Health and Efficiency

Where I grew up, pornography was difficult to obtain. Most respectable newsagents would not stock it, and even the unrespectable ones would not sell it to thirteen year-old boys. There was, however, a magazine called Health and Efficiency that boys at my school would sometimes get hold of. This was not pornography but a nudist or naturist magazine. It still exists:

http://henaturist.net

When I saw Health and Efficiency as a teenager, all or almost all the pictures were in black and white. And most of the women in the pictures were unshaven everywhere - natural women. If I close my eyes and summon up the sexiest image I can think of, I am probably channelling some photograph from Health and Efficiency in 1973: a woman, small-breasted but with stubby, large nipples, lying on her back, perhaps on a rock by the sea or in a field of grass; her arms are stretched out above her head, and in each armpit is a thick tuft of dark hair, matching the triangle of hair at her crotch. That hair runs up in a thinning line to her navel, down the top of her thighs. She is quite slender, long-legged, tanned, slightly masculine in appearance somehow. I think of her as European or Scandinavian, and impossible to attain.

Z does not shave her armpits [Z to A]. The discovery of that fact the first time that we met, when she came to my office to watch me jerk off, made the whole episode much more thrilling. D let the hair under her arms grow last winter, and so turned her armpits into a highly erogenous zone - a sensitization that survived her shaving them again for the past summer. She is now letting the hair grow, and matches my Health and Efficiency-derived fantasy image closely: the small, pert breasts with big nipples, the narrow waist, wide hips, long legs, the hair under her arms and at her crotch. D is a relatively hairy woman, and as far as I am concerned she can let all the hair grow. Her ass, with black hairs creeping between her legs and up her ass-cheeks, is extremely sexy to me. So too is the fine down that covers much of her body.

F, a little more reluctantly, has also been letting the hair grow under her arms. C tends to be lazy about shaving her armpits once the weather is cooler. So right now I am enjoying three different women au naturel, though both D and and F are more willing than C to heighten the sex-appeal by forgoing deodorant. Going down on D's armpit while fucking her can trigger orgasm for her, and for me the smell of her sweat is extremely exciting and arousing. For F there is less of an erotic charge, and so there is less in it for me as well. With C, who is really just being lazy, it is only mildly erotic.



I was never much of a fan of Julia Roberts until the photograph above made the rounds, typically with a fair amount of 'Yuck!' as accompaniment. Since then, I confess, I have jerked off looking at the picture a few times. Such is the erotic power of armpit hair. Would that power decline, if more women followed in Julia's footsteps? I don't think so. Thanks to Health and Efficiency, my predelictions are set. I wish all women were as Julia is (or was - for who knows whether she went home and shaved afterwards, vowing never to be caught out like that again).

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.

I like work: it fascinates me.

There is not much in the world more pleasing than a good oxymoron. Even hackneyed examples - military intelligence, folk art, social science, popular culture - are worth a smile. Sometimes oxymorons rise to the level of art - perhaps the best instance here is the etiolated richness of The Who's '5.15'. But some oxymorons are so deeply embedded in the orthodox conceptual scheme that they pass by entirely unnoticed - inconsistencies that are so central to a culture that it is impossible to imagine that culture surviving once the inconsistency is revealed and addressed. The culture therefore moves to restore the self-contradiction to its central place, shedding what is incidental, but retaining what is essential. And that is how, forty years on, the sexual liberation movement has ended up as a struggle to win for gays and lesbians the right to enter into the same stultifying 1950s sit-com set-up that the 1960s were supposed to free us from altogether.

The oxymoron occupying me at the moment, however, is 'work ethic'. I think there used to be just one of these, the Protestant one, and though Protestants who espoused it were admired for their industry, they were also regarded as in the grip of a rather particular, and peculiar, set of values. But in the United States (and sadly, this is true increasingly in other countries as well) this work ethic is now construed ecumenically and even secularly. Work is an ethical activity, underpinned by ethical motivations, hedged about with ethical constraints. Someone who works to live rather than lives to work is a dangerous amoralist.

If life cannot be all work and no play, then the work ethic requires that play be turned into work, a transformation that is almost complete. The gym is not a place to play, but to workout; lying out on the Sheep Meadow, I can work on my tan. Sex is one of the last holdouts, a site of play. This blog records my playtimes, times when I am playing with other people sexually. Nothing is achieved, no growth is accomplished, the world is not altered or enriched or bettered by this play. After the play is over, things are just as they were before, for playing (like philosophy) leaves everything as it is. I think it is for this reason, and not to do with that other (perhaps allied) oxymoron, sexual morality, that the acts and emissions recorded here incite distaste, disgust, and disapproval. All play and no work makes Jack a dangerous boy. I do not particularly mind working when I have to, but I do not think that people who really enjoy their work are luckier than I am. Poor sods, they work harder than they need to, and for longer, instead of spending time playing. The response that, because they love their work, they are playing while they work, is nearly always crap. Banking or lawyering is not playing, because it is not pointless, as play is. Derek Jeter doesn't work at all, though I am sure he works out a lot; he is paid to play. If I could be paid to play, that would be great, but it wouldn't make my playtimes times when I was at work.

Work gets its mucky hands everywhere, spoiling play and pleasure, and the US is undoubtedly the worst place in the world in this regard. I know of no other country where a waiter or waitress will ask, of a plate of food that is not entirely consumed, whether the diner is 'still working on that'. No, I am not still working on it, I never was working on it; if I was working on it, wouldn't I be getting paid? You might as well ask me, towards the end of three hours with D at the Kew Motor Inn, when I take a little break from fucking and am just idly fingering her ass: 'Are you still working on that?'

One reason why sex is limitless is that it is not work. The job is never finished because it is never begun; it is not a job at all. Because it is not work, effort is unregulated. Physical exertion in play is a delight. In work, while it may be enjoyable, exertion is directed towards an end. In sex there are no ends, and if there are goals, they are like goals in soccer - occasions for cheering and uproar, perhaps even a way of keeping score (in which case, if it is orgasms we are counting, D usually crushes me 10 - 2).

The playfulness of sex is under constant assault from that oxymoron, sexual morality, but also from the insistence that physical intimacy and emotional intimacy are correlated and connected. This is not a stupid idea, unlike sexual morality. But it is nevertheless used continually to lift sex out of the category of play and place it somewhere else, where it can then be regulated by therapists and counsellors, or by those with whom (hey! check out the 'whom') one is emotionally intimate. Playing with another person is necessarily intimate, and trying to find someone to play with, asking them to play, requires courage, and can be very difficult. It is easy to read Craigslist's 'Casual Encounters' as a vast playground where the kids are trying to find others to play the games that they like to play, or trying to join games already in progress, or at least to keep loneliness and exclusion at bay by asking, again and again: 'Can I play with you?' And like any playground, there are mean girls and popular boys, kids who get off on saying 'No', and kids who are just hopeless and you don't want to end up on your team even though you know it is not their fault and you feel sorry for them.

I enjoy playing, though sexual play is one of the few kinds of play that I do enjoy. I also find ways to play while working - the other day, for example, I wore D's thong to work. I can't think how I could easily work while playing, given my kind of play - I don't think, for example, that anyone would pay to watch me fuck D (but if anyone is out there who would, do get in touch). The trick in life is to reduce the worktime and increase the playtime, not because work is bad or evil or pointless, but because work, unlike play, is not done for its own sake.

Fortunately for me, most people do not put play ahead of work, as the world might cease to function if my advice was followed. I am not sure that makes it bad advice, but it does at least put a question mark beside it. Meanwhile, I can play hard, and others can work hard, and it averages out nicely.

[Ok, too much thinking and not enough fucking in this post - I will try to redress the balance in the next.]

Mixing it up

Anyone describing this blog to another would find it hard to make it sound at all interesting: "This middle-aged, mid-life-crisis, married guy fucks the same couple of women each week and then writes uninterestingly about it." The cast of characters hardly changes; the posts are not pornographic enough to jerk off to. So what reason do any of my readers (you three know who you are) have to keep up with their reading? This week, however, has been unusual. New characters, new acts, and so new things to think about, and write uninterestingly about.

On Wednesday at midnight, I met AA in an upscale hotel room in midtown - described by him as a 'corporate hotel suite' - and we spent a couple of hours together. On Saturday, I visited CJ for forty-five minutes or so at her apartment. CJ gets 'her' rather than 'his' as a possessive pronoun because that is how CJ wants to be, for me and anyone else plucked out of CL and into reality; she is a woman, albeit one whose ass is referred to as a cunt by me and a pussy by her (remind me sometime to post something about the whole pussy/cunt dichotomy), and whose pretty little cock is referred to as a clit. CJ, in other words, is somewhere in the vastnesses of t-territory: a cross-dresser, a t-girl, a woman inexplicably missing an orifice but having a very large clit in compensation. AA, by contrast, is a man who likes to be fucked by another man. AA is a bottom. That makes me, the fucker rather than fuckee, a top. With AA, then, there is almost no conceptual space for me as an agent of pleasure rather than a patient; I have to be pleased, but cannot please - or cannot please except in so far as I am pleased. CJ is not a bottom but a woman, so the dynamic is utterly different. Women I love to please, and am good at pleasing; CJ is another. At some high level of generality, everything that happened between me and AA, or between me and CJ, is 'sex'. Below that level of generality it is unclear how to partition things, but we can at least be confident that there are a lot of people who would assign what happened between me and AA, and me and CJ, to the 'same-sex sex' category. Already this gets things entirely wrong. I would prefer a partition that followed the contours of the active/passive distinction, and that would put AA in a totally different category from CJ.

AA and CJ were both CL recruits. There are many, many things to say about CL, but in this context I am struck by the asymmetry in identity that goes along with (and is presumably either consequent upon, or else productive of) the marketplace asymmetries that drive the continual deep currents, and so also the superficial froth, of CL personals. I am not a poster, but a responder, and in CL world that may be the single most important partition. Responders can be, in their responses, a bottom to a top, or a man to a woman, or a man to a t/g/v/s; I can be a man writing to another man who, being ftm, began life assigned female gender, but who is now a gay man with a cunt that (for all I know) has to be referred to as a pussy though it is really an asshole. Responders are what posters are looking for, because in responding, the responder decides to be what it is that the poster is looking for. AA was looking for a discreet, bi, married top to serve, and that is what he got. CJ was looking for a man to come over and play around with her cunt and nipples, to finger her and and go down on her, and that is what she got.

Where am I in any of this? To be polymorphously perverse is to have no sexual character at all, and I sometimes wonder if that is true of me. But I would rather put it this way: my default settings are those of a straight man who takes pleasure from a woman by giving pleasure to her as a woman. Without too much adjustment, I can also take pleasure by giving pleasure with women who are biologically male (whatever the fuck that means - probably nothing at all), or with indeterminate third-sex people. I can run for a while as a straight man who wants to be serviced, and the servant can be a woman, a man, something in between. Or I can adjust my settings so that it is me shifting towards the neutrality at the centre of the gender spectrum: with D's jeans on, I can be some teenager who is being Mrs Robinsoned, or a butch boi girl being done by an older femme; or I can drift further, in panties and a skirt, to be fucked by D with the strap-on. I have no idea whether CJ is, for someone else, a guy's guy, and I am not sure my range of readjustment could get me far enough for me to be that someone else. I am sure that I could not be the man sexually servicing another man that AA was for a couple of hours in that lavish corporate hotel suite last Wednesday at midnight. Or not yet.

Details? Well, AA gave me an amazingly good handjob towards the end of our time, gripping my cock at just the right moment to intensify the ejaculation - I spurted a lot, hitting myself in the throat. That was after a lot of cocksucking, and a lot of ass-fucking. I would not describe AA as my type - a little too hairy, perhaps. But nevertheless, I found I could enter into the designated role very easily and then enjoy it to the hilt. With CJ, the same was true: I fell easily into the faction that I was a man dropping by to take a woman who was just a little too willing to give it up to a stranger. And when I went down on her while fingering her cunt and helped her come, I felt that I was psychologically and sexually straddling concurrent understandings of what was happening. I was a man eating out a women, fingering her cunt while licking and sucking on her clit. I was also a man with his finger up another mans's ass, blowing his little cock until he came. Two sex acts for the price of one - or rather, as I am not paying for any of this, two birds with one stone. But that is not right either. A bird in the hand, also in the bush? Robbing Peter to pay Paul? Maxims and metaphors are of little use - really a better analogy would be one of those hokey, parallel-universe episodes on Star Trek, where some little phase-distortion in the space-time continuum means that you really can do two things at once, be in two different places simultaneously, engage in two different scenes, be two different people, fuck an ass and a cunt with the same cock, at the same time.

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.

And on the seventh day . . .

. . no rest. Really, no rest at all, and almost no sleep. I spent from midnight until 6.30 am with F, and almost all of that time was spent fucking or sucking or licking or kissing. In one quieter interlude, we both dozed off for a short while, and F also drifted into sleep with my cock in her mouth, which was charming. Otherwise, we were always doing something or other. I had ultra-caffeinated myself beforehand, but I am sure it was mainly sexual excitement that kept me awake. I got just a tiny bit stoned before arriving, and also nibbled on some Viagra to ensure decent performance in the early going.

This was the longest time F and I have ever spent together, and also the first time we have been together in the hours of darkness. It was really remarkable and wonderful. F has a level of sexual energy, and a capacity to give and receive pleasure, that is exceeded in my experience only by D.

I was home and showered by 7.30, giving me ninety minutes before D picked me up and we headed to the seedy and sleazy Seton, the Liberty Inn having no rooms until after noon. Though the Seton is a total dump, it really does not matter much, and we needed a bed and at least some facilities for clean-up as D was in the full flow of her period. It was a bloodbath, but D was in tremendous form, strong and free, riding my cock through a wave of orgasms at the start. After that we did a little bit of everything, and a lot of some things. Clean-up in the sink afterwards did rather resemble washing-down in the butcher's shop at the end of business, but no-one had been killed or even harmed.

Six days

Compared to God, I get rather little done in six days. I fucked F on Monday, D on Tuesday, F again on Wednesday and Thursday, D again on Friday, and then on Saturday morning fucked J. I do not plan to rest on the seventh day, however, as D is coming into the city for a drive-by, and perhaps I will be able to put other arrangements in place. The last time I visited J, I had some difficulty sustaining an erection hard enough to fuck her with. I do think J's hugeness makes this a bit more of an issue that it would otherwise be. With D and F, even if I am not very hard, I can typically manage to get my half-hard cock inside, and then I usually harden up as I work my cock in and out. This is harder to manage with J; there are fewer positions that work with her, and it is somehow more awkward finding the mouth of her cunt with the head of my cock. Also, she has a tight cunt, and it tends to tighten up even more when she comes. On this occasion, things went well. I took a precautionary dose of Viagra beforehand, however, so sticklers may wish to attach an asterisk to what follows.

J was in her robe when I arrived, and we proceeded to christen her new bed. I climbed on and fucked her, we then shifted to fucking from behind with her kneeling on the edge of the bed and me standing behind her, a position that has always been a favourite of ours. What else? A lot of fingering, a lot of oral, and she also played with her clit and brought herself off while I tried to attack her g-spot. I have no idea whether I hit it or not, but she did come long and hard. We chatted about her first date with a guy who seems promising, about circumcision, about how in hell she managed to be so unfucked up about sex given her background and her struggles with being always the fat girl. Then we fucked some more, including some very hard pounding and slamming of the sort that J complains no-one but me will give her. Finally, I jerked off and came all over her.

Sessions with D and F were, as usual, extremely enjoyable.

Philo of Alexandria attributes to God a rather interesting reason for creating in six days. God could of course have done everything at once, in the manner of Captain Picard: "Light, expanse between the waters, land and sea, grass, herbs, fruit-trees, stars, sun, moon, fish, fowl, cattle, creeping things, beasts of the earth, man and woman: make it so!" But besides creating, God also needed to arrange things, according to Philo, and arrangement is to do with number and order - and so obviously he did it in six days:

of all numbers, six is, by the laws of nature, the most productive: for of all the numbers, from the unit upwards, it is the first perfect one, being made equal to its parts, and being made complete by them; the number three being half of it, and the number two a third of it, and the unit a sixth of it, and, so to say, it is formed so as to be both male and female, and is made up of the power of both natures; for in existing things the odd number is the male, and the even number is the female; accordingly, of odd numbers the first is the number three, and of even numbers the first is two, and the two numbers multiplied together make six. It was fitting therefore, that the world, being the most perfect of created things, should be made according to the perfect number, namely, six: and, as it was to have in it the causes of both, which arise from combination, that it should be formed according to a mixed number, the first combination of odd and even numbers, since it was to embrace the character both of the male who sows the seed, and of the female who receives it. (Philo, On the creation, III)

Why are odd numbers male, even numbers female? Philo does not say. And he does not think the number one is odd, either, being the unit out of which all other numbers, even and odd, are made. Still, I like this explanation - fucking seems to play a role even in determining how God chose to create the world. In fucking, the man sows the seed, the woman receives it; he is odd and she is even; three times two is six; so God created the world in six days. I suppose that if it had been Adam and Steve rather than Adam and Eve God would have taken nine days to create.

Philo, though, is a bad guy in terms of circumcision, which he defends not just for its symbolic value, health benefits, and so on, but also because it diminishes pleasure. Adam was not circumcised though - if he had been, I think he would have been less of a man than he was. That would be at best two and a half times two, or five days for creation. Not the same at all, for five is not a perfect number but a prime, and those numbers are weird.

A pain in the ass

Why is anal sex so appealing? And to what extent is its appeal to do with the fact that it is forbidden, and dirty, and difficult (as Candy claims, in a recent comment)? I do not know the answer to these questions in general, or for anyone else. But I am confident about the answers to them in my own case.

Anal sex is appealing because it feels really good. I have admitted elsewhere on this blog that I have, on rare occasions, been uncertain which orifice I occupied. And it has often been true that I am indifferent between cunt and ass - I want my cock in one or the other, and don't mind which. Either feels great, and I can't fuck both (unless I use the strap-on, which I have done once with D). I don't think any of the pleasure I get from fucking D or F in the ass has to do with it being forbidden, or dirty. D had never been fucked in the ass by anyone before me, I remain the only man who has fucked her ass, and there is definitely something pleasing about that fact. If D wanted to give her ass to another man I would be happy for her to do so, but meanwhile I enjoy the fact that I am the only man to have felt her ass grip my cock, to have come in her ass and had my seed leaking out of her as she drove home, to have known her in that way. What here has to do with filth, or the forbidden?

What about the pain, the submission, the subjection? Well, there is no doubt that something of this sort is going on, most of the time. Here I have rather little direct insight; I have been fucked with the strap-on by D on a number of occasions, by A a couple of times, by F just once. In each case, what was so pleasing was being fucked, in the only way that I could be fucked. Whatever pleasures derive from the forbidden in those episodes has little to do with the fact that it is my ass that is being fucked - where else could I be penetrated, after all? - and nothing to do with the category of the unclean. But it is certainly enjoyable to lie back and spread my legs and be fucked hard, to open myself in that way. The pain is sexual pain, or sexualized pain, and there is something very deep and powerful about that. And when I am fucking someone in the ass, and so on the giving rather than the receiving end, I enjoy the subjection, the submission, the sexualized pain.

But none of the pleasure of anal sex for me has to do with either prohibition or disgust. Shit is just shit, an entirely innocent substance, and most of the demonization of shit as a source of contamination is scientific nonsense. Eating shit is certainly healthier than eating hot dogs at Yankee Stadium, for example. Is anal sex especially forbidden? Here the question is, forbidden by whom?

There are a few people who think that all sex is forbidden. The Shakers, for example. There are many who think all sex besides vaginal sex between husband and wife (or wives) is forbidden. Is anal sex between husband and wife more forbidden than vaginal sex between a man and a woman who are not married to each other (and not married to anyone else either)? What about anal sex between two men - and does it matter whether it is between two men who are in husband and wife roles (as so often in prison or the navy) or two men who identify as gay?

When I fuck D in the ass, I do not believe that the pleasure, the delight, the sense of mastery on my part and abandonment on hers, has any thing to do with the opinions of people who, if they knew what we were up to, would disapprove of everything that we do together. People who think ass-fucking is forbidden and filthy mean nothing to me; they do not matter enough to factor into what I desire even inversely. I do not remember when I first stuck a finger up my ass while jerking off, but it was a long, long time ago. It felt good. I have fucked both men and women in the ass, and that has always felt good too. If there is an extra thrill that derives from the fact that people who are opposed to sexual pleasure in general are also opposed to anal sex, it is at most a trivial addition.

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.

Carpet crawlers

I saw F on Wednesday and Thursday, and then D in a mirror room at the Kew Motor Inn on Friday. D and F are the only women I fuck regularly these days other than my wife. The attempts I make to find new recruits never go anywhere, and I am rather lazy about it, but I do make them. I am not sure why I find two an unsatisfactory number of extra-marital regulars, but I continually think that I should either add to the number or else make up my mind and scale back to just one. Were I to do that, I would certainly choose D. F is wonderful, and extremely convenient. But D, even after a year and two-thirds, continues to surprise me, and when I am with her, I continue to surprise myself.

Friday afternoon at the Kew with D, though it has ritualistic and hence repetitive elements, is always fresh, unpredictable, startling. D spends the days in between our meetings in anticipation, and she likes to make plans, if only to fuel her fantasies. This time, her plan was for musical blowjobs - something that we have done before, but not for a while. So I brought along a Y-splitter for her iPod, and my iPod also.

First, though, we got significantly stoned, and I took off all my clothes except my boxer-briefs (boring, white ones, if you care to visualize). Somehow we fell into roleplay in which D kept her clothes on and continually delayed touching my cock while I told her how much I wanted to feel her mouth on me, and how I could not stand to wait any longer. Having a little more discipline than me, and being mildly better at delaying gratification, she made me wait a while, but eventually she began sucking my cock. Stoned blowjobs are always great, and this was wonderful. But not the musical blowjob she had planned. That came later. D took off her jeans and panties and sat on my cock - this was after I pointed out that if we went straight to the musical blowjob she would have to delay orgasm for herself. Surely it was better for her to sit on my cock and ride it until she came, and then to turn to the musical blowjob in a more contented state? She proceeded to have three orgasms, of increasing intensity. I encouraged her to go for one more, and when she began coming for the fourth time I came precisely alongside her, releasing what felt like huge gouts of seed inside her. We have come together while fucking a few times by now, but this was the most self-conscious simultaneous orgasm we have ever had - deliberate and reflective, even though also ecstatic and blinding.

D lifted herself off my cock and lay down on me, her head on my stomach (her right breast, still in her red cotton top, rested on my crotch, so she acquired a large stain from the come and cunt-juice coating my cock). After a little while, she sat in the chair and smoked a cigarette, while I set up the iPod. But once I had done that, while she was still smoking, it seemed silly not to sit on the floor between her legs and smell and taste her cunt, and then eat it, gently at first, and then more aggressively, until she came.

After that, the musical blowjob - actually three in a row, as after the first song we decided to explore a couple of different kinds of song. So D worked my cock with her lips and tongue and fingers first to 'Carpet Crawlers', then 'Born to Run', and then - my choice this time, and from my iPod - Massive Attack's 'Teardrop'. The Springsteen was perhaps least successful, but still amazingly good; I am not a huge fan, but it did seem a good idea to associate it for evermore with D and her considerable cock-sucking skills. In each case, though there were times when I could attend to the music only at the cost of not attending to my cock, or vice versa, there were also long intervals when I could focus on both, as if I could sense the music through my cock, or through D's lips and tongue on my cock as she sensed it too. It is hard to describe this blending, and I think it happens partly just because of sensory overload. Getting stoned turns up the volume with all senses, and with the music playing very loud, with that headphone-induced feeling that the music is inside my head, my eyes closed, my body perfectly relaxed, I became only my ears and my cock, and the consciousness of sound and sensation. I would urge everyone to try it. It works well the other way too, as we proved when I went down on D to Annie Lennox's 'Why'. That was interesting because the lyrics introduced elements of conflict, wistfulness, complaint, sadness, disappointment. These are emotions that are not often present in sex (or not good sex, anyway) and yet they seemed to belong there just as much as the emotions of connection, joy, delight, happiness, contentment. The ideal sexual relationship is the one in which every emotion gets expressed during sex, and music functions well to enable that, at least if it is loud enough and I am stoned enough.

Because D and I had four hours to spend, there was still lots more to come, including another simultaneous orgasm when I was on top of D and fucking her relentlessly. I came a third time in her ass, almost at the end of our time together (only almost at the end, because D insisted on another bout of cunt-eating as I was about to head for the shower). There was, as always, a lot of face-sitting; I had D's panties and jeans on at another point; we also looked at ourselves in the ceiling mirrors while I played with D's nipples and she played with her clit.

D's women friends are, she says, typically incredulous when she tells them that we have sex for four hours straight with hardly any breaks, that I will not even let her smoke a cigarette without eating her cunt while she smokes, that she demands, and gets, another orgasm or two even when time is almost up. Stranger still, many of her friends do not even find the idea of sex like that appealing. It is hard to want what you have never yet had, especially if you do not believe it can ever he had. But it can be had, for D and I have had it. Once you have had it, it is hard not to want a lot more of it.

On throwing in the ethical towel

There are two kinds of wrongdoers: wrongdoers who do wrong while believing that they are doing right, and wrongdoers who do wrong while knowing that they are doing wrong. Plato denied that there were wrongdoers of the second kind; the Platonic view is that wrongdoers are just people who are mistaken about what is right, not people knowingly doing what is wrong. Many wrongdoers seem to share this view; on examination, they turn out to believe that they are not doing wrong at all, that what they do is permissible, justified, acceptable, and nothing to be ashamed of (Aaagh! I mean, 'nothing of which to be ashamed').

Balderdash! I am a liar, cheat, and adulterer. What I do is impermissible, unjustified, unacceptable, and shameful. I have no wish to salve my conscience by pretending otherwise. I was not tricked or misled into my current obligations to wife and family. I cannot claim to have gone into things blind. And by betraying those obligations I am not engaged in some worthwhile project, of value sufficient to outweigh my commitments. No - I am a liar, cheat, and adulterer; a wrongdoer. I am not proud of this, but ashamed. Perhaps I am proud to be ashamed - once we go meta, all bets are off. But I would hate for anyone to read this blog as if it were written by someone who believes that what he is doing is right. I am a wrongdoer. What I do is wrong. I know that what I do is wrong. And yet I continue to do it, because it is fun, even though wrong. That is why they call it temptation.

Candy's approach, as expressed in her forthright attack on me in recent comments seems to me like that of a good defense attorney - I should plead to the lesser charge, strike a deal to get the others dropped, explain that, while I did do these naughty things, I did them in the nicest possible way, treating my lovers as they would want to be treated. Though I can see the technical merit in this position, it leaves me quite unmoved. I cannot bring myself to treat my lovers better than I treat my wife, and as I do not treat her as she would wish to be treated, and also treat her very shoddily, I am not about to shore up my virtue by treating my lovers as they would wish to be treated, or to treat them as well as they deserve. I do not think I am admirable for behaving like this - I think I am a first-class shit. But that is no more than to say that I am a liar, cheat, and adulterer - and that is news from nowhere.

One of my readers praised Candy recently, and I enjoy Candy's comments also. So I have asked if she would like to contribute posts on occasion. I await her response. Perhaps she would rather not be associated too closely with a man who not only does wrong by fucking women other than his wife, but compounds the wrongdoing by treating the women he fucks extramaritally just as badly as he treats his wife.

Routine physical

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Rosh Hashanah

Schools close, work is disrupted, alternate side of the street parking regulations are suspended, and the routines of adultery have to be abandoned. What is normally possible becomes impossible - but some things that are normally impossible become possible in exchange.

On Thursday, I saw J, who I have not fucked in a long while, in part because our schedules make it difficult. But I did not get to fuck her very much; I could not sustain a decent erection. We still managed to have a lot of fun, but J is someone who likes to be fucked very long and very hard, and that I could not do. I had somewhat similar problems a couple of weeks ago with Z, but then I was also dealing with condoms, which are for me a major detumescent. In Z's case, the fact that the circuit of pleasure is broken by her lack of sensation below the waist is presumably part of the cause. But then what is going on with J? She is a huge woman. I find her vastness extremely pleasing. So I do not think it has to do with that.

On Friday, I spent the afternoon with D at the Liberty Inn, where I have not been for a while. I got stoned while D remained unstoned, and we had a lot of fun. I wrote to her:

Dear, devoted, delightful D,

You were the one not stoned, so really the recap of yesterday is your responsibility. But I will tell you some of the highlights for me - though of course it was all highlights, from the moment that you began sucking my cock while I was smoking the joint and slowly getting stoned. That was a great blowjob, and then much later we had the deep-throat blowjob. I do like to force your head down on my cock, if you will not take it quite as deep as you can without me doing so. But I also love it when you force yourself to take my cock as deep as you can.

Well, that first blowjob flowed into the fucking, with you sitting on my cock and it was then that I talked about having someone film us so that you could watch yourself fucking me. When you came - it seemed like a long, long orgasm, with you riding the shaft of my cock with your clit and working the head of my cock inside you - you turned and watched yourself fucking and coming in the mirror. So sexy, so natural and right.

You did not sit on my face in the way that you usually do until right at the end, but of course we had the 69 before that. You said that you really cannot do it, whereas I can, but I don't think that is right - perhaps if we had both been stoned. For me, I felt like I needed to focus on your clit until I got going, fell into a rhythm, and then I could open up to what you were doing to my cock and add it to the mix. But it is easy for the blending to stop, and I am so happy when I am devoting everything to your cunt that my own sensations in my cock cannot add very much to my pleasure, if you see what I mean. But just as I ate you out while I was fucking you the other day at the Kew, I think some time I will be able to fuck you while I am eating you out, my cock in your mouth and my mouth on your cunt.

What else yesterday afternoon? When we were having a conversation about the threesome, you gave me a handjob, and I kissed you, played with your nipples, and then fingered you - and that led into one of those sequences of over-the-top orgasms in which I was working your g-spot (if that was what it was) with my fingers while licking and sucking your clit. I do not know what more I can do to take you higher, or deeper - but if there is anything I can do, I will do it. I fantasise about you squirting - and you really should just piss all over me sometime too, as I want you to let everything go, give me everything that you have.

Lots of fucking, in your cunt, your ass, your cunt again. Very hard pounding, in your cunt and your ass. Also long, rhythmic strokes, which seem sometimes like a brush sweeping over the same spot again and again, slowly deepening the colour and intensifying it. I love that aspect of stoned fucking - repetition of the same thrust or the same movement always adds something to the previous thrust or movement, so it is like climbing a staircase - and a real staircase rather than a Stairmaster because we really are climbing together, getting higher and higher.

I came all over you. That is always fun - I sprayed seed on my face, your face, your hair, your breasts, your belly.

D, you are incredible, amazing, wonderful, spectacular.


Meanwhile, F has been a little sniffy with me, after I made the mistake one day last week of telling her that I had fucked C in the morning before coming to see her at lunchtime. She asked that in future I cancel visits to her if I have fucked C beforehand that day, which I in turn reacted badly to, reminding her that C is the one I have commitments to, rather than her. I am sure this will blow over.

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-.

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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.

TWTWTW

The week is not yet over - in an hour or so I will be at the Kew for my regular Friday afternoon with D - but I have a little time to put the last six days on record.

Sunday - just two half-hour car sessions with D.
Monday - Labor Day. No sex.
Tuesday - a frenzied but quiet two hours in my office with D.
Wednesday - intra-marital sex with C, and two-and-a-half hours with F.
Thursday - two hours with F.
Friday - three hours with D.

Given my other commitments, this is plenty. Yet it seems, compared to last Fall, a rather repetitive diet. I have claimed, often, that I am not into conquest. But I am into variety, and it would be pleasant to diversify. At this point, however, Craigslist is almost a complete waste of time. w4m has been swamped with fake ads, and responses which I send to mw4m never seem to go anywhere either. I fall outside the age-range specified in most ads, and have no availability in the evenings or at weekends. The desperate housewives are a myth. Few couples seem to have any interest in sex in the daylight. I am hardly in a position to complain - as the record above shows, I get more sex than any man can reasonably expect. But about sex I am unreasonable, and appropriately so. I have enough, I have more than enough, and I want more.

Welcome mat

Yesterday I spent a couple of hours with F, doing most of the things that we usually do, but no anal. Today, when I arrived, she had courteously lubricated herself so that I could begin by unzipping and working my cock into her asshole right away. I simply bent her over the bed and fucked her ass. After a short while, she lay on her back and I fucked her ass while on top of her, her legs hiked up over my shoulders. She has come once before while doing this, but towards the end of a long session. Today her first orgasm came this way (and her second too).

Foreplay? None. Or the foreplay is simply the anticipation that she feels waiting for me to arrive, that I feel travelling to her in the cab. Today I was ready to fuck as soon as I arrived. The same is typically true with D. Canonical foreplay activities - fingering, oral - are usually second acts with F or D. Sometimes, after fucking for a while, I soften up a little, and then it makes sense to do something that does not require a hard cock. But it is also true, especially with D, that one thing leads to another, and after she has come while I am going down on her, or she is sitting on my face, she likes to be fucked.

At the moment, I seem to have no time, and not much opportunity, to fuck anyone besides D and F (and, of course, C). I have not seen A in weeks. J is inaccessible thanks to scheduling issues. I do not quite understand why, but I seem to have less room to manouever than a year ago.

I link to a couple of blogs, and one, The Ethical Slut, seems on the verge of abandoning posting. That would be a shame: together with the College Callgirl, the Ethical Slut is the nearest thing to a kindred spirit that I have found in the NYC blogosphere. I do not mean by that any similarity of character, or morals either - I am the most unethical of sluts, and doubtless more like College Callgirl's johns than I am like her. But still, I think there is a commonality of some kind - perhaps simply the inclination to think and write seriously, intelligently and honestly about sex, whether good or bad. In my case, fortunately, it is just about always good.

Any port in a storm

I have only very occasionally been in doubt as to whether my cock was in D's ass rather than her cunt, and I think I was stoned on each of those occasions. But when I know where my cock is, it is because I know where I put it rather than because I can tell where it is. Once open and slick, D's asshole is not easily distinguished in terms of sensation from her cunt. This is not because they are not different, but rather because the differences are not sensible by my cock. I can easily tell her cunt and asshole apart with my hands, and I do not think I could ever be in doubt even for a moment which was which if I had my finger up her. Moral: cocks, though sensitive instruments, are not organs of perception. There is very little that can be known through one's cock.

The distinction between sensation and perception is an important one, and hence usually ignored by philosophers. Descartes was a prime offender here, blurring the differences between sensing pain and perceiving colors, for example. Sex is not simply a matter of sensation, though it is surely at least that, for it involves another person - someone to be perceived as well as sensed. My cock senses rather than perceives, and yet I perceive who I fuck (sorry, "whom I fuck"). I suppose this is part of what is meant by saying that sex is 'in the head'. But really, sex is in the organs of perception as well as those of sensation - in the hands that feel, eyes that see, in the nose and the mouth, that taste and smell.

When I fuck, I always fuck some particular person. It may be be true that, as far as the sensations in my cock are concerned, there is nothing that I can point to as distinctive of one cunt (or ass) rather than another. But I see and feel, taste and smell, and also hear, who I fuck (sorry, "whom"). It is this perceptive aspect that makes the Biblical use of 'know' for fucking appropriate, and that denies the interchangeability of the women that I fuck. Looking at D being fucked by me is much more like looking at her being fucked by someone else than it is like looking at F being fucked by me. I have not seen D being fucked by anyone else, though, so this last claim should be regarded with some suspicion.

Assholes are, in general, tighter than cunts; their geometry is simpler. If I had to give up one orifice or the other, I would give up assholes. But no such choice is forced upon me - it has been a good while since I fucked C's ass, and A has no interest, but it is rare for me to spend any time with D without fucking her ass, and it is a regular, if not frequent, act with F as well. And there really are many times when I am indifferent between ass and cunt: any port in a storm.

Denim

I do not wear jeans. I do not own any. But one day at the Kew, back in the summer, I somehow ended up putting on a pair of D's jeans. I typically wear waist 32 or 33 trousers, though ever since I gave up smoking two-and-a-half years ago my weight has been gradually increasing. But D, though slim, is hippy, and I could wriggle into her jeans, just.

I was stoned, which helped, but even so I was taken aback by the inner transformation that this really rather modest outer transformation effected. I felt very sexy, felt like flaunting my cute butt, felt altogether much rougher and younger and New Jersey than normal. Interestingly, I also felt more like being fucked in the ass, so whatever exactly was going on it was not straightforwardly and stereotypically masculinizing.

I have donned the denim with D subsequently, with similar effects. The last time D and I were at the Kew, I wore her jeans for a good while, while fucking D and eating her out. This was again in a mirrored room, as the first time I wore them. Because I am usually without my glasses at these times, and especially when eating D's cunt, I do not get quite the benefit from the mirrors that D does. She loves me in jeans, loves to watch my ass moving in them as I fuck her. And I confess, from the blurred glimpses I get, it does look pretty sexy.

I wore jeans as a teenager, so for me I am sure that there is an erotic flashback element to the excitement. If I think of myself in jeans making out, my first real love, Roz, springs to mind. Small, hard-bodied, smart as a whip, she was the first girl who seemed to feel sexual desire and register sexual pleasure in a way that was real - before that, it seemed only a struggle to get the girl to do things that she didn't want to do, even if she pretended that she did. A reminds me of Roz very much.

Forgetting

It is Monday, and I know who I fucked today: F, for a couple of delightful hours starting at noon. I know also who I fucked yesterday: D, in a couple of half-hour sessions in the back of her car, one from 6.30 - 7.00 in the evening, and the other from 9.00 - 9.30.

Before that? Nothing on Saturday. Friday - well, perhaps I had an intra-marital fuck that day. One day last week I fucked F and then D, and another day I failed to fuck Z because I just couldn't stay hard once I donned a condom, though I thought we had a very good time considering. But I don't think that was all the week's activities, as I saw both D and F a couple of times.

In other words, I forget. And if I forget the fucking, the fucking must be forgettable rather than unforgettable. While it is happening it feels unforgettable, but that is an illusion, or anyway misleading. Like intense pain, intense pleasure cannot be remembered. Better, then, to say that the sex is so good that it is instantly forgotten.

Forgetting the fucking is one thing, forgetting who I fuck another. Part of the point of a blog is to log, and I am no more responsible a blogger than I am a husband. For mere record-keeping, Google Calendar will do - A keeps track of her sexual antics that way, and I did for a while, but was too lazy to maintain it. But there is no pleasure at all to be had that way. I am too lazy to blog, as well, and so I forget.

A guide of the perplexed

Atlantic Monthly reports a study in the British Journal of Urology on the sensitivity of cut and uncut cocks. The five most sensitive places on a natural cock are all removed by circumcision, and the most sensitive spot on a cut cock is the circumcision scar itself. If anyone is surprised by this, they have not read Maimonides' Guide of the Perplexed:

Similarly with regard to circumcision, one of the reasons for it is, in my opinion, the wish to bring about a decrease in sexual intercourse and a weakening of the organ in question, so that this activity be diminished and the organ be in as quiet a state as possible. It has been thought that circumcision perfects what is defective congenitally. This gave the possibility to everyone to raise an objection and to say: How can natural things be defective so that they need to be perfected from outside, all the more because we know how useful the foreskin is for that member? In fact this commandment has not been prescribed with a view to perfecting what is defective congenitally, but to perfecting what is defective morally. The bodily pain caused to that member is the real purpose of circumcision. None of the activities necessary for the preservation of the individual is harmed thereby, nor is procreation rendered impossible, but violent concupiscence and lust that goes beyond what is needed are diminished. The fact that circumcision weakens the faculty of sexual excitement and sometimes perhaps diminishes the pleasure is indubitable. For if at birth this member has been made to bleed and has had its covering taken away from it, it must indubitably be weakened. The Sages, may their memory be blessed, have explicitly stated: It is hard for a woman with whom an uncircumcised man has had sexual intercourse to separate from him. In my opinion this is the strongest of the reasons for circumcision.

Maimonides believed that circumcision deprived both the man and the woman of pleasure, and while I cannot claim to know this first-hand, I do know that my foreskin contributes very significantly to my own enjoyment. I was fucking D on the desk in my office yesterday, and watching my cock as it moved in and out of her cunt. Each time, as I withdrew, her cunt lips drew my foreskin up over the head of my cock; as I thrust back into her, the foreskin was pushed back and the head of my cock uncovered. F has claimed to be able to feel my foreskin when she is on top fucking me, and I do believe that she feels something that she would not feel when fucking a circumcised man.

The British Journal of Urology study mentions an earlier study, reported in BJU in 1999, in which 138 women who had fucked both cut and uncut men were asked which they preferred and why:

These results show clearly that women preferred vaginal intercourse with an anatomically complete penis over that with a circumcised penis; there may be many reasons for this. When the anatomically complete penis thrusts in the vagina, it does not slide, but rather glides on its own 'bedding' of movable skin, in much the same way that a turtle's neck glides in and out of the folder layers of skin surrounding it. The underlying corpus cavernosa and corpus spongiosum slide within the penile skin, while the skin juxtaposed agaist the vaginal wall moves very little. This sheath-within-a-sheath alignment allows penile movement, and vaginal and penile stimulation, with minimal friction or loss of secretions. When the penile shaft is withdrawn slightly from the vagina, the foreskin bunches up behind the corona in a manner that allows the tip of the foreskin which contains the highest density of fine-touch neuroreceptors in the penis to contact the corona of the glans which has the highest concentration of fine-touch receptors on the glans. This intense stimulation discourages the penile shaft from further withdrawal, explaining the short thrusting style that women noted in their unaltered partners.

I am not sure if the "short thrusting style" referred to is what I think of as 'grinding' but as the women reported preferring this style of thrusting because of the increased contact with the clitoris, it must be somewhat similar. Another interesting result in this survey is that women who preferred curcumcised men tended to have had fewer sexual partners than women who preferred uncircumcised men.

Needless to say, there are other surveys that show the opposite of this one, i.e., that women prefer cut men. You can find lots of the relevant publications at CIRP's Circumcision Reference Library - http://www.cirp.org/library/

Thicker than water

Blood seems to be a theme this week. Z had just begun her period when we were messing around last Friday morning. D began her period during the night we were together at the hotel on Friday, and was in full flow yesterday afternoon at the Kew Motor Inn. Today, F was bleeding hugely, and we had a wonderful time daubing each other with her blood. Towards the end of our time I came all over her, so we then had a wonderful mixture of seed and sweat and blood to ingest. Taking a shower together afterwards the water was running red, and it took a lot of scrubbing to get all the blood out from under my fingernails. Hitchcock used chocolate syrup for the shower scene in Psycho, I think.

C is postmenopausal and so no longer menstruates. I wonder if the near-synchronization of D and F is in part mediated by me. Nuns living in close proximity end up menstruating at the same time; perhaps women who share a lover do so too.

Oil

I had a lot of fun oiling D up over the weekend, when C was away. Yesterday I got to oil C up, with decent results. But C aims at orgasm and then is done, and even working at it I find it hard to extend a sexual session with her beyond forty-five minutes or so. So we had a very good time for perhaps that long.

C's rush to orgasm is conditioned, and I understand why she is reluctant to break the pattern and try to forge other responses. Sex is good enough anyway, she has problems with vaginal dryness, her energy levels need to be right, and the easy orgasm is for her the quick one. Taking longer has little to recommend it. It is extremely unlikely, then, that sex with C will ever have the scale and intensity of a session with D, or F. Those sessions are a source of great pleasure for me, and for D and F too. And there, in brief, is the reason why it is hard to give up being a liar, cheat, and adulterer.

Oiling D up while stoned was delightful, as I could pour my being into my hands as they slipped and slid over her back and buttocks, and there was a seamless transition from the therapeutic and sensual into the frankly sexual - I ended up with my cock in her ass, my body slick from the oil on her body, and there was a lovely blurring of boundaries. With F a few days later, unstoned, it was more straightforward, but still very pleasurable.

Details from D

D, with her archival instincts to the fore, sent me a recap of what she referred to as 'Our night of X'tasy' - the night described by me in much poorer fashion in the previous post:

I was super excited waiting for you in that hotel room. But I was also anxious, having not heard from you. When you finally called and said you would be there in ten minutes I was so happy. And I think I attacked you soon after you came into the room. Actually I sat on your cock and had my first orgasm... then complained that you were not playing with my nipples . So you gave me my second orgasm, playing with my nipples. I was stoned and I just wanted to feel everything. I was so happy to be naked with you , riding your cock .. bouncing up and down on your naked body. When I am stoned I can feel everything.. my hair against my neck moving... your hands outlining my waist and hips.. my wet cunt gliding up and down your hard, stiff cock, my feet pressed against your strong legs. I feel like my whole body is synchronized with yours in this perfect dance, facilitated by our eyes and our connection. I remember talking about that connection with you , that afternoon. I love that kind of sex talk!

Well... we had this incredible afternoon... and some of it was very active. Lots of deep fucking and thrusting.. there was that simultaneous orgasm where we were just madly fucking and rocking while you were on top. And then the same thing happened after you oiled up my back... well... as you massaged my back I just knew that you would be entering my ass sooner or later. I felt your fingers slipping inside my asshole every now and again. I felt your eyes on my ass. I knew you wanted to open me up with your cock, badly. And as you were deeply rubbing me.. rubbing my back and my spine and my dimples and my ass... I just wanted to show you how much I wanted your cock in my ass. I just kept lifting my ass up trying to show you my asshole and my pussy lips. Every once in awhile you would touch my cunt... almost like your hands just got carried away. It felt like you were teasing me and it was driving me crazy.

When you finally entered me , I remember the oil on my back and ass ... and how it felt rubbing up against your body. I think that is what started the frenzy. I needed you to fuck me hard. I couldn't stop moving about wildly and I liked it when you kept telling me not to move. I do think I needed to be spanked though because I wasn't really listening to you. And I had this fantasy running in my head that I would somehow escape you and you would chase me down in the room and throw me on the bed .. this time holding me down so I can't get away while you pound your cock up my ass and take me. I want to do that .

Oh... let's not forget the handjob, volcanic eruption of your cock. Your cock standing straight up spraying all over the room , gobs and gobs of your come. All over me and all over you. A big mess you made. That was the greatest explosion ever.

We had such an amazing afternoon and really the best sex we had ever had in our lives. So by the time you got back at midnight we were already spent, partially. I know we have done this kind of thing many times before but we really did not have that level of activity and intensity. So we were kind of waiting for this drug to take effect and help us along. But nothing happened so we got stoned. And then from 1 to 5 we fucked and sucked eachother like crazy. My ass... my cunt... your ass... your cock.. I gave you this amazing handjob... and I also remember rubbing your hard cock against my hip for awhile and that was really turning me on. Then we slept, spooned together and woke up two hours later in the exact position. You fucked me and licked my clit and then fucked me in the ass. Then I sat on your face before you left ( I think).

Z, F, D, X, A

C is out of town for two nights. So . . .

I spent a couple of hours in the morning with Z. She was menstruating, so fucking was not on the menu - her decision, as I not only have no objection to bloody fucks but actually really enjoy them. With Z, who does not feel anything much below the waist, everything sexual is strangely shifted and subverted - an extreme case of the difference between one woman and another that interests and excites me. It is frustrating not to be able to fuck because of a squeamishness about menstruation that I do not feel at all. But we had a pleasant enough time kissing and touching each other.

I left Z around noon, and barely thirty minutes later was fucking F in her apartment. F is Z's enantiomorph when it comes to period fucking - the bloodier the better, as far as she is concerned. But she was not on the rag today, and it has in fact been quite a while since I got to enjoy anyone in full flow. We rang the changes on fucking and sucking for ninety minutes, finishing with a solid orgasm and ejaculation for me.

By the time I left F, D had already left a message on my voicemail giving me her room number at a hotel nearby, so I went straight from F to D. It was an intense afternoon of stoned sex. D was already high by the time I arrived, so we began with a wonderful fuck with D stoned and me sober: D riding my cock through a series of orgasms, while I pinched her nipples. I have never been with D when she was high and I was not, so that was interesting. Then I got stoned and went down on her, we fucked again, I fucked her ass, and so on. As usual with D when stoned, we decided it was all the best sex we had ever had - the best fuck with her on top, the best slow fucking, the best face-sitting, etc. I had brought some oil and gave her a massage that morphed into anal. I am unsure how much I came, but I certainly came once in spectacular fashion, when D was giving me an oily handjob and fingering my prostate at the same time, eliciting a fountain of come. Around 5.00 pm I went home.

After midnight I returned to D's hotel and we took some Ecstasy given her by a friend. The night of sex that ensued was surely affected by the X, for we were both extremely dehydrated and a little hyperkinetic. But it was hardly the shattering and amazing experience that is often associated with sex on X. Later in the night we smoked some more pot, and that helped to intensify sensations, but I had more problems maintaining a decent erection than usual. It would, I suppose, be natural to attribute this to my earlier exertions, but I suspect it was more to do with tiredness and the X. So I spent a very long time eating D's cunt and ass. Eventually we slept for a couple of hours, and woke around 7.00 am, for another hour or so of oral, fucking, ass-fucking.

After some sleep, and a lot of coffee, I went at noon to meet A at her sister-in-law's apartment. I was a little tired, so A gave me a blowjob and then sat on my cock and fucked me for a while. Then we changed places and I fucked her - but neither of us quite made it to climax. As always with A, both sex and non-sex were wonderful. We chatted amiably for a while, and then I went home for another nap. But my plan to spend some time after midnight with A came to nothing, thanks to a change of plans by her husband. So the second of my two nights went unused.

Early the next morning, D came by for a drive-by - a bit more than an hour fucking in the back of her car. She had started her period and was very bloody, and we had an excellent time.

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.

Old acquaintance

My form of philandering differs from that of the stereotypical mid-forties, mid-life-crisis-mired, married man who is seeking, or anyway will end up getting, a mistress who becomes in time his second wife. The last thing I want is a woman who would make a good wife, though I will freely admit that most of the women I fuck would make someone or other a good wife, and in a couple of cases I can imagine one of those someone or others being me. Still, that is not at all an outcome I seek. Perhaps marrying at all was a mistake, but I did not make another error by marrying C.

Another stereotypical philanderer is the guy who is attracted by the chase and the conquest, but loses interest once he has bedded a woman. That does not fit my style either - I find women get more interesting, more attractive, more exciting, the more I fuck them. I have known D for more than a year and a half, and we have had huge amounts of sex in that time. Yet she continues to surprise and amaze me, and herself, and I have no sense at all that we are approaching any limit. Sex with F gets better too. There are new things to do, or new ways to do old things, and each time the mood and tone and tempo of fucking or fingering is different.

Familiarity does not breed contempt at all, then. I like to fuck different women because they are different from each other, and adding new women is not a pursuit of novelty resulting from boredom with the women I already fuck. Difference is good, and there is something very satisfying in being able to be with two different women in the space of a few hours and to give both of them pleasure, to take great pleasure in them both, without in any way confusing or conflating them, or treating them as tokens of the same type. In the same way that I do not really think of myself as belonging to the general category 'man', so I do not really think of D, F, A, and so on as instances of the type 'woman'. I recognize that I am a man, and have many standard masculine characteristics; I know also that I am mainly attracted to women rather than men. But gender is not altogether a matter of chromosomes or genitalia, and there are plenty of androgynous men who I find sexier (and would rather fuck) than some ultra-feminine women.

But I have wandered from the topic. New acquaintances are exciting, and I have not made any in a long while. I would like to. But the most exciting thing about new acquaintances is that, in time, they become old acquaintances. True, I do not really have any time to spare, and so time for the new must be taken away from the old. Given how hard it can be to meet new and interesting women, it hardly seems worth it. But of course that argument, applied in the past, would have led to my not meeting F, who is magnificent. So I continue to eye w4m on CL occasionally, and send off the odd response to posts that look as if they might be genuine, and from someone who I would like to meet; nearly every time, I get no response. I do not do this out of dissatisfaction with my sex-life - given my weekly round, that would be absurd. I do it for the pleasure that it might give me, and the pleasure that I might be able to give.

The etymology of 'philander' suggests a lover of men, or else of people, rather than a lover of women, which I suppose is what I am; that would be 'philogyny'. But most fillings for 'phil-' yield something pleasing: philosopher, philologist, philatelist, philomel, philodendron, philanthropist, philippic, philtre, philharmonic. Given that sort of close company, only a philistine would object to the term.

Thursday

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.

Random days

Life as a liar, cheat, and adulterer is made up of days like these:

Sunday evening - D picks me up downtown and drives me uptown. On Riverside Drive she parks, we get in the back of the car, and fuck. Thirty minutes or so of thrusting and grinding, cock-sucking, face-sitting, fingering, licking. I wash up as best I can, she drives me home, and I re-enter family life hoping my wife cannot smell D's cunt-juice on my face.

Monday - afternoon at the office with D, after a brief bar-restroom fuck. Lots of fucking on the desk, with D lying back and me standing, a position in which it is as easy to fuck her ass as her cunt. I am not indifferent between them, but there are times when, as Cleland says in Fanny Hill, it is a matter of 'any port in a storm'.

Tuesday - I take a late morning train to meet A, who picks me up and drives me to a no-tell motel. We take a few hits from a joint and fuck, slowly building up the pace until we come together. A little while later I help her come again, this time with my hands. Before our two hours are up, she gives me an excellent blowjob, though I do not ejaculate again.

Wednesday - ninety minutes with F, at her apartment. First we fuck with me on top, then with her on top. She sits on my face, we fuck again, I go down on her, finger her. Then we spend a good while fucking and talking, with me standing by the bed, her lying on it. This position is one of my favourites, but only possible with beds that are high enough. Through all of this F is having one orgasm after another, in her usual fashion. With time almost up, we go back to fucking on the bed, and I pull out and come all over her. Withdrawal is not the most reliable method of contraception, but coming all over F's belly and breasts, and then licking up my seed, snowballing - that is more than enough to compensate for the risks.

Thursday, Friday - well, I shall report on those when they are in the past rather than the future

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.

The worst sex I ever had

I was asked, 'What was the worst sex you ever had?'

A difficult question. Set aside sex with whores, some of which really was terrible but some of which was a lot of fun and also very friendly. Set aside also sex with men, which is complicated - at least in my case. Then the answer is probably occasional sex that I had while drunk and depressed in my mid- or late-twenties. Sex that was no good because I was driven by my depression, but incapacitated by my drunkenness. Those were also episodes in which I was in some way dishonest, trying to get my cock inside someone who I was not willing to deal with as a person entire.

Here we are edging around the interesting topic of casual sex. Back then, before Craigslist and the internet and all the wonders that enables, casual sex was a trickier matter. But there were a couple of occasions at least when the model of casual sex worked very well: a barmaid who I ended up spending a lovely afternoon with, and on another occasion a young woman who, I confess, was probably more enamoured of me than I was of her, but who was anyway accustomed (or so I believe) to the idea of casual, one-off sexual encounters.

In general, though, I think it is true that sex is better for being less casual. At the group sex fiasco in Chelsea last summer, I could barely get it up at all, and that has tended to be true when I am trying to fuck someone who I neither know nor care to know. I think that, in my twenties, there were times when I felt as if I ought to be about the business of fucking women when I could, and not caring to get to know them. Casual sex meant fucking without knowing whom one fucked. That now seems to me exactly wrong, for it is really only possible to be casual and uncommitted with someone whom one knows and trusts, or at least someone whom one is in the business of getting to know, and coming to trust.

I have wandered from the topic of the worst sex I ever had. Most of the sex I had with my first serious college girlfriend was not, looking back, all that good. She did not come easily, I came very easily and quickly, so most sex was not satisfying for either of us. MRR, love of my life, was a revelation after that - a woman who wanted to fuck as much as I did, and who came easily and frequently from fucking. She remains - I saw her on a trip to England last year - amazingly the same utterly desirable woman.

I think most of the bad sex I have had has been my fault, and the result of dishonesty on my part. Sex is about encountering another person, and that is not something that can be done usefully under false pretenses. But honesty and openness are not the same, and I do think good sex can happen with a lot being hidden.

These days, I can usually get it up and keep it up, so sex is not crap for that kind of reason. With C I come quite quickly, though usually either at the same time as her if we are fucking, or else afterwards. Sex with her is good, sex with D, F, and A is amazing, wonderful, magnificent. I have no bad sex, and really have not had bad sex for years and years, except at the Chelsea orgy. That may mean that I have low standards. But it may also mean that I know have to have a good time with a girl, whether or not I know how to give a girl a good time.

Any given Sunday

With churchgoing as an alibi, I went to see J, and we entertained each other for about an hour.

We began standing up, in front of the mirrored closet doors. J bent over and rested her head on the windowsill, and I fucked her from behind. At one point she placed her hands flat on the floor, and at yet another time she grabbed her ankles - in other words, she played around with angles, with the muscles in her cunt and their relation to muscles in her thighs, with the way that she presented to me. I meanwhile did my own variations of depth, timing, rhythm, direction. We looked wonderful.

Light-headed, J moved to the bed, and I climbed on top. We fucked and chatted, chatted and fucked, and then we fucked more seriously until she came. Lying back, she then jerked me off so that I came in her hair, which she enjoys.

In the evening, I met D downtown and we fucked for half an hour in the back of the car: first her on top, then me on top, and then, once I had come, the traditional face-sitting. It was hot and humid, and by the time we were done D was slick with sweat.

Who's counting?

The first time I fucked D was in my office, and since then we have fucked there often. I say 'my office', but in fact I have two offices. The one we were in today has, besides a desk and desk-chairs, a couch.

I had written to D a couple of days ago, saying how much I liked eating her out on my desk, but that I preferred even more to sit or kneel on the floor between her legs while she sat in a chair. So today, dressed in a white cotton short-sleeved shirt and a short black skirt - no bra, no knickers - she placed a chair facing the couch, I sat down in front of her, and she then lifted her legs and rested her feet on the couch. I moved the chair a little closer to the couch so that I could rest my back against it. In this extremely comfortable position, I set to work with my tongue on her clit.

D unbuttoned her shirt so that I could get at her nipples. Pulling and pinching her nipples is not quite enough by itself to bring her to orgasm, but there are times when it seems as if stimulation of her clit is barely required. D came once, and then came again very quickly - and then she pushed my head back a little to let me know that she needed a break. We talked, my mouth barely grazing her cunt-lips, and then I began licking and sucking at her clit again, until she came for a third time.

D's fourth and fifth orgasms came while I was sitting on the couch and she was sitting on my cock, grinding away, while I worked on her nipples with my hands. She then lay down on the couch and I got on top and fucked her while we talked and kissed. Then I went down on her right armpit and she came again.

D has had what she calls an 'armpit orgasm' before. Back in the winter I persuaded her to stop shaving under arms, and once the hair had grown in and she starting going easy on the deodorant, her armpits became intensely sensitive. Even though she has now shaved again, they remain so. Fucking on the couch, I can brace my feet on the arm, and so get a lot of pressure from my pubic bone and the base of my cock on her clit. Meanwhile, I licked and sucked and nibbled my way from her mouth, down her neck, across her shoulder and so to her armpit. Then, pinning her arm above her head, I used my lips and teeth and tongue almost as if I was eating her cunt, and quite soon she went over the top into orgasm six. When that was over, I suggested that we do the same on the other side - orgasm seven. D pointed out that several factors are at work in generating the armpit orgasm: she finds it very arousing to have her arms pinned above her head; there are armpit-cunt correlations or connections in terms of hair, smell, position at a place in the body that can be closed up or spread open; the armpit is very close to the nipple.

We had made no use of the desk, so I swept my papers aside and D lay down along the longer axis , with a pillow from the couch under her head, while I sat at the end of the desk in a chair and prepared to eat her out again. I am not sure why, but I got sidetracked into fucking her instead for a while. Then I did eat her out, and after she came - eight - I turned my attention to her asshole, first tonguing it and then, when I judged it open and slick enough, standing up and sticking my cock in. Ass-fucking when standing like that is ideal in terms of being able to watch my cock disappearing inside her, and with hands free I can stimulate her nipples or her clit. Or - and this was what I did today - her right nipple with my left hand and her clit with my right hand. That brought on her last orgasm of the morning, and soon afterwards I came deep in her ass.

All of this took barely an hour-and-a-half. I am not sure D has ever come so many times in so short a period. And yet this by-the-numbers recitation is liable to miss the point. I love to help D come, and because she is insatiable and practically indestructible, I love to help her come again and again. Neither her orgasms nor mine are climaxes in the sense of being endings, but my orgasms do quite often put an end to my erection, and so an end to fucking. But not being able to fuck is no barrier to all the acts that don't require a hard cock, which are many. D is never done, and rarely says 'No', though today, when I offered to let her sit on my face before she left, she was, she said, a little self-conscious about the fact that she was 'messy' - an unsurprising consequence of the fact that I had fucked her very deep in the ass and so she was now leaking a mix of seed and shit. And she needed to get going in order to pick up her daughter and take her off to see some boy-band in New Jersey.