Why I let her go

I was 25, she was 22. It was her first year out of college with a new job, her first real apartment that her parents didn't pay for, real bills. We met a year earlier at a coffee shop on campus. She talked to me because I was scribbling intently in my moleskin-style notepad.

We hit it off immediately. She read what I was writing and was flummoxed because it was a topic she had never even considered, a book I wanted to write (to this day it is ongoing). I shared a cup of coffee with her, got her phone number, and skedaddled.

We briefly dated over the next few weeks, but her work schedule was harried, and my writing had taken off, making me hard to see. We liked each other, a lot, but timing wasn't right. So we promised to stay in touch, hang out when possible, but not making anything serious.

We fucked a few months later, mostly due to each of us needing our pipes cleaned and a mutual attraction to the other. She was pretty, but she was also pretty green. She had one lover in high school, two in college, plus a lot of drunk blowjobs and clit-lickings shared with horrid frat boys who neither gave nor really received. I wined her, dined her, wooed her, teased her, made her want my body and my hands and my mouth on her. The first night we had sex was uncomfortable, because she didn't want to go back to the college days of hooking up. The sex was good for both, but it was obvious she was nervous. Looking back, I should've waited a few weeks.

Soon, though, the second late-night booty call came across my email, and I hopped over to her pad. She was already relatively naked, wet beyond belief. Foreplay was mostly her throwing herself at my cock, bouncing on it with glee and desire. That night was good sex, maybe great sex. She never came from penetration before, and that night she came twice in 3 hours. So did I.

Our relationship was mostly fucking, but a lot of talking afterwards. She was a true lady in this case, one of the rare ones that doesn't roll over and sleep. Note that I have no problem with someone passing out after good sex, but in her case I loved the talking and touching and admiring of each other's bodies and thoughts for hours after we connected physically.

I listened to her talk for hours, and she listened to me talk deeply about my real, secret job. Sometimes we'd fuck for an hour, talk for 3, then fuck again before passing out practically moments after we both came. It was really, really good sex, and really good intimacy.

But we didn't date. She had taken on a second job to pay her bills faster, and I was traveling a lot more and writing constantly. So we'd meet up three, four times a month at her place or at my place, or on occasions she'd fly out to meet me for rip-roaring sex in an odd city in the States. It went on for almost 7 months. She never said she loved me (she did, though), but she came close. She definitely loved what I had to give her, and she took it whenever I wanted it, as I gave it when she did.

And then it happened: she met someone else. The guy she met was completely her type: college-bred, goofy but still cute, into sports and into the same movies and books and bands that she was into. They hit it off, and she asked me when she should sleep with him. I told her: when you're comfortable with the idea. Sometimes it's the first date, sometimes the third, sometimes it's months.

We still fucked while she dated him, and after 2 months she finally felt comfortable falling into his arms and into his bed. She called me crying the next morning.

"I love this guy." That's great! It's a challenge to find someone you're so compatible with. "We have great sex." Awesome! "I mean, I don't want to hurt your feelings." It's better than with me, so what?

She admitted that she came more with me than with him, but with him it felt better. She wasn't as vulgar or whorish in bed as with me, but more intimate on the inside. He didn't make her feel as much like a lady as I did, but she loved spending time with him.

So what's the problem? "I feel bad that this is happening." Because of me? "Yes." Don't. This is what people have to do to find someone they're really compatible with. I'm more than just a lay, but if he can listen, if he can make you smile and make you want sex and make you feel like a woman, then I'm inconsequential. "I'll miss you." I'm not going anywhere. I'm still here, for coffee, for talking, for responding to late-night freak-outs about how your rent will get paid.

She hated herself for weeks, telling me that she doesn't understand why she's so into him and why she was only into me for sex and talking. I told her: it's because I was meeting SOME of your needs greatly, but not all of them or even a majority of them. He met more of her needs, but none of them perfectly. It's something you have to accept when you fall in love, there is no perfection.

We talked, in person. She wanted me, one last time, but I said no. I told her that our sex was ridiculously good. She liked that I made her beg, that I took her in ways that seemed against her will but completely what she wanted, what she needed, what she secretly desired from me. I understood her boundaries: mental and physical, and never breached both at once.

Eventually, her relationship with him really took off, with him moving in with her a year after they started sleeping together. Her finances were in order, her love for him deepened. They spoke of marriage down the line, of moving together to another city to try for new goals and opportunities. I still listened to her. Over time, her desire for me lessened as her sexual experiences with him grew. Still, she said she missed the sensual machine that I can be with the right woman. I told her that she had passed from girl to woman, and I was there during the transition. She smiled, knowing I was right.

To this day, we still talk, not regularly but often enough. She'll call or she'll handwrite me a letter or type out a long email. They're still in love, they're married, trying for a first child now that both of them are settled in work, in finances, in goals. She still asks me about my sex life, and tells me about hers. I forwarded her recently to a blog written by an anonymous mom who is reinvigorating her sex life. She follows the RSS feed and loves the ideas and openness, but she's afraid to comment or continue the discussion on her own blog.

She asks me how I gave her up so easily, and I told her the truth: it was obvious that her needs were getting met by another man significantly, rather than the few needs that I met of hers and her meeting mine. She understands, I know, but she doesn't get it completely. She's been aghast at some of my relationships with involved women, but said she would secretly like the idea of a lover if her husband didn't provide her sexual stimulus and soulful compliments about herself. He does, so she has no need for a lover like me anymore.

She asked me if I would have had a problem had she taken on many lovers outside of us, and I told her surely not. I don't sleep with whores or sluts, but I fully expect my part-time lovers to have other lovers so that they can dip into many soups, tasting many flavors, seeing what they like or dislike. Having many lovers in succession doesn't make you a slut if what you're looking for is added compatibility.

Sex is a key element in one's life. I'm reading so many blogs where the man or woman has re-opened their sex life and it's making a HUGE difference on their overall happiness, stability and confidence.

Should I take on a regular lover in my life, long-distance or otherwise, I fully expect them to taste many foods, smell many flowers, try many jobs, read many books, suck many cocks, touch many bodies and try many things. It's all part of life.

I never really let her go, I just let her follow her path. She wasn't mine, no one is mine and I am no ones. When our paths meet for a time period, it's because we're on the same journey. It's not forever, usually. Some day, I hope it is. But your path may include others, too. Other friends, other co-workers, other lovers, other penpals. It's life. There's nothing wrong with it.

I left her with something she needed, but I didn't fulfill the need entirely. I'm glad she's still my friend, and I'm glad she was honest about her feelings. It didn't hurt, much. I didn't harbor jealousy or anger. It didn't upset my self-confidence or make me feel like less of a man. I was aware of the possibility from day one, and I will never fear the day that someone's path takes them from my arms into the arms of another. Life is short, and we must always work at building better relationships, stronger ones, filling more of our needs.

A Touch (A Fantasy, Part III)

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

A True Story from a Real Reader

I love the emails I'm getting, the random chats (see sidebar) when you're bored and I'm around. It's good to hear that some people, single, married, dating, are working to reignite their sex lives and finding out is isn't that much work.

Here's a (true) story from someone who found this site and used it as their muse to reignite the passion in their marriage. Please leave comments (anonymously, if necessary) and let her know that she's doing a good thing.

~~~~~
Dear CS

Seriously, I have no idea why I am emailing you but I know that I have been reading your blog (ever see a million hits from the outskirts of Portland? That’s me) and I guess what I want to say is that I can’t thank you enough for the impact you have had on my sex life with my husband. You mentioned you have a lot of moms visiting your site. I have a feeling I am not the only one who needed your help, and if I am, maybe they will google phrases like “passion in marriage” or “married sex” and come up with this post right here and st art reading, which in turn will help them too. Which is funny since you aren’t married and from the sound of it, us marrieds are having sex a lot more frequently than you are.

The thing I wanted to tell you about was my night last night. When I was dating and screwing around, this story might not have been as worthy of telling, but what you might not understand is that 8 years of marriage and 2 kids and 3 dogs and all the other humdrum shit that comes along with this suburban existence takes its toll on the passion levels.

Now, I have to like pre-defend my husband here, who is a really great guy and a really great husband, helpful around the house, love love love love loves me, great dad, the whole 9. We are still very much in love -- well, moreso – than we ever were. We have this family and this apartment and we screw from time to time and make love from time to time and catch a quickie whenever we can. Every once in a while, we fuck like we used to. Mostly, we get each other off which is most definitely not the same thing.

Prior to starting our family, we used to have pretty kinky sex. Once we had kids, our sex became lovemaking. We were gentler with each other. We were careful. Mostly, we became efficient (gotta get the orgasms in before the baby starts to cry or the toddler comes toddling). And while it’s been nice, it’s been predictable and a little boring. I missed the intensity.

Reading your blog has reminded me of the one thing, sexually, that my husband has been really clueless about, which is that my hugest turn-on is to be completely submissive. We have been having these talks lately, mostly in order to avoid the next inevitable step of going to counseling, to work through some issues. Each of us puts an issue in the jar. During the first few weeks of this, we worked through some of the big issues in our marriage, family, discipline, that kind of stuff.

Last week, my piece of paper got pulled from the jar: SEX. I finally had to find the language – and this is where you come in opening the lines of communication – to tell him about this part of myself – the thing he had never really registered. He admitted that he always saw me as such a strong, independent and fiery woman – it never occurred to him that I enjoyed being submissive – he thought it was something I would sort of pretend to enjoy on occasion for his benefit but that unless I was calling the shots I probably wasn’t all that interested. This is hard to believe – that he could have missed all the signs that confirmed how much I love being told what to do, spanked, dominated, cum on, pushed to my knees and told to suck him. I just honestly was floored that he had missed how much I was enjoying these things too. I guess what I am getting at is that we never actually talked about what turns us on -- we just got consumed by the other things we had to deal with. And we expected each other to read minds. Which never works, right?

So the past few weeks have been hot around here. And the man finally got the message that I wanted to be romanced and he arranged for a sitter and took me out to dinner. Of course, by the time we got to the restaurant I was practically in heat and couldn’t keep my foot off his crotch. At one point, our conversation took a very un-hot turn and we laughed about how we got off track. I looked him deep in the eyes and told him to tell me what he likes. He surprised me with his immediate answer.

“I like it when you come,” he said, tilting his head slightly without breaking the gaze. “On my face.”

Now, I know he likes this (and trust me, I feel like I hit the lottery) but to hear him say it out loud sent shockwaves through my body. I told we needed to leave the restaurant N.O.W. (he couldn’t exactly stand up at that exact moment, but a few minutes later…)

He paid, we left and on the way out I discreetly grabbed hi s cock (which by the way, apparently felt the way I did) and told him we needed to go park somewhere immediately. It was like I was on some drug, tunnel vision, I need to be sucking on him or I thought I might actually die. My breath had quickened, my face was flushed and all the passion was right back where it belonged.

I got my wish, seconds later, when we pulled into an empty lot and I quickly released him from his clothing and sucked him off hungrily. We haven’t been to church in ages but I am pretty sure I heard him calling out to God. It was unbearably sexy and I think I pierced the upholstery of his car with my heels. It was still light out and we definitely are not turned on by being arrested, so we decided my orgasm (s?) could wait.

We went home, paid the sitter, pretended to be interested in what the kids had to say about their night. Our son is still little but we bribed him into going to bed like a big boy and we managed to get the kids to bed within 30 minutes of getting home.

I wasted no time. I came downstairs to the living room completely naked except for a sheer black string thong, shooting my husband sheepish looks, like he could tell me to do anything and I would do it. He ordered me onto the couch and started kissing me everywhere, kneeling over me. I begged him to feed me his cock, and he obliged. I slipped a finger into his ass just to keep him where I wanted him, which was right there, shoving his cock into my mouth. I could have stayed there forever. He made me finish myself off, he told me to. He said he was going to watch me make myself come while I sucked on him.

I could go on and on about the fucking that followed, but I won’t bore you with the details. Mostly he did exactly what I love the most – took me from behind and pulled my long hair and I think you are getting the picture and this is actually much harder to write than you make it look on your blog, that’s for sure. In the end, I let him have exactly what he wanted, which was for me to come – on his face. The lucky bastard. And I got what I wanted, which w as for him to jerk himself off and come all over me.

Not sure why I feel compelled to write this. Mostly because I don’t share these aspects of my life with people I know, I don’t have a blog, and I don’t keep a journal. I guess I just thought you might be interested to know you’ve had a very positive influence on life around here. Keep up the good work, and thanks.

Anonymous

Whoring it up for your man

It's been great to hear that more and more married women are coming to terms with their own sexuality: both from reading my site, and from others.  I love knowing that a dead sex life for a couple can be reinvigorated with a few simple ideas.  You can read the first post of this on-going series here.

If you've gotten your hubbie back into bed (or in the car, or against the wall in the living room), it's time to increase your sexual prowess by adding new things to keep the spark... sparking.  One thing I love to introduce to couples is the option of adding variety to more than just bedroom sex.

Women, go out and buy the biggest bag of rice you can find, or a sack of potatos, or even peat moss.  I'm talking warehouse huge: 50lbs is good.  Get a few friends and have them help you stick it in the living room by a blank wall.  This is a ridiculous plan, but it works.  If you have kids, a 50lb bag of sand is even better.

When hubbie comes home and inquires what it is, ask if he can lift it up and put it back down.  He'll have problems.  He'll probably complain about it.  You'll complain about it because that stupid sack of uselessness is sitting in your living room.  The kids will ask.  Neighbors will get inquisitive.

Your answer to him is simple: "I need you to work on lifting that bitch regularly, holding it in place, and being able to put it down.  Best yet would be if you could lift it up to waist height, put it halfway down to knee height, and life it again."  He'll ask why.  "I figure that's the strength you'll need to fuck me against that wall properly.  And I'm not letting you remove it until you do."

It'll take weeks.  You'll catch him lifting that bitch in the evening, or on an early Saturday morning.  The kids will have no clue what's going on: "Daddy's trying to get stronger so he can shovel snow/build your sandbox/help with groceries."  Trust me, in a matter of a month or less, that bag of junk will either be cooked, planted or built into a sandbox.  It'll be replaced with your ass and back against the wall (preferably in a nice shirt and your skirt hiked up) with your husband finally pulling a Hollywood fuck scene.

There's more.  Do you smoke?  No?  Sometimes?  If the answer isn't "A pack a day," go out and buy a pack of cigarettes.  Try to smoke one without inhaling and coughing (it isn't sexy).  Hide them in the nightstand or under a pillow with a nice lighter (Bic, not a generic).  Put a glass of water by the bed that you won't drink.  The next time he's inside of you, push him back so he's sitting up (still inside of you).  Pull out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter, put them on your belly or your chest.  Tell him to take a cigarette out and put it in your mouth.  If he asks why, yell "Do it."  Then ask him to light your cigarette.  Then tell him to fuck you while you finish it, and see what comes first.  Be his whore, out of character, out of reason, out of your mind.  Watch him fuck you.  Don't talk, just watch and fake-smoke.  Smile and nod if he looks at your face, then look down at your breasts.  If he comes too quick, just keep fake-smoking it, ashing in the glass cup.  Leave that glass there for the morning to remind him of what you gave him (and maybe, if you're lucky, what he gave you).  Smoking is gross for many, but this is a sexy way to add a little role-playing to your life.

Want to really push boundaries, beyond your previous boring sex life comfort zone?  Take your husband to the mall, Target, whatever, on a busy afternoon.  Tell him you're completely enthralled by the idea of him picking out another woman/girl/college student that he thinks is sexy.  He'll hee and haw and say he only loves you.  Remind him, "You were single once, you had fantasies once.  I do too.  Pick a woman out and then let's get me in similar clothes."  See what he likes: girls in skirts?  Girls in tank tops?  Women in pant suits?  Women in glasses?  He'll fight it, but keep reminding him that he'll have the chance, tonight, to make that fantasy come true with you, and you won't scold him for it.

We're visual creatures, us guys.  We'll be happy in the sack with you, but we'll still see someone in a specific outfit.  Don't worry if she's 60# lighter than you: get a similar outfit from a local store with your own money.  Change into it in the mall, if you can.  Same shoes, fake glasses, whatever.  Then tell him you need a 2 minute head start and to follow you to the car discretely.  Look over your shoulder and try to catch him following, but make it seem like you don't notice.  If you make it home without being filled with his surprise sauce, you're going to get a workout.  Plus you're going to remind him that any fantasy is doable (within reason) as long as he tells you about it.  There's no jealousy here, mama: YOU would probably try to take that same girl/women home if life was different.  Admit it.

If it works, why not turn the tables around and see if you can get your hubbie into the same role as that cute hardbody gayboy who works at local golf store.  Whatever it takes.

Remember, it isn't just about what you like physically in bed, but what you can do to change things up from the norm.  You need to first get there, and reading the first article in the series gives some good, useful pointers.  Once you're there, you need to keep things interesting.

To close it off, I want to remind you the MOST IMPORTANT part about a spicy sex life: the boring sex.  You should never, ever try to always keep it hot.  Ask your hubbie nicely if you can have a boring night of sex.  Tell him to try to finish as fast as he can, however he wants to.  Ask him for a soft lovemaking once in awhile.  This will remind him fo the boring days, so he'll work harder for less of those.  "Let's do it like we did last year."  Last year, that was boring.  "Exactly.  Things are so hot lately, I want to try to remember."  And you will.  You'll never forget