, through my body, my eyes, her eyes, her body. So for three hours one day, three hours the next, we rode the delightful urgency of our desire for each other, as if something huge had been pentup, and now was released.

I wouldn't choose, in advance, to go two weeks without fucking D, in order to enjoy the particular pleasure of fucking her after two weeks without. But I am glad to have had the pleasure of fucking her after two weeks without, and so am glad, looking back, to have gone those two weeks without fucking her.

Now, things are quite back to normal: forty minutes of car sex with D on Sunday evening; an intra-marital handjob on Monday morning; another three-hour session at the Kew with D on Tuesday involving her new red bikini, about which I shall post when I have the narrative in good shape; a quiet Wednesday; and a delightful but brief intra-marital fuck on Thursday morning.

For the record

Yesterday, C and I had a brief intra-marital fuck in the morning before I left for work. In the afternoon I had nearly three hours with D at the Kew Motor Inn, with just about all that time spent in one sexual act or another.

The week had begun on Monday with a similar, and similarly relentless, session with B, at the Liberty Inn. This was the most intense time I have yet spent with B, and as I get used to her and she to me, the fucking gets better. Like D, B can come repeatedly while fucking, so I can fuck her through each orgasm and onto the next. A distant analogy might be negotiating white water: dramatic, frenzied passages which, when they are over, yield to calmer stretches; but these calm stretches last only for a while, as the water gathers speed again. I am not sure why this seems a more natural analogy than the one that springs to mind fucking Q - that of riding out across country, with her frequent and successive climaxes like hedges or fences that need to be leapt in order to keep going. Perhaps it is just that fucking Q is somehow more collegial and friendly, less infused with the conventional sensibilities of the passionate, secret affair.

On Tuesday I spent the afternoon with D. On Wednesday I spent the afternoon with Q. On Thursday I spent two-and-a-half hours with F, and much later in the day met D for a drink and then a quick, unplanned fuck in a fitting room at Lord & Taylor. When necessary, as on this occasion, I can come very quickly: D yanked her hose and panties down to her knees, I unzipped my fly and took my cock out, she bent over and leaned against the wall, and I fucked her from behind. We watched ourselves in the mirrors on either side. After I came inside her, I pulled out and zipped up. She turned around and opened her legs while I kneeled down so that I could lick her clit until she came. I doubt we took longer than two minutes start to finish.

Serendipity

Set-piece sexual marathons (Credulity) are one thing; serendipitous concatenations of circumstances another. Yet the results of one can resemble the results of the other.

A Sunday, beginning with what, for intra-marital sex, was a pretty good start. Because C uses suppositories to improve vaginal lubrication and supplements this with a good dollop of Astroglide beforehand, there is little need for foreplay in order to ready her for penetration. A bit of fingering, some kissing, and it's "Shall we fuck?". Today, as usual, C came quickly, probably within a minute. Q comes even more quickly, but with her, the first orgasm is separated from the last by unnumbered orgasms in between; with C, the first is last, the last first (Mark 10: 31 - last verse of a very interesting chapter). So I indulged myself for a little longer and then came inside her.

Dozing afterwards, while C went for a run, I was still aroused, so I jerked off.

Later in the day, walking home from an errand, I called J and found her at home. So I went by for half an hour, or a little more, of vigorous fucking.
In the evening, thanks to the cancellation of an obligation kept to myself, I had a couple of hours with a solid alibi, so I visited Faith. In preparation I got a little stoned and nibbled on the little blue diamond, and was rewarded with a wonderful session of fucking, ass-fucking, oral. With time up, I jerked off in to F's mouth, and she generously did not swallow so that we could share. The first ejaculation felt partial to me, so I carried on and soon - within thirty seconds, perhaps - produced another decent gob of come for F to receive and transmit. Yet this still felt like it was not the end, so I set out after the last load, which, when it arrived, was more copious than the first or second.

The 'multiple orgasm' has happened quite a few times before, mostly with D, but a couple of times with F and very memorably with M (memorable especially because that was while fucking rather than during a handjob or blowjob). My hunch is that it happens only with some pharmaceutical help, but I don't keep records detailed enough to know if that is so. Anyway, it is a lot of fun, and that is magnified by snowballing. Coming in F's mouth, and then sharing all that in a kiss - well, what is there to do after than but the same thing again? And then again, again. And sharper, stronger each time, with the gathering mass and speed of a cartoon snowball heading downhill.

None of this was planned or in place when I woke up this morning. All of it was happenstance, and might not have happened at all. Candy, fond of Hamlet, would surely quote, here: "There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will."

Endurance

In line with the masochism of American culture, which measures accomplishment mainly in terms of the amount of suffering that accomplishment requires, I am currently in the middle of an endurance trial: how much sex can I fit into six days, while still carrying out all, or at least most, of the normal functions of life?

C left town on Saturday evening, after a friendly, farewell fuck - half the bed taken up with her suitcase and her clothes laid out to be folded and packed, the other half giving us just enough room for a quickie. C returns next Friday. So right now - Monday midnight - I am barely two days into the trial.

I have no idea how to prepare for a marathon, and think running further than the nearest bus-stop is stupid. But several people I admire run marathons, so I could be wrong about that. Anyway, I do not know whether the best preparation is running, or not running. Either would make sense: running, to practice running; not running, to conserve resources for running. For a week-long sexual marathon, though, there is no question how to prepare: fuck as much as you can. So on Thursday and Friday I spent a lot of time with D at the Kew Motor Inn - four and a half hours on Thursday, and another three on Friday. Pot, music, a leather skirt for her and me, the ILY sex toy deployed judiciously, and so on.

After the intramarital, farewell fuck on Saturday evening came five hours with F, starting a little after midnight. That was a lot of fun, and rather special; only the third night I have ever spent with F. A couple of hours in, I lost all semblance of an erection for a while, but later recovered. Then I walked home in light, cold rain.

On Sunday afternoon, I spent about an hour-and-a-half with J, who since I last visited has got the all-clear from the gynecologist, and put a mirror up on the wall above the head of her bed. Our last fuck was from behind, with her kneeling on the edge of the bed, me standing on the floor, and I enjoyed watching us in the mirror.

Sunday evening: forty minutes in the back of the car with D, the rain drumming on the roof.

Sunday night I slept alone, conserving resources for Monday morning, when Q came by for three hours, of which two were spent in sex, and the other in the bath. The sex was mostly fucking, but at one point I shackled Q's wrists to her ankles and fisted her, licking her clit at the same time. Restrained, and unable to back away, she gave herself up, becoming very vocal. I will not forget that in a while: my right hand in her cunt up to the wrist, my left hand pulling back the hood of her clit so I could play with it with my tongue, and Q bellowing her way through one orgasm after another, flooding her crotch, my face, and the bed with liquid. By the time we were done, she had soaked the towel underneath her, the sheet below that, another layer of towels, and a mattress cover. The mattress itself was damp. She is due to visit again later in the week, and expects - hopes, anyway - to be bleeding by then. The clean-up issues will be daunting.

I have never fisted anyone. It is strange and powerful, and I am not sure I will get the chance to do it enough to get used to it and good at it. I hope so. But I do not think any of the other women I fuck are capable of taking my whole hand. D, perhaps.

By the time I reached F in middle of Monday afternoon, I was strung out, and also dozy from two beers at lunchtime, so I nibbled at some Viagra as a precaution. But obviously not enough, for I was only erratically hard enough to fuck.

Full stretch

My last post was about what sex is like, but in it I neglected to mention all the ways in which sex might be compared with fishing. Fishing-stories, like sex-stories, are always exaggerated, or anyway are assumed to be. Anglers are obsessed with size - length, girth, weight - in just the ways that people are in sexual contexts; they like to set records. Like recreational sex, recreational fishing is a complete waste of time, but a very pleasant one, or so I am told. For me, though, the analogy is weak. My sex-stories are not exaggerated. I do not care about length or girth or weight, or about setting records. I do love to waste time pleasantly; it is better than the only alternative, which is wasting time unpleasantly. I cannot see what is pleasant about fishing - but I suppose there are many anglers who can't see what is pleasant about having a woman sit on your face and come copiously in your mouth. So, as usual, one man's fish is another man's poisson.

I do not exaggerate, I say. But then, I would say that, wouldn't I?

This morning I had one of the better intra-marital fucks of recent times: I began by massaging C's shoulders, back, ass, legs, and finally fucked her from behind. She then turned over and once I was back inside, took herself up to a good, long orgasm by grinding her clit against the base of my cock, while I maintained steady counter-pressure. Once she was through coming I took a leisurely time fucking her, until my own orgasm put an end to things.

That was not the last of the day's activities, however, as D rolled by for what was billed as a quickie, but which turned out to be a little more than an hour of car sex, at the tail end of the afternoon. Excellent car sex too - fucking, oral, anal, and a DIY handjob to close the proceedings.

Yesterday, three hours at the Kew with D: almost continual sex, fuelled by pot, a little nibble of Viagra, and high-class stoned-sex music. We had a mirrored room, and the first fucking was D on top. I kept my glasses on for a while, and watched her working herself off on my cock. At one point, she disappeared into an orgasm so intense that I told her, right afterwards, that I was sure she would never have such an orgasm again. She, sensibly, said she expected to have an even stronger and deeper one in a few minutes, and she did. She fucked me through several demanding songs, and from then we cycled through the standard repertoire: lots of going down, face-sitting, cock-sucking, ass-fucking, cunt-fucking. I ejaculated for the second time just moments before the desk-clerk called with the fifteen-minute warning. After that, I ate D out to all eight minutes of Genesis's 'Ripples', showered, and set off for home.

The day before that - Thursday - I went to visit Q at her home, for a little over two hours of extraordinary sex. Though we are still exploring, there is already - after only a handful of meetings - a solid and stable sexual connection that inspires great confidence. It is perhaps like a lounge singer establishing a repertoire of old standards, so that there is no longer any question about being able to put together a good set. New numbers can then be added piecemeal, either in place of the old or in addition. On this occasion we stuck to the old standards; the toy chest that had been open on my last visit (Home visits) stayed closed. While Q and I fucked, we talked of this and that, but mostly this - how getting used to someone else sexually enables you to do the same thing over and over and yet it not be the same each time; how the stable platform generated by past experience forms the basis for the present; how much like talking fucking can be, and how sad it is that more fucking is not like talking, and more talking is not like fucking.

I confess that I am completely hooked on Q's ejaculations. Fucking her through her orgasms, feeling the wash of her come on my cock, my crotch, my balls, is wrenchingly joyful, and there were a couple of times when we seemed so fused that I could feel her coming as a release for me too. This was, in fact, another topic of conversation: how easy I find it with Q to incorporate her approach to orgasm into my desires, my thoughts, my feelings, so that the approach to orgasm is a joint venture, and the orgasm thus achieved is also joint. This is something that also happens a lot with D, but I have been fucking D for almost two years, and that kind of fusion has really only come about in the last six months.

The time with Q came to an end with my jerking off, while Q lay with her head on my chest, watching and waiting. I had earlier drunk several loads of come from her, and I was happy to give her something back - but in terms of quantity and quality, she gave a lot more than she got.

The session with Q at her home followed another session with her at the Herald Square Hotel the day before. That day - Wednesday - began with an inconclusive handjob from C: I reached the point of orgasm, but did not ejaculate. Then just a little later, I met Q, and we had a wonderful, intense time together. And considerably later in the day, as the light faded, I visited F for an hour-and-a-half of calm, communicative fucking.

Tuesday was ridiculously active, as D took off from work to tail me through the day. We fucked in the back of her car between the subway and the office, she gave me a shattering blowjob in my office once we were there, and then we spent three hours at the Kew getting stoned and fucking relentlessly.

Monday I saw F for a long and lazy session that gave us both great pleasure. But that is a long time ago by now, and details escape me. Do they matter, anyway? I am at full stretch, in sexual terms. But if I fucked any more than this, who would believe me anyway? That would stretch credulity even further. And yet it is possible that this record is incomplete, not through modesty but because of forgetting.

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.

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.

Planned, unplanned

Today I fucked C, F and D, all within the space of about seven-and-a-half hours. Though this may have the look of a party-piece, meticulously planned, it was in fact largely an accident. I do not strenuously avoid double-booking, but I do not seek it out. Three in a day is not reasonably aimed at, but if it happens, who could reasonably refuse to go along?

C: before I had to leave for 'work' (but in fact was to visit F) C was game to fuck, and I thought, why the hell not? I make it a principle of sorts never to say no to C, and I like being inside her. So we had a very enjoyable fuck, after I had gone down on her for a short while. Once we were fucking, it took her some time to come, which was fine by me, but when she did, I faked my orgasm (I don't believe that she faked hers, but then I don't suppose that she believed that I faked mine either). This seemed to me the wiser course, given what the rest of the day had in in store. I am not sure how long we were at it altogether, but it was not more than twenty or twenty-five minutes, and all over by 9.15 am.

F: this was not totally unexpected, but I had not been sure it would happen, and so had scheduled D for a quickie later in the day. By a little after 10.00 am I was naked with F, and eating her cunt. I went at her for a long time, adding a couple of fingers to the mix, until she came. Then we fucked. At some point, F declared that this was the first time she had come from oral without at least some assistance from her own hand, but I actually think she is wrong about that, and that it happened once before. It does not matter. The fucking was long and involved, with me on top, then her, then me again, and at some point I went back to eating her out. She also sat on my face, sucked my cock, and jerked me off with a finger up my ass until I came. We were done by noon.

D: I met D in a bar at 2.45 pm for a quick drink, and we then drove to a quiet spot, climbed in the back, and fucked. D is multi-orgasmic to an almost absurd degree at this point, so I have no idea how many times she came when I was on top, or when she was on top. She sat on my face also, and I went down on her, and she came several times like that as well. I came only at the end of our little session, resorting to jerking myself off, as we were out of time. We were back on the road before 4.15 pm.

F knows that I fuck my wife, and given that I had not come with C, I do not think whe would have much cared if I had told her that I was fresh from a little intramarital sex. On the other hand, F would not have welcomed me unwashed. So after fucking C but before leaving the house, I washed my cock and face in the sink. After fucking F, I showered. But after fucking D, I did not trouble to clean up, figuring that C would put the smell of sex down to my session with her in the morning.

Why fuck three women in one day? Yes, it is childish, or adolescent. But it is also something that can happen unplanned when an adulterer still fucks intramaritally whilst running a couple of independent lovers. Did I fail to do any of these women justice, in sexual terms? No. Everyone got what they wanted, including me. Ethics aside, it it hard to quarrel with the outcome.

Catch up

I am falling behind. These adventures need to be logged, and maybe later I will get to blog them:

I spent a couple of hours with AA being sexually serviced by him in the corporate hotel suite. That episode I have already mentioned.

The next morning, D came to my apartment and we fucked our way around the place for over three hours. Later that day, I dropped in on D in a hotel for a brief fuck. And at midnight, I met her in a bar, and after a drink we retired to the hotel for the night. The next morning, D drove me out to work, we fucked in my office, and I then went off to a meeting wearing her thong. After that meeting was over, we went to the Kew Motor Inn. So huge amounts of sex with D, who becomes more and more orgasmic.

The next night I spent alone, I think. But the following night, a Saturday, D drove into the city and we met around midnight and talked and made out, and then fucked in the back of the car.

I think it was on Saturday afternoon that I visited CJ, the cross-dresser. That was new, interesting, and fun.

On Sunday, I spent about an hour and a half with F.

On Monday I had intramarital sex in the morning, and a couple of hours with F in the afternoon.

Tuesday was busy, but D kindly visited me in my office for about half an hour of energetic fucking at lunchtime.

On Wednesday, I saw F for a brief impromptu session in the afternoon; I spent a little longer - approaching two hours, with F on Thursday.

Today is Friday.

This dry catalogue is of little use to anyone - not even me. But when I have more time to blog, I hope to expand upon it a little. The problem is, of course, that sex is forgettable, and so usually forgotten. Almost nothing of what makes sex so enjoyable, so intense, so completely absorbing, can be captured in writing. This is why just about all descriptions of sex function as pornography. Without accompanying arousal they are just dull descriptions. Yet that is, in general, what I aim at here - accounts of sexual encounters that no-one jerks off to. And this post, I am fairly confident, succeeds in that aim.

Addiction

In the back of the car today, D explained that my offer of a couple of weeks ago to put my cock under her control was classic addictive behavior - looking for an external constraint rather than an internal one. But the offer was not serious: I was stoned, and high on D as well, and of course I didn't mean to grant her control over intra-marital sex anyway, and wouldn't have stopped seeing F. But perhaps it is also classic addictive behavior to look for an external control but nevertheless evade it.

I have complained before about the lazy use of the language of addiction in relation to sex. I know what addiction is like. I smoked for thirty years. I am an alcoholic, or damn close to it. These are chemical dependencies. It is better to reduce the number of cigarettes smoked if you cannot stop altogether, but stopping altogether is the ideal. With alcohol, there is more robust content to the notion of a moderate, sensible user - but still the dominant model of treatment for alcoholism is total abstinence.

Should sex addicts give up sex altogether, and become entirely celibate? No extra- or intra-marital fucking, no porn, no masturbation? The last time I did that, which was a long, long time ago, I had some amazing wet dreams, so there is definitely something to be said for it. The best of those dreams was about SB, a woman I knew in college, and who I still occasionally jerk off thinking about. But what most therapists would set as a goal for me is to contain sex within my marriage. For the unmarried sex addict, the goal would be to establish intimate relationships within which sex is contained, and to have such relationships in series rather than parallel. This is transparently a moral program rather than a medical one. And it makes no real sense if sex addiction is really an addiction.

My behavior is, I admit, quite crazy at times. Going from a night with F to a morning with D at the weekend seemed rather nuts even to me, before I did it. Yet in the event, it was wonderful - a delightful, langorous time with F from midnight to dawn; a little break to shave and shower; then a bloody, spectacular couple of hours with D. The addict supposedly gets diminishing returns from each dose of her drug. My returns from sex seem only to increase. Sex gets better the more you have of it, I have found.

So I have been having more - but not as much more as I would like. A very pleasant, stretched-out fuck with C on Monday morning, that lasted around twenty minutes, including a bout from behind. Two hours of continuous activity with F on Monday afternoon, which really sped by. An hour or so of back-of-the-car sex with D on Tuesday afternoon, with a frantic, ass-pounding finale. I would have had more if I could. But there is more to come. Watch this space.

Something for the weekend?

After Friday's astounding session with D, the weekend began very quietly on Saturday morning with a little, but pleasant, intramarital fuck. Sex with C has definitely got more exciting since I became a liar, cheat, and adulterer, but the improvement is slow. At midnight the sexual pace picked up; D came into the city, taking advantage of C's absence overnight.

After a drink at a bar, D and I headed into Central Park, and found a tree to fuck against. We have never really been able to master fucking standing up, in the traditional 'knee-trembler' manner that is supposed to have been extensively used by whores in the Underground tunnels during the Blitz. This time was no different, even with the extra elevation granted by D's high heels. So D soon turned around and braced her hands against the tree, and I fucked her from behind - first her cunt and then, using a little spit and a lot of cunt-juice as lubricant, her ass. Then D sucked my cock. Giving the standing fuck another go, I hoisted her onto my cock, and she locked her arms around my neck, her legs around my thighs, and we fucked like that for a while - a short while, of course, as I not capable of supporting that much weight for long. Finally, I knelt between her legs while she leaned back against the tree, and licked and sucked at her clit until she came.

Then we moved to the car, and did just about everything that could possibly be done given the geometrical constraints. D had many orgasms, from fucking and from cunt-eating. I came just once, in her cunt, which led, as so often these days, into a bout of face-sitting in which I tried to suck out the seed that I had just spurted inside her.

Sex with D has a ratchet effect, I often think. Some new thing that amazes us repeats itself, and so becomes familiar. Against that familiar backdrop further new things happen, and they in turn become familiar, and so on. Getting stoned helps the process, as there are many things that by now happen unstoned that first happened when stoned - D coming from penetration is the prime example. As the ratchet turns, the joint tightens, the torque increases. There is no stopping point, but eventually the thread strips, and the joint breaks open. If that is going to happen with D, I wonder when; if it is not, we have times ahead that are extraordinary as the ones that are now behind us.

Sex with C, if it continues to improve at the same steady rate it has improved over the last year, will eventually begin to approach the level of the sex that D and I had in our first few months together. Back then, I would have said that intramarital sex of that quality would render extramarital sex redundant. But the comparative advantage of sex with D over sex with C is greater than ever. It would be very hard for me to give up afternoons like Friday's, or nights like Saturday's, unless I had no choice - and that would not make giving them up any less hard, but merely take the decision out of my hands.

Intra-/Extra-

C proposed that we go to bed, so by 10.30 am or so I had already had my intramarital sex for the day - a pleasant, ten or fifteen minute session of brief fingering and cocksucking followed by a good, solid fuck with me on top. C came long and hard, I did too, and because I managed to stay hard a while longer I kept fucking and then was able to come again a little.

I have in the past faked orgasm with C in order to preserve my sexual capital for later in the day. That might have been the wiser course today, as by 1.00 pm I was with F. At first, though, I had no problems, and we fucked for a good while before I went down on her. But from then on, until towards the end of our two hours together, I could not quite sustain an erection hard enough to do serious fucking. I told F that I had fucked C earlier, a fact she thought I would have done better to keep to myself. And about that she was probably right.

We filled in the time with a lot of oral, and fingering, and then I hardened up while F was working on deep-throating me. Something about her gag-reflex kicking in, and the urge to grab her head and force it down on my cock, brought the life back to my cock, and F promptly speared herself on it and fucked me hard. Later, I flipped her over and we fucked some more. Then, as I softened again, I fingered her and went down on her, and then she took over and brought herself off several times in a row. Hard again, and out of time, I fucked her fast, pulled out and came on her belly and breasts - the rather pale, watery semen that I often produce on my second or third ejaculation of the day.

I believe that, by many measures, my intramarital sex-life is good. But between the pleasant, companionable, efficient fuck of the morning with C, and the two hours of sweaty, confused, passionate, unpredictable, stop-start gymnastics with F in the afternoon, there is a divide that is unbridgeable. With the best will in the world, the best therapeutic help, and the best pharmaceuticals too, sex with C will never be like sex with F or D, or any of the other women who appear in this blog. And for that reason, I do not think it is likely that I will decide any time soon to give up the extra-.

-------------
Addendum: Intra-/Extra- II

Wednesday has so far been a rather strange quasi-repeat of Monday. C and I fucked before I went to see my therapist, and I went from there fairly promptly to F, with whom (nyah! nyah!) I spent a delightful two-and-a-half hours. With C today, though, I did fake orgasm, and I am not completely confident that she did not do the same. Anyway, I had no problems with F, and we did a huge amount of fucking as well as a lot of fingering and oral.

Between Monday and today fell Tuesday, and a very energetic afternoon with D at the Kew - stoned fucking, sucking, ass-fucking pretty much without a break for three hours.

Just and unjust alike

While I slept, it rained. I was awake, briefly, to listen to it, over the white noise of the central air and the bizarre amplification of my own breathing from the CPAP machine. Rain, just ordinary summer rain. But enough to bring the city to a standstill. Enough also to wash out my alibi for the day - so no trip to spend a couple of hours with A. I had to fuck my wife instead. A nice fuck, too - but nothing compared to two hours with A.

Vacation

I am on vacation, not from sex but from adulterous sex. Since leaving home I have had only a little action, but it has been pleasant enough: a good, bedtime fuck with C, with her coming long and hard and me not coming at all, as I was a little too drunk. The next day, a handjob for me - C compensating for my not having come the night before. And the day after, a surprising, impromptu fuck in the shower: C bending over and bracing herself against the wall while I entered her from behind, grasped her hips, and brought myself quite swiftly to a nice orgasm inside her.

Before leaving to join C I had a couple of days with considerable freedom of action, and so saw F twice, spent midnight to six in the morning with D at a nearby hotel, and also had a drive-by with D. It was reminiscent of last summer, when C was away a lot. Last summer, of course, A was a regular and I had not yet met F.

Once this vacation is over - not for four or five days yet - I will try to get some serious fucking done with D and F, and I also hope to slot a little time with A in too. A would in fact be my first choice, if I had to make a choice, as I think sex with A is more complete somehow - or being with her stimulates me in more ways than being with either F or D. I am, however, very fond of D at this point.

My previous post about bad sex has piqued my interest. I wonder if I am capable of having bad sex at this point? I am surely quite capable of failing to do a good job, not being able to get it up or keep it up, or whatever. And I suppose it could happen that the sex was generally a failure. But I am not sure that would make it bad sex - for sex to be bad, I think it has to leave one feeling that doing it was a mistake. And I have not felt that, or anything like that, for a long time - and certainly not because of anything that is connected with the sexual acts themselves. To be granted the pleasure of a woman's body, to give her access to my own body, to put skin against skin, to taste her cunt, smell her, see her and touch her: I find it hard to imagine experiencing this and then regretting it.

I am curious also whether I could learn to feel this way about men. I have had bad sex with men - dishonest, selfish, mean-spirited sex that was merely scratching an itch; no delight in the other for their physical otherness. I think I would enjoy being with a man in the way that I am when I am with a woman, but I am not sure quite how to set about this. It deserves some serious consideration.