last night

“I like your plump cunt, and I’m going to put my cock in it. How do you feel about that?”

“Amenable!”

grad school

Some things about grad school are disturbing, and they have to do with the teachers, I think. I was just searching for some poems by them online, found a couple I didn't really care for. I loved having three years with relative freedom and ease. Three years to just write and be happy. I made good friends and found my husband there. But I never had the connection with my teachers that I wanted. I think it's a big error to have two men in the poetry department. I think it was overly-masculine there. Of course, with only two, who's to say a lone woman would be good--I mean, maybe there'd be bad luck, and I wouldn't get along with the woman either. But I always like to love and be loved by a good teacher, and it didn't happen, and I was terribly shy, but it always happened every other place I went, didn't it?

I did have a small crush on the superior, but he yelled at me in his office early on, which spooked me, and when I did try to reach out to him again, someone else was there, his primary fan, and it didn't work out. We did have moments of intimacy--I remember putting my arm around his waist one day, and he put his arm around mine. Or when he touched my arm to get me to repeat what I'd just said, louder. Or when I took him outside and asked him what type of tree it was growing by the building. Oh, I did love him, but it was all over in the blink of an eye.

The inferior one was quite mean, sometimes, and I didn't really respect him, and he liked the poems I wrote as a child more than the poems I'd written recently, and he can go to hell, really. And said such mean things on my thesis. I think he had something against me, and I don't understand it, but I don't care to. I haven't spoken a word with him since leaving. I remember the day he was supposed to take me out to lunch, and I didn't let him pay. Even when he said it was supposed to be paid for my the department. Maybe we had some kind of misunderstanding between us.

But I remember one day in workshop he didn't like what everyone else was saying about a poem I loved, so he called on me, hoping I would agree with his minority opinion, but I loved the poem we were reading, and I think he was very wrong much of the time, and that just isn't good when you have such a big impact on someone's writing, and bad advice, what if it ruined someone's career. I thought much of the time that he was incorrect. Maybe he could sense that.

What does all of this have to do with sex, you could ask, but all of grad school had to do with sex, of me and my husband falling in love, of what's forbidden and unallowed which happens anyway, or what's spoken and what's unspoken about the past and present. And two boys being the boss, and gender trouble. Moving along.

Yesterday the new sex toys came in the mail. The blue vibrator is very nice and works well! I could pretend it was my dear, with effort. The other one is strange--maybe I'll post a picture some other day--and either it doesn't work with my particular anatomy or I just don't get it yet.

We fucked madly on the bed, with him behind me, as we are wont to do, and it went on and on, until it feels like a delusion or ecstatic dream full of expansiveness and light. Until he couldn't hold it any longer and came inside me in a set of jagged, moaning thrusts which comprise the moment I live for, or one of the two moments I live for, the other being my own.

imperative

When he got home from work, we had dinner and took a shower. I sat on the edge of the bed, and he stood near with his clean, beautiful cock in my face. I went down on him.

I read recently about the base having a lot of sensitivity, so I was seeing how he reacted to all my stimulation of the base, and he did. I gently bit there, pushed tight around, and rubbed my lips there a little more than usual as I worked my mouth up and down him. I listened closely to his small sounds and went down on him for a long time, gagged a little when he was at his biggest, with little tears in the corners of my eyes. I ran my hands along his butt and gorgeous thick thighs and made my own sounds when I got very aroused from his.

Then we went to bed, and he looked at me with so much admitation and love for what I had done to him, keeping him on the edge of coming for so long. We lay there masturbating, and then he told me to get on all fours, when he mounted and fucked me from behind, which is what I had wanted and requested. He did it just the way I like, and I pushed back. He said, "Take it! Take it!" again, which is my new favorite imperative sentence.

I was wimpering and murmuring, very happy in the best way, but somehow my legs were collapsing, something was taxing me--something about our positioning wasn't quite right, and eventually my legs wore out, and I told him to come, which he did with sound and grace.

Then he held me, pushed on my g-spot, and sucked on my left breast while I masturbated and came gloriously. It was heaven for an hour. And it's the heaven I need. Then he went to the zendo to sit and hear a talk by someone he likes. It was a quiet night.

intensity

Yesterday we went to a kirtan concert of Hindu devotional music, and it was my first. I loved it. I'm a shy person who avoids crowds, so a concert is a rarity for me. But I love this particular artist, so we bought tickets and took the drive.

It reminded me of sex the way the songs would build up in intensity. It was ecstatic. It made me feel vulnerable sometimes, like is this okay to be feeling in public? And it was all so wonderful, the feeling of losing myself, and very high, like drugs but with more clarity. Blinded and blindsided by pleasure, yet alert and very present.

This feeling of building intensity, when you want more and more, is so like sex, yet many things in nature are like this--childbirth, floods, even the moon's cycles? Menstruation? An argument, a story.

consent

Yesterday he was behind me. He kept saying, "Take it! Take it!" I kept consenting.

I like something rough and surprising that makes me gasp, but I most enjoy slow and sustained. That's what puts me in a trace.

Today he was reminiscing about the time a month or two ago when he had a horrible headache, the kind that shoul be capitalized Bad Headache, which means he gets nauseated and can't move at all. I remembered something I'd read in Angry Women about two friends who were on a trip together, and one started having an asthma attack and was almost dying in the hotel room, so the teller of the tale gave him some mind-blowing oral sex, and it did the trick of helping the guy enough so he didn't die (he had some problem with modern medicine such that he wouldn't just go to the hospital).

That story has always stuck with me because I really think sex is like that, self-altering, with the power to save lives.

Anyway, he was telling me how the headache had given him an intense consciousness of his body, and then when I started attending to his package, the intense consciousness shifted, and he felt so watched over and loved, that it was some of the sweetest sex he had ever known.

And we were reminiscing about back when we lived in our last previous town and we would go to bed to sleep, he would curl up on my back, with his dick against my butt, and sometimes he would get hard and think about sticking it inside me and us sleeping that way, or dozing all night that way, and I said, "Let's go back in our time machine and do that!" because those were sad and over-medicated years when I had such difficulty getting interested. And now have interest to spare.

Oh, if we only had a time machine, all the things we'd do differently! But time is a one-way street, and fixing the past is what dreaming is for.

heartbeat

This morning I went to a porn site where you watch people masturbate and see only their faces. There's a free sample, and well as an overview-teaser with some hot snippets overlaid with distracting narrations. Anyway, I had never seen such a thing and found it highly arousing. Nothing flashy, very focused just on the face and sounds. Almost minimalist.

The sample was a young latina who reminded me of me. It was fascinating to watch and hear her wank. It was extremely difficult to keep from doing the same. So it was a test of my fidelity, according to the rules of my marriage, and I passed.

What incredible suspense--when will she come? What will it sound like when she cries out? What motions will her body make as she comes? What expressions will cross her face? How will she feel, and will I be able to tell? It seemed very honest, which always appeals to me.

The thing I was most surprised learning was that I masturbate much slower than everyone else. The people I saw masturbated as fast as a hummingbird's heartbeat. I'll tell my husband all about it tonight. I slow to almost a standstill when I'm coming.

Yesterday afternoon we had an argument then had sex. He went down on me for--it's hard to judge time in bed, isn't it. A good while. It's difficult not to feel selfish accepting, and I imagine it's going to take a lot of practice for me to feel comfortable just lying back. I didn't quite come.

Then he fucked my mouth, and it's lovely--his penis is just perfect, to barely gag me when he's pushed in as far as he wants to, the perfect generous-yet-managable length, and a perfect, generous width. And a beautiful shape with a nice head, totally symetrical, as well as the tempting way it sticks up when he's hard. Gorgeous colors, nicely veined, strong-looking and strong, yet vulnerable-looking too, and vulnerable. Velvety, with so much personality. Very much his, him, part and parcel of this beautiful man.

I drank his semen as he spurted it into my throat.

Then he held me while I masturbated, and that was very nice, and at night right before bed, about midnight, we did something similar, but this time he came on my tits. I was masturbating while he jerked off, and we came at the same time, me just a couple seconds ahead, which was kinda romantic.

He's so sleepy today, though. He called me from work and sounded barely conscious. So sleep is in order for the weekend.

enactment and late

Yesterday afternoon we enacted one of my earliest sexual fantasies. I think it's a pretty common one, which I had from the age of 9 or 10, of being sort-of-raped by an experienced older man in a special hut at the edge of the village--does this ring a bell?

He blindfolded me, and I reverted to a pretend young girl version of myself, while he pretended to instruct, use, and darkly dominate me--it was highly erotic, and involved lots of words on his part and lots of high, screamy whimpers on mine--highly erotic to say the least, other-worldly, so unusual that it's almost like it never happened. But I want it to happen again and again.

That was the afternoon, and I feel I've reached a milestone in honesty and being vulnerable to him, with the more dark and early secrets of my psyche.

We almost never have sex at night, and we almost never have sex in the dark. I like a long afternoon in bed, or something in the morning, when I feel fresh and energetic.

But last night at about 11:30, he was tired, and I wasn't. We talked and got ready for bed, lying there in the dark, and spooning together on our sides--I was on his back. I reached around for his balls and caressed them, jiggled them, and held them kindly in my hand. I love them. Then I touched his cock and pretended it was mine, saying really silly things as if I were a boy and playing with myself. We giggled.

Then I flipped him on his back and kissed his balls, licked his balls, and went down on him. I licked the head, I licked the underside in the line, I sucked, I gently bit, I went slow, then fast, gentle, then rough. I don't know where all that energy came from, but it was so nice, in the dark, and I just had my way with him. I want to be a Goddess of Good Head, and my motto is practice, practice, practice!

Until finally I found the speed and pressure that was what he wanted best that particular moment, and fucked him hard with my mouth, and made him moan. His semen tasted good this time (last time, it was bitter). And I stayed with him as he came, with all my devotion and love.

Then I kissed him with semen on my mouth, we washed up, and I masturbated, and came in his arms. We cuddled and laughed. Finally I was tired--we were up until about 2, which was selfish of me, but if I'm going to interfere with his sleep, that's the most welcome way. And it turns out he doesn't have to go to work today anyway, so why not.

spring

He had the day off work, and I read some more My Secret Garden. I felt so healthy and clean. The window was open again, and room was filled with fresh air and sunlight.

I wasn't wearing any clothes and asked him to come to bed. He unplugged the phone, which I always like, to feel nothing in the world can intrude, and we can go into a private world for as long as we want to.

He took off his clothes, and I looked at him. He looked so wonderful and whole. We sat facing eachother on the bed, and I touched his cock, and I went down on him, which was lovely. He tasted clean and good. Then we did it, with him on top of me, and it was like a dream. I held his lower back. Sometimes I closed my eyes. Sometimes I opened my eyes to see the look of animal attention on his face, which I love.

Then I danced for him, and he jerked off. I liked to see his beautiful cock, big and red in his hand. I turned this way and that, in poses that felt flirtatious, draped my hair over my breasts, and shaked my butt at him. He made sounds to let me know what he liked best. I went on the bed so he could see better. (Poor thing's nearsighted and wasn't wearing his glasses!)

And then he went behind me, and we went at it for a long time, which was lovely, and he held my hips for dear life and squeezed my butt. Finally he came.

And then he held me and pushed my g-spot while I masturbated and came in his arms. It was all a long time, and then we held eachother and talked quietly and dozed. He petted my hair, and we listened to birds outside. Happy.

what my husband likes

"I have a crush on our mechanic," I said.

My husband smiled. "He's really nice," he said.

I giggled.

"He has a really intense gaze," he said. "It seems like he notices everything."

"Yeah," I said.

"I think he really knows what he's doing," he said.

"Do you have a crush on him too?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

***

We waited in line to pay, and a TV was on in the waiting area, playing Mr Rogers. We admired Mr Rogers. "Is that picture-picture?" my husband asked. But I didn't know what he was talking about.

"I wish Mr Rogers was my dad," I said. Which feels rude to say, but it's true.

"He's so nice," my husband said.

my mechanic

I have a crush on my mechanic. This shouldn't surprise anyone, since my dad was a mechanic when I was a little girl. I like his intent gaze, no-nonsense manner, and the braid running down his back.

Not that I want to go to bed with my mechanic--just an excited feeling I notice, and I feel a little formal about him, extra-polite.

I tend to get crushes on authority figures: teachers in particular, an odd boss. Being intimidated makes me pay attention. This doesn't sound too healthy. But it's best we know it and can be aware....

Thinking about BDSM some more, I guess this would mean I'm submissive? Maybe getting submissive crushes wouldn't necessarily mean being submissive in bed.

Husband's the same way, crushes on teachers.

religion

I was lying on my back, my head at the edge of the bed, and he was standing over me, masturbating, and I had the most wonderful view from below. I finished him off, and he came on my face, which startled me a little, but it was wonderful to see if from a new perspective.

Then he pushed my g-spot and touched my left nipple while I rubbed my clitoris, and it was lovely. A sound I wasn't expecting from my mouth when I came.

Then we took a shower, ate really fast, and went to vespers.

The religion I do is so anti-sex, yet I'm so pro-sex, which is one of the reasons I don't know if I can stay with my religion for long. It's Vedanta, and my personal idea of god, Holy Mother Sarada Devi, gave her life in selfless service to Sri Ramakrishna, who was her husband, but they never did it.

Vedanta wants everyone to sublimate their sexual desires into religious impulses, but I don't. And I know it would be quite looked down upon if my Swami knew my whole-hearted devotion to bodily pleasures, though I do see sex as religious, as for me, there's no easier or more thorough way to get close to god than through coming.

Well, I said Holy Mother's my personal idea of god, but equally so, my personal idea of god is my husband. And why not fuck god daily.

what Saturday is like

Yesterday was Saturday, and we had sex in the afternoon. We started in the bath and went to bed. He was behind me, and I felt so alive. He kissed my whole body and rubbed himself on my butt, which I like, and it was just heaven to feel thoroughly inhabited by him. When the penetration is so deep, and afterward I feel the most wonderful used feeling, used in the best way, that my cunt has served its pupose beautifully.

And we did it again right before we went to sleep, my idea, and he did take a little convincing. I told him the story from Toast about the boy going out to lookout point to watch people having sex in their cars. He was on top of me, and it was lovely. I told him to do whatever he wanted to make his cock feel good. I wanted to be turned on by seeing him selfish, and it was wonderful, though I'm not sure he was entirely selfish. I'll try harder next time.

But it is starting to run together occassionally. Before, when I was over-medicated and we did it once a week, I would remember the same scene for a week, but now it's hard to keep track.

I pity the poor downstairs neighbors. Last night it was a bit late, and I'm afraid they hate us. I really wish to have a house one day again.

his balls

I have loved his balls since first sight. They're so big and plump. I love when they're loose and soft. I rub my face on them and kiss them. They have a smell that's so earthy and makes me feel at home.

Yesterday after work, we relaxed in bed, talking about the day, and then I couldn't ignore his balls any longer. I kissed them and rubbed my face on them, taking deep smells of them, and they contracted, so I kissed his penis, the underside, and bit the base very gently. "Does it scare you when I bite?" I asked. He said no, he likes it. "What if I want to scare you?" I asked, and we laughed.

Then I rubbed him with my hand, and then I put him in my mouth, and I went down on him for a long time. When I got a little tired, I would use my hand for a while and then go back to using my mouth. I love to feel the changes in how hard he is and the changes in this breath and little sounds. I love when he says, "I might come" because then I feel excited. My cunt is responding to everything he does. And I love even more when he says, "I'm going to come," because I feel the most excited then.

His semen was bitter, and he told me, "That was transformative." I washed up, and then it was my turn.

Kitty was on a corner of the bed the whole time. The window was open, and wind blew into the room.

polite

Last night in bed, I found myself saying over and over again, "Yes, please."

this morning

This morning we were up early, and he decided to do some work.

I stayed in bed, listening to a Wah! CD and reading My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday, which I think is just wonderful, and I don't know why it's taken me so long to find it. If you haven't read it, I really suggest you do. It's so insightful and brave. It made me see how much I have to learn about sexuality.

In some ways, I'm very progressive, and in some ways, I'm so repressed. I've noticed the same thing in other people. I've had sex in strange public places, had multiple close relationships at once, was on the pill a bit earlier than most, lived as an "out" bisexual for years.... Yet there are huge blanks in my sexual knowledge and experience, and I'm trying to joyfully fill in the blanks, which this blog is partially to document, and you can see such relatively tame things I'm new to.

Yesterday I saw some bisexual porn, two men with one woman, and a picture of the man in the middle, being entered from behind by a man while entering a woman. "That guy's having quite time!" I said, telling my husband about all this. He doesn't mind me looking at porn as long as I don't masturbate--he wants me to bring the energy to him. That's fine with me. I'm very willing and just glad he allows me the pleasure of this research at all.

About 15 minutes before he had to leave for work, he joined me in bed and requested I touch his cock. I was happy to oblige, especially considering what I'd just been reading, and it felt so velvety soft, and got quite hard in my hand. He touched my breast, and we spoke quietly. There was no time for sex. But we threw caution to the wind. And he masturbated on my chest--I finished him off. And it was beautiful, something very nice to do, even though he had to leave for work right away.

Then I had the pleasure of masturbating alone for the first time since we got together, and I liked it very much, though it was different--how interesting, to do that alone, and have no one holding me, no one to worry about but myself. It's really wonderful, though it also felt less religious--finished was just finished, and I moved on very quickly, recovered within minutes, when usually, the glow would linger on.

actually

I did ask for advice about what to call an anus. And I'm still up for help with that.

Anus is clinical, butthole is childish, asshole is just a name for someone mean, rosebud is unforgivable!!! Backdoor is too funny....

what I'm doing

I started this blog to have a place to write about private matters, and I didn't really have a goal or agenda other than to write honestly. Tonight I got my first comment, and a negative one at that, which made me feel like scrapping the whole thing.

There's little I hate more than being misunderstood, and misunderstandings are so easy, when things are seen out of context. Even if a person read every single one of my posts, their view of my marriage would still be strange and very incomplete.

So I know it shouldn't hurt me, but it does, and it reminds me of when I wrote editorials for the newspaper at college. I did it for maybe a year before I got my first nasty letter to the editor, which insulted my grandma for not learning English easily in school. The insult cut me to the heart, and that was the last editorial I ever wrote for the college newspaper.

I'm very thin-skinned, which is a weakness, and I'd love to become tough. But I'm not tough yet.

So I've set the comments to "moderated," and we'll see if I can stay brave enough to keep speaking.

I was never out to portray myself in a positive light, to show myself as super-girl or super-wife. And I never asked for advice. Though maybe having commenting available at all implies that, or some people will infer that, even if it's not implied.

At any rate, this a sex blog, but it's also a marriage blog, and it's not really one-handed reading, or usually isn't. Not so good to jerk off to, at least not at the moment. Please be gentle with me.

talks

Yesterday we took a bath together and then went to bed, where he touched me for a long time. It's been six years, and you'd think he'd know my privates well, but sometimes life feels rushed, or I feel impatient, or for whatever reason. We still have a lot to learn about one another. It felt really good to just relax while he did whatever we wanted.

Then we put on a condom and we did it, him on top of me, and I was just short of shocked at the intimacy of facing him as he entered me. It'd been weeks, since we'd used that position, and I loved it. He's very beautiful.

Lately I've given him so much to adjust to, and yesterday when we took a walk, he wanted reassurance that I value the security of our marriage more than I would value the freedom of no marriage. I feel sorry for him when he worries like that.

Then I was shopping for sex toys online last night, and he got embarassed. I can't blame him because it was pretty embarassing for me the first time too! Anyway, I didn't order anything because the shipping charge is so high. I'll either find a place with cheaper shipping, or get up the courage to go to the place down the street.

But the trouble is, going alone I would feel so strange, but going with him I would feel strange too--ideally, I would go with a woman-friend, but I don't have any women-friends in town who I would go to a sex shop with. We'll see.

closer

 

my breasts: childhood

My breasts developed early, and I didn't want to grow up. I saw no benefit. So it was difficult to have these obvious signs on my chest, and I didn't like how it felt to be looked at by boys and men. I developed some bad posture in an attempt to minimize their viewability.

My mom and I fought horribly about wearing a bra. She wanted me to way before I wanted to. I think she wanted to conatin and protect my chichis, but I wanted to deny their existence, and a bra would be undeniable.

I remember the first time I wore a bra. I was humiliated. She had me wearing a tight yellow teeshirt. The family was going fishing. The bra was scratchy, tight, and left like torture. I was conscious of it every moment because I was so uncomfortable physically and emotionally.

My body wasn't mine. My mom owned me. I cried bitterly. It ruined my day--it ruined my week. I remember we compromised fifth or sixth grade. I wore undershirts instead of a bra, which she saw as a half-way solution.

I don't think I was embarassed or ashamed of my breasts, exactly, but more that I wanted to keep them private, which isn't possible. I've always been slow to get used to changes. And I think I needed some time alone with my breasts before presenting them to the world, which cannot be. And my mom's Catholic upbringing meant my ideas about sex were all bad.

feet

The highlight of yesterday's closeness was when he made love with my feet in the bathtub. We had done this before just briefly. But this time he came, and I had such a lovely view of it. And my feet felt so good! This is the best way to get a foot massage that I know of. Later I said, "I'll never look at my feet the same way again." I find myself caressing their arches more lovingly.

Also yesterday he fucked me from behind on the bed, and it was a really high level of pleasure that stayed steady for a really long time, until I sort of felt like I was in a trace--very otherworldly, in the best way. I found myself repeating certain phrases chant-like. So yes, even more religious than usual.

But it's requiring more effort to come, and we might take today off, though I can't imagine how I'll get through the day without him in my mouth.

in the market

Yesterday he was in a bad mood from work. He just wanted to lie on the floor. But I had an idea of how to get the unhappy chemicals out and happy chemicals in. So we went to bed. He jerked off on my breasts and rubbed the semen into my nipples with I masturbated, and it was so nice, and nice to comfort him. He really felt better.

I have two vibrators, both bought from Early to Bed less than a year ago, my first. One's the big famous Hitachi, which I didn't realize was so big when I bought it. It's never really been used sexually--more just to massage sore shoulders. The other's a small Pocket Rocket that works well for stimulating my clitoris, but it got a little crack in it, which maybe is unhygenic. I'm in the market for a new vibrator.

word

And I don't have a good word for anus yet. Feel free to suggest.

accident

We have a hard time waiting until dinner's done. Last night we started, stopped, started, stopped, started. All day I'd been researching sex blog sites and read a really interesting account of men remembering their first times coming, mostly through masterbation, and how they felt. It was both moving and stimulating. So I asked him about his first time--he already knew mine was when I was 10 or 11 and pushing myself against a stuffed animal. His first time was in the bathtub, and he was about 13.

I liked to hear the story. He was upset about a difficulty I'm having with a friend, but I wanted to get into his pants. He finally relented with a smile and "There's only one possible answer to that question."

I went down on him in the living room and pushed his cock between my tits. Then in the kitchen, he sat on the counter by the sink, and I did more of the same. I was so excited, and he's so beautiful. The way he was sitting on the counter made his penis point straight up, which I liked so much, and I wanted him to come in my mouth, but in a way I'm glad he didn't.

We ate dinner in a hurry, then he masterbated and fucked me hard from behind, which I'd been wanting for days. It was heavenly. But somehow the condom slipped off toward the end. I thought it might have, because it suddenly hurt. So it was wonderful, but it's never good to get some semen where you don't want it. We went into the shower and washed immediately. I have a plan B pack, but I'm not going to take it because I started my period a couple days ago, and I don't think I have fertility right now anyway, which is a long story about hormones that I'll spare you.

We went back to the living room floor, and I masterbated and came, which was very nice, as he told me how I'd like to fuck me next time. He's so sweet to me, and so lovingly flexible with giving me what I want and satisfying me.

I don't know why we have so much trouble with condoms, but the position we like from behind provides good access, and maybe when he's about to come he should hold on to the condom to be sure it doesn't slip. I think his penis might have more variability than most, and it might get a little smaller right before he comes, which loosens the condom's grip on him. Maybe we should get some custom ones that fit more snug, or maybe I should just give up and go on the pill. But I hate hormones. We'll see.

One or the other of us getting fixed is an idea too, because as time passes I get more and more sure that I don't want kids (it's from 95% up to 99.8% now), but the finality of getting fixed scares him, so we need to wait until he's more comfortable. Of course he doesn't want anybody with a knife anywhere near his package. And I think for a woman it's real surgury. I hate birth control. Mother nature's a bitch.

BDSM

Researching sex blogs, most I see are BDSM, and I'm wondering why. Is it that conscious sexuality naturally progresses to a BDSM extreme? Is it that BDSM people are just more likely to want to blog about sex, or have more to say, since there's more variation? I'm wondering. And since I'm not BDSM, I'm wondering how I fit in.

Depending on how you define it, I've never done anything "kinky." In fact, my negative sexual memories (the ones of pressure, coersion, and downright molestation) involve the more kinky activities. So there's a natural aversion there.

I'm 29 years old and have plenty of life in me to try everything that crosses my mind. And my husband is happy that I have a sex drive and a healthy desire to learn. Maybe we'll head in that direction. We've talked about anal sex and feel curious about it. All in good time?

But BDSM I associate with some things that scare me emotionally, like polyamory and other breaches of safe, commonplace boundries. So it's a difficult idea. Like anything else, I think I would proceed cautiously and just see, and be ecclectic.

bath

When he came home from work, I had a light dinner ready. We ate and took a shower. We rubbed eachother with our soapy hands.

Then we filled the tub for a bath. He rubbed lavender-scented oil into my breasts and hair. Then he jerked off onto my face. I kept my eyes closed because I didn't want him to come into my eyes. I was embarassed and didn't know if I should smile (like I wanted to) or if I was supposed to look serious.

Next we went to bed so I could masterbate. He put two fingers inside me slowly from behind while I rubbed my clitoris with a small vibrator. Coming was lovely. I had to make an effort to be quiet. I wish I knew better what the downstairs neighbors' schedule is so I could know when they're home.

Then he brushed my hair. He's only done it a few times, so he's still learning. But it makes me happy. I thought how since I can't have a girlfriend, he has to be my boyfriend and girlfriend at the same time.

I massaged the hurt spot on his left shoulder with Olbas oil. Then we rubbed eachother's feet with lotion. And dressed in clean, warm clothes and went for a dusk walk in the rain-wet streets. And came home for sandwiches.

I said, "This seems to be indulgence day." He said it's because the taxes are done. Last night we had an argument. It feels good to be close again today.

words

You could think I'm rediculous that words are so important to me. I use them like charms. Or a amulet, something to ward off evil. To me, words are real and have undeniable weight. More real that most other things.

So some words are okay to say any time, and some are only good in the middle of sex, and I don't think a person could blame me, when meanings change depending on context.

Something shouted across a parking lot could be violent, and something whispered in my ear could be safe. Something crossing a person's mind. Don't blame me for keeping them powerful and alive.

heterosexual

Yesterday he came on my breasts and then rubbed his semen into my nipples while I masterbated. That's one of the best uses that I know.

Today we took a shower together and washed one another. Then in the living room he fucked me from behind, and it was lovely. I like it better on the floor. I hug my black zafu and brace myself, trying to keep quiet--apartments are horrible. I think as that's the new favored position, my muscles will get strong so we can go for longer stretches of time. Afterwards I masturbated in bed.

Lately I've had a hard time keeping him out of my mouth--I'm orally fixated. I never enjoyed it much before--it was more like a chore. But times have changed because now there's nothing more arousing.

I feel so heterosexual. In service. We trimmed his hair the other day, and it's all so beautiful-looking. And smells so nice.

frequency

For a long time, enough was once a week. Even then, I had to make an effort, sometimes. I was over-medicated.

Now enough is twice a day. My hands usually smell like it.

For a long time, he wasn't allowed to come when he was behind me. I wanted us to be facing one another. Now, I encourage him to come when he's behind me.

I always need some amount of clit stimulation to come, but I remember one time, when we were on vacation near Yosemite, that I came when he was behind me, and it was a shock, because I didn't think it was possible.

This is really difficult to talk about, though I want to talk about it.

face

He was coming on my breasts and accidentally got some on my face. He was so concerned that my feelings would be hurt, that I would feel degraded. I didn't mind in the least and was so touched at his worry. He tenderly wiped my cheek. He could come on my face any time.