In accordance with that new law that was passed, I'm required to tell you that Durex sent me a bottle of Play O. Legal requirement met.
I had the day off. My plans were simple: stay in bed, read, sleep, read, relax, get over some bad bad days at work.
The bottle was sitting on the nightstand. I was reading. "Hm," I thought. "I could take a break from reading and masturbate. No, I have to pee and it's too much trouble to get up." I read some more. "I really want to see if that stuff's as good as they say. But I have to pee." It wasn't a pressing need, but enough that if I wanted to get off, I'd have to go before hand. "Hm... Fine, I'll pee." Argument with myself lost and won.
I took care of business, then went back to bed. I opened the box, and a pump fell out on me. Huh. Okay. Then a glass bottle fell out. "Ooo, high class," I thought.
I put a slightly-smaller-than-pea-sized drop (the recommended dose) on my finger, then smoothed the gel over my clit and inner labia. It was just cold at first, but then when I started rubbing my clit and the blood started coming into the area, I started to tingle.
O reminded me a bit of Durex's tingle lube, but the gel is definitely not a lube: there is no lubrication provided other than a little smoothness. The directions say you can use O with a lube.
I enjoyed testing O. Enough that I tested it again 30 minutes later. And then again an hour after that. I don't have trouble reaching orgasm, never have, but O seemed to help me come faster. It was like the gel on my skin somehow reached down into my tissue and somehow plumped it all up, upped the nerves, brought everything to focus on my clit and everything I felt was filtered and focused through my clit.
The email I received about O quoted Ruth Gresty, brand manager of Durex Play: "According to our Global Sexual Wellbeing Survey, Play O heightened sensitivity in women by 68% and wait for it...79% of women achieved an orgasm when using it!" Well, how many of those women hadn't had an orgasm before? Or had trouble achieving orgasm? Were the women testing it regular masturbators, and were they comfortable with masturbation? I think these questions could majorly skew the numbers. If the women were regular masturbators and able to achieve orgasm regularly without an aid, then I think they'd be more likely to achieve orgasm with Play O.
So I have questions about their numbers. But I don't have questions about the product. It worked for me, and I'll use it again. Soon.
22 October 2009
20 October 2009
I love
...that we both read in bed before sleeping.
...that we both like listening to audiobooks in the car.
...that we giggle together.
...that we can geek out over the same books or movies or games.
...that he's willing to pop a painful zit on my back.
...that I'm willing to do the same for him.
...that he's willing to try anything, including sewing or knitting.
...that seeing him at the end of a long day can make me smile.
...that I can make him laugh even when we're both sad.
...that we can still fuck like it's new.
...that the cats like him.
...that he talks to me about his work even though I don't understand a word of it.
...that he worries about my mental health if I'm not able to work if we go overseas next year.
...that he cleans the bathroom on a whim. Sometimes.
...that we kiss goodnight every night.
...that we kiss hello most evenings when I pick him up from work or vice versa.
...that we kiss goodbye every morning.
...that I know that whatever happens, he'll be there for me.
...that we both like listening to audiobooks in the car.
...that we giggle together.
...that we can geek out over the same books or movies or games.
...that he's willing to pop a painful zit on my back.
...that I'm willing to do the same for him.
...that he's willing to try anything, including sewing or knitting.
...that seeing him at the end of a long day can make me smile.
...that I can make him laugh even when we're both sad.
...that we can still fuck like it's new.
...that the cats like him.
...that he talks to me about his work even though I don't understand a word of it.
...that he worries about my mental health if I'm not able to work if we go overseas next year.
...that he cleans the bathroom on a whim. Sometimes.
...that we kiss goodnight every night.
...that we kiss hello most evenings when I pick him up from work or vice versa.
...that we kiss goodbye every morning.
...that I know that whatever happens, he'll be there for me.
16 October 2009
Why My Husband is the Best
It had been a truly shitty day. I had a cold, I was hating my job before I even went to work, and I wasn't hungry at all--a major indicator that I'm not feeling well. Things started looking up once I was actually at work. Technical difficulties made the line a little stranger than usual at the register, but I worked with it and tried to make it flow easier and tried to smile at people and act like the annoyances were trifling.
As the day went on, there were more and more annoyances. The BOGO deals are fucked up, so I did a return on one of those. A customer who comes in often and buys hundreds of items on a single receipt and uses the same receipt to make multiple returns sometimes weeks apart came in with her stack of receipts and made multiple returns. Two people got pissed because they were told to stand in line for a return rather than being served in front of the rest of the line. Most days, I can take it in stride, shake it off. This day, it built up on me until the stress settled in my shoulders and I was tight and tense and hurting.
I got off at 4.30, but N. couldn't get there to pick me up till 5, so I picked out a couple of books and flipped through them. I read my book when I was done with those, and I had my phone laying on the table, waiting for N. to tell me he was there. I was reading when I noticed motion out of the corner of my eye. I turned, and there was his black leather coat and his face, and I smiled because I got to go home with him.
We listened to Orson Scott Card's Empire on the drive home. I started supper, a chicken chili, and relaxed a little. I was online and I thought I might look at sex toys since I had a little extra money in my bank account. After checking said bank account, though, I realized that a bill that I'd paid days ago hadn't come out till the previous day, so my bank account wasn't quite what I thought it was, and that depressed me. I stumbled to bed early.
He came back and stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed. "Are you staying in bed?" I asked.
"No," he said. "I know you need a cuddle." And I did. He held me and I cried, the kind of cry I rarely indulge in: a total immersion in the tears and sobbing, and all the while he held me and ran a hand along my back and my leg. Done, I rolled over and grabbed a tissue to wipe my eyes. I checked the time. 9.15.
"I'm really craving chocolate cake," I said. He laughed.
"Don't we have a mix?" We determined we might have one, but we definitely had a brownie mix.
"Nah," I said, "Don't worry about it. I'll make brownies tomorrow."
"If you do that, you'll eat brownies all day."
"So? You do it. Why can't I?"
"I don't know any better," he laughed.
"I promise I'll save you one."
"Well, maybe I'll make them tonight," N. said.
"Wake me up if you do."
He left me reading, and I heard him making noises in the kitchen. Brownies are mine, I thought, and I set my book aside and fell asleep.
"I have your brownies," he said. I woke up smiling. The brownies were still hot, too hot to eat, so I got up and went to the bathroom. When I got back to bed, the brownies were still warm, and I dug in. He laid there watching me eat till I told him it was creepy.
"You need to go away or get your own," I said. "It's too weird to eat with you watching."
A shitty day that remained shitty right up till bedtime--N. did his best to turn it around before I slept. He held me when I very much needed it, and he made me brownies. I hereby confer on him the Best Husband Award.
As the day went on, there were more and more annoyances. The BOGO deals are fucked up, so I did a return on one of those. A customer who comes in often and buys hundreds of items on a single receipt and uses the same receipt to make multiple returns sometimes weeks apart came in with her stack of receipts and made multiple returns. Two people got pissed because they were told to stand in line for a return rather than being served in front of the rest of the line. Most days, I can take it in stride, shake it off. This day, it built up on me until the stress settled in my shoulders and I was tight and tense and hurting.
I got off at 4.30, but N. couldn't get there to pick me up till 5, so I picked out a couple of books and flipped through them. I read my book when I was done with those, and I had my phone laying on the table, waiting for N. to tell me he was there. I was reading when I noticed motion out of the corner of my eye. I turned, and there was his black leather coat and his face, and I smiled because I got to go home with him.
We listened to Orson Scott Card's Empire on the drive home. I started supper, a chicken chili, and relaxed a little. I was online and I thought I might look at sex toys since I had a little extra money in my bank account. After checking said bank account, though, I realized that a bill that I'd paid days ago hadn't come out till the previous day, so my bank account wasn't quite what I thought it was, and that depressed me. I stumbled to bed early.
He came back and stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed. "Are you staying in bed?" I asked.
"No," he said. "I know you need a cuddle." And I did. He held me and I cried, the kind of cry I rarely indulge in: a total immersion in the tears and sobbing, and all the while he held me and ran a hand along my back and my leg. Done, I rolled over and grabbed a tissue to wipe my eyes. I checked the time. 9.15.
"I'm really craving chocolate cake," I said. He laughed.
"Don't we have a mix?" We determined we might have one, but we definitely had a brownie mix.
"Nah," I said, "Don't worry about it. I'll make brownies tomorrow."
"If you do that, you'll eat brownies all day."
"So? You do it. Why can't I?"
"I don't know any better," he laughed.
"I promise I'll save you one."
"Well, maybe I'll make them tonight," N. said.
"Wake me up if you do."
He left me reading, and I heard him making noises in the kitchen. Brownies are mine, I thought, and I set my book aside and fell asleep.
"I have your brownies," he said. I woke up smiling. The brownies were still hot, too hot to eat, so I got up and went to the bathroom. When I got back to bed, the brownies were still warm, and I dug in. He laid there watching me eat till I told him it was creepy.
"You need to go away or get your own," I said. "It's too weird to eat with you watching."
A shitty day that remained shitty right up till bedtime--N. did his best to turn it around before I slept. He held me when I very much needed it, and he made me brownies. I hereby confer on him the Best Husband Award.
15 October 2009
Pleasures I
I have few guilty pleasures. Mostly because I refuse to feel guilty about things that give me pleasure.
The closest I come to a guilty pleasure are my books. Most of the guilt comes from the money I spend on them, but when I pick them up for a buck apiece, the guilt is assuaged. The genres I read give me absolutely no guilt: science fiction, fantasy, trashy romance, history, historical fiction, science, trashy paranormal romance, anything that sounds interesting.
In college, I took refuge in books. I always had one with me, almost as a defense mechanism so I could read a book instead of talking to the people around me. I read before class, at meals, any down time I had was spent with a book. Now, I have other pursuits that take up spare time, but books still have a large portion of it. I read on my meal break at work, just before I sleep, in the car (I love audiobooks), and on my days off I love to spend the day in bed reading.
Last year, I started keeping a list of the books I read. I set the goal last year of 50 books in a year, and I easily beat it. This year I have the goal of 75, but I'm sitting at 51 (including the ones I'm currently reading), so I'm not sure I'm going to meet it.
The best books I've read this year? Easy. World War Z by Max Brooks and The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.
World War Z is an oral history of the zombie apocalypse. I was so impressed with Brooks' knowledge of the world--he doesn't limit himself to America or North America, but he writes from the perspectives of people all over the world: Iran, Pakistan, Russia, China, Japan, and Canada. He uses world history and current politics like they're a part of his every day knowledge--and maybe they are; maybe his research wasn't as extensive as I think it was. Even so, this is an amazing collection of, as their base, short stories, all addressing the same event. It sort of reminds me of that new show, Flash Forward, where everyone has a moment in time that everyone else in the world can relate to. The entire world is taken over by zombies, and the survivors all have a common history: how did you survive? When did you know you were in trouble? When did you lose your family? What's your preferred weapon? When did you hear about the stand at (fill in the blank)?
The Time Traveler's Wife is an amazing, tragic love story. Niffenegger tackles questions of free will. If the future has already happened, can it be changed? Henry is a librarian who has Chrono-Displacement Disorder, which causes him to be involuntarily thrown about in time. In his timeline, he meets Clare when she's a child and he befriends her, knowing that in her future, she becomes his wife. The book is about their intertwined paths, the stress that Henry's disorder puts on their relationship, how they both deal with the dangers he faces when he time travels. In short, this is a truly amazing book. The story is fantastic, and the writing is superb. Read it. It's worth it.
The closest I come to a guilty pleasure are my books. Most of the guilt comes from the money I spend on them, but when I pick them up for a buck apiece, the guilt is assuaged. The genres I read give me absolutely no guilt: science fiction, fantasy, trashy romance, history, historical fiction, science, trashy paranormal romance, anything that sounds interesting.
In college, I took refuge in books. I always had one with me, almost as a defense mechanism so I could read a book instead of talking to the people around me. I read before class, at meals, any down time I had was spent with a book. Now, I have other pursuits that take up spare time, but books still have a large portion of it. I read on my meal break at work, just before I sleep, in the car (I love audiobooks), and on my days off I love to spend the day in bed reading.
Last year, I started keeping a list of the books I read. I set the goal last year of 50 books in a year, and I easily beat it. This year I have the goal of 75, but I'm sitting at 51 (including the ones I'm currently reading), so I'm not sure I'm going to meet it.
The best books I've read this year? Easy. World War Z by Max Brooks and The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.
World War Z is an oral history of the zombie apocalypse. I was so impressed with Brooks' knowledge of the world--he doesn't limit himself to America or North America, but he writes from the perspectives of people all over the world: Iran, Pakistan, Russia, China, Japan, and Canada. He uses world history and current politics like they're a part of his every day knowledge--and maybe they are; maybe his research wasn't as extensive as I think it was. Even so, this is an amazing collection of, as their base, short stories, all addressing the same event. It sort of reminds me of that new show, Flash Forward, where everyone has a moment in time that everyone else in the world can relate to. The entire world is taken over by zombies, and the survivors all have a common history: how did you survive? When did you know you were in trouble? When did you lose your family? What's your preferred weapon? When did you hear about the stand at (fill in the blank)?
The Time Traveler's Wife is an amazing, tragic love story. Niffenegger tackles questions of free will. If the future has already happened, can it be changed? Henry is a librarian who has Chrono-Displacement Disorder, which causes him to be involuntarily thrown about in time. In his timeline, he meets Clare when she's a child and he befriends her, knowing that in her future, she becomes his wife. The book is about their intertwined paths, the stress that Henry's disorder puts on their relationship, how they both deal with the dangers he faces when he time travels. In short, this is a truly amazing book. The story is fantastic, and the writing is superb. Read it. It's worth it.
09 October 2009
Therapy
After spending a couple of hours at the bookstore and going out to lunch on Tuesday, I went home and took a nap. I fell asleep around 1.30, then woke up at 3.30 to pee and get a drink of water and readjust the cats so they weren't squishing my ovaries. I went back to sleep, thinking I'd wake up around 4.30 or 5, giving me plenty of time to get down to N.'s work and pick him up by 6.
I woke up at 5.22. I sprang out of bed and called him and put on clothes and ran out the door.
At some point in the errand running, I told N. he had to keep me up till at least 10 so I didn't wake up at 3 a.m. wide awake and ready to do something. He threatened to sit next to me and poke me in the side to keep me awake. "There's something else you can poke me with," I said with an eyebrow waggle. He laughed.
We were in bed, 30 minutes to go till 10. We were cuddling, and he suddenly leaned over and took my nipple in his mouth. "Ooooh," I thought. He settled between my legs, his cock rubbing up and down against my pussy and my clit.
Then he was in me and fucking me. After that, only impressions: his stomach against mine; his beard stubble rubbing my neck; his teeth against my throat; his hands grabbing my breasts with my legs over his shoulders; coming with him; holding him in me, on me, keeping him close as long as I could.
A day that began with tears ended with a sigh of satisfaction.
I woke up at 5.22. I sprang out of bed and called him and put on clothes and ran out the door.
At some point in the errand running, I told N. he had to keep me up till at least 10 so I didn't wake up at 3 a.m. wide awake and ready to do something. He threatened to sit next to me and poke me in the side to keep me awake. "There's something else you can poke me with," I said with an eyebrow waggle. He laughed.
We were in bed, 30 minutes to go till 10. We were cuddling, and he suddenly leaned over and took my nipple in his mouth. "Ooooh," I thought. He settled between my legs, his cock rubbing up and down against my pussy and my clit.
Then he was in me and fucking me. After that, only impressions: his stomach against mine; his beard stubble rubbing my neck; his teeth against my throat; his hands grabbing my breasts with my legs over his shoulders; coming with him; holding him in me, on me, keeping him close as long as I could.
A day that began with tears ended with a sigh of satisfaction.
07 October 2009
Annual
I'm nearly 30 years old, and I still cry at the doctor's office.
It happened last week at the dentist when he was getting ready to shoot me full of painkillers to pull a tooth. It happened yesterday when the physician's assistant I was seeing for my annual exam asked if I'd had my tetanus booster and when I said no tried to impress upon me the importance of it.
"This is enough," I told her. And then my eyes filled up and I cried a bit. Not sobbing, just tears and it was a little harder to breath than normal. She stuffed a handful of tissues into my hand.
It didn't help that after I'd gotten undressed and put on the gown they provide I realized it wasn't even a half-gown like I'd gotten in the past. This one hit at the top of my hip and had slits up the sides and of course gaped open in the front. Add that to the flimsy paper lap blanket and not having met the PA before I was naked, I think "anxious" is a good descriptor of how I felt.
After that, the exam was easy. I had to do something different for the breast exam: I put my hands on my hips and shot my shoulders back. The vaginal exam was the same as always, though with more swabbing. Turns out I have a slight bacterial infection, which she said could be from my NuvaRing.
I got dressed and felt infinitely better. I cleaned the mascara off my face and felt better still. I sat in the chair rather than on the exam table, and that was probably the best feeling of all.
She once again pressed me to get a tetanus shot. I once again told her next time. She printed out information about vaginal bacterial infections and we left the exam room. The printer was whacko so we had to wait for the papers to print from another printer and she--once again--told me how important a tetanus shot was.
I got out of there (oh how I love having health insurance again--$15 copay) and headed to Barnes and Noble. A large hot chocolate and A Touch of Dead by Charlaine Harris later (I read the whole book sitting there in a comfy chair), I was feeling much better.
Maybe next year I won't cry.
It happened last week at the dentist when he was getting ready to shoot me full of painkillers to pull a tooth. It happened yesterday when the physician's assistant I was seeing for my annual exam asked if I'd had my tetanus booster and when I said no tried to impress upon me the importance of it.
"This is enough," I told her. And then my eyes filled up and I cried a bit. Not sobbing, just tears and it was a little harder to breath than normal. She stuffed a handful of tissues into my hand.
It didn't help that after I'd gotten undressed and put on the gown they provide I realized it wasn't even a half-gown like I'd gotten in the past. This one hit at the top of my hip and had slits up the sides and of course gaped open in the front. Add that to the flimsy paper lap blanket and not having met the PA before I was naked, I think "anxious" is a good descriptor of how I felt.
After that, the exam was easy. I had to do something different for the breast exam: I put my hands on my hips and shot my shoulders back. The vaginal exam was the same as always, though with more swabbing. Turns out I have a slight bacterial infection, which she said could be from my NuvaRing.
I got dressed and felt infinitely better. I cleaned the mascara off my face and felt better still. I sat in the chair rather than on the exam table, and that was probably the best feeling of all.
She once again pressed me to get a tetanus shot. I once again told her next time. She printed out information about vaginal bacterial infections and we left the exam room. The printer was whacko so we had to wait for the papers to print from another printer and she--once again--told me how important a tetanus shot was.
I got out of there (oh how I love having health insurance again--$15 copay) and headed to Barnes and Noble. A large hot chocolate and A Touch of Dead by Charlaine Harris later (I read the whole book sitting there in a comfy chair), I was feeling much better.
Maybe next year I won't cry.
29 September 2009
Black Satin
It's been a while since we had a weekend where we could focus on each other and do things that made us happy.
Friday, he left for work after telling me to think about where I wanted to eat. I'd been thinking of sushi at least since my Atlanta trip, but one thing and another kept me from asking for it. So around 5, when I figured he'd be leaving the office and going over to the bar with coworkers for a beer, I got in a very hot bath. I soaked, trying to get some kinks out of my back, and I shaved my pussy (a major ordeal) as preparation for the night. I soaked a little longer (figuring I'd wash all the ickiness off when I showered) then showered and washed my hair and body. I wrapped a towel around myself and started to send N. a text that said, "Are you on your way or am I a nagging wife?" but before I finished it, I looked out the window and saw the car and there he was, unlocking the door.
I took my time getting ready. I put on a black satin thong under my jeans and wore a very pretty sweater I got last spring. I put my hair up in a messy bun and applied more makeup than usual. I was just getting my lip gloss out of my purse when he said, "You're driving." The way he said it sapped all desire to finish putting on makeup, but luckily, I was only lacking lipstick. We got in the car (yes, I drove) and I told him, "Next time, ask if I'll drive." He apologized and all was well.
We had sushi. There was something they called a cowboy roll with tuna and asparagus inside and topped with steak, something with shrimp tempura and strawberries, then tamago (egg) and unagi and roe. We waddled out. I never think I'll get full on rice and raw fish, and then all of a sudden I can't eat any more.
We had to stop at Target for cash, a light bulb, and windshield wipers. Once we were home, I planned on changing the sheets, but when I pulled them out of the dryer, they stank, so back into the washer for another round they went. We changed the light bulb (him on the rolly computer chair I use for sewing and me holding him and ready to push him toward the bed (and the cats--we obviously didn't plan that one very well) if he fell).
I made him lie down. I removed my jeans and pretty sweater. I straddled him. I kissed and nibbled his ear, unbuttoned his shirt, kissed his belly, all the time feeling him grow incrementally harder. I unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, then kissed along the top of his boxers. I touched his cock through his boxers, felt it get harder.
I couldn't take it. I was teasing him, but I was teasing me, too. I pulled his pants down far enough that his cock was available, and I kissed it and sucked it and teased him some more. Then the pants came down further and I pulled his cock deeper into my throat. I kissed his thighs, his balls, his hips, and sucked his cock some more. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He let them rest at his side, then would stroke my hair, then back down to the bed. I took off my bra and his pants the rest of the way, and I was going to titty fuck him, but it just wasn't working out. Somehow the angles were wrong.
Instead I straddled him again, my pussy against black satin against his cock. Inspired by a request a few weeks ago that we never got to satisfy, I unstraddled, turned, and straddled N. again facing away, reverse cowgirl style. I have to say, it was an inspired move. The position was a huge turn-on. I was still in my thong, and he loves my ass, so he was able to play with my ass, grabbing it and smacking it. And all the time, I was rubbing my clit and pussy against his cock through that black satin and by the time he started fingering me, I was ready to come.
I bent over, giving him greater access to my pussy, and I grabbed his feet used his legs to help me move back and forth, back and forth across his cock and onto his finger. I felt my belly against his legs, smooth against hairy, and it was a sensation I don't think I've ever had before on my belly and it was good. I came, my face between his feet and my hands holding his feet for dear life.
I disentangled long enough to remove the thong--by this time, it was wet and in the way. We tried fucking in reverse cowgirl, but it didn't do much for me other than make me feel like I needed to shit. I got off and N. bitched about having to move and change positions. Until I reminded him that I'd done most of the work to this point. Then he was only grateful, not grouchy. He fucked me from behind, smacking my ass some more and moving my hips much faster than I can actually move them. I think he came sooner than he expected because he said something to the effect of, "Well, fuck" when he came.
There was no cuddling immediately after--which is fine, since I'm not usually a cuddler and since he's usually too hot to touch after. N. doesn't precum much, but sometimes the aftershocks are explosive, and that was the case Friday night. He went to clean himself up and smoke while I came a few more times by myself, then a few more when he came in to cuddle.
It was a night as close to perfect as I think humans can get. Good food, good sex, good after sex ice cream. Really, what could be better?
Friday, he left for work after telling me to think about where I wanted to eat. I'd been thinking of sushi at least since my Atlanta trip, but one thing and another kept me from asking for it. So around 5, when I figured he'd be leaving the office and going over to the bar with coworkers for a beer, I got in a very hot bath. I soaked, trying to get some kinks out of my back, and I shaved my pussy (a major ordeal) as preparation for the night. I soaked a little longer (figuring I'd wash all the ickiness off when I showered) then showered and washed my hair and body. I wrapped a towel around myself and started to send N. a text that said, "Are you on your way or am I a nagging wife?" but before I finished it, I looked out the window and saw the car and there he was, unlocking the door.
I took my time getting ready. I put on a black satin thong under my jeans and wore a very pretty sweater I got last spring. I put my hair up in a messy bun and applied more makeup than usual. I was just getting my lip gloss out of my purse when he said, "You're driving." The way he said it sapped all desire to finish putting on makeup, but luckily, I was only lacking lipstick. We got in the car (yes, I drove) and I told him, "Next time, ask if I'll drive." He apologized and all was well.
We had sushi. There was something they called a cowboy roll with tuna and asparagus inside and topped with steak, something with shrimp tempura and strawberries, then tamago (egg) and unagi and roe. We waddled out. I never think I'll get full on rice and raw fish, and then all of a sudden I can't eat any more.
We had to stop at Target for cash, a light bulb, and windshield wipers. Once we were home, I planned on changing the sheets, but when I pulled them out of the dryer, they stank, so back into the washer for another round they went. We changed the light bulb (him on the rolly computer chair I use for sewing and me holding him and ready to push him toward the bed (and the cats--we obviously didn't plan that one very well) if he fell).
I made him lie down. I removed my jeans and pretty sweater. I straddled him. I kissed and nibbled his ear, unbuttoned his shirt, kissed his belly, all the time feeling him grow incrementally harder. I unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, then kissed along the top of his boxers. I touched his cock through his boxers, felt it get harder.
I couldn't take it. I was teasing him, but I was teasing me, too. I pulled his pants down far enough that his cock was available, and I kissed it and sucked it and teased him some more. Then the pants came down further and I pulled his cock deeper into my throat. I kissed his thighs, his balls, his hips, and sucked his cock some more. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He let them rest at his side, then would stroke my hair, then back down to the bed. I took off my bra and his pants the rest of the way, and I was going to titty fuck him, but it just wasn't working out. Somehow the angles were wrong.
Instead I straddled him again, my pussy against black satin against his cock. Inspired by a request a few weeks ago that we never got to satisfy, I unstraddled, turned, and straddled N. again facing away, reverse cowgirl style. I have to say, it was an inspired move. The position was a huge turn-on. I was still in my thong, and he loves my ass, so he was able to play with my ass, grabbing it and smacking it. And all the time, I was rubbing my clit and pussy against his cock through that black satin and by the time he started fingering me, I was ready to come.
I bent over, giving him greater access to my pussy, and I grabbed his feet used his legs to help me move back and forth, back and forth across his cock and onto his finger. I felt my belly against his legs, smooth against hairy, and it was a sensation I don't think I've ever had before on my belly and it was good. I came, my face between his feet and my hands holding his feet for dear life.
I disentangled long enough to remove the thong--by this time, it was wet and in the way. We tried fucking in reverse cowgirl, but it didn't do much for me other than make me feel like I needed to shit. I got off and N. bitched about having to move and change positions. Until I reminded him that I'd done most of the work to this point. Then he was only grateful, not grouchy. He fucked me from behind, smacking my ass some more and moving my hips much faster than I can actually move them. I think he came sooner than he expected because he said something to the effect of, "Well, fuck" when he came.
There was no cuddling immediately after--which is fine, since I'm not usually a cuddler and since he's usually too hot to touch after. N. doesn't precum much, but sometimes the aftershocks are explosive, and that was the case Friday night. He went to clean himself up and smoke while I came a few more times by myself, then a few more when he came in to cuddle.
It was a night as close to perfect as I think humans can get. Good food, good sex, good after sex ice cream. Really, what could be better?
26 September 2009
Another post in which I sound like an infomercial, only sexier
Durex, a couple of months ago, sent me some new massage melts. These come in blisterpacks, not unlike cold medicine tablets, except unlike cold medicine, these are bigger and you put them in the freezer.
The idea is to have frozen lube to tease with like you'd tease with an ice cube, and then not only are you teasing, but you're lubing, too, and you eliminate a step there. Instead of reaching for lube, you've already got it melted on your lover's body.
Great idea. I loved it. And then we tried it.
It could be that we just weren't that into sex that night. It was the night before I flew to Atlanta for Dragon*Con, it was late, and we were tired but determined to have sex before the long weekend apart. The melts had been in the freezer, so we figured why not.
I would recommend using the melts at a time when you'll be able to shower afterwords. There's a lot of lube in those little blisterpacks--too much, really. N. started by teasing my nipples with the icy lube and then ran it over the rest of my body and even, as the packaging suggested, put it inside me.
Bad idea.
I nearly got frostbite of the pussy, which is funny now, but when you're burning a cold burn inside your pussy, it's not so funny as painful and getitoutgetitout.
Overall, I'm not a big fan of the massage melts. If you like playing with ice and don't mind a lot of lube, then these are good for ya.
The idea is to have frozen lube to tease with like you'd tease with an ice cube, and then not only are you teasing, but you're lubing, too, and you eliminate a step there. Instead of reaching for lube, you've already got it melted on your lover's body.
Great idea. I loved it. And then we tried it.
It could be that we just weren't that into sex that night. It was the night before I flew to Atlanta for Dragon*Con, it was late, and we were tired but determined to have sex before the long weekend apart. The melts had been in the freezer, so we figured why not.
I would recommend using the melts at a time when you'll be able to shower afterwords. There's a lot of lube in those little blisterpacks--too much, really. N. started by teasing my nipples with the icy lube and then ran it over the rest of my body and even, as the packaging suggested, put it inside me.
Bad idea.
I nearly got frostbite of the pussy, which is funny now, but when you're burning a cold burn inside your pussy, it's not so funny as painful and getitoutgetitout.
Overall, I'm not a big fan of the massage melts. If you like playing with ice and don't mind a lot of lube, then these are good for ya.
14 September 2009
Losing
I mentioned in my last post that I've lost 20 pounds since last summer. I know why: I've been working a lot and my work involves a lot of standing and a lot of walking and a lot of throwing bolts of fabric around and occasionally, a lot of box lifting and unpacking. In short, it's a very physically active job.
In fact, when I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago (yay for being married and getting health insurance!), one of the questions on the paper they made me fill out was "Do you exercise?" I think a lot of people would say no, I don't exercise, because there's no elliptical machine or running shorts or weights involved. Fuck that shit. If I'm standing on my feet for 7 or 8 hours a day, then yes, I'm exercising. That's why I don't do conventional exercise--I'm too fucking exhausted to think about putting on running shorts to run a mile or to lift weights even if I don't have to go to the gym to do so.
Most people congratulate me when I complain about my shorts or my corsets not fitting properly because I've lost weight. I try not to sound like I'm fishing for compliments, because I'm not. If anything, I'm sad that I've lost weight because it means I have to buy new clothes. Plus, I don't think weight loss is a big deal. Fat people can be just as healthy as skinny people, and there are plenty of fatties who are more healthy than their skinny friends.
Anyhow, I've lost weight. It feels very odd to be only 230; when was the last time I was 230? High school? Before? I'm not really sure. My body is so much a part of me, and I'm used to having a belly and hips that curve and a body that jiggles when I move. Now I have less belly and less curvy hips and I don't jiggle quite so much. I'm having to change my idea of my body, to claim less space, to reacquaint myself with a body I knew so well. There's less of me now, and it's an odd feeling.
In fact, when I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago (yay for being married and getting health insurance!), one of the questions on the paper they made me fill out was "Do you exercise?" I think a lot of people would say no, I don't exercise, because there's no elliptical machine or running shorts or weights involved. Fuck that shit. If I'm standing on my feet for 7 or 8 hours a day, then yes, I'm exercising. That's why I don't do conventional exercise--I'm too fucking exhausted to think about putting on running shorts to run a mile or to lift weights even if I don't have to go to the gym to do so.
Most people congratulate me when I complain about my shorts or my corsets not fitting properly because I've lost weight. I try not to sound like I'm fishing for compliments, because I'm not. If anything, I'm sad that I've lost weight because it means I have to buy new clothes. Plus, I don't think weight loss is a big deal. Fat people can be just as healthy as skinny people, and there are plenty of fatties who are more healthy than their skinny friends.
Anyhow, I've lost weight. It feels very odd to be only 230; when was the last time I was 230? High school? Before? I'm not really sure. My body is so much a part of me, and I'm used to having a belly and hips that curve and a body that jiggles when I move. Now I have less belly and less curvy hips and I don't jiggle quite so much. I'm having to change my idea of my body, to claim less space, to reacquaint myself with a body I knew so well. There's less of me now, and it's an odd feeling.
12 September 2009
Compliment
I had to go shopping for work slacks. Khaki, navy, or black, and denim is unacceptable. My slacks I wore last winter are slightly too big since I've lost 20 pounds without trying. (My shorts were even worse--they were a size 20, and I'm apparently a 16 now. I had to buy a new belt to hold them up as my old belts were too big.) Plus, I hated 2 of the 3 pairs of slacks I had last winter. So, shopping I went, coupon in hand.
Lane Bryant, I think, used to be the muumuu store of last resort for fat women. Since I've been shopping there (I found it in high school 10 years ago and was delighted to find a store that catered especially to plus sizes; it made clothing shopping much less frustrating for me and my mum), they've carried cute clothes and I've found some great pieces there. Their clothes keep getting better, too, following trends as well as getting classic pieces. I told the lady on the floor what I was looking for, and she directed me to black slacks and a pair of khakis. They didn't have an 18, which is what I normally try on there, so she asked if I wanted to try the 16. Sure, why not.
I went into the dressing room, sure I'd have to struggle with the 16 to get it over my thighs, if I could get it over my thighs at all. To my surprise, the pants slid on easily, and buttoned easily. They fit. I poked my head out of the dressing room, looking for N. so I could get his opinion, but he was gone. The lady told me to step out and have a look in the mirror, and she complimented me on the pants. I grabbed the black slacks in a smaller size and went to try those on too.
I walked out with two pairs of slacks that make me feel good. So often in the past, I settled for something I could get on, regardless of fit or style. "They're just for work," I'd tell myself, "it doesn't matter what they look like." I said this even knowing how much I work and how often I wear those work pants.
We got home after lunch and a Target run, planning to spend the afternoon in bed reading. (I'd much prefer to have an afternoon in bed fucking and playing, but N. has stitches in 3 places and we don't want to stress them.) I went to the bedroom to change into the khakis to show N., and then remembered I had to be at work at 1 for an open house and class sign-ups. It was 12.45. Oh fuck.
I pulled a work shirt out of the dirty laundry and applied a quick coat of foundation to my face and we ran out the door. I got there 10 minutes late, but it's not like I was in an essential position, so no worries there. I got paid to knit and sign people up for classes so I get paid even more for teaching knitting, then the 2 hours were up and I was on my way outside to meet N.
I got in the car and he showed me an audiobook he'd bought (Pygmy by Chuck Palahnuik) (we'd listened to Rant by him on a road trip to Savannah in March and were thrilled with it). Then, out of nowhere, N. said, "When you were walking in, I thought, we should get her a cute belt so she can tuck that shirt in to show off her butt."
Just when I think he forgets I need compliments, he surprises me and makes me melt.
Lane Bryant, I think, used to be the muumuu store of last resort for fat women. Since I've been shopping there (I found it in high school 10 years ago and was delighted to find a store that catered especially to plus sizes; it made clothing shopping much less frustrating for me and my mum), they've carried cute clothes and I've found some great pieces there. Their clothes keep getting better, too, following trends as well as getting classic pieces. I told the lady on the floor what I was looking for, and she directed me to black slacks and a pair of khakis. They didn't have an 18, which is what I normally try on there, so she asked if I wanted to try the 16. Sure, why not.
I went into the dressing room, sure I'd have to struggle with the 16 to get it over my thighs, if I could get it over my thighs at all. To my surprise, the pants slid on easily, and buttoned easily. They fit. I poked my head out of the dressing room, looking for N. so I could get his opinion, but he was gone. The lady told me to step out and have a look in the mirror, and she complimented me on the pants. I grabbed the black slacks in a smaller size and went to try those on too.
I walked out with two pairs of slacks that make me feel good. So often in the past, I settled for something I could get on, regardless of fit or style. "They're just for work," I'd tell myself, "it doesn't matter what they look like." I said this even knowing how much I work and how often I wear those work pants.
We got home after lunch and a Target run, planning to spend the afternoon in bed reading. (I'd much prefer to have an afternoon in bed fucking and playing, but N. has stitches in 3 places and we don't want to stress them.) I went to the bedroom to change into the khakis to show N., and then remembered I had to be at work at 1 for an open house and class sign-ups. It was 12.45. Oh fuck.
I pulled a work shirt out of the dirty laundry and applied a quick coat of foundation to my face and we ran out the door. I got there 10 minutes late, but it's not like I was in an essential position, so no worries there. I got paid to knit and sign people up for classes so I get paid even more for teaching knitting, then the 2 hours were up and I was on my way outside to meet N.
I got in the car and he showed me an audiobook he'd bought (Pygmy by Chuck Palahnuik) (we'd listened to Rant by him on a road trip to Savannah in March and were thrilled with it). Then, out of nowhere, N. said, "When you were walking in, I thought, we should get her a cute belt so she can tuck that shirt in to show off her butt."
Just when I think he forgets I need compliments, he surprises me and makes me melt.
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