Thursday, 31 January 2008

Dreams

You come to me in dreams.

Silent and rigidly still, as I doze next to my snoring Husband.

Armoured against his attentions in neck-to-toe pink cotton protection.

I reach out to touch your face, snaking my hand behind your head to pull you in so I can kiss you, feel the stubble, harsh against my mouth and chin.

The sensation of your hands moving over me, soft against my naked skin.

Fingers probing all the places that belong to you, taking me back to your bed and lifting my mind to a higher plane where anything is possible for all obstacles can be scaled.

And I wake, one hand on my breast, the other between my legs, wet and sodden.

With a solitary tear tracing a path of disappointment across my cheek.

Sugasm #116

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #117? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.



This Week’s Picks


In Case Of Fire “His hand slid around the back of my neck and pulled me close - easily, no effort at all, letting me feel the power of his arms and the warm puff of his breath against my ear.”


It was a long night… “I gasped as he slowly pushed in one finger, slippery with oil, and began to wiggle it and spread me open.”



Sex Worker Confessions: Gracie Passette “But underneath it all, sex workers are all about bridging, in body & soul, word & deed, the irreconcilable differences between realities and desires.”



Mr. Sugasm Himself The Persian Kitty Alternative



Editor’s Choice Baker’s Birthday



More Sugasm


Join the Sugasm



See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Wednesday, 30 January 2008

7

Tagged by Dazza. Seven things I approve of...

People being nice to each other - I really don't like anyone to think badly of me. I try very hard to be diplomatic and follow Thumper's Mother's Advice of 'If you can't say something nice, then don't say nuffink at all'. Sometimes I fail but if I said something that offended, it was just a bad choice of words on my part and I apologise.

Imported American television series - What would I do without the whole Star Trek franchise, Babylon 5, CSI, West Wing, Hill St Blues, NYPD Blue, ER, Damages, Desperate Housewives, 6' Under, Frasier. All classics that stand watching and rewatching ad nauseum.

Blogging - Having an online diary has been the most wonderful experience. It has allowed me to expose my soul and free myself from my own restrictions.

Electronic communication devices - Email, messenger, webcam, forums and texting. The means to meet and then access all my friends on the worldwide web. Priceless.

Sex - My rediscovery of this wonderful pastime has been a revelation. Thanks Ruf x

Optimism - A cup half full every time!

Gravy with everything - Nuf said...

Monday, 28 January 2008

The Life of Brian

Brian was my best friend's brother and lived a few doors down.

When my friend's mother left them with their Dad to go live with her lover, they learned how to look after themselves quickly. By the time they were in their teens, they were both able to cook a roast dinner but, mostly, Brian left it to his sister to sort out the food situation.

Girls didn't fancy Brian. We didn't even like him much. He was chubby with red hair and a couple of years older than us. He used to blame their huge phone bill on my friend and me.

He worshipped Arsenal Football Club and the glamrock group, Slade, and went to see both whenever he could. He wore big, shiny, red top hats covered with Arsenal rosettes and festooned himself with red and white scarves.

He would do that funny half-jumping dance around their living room to C'mon Feel the Noiz and Goodbye T'Jane. He was loud. He did 'boy' things. He got in the way when we were trying to boogie to our 70s disco records. He shouted all over the top of 'She' by Charles Aznavour when it knocked Slade's single off the Number One Spot and was played on Top of the Pops.

When I was in my mid-teens, we moved away but kept vaguely in touch with what was going on in the street that we still regarded as home.

Suddenly we heard that Brian had a girlfriend. She had her own flat and had thrown out her ne'er-do-well ex to be with Brian. They were really happy together for a couple of weeks.

It was Brian who opened the door of her flat that fateful day and it was Brian who was stabbed through his heart with a carving knife wielded by the jealous lover.

He was 22 years old.

I have a CD of Slade's Greatest Hits. It always reminds me of Brian, who died before he had ever really lived.

Thursday, 24 January 2008

Internet Substitution

Whilst reading Vi's entry, I was reminded of this story.

When the kids were smaller, one of the things I hated most was trying to hack round the supermarket with the pair of them in tow. Far too stressful. As fast as I got one dressed to go out, the other would be removing clothing. Neither wanted to get into the double trolley and then neither would want to get out again. Once inside, my daughter could be kept quiet with food bribery but my son would only be pacified by Lego, which started to prove expensive.

My daughter would also actively disprove the theory that children are not affected by external influences on the television. I was informed that I shouldn't tell her off for getting banana on her clothes because if I used Ariel, it would come out. She also insisted that we buy Kingsmill 'because it was better bread'. She would have been about three at the time!

So I made use of the online delivery services. In those days, these were still quite new with various teething problems but the more reliable service was provided by Sainsburys with their mid-week special. If you spent over £50, you got free delivery on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday.

If I wanted lots of very specific organic meat, I would order from the creme de la creme - as in Waitrose. One day, I told a friend that I was about to place an order and she asked me for a favour. Could I get her some organic tampons made by this one particular company and which were only stocked by Waitrose. 'Sure,' I replied. 'No problem.'

When the delivery man arrived, he stood there with his clipboard listing the things that they hadn't been able to deliver and these tampons were among them. As you can imagine, his little face was all pink and I was trying not to smirk as he told me that they couldn't provide the organic tampons.

However, he was delighted to inform me that they had a substitute instead. I was immediately crestfallen at the prospect of a packet of Tampax but, no.

He handed me the bag with almost a flourish.

It contained...

... wait for it...

Two packets of something called Mr Majelka's Magic Bendy Drinking Straws.

You know, the type that have the little hinge in about an inch down that bends to make sucking without spilling easier. I think there's a possibility that you could bend them into shapes for parties as well but I couldn't read the blurb on the box properly since my eyes had filled with tears because it was just too funny... the idea of trying to insert one of those instead of an absorbent tampon.

Taking one box out and looking at him quizzically I allowed him to examine it for himself, I can still see his face now - all red with discomfort and me, standing on my doorstep, shrieking with hysterical laughter. I was practically on my back with my legs in the air, I was that tickled.

I was so tempted to tell him I'd keep one box and report back on how effective they were.

Poor, poor man, by the time I'd stopped laughing, handed them back as being an unsuitable substitute and signed the forms, he was almost puce with embarrassment.

I was still chuckling as he drove away.

Sugasm #115

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #116? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.



This Week’s Picks


Debauched nothings “You promised me you’d give me your cock.”



Sex Trophies “Inside the drawer are two pair of panties.”



Who gets to talk about sex? “I was thinking the other day about who gets to talk about sex and sexuality.”



Mr. Sugasm Himself Cashback



Editor’s Choice The houseboy’s rebellion



More Sugasm


Join the Sugasm



See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, 21 January 2008

A Clandestine Liaison

As soon as I got the text about your back, I was straight on the phone and I told you I was coming anyway. If you were confined to bed, then so be it. I could at least look after you.

So, two days later, showered and dressed in some very sexy lingerie underneath jeans and a tshirt, I found myself in my car making the long trip to your home. I had my detailed instructions so I wouldn't get lost on the Ring Road and I chanted it like a mantra to myself, focusing on the getting there rather than what would happen after I arrived at my destination. I was trying so hard to pretend that this was not so important.

I called you from the car when I had parked up and you came out. You had just finished having a bath and shaving. We hadn't actually seen each other in the real world for three months and then we had been just friends. This was quite strange. You opened the door and just leaned in and kissed me. I didn't know what to do, what to think, I just let your lips take me. Trying to ignore the fear that I wasn't doing kissing very well. It had been so long since I had kissed someone properly and being stone cold sober really wasn't helping.

Helping me out of the car, you responded to my fears for your health that things were much improved from two days lying flat on your back and promptly lifted my bag out of the boot and carried it for me, with the other arm around my waist. Ushering me past your bike and into your flat. Closing the door behind me.

I'm not sure what I was expecting but I guess it was a typical bachelor flat. Not exactly tidy, but not messy either. Standing in the doorway to your room, you kissed me again. I tried to respond properly but the enormity of what was happening was getting the better of me.

Insisting that I sit on the chair in the kitchen whilst you made a cup of tea, I can remember sitting there watching you bustling about and, as I took the mug, I realised that my hands were shaking with nerves. I was really scared.

This was a major deal. It had the potential to be the best thing I had ever done but it was also the biggest betrayal with huge repercussions. To have my cake and eat it too. To be a faithless wife and break all the vows I had made in Church nearly twenty years before. To betray everything that I held most dear... in order to reach a sexual potential that my Husband was no longer able to tap into. To release the person buried deep inside me who was so desperately trying to get to the surface and live.

What I remember most is how kind you were, how patient. You made me feel that it was worth putting in the time to reassure me now in the light of the pleasure that was to come later. That I was precious to you and worth waiting for. Trying so hard to help me relax. Not jumping on me straightaway but waiting for me to get accustomed to my surroundings and the situation.

Eventually we resorted to alcohol. I had brought brandy with me and we chatted whilst I sipped. I could feel the fiery liquor coursing around my body and starting to have its expected effect. So I had another... and a third.

You'll have to forgive me if things start to become disjointed and confused but, after copious amounts of brandy, mixed with massive surges of adrenalin, that's how it all seemed. But at least I had stopped trembling.

It was getting dark in the flat and you put the light on in the hallway and just a lamp in the lounge. Suddenly I noticed something stuck to the mirror, a newspaper cutting and went across to have a look. It was the results of a poll that the paper had run and the headline ran something to the effect of 'Cake Still Number 1'. You had seen it and thought of me and stuck it up to remind you. It was the sweetest thing.

Laughing delightedly and looking into the mirror with you standing so close behind me, I was acutely aware of you. Of the heat coming off you. Our eyes met and you smiled. That sparkly smile that depresses the dimple in your cheek and turns my legs to jelly. Putting your arm around my waist, you buried your face in the soft skin of my neck, just below my ear. nuzzling and kissing. Hot breath on my cool flesh at the point where the blood pumps so strongly, pulsing close to the surface. We could both feel the shiver that ran through me raising goosebumps all over my body.

As I stood there on the edge of the precipice, torn over a decision that would assuredly affect the rest of my life, you slid your hand between my legs from behind; feeling the heat of my lust through my jeans as your fingers gently stroked across the fabric. And then you brought in the full weight of your palm arousing me to the point where I knew...

Knew that I was lost. That I had to have you right here and right now. That there could be no turning back.

Pushing me face down over the sofa and probing me until I was panting with wanting you and then we were kissing. Frantically exploring each other's mouths as we rolled off the sofa and onto the floor where you pulled off my tshirt, my jeans and my thong leaving just the basque and the lacy topped holdup stockings.

And penetrated me for the first time with your fingers. I thought I would explode when you found my gspot straightaway, leaving me clutching at you with excitement as you moved away.

You pulled one of the wooden chairs away from the table and into the middle of the room; placing me on it as you reached into my bag and pulled out my toys. The toothbrush, the tulip and a rabbit were the only things I possessed in those days but you wanted to see them for real. You'd already watched me make myself come on the webcam and were demanding a ringside seat this time.

At first I was so self-conscious, even with the courage of the brandy but I did as you asked. Whilst you watched from the sofa, stroking your huge erection, I took myself to climax with the tulip for your pleasure. But you have never been the sort of man just to sit back. You're the most hands-on guy I have ever met, so it wasn't long before I was kneeling on the seat of the chair with one hand resting on the back of it and the other holding the tulip to my clit as you stood behind me and fingered me to another climax.

And that's when you did it for the first time.

I squealed with surprise at the shock of the intrusion before shrieking as the orgasm hit. Yes, I had done it for myself in the past but I just hadn't been expecting you to do that quite so soon. The combination of your thumb up my arse and the tulip on my clit was a position we would return to time and time again in the future but this was the first time and it transcended anything I had ever managed to do to myself.

As I fought to collect myself, I was aware of you standing in front of me stripping off your clothes. I can remember so clearly looking at you through the barrier of my fringe, individual strands obscuring the whole picture and the effects of the alcohol blurring the edges. Dishevelled and half-drunk, watching you over the top of the chair back as you held out your hand to grasp mine before leading me into your bedroom and lying with me on the bed where we kissed and kissed until...



Alcohol was my saviour but it is also a demon for destroying braincells because the truth is that I cannot remember any more of that momentous occasion two years ago...

... but I must have liked it because I'm still here and I can't wait to do it again.

Happy FirstFuckDay Ruf x

Thursday, 17 January 2008

Lady Chatterley's Ruf

One day, during the early days of our courtship, in amongst the smut and innuendo, we were talking about tattoos and he sent me pictures of his, one by one, each time requesting that I identify them.

And finally, to my surprise, one of him completely naked. Standing in front of what I now know is the magic the mirror in is his bedroom.

No erection. Just his nude body.

'As is' so to speak...

I was so taken aback that I had to sit down. I was trembling. I can quite clearly remember that I was late for class and I was still sat there with my mouth open admiring him when I should have been getting ready.

I don't know what it was. The tattoos? The nakedness? The overriding image in my head even now is of the power. That and the thick black and curly hair, covering his chest and his belly. And his strong muscular thighs.

He's not tanned and slender like a model or big and defined like a body builder. He's certainly not the perfection that is Michelangelo's David. But there was (and still is) just something about him, so beautiful, that called out to me at such a primal level. I had never experienced anything quite like it.

Sure, I'd seen naked men before - I was married to one and had watched his skinny young body turn to fat and grow old before my eyes. I had seen pictures of beautiful male models wearing just their well-defined muscles and their skin, but they seemed like immature boys in comparison. This was a man. A real, hairy, testosterone-fuelled example of the male version of the species... and I just wanted to reach out and touch him. To run my finger tips all over that chest.

Those images filled my mind, robbing me of sleep, keeping me at a fever pitch of excitement. I had to keep touching myself. My toothbrush was continually recharging. But I couldn't satisfy this need, this ache, this all-consuming lust within me.

And then he sent me a story. It came in three parts. The first text intrigued me and got me very excited. The second arrived when I was hanging out the washing. I can still see myself sitting on the step in the surprisingly warm late November sunshine, almost drooling with excitement. It finished with the command that if I wanted to find out what happened in the end, I would have to call him. So, abandoning my laundry, I grabbed a cold cucumber from the fridge (as you do :)) and raced upstairs. Stopping off in the bathroom for my toothbrush and replacing the head, before wrenching off my clothes and lying naked and as relaxed as possible on the bed.

I dialled his number and he continued with the denouement. I knew he was stroking himself as he spoke, just as I was. The buzz of my toothbrush bursting into life came as no surprise to him and he carried on to the end unperturbed as my moans increased in volume. When there was absolutely no doubt that I was having a major climax, he joined in with his own. Our first together.

I started to realise that I had to have him for real. This was not enough. If anything, it made it worse. Imagining what it would be like to truly be in his arms, the recipient of all his experience. I started to have fantasies about him, about what it would be like and I wrote them down and started emailing them to him. I watched him on his webcam as he read them and wanked, completely unabashed before my very eyes.

But there are other considerations when dealing with a man who has a certain amount of experience with women and so the day came when we had to discuss some big questions. He was totally understanding about my fears for my own safety in the light of being a parent and how it would be hypocritical for me to sound on and on about the safe sex message and then to completely disregard my own advice. He volunteered to go and get himself tested and agreed to wear a condom to cover the pregnancy aspect of things.

We had to wait the prescribed three months since his last sexual encounter and then there was Christmas and the New Year and so, at the beginning of January 2006 he went and had his tests. He called me later to give me the grotesque description of the insertion of the needle into the jap's eye but it all had to be done and he was a brave soldier. The prelims came back clear and we just had to wait a week to get the blood results. Then it was all systems go and we set the date for the 21st.

I was still very scared and in two minds about the whole thing. I had a brief chat with a very special friend who reassured me that this wasn't such a bad idea and that if she were me, she would definitely go.

The days in between the test results and the date itself were a torment. Eventually we agreed to use webcam and have a pre-meet date. So I bought one and we tried to relieve the tension by some mutual cyber wanking. Sadly, the effects were just as short-lived as phone sex. We needed to have skin: to touch, to feel, to breathe each other.

And then, two days before the designated day, he texted to tell me he'd put his back out in class the previous night and was confined to his bed, totally immobile.

He would have to cancel...

Sugasm #114

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #115? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.



This Week’s Picks


Sexay “You bite my tautish thighs passionately, and drag my thong off with your teeth.”


Resolved “Naked now, I turned her towards him, running my hands across breasts, midriff and down between her legs.”



Afterglow “She’s hot, where only seconds ago in the throes and tears of her ecstacy she shivered.”



Mr. Sugasm Himself Pimpin’ Presidents



Editor’s Choice “Coming out” for spankos



More Sugasm


Join the Sugasm



See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, 14 January 2008

Voyage around a Mother

In so many families, there seems to be a vicious circle as each girl child swears to herself and to her mother: 'I will never be like you...' and despairingly watches and hears herself becoming that person, despite her best efforts to the contrary.

I grew up watching my father, however unknowingly, disrespect my mother, my father-in-law doing the same to my mother-in-law and my husband to me. None of these men found it easy to show affection or appreciate their wives in terms of their appearance or the love they were given without return. In their search for the straight man/the stooge who would make them look like the life and soul of the party, they thoughtlessly demeaned their female counterpart in the eyes of their audience of children, particularly the girls. The boys instinctively retain their protective feelings for their mothers, even when they are pulled away by their future wives. But the girls...

Do I just feel this through my own jaundiced experience of three women? Or are things better for the women who bring up female offspring without the interference/disrespectful example of a male partner?

I do know several couples where the women are the driving force of the pair. Where the male adores his strong woman. Whilst he provides the money to run the home and then enforces her rule where necessary, he enjoys being pampered and cared for and makes those feelings clear. He compliments her and shows his affection openly and she responds in kind. These are the strongest partnerships that I have come across. They complement each other. There is an almost palpable synergy between them. Yes, they have their spats, but then the joy of the rapprochement is eagerly awaited.

My own daughter recently subjected me to a 20 minute tirade, shouting vitriol viciously over the top of my own attempts to calm her. Apparently I am a sad old woman nearing 50 who spends all her time on the computer, who should get a life. Whilst, almost in the same breath, she accuses me of never being at home. It would seem that laundry, housework, cooking and shopping constitute the bare minimum obligatory requirements of motherhood and she completely overlooks the 12 years that I spent at home totally devoted to her and her brother. I am a shrieking banshee who only ever shouts at them.

When I try to point out that the shouting tends to come when I have asked politely and respectfully for the same task to be completed three or four times earlier, this thought is pooh-poohed with the distraction technique of reminding me that respect has to be earned and that if I stopped shouting at her, she would stop shouting at me.

It is so hard to listen to a catalogue of obscenity-ridden invective without chucking some back but, always at the forefront of my mind, is the concern that anything nasty I might say now could come back and bite her on the bum in terms of psychological disorder in the future. So I hold my tongue and when she gets out of the car, I allow the seat to go flat and sob at my inadequacies for the majority of the hour that I am waiting in the cold darkness, whilst she has her music lesson, before driving her home again. She, of course, seems to have conveniently forgotten all the nasty phrases she used only minutes before and behaves as if everything is normal.

The terrible thing is that I do have a choice. And the decision over that choice becomes easier and easier when the reasons for which I stay become less and less obvious.

Several hours later, she did at least have the grace to come and apologise which is something of a first. But these altercations seem to be coming more and more frequently, despite my attempts to acquiesce to all her demands for independence and I am at a loss as to how to do things differently without it looking as if I do not care for her safety at all.

All I ever wanted was to have the kind of relationship where we would enjoy going shopping and stopping for coffee - something I never had with my own mother and watched other friends enviously who did.

I talked to my own mother only a few days ago. I told her that I had forgiven her for leaving us. Knowing what I have to deal with from just one teenage girl, I remember that she had two obnoxious hussies plus a disrespectful husband to contend with. No wonder she left when someone showed her some affection, gave her some sense of value.

She told me that she had decided when we were quite small that she would leave my father as soon as we were old enough and get herself a little flat and an alternative future. When she revealed this fact to my dad during an argument, his reply of 'Who would have you?' did a great deal to destroy what little self-respect she had left, but also galvanised her into a more determined desire to follow her threat through. However, she said that didn't stop her from being very sad to have to leave her children behind when she started a new life in a new town with a new man.

Sadly, her second marriage failed after about 15 years and, when my grandmother became ill, my mother finally had an excuse to leave him as well. Another 15 years later, now that Grandma has passed away, my mother is alone again. She would like some male company but will make it quite clear that verbal companionship is all she requires. She seems unruffled by the thought of not having sex ever again. After all, her own mother lived alone for 50 years.

But I am not my mother. I believe I have learned from her mistakes although I am, by no means, the perfect example of motherhood. But I have tried to be the antithesis of the cold, tired, screeching maternal figure I remember. I have been extremely tactile with my children to the extent that, now she considers herself too grown up to snuggle with her mum, I will stand on my teenage daughter's foot in order to make her stand still and have a cuddle, however unwillingly. I believe it is important to retain that ability to hug your children, no matter how reluctant the hugee.

My own mother tries to embrace me now when she feels the need for some affection but it is so hard to forget her desertion and the fact that she couldn't or wouldn't indulge in this behaviour when we were younger. I am the equivalent of my own teenager in those situations - rigid with embarrassment and uncertain how to respond. We have lost the intimacy for this type of closeness. If only my mother could make a joke or stand on my foot to lighten the uncomfortable moment, but she is a product of her own mother's inability to show her even the smallest amount of tactile or verbal love. It is so sad.

I was talking to another friend who had suddenly found herself faced with choices similar to those that her mother had had to make 30 years before and for which she has bitterly resented her for years.

Suddenly, I start to wonder if sometimes what goes around, comes around and we are put in positions that are similar to those of our mothers in order that we can learn to at least understand their actions... if not to forgive.

Thursday, 10 January 2008

Rampant Ruf

It is the most bizarre feeling.

Seeing the man I adore eagerly go into a situation where he could get injured and having to let go and trust that he can handle himself. Remember that he is the extremely competent martial artist that I know him to be. Separate that side of him from the gentle man that loves me.

Watching him pace about like a caged tiger, trying to control the complex cocktail of nerves, hormones and emotions as he enters the zone where no one else can help him and he has to draw on all his inner resolve to see him through.

Thinking back just a few hours to my arrival when I had been wondering if we would be having sex at all due to the prospect of his impending grading test the following afternoon. After all football managers ban wives and girlfriends from the team hotel before important games. But I need not have worried. All the testosterone and excitement had been saved up to give me a bumper session of full-on violent pillaging.

Leading me into the bedroom and removing my clothes with indecent haste so he could suck at my luscious nipples and test my readiness with his fingers. It is the most curious thing about us. His very presence just has this effect on me, liquefying me, readying my body for his as he wraps himself around me, pressing his hardness against my soft round bottom and whispering into my ear the magic words: 'I'm going to fingerfuck you. Fuck you with my fingers'. Sending shivers down my spine and raising the goosebumps on my skin just with his voice. The addition of his fingers amplifying that melting desire until I can think of nothing but the fluttering between my legs and the pounding in my brain.

Manhandling me over so I'm half on my front, half on my side, he pushes himself into the tight wetness. Forcing himself deep inside me and subjugating me to his will as I squeal with pleasure over and over again. Rampantly pounding and pounding, before rolling me onto my back and entering me again. Biting at my nipples until I cry out and then our mouths finding each other, tongues intertwining, arms encircling and skin pressed tightly together. His breathing becomes a steam train in my ear with the exertion as my body reaches that place where the only option is to sing out vocally. Soft moans becoming a crescendo of delighted screams as my mind explodes around me, immediately followed by his own cries as my body's contractions force him to spill into me and he collapses his full weight downwards, crushing my body beneath his.

Sleep overtakes us as we get more comfortable and lie like spoons, his arms wrapped around me, our fingers linked until I am awakened from my dreams by his lips whispering into the nape of my neck that he loves me as he hugs me tighter against him. His hardness pressing into me, his fingers questing for the soft wetness between my legs and accepting the welcome. Preparing the way for another entry and a second flurry of violent coupling before exhaustion drags us back to sleep.

And then a final ravishing when the alarm clock has already been on repeat snooze several times and we are late, before rushing off into the kitchen to make porridge for breakfast and sandwiches for lunch as I bathed and prepared myself for the rigours of the coming day.

It wasn't until I saw him standing with the other gradees that I could actually tell how fired up he was. This is a moment where you don't think about anything else but the route to the goal... and certainly not the woman you fucked that morning, no matter how good she was. We avoided eye contact the entire time.

Part of his test involved him fighting off multiple attackers. I cannot even begin to describe the enthusiasm with which he approached that particular task and the success of his strategy. To hear other higher graded, more experienced instructors talk with admiration about his abilities makes me just glow with pride...

But, of course, that is the other thing about our relationship in this company on this weekend. To anyone else, we do not officially have such a thing. It is just a training friendship. We do not mix sex and martial arts. There is no canoodling when we wear our uniforms or when we happen to be in the same class... although I did make an exception by hugging him after he got awarded the grade he was attempting.

When we finally got home at after midnight, knowing that we would have to be up again for another 8.30am training start, I rather envisaged that sleep would be the only thing on the agenda. I could not have been more wrong.

The adrenalin and testosterone mix was still coursing through him and, after a hot bath to rejuvenate his energies, I was to be the recipient. The focus of the attentions of the animal within him. The beast that I had seen fighting. And I loved watching him in that mode. Once I had let go of my concern for his safety, I could concentrate on the other just as primal emotions. My desire for him and my pride in being the woman that he shares this part of himself with. For he is a dichotomy of contradictions, sometimes so rough and yet, so often, surprisingly gentle and tender.

Letting him watch me from the bubbles as I removed my own clothing before handing him his towel and leading him back into the bedroom. Damp and warm from the bath water as he wrapped himself around me, kissing my mouth and biting on my nipples, working us both up to a frenzied fever pitch of lust, his fingers finding my gspot with ease and making me come again and again. Flipping me over and dragging me onto my knees to enter me from behind. Driving into me hard and fast as he pulled my hips back towards him, sending me shrieking skywards, before we both collapsed in a tangled heap and drifted into darkness.

Another early start only a few hours later with more hard training for four hours before we finally got back home. Exhausted, we fell into bed half-clothed for a couple of hours rest before dragging off the remaining garments for another rampant session. It started with his assertion that he could take me any time he wanted because I was his possession.

And then he cooked our tea and snuggled up on the sofa with me to watch Match of the Day before we went back to bed... again.

This man leaves me breathless. He is insatiable, indomitable, unstoppable... and I am so very proud of him x

Sugasm #113

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #114? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

A Different Kind Of Authority For Sex Bloggers “As we sex workers, sex bloggers, and adult business folks swim in our ponds or spin in our micro universes & connect with others, we continue to build authority.”


Of sex and strippers “At one point she was straddling Girlfriend’s right leg, grinding her thigh against Girlfriend’s clit through her jeans.”


Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge "Her comments were something to the effect of, “No one wanted to see me twirl with tassels ~ on fire or not ~ when some girl was going to sit on stage and insert things into herself.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself Kofola


Editor’s Choice Interview with Paul Festa about circumcision


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See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, 7 January 2008

'I want to lick that man' moments

1= Russell Crowe in his Gladiator outfit

1= Brad Pitt in just his little leather
Troy skirt

3= Russell Crowe in Kim Basinger's boudoir
in LA Confidential

3= Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn - nuf said!
Thanks Nitebyrd

4. Richard Burton as Anthony in Cleopatra
- it's that voice

5. Clint Eastwood riding into town as
The Man With No Name - all stubble,
cigar and poncho

6= Mel Gibson's Braveheart - those legs
(Thanks Nadine for reminding me)

6= Daniel Craig's James Bond

6= John Malkovich's dangerous Vicomte
de Valmont. Thanks Dee

6= Robert Redford brooding as Sundance

7= Tom Berenger's protectiveness in Someone
to Watch Over Me. Thanks Loving Annie

7= Brad Pitt's butt as he fucked either
Thelma or Louise

8. Han Solo as he is lowered into that
freezing pit to his death saying
'I know' to Princess Leia's 'I love you'

9. Tom Cruise leaning against the wall
in just his half-unbuttoned jeans
at Kelly McGillis's flat in Top Gun

10. Richard Gere in American Gigolo

11. George Clooney in just about anything

12= Oliver Reed as Athos in The Three Musketeers

Anyone care to add anything Ive forgotten...?

Thursday, 3 January 2008

Decibels

Lying on my back with Ruf kneeling between my thighs. One foot on his shoulder and the other wrapped around his left hip, spreading my legs as wide as I can to allow the tulip wand stimulator unimpeded access to my clit, I feel the familiar waves start to wash over me, pulsating from my brain to my nether regions.

This is the point where he penetrates me. Pushing the hard length extending from his body inch by inch into my core, feeling the trembling, throbbing flesh open at its touch and close around him as the orgasm clenches everything tight. Listening as my gasps become moans, gradually increasing in volume as I start to lose control and the moans develop into a scream.

Allowing the wave to pass over, the power of speech returns and I beseech him 'Don't stop, don't stop' so he rejoins his efforts. Concentrates his attentions on providing me with what I seek, what we both know is lurking there, waiting to be teased out, just teetering on the brink. I rack up the tempo on the tulip to maximum and he can feel me jolting around him with the new intensity of the vibration. Slowly he increases the rhythm of his own thrusts.

I know his knees must be getting sore, he has been pleasuring me for hours with only small naps to refract. Flipping me from one position to the next and rewarded by climax after climax from his efforts. He shows no signs of fatigue but he must be getting tired...

... and yet I am relentless.

Demanding that he continue because I can feel it building. Sense it coming to fruition, the culmination of all his hard work. The heat in my toes, leeching its way up my calves and over my knees, settling for a moment into my thighs and squeezing the muscles around him.

Tightening my buttocks and arching my back, the warm flush leaves its pink markings on the flat white skin of my belly and the soft full alabaster breasts.

One arm flung out, the other gripped vice-like upon the handle of the stimulator, it creeps up my neck and reddens my cheeks before pixellating my vision, forcing my mouth open and making its escape as an uncontrollably long shrill shriek of fulfilment.


As it fades into the distance in a tingling shiver that ripples back down to my toes, I become aware of him giggling and he whispers:

'That was sooooo loud!'

Tuesday, 1 January 2008

High Maintenance

It should be the role of our Significant Other to provide sufficient emotional sustenance for our needs but, invariably, after the first flush of romance has worn off, after the thrill of the chase has subsided, their attentions wander to more mundane matters and they slacken off in their demonstrations of affection. Any woman will tell you how, in the early days, her man would bombard her with emails, texts, phone calls but, as the novelty wears off, so the level of his effusions subsides.

And when that happens we start to wonder if one man can ever continually quench the strength of our desire and replenish the reservoir of our self-esteem until it overflows and we are replete?

But, for men, it is different. They do all that showy bit in order to attract and enthrall us. Once captured, the demonstrations become more muted but not less committed or more shallow. How many other ways does he have to find to prove that he loves us? What will it take for us to believe, to relax, to trust?

We become 'High Maintenance'.

He told us yesterday that he loved us, so he feels he doesn't need to do it again today. We think that because he hasn't repeated the sentiment, his affections have strayed elsewhere. We fear we have become safe, boring, enchained and no longer worthy of his efforts.

Why do we still have all these doubts? Why can one perfect man's love not be enough? Why do we search for reasons that he might have changed his mind? Analysing his words and his actions for the negative rather than enjoying the positive?

So we turn to other sources for affirmation that we are still beautiful and exciting. We talk to our female friends and compare our hopes, fears and dreams. We acknowledge that we revel in and yet abhor the constant quest for recognition but are terrified to put all our eggs into the one basket for fear its capacity might once more prove inadequate. And, finally, the answer is revealed.

A revelation through a myriad of different conversations with other damaged women, all seeking the same substantiation, the same emotional proof and validation:

Because if I don't build my circle of protection, my safety net of reassurance and you were to leave me, I would have nothing... again.

Nothing but the empty shell of my inadequacy and insecurity, allowing the demons to break through the force-field you have nourished and carry me away once more
.

But in the midst of all the chaos, when other distractions are removed and there is just two bodies that are learning to communicate without all the interference of their minds, there comes a point where you have to accept the need for trust.


So, for you, because I love you and feel so safe with you, I shall put aside my armour and expose myself to the elements. Dismiss my honey-tongued bodyguard and tear down my own defences, allowing you to take the citadel unimpeded.

I will place my most precious gift in your hands, turn my face resolutely away from the disappointments of the past to look towards the future... and have faith that you will continue to say the words I need to reassure me.

Sugasm #112

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #113? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

If She Were Here “I licked him behind his ear the way I know it drives him crazy.”

Quickie “Their eyes locked for a full minute, with neither moving, nor speaking, and the lust flowing between almost tangible in its intensity.”

The Devastator “She walked over to me, and pressed her warm mouth against mine.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself Orgasmic Childbirth

Editor’s Choice Cause and Effect

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See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.