first priorities

When I get home from work, I first want to fuck you hard and fill you back up with my seed. No clothes in the way, just open you up and push my way in deep. Steadily thrust in you til we are raw and loose. I will feel you squeeze me tight and hold me, stroke me from the inside out. I'll fill you in every way so you are hot and oozing. Then when we are out later I will be thinking of who you are for me and how you'll still be holding my come in you.

test post

You mentioned that one of your friends had recently lost a partner- he had transferred his affections and interest to one of her close friends. 

Later you wondered to me if overall your friends were as skilled in fellatio as you are, and if you could help to train them on techniques that would improve their recipient's pleasure.  I suggested you offer a course :-) And you'd need a 'lab assistant' to help with the technical demonstrations... 

The typical horny guy natural extrapolation of that thought would be to the porno fantasy of being the course final exam, having a harem of girls swarming on one cock.But that wasn't in my dreams that night.I don't actually feel a lust for that kind of contact without engagement in my life. I have so much that I want to experience with you, just with you, building on the trust and communication that I've slowly built out to you. I want to experience real life and love through the intimate channel we share.

And know of course I am still interested, from a theoretical perspective, in thinking about a broad range of 'mechanics of possibilities'. On some lonely night my mind wanders between random thoughts swelling up from below...A train is leaving Philadelphia...In a compartment, a rendevous...Might two women, acting simultaneously on one man...are there sensations which just one partner cannot provide...who knows? It is just a thought, and I am happy enough to leave a question unanswered - an experiment I don't want to perform because to me there is no carnal knowledge worth the risk of a damaged emotional connection. Love and sex are not as separate as science and religion, the boundaries of investigation set by my faith in you remain intact.

real all the time

Are you real to me?  Of course you are.  I could describe you, feel you, experience you. 

And to me, you are more than real.  I sense you everywhere, as a part of my mind.  When we are apart and I am feeling good, every pretty girl I happen to see is a shadow of you.   They are people too, certainly, but in my mind they are also signs that remind me of you, that keep you front in my thoughts and imagination.  Oh, if only that were you...

There is only one brief time when you are not fully real.  When you open yourself up to me and invite me in, I am so overwhelmed by joy and sensation that I lose all sense of reality.  For a moment, I am lost, as the feelings that are triggered wash over me.  It only lasts a second, for then I can feel you surround me, I can watch your beautiful face as you respond to my motions, and we're holding each other in our arms, and that brings you back to the core of my reality - it is you, my wife, who is graciously sharing with me my greatest feelings.

Nymphs and Satyr

If I'm the hairy goat satyr, then you're the girl apprenticed to the forest nymphs.  And your first night out and alone they initiate you by leaving you tied up to a tree for me to find and ravish.  And yes, ravishing ensues.  But it might start gentle. to loosen you up so you can slip your bonds, and remove your blindfold.  Then we can find a way to ratchet our moves up in intensity, and you draw out the underlying person in me.  And we are relaxing, with you lying on your back and twirling your panties overhead. Then you bring a bunch of your redheaded, big-bottomed nymph friends over for the next round, ... 

Because deep down, a horny goat guy would definitely want a troop of curvy women intertwined in a big love tangle...he would want to eat out his favorite curvy woman while another was sucking his cock, another stroking his balls and thighs, and his hands could be out exploring some soft hairy beds or tight passages to be explored further.

It's important that everyone would be having a good time.  There would be more women to fondle the favorite, keeping her well stimulated all over.   No one is left out or unsatisfied in any way - if there is a breast, it should be rubbed, if there is a clit, it should be sucked, until it's brought to its limit of sensation.   And through all this the Satyr's dick should be warmly and tightly embraced - there'll be enough come for all, to make everyone full and slippery in all their openings.

small motions

Tonight what I want to make me come
is the small motions inside of you..

I take you from behind, and hold you tight
around your hips. Once I am well planted
deep inside I do not need to thrust; I keep
myself rigid. 

I transfer all my forces to you through my hands.
Firm, purposeful movements as you push back
against me.

On each push I feel myself inside of you, and
you surrounding me.  I feel each fold as it grabs
me and holds me in.  It talks to me, tells me
that it is time to release.

I want to feel the small motions on me.  Every
way that I am in you.

Girl watching

What is it like to feel relaxed? The girls are prettier, for one.    To notice one after another, and see some aspect in each, something I like.  A curve in the right place, a well-turned ankle. The behind, of course. The back. The cheeks, locks,  Breasts, and on one her nipples so full and prominent.  Robust and full bodies, but don't worry too much about me for I don't want them. When my mind sees like this, I only see someone for a second and then I don't see them, as in my mind I see you. Vision is just a catalyst for the fantasy, and they're not in my fantasy.   I want you.  I want to have you there in front of me, being watched, knowing for certain what thoughts are going through my mind.  Because of what you can do to push me even further. Your skirt sliding up the side of your leg as its caught on some bag you're lifting. Noticing something on the ground you need to bend far over to reach.    Teasing, flirting.  Bringing your knees up and flashing me.  Things only you can do - a brush, a kiss, or a quick hand down the pants. 

Midsummer

Further north it's light out much later, of course, and the light itself is not just bright but bluer.  In Sweden, Midsummer's eve is the big party weekend.  Traditions of all the villagers spending the evening getting drunk, dancing around the maypole... to counter all the loneliness of the rest of the year.  I remember a painting, though, that evoked Midsummer by just a table set out on a house's patio, with two plates and the leftovers from dinner.  No people, just a suggestion - a couple has been eating, and then left.   They wouldn't have gone back inside, for their house was in a clearing and even with the curtains closed there would be just too much light inside.  Nor do I think they would have gone dancing, for if they were old enough to afford a house then perhaps after their children were asleep or (if older) had gone out with their friends, they would have wanted some time just to themselves. Perhaps they disappeared into the forest, where the trees would shade them from the odd half-light until morning. As from the time they would have been courting  (and courting couples were assumed to give in to their natural urges at midsummer) they would have been in the woods for many years now.  I wonder if they would seek out familiar areas to go back to each time. Or perhaps to always try someplace new, alternating who's blindfolded and who's leading.

1000 ships

There are girls, pretty girls, attractive girls, beautiful girls, and, rarest, stunningly beautiful girls.  Where the first glimpse stops me, and I am compelled to look more fully.  But I can't linger, it would be inappropriate (in this climate) to stare too long.

What draws me in are the curves.  Curves everywhere- cheeks, shoulders, breasts, back, hips, behind.  How a woman moves to emphasise her shape.  I'd want to explore with my eyes how her curves fit together to make the whole.  I don't need to do this consciously, some neuron in my brain which finds the pattern and sounds the alert.  It floods my senses, blinding me.  An inner conflict between the need to see again and the superego that warns to not get too close.  It's not a directly sexual feeling, but it is a proto-lust.  In a distant, more primitive time, I would stay close, I would fight for her against her other suitors.   

I do not expect any more than just this vision.  But once a strange thing happened, as she smiled back at me.  I was so out of practice that the message almost got lost.  Stunningly beautiful girl wouldn't be flirting with me, would she?

Now I can do more tha just see, I can hold the curves under my hands, trace their lines.  I have beheld, and with my cheek pressed closely to yours, sent out my fleet of ships to explore your recesses.  They have made curves raised across your belly.

I want to rest my hand on our back, and scrutinize your face, how your hair rises and falls.  To run the fingers of my other hand up to caress the rest of your curves.  To keep you full and content.  To see what happens next.  To make some proposals and watch you laugh, and then later, to watch you use your mouth and cheeks in the way you suggest. 

Coffee break

One of the benefits of a new home office will be when you show up for coffee breaks.  We'll need to arrange some sort of signal so that you know it's a safe time, that we won't be interrupted by any calls or messages.

Some of the pleasant times will just be to sit and chat, as two adults, to relax on a sofa together and just have a break from the rest of the chores.

But some days we will need a bit more.  Some days, when you walk in, you won't have a chance to sit down.  Immediately my mouth will be drawn to your face, my arms embrace you firmly.

What will we do?  Eventually I will be able to read you - to know if you want a soft embrace and to dance around the room, or just be slammed against the wall and we go at it like crazed weasels.  The latter image is certainly exciting, as I push your dress out of the way, unzip and you wrap your legs around me and hang on.

If we're building a new room with a brand new wall, we might want to include certain supports, ledges, footholds, in the construction.  Some people might have hooks, that we could attach something.  Or we could use a strap that  would wrap around me and go under your behind.  In the meantime, I will just use my hands to lift and hold you, to support your mighty buttocks, as I joyfully bounce you up against the wall to plant myself deep, and then start the intense pushes and grinds to cause you to feel me as I move it in and up, over and over.

86

Not much I remember, not much worth remembering.  Except, one image, forever burned into my mind, of a small clue of a mystery revealed, as if a tiny miracle had occurred for someone and I was tasked to be a witness to it.

Freshman PE. Mostly a lot of waiting, running, short activity, waiting.  They'd try to keep us segregated as much as possible, girls to one area, boys to another, to avoid us mixing too much.  Not that I knew how to mix.  Sometimes it wouldn't be possible due to scheduling constraints, so we'd all just be lined up on two sides of a corridor.  Once, we were all outside, in a grey overcast sky light drizzle, two sides of a dirty asphalt driveway between buildings, too far apart for even talking without shouting, which no one wanted to do.  A lot of waiting, and people would just slouch, sit down.  I remember sitting along the wall and happen to notice, along the far wall, a girl I'd never noticed before.  She sat down across from me, smiled, and then slowly drew her legs up to her chest, her knees right below her breasts, tugging on the back of her shoes out of boredom.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  No one else around or anyone walking past would think it strange or unusual.  But as she slid her feet out to the sides, the front of her PE skirt, draped over her knees lifted, so that I, just at my angle and elevation, could notice.  Framed by her dark socks, and the red top and bottom of her skirt, a glimpse of a narrow white stripe of panties, too narrow it seemed, as they were within the grasp of the dark red lips that engulfed it, and the maze of fine hairs that threatened to escape from all corners under it.  A show, mainly I think more for her than for me.  Possibly I didn't really see as much as I imagined.  Certainly I didn't understand it at the time, though she probably did; I just had a feeling. A few minutes later it was all over.  Nothing more ever happened.  

third time's a charm

In the third dream, it was night.  Quiet.  No laughing, no running.  You simply walked outside.  Your pace was steady, purposeful. 

I found you in a clearing, lit in the moonlight.  When you heard me approach, you turned and looked directly at me.  I froze, looking across the still grass at you as you stood, intent. 

Then, there were sounds.  Not talking, or any human sounds, but animals.  Deer rubbing their antlers against trees.  Doe goats calling for their mates in nearly fields.  Rhythmic sounds, music.  You started to dance.  You didn't dance with me, but for yourself. A slow, swaying dance. Your hips swinging wide and steady.  You turned around, leaning and stretching, gyrating your entire body.  Your breasts swayed in their supports from side to side, your behind waved its intent at me.  A dance calculated to arouse.    As you danced, you moved slowly in a wide circle towards me.  I knew not to move, but simply stood and followed you with my eyes and with my thoughts.    Deep, long-buried thoughts, surprising in their intensity, were rising up in me.

You came closer, and you folded your movements in closer to you.  Our eyes stayed locked on each other's.  Soon you were but inches away, but I knew better than to reach out to you just yet. I could simply smell you and it was enough.  Your hand reached down, and without taking your eyes off me for a second, unbuttoned and released my trobbing, pent-up member into the night air.  Had either of us been looking down, we would have seen a single drop glistening on its end. 

For what was to happen, you needed me fully hardened, and we both knew your best tool for this was your mouth.  You dropped down, and, continuing to peer at me intently, and with a look of intense concentration, drew your tongue slowly alone the line from my balls, right along the bottomside ridge of my erect cock, and then when you reached the end, brought your lips around and over the knob.  One hand removed my pants and roamed across my thighs, and the other worked in tandem with your tongue to squeeze and draw me out.  Had you kept this up too long, I would have come into your mouth, or perhaps pulled back and splashed your forehead, shoulders and down your breasts with my stickiness.  But I knew you did this for a reason and you wanted me inside you.

Now it was time for me to move.  Taking hold of you, I lifted you up, and we kissed.  Then I led you over to the nearest tree, which we had picked out the previous time we were out like this, just for this occurence.  Your arranged your grip on the branches, your feet planted firm in your boots to avoid slipping, your body exposed to me to take you.  I felt you, and you were damp, you were ready.   I entered you and as I started my motions, you said just one word: harder.   And harder was what I got, and how you get it. 

We fucked.   I'm not sure of the details, it was hazy.  Our bodies were blurred together.  I could feel motion but I could not tell if I was moving, or you were. Perhaps we both were.  I could feel the world through your skin. I could not see, but if I could, I would probably be seeing through your eyes as well as mine.   I heard sounds, but they were distant.  Only your breath, my breath, and the groan of the tree under our weight and forces registered.   No more words were needed, until much later, as the sky was turning from black to red, and we lay panting, my body wrapped around you, pressing you on the ground, grinding my member deep within you, tearing you from within, and all I can see or taste is your body glistening with our sweat, then you said, Yes.  You take the intense pounding from my hips pushing forward, splitting you apart as the head of my cock finds its way forward and explodes into you.   Wham, wham, wham, wham, wham.  I feel my cock blindingly pushing every organ out of its way, straining to bury itself.

You fall asleep, still impaled on me. Your insides must be boiling from all the hot fluids you've squeezed from me into your belly.  You twist yourself to be nestled along inside my arms, and a smile emerges on your lips as you rest your head in my beard.  It's been a good night.

Second with hands

My second thought was midday, of a fantasy you frequently mention.  You're running through the wilderness, but then something happens to trip you up, to slow you down just enough at a well-chosen spot, such that you're falling and I'm now there with you. 

In the fall, your dress gets caught on a convenient twig, your legs fly up and all is momentarily exposed within.  I'm there to catch you, to settle you down gently on the thick grass, to soothe you with kisses.  The kisses become more expert and more ranging, and you return the favor.  A few deft finger movements and our shirts are unbuttoned  - our bodies touch more freely.   A kiss on the top of your head, on your nose, on an earlobe, along the line of the neck, across your shoulder, down between those well-placed breasts, upon your belly button,...

Oh where did it hurt to land, let me kiss you there, I say, and we laugh,  you raise your feet and I kiss them gingerly, then slowly down along your ankles, through your stockings, bringing your dress up a little higher with each kiss and each leg a few inches apart.  Then onto each thigh, well above any line of stockings, a long slow kiss, a swoop of the tongue and slowly I approach, from one soft supple thigh to the other, until I reach the center, a line, and at top, a glistening jewel that has been awaiting my tongue and the pull of lips to bring it fully out and let you go.

At times like this I wish I had more hands, for my mouth is focused on a few square inches of the most necessary sensitive needs, my hands roam across and spread the touch to all your nerves.  I wish I had a hand for every nerve, to be able to bring my touch  to each finger, each toe, each ankle, each thigh, each breast, each ear, your mouth, nose, throat and clit all at the same time, with still a few fingers free for stroking you from inside as my tongue follows the line on the outside.

First of three

As I was slowly waking up this morning, I had the a long wandering fantasy.  We had been talking a few nights ago as being out in the wilderness together, so that concept was incorporated into a dream.  As sometimes happens when dreaming at the end of sleep, I would experience some the same scenes several times, but each time with different details, different sequences of events, for me to work through and play with the possibilities.

Each time, we found ourselves alone together in the far end of our yard.  

In the first wave, it was morning.  We were just finishing up breakfast and were taking a stroll together.  As it was already starting to be hot and humid, we left our clothes behind at the house. 

Our kisses were light, affectionate, playful.  You would giggle whenever I made you laugh or touched you.  And we both wanted a little intimate time together before it got too hot out.  So as I sat beside you, you turned and straddled me, and parting your lips with two fingers, lowered yourself onto me. We're both smiling like new lovers as you gently bounce on me and I caress one breast and tickle you with a finger on my other hand.  This is the good life, as we both refresh our physical desires for each other before returning to our day.

help save the redheads of america

Our kids look a little like me which I suppose is a good thing.  But I hope that when they grow up, fall in love, have children of their own, and those children grow up, fall in love, have children, that when those children grow up, and are living on the moons of Jupiter or deep under the seabed, at least one of them has your soft ginger hair, to drive everyone around them wild in just the way you do to me.

a little jealosy, to keep me interested

Sometimes when I've been drinking too much and I read your blog, I think, uh oh, she's fantasizing about those musicians again...  Can't have that :-)  Maybe my influence is running low...If I were there right now, you wouldn't have time for those fantasies - I'd take you in my arms and carry you straight off to a big firm bed. You'd be too busy with the sensations of me rubbing my body against yours, as I give you a stern tongue lashing (up and down your thighs all around your clit), followed by a hard, deep fucking, to stretch you out and to to fill you back up, so that all your secret places are completely taken up by my seed again. Soaked in my cum, you'd take on my smell, and you'd keep a part of me inside you, a hot packet to keep you constantly reminded every time you move of the goat-man in your life and what he can do for you. If that's not enough, then it's over the fence rail for you, a relentless pounding of your cunt and rubbing of your clit as I come, over and over, far inside of you.

Then I mellow out.  Don't worry, your fantasies are whatever you wish.  My thoughts wander to what we'd to when we're just quietly lying there together, relaxing, my fingers stroking you, twirling your soft, soaked pussy hair.   To later, another day, when we're out and about and you give me a little reminder of our sexy times together.   Pressing your body against mine so I can feel your curves through your clothes, and you feel my resulting bulge, you whisper how you still have some of me inside of you, keeping you warm from the inside out. 

your touch and what it can do

I'm glad we had those blocks, that now the high bed was a fun addition to our repretoire of locations that we can try - I like the sense of excitement I can feel from you. You jump on on the bed, spreading your legs wide for me, I can watch you rocking back and forth with every thrust, your breasts happily bouncing around, and with you in certain positions on the high bed, I got new feelings that I want to explore further.  Of course being gone for a month, we can't explore them right away.  Perhaps the part of my mind that comes up with fantasies knows this and avoids fantasizing about the bed too early - so these last few days my mind has been wandering to other thoughts, of the relationship between you and my body.  How my body is now yours to possess, the ways that you can stimulate me, and in particular how you will try to give me pleasure in those ways. 

Stimulation is new to my body and it takes some getting used to.  My sensitive areas have long ago worked how to be stimulated by my hand, during the years I was alone. They also know how take action when I'm in you in a traditional way.  But it is new for me and for these areas that are learning to receive stimulation in ways that are new to them, such as in your hands, and in your mouth.  The angles are new, it is exciting when I'm sitting in the driver's seat for one example, it takes a little while before the excitement of the experience translates to the raw physical excitement. I can imagine the blood rushing to the points which you touch, filling me out, causing me to throb against you.  I wonder what sort of feelings you get when you use your fingers - how it compares to my feelings when I brush my hands against your thighs.  And what do you feel when you use your mouth - is it anything like the sensations I get when I use my tongue to find the little nub and ridge, where with every motion of my tongue your body has a reaction?  I wonder what you are feeling, when you are sucking on my skin, or when your lips are planted firmly around my member, and you are looking up at me?   I see behind those eyes a need, a raw animal need you're expressing for my body, and that excites me along with any physical stimulation.  I can't take it for too long before I find I have to take over, take charge, get on top and start more intense motions.  Especially if you are stimulating me for foreplay, or for a second-time-around to rouse me from the post-coital rest.  Perhaps some time I should see how far I can let it continue, to surrender myself to your grasp and licks, without trying to shift into the missionary position.  In the past I avoided it due to your concern about oozings, but then I was very excited when you admitted that you wouldn't always mind my output getting on you.  There were definitely fantasies after that which would include you ending up hot, sticky and smiling, comfortable with our mutual needs for each other's bodies and the inevitable side effects of stimulation by a loving partner.  Next steps are obvious, though you say, we're not yet ready for me to come in your mouth, it gives a goal, something else fun to work toward, and try different alternatives to find things that are fun for both of us.  This is an exciting evolution for me, not just because of the new ways that it could give me pleasure, but of the thoughts of you wanting me to find new pleasures - and I hope to be able to help you to grow and discover new sensations throughout your body and mind as well.

Tonight I'm alone.  You fell asleep and I hope you are having some very pleasant dreams similar to the ones I will have.  Right now I will imagine your weight as if you are asleep and lying partially atop me.  And I will imagine your scent, stretching across you, the mix of our sweats from our imagined exertions, rising with the heat and moistness in your hair.

boots

I like the fact that I'm the one who gets to help you take your boots off. 

When you put your boots on, I get excited.  Not by the boots themselves or by boot wearing, but by the opportunites, the possibilites that are enhanced for us, when you have your boots on.

Your boots are my ally.  They make you happy, we run around like crazy kids when you wear them, carefree, excited with each other. When we stop to sit, I feel your boots as they're rubbed against my pants.  Back home, our senses inflamed, I hold you tight against me as we explore and delight each other one more time before going inside, a few turns of just us alone together in nature. Your shirt may become lost in the yard, your dress may become tangled as its bundled up over your hips to be wrapped around your waist, out of the way of our skin's needs for direct contact, but your boots will stay on. You plant you feet firm and give me an opportunity for pleasure in my favorite way.  I can survey your outer curves and inner intimacies, with eyes, fingers, tongue and other caresses, from the top of your boots to the top of your hair.MY feet and your boots workijg close together to support us as we sway and push.

When you lay back on the bed and offer your aching feet  to me, I grasp your boots firmly, one by one, and slide them off, and rub your feet, ankles and around. As I lift each leg to pull, I might catch a glimpse of that soft and downy patch, now pungent with our mixture.  Thank you boots.  This is the tradition, the ritual as we switch from being out and about, to being inside for the rest of the night (or during the summer, perhaps on the porch for a bit to look up at the trees and stars). I'll see you next time, boots.

Content

Though I'm sad to be leaving home and family, in one particular aspect of my life I feel relaxed and ...almost... satiated.  I carry with me many happy memories.

Additional ways of stimulation

I am delighted when I see your body responding.  With just a caress your nipples expand into sensitive pillars.  I wish I had more fingers available to always have my touch near them.  You have a wild look at you bring your breast into your mouth, and I wonder what sensations your tongue receives as you excite yourself.   I see that look again later as you take me into your mouth, my hands supporting your breasts. 

Nooks and crannies

The hotel is converted from an old castle.  The front desk staff read our body language around each other when we were checking in, and wisely assigned us to a room in the oldest part of the building, where there are thick stone walls to absorb the sound, and the furniture is heavy, roughly made, wooden. 

seeds

We both have a past, I recognize that, but I put it away.  We've both done many things which we regret now, but any that happened before we met should not be problems, just things for us to discuss in pillow talk and late nite conjugal IM, part of our make-up, secrets we'll learn about each other over the decades. I want you to be able to look the past in the eye and think, I've moved beyond that.  No need to even acknowledge the past outside, if you don't want to.  Don't see it out, but just stand tall beside me.  My arm around you. And you're wearing that new dress over a corset that gives your bust its support and set off your hips.  We're a team, a goofy team in handmade clothes, and people will think what they want to think, but some will think how lucky we are, and that's fine.  Maybe they think that we're together just for one reason or another.  They don't know you the way I do.  They don't learn what I learn about you, as you continue to change and grow.  They don't know what it feels for us to be together.  And they certainly don't know how satisfied I feel with you my lover, my seeds planted deep in you, warming you from the inside out.  I want to always be in you and have you be proud to hold me inside as your secret warmth wherever you are.

all this and barefoot too

Coming home after a long trip, you are as usual excited to see me, and I you. That night, we're laying in bed, fooling around, snuggling, kissing, rubbing.  As our bodies warm to each other's touch, our limbs wrap and our extremites wander, I end up climbing on top of you and gently slide in. 

Careful, you say, breathlessly, between kisses you're planting on my lips, around my face, neck and shoulders, I could get pregnant.

Now of course I know what you mean by this. What this entails.  Part of being responsible is knowing what to do and how far to go; being able to make those decisions. 

There's also the more primitive, base instincts inside of me.  They have a voice as well.  Usually quiet, but at times like these they demand to be heard. The goat-voice.  They hear what you say, but hear it very differently.

Great news, says the inner goat-voice, she's feeling fertile.  For the inner goat, any sex is good sex, but when you're feeling that way, there will be excitement ahead.  More interactions.  More rounds.  More surprises.

I wonder, says the inner goat-voice again, what she means by could.  Maybe you could get her pregnant, if you try hard enough. The inner goat senses a challenge, a challenge to its virility, a chance to prove itself and chase that demon.  That goat will want to go a little bit further, a little bit deeper.  Maybe as I ram it into you I'll get that extra millimeter or two of depth. closer in.  

Usually that voice has been quiet, in the background.  When I'm feeling satisfied, it's satisfied.  Sometimes I wonder about listening to what it has to say.  Usually it has bad ideas, ideas that would be just trouble for the long term, but sometimes even bad ideas can be a spark for the new, be made into something good.

Kitchen

We had a good time at the party.  In the ballroom we have been dancing for what seems like hours.   As the party winds down, we say goodbye and goodnight to the other guests as they drift away to their rooms. Everyone looks a little drained and exhausted. It is fortunate that we're staying at this hotel, since we've both been drinking and my head is swimming. 

There are still a few people left in the ballroom, small groups talking, laughing.  They might stay there for a few minutes or a few hours, who knows.  I give a quick kiss on your mouth, pressing strongly and I feel your lips tingling, your breath excited.  Your cheeks are flushed and reddened, and you have a broad smile.  You pull close to me and kiss me again.  I kiss you back, harder this time.  We both know how we're feeling.  We both know we need some privacy right now.  That the ballroom is too big, too echoing, even if we could somehow get everyone else to leave.  Fortunately, we know that the adjoining kitchen is empty, the staff having left hours ago.   When no one seems to be watching us, we sneak out through the swinging doors and into the kitchen.  It is warm and humid in there from the steam,  quite a change from the ballroom.  Hand and hand, we wind our way through the tables and islands in the kitchen towards the back, where we're partially out of view of anyone who might be walking past the kitchen doors and peering.  One table seems convenient to rest against for a bit, and I lean back. As I do, you kiss me, unusually intensely, pushing me backwards, and then you suddenly sink to your knees in front of me.

I feel a swift tug on my trousers and it takes a second for me to realize what you are doing.  Then, I snap into focus, as you methodically unbutton them, one hand deftly working each button free and the other swirling around my thighs. That hand finds its target, still caught up in my pants, and gently nudges it, presses it and then rubs.  One the buttons are undone, you dive in with both hands, extracting my member from where it has been constrained into my clothing.   My hands reach down to caress your face, your nostrils open as you catch the scent of my excitement.  I am throbbing, engorging with blood, raising.  You lean in and plant a first few inquisitive kisses on its head.  Then, down the shaft, as your hands finish detaching my clothes and giving you free access to everything inside.  My breathing becomes more intense as I feel the sensations move through my thighs and up my chest. Your tongue explores the ridges of the head and lines of the blood vessels that are filling me up. Then, you open your mouth and bring me inside.  You look up at me, smiling, your eyes wide and locked onto mine, full of intent as I watch part of me disappear inside of you, and then your cheeks pull in and my mind disappears.  

Your tongue is making patterns and writing letters that send shiver after shiver through me.  I reach out to you, holding you, rubbing you.  I notice you doing the same, with one hand reaching down into your shirt and stimulating your nipple while the other keeps a grasp on my shaft. You apply pressure and intensity onto me, pulling me, bringing me closer.  But, through our mutual pleasure, we know we can't stay like this for long.  We hear sounds coming from outside the kitchen.  Sounds of people slowing moving closer, perhaps looking for us.  Maybe they can dimly hear us, they wonder what those noises are coming from the kitchen.  Some of them might be thinking clearly enough to recognize the sounds of passion and intimate kissing, and they know not to be looking for us too intently or too quickly.    They give us time.  Your hand moves more intently.  Your tongue presses firmly, holding me in your mouth.  I give in to you, following your rhythm, as you beat a steady motion of grasping and releasing.   It is inevitable.  A clench, a groan, you push your head deep into me as I push into you, your nose nestled in my hair. I release a wave inside of you.  I feel your tongue swivel around as the next spurts splash deep into your mouth.  You hold me close to catch every drop.  I relax, and then take you by the shoulders and pull you up to me.  You are disheveled, your hair tangled from my fingers, your breasts uncovered, your lips sticky with a mix of wine, sweat and my juice.  Our kiss.

I want to take you again, right there, on the table, or perhaps on the floor.  But we are about to be discovered.  You bend down to give me one more kiss before stuffing me back into my pants.  Then, throwing a shawl over you to cover you, you dash off down a corridor towards our room, and I chase you. You were in charge for this round, but we both know what will happen when we get to a more private place and I catch you there. 

reveal

...we decide we"ll take a walk around the lakeshore.  You come downstairs to meet me and I see you in your new outfit.  Since it's cold outside you're wearing your heavy black skirt.  As we step outside in the low bright sun it shimmers and reflects the light in a changing pattern as it folds swirls around your ankles. 

As we walk we try to keep the conversation light though there is definite exciting thoughts in both our minds that we don't want to speak just yet.  But as we reach the far side of the lake, and we look back across the lake towards the hotel, you've decided it's the right time to mention something  something I see in your face,you've been keeping as a little secret.

By the way, you say, I have a surprise for you.  I got these earlier,  but I wasn't sure if I was going to wear them at the party.  As you speak, your hands clutch the bulk of your skirt behind you and slowly reveal your new panties.

I pause, and admire.  The view of your ass is, as always, sublime, taking away my ability to make any articulate comment.  I am reduced to merely feeling, and longing.  Your cheeks must be cold, and I  want to place my hands on them, to warm them, and then to run my finger along under the elastic, feeling it push into your skin., an experience only I can have  Yet I know that it is not yet time for that.  When you have given me enough of a chance to fill my eyes with your beauty, you release your hold on your skirt and smile.  Quietly, arm in arm, we walk back to the hotel.

arrival

As we relucantly return to our seats and the plane lands, we make a commitment to each other to refrain from any activity the rest of the day, until after the party is over.  We both know ourselves too well, that is we were to give in even for a special moment to intertwine, we would likely miss the party altogether or show up disheveled, and obviously intoxicated with each other, and our love is something wed rather hint at to the public, not let it all hang out.  At least not tonight anyway.  I chase you around a bit while we arrive and we get the rental car, though too reluclantly letting you just escape out of my grasp each time.

To avoid strong temptation of undressing, bare skin, hot steam, we even have to take turns getting dressed in the hotel room: you disappear out someplace while I take my shower, and I wait downstairs in the hotel bar while you take a bath. Since there's still some time before the party starts, we decide we"ll take a walk around the lakeshore.

You come downstairs to meet me and I see you in your new outfit.  Since it's cold outside your're wearing your heavy black skirt.  As we step outside in the low bright sun it shimmers and reflects the light in a changing pattern as it folds swirls around your ankles.  

As we walk we try to keep the conversation light though there is definete exciting thoughts in both our minds that we dont want to speak just yet.   (to be cont'd)

scrub

You're not just a role. You have needs and wants, and I hope to be able to satisfy them and satisfy you.Not merely a mother, cook, my wife.   Not just a housekeeper...though I do like it when you mention that you'll be scrubbing the floors.  I'll come home and find you in the kitchen,  down on your hands and knees.  It can't be wrong to watch my partner do the housework, especially if she wants me to watch.

Swaying Hips

When we're out together, even doing something as mundane as shopping at a big box store, you might catch me falling behind a bit as we walk around.  It's not because I don't want to be seen with you, quite the contrary - I'm feeling really happy.  It's that you're wearing a full long skirt, and your hips are swaying back and forth.  I could watch for hours mesmerized by the way you move, swish left, swish right, the fabric waving around your legs.  There's a secret within there, the details of your curves, and more besides, that only we share.  Many stimulating thoughts are  triggered in me by just watching that motion. Wgat does the touch of the cloth and the weight and grip tight below your waist mean for you? Does the rythym of your hips telegraph a message of how you're feeling about your body in a code only for me to interpret?  What thoughts do you have you look back over your shoulder and catch me lost in a fantasy about my sexy swaying wife? Do you know how you delight me, how I wish I was part of that motion , my hands holding you tight as we swing together?  You know what's going on under my clothes, when I have these thoughts.  Ducking into to a side corridor just out of sight, we embrace, kiss, and then to relieve some of my longing, you press yourself close and then slowly spin yourself around in a circle, our hips grinding together, the sensitive nerve endings in both our bodies feeling every bump and raised area in its corresponding partner

here's a good stick to beat the lovely lady

Ah, new sensations.  A touch of cold on the nipple, and behind the ear, and you ask for a dry cold between the toes.  A flat whisky-stone might be serviceable.  Now for the most sensitive parts I will plan to stick just as much suction as my lips and cheeks can provide.  Though elsewhere, what might bring some more color out?  One folk recommendation - a freshly cut and oozing ginger root, which may be either irritating or pleasurable, or both, though not at the same time.  And for the thickest areas; well, I had to temporarily move my buggy whip out of the parlor so the children wouldn't find it, it needs a new hiding place.

skintight vs sexy

Long long ago, one of the first images that I remember distinctly thinking of as looking sexy, was of a young skinny but shapely woman wearing bicycle shorts.  That the picture was not intended to be erotic, but simply showed her smiling and leaning sideways against her bike (putting her hips at a jaunty angle), was quite memorable. 

My tastes change, and bicycle shorts have for many years now had no particular appeal to me.  Generally what was typical as mainstream sexy (Fredericks of hollywood catalog stuff) wasn't arousing, compared to more mundane clothing.  Seeing a woman walk by in tight fitting jeans would warrant at most a glance at her ass, but not much interest beyond that.

The one exception seems to be jodhpurs, and my mild fascination which I continue to have with the idea of my partner wearing them seems a little atypical to me since I don't know anyone who wears them and I'm not in situations where they're worn - I dont go to see horse shows.  The sex fetish most commonly associated would be that they're worn by dominating, viciously controlling cruel woman, and that is a complete turn-off to me.    Perhaps it is something much simpler about them-that they have a distintive patch that draws the eye in : look look here is the inner thighs ! OK more likely, that in real like they would be worn by a woman who has gained the confidence and trust of a wild animal, and that through gentle and subtle communication they are working together as a unit.   That's what I see when my fantasies involve you in jodhpurs, taming my instincts and making me more presentable.

Now these fantasies don't come by  too often, but for more mundane reasons: when you have your jodhpurs on, they're going to stay on.   I can look, checking out your fine shape they reveal: I can touch, running my hand around their rough leather curves, but alas =I can't get inside, the jodhpurs my mind invents are not quck and easy to remove.  But I think I'm going to be OK with that restriction.  It gives me a fantasy with you I can drop into where I have to find an outcome other than boinging-I've got plenty of those types already.

Kahuna Airlines

 

The upper deck on the original 747s were built with only a few windows along each side, as it was expected to be used as a  first class lounge, rather than  filled rows of seats.  American Airlines 747s also had a  separate coach lounge, complete with electric piano.  

Even after the lounges were removed long haul fights might still be so lightly loaded that there were entire rows with no one in them, arm rests moved out of the way so you could lay across them, or sleep on the floor; of an empty row in the darkness no one would notice you there.  

Today, even though the planes may be full and the lounges long gone, on the larger planes there are still private rooms for the crew to use.   The 767 has a sleeping closet for the pilot, the 777 flight attendant area looks more inviting

Actual Boeing photo

One of the perks of frequent flyer is knowing the schedule when those rooms are unoccupied, so that on our flight, just before morning, we can slip out of our seat belts and explore the range of accommodations in there - grab bars, carpeted steps, angled surfaces, not to mention the extensive soundproofing... A nice reward to refresh us before we land. 

a new tradition

I'm the new boyfriend you bring home from school at Christmas.  Arriving late on Christmas day (cheap fares), I'm shown to the guest room, your old room, while you are to sleep on a foldout in the hall.  I lie on the bed awake, for not half an hour after the last lights are turned off, I hear the door open and you whisper, hello lover.    The bed is too noisy for us but we are quite able to satify ourselves on the floor.

Footprints on the dashboard upside down

The front seat is just for starters. You tell me that in your thoughts, there's a gear shift knob for me to reach, which is conveniently located right where rubbing can occur, and I suspect you might even try to capture my hand below your thighs.   Of course the danger with you being that close to me, I can pull you in at any time, and things could heat up too quickly.  Instead, I recall my first car, which had a wide front bench seat, and automatic transmission, so that when we find ourselves there, you're teasing, you're in control, setting the pace, keeping it light.  You could be stretching out, and then turn to lay across the bench seat, your head suddenly in my lap, looking up at me.  But before I have a chance to even bring my hand across your hair, you could be far away, leaning against the passenger door, using only your bare feet to reach me, your toes dexterously finding their way around to undo the buttons.  Then perhaps you are crouching down in the passenger floorboards, out of reach, your fingers worming around my right leg and under my thigh, raising me just enough to ensure the parts you need next are freed from my clothes. 

Only once you have me ready, then it's time for you to move in to range.  Straddling me, the car's stopped yet we still feel like we are going over ruts and railroad tracks.  Our mouths meet, and I am able to more properly use my hands to bring your breasts up into the air.  You had already ensured that your underwear would not be a hindrance to my entry, a fact I had noticed earlier in the evening as we were walking to the car and my hand just happened to find the right place for a moment.   Still, the angle is not advantageous for deeper stimulation, and I can't bounce up without us hitting the roof, and we both know that it's time for me to take over and put you into a new position.  If there are bucket seats, I could recline and then just take you under me.  Or in the back bench seat, a bit narrow with your feet sticking out the window?  Perhaps, but we found that the seats are too cushioning, too absorbing, and that takes away too much.  We need a better support.  

I bring you around to the back of the car, opening the hatch.  I've already arranged the supplies we'll need, a carpet spread out, a thin blanket to cover us later.  The back area is not deep or wide enough for us to stretch out fully inside the car, but that isn't necessary, it's warm enough outside, and you can hook the heels of your boots into the ridges on the bumper., keeping your feet in position as my legs dangle out the back of the car.  Here you will not be sinking into anything, you can take the whole force of my thrusts, and the car springs slowly moan as we establish our rhythm. 

I can tell that you are fully under the influence as after our first round  like this, as afterward I withdraw and regroup, you are impatient for me to reenter, no longer teasing at me but stimulating me any way you can. Your sigh when I come back into you is immense, and in this second round you are much more vocal.  Though no one can see us in the dark, your voice carries on the wind, initially a low growl, then a intense sound of your inner need, repeated over and over, calling for me to take you, to fill you.  Raising in pitch,, in intensity, then as I release deep inside you  you reply with a near scream, and you are speaking in tongues, words of thanking and pleading mixing together.

Later that night, though we can both barely walk, we decide to try one more idea, and so I bring you around to the front of the car.  The engine has cooled off but the hood is still warm as I lay your head onto it.  With you between me and the car, each time as I push in, the force is transferred through you and the car imperceptibly rolls back on its wheels a bit, then a split second later the car returns that force to us, pushing you back against me with each stroke.  Naturally with this intensity it is not long before I fully spent, and we collapse together, gasping and panting.

Closet

No, not a euphemism.  Our bedroom closet is quite deep, though narrow, especially with shoes/shelves boxes along each side. Though your goal may be to open up the house and make more space, there are some times you don't want the wide open expanses of space, you want confinement.   One morning I might notice your bare feet sticking out of the closet doorway, toes wiggling in invitation as I pass by.  I look in to see you sitting on the floor, a carpet of jumbled clothing under you, pulling down more clothes from hangers to bunch up and make a support you can lean back against.  You demonstrate how when leaning back your legs raise, you brace your feet on the closet door jamb a foot or two of the ground.  I respond, crouching before you and pulling the closet door closed behind me.  It is already quite warm in there from the heat from the light bulb, the heavy coats insulating the room from the rest of the house from cold entering.  Unfortunately they do not do as good a job as keeping sound from escaping, so we need to remain quiet.  But your smile broadens and you relax backward onto your pillows, as my left hand releases your breasts from your shirt and then my right slides your skirt up a few inches, stretching it tauter in front of me to give me a quick peek of your delta, and give my hands freer movement to tickle around the underside of your thighs.  You try to catch me around my waist with your knees, locking your legs to my width, pulling me in closer to you.  I remove your glasses, you lean toward me and wrap your arms around mine, keeping me close.  You've wedged yourself in well to that closet space, your torso has no way to move side to side, though your legs are still free, and there is a good support below you as I bear down onto you and you take my weight. 

Our eyes are looking straight into each other's faces.  Now, my hands are focused on the sides of your face, then around your neck, around your breasts, with only occasional visits further down.  Your hands are the small of my back, running up to my shoulders, holding me to you, until you change your pattern of hand motions to indicate you're ready for attention there.  One last smile in anticipation of what is to come.  You take my each of my hands in yours, our fingers intertwining, and our hands slide down together and between us.  Our hands work together, one pair focused on external stimulation, the other on internal, opening your lips, stretching you out.  Sometimes your hand and mine are joined together, or one might break away for more areas needing a touch or to remove excess wet before returning to its partner.  

Your eyes are closed and you are no longer smiling.  Your face takes on a look of concentration, as if there is a distant idea you are straining to reach.  Your mouth opens and closes.  Our hand motions become more intense. You purse your mouth, bite your lower lip. You're saying words that are just syllables.  A look almost of pain flashes quickly across your face,  then another, ohahf, ohahf, you cry out gently as you try to make your demands between breaths. Your brow wrinkles, your jaw swings back and forth as if it is receiving shocks from inside, your feet lose their grip on the doorjam and lift higher above us.  Your cheeks redden and you would, if seen any other circumstance appear very angry.  Inches away from your face, I catch every gesture and nuance, trying to time my motions to yours.  You tilt your head forward, straining to see through eyes squeezed shut, pressing your chin into your neck and your forehead into mine.   Your lips glisten and oha, oha you call one last time, before slamming your head backward, raising your hips off the floor and with your hands forcing me deep into you. 

The pace is quick and unrelenting.  You move as if you're hooked to a live electric wire, as spasms pass through you and your whole body is flopping around.  Fortunately there is no where for you to move except closer against me.  Your head is next to mine, and you have to bite my shoulder to keep from crying out.

Yard Rake

"When I do the fan dance

I'm all the red in China

You write your questions on my skin..."
(Sam Phillips)

It's fall and I hear you raking the leaves outside my office.  I step out to watch, and notice that you when you come back around the corner, you have a second rake nearby.  You are raking the yard, but not just dragging the rake.  Your rake is an extension to your arm, your body sways and bends as the rake swings out and back again.  You bend low and close to the ground, then suddenly extend, standing tall to cut an arc through the air, swinging the tines wide. Like a magician with his flourishes, you use the rake as a distraction, your other hand is close in to you, and you slowly undo the buttons down your dress.  It is then that you bring the second rake into play, as your dress falls away and you deploy your rake tines to restrict the view I might have of you. You twist and turn, slowly spinning the rakes around you, the tines shimmying to emphasize your control over your movements.  As you gyrate, you swing one rake in front of you, then cross with another, then quickly turning around and recrossing the rakes behind you, teasingly revealing more and more that you pretend is hidden behind the tines.  You use the rakes to their full advantage, their ability to scrape the ground and kick up dust, the sound they make as one rake clangs another, the impression they make of a pattern of veins as you press one against your leg. 

You end your dance in profile to me, silhouetted against the setting sun, thrusting your body forward with one rake held out high, the other behind you, offering me a first full view of your curves both front and back.  Turning your head to me, "Don't take a picture of me like this", you call out, playfully threatening me with a rake brandished over your head.

Relief

Now in the video, the picture has been painted on digitally, and turns into "The Hanged Man".  But that doesn't work for me; I prefer the image when it is at this more stage. And not as a visual effect; I'd have it be real, a woodblock print, a tattoo on your underclothing.

It was a challenge, since you were wearing this during the printing.  The block was specially cut curved to your posture.  And once it was inked and you laid upon it, I had to apply a constant steady pressure while rolling you from side to side.  

Your gloves provide contrast, enhancing the shape you draw out as you slide your hands around your corset, silently indicating various points of emphasis. 

Stockings rolled down, there's a gap between the hem of your shift and their top.  I like this gap, a ring around each leg of exposed skin, contrasted by the white above and black below.  Around each ankle, or if your stockings are up and you lift your shift up op as well, around each thigh.  There's a certain height of this space that I find particularly intriguing, slightly more than a thumb's width.  One finger moves into this track on each leg, circling around in this space, before I bring each hand to bear on your thighs and brush upward and underneath, to where my hands come together and my fingers explore.

Rough sheets

Goodnights.  Lights out.   Silence. 

I ask, do you want anything else?

You say, a hug would be nice.

You sit up, and I come over to you, stretch my arms around you and hold you in a firm squeeze.  It starts as a hug, but I feel the heat radiating out of you, your breasts pulsing against my chest. The skin of your neck is also quite sensitive.  There is a pause while we prepare ourselves, before nature takes over. 

Though we stay on the bed, the next morning I wake to find friction burns below both my knees, from the rough sheets. 

SFW

We see a play, held in a theater in a poor part of town.  Walking back, you clutch my arm for the sense of security it gives you.  We stop at a coffee shop, but there's nothing there you want, so we go home.  Start watching a movie, sitting closely side by side, you fall asleep, your head resting on my shoulder, your arm curled around mine, my hand warm from being wedged between our thighs.