A Little Dinner and a Show

We went out to get something to eat, it was a date only in the most loose terms. Not intended to be romantic, but rather, hey, we both have to eat so let's do it together.

The wine was fantastic but too expensive, so we each only had one glass. The talk was involved and we let our food get cold. I had never felt so comfortable and found myself revealing things - secrets - that weren't really that secret or dangerous. That's how you made me feel. I felt safe.

We went back to your place and the talking continued. You showed me the books on the case, the ones you had read and didn't want to give away, the ones that you hadn't and probably wouldn't. How were you, where did you find the time?

Time always seemed to get away from us. It was dark outside and I told you how unhappy and hard things were at home. You understood because your homelife was also rocky, in fact rockier than mine. You leaned over and kissed me, the way we had always imagined and fantasized about.

It felt good to be kissed. My hands reached around you and your skin, your back felt so firm and yet soft. I reached over and pulled up your shirt to feel your back, then your lower back.

You reached in and undid my pants and I let you. I pushed them off and you did the same for me. You took off your shirt and I kissed you again, this moment, this skin on skin endless pause before I would lean back and you would touch my tits and look down upon my pussy.

I spread my legs and let you see my inner slick crease of love and you were hard and you came closer and I let you enter me. You fucked me and it was so lovely and so quick and explosive and invisible to me because I didn't get a chance to feel it.

I didn't see it. Did you see it?

I hoped I would have another chance soon. But for now what of our late night parking?

A Breather

Celebrity

Another One

I guess it was bound to happen, but one of us ended up sleeping with someone else.

My wife, who is normally no slouch in bed, and while not being too open to trying new positions besides the ones that always work, but open to any new times and circumstances to do same, and I had always had an understanding that we were never going to cheat on each other. Then, this year, she did.

It wasn't planned, but it was someone who she knew well. It wasn't involved enough to be an affair, but it was someone she cared about as a close friend for many years. They were closer than mere acquaintances and this wasn't a drunk oh-shit bachelorette party mere simple misstep.

They didn't just fuck. They made love.

Due to an inadvertent physical turmoil and a wave of confessional angst, I ended up finding out without having to do too much investigative behind-the-scenes. She admitted it and told me all she could - all I wanted or could, actually, stand to know.

She promised it wouldn't - couldn't happen again. It was a moment of weakness, the intersection where a healthy fantasy intruded into reality with opportunity and circumstances married with the perception that no harm would be done... and that after all there is always enough love to go around.

But, knowing someone else had indeed fucked my wife, and that she had fucked him back, has a corrosive effect on how I think of her. She's sexy, yes, still, but that aspect of her private life in which she fantasizes about other people - people that actually exist in our world (Angelina Jolie or Jon Stewart is a whole 'nother ball game) - opened up to me her deeper fuck-love cock-worship side that had less to do with my cock and kisses and whispers, and more with being away, being herself, get away with it, going for broke, opening her legs, fuck me, you feel so good, he'll never know, you feel different part of her.

A part she never really explored in her earlier life, or could once she was with me.

It's a part of her I knew was there. It's a part of all of us.

And as she talks to me, and we discuss who's unhappier, what let her go and do this, why, goddamn it, why, and what this manifests--

I get hard.

It's a fucking turn-on. Not because she fucked someone else - that will hurt for a long time. But because this has revealed something secret she holds dear. A hint into her private sexuality. She is being honest with me about this, sharing something I never heard from her mouth, until circumstances demanded it.

I loved being loved without conditions or rules. I want a connection. I don't want the mortgage/oatmeal/dirty dishes attention, but the out on Saturday, latest movie, flirting and surprise-me kind too.

In an urgent need to reassert my importance, to repossess what of her I still can (less than I thought), to make a stronger and more explosive connection, something deep and earth-moving, I fuck her like I've never done before.

I make love to her like I mean it, like it's the last time, like I will be the last one and she must compare me to him, to them, to all of them. I make her cum, with my mouth and my hands. I caress her body and bite her ass, knead her breasts and breathe into her neck. Prop her up above me and pump slowly and aggressively into her cunt and cum deeper and longer than I have in 6 months. This is my love for you, my connection, my surprise. This is me knowing who you are, knowing how to love you, with all my body and my heart and my cock.

You're no longer mine now. Something is forever lost and not retrievable. She cries, I sweat, we drink. And we do it again the next day.

And it's like the last fuck of the world again. So deep and slow and hot and needy and forever and like the edge of a sharp fucking knife cutting into my heart at the very moment I grab her ass and ejaculate deep into her lying two-timing pussy.

How Best To Serve The Wine

Workout

In another reality, Jillian Michaels will attack me, pull down her pants, and sit on my face.

Then she will lean down and suck me off and lick the cum off her fingers as it drips down her chin.

Then, for good measure, she'll stick two fingers up my asshole and get me hard again by massaging my prostate, and fuck me cowgirl.

She'll hold herself up with no arms, bouncing up and down and I'll cum again up inside her tight muscular ass.

Then, she'll stand over me and let the cum drip out onto my stomach and slick cock, then she'll kick me in the balls.

It will hurt so good.

And then she won't call me.

A Glimpse of Stocking

A clear demonstration of the allure pantyhose has for some of us.



Sheer yet all-encompassing. Sexy tearable yet strangely chaste.

On The Air

I've been talking with a couple readers online, and among other things, they've liked to watch me jerk off, the same way perhaps that I love to look at myself. There's a fascination and personal intense connection. It's all me.

And every so often I like to see other guys jerk themselves off - not for a gay thrill - but to see someone enjoying, to see the release, to see the hard and hot and straining spurt and squirt and ooze I know but have only imagined in other guys.

To watch, to be safe, to not have to ask, not have to say the words to him. Can I help?

And I've been exploring the video chat option of jerking off for this one reader, across the country, while he jerks off for me.

Well 2 weeks ago we did it. Late at night (later for him) we set up and pointed our webcams at ourselves. I sat with no pants, no shirt. I fingered and stroked my cock, and watched him do the same, 40 states away, and finger his balls.

He was less hairy than me, and already quite erect, as I quickly was. I saw his face a moment, then he moved the camera. You can see yourself. I imagined putting my mouth onto him, and was very hard.

I slowly jerked myself, licking my hand to lubricate. I had no sense of wanting to hurry. If I didn't cum, I wouldn't. This was much more spectacle than performance.

He loved himself. It was clean and safe. Quickly, we got into a rythym with each other.

I would go slower, and his hand would. He would reach down and cup his balls, so I would do the same with mine. He ringed his cock head and squeezed it, massaging his shaft with short strokes.

I did the same and was getting very excited, feeling the ripening boil in my balls. By taking my visual cues from him, I was having sex, although masturbating myself, with another person, different movements, suprising grasps and touchs.

His cock, purple and slick, flopped back and forth. His legs opened up as he clearly seemed to be going slowly faster, slowly building. I could feel his orgasmic spunk building in that stranger foreign Massachusetts cock. I jerked myself faster, knowing he was watching.

He saw me; my strokes were long, from the very base, in the hairy crevice slick with my spit and the sweat around my shaft, and up to the throbbing cockhead, the opening arrow point. My fingers squeezed from below, along the open vein of sperm roiling up the base.

Working it out, he was jerking with his fist, quicker. I was working mine out, and I shifted. Camera ready, I watched him.

And he spurted onto his stomach. High and ropey, I heard him sigh deeply. He beat the shit out of his hard purple cock, spitting it thick up onto himself.

So good. Mine was coming as well, and I kept my steady pace, because I was not going to hide it. I wanted to show it to him, show it to him now, show him the load he had coaxed out of me, the one that watching him had made me orgasm out. I pushed the top of my cock with my thumb, the bottom of the shaft with my forefinger, and my balls convulsed--

--I came, down my shaft, and forward. For the camera, for this 40-state-away stranger cock. Look, I came. Personal, looking at your cock cum, spunk all over your cock, your stomach, your hand.

He rubbed his cock, getting it slick as he watched. I let my flow bubble and subside, and I took the drops off my head and brought them to my mouth. Stayed a moment, legs open, cock dripping.

Thanks. That was the hottest orgasm I'd had in months. And it was on the air.

Shave-Tail

Pussies were there right between her legs - at least, they used to be. Sharp, thick, smelly and hairy. To be hidden and to be sought out and fingered. Clearly the object of desire.



Now they seem to have disappeared. The wonderful space is there still, but the texture has been elided, as if the build-up is no longer important. The details ignored for the final punchline.



There's a fetish to self-groom - but the allure has been erased.

Update

I'm still up dating the posts here from the previous site, which was at:

rphblog.blogspot.com.

That site is being deleted but in the process of migrating the old blog to here, many pictures disappeared and so I'm replacing them.

Yummy Pussy

I've written before of the joys of licking and eating pussy.

Pussy is the center of her beauty. Her open flower of love and liquid. Flowing nerves designed to give life, to birth the wonder of humanhood and our race.

Pussy is the giver of orgasm. The exploding sucker of cum, that receptacle of sperm. Massaging crevice to take our manhood, make cock hard and spurt. Fill it up, slick and warm.

Pussy is cunt. Hairy and smelling of roses and soap, leather and piss. Earthy and fecund, a fountain of pleasure that quivers and shudders. Milks out my orgasmic shot and coats itself with honey-thick love.

Legs to pussy, crease of desire. Open air praying mantis, she offers herself and I fulfill her.

She takes me in and embraces my shaft, pulls me in and loves and swallows me up. Engulfs and enslaves, for an endless moment. Hot layover, out of mind and buried deep in her petals of need.