Days off work

Reading the few w4m posts that are not spam on CL, or perusing profiles on Ashley Madison or similar sites, one could easily get the impression that the most important factors in determining hook-ups are sexual chemistry, immediate attraction (though mediated electronically), compatible sexual tastes and preferences, etc. Perhaps, for many women, this is so - they can expect to be picking among many respondents (though few viable ones). To me, however, it would be preferable, and certainly would save a lot of time, if I could filter out all the people who are non-starters because of scheduling issues. No matter how sexually compatible, attractive, or sympathetic, most people have real jobs with standard working hours, and so are unavailable at the only times that I can be free to fuck. With a filter in place, I could devote my attention to whatever made it through the filter - men, women, couples, groups, tvs, crossdressers, ftms, mtfs, gloryholes, whatever. Quite a lot would make it through, but there would not be too many women among them.

When I first met J she was working only three, sometimes four, days a week, so that worked well. Our first few times together were fun, and progressively more so, as I learned my way around her body, her sexuality. But relatively soon she landed a full-time job and so is hardly ever free at a time when I am free. She does, however, slowly accumulate entitlement to days off work, and when that happens we can sometimes get together. Yesterday was such a day. Before visiting J, though, I spent about an hour-and-a-half with F, which was very pleasant. I then had a few hits of pot and a dose of Viagra and called on J.

J's main complaint about the men who fuck her, which I have mentioned before, is that they do not fuck her hard enough or for long enough. Viagra is therefore a sensible drug to take before visiting her. Getting a little stoned is also quite a good idea, as it relaxes and sensitizes me, and aids the kind of relentless fucking that J likes. The relaxation and sensitization helps me to maximize my delight in J's vast body, and to transmit that delight to her, and that too is something that J likes, and even more important, something that she deserves.

We fucked a lot, and I tried to fuck her harder than ever, pinning her down with her legs on my shoulders and pounding her until her legs cramped up and she had to free herself, or taking her from behind, her kneeling on the edge of the bed while I stood behind her on the floor and went at her. In this second position there is almost no contact between us besides that of my cock in her cunt and the hard slap against her big ass as I drive my cock home. She feels my balls swinging against her clit. And her whole body registers the shock of my slamming into her, ripples running through her flesh.

Besides the fucking, we talked about a musician who had fucked her recently, about politics, I went down on her and fingered her, she sucked my cock. All of that is great too, but it is the fucking that J craves. I would fuck her more, but our schedules conflict - the worst kind of sexual incompatibility there is.

D recaps

My recaps are dry and dull. D typically does a much better job. Here is her account of a recent session at the Liberty. I have altered nothing but for the sake of anonymity, plus a few punctuation marks:

Dear XXX,

Here's what I remember happening between us on Wednesday, October 24th between 4 and 7. Let's see if the pot is killing my short term memory. I'll try my best.

Well, we were smoking and talking on the bed. You were taking off your clothes , I was keeping everything on except my shoes and socks ( a foreshadowing of things to come). We sat crosslegged facing eachother. We were smoking and staring, and at some point you said " D, take off your top". Once the top was off I couldn't hold you back. You were grabbing my breasts over my bra and squeezing my nipples. I started to stroke your upper thighs with my hands, my fingers reaching towards your inner thighs. I felt your legs and sort of brushed over your cock and balls enough with my hands to make you jumpy. You told me you would come if I continued to do that. I told you that we had three hours and that should afford us an opportunity to take things slowly. It was the last thing you wanted to hear. At one point, after feeling how hard your cock was I told you we needed to fuck. And your face . . . it said it all.

I unzipped my pants and quickly took off my underwear. I laid down before you , ready for you to mount me. You opened me up slowly and we had the first of what would be the most amazing fucks. Before long you were coming in me, over and over again. You were very deep and I was wiggling my hips back and forth to the rhythm of your movements. You came, but you were still rock hard, so we continued to fuck. We stopped and I climbed on your face.

It was there that I had a series of orgasms. One leading into the other . . . your lips locked tight around my clit your fingers pinching my nipples, me riding your face . . . you smothered in my wetness. I remember being in that euphoric state, a continuation of it from our fucking just before. I remember when you were fucking me coming for the first time as I rubbed my clit on your pelvic bone. I came again and again after that. I love when our faces are so close and I"m coming and my mouth is touching yours, we are breathing on eachother and our bodies are so tight and close. I love to come that way, especially when you are reflecting back to me my euphoria . . . it is quite an experience. I just want to stay there with you, forever.

I think I needed a break after that but I probably didn't get one. I think I got fucked. This fuck being different, more intense, more passionate, more driven. Beautiful. There was lots of fucking as we were once again euphoric. You were never going to stop fucking me. It's too bad for you that you eventually tire and I manage to wiggle my way into a break. But during those breaks you are just about the most impatient thing I have ever seen. You lay there like you are laying on a bed of nails. It takes all your muster not to throw a full blown tantrum... instead it comes out in this semi-contained , semi-civil manner. You have conditioned yourself to deal with the time it takes me to smoke a cigarette . . . but that is it! That's why you always say "Smoke the damn cigarette ". But sometimes I don't want to smoke and I feel like I need to just to get a four minute break. But even then you want to eat my cunt while I'm smoking. I obviously don't have the same drive as you , which I think is directly wired to your addiction. You were always like that with me and will always be. You asked me yesterday what it is like for me to be with someone who has so much desire for me? And to be honest, I find this part addicting. It is a fantasy that many woman have but never really find. I have found it with you.

I have lots of desire for you , but I can't match it with physical energy. You seem to be able to do that very well. I can do it too if I could temper it with cuddling and kissing inbetween the frenzied parts. But what you have to realize is that the orgasms sap my energy , especially if I am having one after the other. Sometimes, especially if I 'm sitting on your face . . . and sometimes when I orgasm during anal sex... it is so intense I need to just recalibrate in some way. But often I can't do that unless I flee from the room! Darling , I'm not complaining ... and I love it so much. I'm just saying that I could seriously have a heart attack or become autistic like I told you yesterday. It scares me sometimes , where I go with you yet I am never really afraid. I just think I should be afraid . . . sort of left brain, right brain stuff. Do you know what I mean? Once I finally turn my thinking off, or open up more . . . I will really be able to do it.

Hmmmm, where was I? Well my love . . . I was smoking and you were asking what I wanted to do next? I think you were saying, " Do you want to go out for a romantic dinner, or have a lovely drink in the village?" NO YOU WEREN"T!" You were saying . . . "do you want to suck my cock and if you don't start sucking my cock I am going to suck on your toes or do something that will end up with you sucking my cock". But before that you were laying between my legs tongue fucking me. Do you remember that?

So you started with the toe sucking. I was sitting up and you were laying sideways across the bed. You were sucking my big toe and licking it and teething on it. You were basically giving my big toe a blowjob. My toe felt really big and like it had a head and foreskin. It was crazy erotic and I felt like I was on "X" ( the good stuff that we never got). I was in heaven. I reached for your erect cock and just started fingering the head in the same pattern as the movements of your tongue. We were totally in sinc, did you notice? It was a wonderful dance between your tongue on my toe and my hand on your cock. I think I asked you to play with my clit , and ofcourse I exploded in an orgasm. Oh . . . I just loved that so much.

And to show you my love I got on top of you. I think I was planning to sit on your cock. But then you started that talk about how I couldn't get you excited by just rubbing my wet cunt on your thigh. So I listened while I watched your expression, which told a different story. It basically led you to pull out the ILY sex toy, after I orgasmed on your leg you couldn't help yourself. You held out for quite some time.. but then it was over.

So we started fucking from there , using the ILY toy. I was beside myself in bliss. I loved it. I love you. I love to be able to say it so freely. And I think it's kind of brilliant that we can use it in this way. It is the perfect place for it, where it can be absolutely sincere and damage free.

So then you fucked me on the other side of the bed. But before that I think I gave you an incredible blowjob. And then you fucked my ass because you were watching my ass while I was sucking your cock. You really want me to suck your cock, let you fuck my ass, eat me out, suck on my tits and get a handjob all at the same time. I want to do even more with you. I want us to travel together to this uncharted territory.

I watched myself come in the mirror, upside down. It is still hard for me to think I am beautiful. I feel beautiful though.

Then I sat on your face. Then we had to go. We walked in the rain. We talked. But the magical part was over. Except when you said you wanted to sit next to me at that place where you ate. I never sat next to anyone like that. I think that is just so damn sexy.

Did I forget anything? My nipples are so hard right now. I wish you were licking them.

Thank you my love.... D

Planned, unplanned

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tradecraft

I maintain that lying and cheating are not ends-in-themselves, but mere means to the end of adultery. There are times, though, when the means achieve a dignity of their own. At such times, it is easy to see the sexual pleasure as the means, and the joy of secrecy as the end.

A recent Monday: first, intra-marital. We are to 'mess around.' C emerges from the bathroom bathrobed and lubed. We are very soon fucking. She comes, we fuck some more, I turn her about and fuck her from behind, come deep in her cunt, and we are done.

Next, over lunchtime, a couple of hours with F. A good deal of oral sex, lots of solid cunt-fucking, some very severe ass-fucking. I came in F's mouth, and she swallowed every drop, judging it a decent load. F came when I was sucking her clit, and while we were fucking, a number of times.

In the afternoon: a drink with D, and then a delicious burst of office-sex - couch-fucking, face-sitting. I came in D's cunt, and sucked out the pretty pool of seed that I could see in her cuntmouth once I withdrew. She sat on my face in order to make sure I could tongue more of my seed and her cunt-juice out of her.

D knows nothing about F. F knows nothing about D. D and F know about C, obviously; C knows nothing of F or D. Only I know about F, D, and C. My secrets!

But secret only until one starts blabbing in front of anyone who will listen. Blabbing, blogging.

Lifting all boats

Sex gets better and better. D, in particular, seems to me almost limitless in her capacity for pleasure. Yesterday's session at the Kew, described in my normal, dry, matter-of-fact manner, would come across as nothing special: the standard mix of oral, anal, fucking, cross-dressing, strap-on dildo fucking, spanking, all under the influence of pot and a little alcohol. Middle-class, middle-aged adultery in suburbia. But it really was a remarkable afternoon.

The pot was some new, 'blueberry' strain that did all the usual things pot does, only more so. So we were both even more relentless, tireless, and driven; sensation was heightened; we were very tightly synchronized, very aware of each other; time was stretched thin and long. Also, we were using the new dildo with the strap-on for the first time, and that was very good. But D got to fuck me somewhere in the middle of our time together; before that I had laid down a marker for her by fucking her ass as hard as I possibly could, telling her that I wanted to be fucked just as hard when it came time. I don't think I quite got what I wanted, because though D fucked me as hard as she could, she is not a match for me in terms of upper-body or leg strength, she weighs less, and she has less practice at fucking. But she did fuck me harder than I have ever been fucked.

Harder, longer, faster, rougher, deeper - not the Olympic motto, exactly, but in the same spirit. There is always more to be had, more to be done, new levels to reach, another chance to go even farther, or higher. But unlike each new attempt to set a record in triple-jump or hammer-throw, which must start from the same place as all earlier attempts, sex begins from a different place each time. This is, say, the twenty-eighth time D has fucked me with the strap-on, or the ninety-first time I have fucked her ass. As I fuck her, or she fucks me, we build on all those earlier fucks, just as each thrust of the dildo or my cock adds to the previous thrusts. Fucking is a lot like certain kinds of physical labor, in which relatively simple motions are repeated again and again, and yet each stroke, or swing, or blow carries the work forward: the nail drives into the wood, the saw bites deeper, freshly-cut stalks fall to the scythe. Actors in porn never convey this to me - they look as if they are working for my pleasure, as the watcher, rather than their own; they look as if the goal towards which they are aiming is external, as it is. Hidden camera porn attempts to remedy this fault, but not much of that stuff is believable, and the stuff that is believable is crap.

Rougher? Yes, sex with D, and F too, has been getting a bit rougher. In a comment on this blog not long ago, Nicolette suggested (well, she declared rather than suggested) that I have a lot of anger towards women. Perhaps I do. I am having fun with the rough stuff - hair-pulling, spanking, pinning-down, aggressive penetration. Both D and F have said how much they like it, but that would not be enough to make me comfortable with it. What enables me to indulge is my increasing willingness to get as good as I give: I get to pound D's ass as hard and as long as I can, and in exchange she gets to give me everything she can in the same way. So if anger towards women drives me, I must be angry also at myself. And perhaps I am.

Simultaneous orgasm is becoming more frequent with D, as she becomes more and more orgasmic. Coming together is hardly unlikely when one person is coming much of the time and the other only occasionally. Yesterday, at the end of the session, we had our most perfectly synchronized joint orgasm, at the climax of a frantic fuck with me on top. We both knew we were going to come together, we worked jointly to that end, and there was a moment of precise ecstasy in which my cock lodged perfectly into her cunt and my spurts of seed inside her were accompanied by spasms in the walls of her cunt, and our pubic bones seemed fused together. I don't think it was the best orgasm of my life, or even of recent times - that accolade might have to go to the best blowjob orgasm I have ever had, with A, sometime last year - but it was certainly the best fuck-finishing orgasm I have ever had.

Sex with C, too, is better. But though the rising tide lifts all boats, relative differences do not decrease. A better analogy, then, is the red-shift of distant galaxies. The farther they are away, the faster they are receding. The universe expands, and all distances increase. Nothing is closer to anything else than before.

Red wings

I recently came across this post on CL:

Got your red wings? if so this an ad for you if not just skip - w4m (Lower East Side)

Reply to: pers-XXXXXXXXXX@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-10-13, 5:08PM EDT

ISO Submissive males who earned their wed wings (ever gave oral while chick on the rag?)

I am not sure if the 'w' in 'wed' is intentional or not; I like to think this woman has difficulty with her 'r's, or else is looking for men who do. I did not reply, as the Lower East Side is not my beat, and I am pretty sure this woman falls below my standard minimum age (the use of 'chick' suggests as much, and her AIM name ended in 1983). But if anyone has earned their red wings, I have.

'Red wings' has always seemed an odd expression: why wings? But the Hells Angels, who popularized the term, liked to award wings to themselves, perhaps in mockery of the Air Force, so I suppose we are stuck with it. And it does have the advantage of making the Detroit ice-hockey team the butt of many jokes.

One of the more frustrating aspects of adultery is that, because days pass between assignations, it is not unusual to miss out on the bloody flux entirely, sometimes for several months in a row. Recently, however, I seem to have been lucky: I had a very bloody session with D at the Seton a couple of weeks ago, and just today had a couple of hours with F that left us both daubed in blood, sweat, cunt-juice, and come. A good argument for running several mistresses, then, is that this increases the probability of hooking up with at least one when they are in full flow each month.

The Hells Angels were notoriously sexist way back when, and so going down on a woman during her period was probably more akin to hazing or an initiation ritual than a genuinely sexual act for them (according to Hunter S. Thompson, they gave out black wings for going down on a black woman, and brown wings for ass-fucking). But for me, eating out a woman during her period is a pure pleasure. Sex is about many things, but one is the complete acceptance of the body of the other, and the unreserved offer of one's own body to the other. There can't be days of the week or times of the month when some acts are proscribed; there cannot be some parts or products of the body that are spurned or spat out while the rest are adored. I have no particular urge to try watersports, but I appreciate the impulse behind it, if it is about acceptance rather than humiliation.

The first woman with whom (these 'whoms' are getting everywhere) I had sex during her period was MRR, the one true, deep, abiding passion of my life. Since then I have tried always to persuade women to let me fuck them, go down on them, finger them while menstruating, and it is remarkable how many of these women have never done anything like that before. D had not - and yet now she is especially excited if one of our meetings coincides with the height of her period. F has, I think, been much less squeamish and uncomfortable about her own body, her blood; she took no persuading at all. Of the women I have fucked in the past couple of years, M has perhaps been the best attuned to my way of thinking and feeling, and A the least. A regards her period as a nuisance, and seems to enjoy nothing about it at all. Interestingly, A is the only one of these women whose tubes are tied.

Does getting one's red wings, as a man anyway, indicate some special sensitivity, or nobility? I don't know. College Call girl thinks so:

I’ve never been huge into period sex, although I think dudes who are willing are usually super-cool guys. If you can act like a grown-ass man about the fact that we women bleed of our va-jay-jays once a month, you will make an excellent boyfriend or husband.

You can find the rest of her excellent post on period sex here: Just One of Them Days

Googling 'red wings' still turns up, once you are past the Detroit Red Wings (and adding 'period' as a search term is of little help here, I warn you) plenty of offensive material. Men are jerks. But it is not some major achievement, akin to sainthood, not to be a jerk. Going down on a woman whenever she would enjoy it, and whatever the time of the month: that is just good manners.

Toys in Babeland

D has fucked my ass with the strap-on numerous times. A has fucked me twice, F once. I bought the harness - the kind that is called a Texas two-strap, made of black leather with a rubber retaining ring - at Purple Passion on 20th St, along with the smaller silicone dildo, which is about six inches long and relatively thin. Though I liked being fucked with that, I wanted something a little bigger, so I bought an eight-inch dildo that was a lot thicker - as thick as my own cock, in fact. Though I have been thoroughly fucked with that larger dildo, I need to be stoned in order to eroticize the discomfort, and even when stoned I have sometimes had problems opening myself up enough to be fucked and enjoy it. D has had the eight-inch in her ass, too, and she feels the same way. The bigger dildo is either a little too long, or a little too thick, or both.

The solution? How about a third dildo, seven inches long, of intermediate thickness? Or do I need a thinner eight-inch, or a thicker six-inch? Well, the answer would be to have all of these, but high-quality dildos are expensive. I went to Babeland on Rivington St and after some back-and-forth and a couple of discussions with the extremely helpful staff there, I ended up buying a vibrating dildo ($60 but on sale for $48) that is about the same thickness as the six-inch, but longer. It has a nice cock-head shape, like the one pictured above.

I was somewhat sceptical about the vibrator, but I tried it in my ass in D's car this morning and it felt good, though not great. D gave me an expert handjob while I worked the dildo in my ass with my hand, trying to get as much from the vibration as I could, and that took me up to an intense orgasm and ejaculation. Then I took the dildo out of my ass, wiped it down, and stuck it in D's cunt, and then, once it was nice and wet, her ass. Going down on her, I helped her come, and she too judged the new toy a success.

While at Babeland, I also looked at the Divining Rod/Feeldoe, a double dildo. That, I think, will be the next toy to try - it would be delightful if D could fuck me while also bringing herself off, or at least getting some good deep stimulation inside her cunt and some good friction on her clit. I suspect that F would have a good time with a double dildo too - but at $115 for the small size, $135 for the large, it is quite an expense.

Really, there needs to be somewhere to try these toys out before buying them. Some people would be squeamish about the hygiene question, but I would trust Babeland to do the necessary boiling between trials. A lot of the worry about cleanliness in anal play is exaggerated anyway - I would happily borrow other people's sex-toys and use them after a quick soap and rinse. Anyone have a Feeldoe they could lend me for a week or so?

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.