Getting a Bit Anal

My first review for Eden Fantasys was on an anal vibrator, and marks my first serious solo foray into my ass.

You can read the original review here, on the Spectra Gel Beaded Anal Vibrator (at my Better With Smoke blog), then link to a bonus “From the Toy Chest” follow-up review at the end of it.

If you already read the main review at Better With Smoke, you can get straight to the “From the Toy Chest” follow-up review by going here.

 

Not Your Mother’s Vibrator…

…or maybe it is, if she’s still actively pleasuring herself and keeping up to date.

While I continue to await the arrival of my first item to review for Eden Fantasys (said review to appear primarily at my Better With Smoke blog and with a follow-up review here, most likely), I wanted to let you know about a contest to win some really cool-looking vibes from Zini over at Eden Fantasys.

These things look fantastic and I’m hoping to win one myself in the hopes I can try it out on SepiaQueen or watch her try it out on herself.

Anyway, you can click here to check out the contest or simply copy-paste the following URL into your browser: http://www.edencafe.com/contest/zini-giveaway/

 

Checking Out the “Swing Set”

On some level I have always know who and what I am yet it’s taken almost 20 years to actually speak those words aloud not only to myself but to my partner. I knew after my first threesome that I wanted more yet my social conditioning made me feel shame at wanting something that others deems unacceptable. It didn’t help that after what, to this day, is up there with one of my all-time favorite sexual experiences—my then-husband looked at me after the fact like I was a two-headed freak of nature and accused me of all sorts of things which at a later date I will cover, probably in my “SepiaQueen’s Journey to Freakdom” series.

Yet the truth of who I am had been slowly rising to the surface and causing deep ripples of unhappiness in me. So much so that a couple of months ago I told Smokedawg, aka my life partner and husband, that maybe we should split up. Oh, I knew he was a kinky bastard yet I also knew deep down he was a “good” boy and while we had always maintained a policy that if one of us ever had an “oops” and slept with someone else it would not be the end of our marriage as long as we were honest about it. For Smokedawg, he had always been willing to concede that what I need sexually might be to frankly get the shit fucked out of me by someone else on an every-now-and-then basis. But the fact is despite the fact we said those words, in almost 14 years of marriage I never felt as if I could really act on those feelings. After all often when he said this, his voice hardened and there was a sense of “don’t push me,” so I never brought it up until…

Last month after a night of relaxing over a bottle of wine, I can’t remember how I brought it up but I posed the idea of us having sex with others as a couple. In other words: Swinging. Mind you, this came on the heels of us just trying to figure out what it was that was making me want to end our marriage. I am not sure why I felt I could bring this up at that time but I knew we were in a better place than we had been and besides when sipping a relaxing glass of Merlot I figured worse case he would say “no,” I would laugh and blame it on the wine.

Imagine my surprise when he said “why not?” I will spare you all the chatter but I will say that once it was clear I had the green light for us to explore immediately I went into research mode and found sites that catered to swingers. I also quickly discovered that they felt a tad skeevy but I learned there were so-called lifestyle events, more like private parties that catered to folks interested in swinging. You have no idea how happy and surprised I was to discover one monthly event that was only 30 minutes from our little city. It was 3.5 weeks until the next event and I immediately filled out the application to attend, paid and we received confirmation.

Boy oh boy, we were going to actually do this! All month we were thinking about this, feeling giddy about taking this step; however, in true research mode I had already moved on from swinging to thinking maybe that was a tad much and that maybe we should look into polyamrory, since after many late night talks we both admitted that the idea of having sex with people we didn’t know might be strange. Furthermore we wanted deeper connections and while our love and family is solid we are also open to loving others.

Goodness all this research was making my mind weary and the closer we got to event night I started feeling unsettled, asking myself “are we really going to do this?” In fact Saturday came and I was still wondering if perhaps we should just take advantage of having a sitter and go see a movie rather than check out this party. In the end curiosity got the better of me and we ended up going. On the drive there my heart was beating, the actual event was being held at an inn that was made available to the group for the night, it was in a classy town. Yet the closer we got to the event, I almost felt like I was about to puke my guts up. Oh boy!

Well we parked the car, and walked in and on first glance it was seemingly very normal. Immediately we were greeted by a very young and attractive couple who were the organizers. I can assure you in a line-up if someone asked you to pick out the swingers these two would really be least likely to be considered. After a few minutes of talking they explained things were running a little behind due to a scheduling snafu with the inn but showed us to the food (my heaven, even the food was normal) and then showed us to the hospitality room upstairs. Uh? Hospitality room upstairs and “oh shit what have I gotten myself into?” ran through my head.

Turns out yes the hospitality room is where action can and did happen later in the evening but when we entered there were simply other couples chatting like ole friends, some getting dressed or shall I say partially undressed (it was a stripper theme that night, and a couple women were wearing next to nothing and putting on pasties) and they were all looking really normal. We were introduced to the group and immediately we received a warm welcome and almost instantly most of my nervousness went away. Again these people looked really normal I am talking like professors and nurses—not a soul looked like an aging porn start from the 70’s, which is what I thought we might encounter.

After about 20 minutes of small talk, the event officially begins and  imagine my surprise when a half hour into the festivities, I go to grab a snack and run into an acquaintance of mine: a very professional, very educated person I have known almost 5 years now. Our eyes lock and I immediately went into “oh shit” mode! We continued the eye lock and just eventually laughed and greeted each other, turns out he and his girlfriend have been in the lifestyle a while, and Smokedawg and I end up spending a fair amount of time hanging out with them. Turns out knowing someone who knows the ropes is useful.

As the night progressed both Smokedawg and I relaxed, we chatted with many people eventually danced with others, which for Smokedawg—who has two left feet—is a big deal. Granted, this was more bumping and grinding so he managed well. We even met another person we didn’t know but with whom I share a friend in common…good gravy this world is small! Granted it was also her first time and she continued to look nervous all night.

While we did not have any sexual contact with others we considered the night a success. I actually got on the stripper poll and danced with another gal. Mind you I stayed fully clothed but Smokedawg told me it was still sexy as hell. I even snagged a dance towards the end of the night with the uber-sexy DJ who very gently guided me to massage his chest…all the while Smokedawg watched on and I watched him to make sure he was cool. As he told me, yes he was very cool watching me with the DJ, actually made him a tad warm.

In the end, we went to a party where yes some people were scantily clad, and yes some people had sex (oh we did peek in on that….can you say hawt! Five people when we went in: a couple going at it on one end of the bed and a man and two women licking and fingering each other on the other end of it.) but we drank, talked, flirted with others and went home to some hot sex the following morning between us. We are pretty sure we will be back again, if nothing else such an event served to warm us up even without others involved with us in the sexy action.

 

Best Foot Forward? Maybe Not…

So, I had one of those awkward “firsts” on Friday: My first date.

That is,my first date…since being married…with someone other than my wife, SepiaQueen.

Admittedly, the awkwardness was mostly on my part. SepiaQueen was pretty excited that I was going to be seeing someone so soon into this polyamory lifestyle change, even if it was only for coffee. I myself, having not exactly been Mr. Suave when I was previously in the dating world, was more unsettled.

Still, I have more confidence in my early 40s than I ever did in my 20s (or teens, for that matter), and more flair and panache (a hipper style of nerd), so I wasn’t going in anxiety-ridden. As it turns out, though, I had reason to expect some awkwardness, though it really wasn’t from my end.

That was a surprise.

And more than that, it was a lesson in putting one’s best foot forward, so I have a few suggestions to make…

Please Gild the Lily

Look, I don’t expect a woman to get all dolled up for a first meeting over coffee. Nor a man to get all decked out in his finery and manscape himself all to hell. However, a little primping is in order, particularly if you aren’t some natural stunner and have looked at my wife’s profile on OK Cupid after messaging me for a while and know that she is pretty attractive. I mean, seriously, if I have a really cute wife at home, simply being polyamorous doesn’t mean I’m looking for any and every available person to have a fling with.

I put on some nice clothes, I paid special attention to extra oral hygiene, and I shaved and trimmed my visible parts. While you weren’t dressed frumpily, you could have put on something that says just a tad more “I’m interested in making a positive first impression” or perhaps put on just a smidge of makeup…maybe some lipgloss or just a hint of eyeliner or something?

And the scab right under your nose? And the slightly less fresh one on the other side of your face just a bit lower? And the almost healed one on your chin? Not the most appealing things to be faced with over more than an hour of talking. Not awful, but certainly distracting, and it makes me wonder…

…Which brings me to my next tip.

Acknowledge and Defuse

Shortly after we sat down, I said, “If I appear to be winking at you salaciously, don’t fret too much about it. I’ve had an eye twitch all day thanks to too little sleep last night and too much caffeine today to compensate. Actually, come to think of it, I not only failed to master winking as a boy but also wolf whistles and spitting, so my testosterone card will probably be taken away eventually.”

It lightened the mood and help head off any questions about why my eye might be doing crazy things in your direction and also gave you a little quick insight into what kind of guy I am.

And this brings me back to those scabs…

I understand that things happen. You may not always have scabs on your face, and I’m trying to remember that. But surely you noticed them in the mirror that morning? Perhaps saying, “I’m going through puberty again lately, but I’m sure it won’t last. So disregard the remains of my zits.” or “My son has been playing a bit rough in protesting bedtime lately, so I apologize for the fact my face is still healing a bit.”

I’m not a really judgmental or superficial person. Really, SepiaQueen can tell you that many times, I’m way more generous in how I’ll rank women (when pressed to do so) than she is. But I’m just saying that if I had that many marks on my face and I was going out on a first date, I’d be buying a little bit of concealer from the makeup aisle at Target, even if I am a guy.

Talking Is Good, But…

I like a date who talks. I really do. I’m great at listening. I’m also better in conversation if I have something I can play off or, respond to or be inspired by than I am if I have to carry the conversation. But sometimes, it’s better to zip the lips than to keep talking. Now, in many ways, you did great on the date. I noticed that while you mentioned your young son on several occasions, you never mentioned him by name (I still only know your first name, so you gets high points for discretion). Likewise, I never mentioned my daughter’s name.

I also made a point of not bringing up my wife much, and never mentioned her by name either at those times I did mention her. Now, this isn’t about hiding anything. For God’s sake, we mentioned our kids during the date. You know I’m married and that my wife knows I’m on a date. But still, I figure it’s not great form for me to bring up my wife a lot. This meeting is presumably about getting to the point of figuring out if there is any potential for spark between us, not talking about my marriage and your boyfriend (and father of your child).

And yet I now not only know his name, since you used it so often, but I know probably about half as much about him now as I do about you. The fact I know he exists is mostly enough, particularly since you’ve mentioned that he’s not thrilled with you seeing other people, even though he also doesn’t seem thrilled in trying to work on what’s wrong in your relationship (not that you seem entirely clear about what’s missing, either, except for better sex, which is a red flag for me already; SepiaQueen and I have been really thorough in figuring out what we needed before we started looking for other people to get involved with).

But now I know that you and he met because he was the guy you bought pot from. And that he has no real sense of ambition and a job delivering stuff at night for cash under the table. And the fact that he seems to be way more vanilla than you in the bedroom even though part of the reason you guys hooked up is because of the wild sex you had. And the fact that he’s proposed to you three times even though neither of you believes in marriage. And the fact that when he’s alone in the house, he smokes everywhere in it even though you keep your own smoking outside for the sake of your son. And the fact he caught you having flirty and sexy text-chats with a guy in England you have a crush on and who likes women to beat him up, which is something you’d have no problem doing and which makes your boyfriend cringe, as well as making him worry you’ll fly across the Atlantic to be with that guy. And…

*Phew* Enough of that. I’ve made my point.

I’m not even sure I want to date you or have sex with you yet, so please let’s leave out the most arousal-killing thing possible: Mention of the fact you remain attached to someone who’s not down with what you’re doing and whom you seem to lack the gumption to just kick out and have visit your son from time to time. It doesn’t make me feel good about possibly dating you.

Harsh of me? Maybe. But I’m kind of the opinion after getting way too much info about your relationship that you either need to fix what you have or end the relationship. I get that he’s your best friend…my wife is mine, too…but if our relationship were as full of gaping sexual, emotional and ambition disconnects as yours, I would probably seek freedom rather than polyamory.

Conclusion

I think you’re cool. You got my reference to the movie “American Beauty” and you like a lot of the same shit I do in terms of film and television, or at least have complementary tastes. If we worked in the same office together, I’d probably have lunch with you pretty often. I’d probably hang with you outside of work at times. You’ve got an interesting life and you’re a talker. You’re literate and have some sense of culture. You like real coffee drinks and espresso joints. You have some kinky sexual proclivities.

But I kind of feel like you brought a lot of your personal life into our first meeting and not much of your charming and wooing potential. Which is pretty much the exact opposite of what a first meeting is supposed to be about. Sure, I want to know who you are, and I want to know about your life. Knowing you had sex with your boyfriend in the back of a car and got caught by the police, and knowing that your mother feared you might be a bit of a slut when you still lived at home…well, they’re a little heavy I think for a first-time meeting.

On the one hand, I feel like I should give you a second chance, in case you were just so thrilled to have a day off and a couple days of no kid around that you forgot you were trying to hook up with a married kinky guy apparently. On the other hand, this whole polyamory and kink exploration thing is making for very hot sex with my wife for nearly a month now (meaning I’m not frustrated) and my schedule probably isn’t going to mesh very often with yours anyway.

Plus, I just went to a swinging event and discovered that far from being an orgy scene, it is a great way to meet open-relationship-minded (or even potential polyamorous) people and make connections that could be friendships or more down the road. And at least I know the women there have guys who are OK with them being out with another guy, because said husbands, boyfriends, etc. are standing right there encouraging me to dance with their ladies and/or chat them up.

Yeah, that last paragraph was a tease for all of you folks reading this post. But I won’t be telling you about that little escapade that SepiaQueen and I embarked on, because she’s called dibs on telling that story. You’ll just have to stay tuned. (UPDATE: My wife’s post on our first experience around swingers is here)

 

This So Fucking ISN’T a Quick Fix

As will probably become clear as my wife SepiaQueen and I come back to the subject of polyamory (frequently, no doubt), before we embarked upon the path, we were having some marital troubles.

No one had cheated. No one was hiring divorce attorneys. No one was physically or psychologically abusing anyone. No one had gambled away the family bank account. No one was horribly disfigured and unable to meet marital obligations. No one had been abducted by aliens and returned with a whole new personality. Neither of our soap opera “evil twins” had shown up, locked their look-a-like in a small cabin and began mayhem by pretending to be the real spouse. Neither one of us had become a right-wing idealogue with love for the Tea Party and a newfound respect for Sarah Palin (*shudder*).

Plain and simple, things had simply gotten in a rut, both sexually and emotionally.

More accurately, my wife felt like she was in a rut in our marriage, and thus our marriage was possibly doomed. It’s true. Mostly, the stresses and worrying were from her side of the equation, and it was her dissatisfaction that was doing most of the job of running our marriage into a ditch. Now, this doesn’t let me off the hook. I’ll cop to my own failure and sins in a moment.

We did have sex on a semi-regular basis. Actual penetration was hit-or-miss…maybe once a week sometimes and once a month (or longer) at others, but we did manage oral with decent regularity. We certainly talked and listened to one another and had plenty of love. But in the end, my wife felt like we had become friends with benefits and wondered where the passion was.

As I pointed out, you can’t maintain fiery passion over an entire marriage. That’s too hard, and we’ve been married more than a dozen years. But while she understood that intellectually, it didn’t help one bit, and she actually did consider whether it might be time for us to split up.

Fortunately for me, my wife (like me) is a person with a significant lazy streak (though good work ethics…go figure) and an even bigger practical streak. Breaking up would have been bad business, and so she stuck around. Which is good, because it allowed us to finally figure out what was wrong in our marriage.

I don’t even remember exactly how the conversation started (even though it was only a couple weeks ago as I write this). But my wife made it clear that while she loved me, and we were more than just friends, there was something lacking in our relationship. I met most of her needs, but not all of them, and those unmet needs had been unmet so long that they had become a serious impediment to us staying together.

She proposed polyamory. Or, as some call it, ethical non-monogamy or consensual non-monogamy. She needed someone…quite possibly a woman (not necessarily to be shared with me) or maybe a man…maybe even both. That person didn’t need to live with us, but she needed to be able to have a real relationship with that person (or people). Something far more than a fling but clearly secondary to our marriage and parenting of our kids.

I took it pretty well. It’s a bit of a blur, so I’m sure I had some confusion and reluctance at first, but I saw the logic of it.

I also saw where I had gone wrong, and this is where I cop to my own sins. While I may not have been in any way a source of being dissatisfied with our marriage and our life, I had been responsible for the build-up of regrets and denials my wife had been forced to endure and which made her think, erroneously, that there was something wrong between us (when in fact the problem was that we need more between us…namely, more people).

Well into our dating lives, and shortly before I proposed to SepiaQueen, a man entered her life. She was powerfully attracted to him, but didn’t want to throw me over (or refuse my offer of marriage) for him. He was intellectual (I’m no slouch, but he’s an academician, and thus brainier, I’ll admit) and they had a powerful sexual tension between them. But I was stable and SepiaQueen loved me, and so she chose between us, declaring me the winner.

I was not ignorant of this man’s existence; my wife is a very honest person. It was clear to me that she felt strongly toward him, and at one point during an argument with her, I confronted her with it. I told her that she may love me, but that she was IN love with him (whatever that means…I think there’s a distinction, but maybe not as important of one as I originally thought). Eventually, in trying to work through it, I told SepiaQueen that if she had to get an itch scratched, with him or someone else, she could do so. But make it short-term, come back to me, and don’t fuck the guy in our own bed.

While I hadn’t denied my wife the ability to step out, I had marked territory nonetheless. And while we all do that, and there are good reasons to create boundaries, I had failed to understand something.

My wife didn’t need flings.

She needed something complementary but secondary to me.

Over the years, when troubles came up in the marriage, there would be times I would reiterate that if she needed to step out on me briefly with another guy (or woman), I wasn’t going to be mad. But she never acted on that. Again, I failed to understand what she needed. In fact, we both did.

It wasn’t until recently that SepiaQueen started learning about polyamory and the ways in which it sharply deviates from things like bigamy, adultery and old-school Mormon-style plural marriages with one guy having several wives (but never one woman several husbands). That was when she finally had words to express what she needed.

I understood this time (thank God) and I supported her. But what I didn’t expect was to embrace polyamory myself. I could understand and allow her to pursue that lifestyle, but it was only after a couple days of hashing out the preliminaries of what polyamory might look like in our lives (and what implications it might hold for our life together) that I understood I need it, too.

In a different way, but still, we both began to see two things. One, it would be unfair to allow her to be polyamorous and not me as well. Two, were I to also embrace such a lifestyle for myself, it would help me get my unmet needs satisfied as well as take pressure off SepiaQueen.

While she needed primarily an emotional and sexual relationship secondary to ours, I needed an outlet for my kinkier side, and less so for the emotional needs. That is, we realized that if I found someone who embraced my kinks and fetishes, that would mean less pressure on SepiaQueen to engage in activities that she wasn’t really into. She was willing to do them, but they weren’t natural to her, and that added pressure in our sex life at times.

In the process of that realization, it went farther. SepiaQueen began to realize she was kinkier than she thought (and we’ve tried out some interesting things as a result of that) and I realized I might need more of an emotional connection than I thought aside from her, perhaps something that satisfied some of my geekier aspects to which she doesn’t relate well.

In short, needs that both of us had, neither of us had been able to define before, and for which the only practical solution is polyamory.

So, while it might seem to many on the outside to be a “quick fix” act of desperation to save our marriage, it isn’t.

No, to be more precise, it’s like we’ve been living with a disease that no doctor could quite diagnose. Once there was an accurate diagnosis, we finally knew what kind of treatment to pursue for a cure to this condition that keeps cropping up from time to time (like a really bad STD) and was gradually killing us.

Now we can get on the road to better marital health, and once again be “until death do us part” (except that it might not just be the two of us making that commitment anymore)

 

Together in Smoke

This is actually a repost of a true story I wrote at my Better With Smoke blog (where I mostly write fetish fiction that involves smoking, while also commenting on my own smoking fetish journeys and thoughts). While the story deals with my smoking fetish and a particularly notable episode in which I was able to involve my wife in that fetish, I think there is plenty here that’s sexy even for people ambivalent about the idea of smoking.
_______________________________________________

For a couple of days, my wife had been suffering from a combination of cold and allergy symptoms, and it’s hard to tell which one has been kicking her butt at any given time or when both are. In the end, it’s meant that while my wife has expressed a desire for my penis inside her, she hasn’t felt up to going a full round of sex.

Finally, tonight, she’s feeling like some companionship as she drifts off to sleep, with a dose of NyQuil in her to give her a full night of rest, so she summons me out of my office with a text message to my new cell phone (an early birthday gift) saying, “Cuddle me.”

I can’t say “No” to that, and wouldn’t anyway, unless I had a serious problem to deal with work-wise. As it is, I’m just killing time and enjoying some online time. So I head in, and cuddle her. It doesn’t take long for her to guide my hand between her legs, and I tickle at her there and rub lightly, occasionally sucking on her earlobe of kissing just behind it gently.

I figure that is all just light play, and won’t go anywhere. Probably just a little something to relax her, or maybe to lead to me giving her my “sleep aid” (un-reciprocated oral sex to her to get her zonked out).

Before long, she removes her pajama bottoms and panties, and I figure soon my tongue will be there, but I continue to rub her, and let my finger linger a bit at the entrance to her sex, rubbing but not penetrating, and I continue to nuzzle and kiss and lick her ear and neck.

“Too bad you don’t have more energy,” I say.

“Stop talking and keep touching me,” she whispers.

She’s touching me now, too, and she offers a nipple for me to suck for a while, and then suddenly, she turns over and pushes her ass into the air. It’s not what I was expecting, but I’m not complaining either, and I press my cock against her ass, sliding up and down between her cheeks, dribbling a little spit there to lubricate things, and earning a gentle sigh for my intimate massage.

After a little while, I replace my cock with my tongue. Her hole is welcoming, more relaxed and open than usual, and I take advantage of that to rim her furiously and wetly, while my fingers began to toy with her pussy, which is also very open, already quite damp, and eager for penetration.

I’m reminded how much I love this activity, as I relish the tastes and smells of her and enjoy her moans.

After a while, she pauses and says, quietly, “I wish I had the energy to take this downstairs so you could bring the cigarettes into this.”

I pause, hardly believing she’s saying this, and I answer, “If I didn’t think it would break the mood, I’d go run downstairs and grab them right now.”

She doesn’t even hesitate as she answers, “Would you be willing to?”

She almost never allows smoke in the bedroom, and I’m not about to pass up a gift like that, so I have no hesitation either, as I say, “Why the hell not?” and head down the stairs as quickly and quietly as I can. It takes me less than a minute to collect a pack of B&H ultra lights, a lighter and an ashtray, and I sprint back upstairs, where my wife is cracking open a window.

I set everything down onto the mattress and she pushes her ass into the air again and says, huskily, “Don’t burn our house down, now.”

As I rub one of her butt cheeks lovingly, I extract and light a cigarette, and exhale generally in her direction as I scootch everything just a little closer, and lick her cheeks and in between them. I inhale deeply, and blow smoke across her full and firm ass.

“Mmmmmm,” she says, hips gyrating a little and settles her face more firmly against the pillow, pressing her ass just a little higher.

I blow smoke across her skin again, and lick her gently but firmly, my right hand playing at her labia.

She moans softly. I inhale smoke and blow it between her legs, covering both her ass and pussy, and she says, quietly, “I like that.”

I continue to taste and tease her with my lips and tongue, leaving the smoke aside for a short while, and then I rise up, press my penis against her ass and begin to ride up and down between her cheeks again. I take a drag on the cigarette, and release a pale white cloud down over her ass and across her lower back, and she presses against my manhood, sighing.

Then more smoke and more rubbing and my fingers inside her sex, swirling in her honey and cream, and after a minute or so, she pulls her ass away from me and rolls over to present her vagina to me. I cover it with my mouth and let my tongue spread her moist, soft, warm folds.  I remember the cigarette, tap off the ash into the ashtray, and take a deep drag, blowing smoke across her bush, and she says, softly, “Oooohhhh,” as she watches and smells it and as my tongue slides into her. I grace her sex with more smoke and more kisses, and then she motions for me to let her take a drag, and she bathes my face in a gentle, fragrant stream of smoke as I dive down into her again.

Then I take a drag, and slide up her body to give her a smoky kiss, reveling in the fact that she’s enjoying smoke second-hand for perhaps the first time in her life. She has no fetish for this, but she’s getting some small taste for why I like it. She pulls on the filter herself again, and graces my face with the gift of smoke as my cock slides between her labia, but doesn’t penetrate her.

I suck on her nipple and return to her pussy with my mouth, to lick and kiss and blow smoke there again, earning another sigh from her, and she motions me to come back, and give her the cigarette again, she takes a drag and then I quickly take one of my own, and we breathe out those delicious fumes as our lips close together and we kiss, sharing the remaining smoke.

I continue to slide against her sex, and kiss her neck and the line of her jaw and then blow smoke across her throat as I lick and suck her earlobe. Then one last smoky kiss before I stub out the cigarette, and leave a trail of kisses down her torso on my way back between her thighs to lick and suck and finger her some more.

I’m not there very long before I see her hand reach over to the pack of cigarettes to extract one for herself. She lights it, and blows smoke down over her belly for me as I lick her slowly and massage one ass cheek and rub a nipple with my thumb.

She gives me the gift of more smoke from afar, wispy and diffuse, and welcomes me up for a more redolent and smoky kiss thereafter, and then I’m back between her thighs. And then her hand comes down toward my head, offering me her cigarette, and I suck at it, and then exhale slowly across the curly black hairs of her sex.

My mouth presses into her, along with my tongue, and she blows smoke down over me like a cloak again, and I say, softly, “My two favorite fucking smells and tastes in the world together,” and I begin to lap more furiously.

I feel and smell more smoke wash down over me as she moans and as her hips dance lightly atop the sheets. When I come up to look at her face over the sleek expanse of her belly and breasts, she offers me another drag, and I take it, and blow a trail of smoke from her sex to her chest, and she sighs and moans at that, and takes another drag of her own to blow down on me in return.

She signals me to come for another kiss, offering the cigarette to me first. Her fingers are too close to the end of the filter, and I cannot get my lips around it, but I pull what little smoke I can into my lungs, and kiss her. Suck her neck. Lick her exposed nipple and let her blow more smoke into my face. I return to her sex, one finger toying with her asshole as well and the other hand rubbing her thigh. She offers the cigarette to me again, and once again she’s accidentally left me no room to find purchase on the filter, but I draw what I can, and blow a small amount of smoke over her pussy, and she sends one final exhale my way as I go back to the cunnilingus and she stubs out her B&H.

Before long, though, she turns over again, presenting her ass, and I lick it and slide three fingers in and out of her vagina as my tongue finds its way past her brown bud, and she’s grunting and moaning now. I taste and tease her for a while, and then begin to slide my cock between her cheeks once again.

I’m feeling deliciously filthy by this time, and with as slick and warm as her ass is, I’m enjoying myself very much. I can feel the end coming for me soon, and I have visions of coming between her cheeks, and then licking her clean, swallowing my own seed, and then licking her fiercely until she comes. But before I can reach that point, she turns over to welcome me into her embrace and her kisses, and now my cock is against her sex instead, and I don’t expect to last long there either, and figure I’ll be just as happy to lick her belly and pubes clean before bringing her to orgasm with my tongue.

“Put on a condom,” she says before long, and I pull one out of the side table, and put it on. I enter her, and begin to fuck her slow, then build momentum until I’m pressing in and out of her hard and fast. I’m not sure how long I’ll last, but I know she’s been wanting my cock in her for days.

Then I am reminded of why I can’t wait to get a vasectomy, as my middle aged penis shows its increasing displeasure at the dulling sensation of a condom, and my erection slowly fades while I’m fucking her and kissing her neck and she’s sucking at my neck.

It’s frustrating to have been so close and lose my hardness, but she says, “It’s OK” and I pull out of her to begin licking her again. My tongue is flying over her clit with wet insistence, and I press a fingertip to her asshole and another inside her sex, and I keep at her, warm and hard and wet, and her thighs tense, her sex quivers, and her ass clenches softly, and she begins panting, then moaning then crying out softly, trying not to scream as her orgasm takes her and my mouth rides the waves of passion with her until she settles down again.

Eventually, she says, “I’m sorry you didn’t come.”

To be honest, it’s the last concern on my mind. I’m more worried that I might have disappointed her with my condom-related equipment failure, and I say, “Don’t be. That was fantastic. Thanks for the early birthday gift. I’m happy.”

And I am. Coming isn’t the be-all, end-all for me. I’ve had smoke, and connection, and I’ve tasted my wife and made her come harder than I have for a while.

We nestle together in the slightly smoky atmosphere, and sleep deeply and contentedly.

I wake before she does, and listen to her snore, which I find strangely endearing somehow, as my hand rests on her naked ass. I shift position slightly after a while and she stirs, and pulls my hand to her sex sleepily.

I toy with her very lightly, and snuggle against her, and after a while she whispers, “Can I get a lick?”

For us to have relations at night and for her to want more in the morning almost never happens, and it’s a sign to me of how arousing the previous evening must have been that she still has passion that needs quenching. I happily lick at her for a while. Our daughter wakes up and calls out for someone to come get her, of course, before I’m done, but my wife calls out for her to wait, and I lick more furiously, and my wife pulls my head into her more deeply with both hands. I add fingers to my tongue’s efforts, and pump her while I lap at her firmly, until she comes against my face, holding back her cries.

She thanks me, and I nuzzle her sex with one cheek before we finally get up.

She’s come twice and I haven’t come at all, but frankly, I couldn’t be happier with the gift of smoke…and sharing smoke…that she’s given me. I’m quite content, and while I know this isn’t something that will happen often, I’m pleased to know that it will likely happen again.

My smoky treats are no longer one-sided. I can share my fetish with my wife in a way that I would never have been able to before. And it feels good.

 

Busted!…and it almost feels good

So, it was only very recently that SepiaQueen and I decided to embark on this whole polyamorous lifestyle thing. Neither one of us has hooked up with anyone yet, but my wife is making strong headway with one very interesting woman (friendship or something more one day? who knows yet) and has a few other people (male mostly) nibbling around her various profiles online…and I’m finally starting to get the attention of a few folks, too. Plus, we’re going to a swinger’s event this weekend, which will be eye-opening for both of us, and we’re meeting with a polyamorous couple we’ve never seen in real life to just chat and hang out.

All this in the matter of a couple weeks. We’re on dating sites, fetish sites, planning to attend events…hell, aside from the fact that we haven’t actually had sex with anyone but each other (and our journey into both polyamory and kinkier explorations have made that sex both plentiful and wonderful), we’re pretty much about as far along as one can be.

Let it not be said we tarried in our plans to shake things up in our life together.

So, it’s probably not entirely surprising that as the racier sexual stuff impacts so strongly into our day-to-day life that our newly emerging lifestyle would smack right into our reality.

Yeah, I got busted looking around for other women.

Of course, we know I didn’t get busted by my wife, because she already knows (and has been encouraging me to move a bit faster than I have been…sorry, babe, but deadlines for work come first ). No, I got busted by one of her online friends (and someone she’s been meaning to have lunch or coffee with in real life soon, and probably will). Seems that in our fairly small population here in our little portion of New England, everyone single person is on the same dating site SepiaQueen and I are on, which isn’t even one of the bigger and better known ones. No, this site is OkCupid, which is a free dating site that we went to only because its rules and classifications and such are pretty friendly to those who are polyamorous (which the big sites are not).

Since it wasn’t one of the most well-known sites, we didn’t expect to see many people there (if any) that we knew. And yet we have now run across several profiles of people we recognize both from Twitter and real-life, all of them within 20 miles of us. My wife is masked in her profile pic, so her identity and professional reputation are fairly safe. We didn’t mind putting my face up there, because I don’t have the same kind of reputation locally to maintain and the bulk of the people who deal with her regularly aren’t likely to readily recognize me (and we didn’t expect any of them to be on OkCupid anyway, and so far none of those people in her professional life seem to be there).

So this Twitter (and perhaps one day IRL) friend sees my profile. Since I used the same avatar as I do in Twitter, and both my wife and I follow (and are followed by) this person on Twitter, she recognized me, and immediately sent a message to me through OkCupid politely demanding to know if my wife knew I was on there.

It is to her credit both that she didn’t 100% assume the worst and go straight to my wife and also that she was looking out for my wife (as she noted later, she was hopping mad that I might be betraying SepiaQueen and might have hurt me if I were). I told my wife, my wife contacted her, and all was well. As long as my wife knew, she was cool (also a big gold star with regard to her character that she didn’t judge my wife about that).

Now, I admit I was really thrown off by this event at first. Not so much because I might be “exposed,” since it had already become clear that several local people we know on Twitter would be able to trip over my profile and possibly tease one or both of us mercilessly should we meet in real life. We had pretty much resigned ourselves to that happening (though now we realize it might happen sooner than expected).

No, I was actually more concerned that my wife’s friend would think ill of me, and that my wife might want to do a little smokescreen action to disguise her own polyamorous inclinations in life, and thus that I would end up looking like an asshole to someone I think is pretty cool. Fortunately, my wife is big into the honesty thing (at least with people we might hang out with) so all was cleared up and the friend removed me from her shit list.

My knees thus remain intact, and my reputation as a decent guy as well. However, we’re not exactly going to hit her with the incredibly long list of kinks I have nor the steadily growing one for my wife. A person can only take so much truth at once.

I guess the main point of all this, though, as my headline suggests, is that it kind of feels good to have someone know. Do I want everyone we interact with to know? Shit damn hell fucking no. They don’t know about my vanilla sex life; why should they know about the 36-flavors one? But knowing that our “secret” can get out and not be a ruinous thing is nice. To have someone I respect online know and not judge me is cool. So, I was “busted” but in the end feel pretty positive about that.

However, while being outed isn’t all bad and might be a positive thing, we’re going to tread as cautiously as we can for a while.

And that’s why the cool photo of me used for my Twitter avatar has now been replaced with one at OkCupid that kind of makes me look dork-ish (just a little)…here’s hoping that doesn’t turn all the ladies off.

(The picture I used above has little to do with this post, really, but I thought it was cool, it had the “Busted” thing going, and so I figured I should have the image link to the actual book online to which it belongs. I get no kickback for doing so and no next to nothing about the book except what I read in passing as I grabbed the image. I just don’t want to get sued for copyright infringement or something.)

 

Of Serendipity, Sex and Shaving

So, as I write this, I’ve had sexual contact with my wife SepiaQueen every day (on average…been one or two nights we missed but those were compensated for by multiple sexy get-togethers on other days) for going on something like 10 days now. That’s unprecedented in our relationship even going back to our younger dating days 14 or 15 years ago.

To what do I owe this?

In an odd sense, on SepiaQueen choosing to take a day off from Twitter.

We’ve had some challenges in our marriage recently and both of us wondered if the relationship was heading for the rocks. Frankly, Twitter has been my wife’s escape from a lot of stressors in life recently, and perhaps a way to occupy herself rather than be with me at times. It’s not for lack of love (we have plenty of that for each other) nor lack of compatibility. But intimacy was getting harder and harder, and it wasn’t clear just why my wife couldn’t really generate passion for me anymore.

She realized she needed a break from online life, and so she stepped away from Twitter for a day. During that day, she decided to direct more energy to us, and to connecting with me. The connection turned out to be quite literal…and wet…and wonderful.

But it didn’t stop there, and I don’t just mean the sex (the past 10 days have been a whirlwind of oral on one or the other of us, 69, missionary, rimming, masturbation [solo and mutual], kissing, sucking, licking and more). No, what I mean is that somehow, this renewed passion broke through a wall.

SepiaQueen already touched on this a little in her first post on this blog a few days ago, but somehow, she came to a sexual awakening that there was something she needed, and it was something more than me. She needed someone else. A man. Or a woman. Maybe both. I’ve told her in the past if she needed to step out of our marriage for a bit, she could, but it’s never happened. And partly that’s because she doesn’t want to step out. She wants this to be a part of our life together. And after much talking (in between all that sexual activity) we’ve talked about our unspoken and unmet needs and have found that I am comfortable with the idea that we are now suddenly on the path to a polyamorous lifestyle. That breakthrough, in turn, has led to more sex between us…and suddenly joining places like Love Voodoo and FetLife and more…and my wife discovering a host of kinks that turn her on, from nipple clamps to voyeurism). Suddenly, we’ve put ourselves out there on a new and exciting (and slightly scary) adventure. And we’re in it together, which has renewed and strengthened our emotional and psychological bonds with a suddenness and sureness that is nothing short of miraculous.

It’s also had one downside though: For most of the past 10 days, I’ve been itching like hell between my legs. No, not an STD…

…no, not pubic lice either. C’mon! Let me…

No, we didn’t have sex in the woods and accidentally rub up against some poison oak or poison ivy. That’s just silly…

No! I’m not allergic to some new flavor of lube we may or may not be using. Stop already.

What happened was that I shaved.

Yeah. Down there. For the first time in my life. And that, too, is largely because of this new life SepiaQueen and I have decided to embark upon. I figured if some other guy or gal or both end up in our lives, my hair might put them off a bit. My wife’s been around it for well over a dozen years of marriage now and a couple years of dating, so it doesn’t faze her. On the other hand, I also realized that with all the new activity between her and I, maybe the wife would like a mouthful of me that didn’t include a stray pubic hair or two.

I was amazed I didn’t nick anything, but I neglected to consider how much my delicate parts would be unused to microscopic stubble. It’s only today that I’ve managed to go the whole day without some kind of episode of feeling like a few ants decided to tap dance all over my privates. Pretty sure I’ll keep up the manscaping down there.

I know this first post from me is a bit of a ramble, but my blood flow has been primarily to the penis for well over a week now, so my brain isn’t in peak condition at the moment. More from me soon, whether commentary or some of my fiction (which you can also find in plentiful amounts at my blogs Better with Smoke and Smokedawg’s Non-Smoking Section, both of which are in the links in the sidebar)…maybe I’ll even write some true tales of me and SepiaQueen in the sack together.

Ciao for now, everyone. Play safe (or sane at least, even if not 100% safe)

 

SepiaQueen Gets Freaky, Part 1

Just the act of writing this feels strange but fuck it here goes. Where to start? In some ways this story started about 19 years ago, I was married to my first husband; we were young, dumb and thought we were in love. Looking back I am convinced the only reason I married my first husband is that he was the first person I ever had an orgasm with, plain and simple. The power of release was confused with love and by the time I realized that the two should never be confused, it was too late. We were married and expecting our first child, so in my young mind leaving wasn’t an option.

Fast forward another year and it was pretty clear we were not compatible except in the bedroom, by this point we had shared our sexual fantasies and desires and the one thing I deeply wanted was to experience sex with another woman. Well my first husband wasn’t down with letting me go out and have that experience but he was oh so gracious in that if I found a woman he found suitable, we could have a three-way. Gee, how generous! Yet I was still young and felt that he was being nice to allow me what at that time I saw as a deviant act (oh, I didn’t tell ya, I am the daughter of an Evangelical preacher!) and as scared as I was that my soul would be hell bound if I touched a woman, my flesh desired it in a way that said hell be damned!

Luck would have it that my best friend at the time was leaving her ole man and needed a place to stay, so we agreed to let her stay with us for a few days while she figured out her next steps. Bad girl that I am, I was already plotting that maybe just maybe this might be my chance to experience the flesh of another woman. See, I met my then husband because he and my best friend were friends. I knew he found her attractive enough, the only thing I didn’t know was whether or not she would be down.

Late the next night after drinking some wine, I casually asked my girl if she ever thought about having sex with another girl. She gave me a look that said have you lost your fucking mind? But her words said why? At this point we had been friends well over 10 years, so I laid it out that the man and I wanted a three-way and would love it if she would consider. The next few hours are a blur, there was a lot of talk, a lot more wine and eventually she tentatively said yes. At that point I moved like my life depended on it and in many ways maybe it did.

We quickly moved to our bedroom and laid down, how things started are a blur after all these years but some things from that night have stayed with me almost 20 years. Tentative soft kisses were shared by all of us, I remember kissing my girl’s full lips and feeling like heaven, so soft…oh so soft. I felt my own heat rise up in a way that still makes me stop when I remember. After what seemed like an eternity the kisses turned into caresses, both of them laid me down where my then husband kissed and stroked my breasts while my girl started kissing and licking my belly. Eventually parting my legs, I felt the soft but strong flicker of her tongue lapping against my clit, sucking my clit, oh the moans that escaped my mouth. Moans that were silenced by my husband putting his cock in my mouth where I sucked him off while she continued to feast on my scared area as if it were a most exquisite meal.

Somewhere along the line they changed places and she fed me her high full breasts while my husband rode me life a wild mare. It was truly heaven on earth; I remember my heart thumping wildly while competing thoughts filled my mind. Thoughts of how perfect this feeling was and thoughts of how wicked this act was, how my soul was in jeopardy. I was so scared yet riding that wave of sheer pleasure I didn’t want to get off and it only got better. At one point, my girl moved downward and somehow while my husband rode me she wiggled in between his legs and licked his penis and my clit…both my husband I moaned as if we had no cares in the world. Heaven and earth was truly between my thighs that night. Little did I know at that point the night would only get better.

Eventually my husband got off me and we laid my girl down and he spread her legs and entered her; silly kids we were, we did not use protection, still dripping with my juices he inserted himself in her and she moaned. I went to her mouth and passionately kissed her, tasting my juices on her, I later went down to my husband caressed his ass as he rode her, taking in the scene of watching him enjoy our friend. I felt no jealousy, instead finding myself turned on to watching him so fully enjoy her. He came, squirted a full load in her and rolled off and truly the best was last. As he rolled off of her to catch his breath, I went over to her and started sucking and licking her breasts, I eventually made my way down to dine at the Y. I was tentative as I had never seen another woman’s kitty, it was hairy (hey this was back before going bare was the norm for average women) I tentatively spread her lips and remember thinking she smells different than a man but it was good, it was a smell that drew me in, my senses were heightened. I wanted to touch, lick and just smell her knowing she too had never been with a woman I didn’t want to appear scared so I dived in. Rubbing my nose all over her hair, eventually opening her moist folds, and started darting my tongue in and out, eventually sucking on her clit, playing with how much pressure to apply. She moaned and started moving and I knew I was in business. I spent a good hour in her pussy, lapping up my husband’s spunk and eventually lapping up her juices.

She stayed in our bed that night and the next morning, I woke up with several thoughts, I have to do this again and wondering about the state of my soul. As I lay in bed while everyone else slept, I truly felt conflicted in the worse way; little did I know that night would indeed change things in every way possible.

Stay tuned for the next installment of SepiaQueen’s journey to freakdom.