On our way to see the “First Kiss” couple. The holidays have conspired to keep T and me chaste for too long, so, if nothing else, we will renew our memories of one another’s bodies. But this is in the category of a “Sure Thing.”
This is pretty much my core fantasy – it gives me almost everything I crave sexually.
It involves me and a number of women too large to count. The women need not be models, or porn stars, or young – in fact, if they were a random sampling of women in a place that skewed toward the attractive (say, a trendy bar or restaurant) but included some outliers, that would be perfect. And the women should be dressed as they would be in the trendy bar or restaurant – dressed to attract, and maybe with the confidence (or hope) that they would attract….
7. High-concept swinging
Our dinner party fantasy has never happened. Yet. I really liked the fantasy, though, and I’m disappointed both that our friends ultimately weren’t interested in the most extreme version of the fantasy and that CraigsList (and Kasidie, and SLS) never succeeded in identifying suitable guests. I like the idea of a high-concept swingers’ event. And I LOVE the idea of conjuring and convening such an event. May 2012 be the year.
My wife is no huge fan of the sex club or swingers’ party scene. Neither is L (though she’s less averse than T). I have a hunger – to go to a couple of the wilder, more sensual events and really throw myself into the scrum.
5. Multiples (women)
I’m the kind of insatiable that gets off hugely on being with more than one woman at a time. One of my fondest sexual memories involves three women and me. That was in a different time, and if I’m not ashamed or embarrassed, I’m slightly sad to say that it took a lot of money to bring about that situation – it wasn’t me and three women who wanted to be with me (although I genuinely believe they enjoyed themselves – work can be fun) – it was me and three women who were excited to be making some good money and having a good time. I’m in a different sexual place now, and I’d really like to be in a sexual encounter with two, three or more women.
4. Get pegged
I’ve never been fucked in the ass by a woman. I don’t know that I’d enjoy it, but I’d like to try it once or twice.
3. Re-visit my experience of gay sex
I’ve had a few sexual experiences with men, but not in twenty years. I know I’m straight – there ain’t no missing it. And I have zero interest in anal sex, on either end, with a man. Nor in receiving oral from a guy. But I love giving pleasure. And I think it might be fun both to go down on a guy and to dominate a guy. I’m not sure 2012 will hold this particular experience for me (and I don’t know how pleasurable it would be), but I’m eager to (re-)visit it.
2. Increase my appetite for straight, aggressive, hard, doggie-style, or up-against-the-wall, or bent-over-the-bed, or what have you, fucking
I didn’t really enjoy or crave fucking until relatively recently in my sexual life. I never hated it, but I always thought of myself as an oral guy. If there were ONLY oral, I’d be quite content. If there were only fucking, I’ve long said, I’d be miserable. Alternately, I’ve analogized fucking to salad, and oral to meat. In recent years, I’ve developed more of an appetite to fuck, and I’ve gotten better at it. But it remains true that I can go down on a woman for hours, or be gone down on for hours. And happily. And fucking just isn’t that way: generally, after some time, I lose interest. That might manifest in a loss of erection, or it might just be that I’m ready to move on/back to oral. I’d like to develop my taste for simple fucking in 2012.
1. Deepen my communication and bliss with T
A friend has characterized this path we’re on as “grenadulent.” Maybe that’s a mixed weapons metaphor. But it’s apt: every day we continue down the path, we court misunderstandings and hurt. It wouldn’t at all be worth doing, if… if the rewards weren’t so damned awesome (and if the alternative weren’t so much harder/less satisfying). That said, what makes this path so fun, so rewarding, is NOT all the sex I get to have with people other than my wife. (Don’t get me wrong – that IS fun, rewarding, awesome, etc. It’s just not what MAKES it all so fun.) What makes it all so fun is how great it is for US – how much better our sex is, how much closer our relationship is, how much better we get to know one another (and ourselves). But it takes both effort and skill. In 2012, I pledge to get better, to try harder. May T and I both benefit for it.
1. Please wear a skirt that's just a little shorter than you're usually comfortable in, thigh-highs, and heels. Wear a tight top, and no bra. Pull your hair back, tightly, into a pony-tail.
2. At 6:00 p.m., please be at the clock in the center of Grand Central Station. Have your phone in your hand. Await instructions.
See you later!
Turns out, a brief perusal of L’s Facebook stream reveals that her entire family was dressed in matching elven pajamas last night.
Me? I was in my usual boxer briefs.
And no, I’m not feeling better. But thanks for asking.
Once again, T and I found ourselves sitting across from S and the Dude, once again in a bar with pretentious bartenders and ridiculously named drinks. This bar has character, though – no sign outside, other than the ancient neon “BAR” sign that gives no indication of the ornate wooden interior, the chalkboards listing wines and drinks and beers and prices, the high-backed deep booths that provide privacy for every party. The music was eclectic – Vince Guaraldi playing the Peanuts theme song, Elvis (the first one) singing “Blue Christmas.” T had some sort of drink involving vodka and blackberry (a “Bramble,” I believe); S had a “Cat’s Meow.” The Dude drank beer. I drank cider.
T was dressed to kill – a skin-tight black dress with pink baubles she had bought to wear to a Chemistry party, black stockings, the Agent Provocateur lingerie I gave her two nights ago, black pumps. She was eminently, infinitely, fuckable. S looked hot too, in tight black slacks and a black satin top that draped over her breasts delightfully.
Unfortunately, tonight was not to be. The mucous level in my skull was high to begin with, and by the time we were on our second drinks, my “m”s sounded like “b”s, my “n”s like “d”s. S asked, “So what are you guys thinking?”
I sneezed, blew my nose in my napkin, and said, “I have two thoughts.” I hesitated, and the Dude asked if it would be easier if I wrote my answer down. “No,” I said, “but charades might be fun.” I pictured myself poking one index finger through a circle formed by my other thumb and index finger, and interrupting myself to blow my nose and sneeze.
“First,” I began, “and I think I can comfortably say that I imagine I speak for T when I say this, we REALLY want to fuck you guys.”
And I continued, “But second, I think we want to do that on a night that isn’t tonight.”
S was inscrutable, but the Dude was visibly crestfallen.
I looked at S and said, “The thing is, if I imagine kissing you, or going down on you, I fear I’d suffocate, as I can’t breathe through my nose.”
We hurriedly planned a date (for next Friday, so stay tuned) and bid our farewells. T and I drove home, and I’m now about to go use a Neti pot before crashing.