Sex Stable

Today’s choice of titillation, my stable of gorgeous girlfriends, waiting for me in the escort website, nestling under my Hot List tab. A chance to check out who’s new after the summer holidays, maybe collect a few more.

Available today, deep-throat + cum-in-mouth + swallow + anal + face-sitting, no extra cost, call me now baby. This from Sexy Serena. Cum as many times as you like. I love everything about sex (but please, nothing dirty). What’s that mean, I wonder? Oh, I think some men like shitting and stuff, I think it’s called hardsports, well, that’s for them not me.

Sexy Serena’s photo showing her lying on a bed, cradling her breasts, adopting what she imagines to be a seductive expression and poise. Looking contrived to me, also a bit brassy.

Oh look, thirty pounds extra for bareback, forget it baby, that makes you too big a risk.

Gorgeous Charlotte, only today, special offer, discounted rate, no extras. Lady on the streets, sexy in the sheets. Fifty pounds for thirty minutes. Use me as you wish. Cum once and you’ll come back. Ring me now. The cellphone number shown.

The photos in Gorgeous Charlotte’s gallery showing a fleshy attractive blonde, normally clad. A nice bottom beneath an uplifted black skirt. Quite an interesting stable addition. Add to Hot List, click.

Moving into the Hot List. On the screen, my selected companions listed by date last logged in. Three of them having more than three weeks’ inactivity, means they’ve probably moved on. Select their radio buttons, delete, click, goodbye ladies, have a good future life, I wish you well.

There we are, always feels good to have one’s stable up-to-date and in good working order.

Sexually Acceptable

Another response on the marital dating website, hi, like your profile, let’s chat sometime, my photo password’s smiles, xx. In her profile, the usual stuff about being stuck in a stale relationship, looking for excitement, said to be attractive. The photos showing someone on holiday by the beach, smiling at the camera, throwing a frisbee.

Oh look she’s online, hi there, is this a good time to chat?

The screen quiet for a moment, then a line of text appearing, yes, now’s fine, how are you?

Well thanks, nice weather at last, good to feel the sunshine.

These bland pleasantries continuing for a while, then, from her, look, do you mind if I get straight to the point?

Sure, go ahead.

Well, my long term relationship, the thing is, we’re lesbian.

Oh, I see, well, does that mean you’re bisexual? How do I fit in?

A pause from her, then, not really bi, just sometimes I need a hard cock.

Well, I think I can provide that.

And the taste of spunk, you don’t get that from a vibrator.

Well, always happy to be fellated.

The other thing, what turns me on, it’s a bit unusual, normally I don’t tell anyone about it.

Okay, well, you’ve got to decide whether you want to tell me.

Another pause from her. Then, I like to get bitten.

Now a pause from me. Then, what, you mean with my teeth? Where?

Pause. Yes. On my thighs and bum and tits. And not just nibbles, really hard. Don’t know why, but that’s what turns me on. Always has.

Pause from me. Thinking, well, it’s good not to waste too much time on this, that doesn’t turn me on, I like sex to be caring and sharing, hate causing pain, she’ll probably find me effete. Typing, would you like to meet up sometime? Thinking, that’ll get the subject off sex, and we can find practical reasons to put off meeting up.

Okay, actually I’m just off to America this week, can I contact you when I get back?

Okay, look forward to it. Bye for now. Bye.

End chat, click. Thinking, I hope I didn’t come over prim and shocked, I’m hardly in a position to lay down the law on what’s sexually acceptable, nor is anyone else, just live and let live is what I say.

Marriage Matters

Drenching rain all week and my wife required to stay late at work, some conference about a particularly problematic child, whether to have it taken from its family. A traumatic and demanding case, one of many, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

The plan being for my wife to finish up, take the train to a nearby station, then the bus home. Nine thirty on the clock, dark outside, rain still falling. A casserole on the hob, cooked by me during the afternoon, ready to be eaten any time.

Thinking about it, those buses won’t be running on time, it’s miserable out there, to hell with it, jump in the car, drive to the station, wait for her.

By chance arriving at the same time as a train, and my wife by chance on it. Watching her alight, umbrella up, descending the slippery rain-drenched steps. Near staggering with exhaustion, drained from the unending daily onslaught.

Her eyes lifting, a momentary puzzlement on seeing me, then a glowing sunshine smile, oh, no need to wait for a bus, a nice warm car instead, how wonderful. A cursory hug for me. Home, change into dry clothes, hot food, a glass of red wine.

Later, sleeping side by side, a spasm from her and sudden wakefulness. Night terrors. Reaching out my hand for hers, holding it, she clasping hard. My other hand rubbing her shoulder. She slowly relaxing, then sleeping again.

A heroic and lovely woman, guess I must do what I can in the ways that I can, just a shame it isn’t in all the ways that I need. Maybe you just have to accept marriage without the sex, detach the sex into a different compartment somehow.

True Instruction

In today’s inbox, an invitation to an annual summer reunion party, the principal attraction for me being the possibility of running into Christelle, a French exchange student of my second year at university, she in her third.

Sharing notes on an assignment one day, she choosing me, making me think that it was the other way round. Soon, the nightly drinking of red wine in brasseries, her continental radiance burning away my boyish boorish ways. She quietly repelling my sexual forays. Then one weekend, a switch clicking in her mind, a night together.

Soon regularly making love. A true instruction. She in ready acceptance of sexual practices viewed vaguely by me as aberrant. Not that she wanted to do everything, in fact she definitely didn’t want to do many things, but in the way of choosing from a menu, I’ll have that thing, others may want other things.

Her special preference, especially after champagne, anal play. Contemptuous of Anglo reticence, and of Anglo lovemaking in general. A feminine French ppfffff, you English screw your faces up in disgust, we French have been sticking medicines up our bums since we were children, we don’t see it all as dirty.

Late one afternoon after a long lunch, jazz sounding out of tinny speakers, sixty-nineing sideways on her bed, she looking up, a glimmering smile, adjusting the tilt of her hips, one hand pulling apart her cheek. Initial puzzlement from me, then recognition, pause, commitment.

My tongue tickling her sphincter, gently playing, probing. From her, soft surrendered moaning like a whimper, and an electricity through her body. For me for the first time, that clean distinctive vestigial taste and smell and delicate clinging ligamental tightness.

Years after, seeing her at reunions, all of this never referred to, it’s a long-gone secret belonging to a different world, still precious but only if unspoken. Lucky guy, the one sharing her new secret world now.

Curvaceous and Shapely

A reply on the marital dating website, from Black Cat, hi there, like your profile, swap photo passwords? Reply, sure, my password is radiowave. Two hours later a message from her, my password is GetsTheCheese.

A quick glance at Black Cat’s profile. Young 40s, curvaceous and shapely, lives in Highgate, she and her and husband both with successful careers, two teenage children, has it all but doesn’t want to grow old without something more, seeking a strong discreet solvent goodlooking man to provide the magic. Other stuff about recreations and books and so on.

The photos backing up the profile, a smiling attractive slightly chunky woman with black hair in a bob.

Replying to her, hi, I see you like cinema, is there anything at the BFI London that you might want to see? Something a bit sooner? I see you like to cycle, shall we ride round Regent’s Park together? xx. Send, click.

No reply that day. Nor the next. Wonder what that means? Some other guy got there first? Better looking than me? Younger? Maybe he came over as some sort of romantic white knight. Maybe his photo had sportscars and yachts and polo ponies in the background.

Maybe I hit false notes with my reply, reading it again, no, looks all right, if she was put off by that then that’s partly the point, I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.

Or maybe she’s just gone off for a few summer days with her husband and children and can’t get the opportunity to reply.

Still, you can afford lots of failures, all you’re looking for is the one success.

Marital Options

An hour session in the gym, stay fit and strong and in a state of preparedness for the day a lover arrives, I’d hate that moment to come and for her to think, what a slob. Physical exertion also being the best occasion for unpressured thinking.

On the rowing machine, pondering, this is the long weekend of summer, it’s the one-year anniversary of the time my wife and I last had sex, for some reason I remember it took place at that time. A thin and stilted though reasonably amicable experience.

I wonder what I should do now. Maybe, talk to her about it, I’m sure that’s what a counselor would recommend. This however being more likely to rip open a door in her mind, blasting hot air in a cool room, one she’d rather leave undisturbed. Start the talking and it can’t be undone. More loving to stay silent.

Or maybe I should hold her close, stroke her, seduce her. Trouble is, she likes contact, I know that already, but only of the teddy-bear variety. Not if it turns sexual. Her erogenous zones tending to work in reverse, making her shut down, barricade herself. Understanding this is the key to understanding her. A deeply unsexual person.

The rowing machine whirring away and the problem seeming similarly arduous. Maybe I should resign myself to the realities, accept her for her good qualities, renounce sex, become celibate. Possibly, but for what? It’s not as if she gains anything thereby or would even notice.

Or we could split up. But what for? To free me to search for someone identical but with libido? That’s what happened with my first marriage, it’d probably just happen again. Maybe it's something about me.

Or, I could find a lover. As the saying goes, take a lover, save your marriage.

Twenty minutes up and the rowing machine beeping away, time to move on.

LauraLookin4Sex

Sexual juices stewing again, looking for an outlet. Many readily available. Today’s choice, while away the time checking out an escort website.

My preference, a site without too much artiness or design or professional photography. Rather, one where a girl in need of money can quickly upload some personal info plus snapshots and a cellphone number, and they’re in business.

On the site, search for female escorts, London area, with photos, click. Three thousand six hundred profiles matching my requirements. The screen showing passport sized photos plus brief summaries, seventy on page one. About every third photo looking overproduced, so therefore probably snipped from some artwork somewhere. The rest looking attractively genuine.

Clicking one, long slim legs, sitting on a window ledge, LauraLookin4Sex. A long list of likes. OWO, oral without condom. CIM, cum in mouth. A-Levels, anal. Started six weeks ago, viewed twenty four thousand times.

The profile revealing that LauraLookin4Sex is brunette, slim, Polish. Escorting to help pay for studies and because she craves sex. Other familiar stuff, possibly true, possibly not. A hundred pounds an hour, sixty for half, twenty extra for CIM and anal. Won’t do bareback, glad to hear it, baby, you need a condom to protect yourself. Mobile phone number shown. Add to Hot List, click.

After a while, reviewing my Hot List. About forty, like a private fantasy harem. For fun, identifying the top five, those I’d contact if I wanted some action. Young, beautiful, eager and available right now for under a hundred quid.

All this happening on the computer screen, me looking as if I’m working. It makes you wonder how people coped before the internet.

Sexual Awakening

Sixteen years old, almost seventeen, the school term ending, long summer holidays ahead. Our boys' school involved in some joint activities with other schools, finishing early evening. Just unlocking my car, my mother’s actually, and a soft clear voice ringing out, excuse me.

Turning round, a girl from the girls' school delegation, pretty, cat’s eyes, I’d been sneaking glances at her all afternoon, she’d caught me once. Excuse me. Oh, hi. You’re not going past Richmond are you, only, I’ll have to take the bus otherwise. Sure, jump in, let’s go.

During the ride, agreeing I’ll give her a lift the next day to help at a theatre matinee, then we’ll go to a party. Hardly able to sleep that night, by dawn, fully in love.

Theatre duties over, the party perfect under soft summer skies and bright stars. Dancing closely with the girl. Walking to a balcony. She pulling my mouth to hers. A long soft sweet kiss, and my life never to be the same again.

Meeting up lunchtime the next day at her house. Knocking on the door. She answering, clad only in a bikini. Hi, come in. Her towel on the grass outside. The house empty and echoing. A short casual kiss. Adjustment of her bikini top, an adult intimacy. Looking at me, pushing her body against mine, another kiss, this time unending, her hand stroking my chest under my shirt.

A sudden rattle at the front door. Quick adjustments to our garb. Her mother walking in, forgot a book. Introductions. Her mother leaving. But the moment gone.

The next few days, nothing. Phone unanswered. Heartbreak and a summer of anguish for me. Years later, thinking, her brothers, older, back from university with their friends, what hope for me?

Dreams about the girl occasionally revisiting ever since, sharp and poignant, as this morning. What oh what would have happened if her mother hadn’t come back for the book?

But thank you oh thank you, lovely cat-eyed girl, for the episode, the fierce and timely sexual awakening.

Ann and James

A lovely couple, Ann and James, meeting up with my wife and me at a restaurant, one other couple also there. A pleasant evening, wine, laughter, fun. She, auburn hair, well kept, probably attractive to other men but for some unknown and unknowable reason not to me. He, urbane, slightly overweight.

Only learning later of their background, she an heiress, he a surgeon, two talented children, a perfect marriage. At the time, unaware of all this, merely thinking of them as being cordial rather than warm with each other.

Two years passing, forgetting about it. Then chatting with the other couple, she saying, oh, did you hear, Ann and James, that couple at that restaurant that time, they’re splitting up. Oh yes? Yes, difficult, James met a younger woman, ran off with her.

Nothing unusual in that. The striking thing, Ann’s response. Ann’s view, what a thoughtless, stupid idiot James is. Why didn’t he just have an affair? If he wants one, please, go ahead. Not much physical happening between us anyway.

But now look what he’s done. For a fleeting passion, probably over in what, one, two, five years, he’s destroyed what’s taken fifteen years to build. Now we have to fight over assets, we waste a lot of time, our lawyers get rich, our children get poor, and everyone has to take sides.

Ann apparently telling the world, what James is too boneheaded to understand is that marriage is about economics not lovey-doveys. Who cares if he occasionally has to fondle someone else? Just keep it out of my life. And preferably stop fondling me.

All four of us shaking our heads at life’s strange paths. Me thinking, Ann’s exactly right. Who the hell cares? Just keep it out of your wife’s life. Which you can only do if you don’t raise the subject.

It's lips that need to be kept zipped.

Concupiscent Secrets

In a newspaper article about eroticism, the question asked of a conference audience, can anyone point to any pornography that is actually erotic? No hands going up, this being taken by the journalist to prove her original point, namely pornography is disgusting.

In fact proving no such thing but instead showing, first, if you ask people to draw attention publicly to their concupiscent secrets, they’ll decline the opportunity. Second, everything about sex is disgusting, in fact, the disgustingness is the basis of the spell it casts, this contradiction in itself being part of the pull.

A better question, why has this video I’m watching now had eight hundred thousand hits?

The setting, a small apartment, friends gathered for a celebration. The camera clearly operated by an amateur, but reasonably steady. Sweeping around to the door. Someone opening it. A young girl, smiling, holding a cake, coming in. The birthday boy taking the cake. The girl being the real present. Kissing the boy, taking his hand, putting it on her breast, using her other hand to stroke his crotch.

Laughter all round, a pause for drinks, the girl smiling and joking as if a normal guest. Dancing with the birthday boy, a space opening. Sinking to her knees, unzipping his fly, pulling out his member, laughing at its limpness, kissing it, licking, stroking, pulling it into her mouth.

The two making their way to the sofa, other men going there too, helping the girl take off her clothes, stroking her skin. She smiling at them, stroking their crotches too. The camera panning round, other guests watching and smiling, some of them girls. All behaving as if all this is completely natural.

My own interest peaking uncontrollably. Ten minutes down in a twenty minute video. Okay, journalist, how about this one, I’d like to point to it, erotic as fire.

Lovely Lips

Last night, a quick look at the marital dating website, see if there’s been any response, I’d sent messages to about ten women. One response, from Lovely Lips, hi, sounds interesting, like your profile, do you fancy an online chat, ten tomorrow morning, x.

Wow, how exciting, love the x, replying last night, sure, let’s chat at ten.

The appointed hour duly arriving. Signing into the website, checking Lovely Lips’ profile. Husband often away, looking for occasional fun, lives near Hampstead, slim, said by many to be very pretty. Perfect, this feels promising.

The icon showing that she’s online. Five past ten, reasonably punctual but not too eager, clicking the chat button, the chat screen firing up.

Hi, got your email, is this a good time for you? Hi there, yes, fine. Hey, Lovely Lips, you’ve got an interesting profile, whereabouts near Hampstead do you live? Oh, quite close, have you done this sort of thing before? No, have you? Just once or twice. Anything come of it? No, nothing yet.

The online chat continuing. Her sentences crisp, good spelling and educated punctuation but not pedantic. Before long, a lot of questions being asked about my situation, especially past relationships.

This going on for forty minutes. Fun for the first twenty, then like having a conversation with an obsessive, no detail too small to be endlessly excavated.

An attempt from me, hey Lovely Lips, shall we exchange photo passwords, get a picture of who it is we’re chatting with. Oh, sure, but I’m just about to upload a new set, I’ll message the password to you when I’ve done that.

Finally, from me, well, shall we get together some time, how about a coffee at that Turkish place near the station? Yes, sounds good, but let’s maybe have another chat first, maybe next week. Okay then. Okay, speak next week. Okay, bye. Bye.

Thinking about it afterwards, she was getting her kicks from the process, probably just passing idle hours having online chats with various keen men.

Breasts

Sitting with a colleague in the Canary Wharf concourse, a silence from him, then, phoarr, get a look at that. Walking past, now just out of hearing, a blonde showing a big cleavage. Phoarr, he says again, may have to take a few deep breaths, get my brain clear before the meeting.

Me with an indulgent smile of agreement, obligatory in these situations, unofficial code to show I’m not one to get oversensitive about small improprieties when amongst men. Also to show I’m hetero. But thinking, interesting you find that attractive, I don’t, I prefer women’s breasts taut and small.

My Italian ex, the yoga teacher, wonderful body, but big breasts. About as big as breasts can be without sagging, I still can’t work out how they didn’t. Attracted men like flies swarming around cowpats, her words. Trouble was, wasted on me.

Sitting in the reception area, mind wandering, remembering a long-ago relationship, making love, she on top, soft morning light on her face, slim body, breasts high, never needed a bra. Only just fleshy enough to cup in your hand. Nipples soft brown, full and hard. Now those were breasts I find beautiful.

Strange how people differ in matters sexual. My colleague’s mind still on the blonde with the big breasts, me lost in a small-breast reverie. I expect it’s the same with women, they must like different things too.

Still, time to go, there’s the guy we’ve come to meet, reaching out his hand to greet us.

Sex Therapist

Dinner at a restaurant with my wife last night, champagne, candles, chatting, fun. Afterwards, bed, sleep. This morning, up, dressed, breakfast, work. No space for sex or thought of it.

Her idea of a perfect night out. Wonder why she’s so sexless.

Maybe it’s just that different people are different. For some people, quite a lot for all I know, life’s just a lot better without the distraction. You can see their point. That’s what I’d think too, except my body doesn’t give me the option.

Maybe it’s something deeper, perhaps some childhood experience. She’s mentioned something about an episode with an uncle. It’s come up a few times but she’s quickly moved on, she hasn’t wanted to talk about it. I haven’t pressed.

If she wants to talk about it, she can, but probably best with someone remote, a therapist perhaps. She has had sessions in the past, not sure about what, part of the point of a therapist is that it’s between you and them.

If she wants to talk to me about something, best let her bring it up, rather than pressure her. Probably the best I can do is what I’m doing now, namely, nothing.

It gets back to trying to find a woman in the same position, there must be many. I’ll get more active on that marital dating website.

Voyeur

This morning, logging in to check messages on the marital dating website. Nothing. Yesterday, three, all from site admin, trivia. Well, a slow burn, but meanwhile the tingle in my loins is becoming too urgent to ignore.

A sudden memory, that video compilation, amateur women masturbating, let's see if we can find it, enter the site, scan the first page of thumbnails, no, next page, no, next page, next, next, next, yes, there it is. Play, click. Move forward about two minutes, yes, that's where I was when the doorbell rang.

On the screen, a naked woman, sleepy, lying back, knees up, ankles toward the camera. Looking sideways, at a television screen. Stirring. Making a languid adjustment to something, the camera, zoom and focus going awry, then righting itself. She settling back.

Her pussy pointing straight at the lens. Sparse pubic hair, trimmed but not completely shaven.  Her right hand stroking herself. No hurry, just slow easy enjoyment.

Her eyes looking sideways again at the screen.  A wintry smile. Satisfied with the set up.

Face slightly blurred in the depth of field, but no attempt to disguise it. Pretty, slim brunette, hair slightly disheveled.

After a minute, two, the stroking faster, her breathing heavier. Shifting on the bed. Pulling her knees higher.

Her pussy clear and spread, her buttocks widening, sphincter showing, pinkish brown crinkled skin disappearing into its black hole.

The motion quickening, slowing, quickening again. Suddenly a twist and a soft contortion, then a wider opening.

The hand slowing, then the sphincter gently twitching. A quiet moaning sound, where before I had thought the video was silent.

The image spiraling away, a new one starting to arrive. Wait, wait, let me see that again, rewind.

Video replaying, my languid lady masturbating, already my lover. Her easy unembarrassment. Her beautiful acceptance of her body.

My own explosion forthcoming. Baby, I love you, you're an angel.

Okay, phew, that was something.

Beguilement

Drawn by an unseen pull to the site for extramarital affairs, studying the profiles. Recurrent themes emerging. Attractive slim early forties. Husband often away on business.  Seeks occasional company. Still together but not sexually. No wish to end my marriage or yours.

Okay, too tempting. A hundred quid a month is a lot but I see that the sexes are about balanced on the site, the subscription must keep things in line. Women probably pay less, but that's okay. A high subscription from males is already some sort of signal. Of what? Resources. Seriousness.

Well, my own profile. Scribble, scribble, edit, scribble. A cup of coffee. Headscratching. More editing. Finally entering some words.

About me. Articulate, relaxed, upbeat. Settled in my marriage and not looking to upset anyone, but home life is dull, life's short, and in need of adventure with the right person. Where it'll lead, we don't know, but it'll be fun...

About you. You'll probably also be in a stale relationship and have some free time during the weekdays. You'll want to liven things up with occasional secret trysts with someone who finds you beautiful...

Further stuff about height, smoking, drinking, education, figure, occupation. Checklists quickly clicked.

Photos. A smiley for the public profile, in case my wife or her friends or mine come across the site. Then a few real ones if I get any responders, so I can give them the password.

Okay pause. Go ahead? Yes. Pay with credit card. There, done. Let's see how it goes.

Frisson

Two hours work on the bicycle, a way to celebrate summer. Also, a way to stay in trim, this being a reasonable sexual attractor.

Stopping at a drinks stall in Kensington Gardens, breathing hard. Sweat streaming. Looking around. There, a pretty woman.

Our eyes meeting for just an instant, hers in the act of turning away. Caught. She'd been looking at me.

Well, a mild frisson, but nothing to be done with that, can't make too much of it. If I chase just for that, it'll seem too rapacious.

A minute or so passing. God, she was good looking. Think I'll sneak a peek.

Looking up. Again our eyes meeting, again hers looking quickly away. But this time caught in the act, and knowing it.

Her face breaking into a smile. Me smiling too. Exchanging glances. Both doing the same thing, checking each other out.

From the nearby playground, her children returning, demanding attention. Another smile for me, then gone.

These things all taking place months ago and still a clean sharp memory, like a shaft of sunlight through dark clouds on a rainy day.

Porn Again

Today again, hormones jangling from sexlessness. Unless I sort it out, things will go wrong. There'll be arguments, bad decisions, damage.

Back to that familiar standby, porn and a helping hand.

Onto my current preferred site, eighty new videos since yesterday. It's all free. How do they do it? Why? Well, their problem.

The thumbnails quickly revealing the dross, ie most. Plastic bimbos wading through setpiece routines, squealing in contrived ecstasy.

Ah, here's one, a preferred sub-genre, the interview. Woman wants to break into porn, this is the demo tape, the interviewer is her agent.

This one looks authentic. The woman nervous but a little excited. Asked her name, age. Giving them. The terms explained. She in doubt, but assenting.

She being instructed to strip, sit down, turn around, spread. Becoming less inhibited. Aroused by the stranger and his camera. An occasional abashed smile.

A naked man walking into scene. She looking up, a brief blush, a questioning look at the man above the camera.

The man turning her, face straight into her buttocks, licking her. The camera moving round to catch her face. Confused but surrendering.

Soon, the usual variations. Up, down, turn around. Setpiece for porno, but not for her. She remaining human, like someone you could know.

Watching, the excitement building, and issuing. Phew. Now I can get on with my day.

Extramarital Connections

The trouble with not having sex, you can ignore it only so long, then the hormonal pressure starts strangling you.

Today's plan, try the internet, one of the websites for married people who want an affair. Sounds like a good idea.

Quickly finding one. Free. First, quick details about me. Okay fill them in, any old rubbish, can fix that later if the site's good.

Okay, search. Seeking a woman, click. Aged 25 or over, click. 55 or younger, click. Who cares, let's see. Situated in, dropdown list, London, click. Only profiles with photos, click. Search button, click.

Oh look, two hundred suitable lovers found. Well, only looking for one. Okay let's look at some.

The photos for each profile invariably impersonal, sunrises, flowers, smileys suchlike. Access to the photo library requiring a password.

Okay, find one to message. Here's one. With gsoh, what's that, oh, good sense of humour, well, baby, that's not for you to say, move on.

Oh look, all have gsoh's. Let's just message this one, see how it goes. Click the button "Send message to this future lover".

Oh, for this I need premium membership. How much is that? Wow, a hundred pounds a month. Mmmm, might have to think about that.

Sex with an Ex

This morning, waking early, wife at my side, chaste in pyjamas. Mornings being my natural time for sex. Not hers, nor any other time.

Daydreaming about an ex, also a morning person. Yoga teacher, beautiful body, lovely strong face, blonde. Lucky to have had her.

A single mother, Italian, but crisp and uninflected in her English. Daughter staying with grandparents during the week, me staying with her.

Her preference, soon discovered, soon standard, orgasm via cunnilingus, sixty-nine position, her underneath. My cock in her mouth, not a huge part of her attention, useful to smother her sounds.

My fingertips in the hollows beside her lips, stretching them open. My tongue learning her rhythms, flicking her clitoris. Her orgasm soon forthcoming.

Occasionally asking, why don't you cum in my mouth, it'd make my orgasm bigger.

But me worrying about cumming too soon, so my body holding back until she's finished. She then asking what I want, then obliging.

This morning, daydreaming. My ex's needs and mine in excellent harmony, for years. Yet the bond eventually wearing away.

Maybe I should contact her again, rekindle something. But the thought untempting. All my ex's, friends, utterly devoid of sexual frisson.

Oh well, try to get back to sleep.

Sexual Sparkle

My wife arriving home last night, exhausted. A teacher of children with special needs, what do you expect?

She's someone to admire.  Committed, hard working, caring.  Face lighting up with each triumph with a child.  Crestfallen at failure.

Everything fine, but for that missing thing, the spark and sparkle of sexual connection.  That battery's flat.

What I need is a lover.  From what I read in the newspapers, there are plenty of women in a corresponding situation.  Problem is, finding one.

What am I looking for in the lover, I wonder? All my past girlfriends, the good ones, would have been unspecifiable.  The magic just sparked.

So, get around more, maybe meet someone that way.  Trouble is, that takes time, my hormones are more urgent.

Plus, getting around more, better not in my wife's circles, become lovers with one of her friends and it all gets difficult and nasty.

Mmmm.  Must think on this.  One thing for sure, something's gotta give.

Hormones

Hormones jangling this morning, when that starts to happen there's nothing for it but to seek relief, my hand is my friend.

Masturbation greatly enhanced by technology, naked ladies sporting for my delectation at the click of the mousepad.

My current preferred site, many others like it, a hundred new videos posted today, thumbnails showing the essentials.

Click on the "BJ" button. Blowjob. Four hundred pages, each with fifty videos. No maybe not "BJ", let's try "Amateur". Similar result.

Quick scan through first page, nothing. Second, ditto. Third, here's one that looks promising. Video streaming within seconds.

No, too formulaic, and obviously not amateur. Back to the thumbnails. Page Four. Page Five.

Ah, lucky dip, found something interesting here. "Amateur Women Masturbating Compilation". Let's try it.

Quite a find. Probably lifted from a private website. First woman, blonde, heavy, tinkering with vibrators, suchlike.

The image spiraling away, the next woman spiraling in, homespun video editing. A sexual buzz spreading through my body.

The sudden clang of the front doorbell, damn, come back to this another time, quickly close the browser tabs, delete browsing history, put on respectable face, answer the door.

Sex Drive

Okay that's it. Sex is impossible. For the modern man, anyway. Probably for woman too, though that's a different subject.

Here's the kicker. You meet someone, all goes well. Years later, how likely is it that your sexual needs will be the same?

And if you're the one with the greater need, what are you supposed to do? Beg? It's demeaning.

Besides, sex is good. Finito. Difficult, yes. Hot and cold, yes. But wonderful.

So here I am in my fourth long-term relationship. All going well. My wife's a lovely person. But sexually uninterested.

Not her fault, we're just made in different ways. I've stopped paying sexual attention, and she seems to be happier.

It's strange, people see in you what they are themselves. She has no sex drive, she thinks that's normal, so I must be like that too.

Leaving me high and dry and panting.