please note

the coffee table is a prime candidate for impromptu bondage.

if you come over to our house, don’t worry.  i cleaned it very thoroughly.

i’ll make this quick.

up until very recently, i wasn’t convinced that i would ever want, like, or be able to handle having things up my butt.

but somewhere close to two tabs of e later, it turns out that yes, yes, and yes, anal is pretty fucking cool.

that’s all i have to say about it for now.

other news:

dishboy is gone.  i have occasional pangs of missing him, but i’m mostly at peace with the beautiful memory of all the craziness we shared.

the husband and i are…  well, it feels like we’re on the way to things being better than they ever have been.  there’s a lot of talking and work to be done.  we might be going monogamous for a while to get our heads on straight and build a strong foundation.  i have come to the conclusion that i love him so much it’s a little intimidating.

sex.

i had it.

hot, rough and breathless, high on the newness of it, only barely staying sane enough to not fuck everything up.  a string of bruised parentheses winds up my leg, my shoulders are draped in scratches now scabbing.

my husband flinches every time someone asks about the bruise and broken skin on my arm, or mentions golf.  on the plus side, we’ve been fucking again as well, and it has been hot.  our son is gone for almost three weeks, so we’re working on making it a good time.

dishboy leaves in less than a week.  i’m feeling peaceful about it, and i’m looking forward to getting not nearly enough sleep this week.  let’s go out with a bang.

it’s so important, and so easy to forget

we’ve been touching again, kissing each other and holding our bodies close.  i could have forgotten the feel of his body or the slight tremble in my hands when i run them down his bare skin.

the sex is not mind blowing, but it is close, emotionally.  we’ve been missing that, fucking like strangers because we were.  on top of him last night the turmoil of building orgasm felt everywhere, from my belly to the top of my head.  i came and collapsed into his shoulder, sobbing.

i think there’s more of that coming, and i think it will take a while.  i think i might be falling in love with him again.

big and overwhelming

wow.

there are bite marks (all the way back to the molars) on my arms and belly.

it’s so novel, being involved with someone as large and ferocious as i am.  larger, even.  he grabbed me around the ribs and flipped me over his head today, landing me just roughly enough on the grass.  i haven’t been small enough for anyone to do that for years and years.  i like it.

oh!  and i did handstands at the ocean yesterday!  an in-law was in town, renting a car, so we drove to the coast.  i’m amazed that my body let me do that.  it even felt like i was a little better at it than i used to be.  it’s probably the massive upper body strength i’ve been building up in the kitchen.  if i felt a little braver about my identity, i would post a photo here, but…  not yet, i don’t think.

another good thing recently:  i bought a beautiful journal, and i have actually written in it.  it’s still crisp and fresh, and i can’t wait until it starts smelling like grass and my hand sweat.

there is marital intensity going on right now, but i think it is good, and it’s all just sort of too huge and multi-faceted to write about coherently, so i won’t.

i do think i’m awfully clever…

i had a stroke of genius yesterday, and i’m following up on it today.

i’m painting a scarlet letter to sew to the back of my hoodie.  oh, delight!

the husband is fine with it, although he doesn’t find it nearly as hilarious as i do.  whatever.  i know precisely how awesome it is.  and so do you.

this man is wild

five years ago, i would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

he smells like a man should, like head grease and skin and something rough and untamed, a primal scream that echoes in my senses and belongs so many places outside of the walls we need here. his brain sparks in places that i know with my heart, we’ve been in the same dimensions and known the same truths. he’s rough without being asked and unafraid of equal ferocity, needing no introduction to bring me to my knees still biting.

he comes with an expiration date, which is lucky. i could get myself in big trouble very easily.

blue-eyed angel

i had this dream last night, about a boy i obsessed over for years. this crush started in elementary school, and i am very obviously not entirely over it. thankfully, it doesn’t torture me like it used to.

i’m back in my hometown, but somehow it is beautiful. the rich green pastures glow, fog like lace still hangs in the trees as the sun glowed into them. he has some unexpected occupation here – perhaps he runs a small restaurant. i see him over other people’s heads. he’s as tall as me now, perhaps a hair taller. that blond hair, those piercing blue eyes, his pursed lips still cause a shiver up my spine.

it’s possible that he invites me home to dinner, to catch up on where we’ve gone with our lives.  it’s unclear how i end up in his bed, still clothed but trembling inside.

his kisses wash over me in nerve-wracking waves of pleasure.  we’ve been waiting years for this, and it’s more perfect than any previously-treasured fantasy.  we hold our bodies just far enough apart that the electricity crackles.

things progress, as they are wont to do.

we’ve bent the rules – he dips inside me, lingers for a moment, retreats.  i know i can’t be trusted for much longer.  “i don’t have any condoms,” i say.

“neither do i.”

——-

god damn my brain.  still, it’s nice to know that my subconscious is into safer sex.  and that, in dreamland, i remember that i’ve got a husband.

and…  well, hot morning sex while his voice is all gruff is a hell of a way to top off a great dream like that.

ooh… ahh… ow…

let’s talk about diseases.

they’re not awesome.

i spent more time than i should have as a condom-phobic borderline slut. in retrospect, it was a lousy idea. at the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal, but i’m currently counting some pretty immense blessings that i didn’t wind up with any life-altering diseases. pregnancy was life altering enough, thanks.

anyways, i’m not planning on making this a big lecture or anything, but i wanted to bring it up, because it’s a bigger deal than the young and rabidly horny tend to think. if you don’t like the way condoms feel, just get over it. it’s really not that bad. if you’re sensitive to weird ingredients in lubes, try unlubricated condoms, and use a lube that works for you (i’ve had great luck with liquid silk and pink). if you’re allergic to latex, check out polyurethane condoms or the female condom (which you can insert up to 8 hours ahead of time, and doesn’t require a full-on erection for playing!). remember, the doctors say that you need 6 months of barrier-protected sex (including dams and condoms for oral, rimming, etc…) and two fully clear sti screens (make sure they’re testing you for everything) before you should seek non-barrier contraceptive methods or leave safer sex behind. i know, i know, it’s pretty unlikely that you’re going to make your new playmate slap on a dental dam. but really, it’s not all that bad. get confident with your safer-sex tools, play around and find what works for you. please don’t die of some horrible and avoidable disease. it would just be very lame of you.

in parting, please watch this amazing and incredibly beautiful and slightly gut-wrenching french hiv-awareness video (thanks boinkology!).

wet

i’ve been telling myself lately that i’m going to make a list of the oddities that arouse me.  it all started on the bus one day, as i watched a pair of practiced hands solving a rubik’s cube.  such surety, backed by some invisible knowledge, an understanding that i do not share…  my mouth watered, my heart beat, my cunt smiled.

i get the same feeling when i find myself watching figure skating, basketball, dancing.  there’s a connection to the body free of thought and full of grace that leaves me awed and breathless.  watch a barista pull a shot, slip a perfect rosetta into the foam on your latte.  it’s one of the sexiest things in the world.

i’ve felt the trance of perfect, effortless coordination.  i’ve sung in it, danced in it, biked in it, fucked in it.  it’s a glittery, ephemeral place.  i’d like something that can take me back there.

i had a long period of fairly run of the mill arousal recently, brought on by all the usual and expected things.  i have to admit, i was feeling stuck in a very vanilla rut.  but then, miracle of miracles, i saw this.  now i want to cover myself in zip ties and fishnets.  i want to get hit, to taste tears and blood.  i want that rough wrestling sex i used to know so well.  i want to take advantage of someone who isn’t afraid of hurting me.

it’s possible that i’m being a bad spouse.  i watch my husband’s coworkers and friends with something like hunger, but not quite lust.  should i be more demanding that he fulfill those parts of me that he’s afraid of?  is it better that i take it easy on him, and casually wait until someone else fills those needs?  there’s something wrathful in me that wants to be challenged, wants to love and hate and fight and fuck in some miraculous storm.  i love my gentle husband.  there is no conflict with him, and i’m mostly sure that this is the way it should be with us.  but where to find that electric, destructive passion?  when will i have the time to hunt it down?  who is it that could fix my grammar as i correct their spelling, both resenting the other’s equal superiority?  it’s an affair i have to delegate to the dream realm for now.  maybe someday i’ll be sitting on a bus and feel it again, watching something that i don’t understand, knowing there’s just as much that i do.