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As chocolate loves vanilla

The other night I told him that I wanted him not to consider me, to do what he wants and not worry about me or what I would think.  He told me he always does what he wants, and that he finds me enjoyable.  "I find you very, very enjoyable," he said, his tone uncharacteristically exuding sex.  It was frustrating to find he would not treat me like a filthy slut or at least objectify me, so I went down on him.  He moved my hair out of my face so he could see, but he did not ignore my distaste for semen.  He pulled me away to kiss my defiled lips and rolled me into position after fitting the condom.  The stop and start that allows him to last was much the same as usual.  If I was not so consumed with the intermittent ecstacy of my multiple orgasms and hare trigger, I would have felt more disappointed. 

He had paid a great compliment with his words, but his actions showed me once more that he is more "vanilla" than I.  He, who has devoted so much of the written word, his job, and his thoughts and viewing habits to revelry of sexuality while I close mine behind a psychic door much of the time.  Perhaps he is afraid of what he might do to me emotionally, as he once wrote to me that he was afraid I would leave him if I ever found the depths of his depravity.  Plumb I may, and I have not swam to the bottom yet, coming up for air when he calls me to the mission, but I sense the treasure close, the answer to his limit.  I have told him my limit of no tongues or mouths in asses but anything else being fair game at least once.  He acknowledges this repeated affirmation with a bit of a psychic sigh these days, admitting I will go much farther than he ever imagined I would.  I wonder sometimes how such a burden of my perceived dissatisfaction and sometimes actual boredom must be.  I will take it any way I can.  I will take it more often than he would like if I can convince him otherwise, although I will not ask aloud again.  Maybe it is for the best to put a limit on my adventures, maybe it is just something that happens.

Two nights ago I was reading a short story in a literary magazine in which the man mentions how his wife will not have sex with him in the shower.  He is in awe of her beauty, afraid of losing her and her money, but they cannot get along.  He is shocked by her attention to him, even though she tells him he is useless.  I told him about him trying to get her in the shower and he was a bit solemn in telling me how I won't do it either.  This is not a forever limit, as I once had bad sex with him in a jacuzzi, bad because he didn't like it, bad because of the stark light.  I would love to do this when I get in better shape.  Until then I will not let him see the ugliness of my flesh, the shame of a form that has not changed much despite losing 25 pounds.  If I get to a manageable state, we will use the shower sex handle grip he got at the manager's meeting.  I would use it as often as he likes, which won't be often.  He has a vibrating strap-on we have not opened aside from simple inspection, although he has wanted to try that for years.  i don't mind that, since he has never told me how he wants me to weild it.

Despite these things, I love him and our time together.  He is away working an odd shift tonight and I am lonely.  I would love to have his arm around me like I am his child.  I would love to stroke his leg, for once not caring that he calls my leg fetish what it is even though he enjoys the touch.  I would like to kiss him fast and slow, trying to manipulate his pace, trying to see how it will change the way I think things will go without caring if I'm right or wrong.  Holding his body as he sheds his sleep clothes in stages and making him dictate when articles leave my body, I will adore his body like a shrine.  There is nothing else needed.  When I tell him not to think of me, I mean it.  Just touching him, having him touch his bosy to me in any way, is enough.  The sexuality of a single touch will speak more to me than any moan when he is beyond words or silence when he is not.  I would give up my chance to finish to make something perfect for him.  He needs to see how deep my caring is, how far I would go and not realize it may not be far enough for a selfish mind, for in being forgotten, I can feel complete.  Maybe he could kiss someone in front of me and this would all end; maybe it would start a whole new chapter.  Maybe good or not so much, but we will never know.  I will never have to take this medicine, and that isn't an entirely bad thing. 

I have learned a lot about myself these last fingerfulls of years, and he has been there for every lesson like the teacher I needed him to be, which made it a bit of a shock when two nights ago he told me he was so glad he watched porn before our first time together.  He would have felt bad if he had not seen them guiding the penis in instead of it being self-guided like in the movies and the bedtime stories of adolescents.  He was frustrated how badly it went, but I was secretly enthralled.  We had started out on this even playing field, almost, and now we are still equals, if you do not count the nagging ideas that urge to be spoken.  I don't know why these ideas come up.  They don't come to me at dispassionate times, so I wonder somtimes if it is the slant of my bipolar disorder or just tryint to please him on a deep subconscious level.  Either way, these requests are not stone solid, and he knows there is no obligation for compliance of these "missions."



 Sometimes sex is more than just the thrust and come.  We still have more or less conventional sex, but lately we have been doing some outercourse as well.  When I first read about this on the Planned Parenthood website under types of birth control while getting some sterilization figures for a friend, I thought this would be dull, if not a painful tease.  The site does state that this is safe as long as you stick with it, but it often progresses to actual intercourse because it's easy to get carried away.  That's usually what happens with us, but not as much lately.  It takes a bit of self-control, but I find the tightest bondage I can find is self-instituted.

This probably started back when we were dating and engaged in frottage in the university halls on a regular basis, getting found out more times than i would like to admit.  Even at his house in the safety of his room, this went on because I wanted to make sure this would last before I gave away so much of myself.  I let him touch my tits.  For his birthday, I even let him see them, since he had never seen a pair in real life.  For my birthday he reciprocated, which freaked me out so much he thought I'd run from the house.  So that said, sex was not something on the table, but we were incredibly randy, so we improvised.  I never finished, but I felt such a high that it didn't matter.  His fluid leaked through his jeans, leaving a badge of coveted dishonor on my thigh.  The kissing was intimate and so enthusiastic that my face would burn from the blood flow and his stubble alike long after we had stopped.  It was not as much as he would have liked, and yet it was enough for the time.  It wasn't too chance-y or too revealing.

After a year we got engaged.  I surprised him two days before Valentine's Day during one of these controlled ravages by squirming out of my skin-tight jeans.  he looked surprised and asked if I was sure.  I just told him to promise not to look at my body.  While relatively thin at the time, there was still a divide between the best shape of my life and his natural willowy frame I coveted.  We banged around the house with rough foreplay, smacking into walls, rolling off the couch, getting nasty rug burn.  The main event did not go as planned.  He was frustrated and gave up without finishing.  I stifled my own orgasmic victory, a bit sad he was not as fulfilled by his curvaceous ample bit of flesh.  Then I did the dishes for him, since his parents were out of town.

After that he did some reading, probably watched a lot of porn.  We grew more successful.  We learned together about condoms.  I followed his motions like a shadow.  In time he learned how to hold out longer.  We frequented a sleazy little hotel for about an hour at a time a few times a month or just went at it in his bedroom.  I liked the hotel best, the way I felt the judging eyes of the female desk clerk, the way he led me behind him by the hand, the way the truck bounced in the cratered lot.  Once a girl I used to go to church and school with recognized me.  Afraid word would get to my mother, we stopped going so often.  Nothing came of it, like so many other things.  The danger of the sex was exciting, which is something I really fed on.  I still do in a way.
We really got into the sex, of course, being young and in love, but I always wanted to twist things a bit.  Our first time I tied his wrists with a tie, which i think made him a bit nervous.  He has Japanese bondage rope but has used it only once on me.  For Valentine's day he got a dildo on a thigh harness to use on me because of my leg fetish that I wasn't so sure he knew about, but he hasn't pulled it out just yet.  He refuses to do anything he thinks may hurt me, even keeping the thrusting relatively tame.  He's heard me say I won't break, that I'll try almost anything.  Half the time he wants missionary, probably more.  He accidentally choked me with the neck of my shirt the other night when he came on me during an outercourse session for a bit over five seconds, and he felt bad even though I told him I wasn't sorry.  I was in no danger of passing out, even though I hadn't had a chance to draw a breath, and it made it very intense for me.  That said, we are not having bread and butter Christian sex, but it isn't so exotic either.  In that way, I make my own fun.

That's where the outercourse falls back in.  I love touching him, feeling him convulse in my hand, the treasured wetness where it may lay on my body.  When he isn't simply thrusting, there is more of an opportunity to play and explore.  Last night I gently squeezed and let go as I worked my way up his shaft and then dropped off to make him wait a minute.  At one point he thought I was going to give him oral when I gave him a single kiss on the neat little head.  It's very special to me, not to sound too cheesetastic.  When I get to know his body instead of just concentrating on how I can peak fastest, it lasts longer, it feels more intimate, and I maintain a bit more control than when I am pinned beneath his lovely body.  In short, there is more intimacy in our sex.  He still says "Fuck" every time he comes, and the length of succession tells me how good it is.  As long as that happens, I don't care where we are getting off.  I can finish by his breath in my ear or firm kisses on the neck just the same.  And i usually know the real thing will follow the next night.  This is a next night...

A Difference of Drive

 In any relationship, there is bound to be differences, and ours is not any different, despite our generally very good level of compatibility.  He likes to watch NFL football on TV, but I have trouble focusing if I'm not there.  I am more apt to coddle the children, although he does not love them any less than I do.  He will apparently drink just about anything in quantities several times above my tolerance, but I prefer the girly drinks with lower alcohol content.  He goes to bed early; I would rather sleep in.  The list goes on and on.  None of these are problematic for us, because we know each other, we understand, and our differences usually do not matter that much to the other one.  There is one issue, however, that comes between us.  Sexual appetite.

We generally have sex once a week.  twice or three times in one week is usually in the cards (or between the sheets, rather) about once a month.  He doesn't seem to really want any more, and I don't usually prod him too much, although the media says I should--not that I really care what the media has to say much anymore.  I, on the other hand, could go a couple of times a night pretty much every night.  We don't have sex during the full week of my period because it's messy, I find it disgusting, and I'm almost certain he has a problem with having my blood on him.  Anyway, I really do not feel sexy in my own skin that week, so that's fine.   Blow jobs and other non-penetrative acts are fine with both of us, though.  I usually get pretty excitable sexually just before I go to bed, sometimes so much so that I can't sleep.  This results in me rubbing or squeezing his back, arm, shoulder until he gives in, shoes me away, or I give up.  This happens once or more each week.

The thing is, I don't deem this worthy of counseling.  I'm not going to blame him for his sex drive, not when I held out on him for a year while we were dating to make sure he was The One before I gave such a commitment up to him.  It isn't going to destroy our marriage, because I know how tired he is from work and wrangling the kids once he gets home.  I just sort of feel like it should be happening more.  A few months I tried to tell him I wanted it more, and mentioned every night would be good for me.  We upped our encounters for a week or so, but then it fell back into pattern.  He did try, in my opinion--it just didn't work out.

Society isn't helping me out here.  Guys are supposed to be these intensely sexual beings.  They supposedly are up for anything at anytime, after which they grab a cold one with their buddies to rehash every moan.  He doesn't hang out with friends unless it's on the internet.  He is, however working at an adult store an writing an erotic novel.  These are what would make him revered sexually... not so much socially.  I am not on-target either.  I saw a Valentine's day card at the store that was supposed to be a remote for women to control their men.  Heat up, cuddling up, TV volume down, sex down.  I would have changed the direction of that last arrow.  Women like me get negative attention for being too hungry, yet Cosmo tries to empower us.  The problem with that is I've tried most of their "extreme" sex moves, tips, and tricks, and they aren't enough.  I want the trick that will make him want me all the time, the courage to try things that crowd and darken my depraved mind.  What i end up with is a suggestion to try reverse cowgirl or put a finger up his butt even though it's supposedly so wrong.  I need to find some good advice, a model to follow that will challenge me, fulfill me, and not scare him away in the process.  I need imagination.  

In themeantime, I am getting once a week attention, like I'm middle aged.  It frightens me that his body will fail somewhere probably in the next 20 years and all of this will be gone.  What then?  I don't see many old women in love with their vibrators because their husbands have ED, a hospital bed they sleep in separately, and a bulging prostate.  The outlook is not good from a realistic viewpoint, so perhaps I overcompensate.  But really, what should I be doing instead?  Thinking about football?  because thinking about dead puppies while you masturbate to try and stop is still masturbation.


 I have been whispering to him lately that I will do anything he wants, because I want to please him in any way he can imagine without having to worry about what I might think.  This is not complete submission, but it's getting there.  He has finally stopped just telling me to do what I want and started realizing I need a bit of guidance.  I can get started, but then I get lost and don't know where to go, what limits not to cross, what I may be able to turn into something else.  It is very amateurish, but I am trying my best.  I also think this may be the key to spicing things up a bit.

This has produced two sessions of unsafe sex.  We use condoms, since the pill had my disgusting period coming every other week, and condoms are more economical for the amount of sex we have (about once a week, although I could go for much, much more).  One night he lay atop me and fucked my sternum, close to my stomach, which inexplicably got me off.  He has fucked my tits, which was very nice, especially when I stole a quick lick of the shaft and he shot on my shoulder and clean to the back of my shoulder even though I was lying down.  I loved the mess more than I can say.  I take it as a divine gift from him to me, something only he can give, that I can relish like a relic or religious experience.

Last night I was rubbing his ass, maybe massaging it a bit, and he pushed it to his crack.  I sort of fingered it, not in the penetrative vertical, but instead the horizontal, maybe thinking a bit of him like  a girl.  He took my hand a made it clear he wanted insertion.  This is something I've been wondering about for quite some time, as he has some anal toys and has used them a few times (not that I ever got to watch or help), so I was excited, but a bit nervous as he guided my finger in and then asked for another.  My nails are not super-long, but a bit oddly shaped from a childhood smashing, so they are a bit scratchy, especially on the sides.  As my fingers went it, I marveled at how dry and pillowy it felt, at how strong the muscle was.  It wasn't at all like I imagined.  I tried to finger him, but my fingers and arms are short and my wrists arthritic, so i did what I could as was grinding atop me, his manhood hard against my stomach, the head much like a peeled hard-boiled egg.  After a bit I switched hands a couple of times, but he eventually did the grinding with me just doing the insertion.  After it was over, he said it was good and that i did a nice job.  He wanted to know if I was weirded out, and I thought about how I had hoped this would happen and how he couldn't really weird me out.  We discussed my nails and fingers, how I did it a bit harder and deeper than need be.  Very good lessons.  He says he won't want it like that every time (which I knew), but we agreed we could play with his toys and my unused strap-on sometime in the future.  I was very pleased my fingers looked clean and smelled a bit like Irish Spring soap.  All in all, a very nice first foray.  Maybe he will know someday that upon first insertion, I was thinking it was a bit like we had switched genders, an odd secret fantasy of mine that brings great pleasure.

Piercings and Girlfriends

I did some research on corsetry piercings and discovered they only work as temporary piercings, so that's the end of that.  Shame.  I was so in love.  I still want to get something on my body pierced when I reach my weight loss goal.  Maybe my navel.  I'm not sure I could take the pain of having my nipples done, although it could be hot.

On the girlfriend front, I made a profile on okcupid, which is a free service that is quite a bit of fun.  I still haven't found the courage to tell my husband I want more than just a little friend, so that is wearing on me.  I did find a lovely girl who probably doesn't live that far from me.  We are starting as friends first.  I've never done this before, but it's so exciting.  I just hopeit works out and my husband gives his blessing.

Corsetry Piercing

I've decided that after I lose the weight, I'm going to start substitute teaching at some point, although the weight is coming off now and subbing will be in a couple of years.  Anyway, I am going to use my earnings to get a corsetry piercing piece on my left side along the ribs.  My husband thinks it's a good idea too.  Just imagine the silver of my flesh interwoven with satiny ribbon, tied in a beautiful bow at the bottom.  I will feel like a walking piece of art.


My Baby Husband

He used to be my baby.  Sure, I never called him anything so cliche', but that's what he was.  I would hold him in my arms as he napped, cradling him and tring not to move.  If he was cold, I wrapped him in my jacket, even if it meant freezing myself.  When he was hungry I would buy him the occasional snack or soda if he was short on cash.  To make sure he was properly exercised, I took him for walks up and down the university halls.  Then we would maul each other, not caring who saw or how much.  Once I gave him a blow job in the shadows.  I helped him with his homework as we talked of many things.  Then I graduated and had our baby and things have never been the same.

New Year's Resolutions 2009

So, I'm sitting here, brandishing my new Christmas vibrator, looking at photos of beautiful women as I update the favorite female porn stars section of my profile.  This would be more interesting if I was actually playing with my toy...but then how would I type?  Hmmm?

The New Year is off to a good start.  In addition to my weight loss program (one that actually works), I want to be more outgoing.  There are so many dirty things on my mind and beautiful scenarios in my eyes, but I can't even say "sex" out loud!  This change will need a new confidence, one that doesn't mind someone looking at me and asking me about my tits.  I'm looking for an online girl toy and am considering doing some nude photography as I grow more secure, which I will certainly recap here.

A Girlfriend for Christmas

Since this year's manager's meeting of the adult store my husband works for, I've been giving this a lot of thought.  While it is purely fantasy as my lifestyle with my kids and family would never support it and the jealousy could be astronomical, it is a nice fantasy to keep.  I would like a girlfriend.

Her soft breasts could be any size, real or enhanced; her flesh blank or a wonderous dapple of exotic tattoos and piercings.  Her eyes could be wide with wonder like mine as we learn together or eased by experience, as long as she assists me when I do not know the way.  She could be a local or from far away, eager to share her culture while picking up on mine.  There are so many expressions of beauty.

We could lie naked together or encased in pretty lingerie, or even two-piece pajamas.  We would cuddle up close together in bed or on the couch watching TV and having a snack we made ourselves, our flesh warming one another in the chill of this isolating winter.  We could play board games like children while my girls are out of the house.  We could bake cookies together and she could show me a thing or two in the kitchen, since cooking isn't my strongest point.  We could go to the mall together like high schoolers and make out in the back at the dollar movie theater.  We could give each other makeovers for the fun of it, not because we want to make improvements.  We could touch and kiss but also make love with our words.

This is such a nice fantasy, but the girls are always underfoot and I just don't think my husband would understand.  On a different level, I'm not sure about performing oral sex on a woman.  That said, it is still enjoyable to think about and feel I will continue to for years to come.  This past week I saaw the girl I wanted this to be about and she left rather than talk to me, and it was very painful to stir the embers so harshly.