Sex and Marriage

Soon after marriage two little girls came along.  That can happen with a Catholic spouse who doesn’t do birth control – even when you only ‘do it’ once a month or so.  Cute and fun; the little girls have a way of becoming the focus of your attention. Happiness for me was now when they were happy, when they had friends, when their lives were right. 

My sex life was suddenly not so important which was probably a good thing because spouse was pretty set in her ways on the subject.  No trying new things, no different positions, and forget about introducing porn – which I really wanted to do.   To my surprise though, I broke through the confines of ‘pope approved’ maneuvers and past the ‘please don’ts’ and  forced my way south with an all out assault with my tongue and lips. 

She bucked like a colt; but wouldn’t ask for it again.  I would have to take charge.  Next time I included the fantasy of another girl in the action and, though not a big fan of dirty talk, she fully responded to this even joining in on the descriptions of the mysterious fantasy girl and taking the lead in our oral and phallic exploration of the imaginary buy nubile body.  She really went wild.  For maybe the first time ever, I had really hot sex.

This was a very unexpected discovery.   I needed to ponder what it all meant and where this would lead.

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Strangers in the Night

I was scared of getting arrested; scared of somehow getting caught.  On travel and staying at a hotel, I nervously picked up the phone and did it:  I called an escort service – a total of three times before I declared it to be out of my system, as if you can get pretty girls out of your system.  The first time the girl took all her clothes off and plunked down a condom.  I wasn’t going to go that far.  We talked and touched some.  She talked too much; so much that I felt sorry for her because that much talking would be tough for any guy to take.  Eventually I rubbed myself against her and came on her belly. 

 The second time the girl was young (about 20) and pretty.  She took off her shirt but not her pants which was fine with me.  Her hair was long; and her body had the firmness of a 20 year old hot girl.  We talked and touched.  I heard her story and listened to her dreams to marry a doctor.  I didn’t tell her I was married and at one point she gave a subtle hint that maybe I could have her as a girlfriend.  I wished I had thought of this way to meet girls earlier in life; I might have pursued it.  I liked her.  I wanted to take her away from this; make her happy; love her forever.  It wasn’t to be so I paid her more than she charged and missed her when she was gone.  Some come got on her pants so she took them off and wore a hotel towel home. 

 The last time was in Las Vegas.  The girl was 26 and gorgeous.  She wanted way more money than anyone should pay.  I knew I shouldn’t but she was beautiful and I didn’t want to let her go.  I wanted to have a beer with her and talk and look at her; her fake boobs were spectacular.  We held hands as we walked to the casino cashier where she knew just how to get cash from a credit card.  We talked about her son; we talked about how she lied to her parents about her job.   I showed her pictures of my two young daughters.  She gave me the idea that this was ‘entertainment’ instead of cheating.  I liked that thought and embraced it.  I couldn’t get hard as she worked me with her hand.  Probably because I was intimidated by her looks and maybe partly because I had comet by myself that morning.  I walked her to her car – a Lexus.  I didn’t feel sorry for this one; she knew how to take care of herself.  I was mad at myself for giving her as much money as I did and decided I wasn’t going to do this again.

Dreaming

I have had three recurring dreams that have continued over years.  In the first I am in college and it is near the end of the semester.  I realize that I have forgotten to attend some of the classes I signed up for.  I mean I haven’t attended any classes and now I have to do papers and take exams not to mention just finding the damn classroom – very stressful but probably fairly normal. 

 In the second dream I am being chased by a murderer.  Not in a fun sort of way but in a horror movie kind of panic where I am barely ahead of him the entire time.  This goes on for hours and I wake up to great relief.  Not quite sure how a body can rest and recharge during all this mental anguish.  I hate horror movies.  

 The third isn’t a specific dream but a dream situation in which I am dreaming but I know that I am dreaming.  Kind of like a glitch in the matrix that just has to be exploited.  So what do I do? I start looking around for a girl to jump; I literally am going to jump someone’s bones.  I don’t really care if she is under 18 and I don’t need to find out about her education or family or favorite movie.  I just look for a soft female to grab and molest before I wake up.  I never get too far – for one thing if you cum in your dream you do it in real life; and those kind of dreams only happen to teenagers.  For another thing, my awareness of the dream is slowly moving me toward consciousness.  When someone eventually invents a way to induce conscious dreams it’s going to be a real game changer.

  I was still fascinated by the whole concept of women.  But really is this what I would do absent any inhibitions, any restraint, any consequences, any shame?  Grab a girl on the street and try to dry hump her? I hope not; but there’s always daydreams – and I wondered what it would be like to call an escort service.

One Big Step

We hear how girls dream of their wedding day with the gown and church yadda yadda yadda.  Well I used to fantasize about a wedding day too.  But in my fantasy, I tolerate the planning, survive the ceremony, have fun at the reception, and race to a honeymoon where you feast on an all you can eat buffet of uninhibited sex.   I would be willing to be happy about spending $700 for stupid flowers that you barely notice if I thought I wasn’t making a mistake.  But I did.  In the movies, it’s usually the girl that’s marrying the wrong guy and they get rescued by Dustin Hoffman (The Graduate) or Leonardo DiCaprio (Titanic). This wasn’t the movies and a leading lady like a Kate Beckinsale wasn’t going to show up and change everything.    

 Any socially unacceptable feelings needed to be buried – deep.  Nobody could ever know that I still noticed girls – in particular a certain centrally located section of the female body.  I know; what’s the big deal, you can see them at Mardi gras (I‘ve never been); you can see 50% of them at the neighborhood pool.  And if you are lucky enough to see any, you should be able to burn that memory into your minds storage.  You can’t. It’s not like seeing the Grand Canyon where you look for a couple minutes and that’s enough – you’ve seen it, time to move on.  No.  Somewhere in the genius of evolution it became advantageous to passing on one’s DNA if there was no storage capacity in the brain for such an image.    In reality, it doesn’t matter how much milk a girl can produce for offspring – that’s so 5000 years ago.  But this kind of logic doesn’t satisfy the curiosity aroused by the near perfect convexity pushing on an article of clothing. Yes, the recurring desire to see breasts is completely illogical and women don’t even understand it (at-least according to Julia Roberts in Notting Hill).  Though they may not understand, it is apparent that women have figured out there is some sort of a correlation between this part of the female body and attention from men.  I read a book that theorized that a long time ago women thought it was just their shirts that were attracting the attention and this led to an erroneous emphasis on fashion that has yet to be eradicated.  Okay, I made that part up.

 On the surface I don’t seem much different than anyone else; but now, below the surface, I was residing in the shallow end of the pool.  Living your life short of complete honesty is a slippery slope.  If given the chance to do it again, the path would be clear.  Being yourself, even if you’re rotten, would at least be a life without regrets.  People understand someone having quirks or even fetishes if that’s who they are.    But I was getting married now.  Would I grow up and act like an adult or would I melt down.  I didn’t really know.    

 

 

7 Ways I’m Like George Costanza

This is not something I’m proud of:

  1. The whole Susan thing (except for the poison wedding invitations)
  2. Sexy hands.  I really think I could be a hand model.
  3. Once pretended to be an Architect (long story)
  4. If you compressed my life into two weeks, it would look pretty good.
  5. Pool shrinkage (doesn’t everyone?)
  6. He couldn’t win a ‘contest’ (remember, he cheated)
  7. Pretzels make me thirsty

Girlfriend

It took a while for me to relax, and girlfriend was patient with me. Eventually we settled into a nice and active sexual relationship.  I would later wonder why her.  In the previous couple years, I had gotten to first base with a few girls and one or two of them might have been sexier than girlfriend.  As George Costanza said – “if you compress my whole life into two weeks it looks pretty good”.   Why had I backed off pursuing something in one of those opportunities?  Why did I not back off here?  I think my subconscious considers how a girl will be received by my family.  This shouldn’t matter, but I knew after a lifetime of bringing exactly no-one home that I couldn’t roll out just anyone. 

Going home with me would be like walking into an episode of the Gilmore Girls with Loralei and Rory .  Not just anyone could handle the fast paced witty banter of my over-educated relatives.  I needed someone who could handle that environment.  Someone who could carry my weight when the conservation turned to 17th century Art History so I could slip out and go get a beer.  Evidently this quality carried some weight in my subconscious mind over my conscious desire to find a hot girl at the trailer park and cover her nubile body entirely in whipped cream and unleash my oral fixation by licking every bit off.   

 So now I showed up places with girlfriend.   At my social pinnacle, a friend and co-worker threw a party that consisted of reserving an entire bar.  I showed up there with girlfriend nice and late.  Walking into a crowded bar with a girl where I knew literally everybody in the bar and they all wanted to talk to me and I wanted to talk to them.  The new dynamic was nice, but I noticed that it also lacked the chance for being struck by lightning.  Exactly twice in my life, when standing around with buddies holding a drink and wishing I could meet someone, a young pretty girl asked me to dance for whatever reason – I certainly wasn’t the best looking, maybe I looked least threatening, I don’t know.  A small but electrifying gesture on their part that I would not forget. Of course lightning strikes are unbelievably rare but when it does it feels really good to be energized like that.  The weather was always sunny and nice now.  Very nice.  I noticed.

 

Just a Smile

What is love?  We are told that it develops over time.  I feel like I’m completely capable of that but I haven’t gotten there so I don’t know for sure.  I happen to believe that infatuation attractions are the most powerful.  We just play them down because they are usually associated with teenagers.  I have probably fallen in love thousands of times including with girls I haven’t met.  In high school I would have given anything to marry Michelle Pfeiffer and I certainly never met her; and even once I totally fell for a girl I hadn’t ever seen or corresponded with – kind of an extreme Sleepless in Seattle thing.  It really doesn’t take much to observe enough of people to get a sense of them.  And when you really are drawn to what you see, everything about them becomes perfect; their hobbies, mannerisms, everything.  And when I would fall in love with someone I barely knew, life of course, would become miserable.  Love, for me, was always the end of all happiness.  I couldn’t think of anything else; I couldn’t enjoy anything. 

 So I would plan stakeouts just to see and cross paths with the object of my obsession for a few fleeting seconds. I would pre-plan witty conversation that in reality ended up consisting of a single forced syllable – “Hi”.  My reward would be a warm smile and a “hello”.  It wasn’t much but it was worth it.  I became so desperate to tell the object of my desire how wonderful she is I took to sending anonymous letters or cards.  Sappy stuff, like cards with messages written by some card author with three names.  Once, my anonymous card recipient started dating a guy I knew who was well below her stature in the dating world but he was well known to openly pine for her.  I later realized she assumed the anonymous note was from him.  Uggh.

 At work, walking to lunch one day in the mid 1990’s, I passed a girl walking the opposite way on the sidewalk.  She had long brown hair and a chiseled face.  Unexpectedly, she looked me in the eye, tilted her head, and smiled so warmly and broadly it electrified my nervous system and pulsed adrenaline from my glands.  My heart literally stopped, then raced.  A smile – a seemingly simple gesture on the surface but in reality an awesome power possessed by  women of child-bearing age that they aren’t even aware they have.  She worked on another floor and I was once again infatuated.  Later, in my usual desperation, I would break down and send a note – toned down, but signed.  At the age of 26, I had a real girlfriend for the first time.

Reality and Fantasy

I really really like girls.  I never admit that in real life, but even though I try not to look in a noticeable way, I am fascinated by the curvature of a girls shirt.  Okay – I’m shallow, but I really don’t even remember what a breast looks like.  I know I’ve seen a couple when I was single but the image doesn’t stay with you.  I’m married and my wife is one person out of a billion and doesn’t have breasts. Surprise – we’re not allowed to watch porn either.  She is religious and you can be sure nothing is going to happen in our house that the pope wouldn’t approve of. 

 It’s a long story but when we were dating, she took the time to work past my anxiety and I became pretty good at sex (I think).  Though I realized the performance thing would have to start over with each girl because one weekend she went to Disneyworld with some others I went drinking with and spent the night with a girl I knew.  She had huge breasts but the nipples were very wide and they didn’t look that great.  Anyway, I was nervous again in bed.  I later broke up with the girl and of course soon realized my prospects were limited.  I freaked out when the only girl that seemed interested starting sounding me out to make sure I WAS a racist.  I begged for the girl back and though was very unsure during the engagement, I just couldn’t do that to her.  After we were married I worked up the courage to float the idea of breast work to her.  Oh boy – not happening! 

 I don’t think she even noticed when her sister went through a horrible divorce, got a boob job and then landed a fantastic guy for life.  She’s got a blind spot there.  The fact is though, girl would be out of my league if she had that done.  She just wants to be loved.  I should try harder.

The One

“Four ball in the side pocket” I called.  It was after work beers with a few coworkers.  A Friday regular occurrence that had morphed into regular outings with games of pool into the evening hours.  Though facing the other direction, I sensed immediately Anna’s presence at the front door.  I have heard devout catholics say they could sense the Pope entering a room without seeing it.  This must have been similar.  Whether a magnetism rippled through the air ahead of her or the awareness of a few guys heads suddenly and subtly turning their attention in her direction, I don’t know.  But the effect was unmistakable; her presence was unmistakable.  

 She was becoming a regular, usually with her medical student boyfriend but this time she was alone.  She joined us and fit in with our billiards games quite nicely.  The place was popular and there was ample competition for the pool tables.  Challenge games of doubles with winner stays on.  Now, as a couple times before, she teamed with me.  Also, now as before, I would play in a zone sinking winning shots and sinking better opponents.  The connection was as real as it was unlikely.  She, a tall striking nurse with chestnut brown hair that hung nearly to her waist – she turned heads in her wake; me, an inexperienced, habitually lovesick non-‘player’ who was excitedly being thrust into the big leagues.  She was direct.  I was scared but more excited than I had ever been. 

It should have been clear that it was time for her to choose a mate for life and she was not sure about doctor boy.  Sitting with her sipping drinks as the band played into the night, she told me she wanted to see me.  Me?  The doctor boy would be out of town.  I was used to spending every waking moment obsessed with an overwhelming crush, but there was never any hope of more, until now.  The infatuation  hormones that made these lovesick feelings the end of all happiness had been turned 180 degrees.  It was an adrenaline rush that didn’t end.  Life, for the present, was unbelievably good. 

On the first date I was to cook dinner.  A pot roast with carrots and potatoes.  I got instruction from my mother though I didn’t tell her why I was taking on such a culinary challenge for a bachelor.  I don’t talk about personal stuff with family members.  It was a fine effort all in all; of course as I served dinner she informed me she was a vegetarian – oops.  It didn’t matter too much though; I sure did enjoy the making out on my couch.  I couldn’t get enough of kissing a girl this stunning and really didn’t need things to progress much more than this. 

I still struggled with acne flareups, didn’t have great teeth, and had a thinning spot on the back of my head.  I didn’t even know this until she pointed it out.  I was too dense to realize that her noticing stuff  this, along with her periodically asking “ what are you thinking?” were signs that she was exploring the idea of life with me long term.  She was 25 and ready to put her life on a path.. 

We later had dinner at her apartment.  Pasta and asparagus – yum.  We were going to go out but instead stayed at her place.  Lots of long kisses.  At the end of the evening she invited me to stay “no funny business” she added.  Lots of making out and rolling around and the irrepressible question “what are you thinking’.  I needed to open.  I needed to take charge.  I could do none of it.  I became ‘soft’ after a while which made any thought of taking the plunge out of the question.  I didn’t understand how I could ever be this way rolling around with the most beautiful girl in the world.  Me – who day dreamed 20 hours a day about such an opportunity, me – who could jack off five times before noon on a Saturday.  But this got into my head and my fate was sealed.  Nervousness trumpts all sexual desire – who would have thought.  I feared, and with good reason, that this would be in my head for any future opportunities.  I even started to notice minor performance anxieties like being unable to pee if someone is at the urinal next to you such that the lack of the sound of a stream hitting porcelain was a giveaway for lack of performance. I thought there was a medical condition for everything but I had to give my problem it’s own name.  I had cockfright and this was going to weigh on me heavily.

She didn’t completely give up on me yet.  A couple of more uneventful dates including going to see CATS which I slept through.  At the end of this her doctor boy roommate worked a little stakeout of his own and confronted us car to car driving down the road.  I was totally wimpy and blah blah blah next thing I heard they were engaged.  I guess he started looking pretty good to her after I showed her enough weakness.  I would be doomed to spend many months hopelessly lovesick and feeling sorry for myself.  I never would have had to look at another girl again – I almost had it all.  I was so desperate I even wrote her a love letter and left it on her windshield after she was married. I let the ‘one’ get away.

Caught!

It was my third year living in the dorms.  Same roommate all three years.  Danny was unusual in our dorm in that he attracted girls; even more than he wanted.  A jew with a chiseled face, deep blue eyes and wavy dark brown hair on an athletic six foot frame.  With these credentials he easily could have joined any fraternity but he had his reasons for slow playing college in the dorm with our sub-fratworthy crowd. 

 He would go do things with his family or high school friends and always return later than expected.  One evening, he was out and I was watching a rerun of Charlie’s Angels.  The old ones with Cheryl Ladd.  Now if you’ve seen the twenty something Cheryl Ladd you would remember –  probably the prettiest and hottest girl ever on TV.  The tension was unbearable and not from the plot.  So afterward I laid down on my bottom bunk and relieved the tremendous pressure that built inside me from seeing her bulging shirt, her gorgeous face, and her hips that scream on some sort of evolutionary level ‘mate with me and I will bear perfect children’.  I dozed off after a powerful orgasm.  Sperm that probably thought they were going to swim in Cheryl Ladds sweet fluids leading to eternal life of genetic greatness but instead died on a towel in a dorm room with so many other zillions of wasted half-lives.   It’s okay though, the door was locked. 

 Not ok!  Danny for once got back early.  Not only that but he executed a world record key in the door maneuver with no missed fumbling attempts and a kick open of the door all in one motion.  I woke up quick, and scrambled to the closet and hoped maybe I somehow escaped unseen.  It’s probably okay and even exciting if a girl got caught doing this but a guy – expecially a guy who clearly doesn’t experience the real thing – not okay.  My hopes that he overlooked anything didn’t last long because he never entered the room after this without considerable loud talking to himself and atleat 30 seconds of fumbling with his keys.  I had learned my lesson – what kind of jerkoff did he think I was?