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They Say Passion Is Dead

12 Oct

They say toe-curling-passion will inevitably die out, that all relationships eventually settle into a comfortable, sexless rut. The only reasons to stay together are the kids or fear of being alone, of dating again in a world of online personality algorithms, speed dating and text break-ups. Sacrifice your passion on the altar of family responsibility. And they say this is normal.

I say bullshit.

Passion only dies if you let it.

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On Pornography

21 Sep

I too had my share of porn experiences when I was young, though I never had a porn ring like Kasini. My father didn’t own any porn, he felt he didn’t need it because he had a healthy view of sex and sexuality. Surprisingly, his voicing of that opinion probably did more to damage my view of sex than early exposure to pornography could have.

A healthy view of sex and sexuality precludes an interest in porn.

Like any other pubescent male, I was very interested in images of naked women and sex. All of my friends had access to pornographic magazines or movies. Every father on the street had a treasure trove buried at the back of their closet. But not mine.

I was probably ten or twelve the first time I saw a pornographic magazine, when a friend brought out his father’s stash. I had regular access to porn in that manner, where we would sit around and point and giggle and ooh and aah. But I wanted more, I wanted to take those magazines and movies and run off by myself, and I didn’t know why. They moved me in disturbing and compelling ways. I managed to find enough to get by, but barely.

When a friend got caught stealing his father’s stash to bring to the neighborhood clubhouse, all the mothers were notified. Mine sat me down to talk about it, probably thinking she was going to be enlightened and open. All she did was confuse me. I was told it was ok to look if I was curious, but in the same breath she told me only perverts and men who didn’t respect women would ever keep that kind of stuff in their house. She offered to buy a Playboy for me, so that I would not try to steal one, but only a Playboy because anything else was filthy perversion.

I was 19 before I had my own stash, a stack of mixed magazines I found in a parking lot. Again, my mother sat me down to talk about it after she found them, once again thinking she was being enlightened and open. “It’s ok to have those,” she told me, “but you do realize, don’t you, that women don’t really do those things?” What, don’t enjoy sex? Don’t suck cock? Don’t kiss other women or play with dildos or masturbate? So much for a healthy and open view of sex.

Well, all I knew was I was hooked. Not addicted, just fascinated. I loved looking at pictures of beautiful naked women, I loved reading stories about sex, I loved everything about those magazines. And I was torn. On the one hand, I had been taught to embrace my sexuality, that whatever I was feeling was natural, but on the other there were unspoken-and sometimes explicitly spoken-limits to what I should feel. It was natural only if it conformed to their expectations.

I went though my teenage years wondering if I was some sort of sexual deviant. I thought about sex a lot. A LOT. I know now that was normal. But I had no basis for normal. I was the odd kid out, the only one with permissive parents who didn’t make me feel bad for masturbating, and yet I was the only one whose father didn’t own any porn. When the other kids got the urge, they could just sneak into their father’s room for a peak. Not me.

And now I have internet. As much free pornography as I could ever want, right at my fingertips. I still look at pictures of beautiful naked girls. Hell, I have a second tab open right now, with, you guessed it, pornography. I don’t think pornography is dangerous or repressive of women. I think it can be, but no more than any other institution. I think banning pornography is more dangerous than allowing it. I do not think it is intrinsically repressive to women. Woman can give consent, and claiming that all women who participate, even those who do so willingly, are being coerced or degraded, is doing a disservice to women. By making that claim you are putting women into the same category as children or animals or property, as something that is incapable of making an informed decision, something that has to be protected and coddled and taken care of. And I absolutely hate that attitude. I do not deny that there are women being exploited for pornography. But there are women being exploited in every industry somewhere in the world. I still wear shoes, even though women receive less than 20 cents a day to make them in China. I don’t wear shoes made in China, nor do I enjoy porn made by exploiting women.

Worldwide pornography generates between fifty to a hundred billion dollars annually, and Americans spend more at the strip clubs than they do at Broadway, off Broadway, regional and non-profit theaters, the opera, the ballet and jazz COMBINED. This is not a sign of sickness, this is a sign that humans are incredibly sexual creatures, and we need an outlet for that sexual energy. Studies have shown that societies with easy access to porn have a greatly reduced incidence of rape and sexual dysfunction. Pornography is a reflection of sexual desire, not a creator, and usually serves to liberate and satisfy. And not just for men, porn can help women, gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgenders explore their sexuality and even empower them by helping them realize that they are not alone, that their urges are normal and shared by others.

Now, there is porn and there is porn. I do not like fake porn. Professional porn. Women with elaborate hair and makeup and obviously fake breasts being pounded by men with sculpted muscles, tribal tattoos, and ten inch cocks, that does nothing for me. That face they make when pretending to come, I hate that face. “Oh, yeah, give it to me, oh yeah’. Shudder. I don’t like to feel that they are acting. I like amateur porn. I like regular girls, girls next door, MILFs that  you could meet at the corner drug store. Real women who are genuinely enjoying themselves. Curvy girls, girls with love handles and real tits instead of scrawny skanks with plastic faces and silicone boobs.

Even when I was a teenager I knew the difference between fantasy and reality when it came to porn. I knew what was staged, what was done for the sake of more magazine sales. Penthouse Forum, yeah, I didn’t believe any of those stories then either(of course, now I get to live them, but that is another post). I could tell by a model’s expression that she was not really into having her pussy licked by another women or didn’t really like having a cock up her ass. But on some of those spreads, I could tell she did enjoy it, and that opened up a whole new world to me. Women could enjoy sex, and sex could be more than just missionary between a husband and wife. Women enjoy sex. Isn’t that one of the tenants of the feminist movement? Women enjoy sex to, it’s not just for the man. And porn taught me that.

Despite my parents best efforts, I learned a lot from porn. I had no idea you could lick a pussy until I saw it in a magazine. Kids talked about it, but there was no mental image to with the words. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I didn’t know the mechanics of sex, other than insert Tab A into Slot B, repeat. And I didn’t get to experiment till Bayani and started having sex at age 19. My parents were ex hippies, with a healthy fear of AIDS. “It’s not like it used to be, it’s not safe any more”. Save yourself for marriage, that was the message.

I want my children to have a healthy view of sex, I want them to grow up as well balanced and open minded as they can be. But what kind of double standard would I be giving, if I hid my porn from them? Do I let them see what is on my computer at this age? No. But when should they be able to discover it? Should I let them find it on their own, when they are ready? Should I carefully select examples of healthy sex for them to find? Should I just let it happen and be there to talk to them when they have questions? Will people react differently about exposing my teenagers to porn if they know I have daughters instead of sons?

Raising children with a healthy knowledge of sex and sexuality has been on my mind lately. How much of our lifestyle should I let them see? Will Fanny be nothing more than a good friend, or will they be allowed to see consenting adults showing affection for one another?

Our society has certain expectations about sex and how we talk about it, certain rules. Should I teach my children those rules? Or should I teach them how to hide, how to blend in, how to pretend for the sake of appearance? What will that do to them, knowing that their family is different?

I am torn. I do not have all the answers. No parent does. These are all things we have to grapple with, and I like to believe that the fact that I think about it will give my children an advantage over those who just let their kids grow up on autopilot, expecting that whatever society teaches them is good enough.

So I do the best I can, and hope I don’t mess them up to badly.

Mother Flogger

12 Sep

It’s not so much a Cat-O-Nine-Tails as four pieces of rope tied together, but it does the trick.

Pieces of soft nylon left over after I trimmed down the rope to fit her perfectly in a nice, tightly knotted harness. I left the ends frayed just a little bit so they sting more. I’ve gotten pretty good control with it too, I can lay the entire length across my wife’s skin in a way that -almost- leaves a bruise, I can snap the ends like a whip so they just barely hit and sting like hell, or I can brush the ends along her skin and leave a stinging red mark.

And she loves it.

Sometimes I feel like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. I put on the nice gentlemanly face for the outside world, but inside is a dark, barely repressed monster that delights in pain. Well, pleasurable pain. The kind of pain that brings my partners just shy of orgasm. Fingernails, teeth, pinching and biting, spanking and now flogging, all these have teased at the back of my mind, tantalizing fantasies I never dared express.

I held back on flogging for a very long time. Spanking was ok, ’cause that can be just playful(hell, we have spanking competitions at our parties, and I should point out I have won every single one), but flogging borders on sadism. Nice guys don’t do that. I might look kinda scary, with long hair and beard, tattoos and torn jeans, but deep down I am a Nice Guy.

My father, whom I admire greatly, taught me to always respect women. The problem was he is Old School, and respecting women is all about Actions. You hold the door for them, you pull out their chair, you always pay for dinner. And you never, ever, hit a woman. He never spoke of the Idea of respecting women, that was something I had to learn on my own. By interacting with them and learning they are people too, not just some goddess to be idealized on a pedestal(and who incidentally also cooks you dinner-like I said, Old School). And Mothers are to be respected more than just regular ‘ol women.

My wife is a Mother, and therefore, according to my father, is due actions of respect.

But what about respecting the individual? What if what she needs is a good, painful, flogging? What if what she wants is for me to inflict pain? My desire to please her is in direct conflict with what I was taught regarding respect. Never mind what dark desires I hold.

Kasini likes to be pulled about by her hair. I did so the other night, but I was far too gentle about it. It was not nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be. I want to drag her by her hair, off balance and scrabbling to keep up. Like a caveman. Images of her banging her elbow on a cabinet or bruising her knee on a door frame held me back. Real pain like that, I simply cannot bring myself to inflict. I’m not that dark inside. The pain I like to give is just another side of pleasure, if it didn’t feel good I would have no interest in it.

I keep testing the waters with my lovers. I ease into new behavior, a little spank here, a little tug there. And as they respond positively, and when they don’t complain that I have gone too far, or have hurt them, I can push a little bit further the next time. A hard smack across the ass that leaves a mark, a grab and pull that leaves her off balance and just a little bit scared.

Last night I had Bayani strung up from my pergola, naked and gagged, stretched almost uncomfortably too far, as I was laying into her back with the flog. I was walking around her, enjoying the sight of her naked, welt-covered skin, and I had the urge to whip the flail across her titties. I did so gently, then again with increased force. Because I was only testing the tittie flogging waters, I then moved on to the established flogging territory of her back and ass and thighs. Once I removed the gag I learned she did not like the tittie flogging at all. So now I know not to do that. If had I just let go and whipped the flail across her tight little nipple I would have gone too far.

As my wife and I have been pushing limits, moving into new and terrifying territory, I have had to learn to trust that she will tell me when I have gone to far. Trust, that is the key to respecting my partners. I have to trust that Kasini will safeword out if I go too far, pull too violently, push too hard at her limits. I have to trust that she will both be able to keep up as I drag her though the house by her hair AND that she will tell me if she is in danger of hurting herself beyond the delicious pain of rough sex. I have to respect that she will know how to handle Mr Hyde.

This is a better respect than blind deference and courtesy. I am interacting with the person, not the label. Bayani and Fanny and Kasini are more than Women or Mothers or any of the thousand other labels you could apply. They have each earned my respect for who they are and what they do. I show my respect for them MY way, not my father’s stuck-in-the-50’s way.

It hasn’t been the 50’s for a very long time, and if the mother of my children wants to be whipped and flogged and hurt, then there is nothing wrong with my doing that. I don’t think the 50’s ever really existed, not like they did on TV. That was just an ideal, a prayer for normalcy, and perhaps for white hetero christian supremacy. A shared delusion of conformity. Yet those ideas persist, infecting us, making us feel guilty for enjoying our sexuality in healthy ways. Morality is not nearly so black and white as people liked to pretend in those days. And pleasure and pain are not nearly so different, not nearly so far apart as you would expect.

I can give in to the urge to inflict pain and still respect my partners. I can show respect to them by letting myself relax my control, by trusting that they will stop me if I go too far, and by trusting them with my deeply hidden desires. Well, they are not really that dark. I have no urge to hit the face or leave any sort of lasting mark, and I am far more interested in giving pleasure than I am in dealing out pain. I just like to blur the boundaries between the two. I like to feel primal, animalistic, unrestrained.

When the tips of my flail dance across her skin, her nerves wake up, become hyper sensitive, ready to receive more input. The sensations that course through her body making her arch her back are not entirely painful, though they are intense. The entire act is sensual and intimate, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. Just like how we blur the lines of morality. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde are, after all, the same person.

It’s Not Vulgar, It’s Not Invasive, It’s Not Mouth Rape

2 Sep

I used to know a guy who refused to go down on his girlfriend, he claimed it was ‘sucking cock by proxy’. I asked him if he ever kissed her, and after a moment’s thought said ‘not any more’.

This same guy demanded blow jobs from his girlfriends as a right, as something they owed him. He loved to smack the back of their head just before he came, shoving them down further and forcing them to gag. He thought it was funny.

Guys like this, they’ve ruined it for the rest of us.

There are women who think sucking cock is ‘icky’ or ‘dirty’ and would never consider doing it. There are women who think it’s an act of male dominance tantamount to mouth-rape. And there are women who enjoy giving their partner pleasure.

My wife is one of the latter.

When I go down on a woman, I am enjoying giving them pleasure, as well as enjoying the act itself. Cunnilingus is pretty common now, it is considered one of the only sure fire ways to bring a woman to orgasm. Most of us do it, and nobody thinks anything of it. And if you won’t do it, then you are being an inconsiderate lover. But going down on a man? Ew, no thanks, don’t shove your phallus in my face.

I once met a woman at a party who had exactly the opposite opinion of the guy above. She totally dominated her husband(not in a BDSM way), and demanded cunnilingus every time they made love. She justified it as being the only way she could orgasm. She also refused to even consider taking his cock in her mouth. That was barbaric. Her opinion was that a man could get off simply by sticking his cock anywhere warm, moist and reasonably tight. His orgasm was accidental. Once she had hers, he could do what he needed to, she didn’t care.

These are, of course, extremes in opinion, and I do not wish to digress into a discussion on hypocritical views of sexuality. There are double standards in our society, unhealthy attitudes that need to change.

But I am talking about blow jobs.

I have written before about my wife and I using blow jobs as some sort of currency. Perhaps I should give you some context. We joke about it. I demand blow jobs for favors, or even for winning bets. She knows I am joking, and would never consent to performing fellatio if I ever truly demanded it. Sometimes she offers, sometimes I ask. Sometimes she turns me down.

When we first started having sex Bayani had no interest in performing oral sex on me. She didn’t demand I eat her out either. I was certainly happy to, and we quickly learned it was, like those magazines at the checkout line claimed, the easiest way to bring her to orgasm. Gradually she became more and more comfortable with me, and began to explore.

At first she would give it a few reluctant slurps, mostly because she felt it was expected of her. But I never asked, and I never demanded. So it became easier for her. She started sucking for longer periods, and eventually stopped being so hesitant. I still never asked her for it. This was just foreplay, something we did during sex, I never came in her mouth. Not once.

One day she realized she actually enjoyed giving me pleasure with her mouth. It turned her on. She did it a lot more frequently, and for longer periods, after that. And she got good at it. Really, really good at it. We still usually keep fellatio as part of our regular sex routine. We give each other pleasure, and that is just one of many ways she chooses to pleasure me. Chooses, that is the key word you need to understand.

After about six or seven years of marriage, I once jokingly asked her for a blow job for my birthday. I was not serious, and I certainly didn’t expect her to agree, she shocked the hell out of me when she did.

It was fucking incredible.

Here was a sexual act that was just for me. I didn’t have to do anything, didn’t have to make sure she came first, didn’t have to work all her erogenous zones in just the right order to get her aroused. It was just for me. All my attention was focused on what she was doing to me, and it was one of the most intense orgasms I have ever had. She did it to me, I didn’t rape her mouth, she was in control.

There are a lot of women who are proud of their technique, they think they suck the best cock in the world. In a way, they do. Blow jobs are a bit like hamburgers(insert obligatory dirty comment-if it doesn’t get all over the place, it doesn’t belong in your face), some are better than others, but in the end what matters is you get a hamburger. Just the fact that you are willing to do this for us is a huge turn on, but that does not mean you shouldn’t try to get better. Every cock is different, just like every clit likes to be touched or licked in a different way. Some men like to feel teeth grazing their skin, a reminder that it’s in your mouth. Other men like it deep, or sloppy, or hard and fast or slow and teasing. I happen to prefer no teeth, deep, sloppy and slow. Like all other sex acts, watch your partner’s reactions and do what he responds to. Don’t assume that just because you are willing to put your lips around he should be thankful. If you are not able to enjoy doing it, don’t. You are not obligated, you don’t owe it to him, don’t force yourself. He won’t enjoy it if you have that attitude.

I still only outright ask for one about once or twice a year. Infrequently enough that she is more than willing to agree. She offers slightly more often than that, usually when she is ‘unavailable’ due to being uncomfortably reminded she is not pregnant. Sometimes I turn her down, to save them for when I really feel I need it.

It’s not that she dislikes it, or that she perceives it as some sort of invasive domination on my part. The reason I don’t ask for more blow jobs is the fact that she likes doing it. It gets her hot. She wants to fuck after she sucks cock, and I don’t want to walk away and leave her horny.

So we joke about it. She asks if I wouldn’t mind if she stays out late for the third night that week, and I tell her ‘only if you give me a blow job when you get home’. She knows when I am joking, and when I am serious. I don’t smack her head down to make her gag, and I certainly don’t think I own rights to her mouth.

Now, I am not suggesting everybody should go out and suck a cock right now-although if that happened, I think the world would be a happier place. I am suggesting people stop a moment to think about their views on various sexual acts, fellatio to cunnilingus, bondage to anal sex. Not only are those acts not as repulsive as some of you might think, they don’t always have the social connotations you might think they do. Not everything is about dominance or power or violence or control.

Sometimes things just feel good.


29 Aug

I recently compared myself to a tortoise.

Plodding along, oblivious to raging storms and howling winds and chattering magpies, I just keep doing my own thing, not letting the world affect me. There is something admirably zen about tortoises, and I liked the comparison. I was even about to type out a tortoise vocalization to enforce this cool analogy.

My fingers froze over the keys.

Tortoises don’t make noises.

This was even more fitting than I had thought, because neither do I.

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She Brings Out The Worst In Me

9 Aug

Or the best, depending on your point of view.

She pushes back, She fights me, challenges my dominance.

She is not a willow, bending, yielding, accepting the shape I give her. No, She is a wild pony, fierce and willful. And She needs to be broken. She wants me to be in control, to lead Her, but She cannot submit on her own.

She is a brat.

I don’t mean to be aggressive, She brings out the worst in me. I start out wanting to kiss Her slowly, caressing her soft skin, eliciting moans and gasps of pleasure. But there is something about the look in Her eyes that makes me growl. The way She grabs at me, pushes at me, I just can’t help it, I just want to grab Her by the wrists and pin Her down. Let Her know that I am in control.

She submits differently than my wife does

Bayani is yielding, eager to please. And that brings out a different type of dominance in me. Bayani takes whatever I give her, and the more she yields the more I push. She begs to please me, “Please let me suck it”. I am in control every moment and I love it. She is my Good Girl. Bayani wants me to be in control, to take over for her, to do the things she cannot tell me she wants. Bayani has a different look in her eyes, her eyes speak of absolute trust, and they beg me to do more.

I spank Bayani because she will take it, because she wants it. And the more I spank her, the more she wants it, the harder slap.

I spank Her to punish Her, to remind Her that I am in charge. Well, I will. We’ve barely just begun and She has not yet had a chance to be really naughty and earn a punishment. We’ve only slept together once, and first times are always awkward and eager–don’t get me wrong, it was really good, I was just too full of pent up frustration to really take my time and do it the way I want to. I am really looking forward to punishing Her; to turning Her ass red with my bare hand; to tying Her down, limbs pulled taught, leaving Her helpless while I caress Her, tease Her, draw out the pleasure till She is panting, begging me to finish Her, to end the torment. But I won’t, not yet, not till She knows, understands, that I am in control.

Yes, She brings out the worst in me, and She knows exactly what She is doing.

Oh, Her name is Germentrude.

The Worst Part

5 Aug

I hate walking away.

I don’t  know how to do it. Do I act cool and strut down the steps? Do I sulk and pout my way to the car? How many times do I turn and wave?

I mean, when you have just spent some intimate time with a woman(anything from making out to sex to just opening up and baring your soul), how do you walk away from her front door? I hate that part.

I love walking TO a woman’s front door, with all that excitement building up inside, the anticipation of what is to come. What might happen. What you hope will happen. But when you are walking away, you know it’s over. Time to go home. Oh, you can still let your mind wander while you drive, thinking of her lips or the feel of her skin or that look in her eye when you grabbed her wrists and pushed her down.

It’s over by then. A memory.

For the moment at least. But, while you are walking down her front steps toward your car, trying to convey both awesomeness and sadness, you haven’t gotten to the memory part. You lips still tingle, her smell still lingers in your- how do you write ‘nose’ or ‘nasal cavity’ and make that sound sexy? Her scent still lingers, teasing you, pulling your thoughts back to when your face was buried in her neck.

And how do you stop kissing them at the door? How many lasts kisses are appropriate? No matter how cool you try to be, breaking away from a warm, soft, willing woman is kinda like saying ‘I have somewhere more important to be’. At least I hope they don’t think that. What does a woman think in a moment like that(or a guy, I don’t care)? Do you judge that one last kiss more than the others? Do you turn and fall against the door with a soft moan of regret that it stopped? Do you run off to text or email all your friends about how awkward it was? Do you peer out the window at us as we drive off, asking yourself what it means that we only stopped to wave once, not twice?

Gah, it’s awkward no matter what I do.

There is one small, silver lining to walking away: the possibility of coming back. Now I get to look forward to walking up to her front door again, savoring the anticipation.

I’m a guy, so when a girl walks away from my door I have it easy, I go make a sammich.

Something Happened Last Night

2 Aug

Here we go, deep breath. *whew*

Last night my wife of 14 years went out and had sex with another man.

And I am fine with it.

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8 May

Moms are hot. Seriously, I am attracted to moms. Not like some weird prego fetish, it’s that at this point in my life, the women I am attracted to are almost always mothers.

Oh, I certainly respond physically to hawt young things, but given a choice, I do have a preference for women in their thirties with kids over twenty-two year old scene girls. Younger women rarely have anything interesting to say.

There are mothers, and then there are mothers. In our party crowd, there are a couple of Hawt Young Scene Girls. Sisters, actually, and one of them is a mother. They are Hawt with a capital Boner, yet I’m not the least bit interested in either. They are scene girls, interested in music and drinks and clothes and partying late, and we have nothing to talk about. They are nice enough, generous and smart, and they like everybody, don’t get me wrong, they are good people. But when they start talking, my interest wanders. Even the one with a kid. That is more accurate, she is not a mother, she has a kid. She works hard to provide for him, and she loves him fiercely. But when asked for words that define her, Mother is not one of them. Father is the first word that comes to mind when I describe myself, followed by Husband, Writer, Carpenter and Cook.

Attraction is not just physical, there are inner traits one can be attracted to, and there has to be common interests. Women who define themselves as mothers are simply more attractive to me, like women who define themselves as Geeks, Skeptics, Liberals or Book Lovers.

Ten years ago, while working on a lengthy historic renovation, a fellow carpenter told me to beware having children. Your wife, he said, will no longer be your wife, she will become the Mother of Your Children. And that changes everything.

I thought he was warning me, telling me that once we had children together, our relationship would no longer exist and all that would remain would be the children. I dismissed his ramblings, as those of a crazy old man. He was a crazy old man, with lots of loony theories the rest of us used to laugh at.

But he was right. Just not in the way I thought he was.

Having children turned out to be the best decision I ever made. I love my children more than anything else in the world. Even more than than my wife. Bayani used to be Number One, now she is Number Three, behind my two infuriating daughters who are tied for position One.

There are people who get upset when I tell them this, somehow interpreting that I love Bayani less than I did before the kids. I love her more. There is just something else I love even more than that; something she gave to me.

I love her more than I did before the kids because she gave them to me. She became more herself when she became a mother.

She is the mother of my children. She is a geek, a sceptic, a liberal and most definitely a book lover.

Bayani is most definitely a Mother I Like to Fuck.