It’s yet another TMI Tuesday blog hop, wherein I answer questions about myself, with the emphasis on sex (not a problem!), and with the hope that some people will visit my blog.
1. My dream vacation is to _____ .
…that French village on the Mediterranean where you can go nude all the time! I want to sit in a sidewalk cafe, order a cappuccino, and spread my legs! Then shop for white asparagus, baguettes and wine. I want to stand in front of the refrigerated cheese section and watch my nipples go zoom!
2. Right now I’m in _____ .
…a state of acceptance. I was brought up that sex is bad, including touching myself sexually. Now I know that was wrong, and after years of struggle I accept my sexual desires as normal and enjoyable. Probably the most significant aspects to my new-found easiness about sex are masturbation and nudity. I now practice both with ease and a sense of fun (see photo above; not me, but quite representative of how I keep house). Weather allowing, I’m nude all the time (but, it’s important to note, I’m not an exhibitionist). That means mostly at home and in the woods, because I love to hike nude. I masturbate almost daily and really enjoy experimenting—new toys, different positions (yesterday, on my back, legs splayed and up the wall, hips on several pillows, both orifices filled, just to mention one), with different people (which really amps the fun!) and different locations. I discovered the joy of public masturbation when I got a strap-on butterfly vibrator with a remote! Outrageous fun—and discreet! I’ve masturbated in my car, in parks, while walking, at the mall…Masturbation and nudity are now major parts of my lifestyle.
3. I’m done with _____ .
…Xmas. It’s insanely commercial and without meaning (except to children, of course). I can relax when it’s over.
4. The most enjoyable thing around the holidays is _____ .
See No. 3.
5. Dashing through the snow, in a _____ .
…four-wheel drive anything to an inn in Vermont for a week of skiing, snowboarding, sauna and hot tub, dinner by firelight, and fucking! Not necessarily in that order!
6. When my blog is broken, _____.
…I call my IT department. He’s good-looking, calm, competent and a good negotiator. Depending on the extent of the problem, it can cost anything from a blow job to a quickie to an all-night fuckfest. Which is all within my budget.
7. If only _____ .
…I could clone a clitoris to the back of my mouth. Just sayin.’
Bonus: I saw the most amazing _____ this last night!
…nude woman! On Tumblr! Wanna see? She’s amazing!
I hadn’t seen Brian, an old high school buddy, in nearly a decade. Nan was on a business trip—-her first since her surgery earlier in the year. We listened to music, drank some wine and caught up.
“. . . and I guess the other big news is that I’ve gotten back into beating off, big time,” I told him. I had just told Brian about Nan’s knee operation and recuperation—successful, but slow. And no sex. It was month ten without fucking.
“So what’s new on the masturbation front?” he said, grinning.
“Glad you asked.” Boy, was I. I had been cruising Craigslist for a nearby male stroke buddy. I was desperate to drain my balls with another guy. Chastity was a drag, but I figured jerking with another man wouldn’t violate our vows. But no luck.
“Masturbation sleeves, specially formulated stroke creams and cock rings now are part of my arsenal,” I continued. “Nan not only approves–she even helps me pick out new toys on the web. What a gal. She’ll even smack my ass and squeeze my balls while I’m whacking.”
“Don’t you masturbate together?” Brian asked.
“That’s the thing, she can’t masturbate because of her knee,” I explained. “She comes really hard, and she’s afraid she’ll hurt herself. It’s really a drag.”
“Tell me about masturbation sleeves,” he said. Brian, I couldn’t help but notice, now sported a bulge. Maybe Karen, his wife of three years, wasn’t putting out. Or maybe he was just horny. “How do they work?”
“Pretty cool, actually. It grips your cock so you don’t have to grab so hard when you stroke. Amazing material I can’t describe. Hold on.”
I took three steps at a time as I raced upstairs and grabbed the sleeve. After hesitating about half a second, I picked up a handful of items from the drawer next to my bed—lube, a butt plug and a vibrator. Back downstairs, I tossed Brian the wiggly purple sleeve.
“Interesting,” he said, manipulating the stretchy, flesh-like plastic. “Little nubs on the inside.”
“Look, you can’t tear it.” I pulled it inside out so the nubs where on the outside and the inside—where you stick your well-lubed cock—was smooth.
Now my cock was hard.
What the hell. We’re old friends. If this gets awkward, I’ll just pull my pants up. “This calls for a demonstration,” I announced.
I unbuckled and pushed my jeans down. My hard cock flipped out. I applied a long line of lube along the top of my pulsing dick, sort of like toothpaste. Then a generous amount down the opening of the sleeve. “Insert dick here,” I said, and did. I started stroking. Brian had a half-smile on his face. This was the first time I had jerked in front of a guy since I was eleven.
I wanted to take all my clothes off. Maybe I would: The half-smile was gone from his face. He had unzipped, his fat cock at attention as he fingered his glans. I had seen Brian’s cock once before, in high school, and it was enormous. I remember it hung halfway down his thigh and was thick as a wrist.
I wanted to come so badly. I also wanted to suck Brian’s cock.
I was giving myself slow strokes, pulling the sleeve down my cock and then slowly pushing it back up. It felt delicious. For all my bragging about jerking-off paraphernalia, I hadn’t induced an orgasm in over a week. I was fast approaching the edge.
I pulled it off, freeing my dick, and handed it to Brian: “Your turn.”
Brian unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. I kicked off mine and tore off my T-shirt. Finally, I was nude. And jerking off with another guy for the first time in years.
Brian spread his knees apart as he pushed his cock into the sleeve. His enormous shaft and nutsac were huge compared to my puny package. I wanted to stroke and fondle him. I had plenty of lube left on my dick and slowly ran my fist up and down my shaft, my left hand clutching my balls.
“You’re hung like a horse,” I said, watching him stroke with the sleeve while I beat off. “Look at me. I’ve got a pencil dick.”
My penis from base to urethra was a whopping five inches—and that was when I measured myself just before ejaculating. It’s more like four-and three-quarters inches if I’m not about to come. Circumference was even smaller, barely four inches.
“Does Nan complain?” Brian was half listening as he stroked with the purple sleeve.
“No, not at all. She usually comes like a freight train when I’m inside her. She says her cunt is shrink-to-fit. Thank god.”
Brian pulled the sleeve off his dick and turned it inside out so the nubs were on the inside. He slathered more lube on his dick and pulled it on.
I slid down off the couch to my knees, with my ass against the cushion. I reached over to the sleeve. “Like this,” I said. He had been death-gripping his cock, the way guys do when they beat off. “Just pull it slowly up and down.”
Now I was stroking him, via the sleeve. “Ever measure this thing?”
“Seven inches, last time I checked.”
I reached into a drawer in the side table and pulled out a ruler. I pulled the sleeve off his throbbing dick. Was it just an excuse to touch his cock? Probably. I ran the tape along the top of his dick from where it protruded from his abdomen to the tip. His shaft was wider than the head and marbled with thick veins, deep red and pulsing with his heartbeat. Like me, Brian was circumcised.
“Six and three quarters. You might be seven when you come.”
I put the tape down and started stroking him. He felt completely different from my own dick. As I brought my hand down to the bottom of his shaft, a good two inches of Brian’s penis extended out of my clenched fist. My own hand virtually covered my entire stiff dick.
I started stroking him faster. Harder. He spread his legs and leaned back. “Don’t stop.”
I tucked a leg under me as I sat in front of him, cupping his balls in my left hand. One of his balls was bigger and heavier than both of mine. I felt their heft, rolled them around, articulated each of his nuts. I pulled on them, dragging his scrotum down farther, making his cock harder.
Brian was sitting up now, his arms rigid by his side. He was breathing deeper, his eyes closed, his face red. He was close. I slowed the pace and fought the urge to suck his cock.
I started to stroke mine instead. Jerking Brian faster, he got harder. I started to stroke myself faster. His cock swelled as a line of pre-cum dribbled out of his pisshole.
Brian roared, spraying jism on his face and the wall behind him—long strings of hot semen squirting out of his dick as I pumped him. His pulsing cock in my hand and the sight of him shooting his load pushed me over the edge. I spasmed and shot all over his cock and balls.
I fell back on to the floor, my arms spread wide and my dick still throbbing between my legs.
“That. Was. Intense,” Brian finally said. He raised his head and looked down his ruined torso. His half-hard cock was streaked with my splooge. Both my jism and his were crusted in his pubic hair and pooled on his abdomen.
“What a mess,” Brian said. “Get up here and lick me clean.”
Want more masturbation-inducing fun?
Happily, someone had a camera when this sweetie chose to shed her top to enjoy a little of the outdoors. The sexiest photos, to me, aren’t those of professional models posed in a studio. Instead, give me any woman in a natural setting, showing her gifts in the most natural way.
…wherein I answer some probing (ha!) questions for yet another TMI Tuesday blog hop.
1. Which ONE do you wish you had more of in bed… romance, experimentation or foreplay?
Lousy question. But I’ll go with foreplay.
2. What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?
Drinks too much. Says she’s a vegetarian and orders fish. Says something nasty about cats.
3 Tell us something sexual you do not do anymore? Why?
Fuck men. Women.
4. During sex would you rather have a lover: (pick only one)
a. pull your hair
b. scratch your back
c. spank your ass
5. Foreplay: Is there such a thing as too much?
No. After all, if a lover moves on to penetration, I can still finger my clit.
Bonus: What is the best thing about you?
I am insatiable. And I have a sense of humor. A wicked combo!
Actually, I’ve been awake since 7, so, for me anyway, it’s horny hour number 10, not number 4. I’m wired that way. But Horny Hour is one of the those blog-hoping things. Lately, there isn’t a blog hop I haven’t hopped on.
The challenge: an original blog post using the words:
Martin was tormented to the point of near insanity on two fronts. First, olfactorily: The brownies had been in the oven over twenty minutes. The intense aroma emanating from the oven was making him drool.
Second, his fingers were beginning to tingle. His arms had been suspended over his head since just before the brownies went in. The leather wrist cuffs were attached to the hooks he had drilled into the kitchen ceiling the week before. There was just enough play that he could stand on his toes and relieve the tension. Looking down for like the thousandth time, he saw that his cock was still pointing straight up at his chin, quivering.
“Lizzie, please,” he begged his wife, her back to him as she beat the bowl of chocolate frosting with a long wooden spoon. It was the only part of her more voluptuous than her frontside: her backside. Like Martin, Lizzie was nude. Unlike Martin, she wasn’t cuffed.
“Stop fidgeting,” she snapped over her shoulder. “Almost done here. Your whining is intolerable.” He watched, entranced, as her ass cheeks shook as she worked the frosting.
“I’ve never come without being, you know, jerked,” Martin pleaded. “But I’m close.”
Lizzie shot him a hard look. “You’re under orders. You’ll have your orgasm when I say so.” She went back to torturing the frosting.
The oven timer went off. She leaned over, opened the oven door, and the rich aroma of fresh-baked brownies slammed into Martin’s nose. An instant later, his cock jerked in excitement as he gazed at his wife’s pussy and asshole, perfectly framed by her asscheeks as she maneuvered the hot pan out of the oven.
“It’ll have to cool before I can put the icing on,” she said, untying her apron. She faced Martin, breasts jutting, and hung it on his cock. “Hold this.”
She picked up a spatula out of the sink. It was wet and crusted with cheese from last night’s pizza. Hand on hip, she approached Martin. His cock twitched, and the apron fell to his feet.
“You fidgeted.” It wasn’t a question. Lizzie put the spatula between Martin’s legs, forcing them apart. Not that they could spread that far. Turning it, she lifted his balls and churned them. Martin whimpered.
Whack! His dick sproinged up and down. She hit it again with the spatula. A piece of cheese flew off and landed on his cheek. Lizzie laughed at his penis, smeared with cold pizza sauce and cheese.
Enough spatula fun. Putting it back in the sink with the other dirty dishes, she picked up the wooden spoon, laden with chocolate frosting. Martin’s eyes brightened.
She stood in front of him, just beyond his quivering dick and turned her back. Leaning forward, she reached back between her legs and smeared chocolate on his cock.
Martin groaned. His wife’s ass, just beyond his dick, all fuck-me-doggy-style, tormented him in its utter, undeniable and breathtakingly beautiful femininity. As she pushed and prodded his straining member with the spoon, her pussy swelled and opened. Her pussy musk blended with the aroma of brownies.
“Lizzie,” he croaked.
She stood and turned, wagging the spoon in his face like a finger. “I was going to let you fuck me. Then you had to say something.” A fleck of chocolate landed on his other cheek, just beyond the reach of his tongue.
She walked around him. Male asses really don’t compare, Lizzie thought as she surveyed his behind. The hips are too narrow. Not round enough. And that hair. Yep, she reminded herself again, women are the bearers of beauty in our species.
Whack! Martin jolted as she assaulted his ass with the spoon. Whack! Whack! His cheeks reddened and clenched. Incredibly, his dick got even harder.
Lizzie danced around him, and flung the spoon in the sink. “Poor boy, does he want to come?” she teased, leaning into him, her breath in his ear, her tits brushing his arm. “What would my wittle hubby give for a bwow job?”
A mangled syllable that sounded like “mrmph” escaped his lips.
Lizzie sunk to her knees. Placing her hands on his hips, she maneuvered Martin’s chocolate-smeared cock to her mouth. Slowly, tenderly she took him, her tongue swishing his glans as she sucked. Her hands slid down his bruised backside, and she pinched his ass.
The delightful taste of chocolate filled her mouth, quickly followed by the salty tang of Martin’s ejaculate. His hips thrust with each wave of his orgasm as he pumped his splooge into Lizzie’s eager mouth.
She stood, jism dripping down her chin, dribbling down her tits, and whispered in her husband’s ear.
“Next week, meringue.”