The Hardness And The Sperm

An email from Jane waiting in my inbox. Hi R, i finally decided to go ahead in my new life as a sex-party hostess, then had to miss the first one because my period happened, C says that some men actually get turned on by that, or she said i could go along and just do blowjobs, but i didn’t want my first foray to be all complicated so i gave it a miss.

No matter, the next one came quickly and i went, and you know what, R, the strange thing was that it didn’t feel strange at all. there was C and i, and one other woman, and about fifteen men, at first it just felt like a normal party, then we started playing some card game where the penalty was to take off clothes, basically strip poker, then when we were all down to our underwear or naked the game sort of got forgotten about and a whole lot of stroking and kissing and all the other things started.

So before that night my personal record for number of men i’ve been with in a night was a grand total of one, that was probably my record for a month as well. now it’s fifteen, i’m not totally sure that i was with every single man, it all got lost in the blur, but i could have been. C says that men generally like to make sure that they’re with each of the women before they leave, so i probably was.

I was surprised, i thought i’d be nervous, but actually once it got started it was fun, the women look after each other, and everyone’s careful about condoms. but actually, all the men seemed to gravitate to my mouth, perhaps they sensed that that’s the place where i respond most, and you know what R, i really got aroused from the fact that the men were aroused by me.

Thinking about it afterwards, as i have been, a lot, at first it seemed as if i had some deep need because of years of marital neglect, but R, it seems deeper than that, it’s more that it’s connected me to my womanhood, the sense of having the power to attract men, the pleasure in seeing the actual evidence, the hardness and the sperm, i feel rejuvenated.

Now, three days off, then another party, hee-hee, i feel wicked. but when i see you again, R, it’ll be special, and you can have me for free. love Jane xxx.

Stupid Not To Charge

An email from Jane waiting in my inbox.

Hi R, great to get your email, hey, the thought of you making out with an escort has reached a deep warm place inside me, she sounds wonderful, what you have with her is what i need with a man. also, thanks for sharing, R, it’s very reassuring having one of your secrets, somehow it makes me feel less exposed for sharing mine with you.

Interesting how at your sex-party the women were paid, that’s what i was thinking at my sex-party, there were a lot of men there who came solo, C told me afterwards that it was actually useful to have more men than women because most of them had their orgasm and then were pretty useless, women can keep going longer.

Anyway, C said that she and A are setting up regular parties and tons of men want to come but not enough women, so they’re going to start charging the men, so it’s only fair that some of the money should go to the women, so if i want to come i’ll get some money. gettin’ paid for bein’ laid, as the song says.

You know what, R, i’m tempted. i was thinking about it when i got your email. your relationship with your girlfriend seems completely unaffected by paying her money, in fact, it seems better because everybody knows where everybody stands and you don’t have the problem of having someone in your life for longer than you want.

Speaking as a woman, anyway, it almost seems that if you go to a free sex-party it tells everyone that you’re desperate, and this is somehow more demeaning than charging a fee. C says that lots of men think this too, they think that you’ve got to be a bit stupid not to charge when you know men will pay.

Actually C was telling me that there are a couple of men who have specifically asked if i’d like to go with them on a date, C says essentially that means a night in a hotel or a dirty weekend, she says i could charge for that too, in fact she occasionally does just that.

C says i should come along to the next sex-party without any obligation, but if i participate i can have the money. or i can turn it away, if it’s not something i want to do. i’ve told her i’ll go along on that basis. now i find i’m looking forward to it.

Actually i’m finding all this very exciting, R, it makes me feel young. email soon. Jxxx.

Shared Sexual Secrets

Waking up early, thoughts drifting to Jane’s last email, asking me to share sexual secrets, wondering whether to do so. My instincts and philosophy running counter. Best to keep lovers in their separate chambers, break down the separating walls and contagion spreads like a disease.

Yet also thinking, it’s so exciting when she shares, I owe her, I know she won’t blab, and besides, revelation of one new sexual confidence even if it occurs won’t be worse than revelation of confidences already exchanged.

Getting up, the household still asleep on a cold weekend morning, hardly light yet. Coffee and toast and solitude. Sitting down, emailing her.

Hi baby Jane, I’m still semi-erect the whole time at the thought of you sucking an unknown stranger through a curtain, I envy him, I can still remember how good you were at doing that.

Well you asked for a sexual secret of mine and here’s one, a big one for me, don’t tell anyone. I’m in the same situation as you, able to do without sex for a while but not forever. So I too found myself at a sex party, but one where the men had to pay, a hundred pounds I think it was, seven or so men with three women, quite a good deal.

Right toward the end I finally got to be with the third girl, Jenny, less vulgar than the other two, more retiring, and the thing happened with her that once happened with you and me, it suddenly felt as if our bodies spoke to each other with their own mysterious language, a sort of magic. Her skin and shapes and movement and the way she curled into me, cure to a fever, calm and warm and peace gently descending. Sexual but beyond mere titillation.

So Jane I got her details and now see her quite often, about once every two weeks or a month, I guess. I pay her eighty pounds for an hour of her time, that’s how she earns a living, she sees a lot of men, but I don’t care. When she’s with me she takes the tenseness from my body and mind, the other men are irrelevant. I’m sure she loves me in her way, and I sure love her in mine.

Sometimes she’s away and I have to wait, it’s normally because she’s visiting her children in Hungary. A tough situation for a mother trying to get by, I don’t think there’s much money back home.

So there we are Jane, a sexual secret from me. Down with sexual asphyxiation, roll on sexual adventure. Rxxx.

Cross My Heart And Hope To Die

Drawn onto my bicycle by London’s unseasonably hot weather, pounding out laps round Regent’s Park, thinking about Jane and her sex-party, thinking I must email her, but not sure what to say, anything would seem a bit tame compared to her escapades.

Unless of course I tell her about Jenny and the supermodel and all the other secret women in my life. I’ll have to think further about that.

Getting home, pink-faced from the heat. Showering, sitting at my computer, still wondering what to say to Jane, then seeing my inbox, another email from her.

Hey, R, i know i’m doing a lot of emailing, but there’s a lot on my mind and you’re the only one i trust, if i tell a local friend what i’ve been doing then it won’t be five minutes and everyone will know and i’ll be renowned as the harlot. i could talk to A and his new wife, i finally found out her name, it’s C, but i don’t want them to get any closer to my inner thoughts, not just yet.

So R, that means that you’re my priest and therapist and counselor, no change from school and university days i guess. in fact, let’s pick it up from those days, i’ll tell you my secret stuff and hopefully you’ll tell me yours, that would be really great, come on R, tell me one of your sexual secrets, cross my heart and hope to die if anyone else ever finds out, i’ve never shared our confidences with a single soul in the past and won’t in future.

You know what, R, now i think about it, having a secret of yours would make me feel like i’m not the only one with a wild side, here i’m surrounded by suburbia and respectability, it’s driving me crazy, and entering this new sex-party demi-monde makes me feel schizoid, i need to live with both parts of me, you help me do that, secrets of yours would help me more.

Meanwhile even without that, R, i hope you don’t mind if i still use you as confidant, i need to get it out of my head. you see the thing is, R, i can’t stop thinking about that sex-party and the man’s dick in my mouth and how good it felt, A and C are going to get in contact again and when they do i’m pretty sure i’ll tell them that i’m game for more of the same.

There we are, i’ve made my confession, not only was i a harlot that one time at the sex-party but i’m resolved to be a harlot again, no past tense about it, it’s my present state and future intention. and i feel like it’s a metamorphosis, i’m becoming a different person. and it’s so liberating.

Anyway, R, email soon. your sweetheart Jxxx.

Enjoying Our Womanly Power

Jane’s email continuing, so there i was, A’s new wife holding my hand, watching two men and one woman dancing naked, then the woman led them by their dicks, one in each hand, to a bed at the room’s edge, lay on it, invited them to join her, one entered her, the other positioned himself for a blowjob. i think i was in mild shock that people should be so uninhibited.

A’s new wife was leading me back downstairs but on the way took me to this strange arrangement, a room surrounded by drapes and cushions and soft chairs, with a black cloth curtain hung down the middle so the room was divided in half, each half with its own door. she said watch this, and turned on a soft orange light. a few seconds later the black curtain moved and this dick appeared through it. i could see now that there were holes cut specially.

Then she went and took the dick in her hand, stroking it slowly, making it hard. come on, she said, have a go, they can’t see who it is, just like we can’t, all anyone knows is that it’s women this half, men the other. so R this was an exciting moment for me, i took this stranger’s dick in my hand, no idea of what sort of man he was, it could easily have been A for all i knew, i just held it and started stroking.

You know what R, i could feel it go harder and harder, and suddenly i felt like a seductress, filled with power. here was a new dick desperate for my touch. after years and years of T’s disinterest. i could feel my juices flow, in my mind and in my body. and i knew exactly what do to make his dick hard.

A’s new wife nudged me, i looked around, and there was another dick. so she pulled up a cushion and we both sat down and she worked on the new and i carried on working on mine. she gave me a big smile, i smiled back, both of us enjoying our womanly power. then when i next looked at her she was licking the dick, taking it into her mouth.

So i looked closely at mine, smelt it, gave it a quick lick, it seemed clean, so i started sucking too, wow, the pleasure of having an eager hard dick in my mouth. i didn’t know if he was going to cum, or if i wanted him to, but after a minute i could feel him pulling gently away, A’s new wife told me later that her man did too, it was usual, they wanted to save up their cum.

R, there was a lot of other stuff that went on but that encounter was enough for me personally, i needed to think about it a bit. so i went downstairs and had a couple of drinks until A took me home. i’ll send this email now and maybe tell you about other stuff some other time. Jxxx.

Uninitiated Neophyte

An email in my inbox from Jane but my daughter hovering around, doing that distinctive woman thing, waiting for the right moment to ask something, probably about staying out late or for some money. Changing her mind, however, finally departing the room, leaving me free at last to catch up with Jane.

Hi R, sorry about that, T came at just the wrong time, i had to stop emailing, i was buzzing anyway and the email made it worse and i wanted to act normal for T. he went straight to bed, but i didn’t want to resume, he’d spot it if i started sudden late-night activity on the computer.

So at the party this man asked if i wanted to dance, i was just about to get up, then A told the man i was a neophyte, his word, can you imagine, actually the whole shebang had a slightly forced superior air, normally it would put me off, like men wearing top hats thinking it makes them aristocratic, but here it added to the slightly unreal air, made me feel even more disconnected from the normal me.

Anyway, being an uninitiated neophyte, A explained, i wouldn’t understand that dancing was code for stripping off and getting sexual, and A said i wasn’t yet ready for that, asked the man to maybe ask after an hour or so when the neophyte had found her feet. the man was fine with that, wished me luck, went off in search of other partners. as one does at a dance.

Well i just settled down for a good strong vodka and A’s new wife came up, sat down, had a drink with me, got chatting, held my hand, metaphorically at first, then actually taking mine in hers, a sweet and reassuring gesture to a neophyte. then she asked me if she’d like it if she took me round, show me how it worked and i said yes please, that would be nice.

We both put on our masks and went upstairs to a big dark room with a dancefloor there was some dancing was going on, in varying states of undress. one masked woman had nothing on at all except some garment wrapped round her waist, to conceal a thick belly i assume. two men were leading her, their dicks in each of her hands. funny, i’ve never seen anyone else do sexual things before, it took me a while to adjust.

Jane’s email continuing, but my daughter coming into the room, daddy, can you come and help, there’s this homework I just can’t get right. Sure darling. Leaving Jane’s email for another time.

Sucking Me Unasked

My hormones jangling again at Jane’s email and her Australian adventures. The thought of a sex-party, seen through the wide-eyed stare of an innocent interested woman, containing a potent erotic charge.

Here in London, my wife departing for work with a brief peck on the cheek, a squeeze of my hand, and a smile. Another exhausting day in prospect for her, looking after others, their needs somehow never reducing no matter how much care they receive. Squeezing her hand back in admiration, have a good day darling.

But the hormones still urgent. Remembering, my last foray led nowhere, just that bland East London suburb and the child-woman and her controller. An event unpleasant to recall, as profoundly unsexual and ugly as could be contrived in deepest hell.

In desperation, trying Jenny’s phone. Her voice answering chirpily on the third ring, hi, I’ve been waiting for you to ring me, when are you coming? Arrangements quickly made.

Arriving early, walking around Finsbury Park, now familiar environs, feeling a sense of peace, knowing that in fifteen minutes we’ll be smiling in recognition and hugging and she’ll be sucking me unasked. Five minutes to go, a text message on my phone, hi baby I’ve left the outside gate open, just come up when you’re ready.

Doing so, closing the outside gate behind me, climbing the grimy stairs, tapping on her door. Jenny’s face appearing. Immediately, the sense of knowing each other, having something special between us. Both of us unable to stop smiling.

Jenny pulling away, telling me, I know you, you don’t care about what I wear, you just want me naked. Stripping off her gown, sitting on the bed, nothing on bar a g-string. Come on baby, take your clothes off quickly, come to me here.

Complying. Lying naked on the bed. Jenny kissing my face briefly, then chest, then straight to my cock, hard already, taking it in her mouth. A deep shuddering relaxation settling softly on my body. Jenny with her sucking and stroking, and her smooth skin and curves, ministering to my needs both physical and spiritual. Long minutes passing, Jenny timelessly patient.

Changing positions, licking her, putting on a condom, entering her, making love. Chatting, stroking, smiling. After an hour, sated, satisfied. The lack of orgasm, irrelevant.

Dressing, kissing her goodbye, leaving, the smell of her sex still around my mouth. Relaxed and at peace for the first time in weeks.

Glamorous, Desirable, Wicked

In my inbox, an email from Jane.

Hi darling R, well, exciting times here in australia, thanks for your email, you gave me courage, the thought of going to a sex-party was a bit strange and i felt embarrassed about even considering the idea, i half expected anybody i shared the secret with to screw up their face in disgust, but thanks to your email and a couple of other responses it came to seem almost a natural thing to do.

Still, thinking about it and actually doing it are two different things. or maybe not. i remember chatting with you in that pub we used to go to in pimlico, you said a new idea in the brain is like a foreign body in an organism, at first the antibodies attack it, but some ideas survive and then they seem natural and unthreatening and you wonder why you ever thought otherwise.

Anyway with me the thinking led quite quickly to accepting the idea in abstract, and that led to accepting the specific physical possibilities, and that led to impatience to get going. by the time A came round to give me a lift, i was quite tense and excited and on a hair-trigger and i was half hoping we’d get on with it right there in the car. i haven’t had an adventure like this, all for me, walking on the wild side, for too many years now, and this felt great.

A was good, he calmed me down on the drive, explained the ropes. don’t get pressured into anything. just stand and watch, if that’s what i want, lots of people get a thrill if people just watch.

He also gave me a mask, a black cat’s face, and suggested i wear it, lots of people do, especially until they get used to how things work, and besides, it makes people feel secure if anybody’s filming. i put it on and R, the transformation was complete, behind the mask i became a different person, glamorous, desirable, wicked, indifferent to the world’s opinion, willing participant in bacchanalia.

We arrived around ten o’clock with the party rocking but everyone fully clothed, quite a few in masks though. Then A told me that the naughty stuff was going on upstairs, he’d take me up any time, maybe i should get a drink first. so i had a gin and tonic and this man came up to me and asked if i’d like to dance.

R, this email is going to have to wait, i’ve just heard the front door slam and that means T’s home, i don’t want him around the place when i tell you what happens next, i’ll hit the send button now. Jxxx.

Vexed And Aroused

The thought of Jane’s impending sex-party in Australia running through my mind, an insistent low buzzing. Then watching a video of a woman in a French orgy, having an orgasm. The two becoming convoluted in my dreams, waking me in a sweat and with an erection. Walking around the house at night, two o’ clock, vexed and aroused.

No help for it but to see Jenny. Pondering her charms. Probably less likely to turn heads in a crowded room than my supermodel escort of last week, but somehow more capable of soothing my restless body. An hour with Jenny, two weeks of feeling happy. With anyone else, thrilling but less nourishing.

Trying her number. No answer. Oh Jenny, don’t abandon me. Trying again later, same result. And the next day. Jenny, Jenny, your arms are calling me.

Eventually, succumbing to alternative charms. Checking the escort website, searching for new girls within ten miles, adding some to my hot list. Scanning the hot list, picking out the most exciting. Phoning the first, no answer. The second, same. The third, responding.

Fixing the time. Arriving. Her apartment perched above tatty shops in East London, the area indistinguishable from countless others. Shops for car tyres, hardware, greasy food, laying bets on horses, cheap drinks.

The door opened by a woman looking nothing like the photo on the website, but very attractive. Her English good. Sorry, it’s not me you’ve come to see, it’s my friend, but she’s busy with a client, can you come back in half an hour?

Resisting the impulse to turn straight around and leave, thinking, this is why I need a woman, stop me being so irritable. Returning dutifully in half an hour, the door opening, the same woman appearing, come in, she’s ready now. Taking me to a small bedroom.

In the corner, a waif, bleached blonde hair, smoking, smiling shyly. The first woman telling me, she doesn’t speak English, but she knows what to do, I’ll take the money.

Looking again at the waif, thinking, she’s barely of legal age. Difficult to tell. Definitely not to my taste to be doing this. Reaching out my hand, touching her shoulder, fond like a father, making sure she understands that there’s no problem with her personally.

Turning to the first woman, saying, sorry, she’s lovely but not what I had in mind. The first woman protesting. Trouble feeling imminent. Pushing firmly but unagressively past her. Walking out the door, down the stairs, and along the pavement. My body feeling dirty, in need of a shower.

Womanly Inhibitions Abandoned

Making some coffee, re-reading Jane’s email, pondering her sex-party plans, finding myself with an insistent erection at the thought. My sweet baby Jane, always a lovely sexual woman, now she’s setting out on new adventures.

Pouring the coffee, holding the steaming mug, looking out the window, seeing people passing in the street, watching the women, wondering how many of them would go a sex-party. Some, probably. Others, not. All offended by the suggestion if asked. Reluctant until the moment of agreement.

Sipping the coffee, thinking, that’s the nub, the essence of a woman’s sexual magic, the modest persona on display, the possibility beneath of inhibitions abandoned. Just a possibility, no more. The key to seducing a woman, you can’t force the abandonment, all you can do is nudge it along. A challenge consisting mostly of being around at the right time.

A smart shapely woman walking down the street, unaware of being watched. My coffee aromatic and strong. Pondering, maybe she abandons her inhibitions sometimes, maybe not. The guy who’s there when she does, he’s lucky.

Returning to the coffee jug, pouring more. Thinking of the woman in the street. Will she, won’t she, abandon her inhibitions? The uncertainty greatly adding to her appeal. For her to abandon her inhibitions, they first have to be there. Real and not faked. And they need to be capable of being abandoned. Take those away and the sexual magic loses a lot if its potency.

A difficult duality, problematic for men and women both.

Now with Jane, a sudden shift. That electrifying event, the moment of disinhibition. Shared with me by email. No wonder I can’t get rid of this erection.

Emailing her, hey baby Jane, how exciting, your sex-party, you’ve always had such sexual loveliness, you can’t just keep burying it, you’ll bury yourself with it. So now you’re having adventures with it, I bet it makes you feel young.

As you say, you aren’t committed to actually doing anything, you can just watch, maybe leave if it’s seedy or tacky. But I hope it works out for you, that your womanly needs find some satisfaction there. Actually the thought is giving me a hard-on, it’s been there for more than an hour since I read your email.

So sweet Jane, enjoy your party. Let me know how it works out. Now, I must go, I’m going to have to do something about this erection you’ve given me. Rxxx.

High-Class Sex-Party Scene

In my inbox an email from Jane, its appearance somehow evoking the supermodel’s sex smells, maybe because Jane’s juices always flowed with wonderful remembered fruitiness.

Hi R, well, it’s amazing, i was resigned to a life of perpetual boredom, then i bumped into someone, the ex-husband of a friend from years ago, we got talking, he bought me coffee and seemed to be able to tell that i have a big hole in my life, so he just came right out with it and said that he and his new wife were big in some high-class sex-party scene, if i was interested he could take me along, no commitments, i could just watch if i want.

Well i was a bit flabbergasted, but he’s a really charming guy and he’s obviously been in this situation before, so he said, look, i expect you’ll just turn me down flat and you’re welcome to storm off and be offended, but before you do, i just want you to know, the reason i raised it is i’ve always found you attractive, take the invitation as a compliment, just leave it at that if you want.

So i smiled as if i was quite used to this sort of thing and found it a bit beneath me, and said i might think about it, as if implying that it would never happen. and he was quite chivalrous and bought me another cup of coffee and had the wit not to bring it up again and we discussed children and schools and things like that.

But anyway, R, now that the seed’s been sown the idea won’t go away, i’m bored of a sexless life and i’m not interested really in getting close with a lover, even if i could find one i liked, so what’s the answer?

So nothing happened for a few days, then i got an email from him saying how much he enjoyed the coffee and would i like to meet up again, and by the way, now i know how he gets his kicks, there’s a sex party this coming friday, if i did want to come along just to watch i’d be more than welcome, what tends to happen is that the fun and games go on upstairs and you can just stay downstairs if you want, having a drink.

So you know what i did, R, i said sure, strictly on the condition that I'm planning to stay firmly buttoned up, I'll come along to your party.

So now, R, i have some excitement in my life. i can hardly believe i said yes. tee-hee. love J xxx

Special Jane Blowjob

Standing in the supermarket line, getting impatient. Looking up at the adjacent till, catching sight of my special checkout girl, not seen for months. Somehow so evocative of Jane in student days.

Her customer paying, her eyes lifted to him, smiling, dimples in her cheeks, her eyes somehow containing the same hint of complicity as Jane’s. The man smiling back at her. Jealousy stabbing through my heart, why isn’t she doing that with me?

All those years ago, Jane selecting me ahead of others, for some reason. Standing now in a supermarket, memories and images carouseling through my mind. Making my way through the checkout, sneaking quick peeks at the special girl, heart panging with each glimpse of her eyes.

Getting home, emailing Jane. Hey baby, your email, fate, date, mate, sate, grate, whew, well here I am replying, late. I was standing today in a supermarket line, there’s a checkout girl there, makes me think of you every time I see her, something to do with her complicit smile, innocence and knowledge intertwined, just like you.

You said you were feeling bitter, but here’s another thought. Fate, it isn’t all bad. In the supermarket I was thinking how with you fate dealt me a wonderful hand. One that gave so much pleasure at the time, and that continues to give, every time I think of you it gives me buoyancy, if we hadn’t shared those times my whole life would have been different and impoverished.

The thing with sex, it’s so much more than just nakedness or entry or even touch, it’s play. And I guess you taught me how to play, darling Jane. Somehow it was you that brought it out in me. And here I was thinking I was doing the teaching.

Hey baby, someday soon we’ll meet up again, and we can find somewhere alone and play together. Not sure what form the play will take, that’s the thing about play, you can’t know how it’ll go, or it isn’t play. But hopefully it will involve taking clothes off. And if I’m lucky it’ll involve a special Jane blowjob, the thought makes me tingle, getting one of those again.

So let’s do it soon, baby Jane, we don’t want too much longer to go by without. love R xxx.

Without Complications

Back from Jenny’s, feeling terrific. Brewing coffee, taking in its smell, pouring a mug. Standing at the window sipping it, checking out the scene outside. London still in confusion after days of riots, but boarded up windows somehow looking ridiculous.

Jenny’s sexual touch continuing to work its magic. All problems now somehow soluble. My wife, happy in her sexless way, incomprehensible to me, but still a good person to share a life with, maybe it’s best thing for me, having an arms-length connection, it gives me freedom to seek adventure elsewhere.

Carol, maybe I was asking the impossible with her. A relationship without complications, maybe no such thing exists. Well, sipping coffee, thinking, it does actually, but there’s only one way. You visit an escort, you pay your money, you have your time, everyone knows where the boundaries are. An excellent way to strip out the complications.

Another sip of coffee. Thinking more about Jenny, her offer of a free blowjob, how sweet she is to suggest such a thing. But not in fact taken up by me, I insisted on paying, she didn’t demur. A smile from her, mutual recognition of meanings, the offer made to signify warmth, payment made to signify boundaries.

A warm glow sweeping over me, just thinking of her. Any time I want to see her, I can, more or less. And if I don’t want to see her for a while, no problem.

The phone ringing. My daughter. Please daddy, I’m supposed to be home by four, do you mind if we make it a bit later? How much later, sweetheart? Don’t know. Well, ring me back when you know, sweetheart, until then it stays at four. Okay, eight o’clock, is that okay daddy? No, sweetheart, especially not with all these riots. Ah please, daddy. No sweetheart, actually my max is five o’clock, either agree with that or stick with four. Oh, okay, bye.

Raising the coffee mug to Jenny, thinking, you see, immediate payoff, managed to handle that situation with my daughter without acrimony, would have been impossible if you hadn’t settled my body down. Smiling, reaching for the coffee jug, refilling.

Lovely Tinkling Climax

This morning, an email from Jane, the day immediately seeming more sunny. Pouring myself some coffee, sitting back, opening it.

Hi R, wow, your last email, what a lovely thought, lying somewhere naked in the sun, having my needs ministered to. have to confess, played with myself thinking about that, alone in my bed, lovely tinkling climax, wish it had been your fingers doing it though, or even better, tongue. also wish i’d had some of you to hold on to, take you in my body wherever you wanted. oh well, can but dream.

Things here are more or less the same, still sexually dead and unable to find the right man. my son was playing the other afternoon with a friend, then the friend’s older brother came by to take him home, a real hunk, bulging muscles, i was watching him through the window, getting myself all excited, even though muscles aren’t my usual thing. nothing came of it, just, shows how frisky i’m getting, i’m in real need, R.

Besides, jumping into bed with someone in my son’s circle might not be the smartest possible thing. here in sydney, R, the problem is that the place is so damn small, it’s not as bad as other towns in australia, but it doesn’t have that thing that london has, that you can do whatever you want and nobody will ever find out or even be interested.

And also, the things you can do in london are so unlimited, there’ll be a thousand things happening, R, that you won’t even have heard about but which if they happened here you’d get excited. anyway, here, the prospects of finding a lover without the whole of your world knowing about it are pretty low. so i guess i just have to resign myself to a long intimate relationship with my fingers.

Unless you come over, R. i can’t see myself getting to england for the next year or so, but can’t you find some excuse, business or a friend’s wedding or something? i could come over to your hotel, spend the day together, some sex in the morning, some wine at lunch, some more sex in the afternoon. it’d be fantastic to feel you inside me again. Jane xxx.

Entrancement

Still aching for Carol, feeling the wrench of her absence. Lying in bed, thinking, hard to know whether it’s her or my idea of her that’s causing the pain. The thought of having a beautiful woman to make occasional love to, eager for me in her clean waterside apartment, no commitments, no complications. Enough for entrancement of the strongest mind.

Suddenly, pop, gone, the bubble pricked. Leaving a hole and a bruise where before sweet fantasy ruled.

But so what, that’s what sexual love is, one part actuality, three parts dream. Take away the dream, the excitement evaporates. Leaving behind mere mechanics.

And besides, not all a dream. The texture of her hair, the shape of her ear, the urgency of her desires, all physical things, therefore presumably actual. Her presence and the thought of it setting me on fire.

The airless London night quiet outside the windows. Tossing around on the bed, trying to understand. The world out there, an infinity of physical things, some more significant than others, the distinction lying in our minds. Does that make it all a dream? Probably. So, Carol, three parts dream, same as everything else.

So here I am in the heat, restless, my brain feeling like a garden with an uprooted tree, the earth all disturbed and ragged and hurting. Nothing to do but gently rake it over, smooth the surfaces, let it settle, let some plants regrow. Familiar feeling, part of having an active life. But still painful. And still demanding of time for recovery.

Giving up on sleep. Getting up from the bed, going to the kitchen, turning on the kettle, making tea. Thinking, this would have been the next step with Carol, spending the night together, getting up in the morning, making stuff in the kitchen for breakfast. Sleepy bodies hugging, her nipples behind a thin gown against my chest. Oh well, not to be.

Drinking a few sips of tea. Letting it go cold. Getting back to bed. My wife tuning over, sensing my restlessness, stroking my shoulder. Sweet woman, sweet in many important ways.

Finally, sinking into sleep, heavy and full of dreams. Seemingly a few minutes only, suddenly, the sound of curtains being opened and the room filled with sunshine. Another day arrived, time for action.

Stroking And Massaging

Lying awake last night, thinking about Carol, thinking about Jane, thinking about Jenny, thinking how lucky I am, knowing them all. Knowing, present tense, the knowledge of them embedded in me, they’re part of my life, touching their skin may be momentary but the aftermath is permanent.

Remembering, I haven’t emailed Jane for quite a while, I should do so. Thinking, she seems happy to tell me about her affairs, or quest for them, maybe I should mention Carol, it’s quite a big thing in my life, perhaps I should share. But quickly resolving not to do so. Jenny can tell me about other lovers if she wants to, but for me, no, it’s important, keep lovers in their own separate chambers in my mind.

This morning, emailing. Hi baby Jane, thought about you last night, felt warm at the thought of having you in my life. Got to fantasizing, something I always wanted to do with you, but we never did. Hire a cottage in France or Greece or somewhere Mediterranean. Stock up on bread and cheese and wine and anything else we fancy at the village stores.

Spend the day on a private sundeck, with books. You could read or sleep, anything. I’d read you poetry, serve you snacks, pour you wine. Also apply sun lotion, making sure to get beneath the straps of your swimsuit, quickly arriving at mutual agreement, these things are in the way, best just take them off. Massaging your body through the day, stroking your legs, your arms, your nipples, your stomach, your pussy. Turning you round, massaging your back, spreading your cheeks, letting the sun shine there, playing with your little hole.

Stroking and massaging, relaxing you into sleep, arousing you towards orgasm. Separating your lips, teasing your clitoris. The orgasm breaking through some time in the afternoon. Then for my reward a long slow Jane blowjob, doing that thing you always did, still gives me an erection thinking about it, somehow sensing the moment, taking me deeper, feeling my cock’s convulsions.

Anyway, baby Jane, I didn’t know when I started this email that that’s what was on my mind, but it obviously was, and now it’s in the open it’s a delicious thought. Email soon, darling Jane. Rxxx.

The Balance, Everything

Early morning on my bicycle, skies clear but rain promised by forecasters. The newly lubricated gears spinning nicely. Good speed around Regents Park, ninety minutes down, feeling good. Then remembering the Tour de France on the television, the cyclists in that, and feeling humble.

An email from Carol last night, Hi R, still glowing, Cxxx. Replying, Same here honey, Rxxx. Nothing further. The exchange made sweeter by the brevity.

Strange how it works. Our brazen lovetalk at the restaurant, like adolescents. Now, the stopping short of incontinence, like adults. The balance, everything. Like on the bicycle.

The wheels beneath me still spinning, a little slower for the last quarter hour. A first spit of rain, so fine as to wonder if it was real or imagined, then another.

Pondering the nature of love affairs. Times gone by, I would have been too intense, two or three women, if I’d just eased up a bit things would have lasted longer. But my need was too great, they filled too deep a hole, half an hour without contact and I’d become desperate. The intensity, too much for them, too much for me, quickly burning everything out.

Now it’s different. With Carol, it’s like going to a secret corner in a garden, where the world is new and the cacophony is muted and the fragrance is sweet. But you don’t always have to go to it, this secret garden corner, it’s mostly enough just to know it’s there.

This difference in me, maybe it’s because of Jenny, my body now no longer in sexual starvation. Emerging from emaciation, receiving nutrition, building strength. Robust and healthy in the knowledge that it doesn’t need to worry about sex. Now, if hormones nag, I can always see Jenny, don’t have to pester Carol.

Strange how that works too. Here I am, looking after my own needs in my own way, result, everyone around me happier. My wife, Carol, probably work colleagues too. And my daughter. All free of that irritant, a frustrated man taking it out on everyone else. Yet if I told them how I did it, oh, sure, I’ve been much more at peace since visiting escorts, they’d be shocked and I’d be ostracized.

The rain starting in earnest now. Life’s rich mosaic. Best be heading in.

Don’t Be A Wimp

An email from Jane, hi R, sounds exciting to be in your summer, i remember how much i used to look forward to it, it’s winter here in sydney so it’s good to get your emails, my little blasts of sunshine. chilled frizzante, picnic rug, unhooked bra, you with your hard-on making me wet, yes i remember, makes me feel young thinking about it.

still looking for a lover here, come on R, come over to australia for a couple of weeks, we can grope again. my mr auditor turned out to be unbearable, we went out for dinner again, i went up to his hotel room, landed out semi-naked with me sucking him but i could tell he was all stuck inside his own head feeling guilty about his wife, eventually i told him, if you’re going to have an affair you have to immerse yourself in it, set some boundaries, don’t be a wimp, this was on my way out the door.

since then of course he wants to give it a second go, thinks he’s in love with me, but now i’ve fallen out of love with him, i think it was only an adventure in my own head, my idea of him, maybe just my need for a lover, rather than him as a person. so i guess i was guilty of doing what i accused him of, not being in the moment. oh well, you can’t fake the ache, i’m simply not interested in him now, nothing more to be said.

which leaves be back at square one, stuck in a loveless marriage. maybe not square one any more, actually, at least now i’ve accepted it, also reconciled myself to the thought that i don’t want to go through the upheaval of separation, put the children through it, i’d rather look for a lover. that’s another problem with mr auditor, i can just tell that if we became bedpartners he’d arrive one day saying he’d left his wife, can’t manage a dual life, what a baby. then he’d expect me to follow suit, turn nasty if i didn’t.

now the problem is finding a mr suitable. handsome, athletic, intelligent, interesting. hard to find. except on dating sites, of course, where all men claim to be all of those things. oh well, mustn’t grumble, think i’ll just lie back and think about frizzante and picnics and my darling R. email soon, you sexy thing. Jxxx.

Raw and Alive

At the gym, sitting on a rowing machine, pondering, not so long ago I was in this same room, Carol on the street below, waiting for rescue services for her car, just as well they were running so late, that’s how we got chatting. A tiny contingent event, and now a new world.

Pounding at the machine, the wheel whirring. Checking the dials, slowing down slightly, recalibrating effort to something more sustainable. Thinking about Carol. Excitingly different. There I was, telling Jane that all my sexual encounters felt like they had her at the heart of them, the intense ones anyway, and now here’s Carol, as unlike Jane as it’s possible to be, and just as intense. A sudden expansion of horizons, doesn’t happen often, thrilling when it does, raw and alive.

Pondering what makes her different. Attractive, electrically so for me, and getting more so, but not stunning, not in the way of men’s barroom conversation. Confident and forthright. The sense that you can go as far as you like, just so long as it happens to be exactly as far as she has in mind. And don’t force the pace.

The rowing machine getting tougher, before I had to slow down to my target pace, now I have to work harder.

Thinking about our conversations, our emails. How does she think of me? It feels as if I’m there to soak up all those repressed energies of hers, her locked-in ideas. Maybe that’s the thing that lies at the heart of sex. And I love it. So she offloads a complicated question, ponders as I try to answer, then another one. Then in bed she wants me do one thing, then another, like working through a carousel in her mind. Me, the willing, passive partner, absorbing her energies, letting her become whole.

Twenty minutes, hitting my target distance, just. Toweling off. Glugging water. And I remember doing the same with a woman once, loving her, but, unknown to me at the time, requiring of her just that she should be there, and follow my direction, unwind my overcompressed spring. And she could see my need, and she let me be. And the sex was wonderful, a dissolution of my tightly wound self. And I loved her. And still do.

If I hadn’t been so young and self-centred and stupid, I may have been able to hang on to her. If I saw her now, I doubt she’d recognize me. But here I am without her, and what I have is Carol. Lucky, lucky me.

So now it’s the other way round. I just have to try to ride this wave, her jangled energy, see what happens after.

Sexually Formative

Emailing Jane, hey baby Jane, it’s spring here in London, always an exciting time of year, daylight still strong at eight in the evening.

Thought of you yesterday, strolling round the park, trees in flower and air filled with birdsong. Those student days, intermittently together, well, what I was thinking, for me the thing that becomes clearer with the years, those times had a unique character, more than that, they were sexually formative.

Hey baby Jane, isn’t that wonderful, all these years later, and not having made love with you in the interim, I finally understand how fundamental it was. All my previous sexual encounters, merely incidental. All subsequent ones, recreations or variations of time spent with you.

I think maybe it’s the sunshine in the park that puts me in such a buoyant mood, mindful of picnics and chilled frizzante wine and the sense of naughty physicality. Cheeky little face of Jane looking at me, nose slightly freckled, ready for things to take any turn, discussions of Chaucer or Heidegger, or just falling asleep in the shade.

Or hugging and kissing and touching, secret groping of bodies, I remember that once, early days, I pushed my hand down your jeans, you looked at me surprised, then unhooked the button, pulled down the zip, parted your legs slightly, then when my finger touched you it was clear your juices were everywhere, you looked at me smiling, said, what did you expect?

You know what, baby Jane, writing this, my hand went unthinkingly to my nose, exactly like I did that day afterwards while you were looking elsewhere, I remember my finger was rich with that wonderful baby Jane smell, it’s almost in my nostrils now as I write.

Lying down on the picnic rug, looking up at the cloudless sky, you off to the toilets and to buy ice-creams, I remember thinking, we can do more lovemaking later at the apartment, maybe take a shower together first. Also thinking, life, I don’t believe it can get better than this. And I figure I was right, baby Jane, it couldn’t get better because it was perfect.