Reading about other people's sex lives when they have purposely shared it with you is not quite the same illicit thrill you might get from finding and reading someone's explicit written journal. There's not the element of "I'm not meant to see this, I might see something I shouldn't."
But what comes from this is a genuine POV of The Other. It's a way to get to actually see through another person's eyes, ride it out within that person's brain, experience something that you never would otherwise. We all only get to be ourselves. But what we can do to broaden our perception of ourselves is to experience The Other's life as well. A peeping tom (or tina!) only sees what's happening on the outside, but here on my blog you get what's going on in my head.
Even if what gets me going doesn't get you going, I try to describe what it does to me, how it makes me feel. And that is so powerful to me.
Other kinds of blogs may teach you things - how to cook, how to build a house, how to make a paper hat or teach your kids fractions or make a perfect vegan pudding, and they are so, so useful. But relationship/sex blogs let you actually crawl into The Other's head. You get to be someone else for the length of a post. It can be a wild ride, even if the material isn't wild at all. I read blogs coming from all kinds of relationships and at levels of sexual description ranging from none to complete, not to titillate myself but to get that ride.
I make every effort for everything I post here as truth to be my absolute truth. Sometimes my head may go fuzzy on descriptions due to all the hormones rushing through me and I may fill in "as I can best remember" for the sake of the narrative, but it all happens.
I sometimes wish that my husband would write a description of one of our sexual encounters, just so I could compare notes, ride behind his eyes for a while. I know that even though we are sharing the same event, we're having different experiences, and that fascinates me. I'm there, having sex, and I know I'm missing half of it.
I would gladly read about my own sex life if he were to write about it.
That effectively removes the peeping tom aspect. I'm not interested in watching bloggers have sex, or in them watching me have sex. (Sorry, no. ;)) What I am very interested in is riding behind your eyes for a while, and in giving you a seat behind mine.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
On why I blog
I love my blog. I really, really do. I love getting comments, I love reading everyone else's blogs, I love that we have this slice of intimacy into each others' lives.. into what, for me, is the most important part of my life, the bedrock on which every other wonderful thing is built.
Like with a house, so few people actually understand what a relationship is built on. I love crawling around in house crawlspaces, seeing what is going on underneath, what really makes the place tick, hold together, not fall down. The framing, the plumbing, the drains and the wiring are magnificent, and sometimes terrifying. Spiders don't bother me, nor do huge ugly mole crickets. It's the beauty of the foundation.
The things that go on on my blog are the foundation, the crawlspace of my relationship, and by extension, my life.
I love, love, love looking at my stats and seeing people spending literally hours reading my blog, sucking the whole thing down in one single sitting, or several strung out across a few days. My blog! This is a thrill beyond exhibition(from which I get none), it's the joy of providing entertainment worthy of consumption. I really, really love it. So few of you actually comment, but I really appreciate the readership nonetheless. I'm talking to you, UK, Ohio, Mississippi, Wisconsin, others that were longer ago, and BlackberryTasteIc(who actually commented!). I really do love my lurkers.
I don't like that it's so important to be completely anonymous. I always scoffed at Internet anonymity in my adulthood, always felt that I needed to connect all parts of my life, to be whole. I hated the concept of pseudonyms, always used my real name in chat and everywhere once I grew into myself. Love my real name, it IS me.
I get that this type of blog makes that extremely unlikely, I understand the need for anonymity. But that doesn't mean I enjoy it.
I blog because I love to write. I've written ever since I can remember. I've devoured armloads of novels and I've written, written, written.
I also blog because I have these incredible, incredible sexual experiences, and each one deserves preserving, but the intensity of an experience following will often wipe most of a previous one from my brain. For a long time I would journal them, but that lacked a clearly-defined structure and I wound up with journals scattered across multiple machines, sometimes written on paper, in different programs as the whim struck me, not always dated because sometimes I forgot, thinking the program would do it for me (sometimes it did). No good. I thought of having a private blog, but then wondered where the fun would be in that? My journals were all written from my own perspective and we barely ever actually use each other's names during sex.. so why not?
The extreme isolation I feel here in this huge city away from my friends and face-to-face interactions with people not related or married to me was also a factor in blogging now, as opposed to years ago when I had a job, and both in-person and Internet friends. Now every single one of my friends is an Internet friend. The blog provides me with some of what I was missing. External voices are so very appreciated.
My blog is very very heavy on descriptions of sex. Our sex is important and beautiful to me and I want to be able to experience each occasion again, not having it wiped from memory by the next beautiful thing. It's useful for tracking progress, seeing where we've been and how far we've come. It's mostly for me, but the knowledge that someone else can enjoy it as well is rather fulfilling.
Like with a house, so few people actually understand what a relationship is built on. I love crawling around in house crawlspaces, seeing what is going on underneath, what really makes the place tick, hold together, not fall down. The framing, the plumbing, the drains and the wiring are magnificent, and sometimes terrifying. Spiders don't bother me, nor do huge ugly mole crickets. It's the beauty of the foundation.
The things that go on on my blog are the foundation, the crawlspace of my relationship, and by extension, my life.
I love, love, love looking at my stats and seeing people spending literally hours reading my blog, sucking the whole thing down in one single sitting, or several strung out across a few days. My blog! This is a thrill beyond exhibition(from which I get none), it's the joy of providing entertainment worthy of consumption. I really, really love it. So few of you actually comment, but I really appreciate the readership nonetheless. I'm talking to you, UK, Ohio, Mississippi, Wisconsin, others that were longer ago, and BlackberryTasteIc(who actually commented!). I really do love my lurkers.
I don't like that it's so important to be completely anonymous. I always scoffed at Internet anonymity in my adulthood, always felt that I needed to connect all parts of my life, to be whole. I hated the concept of pseudonyms, always used my real name in chat and everywhere once I grew into myself. Love my real name, it IS me.
I get that this type of blog makes that extremely unlikely, I understand the need for anonymity. But that doesn't mean I enjoy it.
I blog because I love to write. I've written ever since I can remember. I've devoured armloads of novels and I've written, written, written.
I also blog because I have these incredible, incredible sexual experiences, and each one deserves preserving, but the intensity of an experience following will often wipe most of a previous one from my brain. For a long time I would journal them, but that lacked a clearly-defined structure and I wound up with journals scattered across multiple machines, sometimes written on paper, in different programs as the whim struck me, not always dated because sometimes I forgot, thinking the program would do it for me (sometimes it did). No good. I thought of having a private blog, but then wondered where the fun would be in that? My journals were all written from my own perspective and we barely ever actually use each other's names during sex.. so why not?
The extreme isolation I feel here in this huge city away from my friends and face-to-face interactions with people not related or married to me was also a factor in blogging now, as opposed to years ago when I had a job, and both in-person and Internet friends. Now every single one of my friends is an Internet friend. The blog provides me with some of what I was missing. External voices are so very appreciated.
My blog is very very heavy on descriptions of sex. Our sex is important and beautiful to me and I want to be able to experience each occasion again, not having it wiped from memory by the next beautiful thing. It's useful for tracking progress, seeing where we've been and how far we've come. It's mostly for me, but the knowledge that someone else can enjoy it as well is rather fulfilling.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Spectacular
Spectacular, spectacular. No words in the vernacular
Can describe this great event
You'll be dumb with wonderment
I borrowed the words from Moulin Rouge, but they still apply.
After we retired to our bedroom for the night, I settled down in his arms. I asked him if he'd like for me to do more of the heavy lifting for our interaction per Duality's most excellent suggestion, and he turned me down cold. "That doesn't sound nearly as enjoyable." We talked a bit more, and I told him I just didn't want him to wear himself out, that I was okay with working harder.
He thanked me for my concern, reiterated that he was fine, that it wasn't necessary, then started kissing me. Long, slow, languorous kissing that was steamy hot even before his hand made its way to my throat, spread itself there, and squeezed. I made pleased noises into his mouth that got louder as his hand grew tighter, and he kept tightening it. He squeezed probably harder than he's ever done and I made my pleasure at this sensation known with my gasps of delight. "I don't touch you enough," he whispered, letting go of my throat and sliding both of his hands under my nightshirt and all over my body. I purred. He pushed the shirt up over my head and off my body, then kept stroking me heatedly, ending with his hands cupping my breasts.
Can describe this great event
You'll be dumb with wonderment
I borrowed the words from Moulin Rouge, but they still apply.
After we retired to our bedroom for the night, I settled down in his arms. I asked him if he'd like for me to do more of the heavy lifting for our interaction per Duality's most excellent suggestion, and he turned me down cold. "That doesn't sound nearly as enjoyable." We talked a bit more, and I told him I just didn't want him to wear himself out, that I was okay with working harder.
He thanked me for my concern, reiterated that he was fine, that it wasn't necessary, then started kissing me. Long, slow, languorous kissing that was steamy hot even before his hand made its way to my throat, spread itself there, and squeezed. I made pleased noises into his mouth that got louder as his hand grew tighter, and he kept tightening it. He squeezed probably harder than he's ever done and I made my pleasure at this sensation known with my gasps of delight. "I don't touch you enough," he whispered, letting go of my throat and sliding both of his hands under my nightshirt and all over my body. I purred. He pushed the shirt up over my head and off my body, then kept stroking me heatedly, ending with his hands cupping my breasts.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Perfect
He whispered into my ear as he climbed into bed behind me, wrapping his arms around me: "You know what my problem is with you?"
"Um...no?" I had no idea what he could be talking about, but was curious to hear.
"My problem with you is you're just too damn good all the time." He kissed my cheek. "You're always saying nice things to me, doing nice things for me. You just don't give me a reason to punish you." He traced a fingertip along my jaw line, ran it along my parted lips, inducing shivers all along my spine. I moaned softly and turned my head away. "I suppose I could punish you for being so fucking perfect all the time." He spread his hand out against my throat, pressing gently. "Kiss me."
"Um...no?" I had no idea what he could be talking about, but was curious to hear.
"My problem with you is you're just too damn good all the time." He kissed my cheek. "You're always saying nice things to me, doing nice things for me. You just don't give me a reason to punish you." He traced a fingertip along my jaw line, ran it along my parted lips, inducing shivers all along my spine. I moaned softly and turned my head away. "I suppose I could punish you for being so fucking perfect all the time." He spread his hand out against my throat, pressing gently. "Kiss me."
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Libidinousness
Say it with me. Feel how it rolls off the tongue.
I read this word in a post, and I have always been a fan of the word "libidinous," but to add the -ness suffix to it? Sheer brilliance! I started this post with this topic before I had any actual material to put here. Handily, life handed me some lemons, so I'll make a post with them.
I read this word in a post, and I have always been a fan of the word "libidinous," but to add the -ness suffix to it? Sheer brilliance! I started this post with this topic before I had any actual material to put here. Handily, life handed me some lemons, so I'll make a post with them.
Heat transfer
It's been getting colder here. Not as cold as at home, but cold enough to lead to a little discomfort, and his feet have always lost heat in a hurry.
He joined me in bed, warning me that his legs were cold. I snuggled up to him, placing his feet on my inner thigh and closing my other leg over them, enveloping his feet with the warmth of my body. I had been there under the blankets for 20 minutes by then, so I was very warm. I shivered with the cold on my thighs.
He almost purred with pleasure, stroking my head. "I'm a lucky man. I'm pretty sure not many wives would do this."
"I am for you." I nuzzled his chest.
"Hey.. don't I remember you saying things like 'keep those icy cold feet away from me!'?"
"Yeah. I've always been yours, but you didn't always want to take me."
"Hey now, wait a minute! I've always wanted you!"
"Of course, love... but not like this."
"I see. So if I had taken you, grabbed you, held your throat and kissed you," he stopped and did just that, tilting my head the long way up to him, "ordered you around then, you'd have done this then as well?"
"Pretty much."
Funny how he didn't ask these questions last winter when I started doing this.
Last winter, when he punished me for not warming up his side of the bed for him.
It's a shame the winter here will be so mild.
He joined me in bed, warning me that his legs were cold. I snuggled up to him, placing his feet on my inner thigh and closing my other leg over them, enveloping his feet with the warmth of my body. I had been there under the blankets for 20 minutes by then, so I was very warm. I shivered with the cold on my thighs.
He almost purred with pleasure, stroking my head. "I'm a lucky man. I'm pretty sure not many wives would do this."
"I am for you." I nuzzled his chest.
"Hey.. don't I remember you saying things like 'keep those icy cold feet away from me!'?"
"Yeah. I've always been yours, but you didn't always want to take me."
"Hey now, wait a minute! I've always wanted you!"
"Of course, love... but not like this."
"I see. So if I had taken you, grabbed you, held your throat and kissed you," he stopped and did just that, tilting my head the long way up to him, "ordered you around then, you'd have done this then as well?"
"Pretty much."
Funny how he didn't ask these questions last winter when I started doing this.
Last winter, when he punished me for not warming up his side of the bed for him.
It's a shame the winter here will be so mild.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Fantasy
I had a brief fantasy session, and I told him I had. He asked me what I was thinking while I touched myself.
I responded coyly "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Well, yes, I would." What an annoying thing it must be to hear "wouldn't you like to know?" when you've clearly just asked to be told something.
I responded coyly "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Well, yes, I would." What an annoying thing it must be to hear "wouldn't you like to know?" when you've clearly just asked to be told something.
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