The Errant Wife

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

2011-12-30T00:38:00.001-05:00

No, I'm actually fine. Not gonna lie, from my perspective it is definitely a  buyer's market out there. I am thinking about holding open auditions for the role of paramour - kind of a casting couch for dirty sluts if you will - and, frankly, I am hoping some of you will.

So, yes, I'm fine - but the hubby, well - the hubby is a motherfucking wreck. He misses the Boyfriend you see.  More accurately, he misses knowing my slutty polyamorous predatory sexual energy is channelled. Channeled to someone who is married with a family and does not live near us. The relationship with the Boyfriend was safe for hubby, comfortable - he knew who I was with and where I was, he knew him and could assess exactly the level of risk.  And he knew my attention was held - that the one outside relationship was enough to keep me otherwise well behaved.  Now I am the loose cannon of whoredom and it is a bit much for him to handle.

He wonders, and not unjustly: what the hell will she do now?  I said to him recently, touching his hand lightly and eyes filled with sensitivity: don't worry honey, there will be other guys.     He was, as they say, not amused.

Part of his concern is that yes, there are already other guys.  I am not fucking any of them (as hubby says, yet), but they are circling in my consciousness and attracting my attention.  Shortly after the Boyfriend and the grandmother decided I was not a good use of time I began an intriguing facebook correspondence with an old acquaintance - one that is very much tickling my fancy and very much irritating the fuck out of my husband.

This acquaintance has offered me no less than "Magnificent Robot Sex" - capitalized, no half measured lowercase robot sex is on the table here.  I have never had robot sex, magnificent or otherwise, and - as I explained to hubby - I feel like I would be doing an injustice to robot sex itself by not exploring this opportunity further. And by that I mean that I want to fuck his brains out.  Hard.

This offer has me so intrigued that I mentioned it to another gentlemen friend who has put his name forward as a candidate for a liaison and been working it more subtly for a month or two and who has not, as of yet, offered me magnificent robot sex. As he put it: for the love of god woman, it's not kismet!!!

When I shared this comment with hubby he rolled his eyes: he's right you know - just 'cause some guy hits on you right after the Boyfriend breaks up with you doesn't mean you have to fuck him.  But you will.

Well pardon me for seizing life by the (ahem) balls, Queen Victoria - you don't seem to mind the slutty wife so much when hot women I meet with you suck your cock.

So, yes, I am honest with hubby about the ongoing seduction(s) and he is not happy, despite the year of fun that openness has brought us. He is, in fact, le freaking. We are back to where we were a year ago - all the progress we have made towards openness, all the rope I have given him with the girlfriend - all of it seemingly had no effect.  I am his wife and my panties need to be firmly in place.

In the past few days I have been on the receiving end of a great deal of shit: earlier this week hubby put it out there that I was so slutty that something was probably wrong with me and I just might be too easy. I told him I was happy to discuss the real issues but I was not going to accept attacks on my character when I was offering him honesty.

We have wound our way back to a constructive conversation but he is still reeling from the loss of the Boyfriend and everything we say is filtered through that lens.  As he said to me during one of our recent discussions: the Boyfriend is such an idiot, this was all working out so well!

And he is not wrong, in lying to me the Boyfriend terminated several relationships: mine and his, his and hubbys, hubbys and Mrs. Boyfriend, mine with Mrs. Boyfriend and his relationship with the hot friend he propositioned (anyone who thinks she is the kind of woman that would lie to me is done in her books).

And so, doors that were opened are closed, progress that has been made was lost and feelings are hurt all around - frankly, I am at a bit of a loss at how to proceed from here. I think I need to convince hubby to let me take baby steps while he (hopefully) regains his comfort zone.

 What I do know is that the last year has been overwhelmingly the happiest of my life - and part of that has been the polyamory - not just being allowed to have an outside relationship, but being allowed to be myself and live what I feel.  I can't imagine going back - and I don't think hubby can imagine going forward.  And so we wait, in our respective corners on this issue, eyeing each other cautiously.

Really I think the hubby needs a new man in our lives - as I said to him the other day: you had better get back on that horse - you are never over one until you are under another. In my opinion I would be being remiss in my wifely duties if I didn't find hubby a new man to help him get over this break-up...

Sucker-punch Drop-kick Motherfucker of a Week

2011-11-27T17:15:00.001-05:00

Wednesday: the day on which I am dumped by my Boyfriend and my Grandmother.
------

The thing, darlings, about reaching for those delicious garden of Eden tempting apples...is that sometimes they fall out of the tree and hit you on the fucking head.

You know what's coming, right (um, or not, at least not with me): the Boyfriend.

I have not told you all the Boyfriend stories, but we have been seeing each other on average of once a month or every six weeks for the past year - usually when we do we do one night the two of us and one night engaged in group play. We email every day - usually multiple times - we share secrets, we make jokes. He told me, I would say about two months ago: "I love my relationship with you, I hope it goes on forever."

And by forever, he meant until Wednesday of last week.

I don't mean to sound arrogant: but I am kind of an awesome girlfriend. I am hot, sexy, smart and dirty. I have fulfilled, and enjoyed, delighted and revelled in, every sexual request or fantasy this man has ever made of me. I have enthusiastically gone to swingers clubs with him, something his wife will not do regularly and does not enjoy as much as I do, or so I have been told. When we have gone out together I have enthusiastically and supportively watched him fuck strangers. I have introduced him to - and watched him fuck - my hot friends. I have no issues with him taking other lovers and I just told him the other day that our relationship did not require disclosure of same. I would argue that I have, in fact, been an enthusiastic provider of pussy. I am not one of those kept mistresses that expects presents or the man to foot the bill - we have been very equal in that regard. Recently I met his wife at his request and lied to her ruthlessly as I had to do in order to make the evening work and then I kinda made out with her. I have also provided him with a great deal of emotional support when he has been low - I have shored him up and told him he is wonderful when his wife tells him differently.

And this is not to say he has not done anything for me: I have been frank about quite adoring this man. He has delighted me. But that's not my point.

If you are my boyfriend I have one rule. The single solitary rule that you have to follow to be my Boyfriend is: "when I introduce you to my hot friends, don't ask them to fuck you one on one without discussing this with me". In order to maintain a relationship with me that is my bottom line.

I am awestruck that I am not worth even that.

Now, I know what you are thinking: but Kimberly, how is a man to know these things? I know, I know - I am notoriously subtle. It is a continual problem, people say to me every single day: you are such a wilting violet, how can anyone ever know what you are really thinking? Yep, that's me, known for my subtlety. And, to be fair, I acknowledge and agree that there are some lines you don't know you are crossing* - sometimes we make mistakes.

However, this is not the first time we have had to have this little talk, the Boyfriend and I.

Rewind about a year and the Boyfriend sent an email to a hot girlfriend of mine. That time he mentioned to me that he had "emailed a girl he met at a club" as a form of insulation, just in case she told me**, that way he could claim I knew. (Do you think that worked?).

This was early on in our relationship when the Boyfriend was still, as the friend in question put it, writing me a sonnet. I went fucking ballistic. Some of may have seen the rage blogging I posted and quickly pulled down at that time - I think I may re-post shortly.

We talked it out and I was 100% clear: that hurt me, DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN and DON'T LIE TO ME. I did not even say: don't approach my friends (although that is what I had hoped) - I said: talk to me first.

And so, this man that I adore, this man that I would do literally anything for, today emailed another hot friend that I gleefully introduced him to and watched him fuck and asked her if she wanted to meet him one on one. And he asked her not to tell me if she wasn't interested in pursuing it further.***

As my husband put it: what an idiot.

To be fair, he is not wrong that he had to go behind my back. If he had asked me I would have told him no, please don't fuck my friend one on one, I am not comfortable with it. Lest you think I am unreasonably controlling, he told me yesterday he fucked someone else one on one last Friday - I did not skip a beat. No problem. There are a closed class of women that I ask you to not ask to fuck if you are going to be my boyfriend: these are my hot friends that I introduce you to. (And sorry, you can fuck them, just do it when I am around.)

I told him when the first incident happened that I needed someone who was my lover to be primary to me among my close friends. That's it, that's all - we are talking about maybe 10 people in the entire world. Fuck anyone else you like one on one.

You know what does not feel very good? Knowing that you are not worth even that to someone. My value to this man that I adore is not even worth not hitting on 10 women in the entire world because he knows it will hurt me.

Wow.

And then, within 24 hours, yes, darlings, within 24 hours of the Boyfriend deciding a year of romance, friendship and fucking was not worth holding off on asking one of my friends to fuck him my one remaining grandparent decided that the best way to say 'happy holidays' and 'I love you' was with a demand letter addressed to my parent - as in one from a lawyer on stationary. This is, quite obviously, toxic and terminal.

The painful irony, of course, is that after I called my husband and sobbed into the phone the second person I instinctively reached out to was the Boyfriend. Without thinking I opened a new email with tears streaming down my face and started to type...then I realized and deleted.

A beautiful moment on top of a beautiful moment. What a week.

So there you are, darlings, I am currently valued by those I hold dear at somewhere less than random ass and $15,000. I am not sure what the lesson here is, but I am not sure it is about the beauty of relationships and how you can rely on people you should be able to trust.

I am, once again, been rewarded for my openness to people and embracing of relationships with a slap and a kick. You would think I would learn.

No really, November, fuck you.

(*Note: men out there, if you are asking to fuck your girlfriend's friends without discussing it with her, you are always crossing a line, always. this is a "for the sake of argument moment")
(**Which she did, immediately. Note: men out there, women talk.)
(***How naive this man is about women is also astounding: This is one of my best friends, I have known her for 20 years, she danced at my wedding! Dude, she's not keeping your secrets.)

Morning Sex on the Beach?

2011-11-02T21:53:00.000-04:00

Recently Hubby and I were engaged in an argument about polyamory and the fact that I am generally a non-monogamous slut who finds it easy to make new naked friends.

We had reached our traditional round 4 of this particular discussion: the topic of the Boyfriend when the Husband, who was not articulating his problem very well, shouted at me: "he gets morning sex".

A woman who was being an intellectual poly goddess and practicing ethical sluthood and thoughtful wifehood probably would have answered him patiently and addressed the root of the issue in a constructive manner. However, as the conversation progressed in an irritating way your local errant wife bellowed something roughly like: "Oh, so he can fuck all my holes at any other time of day but the morning is off limits??! Do you hear how retarded that sounds??!? Own your shit! Get a brain!" (These are not the "I feel" statements the therapist taught me.)

Morning sex, you see, is a bone (heh) of contention in our relationship. The official excuse is that I am not a morning person - in the morning all I want to do is sleep as long as possible and then, when forced to be awake, to get my tea and soy milk and wake my brain up. On any given morning over the past decade we have had one or more children and/or a dog in our bed. But the real truth is that for years our relationship was so bad that I dreaded the constant demands for sex - and the morning was always when he would be pushy. I was petrified of waking up in bed with him on weekend mornings because I know he would pressure me endlessly to fuck him and to escape would mean a fight. Those were not good years and I am glad they are behind us - but morning sex is still a bit of a barrier in the marital bed.

So, when he asked and I (stupidly) answered that, yes, the Boyfriend and I sometimes, once in a while, occasionally (always when we are together in the morning) have morning sex he was le pissed.

And I was pissed that he was pissed.

It's not that I don't get it - I can offer you a million reasons why this is not a reasonable thing to hang your monogamously inclined hat on (every relationship is different, we always wake up in hotels, we don't see each other that often) but, all that aside, I get it - he gets something you don't. It's like that ad with the kids and the pony - I'm the pony and it isn't fair that only new members get to ride it. That being said, the fact that I get it doesn't mean that I am willing to engage in a conversation where Hubby states that, although I fuck other guys with his permission, the time of day is a crucial consideration and that he has a right to dictate the specific hours on my weekend with the Boyfriend that are permissible for penetration. I mean, as lines go, it is a totally ridiculous one to draw. You can have oral, anal and vaginal sex, you can swing together, you can lick his ass and anywhere else on him you like but you cannot do any of those activities between the hours of 9 and 10:30 a.m.

I mean, seriously Hubby, we could have that completely idiotic conversation or we could talk about the real issue.

We eventually talked our way back to civil and then I was full of thoughtful relationship considerations and warm understanding poly smiles: relationships have different ebbs and flows, I told him, different patterns - you do different things with every partner, it isn't about you, you are comparing apples and oranges.

Enter the Girlfriend.

As I have mentioned, when it comes to the Girlfriend I am indulgent to a fault. Sure, pause the movie we are watching to talk to her. Sure, get out of our bed to drive her home. Sure, break every rule that you ever made for me. I am a paragon of wifely tolerance. To be clear, it is not that I am the world's most perfect slut - it's to my own advantage: every step he takes with her demonstrates to him that outside partners are not scary. On that basis I have yet to say no and I have yet to push back on anything.

But then, then one night we were cooking dinner and he was looking for advice on where to take her on a date. We are chopping and lightly chatting and he mentions casually that he was thinking of getting a bottle of wine and heading to the beach.

Um, pardon me? SHE gets THE BEACH?

What. The. Fuck.

Hubby loathes the beach - his position is (I kid you not) that it is "too sandy" and "too sunny". I have been begging the man to take me to the beach for the better part of a decade. He always says "why would we go to the beach when we could go to the cottage with my parents?" Wow, stumper.

A summer evening on the beach with wine is my idea of the perfect date. A date he has never taken me on.

If you had been in the room I suspect you would have seen the light bulb go on above my head. Oh, he gets morning sex. Now I get it.

Maybe I should be a little less smug, apparently the Girlfriend is not just teaching the Husband lessons about polyamory.

The Newbies: Drama!

2011-10-18T19:39:00.000-04:00

Ok, so as I told you I was reluctant to meet the newbies for some play, my gut was telling me not to do it - but I thought that we should try it on, maybe we would be really compatible.

Truthfully, I almost felt like I had taken it a little too far to be able to step back without hurting feelings. Lesson learned. As the Roomate of Easy Virtue said: you have no obligation to fuck these people.

We met, we played. I would love to say we came, we saw, we conquered - but, well...you know. There was, as I feared, little chemistry - I mean it was ok, but as I said to hubby on the way home: I'm not sure it was worth shaving for.

And if only that were the end of it...

Last night I got an awkward drama filled call from Mr Newbie. He began by telling me that his wife was really upset because she thought my Husband didn't like her.

Um, ok - then why the fuck are you and I having this conversation?

I played along: I did not get that impression, why does she feel that way? Mr. Newbie advised me that the Hubby did not fuck her enough. At this point I am thinking: were we in the same room for those hours? Every time I turned my head they were all fucking over each other: over, under, side by side, behind, in front - you name it.

Well, said Mr. Newbie - it isn't normal the way he touched her.

Normal. huh. Well, from where I was sitting (lying, standing) I saw no goats, no clown shoes - what's the issue? He wanted to spend too much time touching her with his mouth and his hands and did not put his penis inside her that much.

Really? Like, really??

I took a breath for patience. Ok, I said, well, the husband likes to play other ways and not just fuck - he likes to do oral and he likes to use his hands and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

His response: the correct way to pleasure a woman is with your penis, by putting it the vagina.

No, sadly this is not a joke. At this point I am suffering the consequences of my vast sluttery -the kids are in bed, I am curled up on the couch and I am finding myself explaining what I would consider "normal" sexual behaviour to this guy who, although he is not being angry is not being pleasant.

I am providing him with the level of insight offered by women's magazines the world over - no, really, oral sex is normal, no really - most women actually do not orgasm through penetrative intercourse - and I am thinking, jesus fucking christ - why me? Why fucking me? What on earth could I have done to deserve this conversation? (I am guessing that it could be a law of averages thing, like - speaking statistically - fuck enough guys and you are sure to hit a crazy once in a while. Although, I believe the history of this blog is clear that I have taken my fair share of loonie cock.)

I tried desperately to be gracious and here is why - I am pretty sure that until they met us they had only fucked each other, so perhaps 'normal' is relative. Also, I think we may be having some kind of cross-cultural phallocentrism issue - I could totally write a university paper about it, but I don't particularly want to be on the phone on my couch at 10pm unpacking cultural baggage with this dude.

I said my piece and got off the phone with him and onto bbm with the Duchess...we have decided that we are going to put together a "page a day" calendar for those new to sluthood. The first two entries: "just cause he goes down on you doesn't mean he doesn't like you" and "dude, it's not all about your cock."

And that, dirty darlings, is the end of the Newbies.

The Newbies: Bailing?

2011-09-29T23:12:00.000-04:00

Mr Newbie bbm-ed me the other day: "I want to give you perfect pleasure."

Perfect pleasure? Doesn't that sound utterly exhausting? Like hold the side of your face, look deep into your eyes, connect on an emotional level that does not exist between the two while fucking you badly exhausting?

The Husband and I are supposed to go on our first playdate with them tomorrow night and we both feel kinda "eh" about it - we have been tossing around the idea of bailing. The rub is that I feel like we can't back out now because now we are in the odd position, given our own relative newness, of being their expert guides. Not only do I not want to hurt their feelings by breaking the date, but I feel obliged to show them the ropes - although, as I wrote before, they are freaking me the fuck out.

I don't want to run away from them now and give them a bad first experience of having been led on, but I have real concerns about managing expectations. I want to hang out and enjoy their company, but I am worried that they want to be bffs. To be clear, it is not that I am unwilling to forge a connection with them - I am happy to play, happy to expand their lifestyle experience and be friends - it is just that I feel like they may be really into us in a way that we do not reciprocate. They are talking all night in hotel rooms, vacationing together, picnics with the families, going on a lifestyle trip somewhere. I am not sure whether this is a willingness to jump into the lifestyle and viewing us as their opportunity to do so or whether it is a willingness to jump into us. Either way, I am not clear I am ready to be jumped.

As I said to the Husband today: um, whose team are we taking this one for?

Despite all the indications to the contrary we have forged ahead. It seems unkind to ditch otherwise lovely people because of a level of enthusiasm and honestly that overwhelms me. I am, after all, a girl that is known for being overly blunt. I am going to assume that their over excitement speaks of their newness and not an awkward insanity. On that basis, instead of their plan for a lengthy sleepover in a hotel we have taken the lesson the Boyfriend taught me prior to the first threeway with the Husband: take it to the club. That way if things go south (and, ahem, not in a good way) there is some privacy to seek and some potential for escape.

I was bbm-ing with the Boyfriend today and telling him that I just wasn't sure whether to give it up - his point: test drive it - you might like what is under the hood. Or, as I said, maybe I will like what he does under mine?

The Boyfriend, who is always ideal for providing slut reinforcement got back to me quickly: there's a winning attitude, way to pick up the glove and get in the game

And what he tells me is right, you know: you can't win if you don't play.

Wish me luck, dirty darlings, wish me luck...

The Newbies, Part 1: Um, Dude, No...

2011-09-11T23:19:00.006-04:00

Newbies: I just don't know what to do with them.

I know this might be a bit of an eye-roller for some of you more experienced lifestyle folks.

In fact, I would guess that hubby and I are still new enough that it might be a deal breaker for some people.

But there are newbies and then there are newbies.  And these ones are the latter.

We met this couple that we quite like: they are charming and interesting and attractive...and they are brand spanking new.

What is giving me the most pause is not their newness to the lifestyle, but their newness to promiscuity and fucking around in general: I am increasingly realizing that they are fresh-faced monogamous almost-virgins.

I don't have an innocence fetish.  If it possible to have an un-fetish, that is how I feel about

innocence.

Mr Newbie is charming the pants right onto me.  And let me tell you, this is no easy feat.

Have you ever sat with someone and had them talk their way out of your bed with every word out of their mouth?

This is what he did to me the other night and it was striking.

Did I tell you I have never been with anyone but my wife?

(Oh, Dude, no.)

I would love to get to a point where we don't use condoms

(Dude, noooo.)

Getting to know you I feel like I am on the verge of getting married again.

(Oh, duuuuudddde, no.)

I don't just want to have sex with you - I want to make love to you.

(Dude, we just met - you should want to give it to me hard.)

Can I tell you I love you when we are together?

(No, dude, just no. No. No. No.)


I mentioned this to the hot blonde's hot husband, his response: "Sounds like drama. Run!"

I can't help but think he is right.

Interview with a Girlfriend.

2011-09-01T00:12:00.000-04:00

I was nervous walking up to that coffee shop: What would she look like? Would she like me? Would I hate her? Would I freak the fuck out and prove myself a total hypocrite?

Is it wrong that I hoped that I was just a little prettier than her?

I got there first and waited, lifting up my head like a dog lifts their ears every time a woman on her own walked in. She opened the door confidently and walked in, head up and eyes scanning for 'the wife'.

She is nothing like me in looks: she is dark to my light, calmly elegant to my brassy, she has a tiny perfect body in contrast to my more curvy physique. She has that air of elegance and put togetherness that I can never quite master. She is one of those women that exudes class - we could wear the exact same slightly saucy outfit and she would look like Jackie O while I looked like an escort.

She is also nothing like me in demeanour: she is disciplined to my loud mouthed enthusiasm. You can watch her choose every word, while I just use them all. (Want to know what I am thinking now? How 'bout now?)

There are ways in which we are similar though - we have similar jobs, we are both direct and blunt, neither of us sought to avoid the hard questions or discussions:

Are you really ok with this? (Um, yes, borrow that husband.)

Does it bother you that I am single? (Nope, have at him.)

What about stds, condoms? (No and yes, please.)

Does the boyfriend's wife know about you? (Is that a bird flying by? Ok, avoided that one.)

How does hubby feel about the boyfriend? (Better now that we have group sex.)

I like her. Lots. Like, letting her borrow the husband without hesitation and wanting to hang out with the two of them lots.

Although I like the Girlfriend as an individual I also adore her as a concept: the Girlfriend gives me so much rope it isn't even funny. The Husband is breaking every rule he ever made: she is single, we all know people in common, she knows the Husband through work. If I were proposing to do the same he would be having fucking kittens. This is unquestioningly to my advantage - not because it means tit for tat (I had not even considered that, of course), but because it means he is getting a first hand demonstration of how not scary this is, how this can work, how it is safe, not a threat, not a crisis and not a problem. His relationship with the Girlfriend makes my relationship with the Boyfriend - and future potential relationships - less scary.

As I said, the woman of my dreams...

The Woman of My Dreams

2011-08-23T21:52:00.003-04:00

Well, well well - you will never guess what this dirty girl is doing later this week. This girl is going out to meet a stranger for coffee...I know - you've heard that one before. But, no really, this time it is not a stranger for me - no, this dirty girl is going out to meet a potential girlfriend for her husband.

The husband and I were driving to a wedding the other day when he paused, smiled and said: "So..".

"So?"

"So I think I have met a potential playmate."

Well, knock me over with a fucking feather, saints be praised, hallelujah.

I struggled to be calm and casual and contain my joy. "What happened? Did you fuck her?"

Him, rolling his eyes: "No, I'm not you." (Ouch.) "We have seen each other out twice while out with friends. The first time we danced and laughed and there was a bit of a spark. The second time I stepped it up a bit..."

Me: "What happened? Did you get her pants off?"

Him, rolling his eyes: "No, I got touchy while we danced - pulled her hair a bit and groped her. After that we went to the bar and I kinda put it out it out there like I'd like to take it to the next level with her."

Me: "What happened? Did she suck your cock? Did you kiss her?"

Him: "NO. She started by asking how many affairs I had had. I said that you can't have affairs if you are in an open marriage."

(OMFG, he has resisted that label, protested the use...spectacular win!)

"Oh" I said innocently "are we in an open marriage?" He shook his head and laughed: "fuck off."

The long and short of their evening and his conversation with her is that she is interested, very interested - but step one is making sure the wife is on side. So, I find myself on my way to an interview with the potential mistress. I confess to not being entirely sure who is being approved: me, her, him?

I know she has reservations and I wonder how much of a sales job this is. I find my head FULL of used car metaphors: "you really don't know what this baby will do until you get it out on the highway", "it all works under the hood", "you should really take it for a test drive".

Unfortunately I think we are past the point where we can call him "gently used" - that being said, I can warranty that he has been exclusively lady driven.

Wish me luck, darlings, wish me luck. She could be the woman I have been waiting for my entire life...

Slut Addiction

2011-07-26T17:33:00.001-04:00

This slut has a new addiction.

Surprisingly it's not chicks, it's not masturbating on camera, it's not ass play (ok, that's another new addiction and a subject for another post) - but the addiction we are talking about today is men who aren't total pricks. I gotta tell you, I'm breaking new ground here, bitches.

I have decided that I am kinda fond of myself, kinda fond of being treated with respect, kinda fond of being acknowledged as a human. Now, I think we can all agree that I have had my fair share of interaction with idiots - but I am swearing off of bullshit. Case in point: the Emotional Slut. He has over the past couple of years spent FAR too much time periodically stalking me via email and facebook and then defriending me and blocking me when he does not get the attention or response he wants, or just like, because. He is one sulky little bitch.

He periodically starts conversations with me on the pretext of being my friend or being interested in talking to me - these little chats quickly degenerate into: "so when are you coming to see me?" And by see he means fuck. When I say I am not coming to see him he defriends me, ignores me or gets bitchy with me. I mean, let's be clear - the only reason to talk to a girl like me is in hopes of fucking her. I am a single purpose object: wet, warm hole at your service. I mean, why would you even talk to me other then to schedule your next fucking?

You contrast to this to some of my more recent acquaintances - the Boyfriend and the Hot Blonde's Hot Husband, for example. These men actually talk to me - and not just about how I am going to get them off, although that is always welcome with men like that. To be clear, by talk I don't mean that we have a daily moment where we hold emotional hands, look deep into each other's eyes and have profound conversations about the universe and our feelings, but we chat comfortably via those handy little electronic devices: how was your day? what are your weekend plans? a funny thing happened at the club last weekend. There is a sort of mutual acknowledgement of humanity, of friendship...of the fact that we might have something to offer each other besides genitals. Men like this are actually somewhat of a shocking revelation. A very pleasant one I might add.

You should also be introduced to a man my friend has been seeing, we will call him Mr. Itchy. This friend of mine keeps getting this little thing called gardnerella - it is a bacteria of some kind and is spread via sex. She has had it enough times that she is pretty clear that Mr. Itchy and her are passing it back and forth. Mr. Itchy has a girlfriend - like a real one he sees on the up and up - and so he refuses to get tested because he "can't" get treated anyway. This whole itchy situation came to a head recently when my friend's doctor gave her a super-course of antibiotics to get rid of this thing once and for all and Mr. Itchy discouraged her from taking them because it might mean a stop to their fun, 'cause who cares how you feel if I can't give it to you hard?

Smart girl that she is she took the drugs anyway and flat out said to him "no more penetration until you get this dealt with". He pretended he was on board for a while, talking a little about the other fun non-penetrative stuff they could do, but when um...push came to shove as it were, he said, among other charming and delightful gems:
*"I am not 15, I am over dryhumping" (Um, are you fucking kidding me? I heart dryhumping big time - I think dryhumping is a lost art.)
*"You never get off when I lick and finger fuck you anyway" (Maybe you could work on improving?)
*"It isn't my fault you have painted yourself into a corner" (No one puts baby in the corner!")

The he called her a "cock tease" for taking the medication when she knew he wasn't ready to do so. I mean, really, the nerve of her not being legs open ready to get him off exactly how he wanted to be got off when he wanted it. Tease!

Like Mr. Itchy the Emotional Slut also gave me a hard time about my insistence on condom use, claiming that they just didn't work for him and blah de blah blah. Problem 1: any guy that averse to wrapping it up is a walking red flag; Problem 2: any guy who, even if he admits to liking it better without, won't wrap it up without complaint when you ask him to - total jerk.

There are many men who share this attitude towards women and access to sex. The Emotional Slut is one - you can just read him that way - he is the kind of guy that won't let it stop at a kiss, groping, oral or sex - he will always want the next step, always push to get you to agree to something he can tell is just slightly out of your comfort zone. He'll just do it and see if you stop him, slowly pushing you past your limits without asking and praying to god that you will silently acquiesce. We all know and have known guys like this - the guys who rub their cock all over you in a bar before you have seen their face, the guys who make you feel like you disappoint them by saying no.

Contrast the above examples with men who have recently been in my life: the Boyfriend, the Hot Blonde's Hot Husband and some other delightful lifestyle men I have recently met. The Hot Blonde's Hot Husband is a really good time and I am delightfully gathering the information that he is willing to do a variety of very interesting and intriguing things - a process I hope to continue. Aside from the fact that he is a really good time, it has struck me how very cognizant he has been of my comfort and consent - this may sound like a basic thing, a no brainer - but it really isn't. In my experience, the vast majority of men I have been with have pushed the envelope in subtle ways - not knowing whether I was open or not to certain activities they have crept forward and hoped to get further down the path - most men I have been with have been more concerned with their wants than my limits and have sought to move those limits as far as possible.

The Hot Blonde's Hot Husband and the Boyfriend have both, from our first meetings, been conscientious about possible limits - and to be clear, I don't mean they stop and say "Ms. Kimberly, I am seeking permission to touch your pussy now - is this acceptable?" - it is not even something so overt that you can put your finger on - it is more a way of dealing with a woman, a way of talking while playing, and a way of creating a tone and a space in which she can feel comfortable.

A couple of weeks ago I was out at a club with the Boyfriend and I started to feel sick from the moment we arrived - I had that chemical fumes induced nausea and brain fog that plagues us allergic folks - suffice to say I was definitely not my usual friendly and bouncy self. After a little while I realized that I needed to leave or I just might be that girl in the slutty dress barfing on the floor. And trust me, no one wants to fuck that girl. I said to the Boyfriend that I was sorry if I had disappointed him by not being more bouncy, more slutty, less out of it. He looked at me like I was a bit crazy. I also apologized to the Hot Blonde and her Hot Husband for practically bolting (and truth be told, being kind of a drag all night) and they were also very clear that it was a non-issue. Contrast this to the Emotional Slut - the first time we were scheduled to see each other I got sick and had to bail. I received a variety of bitchy, selfish and petulant responses: I bet you weren't really sick* you are going to have to work hard to make this up to me* if you really wanted to come you would*I can't believe you ruined the weekend* we'll see if I am still interested next time you make room for me.*

No, really, thanks - I am feeling much better now.

The irony for all the Emotional Sluts and Mr. Itchy's out there is that men who carry themselves like the Boyfriend and the Hot Blonde's Hot Husband are men with whom you are completely and utterly willing to play to the limit, push your limits, try new things and to engage in far more scandalous and dirty activities. I mean, let's be clear, the comfort zone shifts depending on who you are with and how much you feel you can trust them - if I am treated in a way that I know I am not a disappointment if I have to step back, that I know I am not going to be pressured to do things I am not comfortable with, or that if I feel like I have to take a step back I know there will be no recriminations - well, then with me there pretty much are no limits. In that situation there is no envelope to push, so to speak - it is (ahem) wide open.

My overall take away from all these men, some delightful and others not, is that I ain't taking no more shit. Now, I know that you would say: really, Kimberly, you take shit - you take more shit than any slut out there. Ok, yes - fair I HAVE taken shit - I have at times settled for crumbs wanting more, I have not spoken my mind to be more like-able and more attractive, years and years ago I would do things in bed because I didn't have the confidence to say no - I have been less myself and more what I thought was attractive. But no more, now I have a new bottom line: from here forward I am only going to be dealing with people that make me feel good and treat me with respect. I know everyone loves a distant guy, but really the delights of being with someone who is a friend, talks to you like a human and who treats you with respect cannot be understated. Frankly, over the past couple of years I have gotten to know men who I don't need to play games with, men I don't need to feign distance from or pretend not to talk to to have them be interested and who are a really good time. Seriously, I am a big girl now - I am not going back to games and bullshit.

From this point forward any game I play with a man is going to involve costumes and orgasms, not drama and manipulation.

Synagogue Lesbian Head Injury Part 2: the Lesbian Part

2011-07-17T21:50:00.002-04:00

We each began a little bit of light play with our own men - sitting next to each other and slowly finding our rhythm. It took a few minutes to gear up, but clothes started hitting the floor before I knew it. She and I were side by side each kissing, disrobing and slowly being disrobed by the man we brought.

Now, I know I am going to sound like a frat boy here - but motherfucker, WHAT a body. No, really, there is nothing quite like the physique of a fit, attractive person in their early 20s.

She was spectacular.

That being said, the sight of her essentially perfect body did not make me more turned on by the experience. We had already connected and I had already got my hard on, so to speak, from the dynamic. That right, folks, the way you talk to me has far more to do with how turned on I am with you than than whether you are physically perfect. That being said, a young sleek animal in its prime is a young sleek animal in its prime and I can appreciate it for its natural beauty.

After we were semi-naked and thoroughly turned on we took a moment from our own play with our respective men and smiled at each other. There was still a hesitancy between us - a layer of reserve waiting to be penetrated. We looked at each other for a moment...assessing, we shared a moment of expectant energy and she leaned in to kiss me.

If there is one thing I have found about girls it is that they kiss gently. She curved her head to the side and touched her lips to mine oh so gently, lips apart, subtly running her tongue across my lips. Progressing from there to sliding her tongue against mine - softly and delicately.

I have rarely enjoyed a french kiss more.

Most of my lovers would probably tell you I am not a huge tongue kisser, but this was a moment for tongue. I think women know how to kiss they way they want to be kissed - I have kissed a few women now and non-scientifically I can tell you that none of them have invaded me with their tongue the way a new man tends to do. A new man tends to overwhelm you, moving quickly and aggressively to kiss the hell out of you...a new woman tends to take her time to explore.

We were both intrigued but unsure of ourselves in this new arena. Our kissing progressed slowly and safely - it didn't start as an intense lets get it on fucker moment. Neither of us really pushed the envelope or took the lead - we simply walked down the path together...hands on shoulders and waists, lips on lips.

By that point my dress was pushed both up and down (elegant!), leaving me topless and almost bottomless. She took the next step, leaning over to flick my nipple with her tongue and meeting my eyes with a saucy look when she did. I raised my fingers to rub her nipples and we moved closer together.

I lowered my mouth to lick her nipple and flick it back and forth with my tongue.

She leaned back and moaned.

Her boyfriend needed no more cue than that, he slid her panties off and spread her legs to lick her. She arched into my mouth and his - moaning as I kissed her lips and her breasts and he flicked her clit back and forth with his tongue. Add to the mix hubby lifting my dress to slide his fingers up my legs and the moment got pretty intense pretty quickly.

Her boyfriend sat up and began sliding his fingers in and out of her quickly and she arched her pussy up into him with every thrust of his hand. I looked at her from my position at her breast and raised my eyebrows "do you mind if I....?" I asked. "Please" she moaned.

I shifted my body to lick her clit while her boyfriend fingered her. I am not going to lie and tell you that I am a pussy expert, because I literally had NO clue what I was doing. But, I enjoyed the smell, the taste and the experience - I enjoyed stroking her with my tongue while I felt her her boyfriend finger fuck her. I enjoyed feeling how wet she was and hearing the noises she made.

From a purely selfish perspective, I also enjoyed the way she rubbed my clit while my hubby fucked me from behind while I licked her. I know it sounds like a convoluted position, but it worked itself out.

This delightful young woman got loud quickly. She moaned and even a woman of my limited knowledge of women could tell she was close to cumming. Her boyfriend added another finger, I increased my rhythm and soon she came explosively - screaming and pushing up into my face and her boyfriend's hand.

And that, dirty darlings, is my story of how one night in a synagogue two women found God...

Synagogue Lesbian Head Injury, Part 1: the Synagogue Head Injury Part

2011-07-04T23:16:00.000-04:00

If I were to sum up our evening in one sentence, that sentence would have to be synagogue lesbian head injury.

Now given the lack of verb I appreciate that it could be argued that this is not really a sentence; however, I will submit that in this context lesbian could be the verb: I lesbian, you lesbian, we lesbian, he/she/it lesbians...that's right, bitches, a verb.

The Husband and I were visiting some family and we decided to take the time to do a little sex tourism on the side and check out the local swingers establishment.

Tarted up and ready to go we turned the corner as instructed by the GPS...onto what was clearly a residential street. Hmmmm, so now I am slightly hesitant. I am looking into dining room windows and passing kids toys in driveways and thinking: this place can't be between houses, can it? Thinking awkward, a residential street we forage ahead and then - then we pull up to the address listed on the club's website - which is a building that is very clearly marked as a synagogue.

No more hesitation here: full stop. What does a slut do now? I mean, I'm bold, but not quite bold enough to walk into what appears to be a house of god without any panties on and ask if that is where the sex party is.

We sat in the car for a few minutes, neither of us quite willing to walk up to the door. I mean think about it: if the wrong address is posted on the website this must happen a fair amount. I had images of the congregants turning their heads as a group to stare at the newest misdirected perverts. We drove around the corner to call - and what do you know, that was the place, so off we went to jump on the party train.

I am not gonna lie, I was excited to see what lay in store - after all, how often does one get to get their play on in a house of worship?

We got a tour from the owner who showed us how things had been changed from worship on your knees to well...anyway, the former alter area at the front was now the dance floor complete with mirrors and a stripper pole. What was once the first floor men's room was now a co-ed bathroom because the ladies were just not going downstairs to pee so you might as well label it properly. On the balcony at the back of the main room there were confessional booths with glory holes between them and with little curtains you can pull for privacy. (Hot tip for the guys out there: the owner assures me that if you are a dude being blown through one of those by a chick with glasses the combination of the wall of the box and the ladies' glasses make you lose a substantial length and your cock seems a lot smaller.)

Eventually we took a seat at a table near the edge of the crowd and started to get a feel for the room. On first observation the crowd was older - quite a bit older. To be clear, I am not some snotty 20 year old thinking that anyone over 28 is old. In fact, my preferred age range for men is 40s. This crowd was closer to 60 - and you know, I don't discriminate, if the chemistry is there the chemistry is there - but I'm not a who's your daddy type of girl. It is going to be harder to get me interested if you are in the father figure age range.

There was however, one Young Couple who kept catching our eye - casually dressed, seemingly low key, attractive. We eventually bit the bullet and approached them to say hello - they were new to the club as well, only having been there a few times before - so we commenced a pleasant and low key conversation. I thought things were going really well, but then the Young Couple jumped up and left fairly quickly to go to the bar and not in a why don't you come with us and we'll all have a drink way. I read it as more of a hell no I don't think so way.

It was our first feeling of being outright rejected by a couple we had been interested in and...not gonna lie, it felt a bit icky.

We decided to go sit on one of the couches on the balcony to regroup, I did some bending over sexy stripper dancing to entertain hubby and then I sent him to get me another drink while I assessed the room and whether there were any potential playmates in our immediate future.

The very instant hubby was gone the woman of the Young Couple joined me on the couch. She got right to the point: we have never hooked up with anyone before, I have never actually been with anyone but my boyfriend, would you be ok with just us making out and them watching and we could each fool around with our own guy?

Now, I have to admit my first thought was: oh fuck, I really don't know what to do with a girl when I have them naked! I have literally no clue. I have kissed a couple of girls lightly - a bit of tongue here and there - but I have never even felt someone up, let alone...um felt someone down. I was honest with her: that sounds great to me, but I have never been with a girl before and I have zero clue as to what I am doing.

Me neither, she said, but, it has been something I have wanted to try...

Ok, well at least I am not out of my lesbian depth.

Hubby was more than surprised to see us sitting together when he returned - his eyes asked me a million questions but he just sat down and joined in what was now a casual conversation. She went to talk to her boyfriend and I turned to the husband and explained her proposition...so, um, does that work for you? He smiled a Cheshire cat grin: um, yeah, works for me.

We went down to the play area - one that was strikingly less structured than other places we have been in: you did not need to disrobe to enter the room, you can wander freely in and out - and we found ourselves clothed and sitting next to each other in kind of an awkward now what moment. The Hubby and I now found ourselves the semi-expert guides among the novices, oddly given our own relative lack of lifestyle experience.

Given that they were brand new and somewhat younger than us we didn't want to be pushy and aggressive, we wanted them to be in their comfort zone about moving forward. I also found myself in a bit of an odd situation for me, I mean, I know how to pick up and seduce dudes...that I have figured out, but girls...how does one make the first move with a girl?

In my usual semi-retarded big mouthed fashion I tried to break the ice and make everyone a little more comfortable - I thought hey, leaping onto the handy sex swing and laughingly figuring out how it works, why not? And so I did - I jumped up into it in an effort to be playful and sexy and I thwacked my head on the top of it like a motherfucker. It made an enormous smashing sound as my head hit the pole - it is hard to describe, but it sounded a lot like my big stupid head hitting the metal frame of a sex swing. (Truth: I had a goose egg on my head for days). Vague dizziness aside, it did succeed in loosening things up a bit - we laughed like hell, made sure I didn't need stitches and there we were: ice broken, ready to play...

Just Game

2011-06-20T23:21:00.001-04:00

I was lounging on my side with the Boyfriend spooning me. I was moist, naked, hair scattered on the pillow beside me, adoring the post-fucking endorphin high.

And then the Boyfriend broke the post-sex enraptured silence: "So, how do you view our relationship?"

Fuuuuuuccccckkk.

I rolled over and propped myself up on one elbow: "can you just tell me what the right answer to that question is?"

"There is no right answer." Double fuck. As any slut knows this is worse - if he doesn't know what the right/wrong answer is it means he will identify which answers are wrong based on my responses. As in, I didn't know there was a wrong answer until you said that...

"Well", I said - frantically wondering what the hell he was getting at - "well...I would say we are lovers."

"Lovers, I like that word." (Yes, pass.) "But what's the end game here?" (Motherfuck, an extra credit question.)

"End game? What do you mean?" (Jesus fucking fuck.)

"Well, we don't want to leave our partners but we are enjoying each other's company, so where is this going - end game?"

Ok, well now at least I understood the question, essentially: what kind of trouble are we in for here?

And, dirty darlings, it is a fair question. Let's be clear, extra-marital relationships do not have a reputation for working out real well - largely I would argue because we do not accept that there could be a framework in which such relationships are "normal". An end games is required because there is no paradigm for having a number of ongoing relationships - one of which is an acknowledged primary one, some of which are secondary and all of which are satisfying and can be enjoyed for what they are. Once a secondary relationship is really formed - once that initial spark moves into a longer term connection and once preliminary interest is replaced by a more abiding friendship - we are told that a conflict must ensue and that by its nature it must become a war for the heart and soul.

In the conventional paradigm there are two broad sorts of end games for a close, mutually enjoyed and longer-term extra-marital relationship. The first is the drastic game changer: a choice to divorce or the choice taken away by discovery. A storm of tears and recrimination. Chaos that brings about either our own destruction or true happiness. The second is love: a tortuously unfulfillable love - star-crossed lovers forever yearning, perhaps eventually parting when the first option is rejected or the pain becomes too much. There are variations on the theme to be sure, but the bottom line is that most people want only one relationship - or perhaps I should say allow themselves only one relationship - and therefore the presence of a second relationship on the scene means that there are one too many bitches in the kennel.

Yep, from under the covers of the extra-marital bed the end game looks pretty bleak. His question was legit and his concern for my point of view on the issue not misplaced.

So, what is our end game?

Well, we have already established between us that neither of us seeks a game changer in the other. He is not holding auditions for the role of "wife" and, let's be clear: a woman who is looking for a husband never had one - my divorce fantasies involve a bachelorette apartment. We both have well-established, pre-existing lives many hours apart - lives that we don't seek to disturb.

And love? Well, neither us seeks the torture of love either - we have both flirted with strong emotion in the past and realized quite clearly the danger that lies therein. You may disagree with me, but I do feel that love is a choice and that those who seek it outside of their marriage are likely to find it while those who specifically seek to avoid it can do so as well.

Where is this going? Well, nowhere. And I mean that in the best possible way. Basically, we don't need an end game: we enjoy each other's company both in and out of bed, we both acknowledge ourselves as poly and crave the connection of an outside relationship. I like this man: I genuinely enjoy his mind and his company as well as his cock, he treats me with caring and respect and I intend to keep him as a part of my life for as long as this is a mutually agreeable circumstance. No relationship strategy, just relationship.

And so, reassured that I had the right answer to the $64,000.00 question, I cocked my head to the side and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. Leaning back I smiled at him, eyes all sauciness and flirtation: "no end game, babe, just game."

A Nice Girl Like Me

2011-05-08T23:25:00.001-04:00

I know you are going to think of this as *quite* the overshare, but a killer yeast infection brought me to the walk in clinic on a Sunday in search of one of those fabulous one dose pills. (Which, FYI, have become over the counter since I last took one, making the whole damn visit moot.)

I informed the nurse at my intake that I had a yeast infection and she said, and not in a way that I would term as either patient or polite: "well are you monogamous or is it a chance that it is an STD?"

Ok, so this isn't a great starting point: are you monogamous or diseased? 'Cause clearly you must be one or the other: non-monogamy = germy. Not to mention that this is not overly medically accurate: I could be as monogamous as the day is long and still be given something by a partner, but whatever.

Despite the fact that I rejected the premise of her question I answered honestly: "No I am not monogamous, so yes, I suppose there is a chance it is an STD." I mean I am a careful girl, but I do not live in denial - I have fucked three guys in the past month all of whom, hubby included, have fucked other women.

I waited and waited (and waited) and then I got to see the doctor: older, semi-retired, semi-competent. He had not read my chart, so I gave my history again in response to his questions: kids, husband, etc. I re-explained about the yeast infection and the fact that the nurse had suggested it could possibly be an STD and he said, I kid you not: "A nice girl like you doesn't need to worry about things like that."

Oh, well, alright then.

This is medically revolutionary stuff here folks: women that are nice, they do not get the itchy stuff. Only dirty bitches get those. Apparently if I stop bitching about my in-laws and the people that block my driveway to go to church - well, that is like an immunity against catching something from a random dude. Win.

"Aren't you monogamous?"

"Um, do you mean emotionally?"

He didn't and not-nice-me went up into the stirrups for round 2 of Judge Fest 2011, this time with the female assistant who was asked to join the everyone-look-at-my-crotch party. (For the record, this was less fun than the usual everyone look at my crotch parties I have.)

Let me tell you, when you are getting a chlamydia swab and you are making that awkward hands in my cooch conversation, if you do not want to get a cooollldd look from people you shouldn't talk about your husband and kids. Ms. Assistant was not impressed with Ms. Kimberly - and she made that abundantly clear with her eyes, because you get to give whores dirty looks, folks, it is not at all unprofessional. In case you were wondering, she did not know my history, she had not seen my chart - she just assumed I was nasty and, to tell you the truth, this attitude is not unique to medical professionals. Lots of us have an attitude about this kind of thing

Partially it is a hold over from a more sexually repressive time but also, for those of us who categorize ourselves as post-Victorian, if we conceptualize the whole thing as being about "others" - dirty others, slutty others, etc. - well, then we don't have to feel bad about the 250 unprotected blow jobs we gave last year, the 276 times we went down on some chick without a dental dam and oh, and yeah, all those times we played a game of just the tip or pull out before you cum and tell ourselves we are practicing safe sex. (Yes, fuckers, I am talking about you - you know who you are.)

I mean really, how absurd is the premise that it is only the not nice girls, the bad slutty girls, that get the STDs? Germs are germs and I don't think they can tell how much cock I take. I am no doctor, but I am pretty sure that it isn't only the 10th or 20th dude that gives you something, I think it can happen with only one.

The moral constructs around STDs are interesting - after all, there are all sorts of heavily preventable things you can catch from other people. There is no moral sanctioning when you hit up the clinic with a cold or flu and yet we all know that washing your hands can help prevent those, just like condoms can help prevent STDs. But, when you have the sniffles or the runs it isn't your fault, no one judges you as not nice or dirty. No one implies that you should have washed your hands more or shaken fewer hands, you dirty-handed-hand-shaking-slut and that, by the way dirty girl, only not nice people get colds from not washing their hands.

Yes, I have a fundamental understanding of the fact that it is different - after HR had that little talk with me I have stopped shaking people by the genitals when I meet them. Shaking someones hand is not like letting them put their dick in you; however, when you get something um..down there, it is somewhat analogous to catching something up a little higher. Yes, maybe you should have been more careful and maybe you weren't careful at all, but are you bad? Dirty? Not nice?

For the record, the doctor visually confirmed that it is yeast, and the test results did the same. The truth is I wasn't overly worried, but why not take the medical advice and get the tests? I mean, the pants were off - swab it up, baby. I am not ashamed of having my blood taken for my iron levels and I am not ashamed of making sure I don't have something that I could pass onto other people.

Also, the fact that I told the delightful clinic staff that I could have an STD was not a judgement on any of the people that I have slept with - I don't think any of them are bad, dirty or not nice. The bottom line is that this shit happens, but I think when we categorize the people that it happens to as not nice or as dirty it is our way of saying shit happens...but it doesn't happen to me.

I have the confidence to not be phased by their really inappropriate and off-putting judging - but I am troubled by their attitude and the effect it could have on other people and their willingness to be honest about their activities and tested accordingly. The fact is - the behaviour of these "professionals" would inspire someone less confident in their sexuality to lie - but shouldn't we be encouraging people to get their junk swabbed if there is a risk? A less confidant person might have refused the test because they were embarrassed or in denial or they might have lied in response to the question and then passed something on. I am open with my family doctor, my gynecologist and yes, the folks at the walk in clinic about the fact that I am non-monogamous, because you know what? It helps them do their job, which, FYI, is to make sure my crotch is in fighting form and not to judge me.

The Webcam

2011-04-26T08:45:00.001-04:00

I sat the laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch, arranging the pillows and myself to create a boudoir feel. Even though I was expecting him, I paused before I accepted the call - taking the time to double check my hair and makeup and adjust my baby-doll low over my cleavage.

Well hello, I purred as his face came across the screen, channeling as much sexy siren as I could find.

Hello beautiful, he replied, stroking me with words. He didn't hesitate, but met my eyes via web cam: I want you to touch yourself, he smiled, let me watch you.

This was a challenge for me, to be the center of his attention like that. I felt uncharacteristically shy about being so completely open to his view, so utterly exposed. There is something different about performing for an audience not in your own bed: you can't hide in a kiss, there is no ducking your head into a shoulder and you can't deflect attention with a touch. It is just you - all you, owning your lust and demonstrating your pleasure. It is at the same time both almost overwhelmingly exposing and deliciously erotic.

I slid my hands down over my breasts, watching his eyes follow their path. I shifted aside the lace that covered me - playing with my nipples for my attentive audience, flicking them while meeting his eyes. I arched my back and pushed my breasts forward into my own hands, enjoying the sensation of my own touch and the sensation of being watched.

From there my fingers separated the folds at the front of the baby-doll, trailing over my stomach and down to my panties. I slowly exposed more of myself to his view, trying to lure him to me from hours away.

I smiled at him, not needing words to convey meaning. Sliding my legs apart I ran my fingers across the front of the oh-so-tiny lace panties, feeling them dampen more and more with each touch. I lay back against the pillows - the panties getting increasingly damp and the fingers increasingly fast as I watched my audience: or more accurately, as I watched my audience watch me.

The more I saw him enjoy watching me the more I was turned on by the idea of the show. I found myself more and more wanting to perform for him, to grab his attention, to give him the image he craved.

And so I did.

My fingers slid inside my panties - I was already well past wet and ready, aroused in part by my power to turn him on, seduced by his reaction to my performance. He watched me pleasure myself, slowly telling me about all the things he wanted to do to me while I circled my clit with my fingers and lost myself in his words.

I sighed out loud as I ran my fingers over myself with increasing speed. Oh god, he muttered - to himself more than me as I shifted my hips in rhythm to my fingers - oh god, baby, cum for me.

I arched into my hand, cumming over my fingers for my appreciative audience. I love it when you call me baby, I sighed.

Threeway, Part 3:...4,5.

2011-04-19T07:18:00.000-04:00

As I was saying...there we were immersed in a prelude to a delightful threeway when there was a knock at the door. We looked at each other a little puzzled and Hubby got up to answer it - and there were the hot blonde and her hot husband.

The hot blonde smiled her gorgeous smile and said, a little hesitantly: "we don't want to be pushy, but do you mind if we join you?" Mind? Um, I believe the response is hell no, we don't mind: all hotties into the sex pool.

I looked at my menfolk whose eyes conveyed their clear agreement. I mean, really, every man on earth understands this basic formula: 1 hot blonde + 1 hot blonde = 2 hot blondes. Frankly, it was pretty stellar math from my perspective as well. I smiled at them and I replied: "of course not, come on in."

They came into the room and we made a little chit chat. The hot blonde then took of her bracelet, removed her towel and went right for the Husband...yes! I am not sure if I am remembering it wrong, but I *think* that her hot husband at that point turned to the Boyfriend and said, smiling at me: "so, I guess we'll share her."

So, to recap: my reluctantly polyamourous husband is going to get his cock sucked by a super hot blonde while I fuck my boyfriend and this other delightfully attractive man? Um, hell yes, share away. This is what the sluts call win/win/win/win/win.

I can't remember who kissed me first - in fact the details feel almost oddly scarce. At the best of times I have trouble remembering sex and the order in which things happened. I can't reduce it to a series of touches and penetrations - but, in this context I can tell you that I was kissing and being kissed by them both - neck, shoulders, chest, nipples...and that finally I wound up with a cock in each hand and I looked up and said to them, I kid you not: "I am not going to lie gentlemen, I have no idea where to go from here - you are going to have to show me."

And they did, delightful gentlemen, they did indeed.

The Boyfriend lay me down, kissing my mouth and the hot blonde's hot husband lay down with his experienced and delightful tongue between my legs. I had what can only be characterized as an explosive orgasm while the Boyfriend was on his knees in front of me, cock in my mouth, and the hot blonde's hot husband licked me like a rare treat.

The hot blonde's hot husband grabbed a condom and held it up, question in his eyes. This is what I am coming to love about these scenarios: consent, respect, no pressure - so amazing. My...um, mouth was busy...and so I nodded (gently, I am a careful girl!) my eager consent and presently found myself on my back, two cocks all to myself.

From there the evening is a collage of positions and switches: for the majority of the evening I had the two gentlemen I started off with to myself: on my back, on my side, one at either end...I think you get the idea. At the same time the Husband and the hot blonde shared a number of delightful positions and experiences. I quite enjoyed watching her make him cum with her mouth and then watching him fuck her - hot doesn't even begin to describe it. Call me a pervert, but watching someone get the Husband off is amazing.

The fabulous irony of the night: hubby and I each had our first threeway...each of us with the Boyfriend, but not with each other. I mean really, what are boyfriends for if not awesome threeways?

I am just so delighted that this first group experience wound up being such a good one for us in so many ways. It was partially because I was very relaxed because I knew two of the men involved, largely because everyone was so open and giving and fun and also because the three of our five have had numerous experiences like this - it helps when there are people who know what the hell they are doing to guide the novices. (Yes, yet another reason to like sluts - add it to your running list.)

The final analysis: If I will say this once I will say it a million times: thank god for hot blondes. I think the Husband got a real confidence boost that such a gorgeous woman clearly chose him and it has certainly made my life a hell of a lot easier. He had been asking "what's in this for me?" The short (and apparently good) answer is "awesome sex with hot blondes".

Open All the Way

2011-04-11T08:05:00.005-04:00

We interrupt your regularly scheduled three-way to bring you the following slut service announcement.

As many of you already know, I quite adore Miss Sexie Sadie. She is a slut's slut: a proudly sexual woman in an open marriage, she owns herself and her sexuality and she pulls no punches. Her writing and her perspective is such that her blog is one of my first stops when I am out and about.

From my perspective she has managed to build for herself the marriage that I would like to have with my own husband. So when she told me that she had written a book and asked me to be the first stop on her virtual book tour my first thought was: hell yes, followed closely by: where can I get this book to show to my husband?

So, for your reading pleasure, here is an excerpt from Sadie's book Open All the Way. To buy yourself an ecopy of this book head on over to: http://www.sadiesopenmarriage.com/buy-sadies-book.

Open All the Way... No one sat Scott and me down before our wedding day, or at any point during our marriage and said,

Hey, listen up you two. One day you will both come to the important realization that you can’t, won’t, and really shouldn’t be everything to each other. Know this, because you’ll drive yourselves fucking nuts attempting to fulfill that obligation.

Maybe I am pessimistic (although I like to believe, at least in this case,that I am realistic,) but it has never seemed very practical (not to mention possible) that we pick one person out of the colossal multitudes to partner with and expect that it will be anything less than motherfuckinghard.

I know that life is difficult; I’ve understood that concept for a very long time. But it’s not just me. Almost everyone has a comprehension of the fact that, by virtue of our simple humanity, we will experience pain,heartache, and trauma. Which leads to a very important question: why make it more difficult by tying ourselves to just one important person for the rest of our lives? The fact is that most of us don’t. Most of us collect people along our journeys, and as we do, we discover how they each have important functions. Each of these people helps us witness life’s beauty,acknowledge our own happiness, and abate the damages that have been inflicted upon us. These are their roles; the people we gather into our lives are our teachers.

We learn as infants to cling to people, situations, and things not just for function and survival, but also for comfort and wisdom—our mothers,bottles, blankets, stuffed animals and warm baths. In adolescence, we trade those symbols of soothing for books, friends, hobbies, computers,masturbatory missions, cars and clothes. We get older, and as we do, we require even more stuff, different scenarios, and more people to ameliorate inevitable hurts from our past; the ones that were, at the time, aptly assisted by the soft-cushioning of the comforting items of our former lives. Jobs, food, lovers, porn, spouses, sex, status, faster cars,cooler clothes, better friends. As we get older, these things become the compelling conduits for not just comfort and wisdom, but also for function and survival. But it’s only temporary. All of it.

Temporary.

Yet sometimes we forget this fleetingness when we marry, entering instead into a partnership that can become restrictive and limiting and one that resembles property ownership more than anything else. But, really, why invest in an emotionally bi-lateral sole-proprietorship when it could bean opportunity for freedom finding?

Threeway, Part 2: 1,2,3...

2011-03-28T07:28:00.002-04:00

The question: how does a girl introduce her boyfriend of a couple of months to her husband? Some would say the answer is over drinks - after all, the alcohol will serve as a lubricant. My answer was to do it over me and for lubricant? Well...ditto. We decided to meet at the club where I first met the Boyfriend, the hope being that the evening would click so that a threeway would ensue...and so the Husband and I became sex tourists of a sort and went on a little road trip.

The Husband and I were already sitting at the bar when I looked up and saw the Boyfriend walking towards us, giggling to myself when I noted he was wearing a shirt oddly similar to one the Husband was wearing. I introduced them, they shook hands and we made a little polite conversation. So far, so good.

After a little while I relaxed: it wasn't cosy like old friends over dinner, but it was working: the Husband was fine, the Boyfriend seemed fine, I didn't want to throw myself off the roof. Spectacular win. Eventually conversation among the three of us turned to conversation among a number of couples, particularly one - a hot blonde who might well be a kindred spirit (yes, another slutty blonde with an eye for the gentlemen) and her very hot husband. I think that seeing the normalcy of it all was a good thing for the Husband - this was his first foray into a new world and he was quite enjoying meeting people and being able to talk freely about this interesting new journey on which we find ourselves.

Initially I stuck next to the Husband: holding hands, being affectionate, demonstrating to him that I was there with him. But as the Husband immersed himself more in conversation with the hot blonde's hot husband I engaged a little more with the Boyfriend... moving closer, touching him little while talking to others in the group, a light kiss, a stoke on the leg - wanting to say hello a little, but also wanting to give the Husband a bit of a preview and judge his reaction. Hubby didn't break stride.

After some time spent mingling I checked in with the Husband and a few minutes later with the Boyfriend: shall we adjourn to the back?

And they both said...yes. Well, well, well.

We went back to the locker room to disrobe, a situation I suspect was less uncomfortable for me than for them , and we went back to one of the private rooms with a nice big bed, shutting the door for a little privacy. So, now what?

Wearing nothing but a towel and my wedding ring I sat down on the bed with the Boyfriend. I gestured to the Husband to join us but he declined - partially testing the emotional waters I suspect, but also fulfilling a fantasy of watching his slutty little wife in action (I know, what a pervert!).

I leaned in to kiss the Boyfriend slowly and softly - rushing was not the order of the day. The Husband told me later he was surprised that we did not touch each other more aggressively at first. (My response: "its called foreplay". His response: a really dirty look).

At first we just kissed: just two lovers enjoying each other...um, you know, two lovers, in a sex club, with her husband watching. Cognisant of the audience, we started slowly touching each other - I ran my hands over his arms and he brought his fingers up to my nipples. I looked over at the Husband to check in - he nodded that he was ok...and so I moved forward. I kissed the Boyfriend's shoulders, his neck, his chest and I began to work my way down...

Now the Husband has often said that he wants to watch me suck cock, but imagining a porny scene while wanking and seeing the mouth that kisses your kids good night with a strange cock in it are two very different things. With that in mind as I kissed my way progressively lower on the Boyfriend I looked over at the Husband with a question in my eyes and he, I kid you not, gave me a thumbs up. Have I told you I adore my husband?

That was a clear enough sign for me, clearly we didn't need to discuss, and so I moved forward, sliding the Boyfriend's delightful cock in my mouth and listening to those oh so lovely noises he makes when I do. He let me have my way with him for a few minutes but then he switched it up - moving me onto my back and lowering his face between my legs, licking me softly - with my husband watching with delight. I mean, really, does it get better for me? My two best guys naked and at my disposal? Win/win.

With that in mind: enough with the watching. I patted the bed beside me: husband come here. And the Husband did just that: kissing my neck and working his way down to take my nipple in his mouth. There I was, a man with a delightful tongue on either side of me, being licked and touched and biting my own lip in delight and anticipation, looking forward to what was to come...and then...well then, darlings, there was a knock on the door...

Threeway: the Husband, the Boyfriend and me

2011-03-01T22:23:00.001-05:00

According to my lunch companions today, the complexities of inviting your boyfriend into your marital bed and your husband into your um...un-marital bed should not be lightly discounted.

So now that the threeway that the Husband, the Boyfriend and I have been discussing is coming to fruition, I find myself as nervous as a cat (or pussy if you will) on a hot tin roof.

The Husband is at best a reluctant warden at the minimum security prison: he just isn't sure there shouldn't be higher walls and armed guards. A girl can get the occasional day pass on good behaviour, but those are privileges, not rights, and good behaviour is an alarmingly ill-defined and subjective concept. I wonder, can he handle watching me fuck someone else? Watching me fuck someone else that he knows I fuck when he isn't watching.? Will he read danger in every meeting of the eyes and every non-orgasm focused touch?

The Boyfriend is a more experienced poly, but I am among a limited class of girlfriends as opposed to hook-ups. I am fairly certain has never watched his girlfriend fuck her own husband, has never been a participant in - or at least a witness to - the marital bed of a woman who enthusiastically warms his own. I mean really, whose cuckolding fantasy is this anyway? (Quick answer: both. That's what the sluts call win/win.)

My fear is that I perhaps risk our connection by letting him see too much. That I am, in his eyes, a more delightful version of myself - the younger blonde seductress, the blogger with the sexy pictures (yes, he reads), the mistress. Will I be less interesting or attractive to him if he sees me as someone's over-fucked, much-penetrated, slutty wife - even if it isn't his own?

Emotional complexities aside, from my point of view the key question is: what is a girl to do with all that cock? And what if I do it wrong? I don't want to disappoint or embarrass either of these men that I so adore. Also, I suspect that on some level the success of this evening will determine the extent of the freedom I am allowed in the near future - with all the fucking I have been doing, hubby wants to see what is in this situation for him. No simple threeway this.

I also find myself filled with odd and, some would say, semi-gross questions. For example, is open-air ejaculation onto my tits within your comfort zone? Can I kiss you if he cums in my mouth? Let me tell you, there is no Miss Manners guide for this shit.

Take the uncertainty and the emotional dynamics and add to the mix that neither the Husband or I have ever had a group experience before and I am afraid there is a possibility that the Boyfriend is going to find himself awkwardly naked among the novices.

Yeah, I know, what could possibly go wrong?

And yet, with all the subtle emotional and physical complexities the lunch mates indicate I should be considering, I gotta say, I feel good about the possibilities. I am horny as hell and willing to jump on whatever..um, bandwagon comes my way. Both of these guys genuinely seem to like me: if I accidentally butt heads with anyone, drool cum, make odd vagina noises or anything of the like I think I will be able to laugh it off - or at least survive.

The bottom line is: I like them both, I trust them both and I feel comfortable with them both...oh, and both of them can make me cum hard. As I said, what could possibly go wrong?

On Polyamory: what, am I not special?

2011-02-24T21:50:00.000-05:00

In case you were wondering: the sex part of polyamory, that's the easy part - it is re-learning the social norms and managing your thinking that gets complicated. In fact, so far this whole polyamory thing has involved far more talking and thinking than actually fucking. (I know, bummer.)

To be honest the talking part is actually great - fucking other people has made for an astounding leap in the way the Husband and I process our feelings and deal with each other. It has made us express vulnerability and talk it out, which has also meant confirming our commitment to one another out loud. This can't be a bad thing in the grand scheme of things.

The thinking is harder. Harder in that we keep tripping over old paradigms that I am trying desperately to banish from my head and our relationship. The Expert Guide wisely identifies one of the key problems for those in a polyamourous situation as being the "what, am I not special?" issue. From the perspective of the primary partner this means: why do you need or want to see them? Am I not enough? Or, from the perspective of the non-primary partner it manifests as: because you need to see someone other than your spouse, shouldn't you like me just a little bit more than them?

At first glance these appear to be a good questions - but the underlying assumptions are flawed. The questions presuppose that the one relationship is caused by a flaw in the other partner or that there is a contest between relationships - but you know what? It isn't about them and it isn't a contest.

When I returned from visiting the Expert Guide recently, the Husband said "how many times did you fuck him?" And - stupidly - I answered without taking his emotional temperature, figuring that he was asking because he was curious.

I figured wrong, we were having a specialness competition.

This was evident in his somewhat bitter and uncomfortable response: "he has fucked you more times this year than I have." OK, well, if we are going to bean count - for the sake of clarity we are talking about individual sex acts and not about encounters - I have seen the Expert Guide three times this calender year - I just fuck him lots when I see him. So, more? I dunno about that. (And yes, I just said "sex act" - and no, it's not a road show - you can't buy tickets. Yet.)

I admit part of the Husband's issue here is that some dude puts his cock in his wife - and apparently he does it lots and lots and over and over again. Even I have a vague understanding that this is an issue all on its own. However, I also think part of his concern arises from the fact that he is defining my relationship with him in competition to my relationship to the Boyfriend - there is only so much Errant Wife to go around, after all - so, how many times did I get in there...did I do it most, am I the winner of the pussy contest?

This is not a thought-process that is unique to the Husband. We all tend to define our romantic or sexual relationships in opposition - in a culture where one sexual partner is the norm, it is hard to conceptualize that two or more relationships can peacefully co-exist. The difficulty is how to convey that my relationship with the Expert Guide does not lessen my relationship with the Husband. To me it makes sense - after all, my relationship with my family, my friends, my colleagues - those do not detract from my relationship with the Husband - they do not make my husband less special. The difference is that none of them get me off - but really, how big a deal is that?

My husband remains unconvinced that it is not a big deal.

We are talking it out.

Honesty time? I am the queen of theoretical polyamory - generous to a fault about being shared, generous to a fault about sharing the men in my life with miscellaneous sluts of their choosing. I am smugly progressive in my poly thinking. I identify this specialness pothole when it comes to my relationship with the Husband and I can usually conceptualize it very well in discussions with the Expert Guide about the Husband. But, I do get a little stuck sometimes when thinking about the Expert Guide's wife.

Ah yes, Mrs. Boyfriend. Usually I understand and respect my role and my relationship to the Expert Guide within the context of his primary relationship. I take a secondary seat to the woman with whom he shares his life, as I should. It doesn't bother me that he is married and I do not seek to replace his wife in his heart or in his life. It isn't a contest and I don't need to be more than her, to unseat her, in order to be comfortable with my relationship with him.

However, this weekend the unusually distant Expert Guide emailed me and made a comment about "living the dream" of an open and polyamorous relationship with his wife and how it involved a lot of negotiation and how he had to tread carefully around the issue of his blonde slut, lest all be lost.

Oooh, well that tickled oddly. It surprised me that I didn't like the way it felt. I felt...uncomfortable? jealous?...less special?...like I had lost? I had my own little specialness competition, right there by myself. Particularly ironic in this instance because the words he used were the exact same words I have used to discuss my husband with him. (I have never claimed to not be a hypocrite.)

So I took a moment to reflect, realizing that my discomfort was not a rational reaction. Many would call it instinctive, but I disagree on that - I think we confuse a response that is culturally created with a response that is instinctive because the culture is so ingrained that they feel the same - it still comes from the gut, the difference is what put it there.

I gave it some thought and you know what? News flash: his relationship with his wife is not about me, not even a little. That response on my part was caused by jealousy and a culture that tells me that I need to be more special than his wife if I want to matter - either way, it is a paradigm I am working hard to reject.

I am thinking it out.

As I said, the sex part is easy, it is the rest that is complicated.

Poly

2011-02-16T18:40:00.000-05:00

I have always been the whore, the slut, the loose friend, the one with an eye for men.

I have always struggled with monogamy. This may not be apparent from what I have written here, but even at my happiest and most in love I have had a wandering eye. I have never thought: monogamy is totally for me! God I love the idea of just the two of us for always! Sexual exclusivity has never been my default setting and and I have often wondered why.

This has been explained to me over and over again as a pathology: as a reflection of a desperate need for attention, of evidence of being damaged, depressed or insecure - and, in my more negative moments, I confess to having bought into the various you-are-broken discourses for lack of a better framework in which to understand and explain my desires and differences.

That being said, a few dark moments aside, I have largely not felt broken. But, although I have been confident in my difference, I have never really known why I was different, I have never had the lexicon or framework to explain myself.

So when I opened an email from the Expert Guide and saw these words I felt like I had been hit by lightning:

"Are you new to being polyamourous? I have been openly poly for about 10 years - all my life in the closet before that."

Oh. My. God. Excuse me while the world shifts on its axis.

Am I openly poly or am I in the closet? Just the terminology is striking - open or closeted. Open or closeted. And the casual way he said it: a straightforward and normal question as to whether I am open about my sexual orientation. As opposed to am I a slut or am I a cheater or am I unhappy with my husband and what the fuck is wrong with me, poor sad slutty girl?

I realize I am a little late to the party with this one and that this is a long standing concept, but I had never conceptualized it like that - sure, I have used the term polyamorous but I have never framed my more liberal sexuality as an orientation. To understand it an orientation normalizes it, normalizes me, in such a life changing way - it rejects the old labels and allows for a discourse in which to desire beyond the realm of traditional monogamy is not pathologized on its face.

I know some people will think this is more slut-justification, but I tell you - I read those words and something clicked for me, it really did. I can't explain it, but I knew in that moment with absolute certainty that I was seeing myself.

I read that email and I sat back as my mind whirled: I watched intrigued as labels and assumptions peeled away, as the very idea of who I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to want faded out and as I came clearly into focus.

Yep, poly. That's me.

Swinging with Bloggers, Part 3: In the Playroom

2011-02-01T12:01:00.001-05:00

Remember: the Duchess and Topaz are writing about our night as well - click on through to get their read on it.
____________

The Expert Guide led us down the hallway, past the private rooms that could accommodate a few or more people seeking a little more privacy and into a large room, warm, dimly lit and with beds built into the walls - there were two or three single bed size built-ins on the left and probably what amounted to 4 or 5 queen beds side by side along the other wall. Sheer curtains hung around the bed, should the occupants decide to pull them. Oh, and there were people fucking, right there in the open. Naked and enjoying themselves before our very eyes.

I liked it already.

I hopped up on one of the single beds and gestured for the others to join me. The ladies and I sat, thrilled and voyeuristic, taking in the atmosphere. I lay on my side while we chatted and watched and the Expert Guide softly brushed a finger on my arm and then a hand on my leg, touching me gently and without expectation. Applying no pressure but slowly stoking a fire and indicating a willingness to play.

Oh yes, I wanted to play.

The combination of the slow touches and the sexually charged atmosphere was a delightfully enticing mix. Fast forward 5 minutes and I was straddling the Expert Guide: legs spread on either side of his hips, my thong pushed aside and my bra flung across my unsuspecting companions. The Expert Guide was sliding his fingers in and out of me, kissing my neck and my nipples. And during all of that the Duchess and Topaz were next to us assessing the possibilities of the sexy man across the room and Skippy was buzzing about their legs hoping against hope that he might get one of them to touch him.

Now, I will admit to being a sexually free sort of girl, but normally, on an average day, people I just met don't finger my pussy to the point where I make noises in my throat while I am sitting a foot from a couple of my girlfriends. But, you know what? Fuck normal. This was better.

At one point during our interlude Skippy stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, watching us lost in our moment. Still hoping for sex he apologized: "sorry, I was just watching...". The Duchess responded in her delightfully dry tone: "no problem, it is quite a show". Have I told you I adore my blog friends?

After a little while the others decided to head back to the bar area to re-group and I elected to remain in the back with the Expert Guide - because, dirty darlings, men, nights and opportunities like those are rare and they cry out to be fully explored.

We adjourned to one of the bigger beds across the room and we focused in on each other. I am not going to describe every flick of the tongue and every thrust of a hip...but he was incredibly warm and tender and it was utterly electric between us.

I never thought that in that context I would 1) be so comfortable or 2) be so turned on by being fucked in public, but you know what? I liked it. A lot. Maybe too much.

Much to my surprise and delight I was not even a little self-conscious about being naked, legs spread, having the Expert Guide between them licking me, or having him kneeling in front of me with his cock in my mouth and his fingers in my pussy, or having him fuck me, my legs wrapped around his back. I did not feel exposed, I did not feel on display - I just felt warm, worshipped and enraptured.

If there was one thing I took away from the night, it was how thoughtful and warm he was with me.

I have never felt less sexual pressure. He really made me feel like I could take it as far as I wanted or stop at any time. He made no assumptions or demands - at one point he asked me, should I get a condom? and I knew, with complete certainty, that if I said no thanks, not interested in fucking, it would be a non-issue. What an amazing man. What an utterly refreshing feeling. What a contrast to so many experiences where men have pushed and pushed - wanting what they could get from me and not respecting my limits - not even caring that I might have limits - experiences where I have been made to feel like I have taken it to a certain point and therefore I almost have to fuck them.

I also felt a real warmth from him: he looked me in the eyes when he slid inside me - fucking me, not just fucking. And you know what? - he called me Beauty. Sigh.

After we had our way with each other I made my way back to semi-awareness and realized I had utterly abandoned my friends. Reluctantly the Expert Guide and I made our way back to the lockers to get dressed. I arrived only to find the ladies disrobing again and looking for trouble - and by trouble I mean the hot dude the Duchess had spotted earlier.

Grabbing the opportunity for more delights by the (ahem) horns, I walked back to the Expert Guide and started kissing him and running my hand over his delightful cock...he smiled at me: do you want to play again?

Yes please.

We followed the ladies back to the playroom and hopped back on one of the single beds while the Duchess and Topaz pursued their prey to the other corner of the room. The show was quite entertaining, but I am going to leave it to them to tell you their secrets. But, I will say: it was hot. People, myself included, were watching. As you might imagine any scenario that involves those two ladies and a random buff dude - eminently watchable.

The Expert Guide fucked me thoroughly and exquisitely again. Among his many delightful qualities I must add that he is the master of angles.

The most hilarious moment of the night came (heh) when Skippy walked by the bed as the Expert Guide was fucking me from behind. I was up on all fours, gasping and thoroughly lost in the moment and Skippy, on his way out of the room, paused beside the bed and looked down at us, rolling his eyes: "oh yeah, she's never been here before."

What can I say, Skippy, I have always been a quick learner.

Swinging with Bloggers, Part 2: You REALLY haven't been here before...

2011-01-28T12:00:00.001-05:00

The Expert Guide and I chatted and danced a little, but moved fairly quickly to a couch off to the side of the bar. I explained to him that I had never been to a club like that before and he explained a bit of the politics and dynamics to me, the differences between the clubs - graciously sharing his time with the new girl while gently touching her legs. And then I said: so, it seems quiet tonight.

He pointed out that it was the week after Halloween (apparently, at Halloween there was an over an hour line up outside the door) and then he added the very crucial bit of information: also, some people have already moved to the back.

I paused, taking the moment to slide my hand up his leg, and a little perplexed I said: the back? What's that?

Oh, he smiled, you really haven't been here before. The back is where people go to play. Well, this is clearly why I needed an Expert Guide.

Hold that thought, I told him as I dashed back to the girls who were, painfully, still with Skippy. I shared this startling piece of information: there's a back! Then I dashed back to rejoin the Expert Guide only to see the girls and Skippy heading off to explore. Clearly a good friend would not let her fellow bloggers go forth alone, so we joined them.

Now, keep in mind that us three ladies had never been to one of these clubs at all and Skippy had never gone to the back of one - so, when the friendly staff members asked us if we wanted a locker I thought: huh, why do we need one of those? Like for my purse? At which point is was gently explained to me: no, sweetie, that's where your clothes go.

My clothes?

I would estimate that the entire time that I spent considering whether this was a good idea was 0.0000000001 seconds. I mean, clearly, good idea. So, with my usual level of thoughtful consideration and self-restraint I went to the locker room and immediately started getting nudified. I am pretty sure my dress, shoes and stockings were off when I turned around to see Duchess and Topaz fully clothed, looking at me surprised at how quickly I disrobed.

Oh, I said, are we good? Do we need to talk this out? The answer was, as you might imagine, no, and soon we were all in our tiny panties and brown towels waiting to go forth into sin.

As a side note, initially I was perplexed at the brown towels - I mean, yuck, terrible colour - not flattering to blonde ladies. And then, as I (ahem) garnered a little more experience, it occurred to me that it is the perfect colour for such an occasion - it hides a multitude of sins.

So there we were: Topaz, the Duchess and I, mostly naked accompanied by two fully naked men - standing on the doorway to trouble, ready to go where the night wanted to take us...

I highly suggest you click on through to Topaz and the Duchess and read their thoughts on the evening. We will be posting this one and the next one about our activities in the playroom together. Stay tuned, perverts.

The Umbrella of Honesty

2011-01-25T19:39:00.001-05:00

As my long term readers will know, I am somewhat morally retarded.

Sometimes, like today, this becomes more apparent. A friend consulted me today about her marital issues and disclosure vs. non-disclosure of her extra-curriculars. In response to her moral quandary I wrote: "well, that is within the umbrella of honesty, so I think you are ok." And then I clicked send and thought about it.

Really, the umbrella of honesty? Could I be more full of shit?

I emailed her back, scratch what I just said: there is no umbrella of honesty.

Here is the bottom line, dirty darlings: I don't care if you lie and I don't judge you for it. I really and truly don't. I understand that many of you can't make the choice to be honest and I respect your decisions about your own situations. And if you lie, I also don't care whether you do it for self-preservation or if you do it for purely hedonistic reasons: for the pursuit of pleasure, to cum as many times as you can. Some would call it selfish, but I say that without judgement: I am all about the self . My instinct has been to lie to get what I want, it is easier after all.

But, let's pay a courtesy call on reality, shall we? If you are within the umbrella of honesty the person you are dealing with will probably call it a lie. I had a recent experience where a man I adore was partially honest with me - he told me just enough to cover his ass if he got caught, but he did not tell me the truth.

Was he within the umbrella of honesty? Yes, but honest he was not. And it hurt.

I have done the same thing to the hubby, disclosed enough to cover off my risk - enough that I could spin the situation if I tried. That hurt him.

As the former queen of McTruth and self-justification, I have been struggling with the concept of honesty - because it has a tendency to interfere with my out and out hedonism. However, I have been trying to live my life as an ethical-slut: full disclosure, full permission and, yes, honesty. It is hard: it involves a lot of talking, a lot of holding hands and a lot of emotional heavy lifting. To be fair, someone else fucking your wife is not an easy concept to work through. ("So, sweetie, how many cocks is too many?")

But, this honest disclosure of activities and open pursuit of desire represents my ideal marital model and I am working my ass off to build my husband's trust in me. Trust I have violated and trust I acknowledge that I don't yet deserve. To my surprise and delight, the process of finding and fostering this honesty between us has been incredibly rewarding. And the new normal, even if it does not involve the unlimited sexual freedom I would prefer, is still worth all of the work because of our new and renewed connection.

Yes, dirty darlings, honesty is the new name of the game: but sometimes, like today, I back- slide in my thinking. So, for the record: although I may have told you something else, there are no shades of honesty. When you are caught there is not going to be an award for being kinda truthful, or implying the truth in a way that they should have figured it out. As I realized recently when some freezing rain pelted off the umbrella of honesty and slapped me in the face: it doesn't feel any different that you are under the umbrella of honesty when you don't know the truth.

Swinging with Bloggers, Part 1: Three Little Black Dresses Looking for Trouble

2011-01-16T15:54:00.000-05:00

The best thing about planning an evening out with other sex bloggers is that you know pretty much anything is on the table. There are few restrictions and there is no judging.

With that in mind, when the Duchess, Topaz and I decided to plan a night of debauchery in Toronto we thought, hmmm...what should a group of dirty sluts do on an evening of in-character fantasy play? The obvious answer: a swingers club. After a dinner during which Topaz told us about her recent foray into the world of group sex, the Duchess told us about the series of men that have been raining into her life and I shared thrilling stories of how busy I have been at work (slut fail), we made our way to a delightful club a little later on in the evening for what was our first foray into this oh-so-intriguing world.

I wasn't sure what my limits were, I wasn't sure if I would like it, but god damn I was curious. And so, in the name of research, we went ahead to conquer a new frontier.

Topaz and I took off our respective wedding rings to demonstrate our availability - ironically travelling incognito as single ladies in one of the few environments where you can openly pick up as a married, we ditched our coats in the car in case of a quick escape and bravely opened the door: three little black dresses looking for trouble.

The first man we met was the gentleman at the door who handed us membership forms (members only, don't cha know) that required an alarming amount of information: name, address, postal code, phone number, email address. I looked at the form, looked at him and cocked my head to the side like a curious puppy: "you're not expecting my real name, are you?" He looked at me and gave me a funny look: "just whatever name you would like and an email address." Ah, perfect. He issued us membership cards and, much to my confusion, gave us each one of those froshweek bracelets - and waved his hand indicating we could go ahead.

We paused at the doors and looked at each other. I put my hand out to open it: "god, I hope my boss isn't in there" and in we went.

Now I don't know what I was expecting, but there was not a shocking amount of debauchery right at the door. In fact, it was really quiet - disappointingly quiet at first glance actually. Great, I thought, this is going to suck - but we foraged ahead.

We went to the bar and were immediately joined by Skippy, the world's most obnoxious single man. Skippy seemed a foot shorter than me, was extraordinarily preoccupied about whether or not we were married, and did not seem to get the hint that none of us would even consider fucking him. His sole goal in life seemed to be getting us to do shooters. While trying to think if a gentle way to say honey there is not enough booze at that bar to make me even consider it...I thought, great, this is really going to suck. But in the name of research and hopeful of possible nudity - we again foraged ahead.

With the ever attentive Skippy at our side we walked deeper into the bar to get the lay of the land. As we walked across the floor to take a seat I saw a very attractive man sitting on his own on the edge of the dance floor. He was just observing what was going on - obviously comfortable in his own skin and wearing a very sharp white shirt - have I told you what I sucker I am for confidence and a white shirt? Mmmmm. I gave him my best hello there handsome smile as I went by but continued up the stairs with Skippy and the girls.

The four of us chatted while we watched a woman dancing in the middle of the dance floor with a shirt, boots and no pants or panties, a man and woman in the corner engaging in what looked like some fairly enjoyable sucking and licking, and a husband slowly taking his wife's breasts out of her dress to play with her nipples while watching the pantless woman dance. Frankly, it was all a little surreal to a novice: the comfort level people felt, the openness. - it was all very refreshing to a slutty girl such as myself. I mean, really, what a delight to not have to pretend you are not looking to fuck. We observed the scene and I nodded politely while Skippy talked - and I kept looking at the very attractive man out of the corner of my eye.

I stayed with the group for a few minutes, I believe I lasted until Skippy said: "Let's be Sex and the City, I will just be one of the girls!" at which point I bailed like a pilot from a flaming plane (sorry, ladies): "um, ok, Sex and the City, he's hot - I'm going to go talk to him."

I walked up beside the very attractive man and put my hand on the small of his back: "hi, do you belong to anyone here?"

He looked at me and returned the smile: "No, do you?"

I extended my hand: "No, I'm Kimberly". He took it: "The Expert Guide"*. (*Names have been changed to protect the hot and fuckable.)

Oh darlings, the evening was looking up.

Can I Put My Finger in Your Ass?

2011-01-08T12:41:00.001-05:00

Ok, I am not clear on how I get any work done at all - sometimes I get like a dog with a bone and can't stop thinking about a certain topic. A recent topic that occupied an abnormal amount of time: a finger in your ass while I am giving you a blow job. Yep, consider me dirty and distractable.

This all started last week when I was catching up with Letch's blog and found this post in which he said he has never had a finger up the ass while getting a blow job. Well, colour me, um...shocked but I thought this move was kind of de rigeur. I mean, really, you haven't had a finger in the ass?

So, I emailed I variety of men in my life (the "Unfortunate Men") and, with my usual complete lack of subtlety, limits and tact, inquired as to their 'putting it up there' proclivities. I got a variety of responses from "no" to "no, thank you" to "not yet" to "this is my work address" and "please stop blogging about my ass".

The, ah...bottom line from the question of the day: only one recipient of my invasive queries had done it - and he had done it with me.

Given that some of these gentlemen are those I would describe as dirty and open to just about anything, I was surprised to hear that this was not something they had done. My only thought on this: well, why the hell not? Is it that women won't do it to you? Is it that you are gay-phobic and worried about ass play? Interestingly, it was mostly a concern about contents and mess - which is funny, because I always assume men do not have these same vulnerabilities about the messiness of the body. Embarrassment from troubles of that kind is always my main concern with anal play as well, but boys always seem so confident about themselves and their bodies. (I know, stereotypes.) But, I guess a fear of shitting is a fear of shitting - you need a lot of trust to not worry about being mortified in that context. (For the record, I have never had an experience where there was even a hint of mess due to this activity.)

The reason this intrigues me so much is that I remember the first time I did this - it was with that dirty high school boyfriend I told you about here - the one who delighted me and took my hand to jump across lines together. When at his request I...ahem...slid it up there and worked the magic of the digits he had the most intense orgasm that I think I have given anyone to date - it stands out in my memory because it captured his whole body and mind in a way I do not think I have seen since. My understanding has always been that an orgasm with that kind of stimulation was the most powerful orgasm of all.

I wondered, am I remembering this wrong? Have I over-estimated the effect of a little digital prostate stimulation during oral? So, being a scientist at heart, I grabbed a volunteer and conducted a little field research. A lot of very wet oral, a generous amount of lube and a finger inserted and I tell you, dude was making noises like I have never heard, utterly lost in the moment - it was indeed a full body event. At my (ahem) probing questions afterward he informed me that his orgasm was 50% more intense. I am going to call that a win.

So in talking to these men in my life who have not played this game my first instinct was to say: I need to come and give you a blow job right now so you can try this out. Right now. Take your pants off. However, apparently though this is not an acceptable subject for a bulk email. Who knew?

All this to say, really, go and try this out immediately. Think of me when you cum, won't you?