Friday, July 13, 2018

Co-Worker Rick - Dredging up the Past...

Last week or so in my post about my wife's long awaited confession, I made mention of times I spent visiting my friend, co-worker Rick. Perhaps it is possible that by bringing him up, it sparked something in me to want to reach out to his daughter who I follow on Instagram.

Just a note before you get any weird ideas, this woman is a mother of two kids.  I say that to dispel any immediate concerns that I'm trying to hook up with my late friend's teenage daughter or some such; she is in her early twenties and that's not my intent.  Full disclosure though, yes, she is hot and if she had a naughty Tumblr, I'd follow it.  Just being honest.

So if this post hasn't started off weird enough, I asked her for her e-mail address because I wanted to send her a long e-mail with some old war stories about Rick and the things that would take place at work.  I think that most kids would enjoy hearing about their parents lives outside of the relationship they have at home.  My letter was three pages of funny stories and compliments about Rick. 

So what was strange was that the e-mail address she gave me was Rick's.  I guess she had his password and just felt a sense of closeness to him by taking on his account.

I had this sinking feeling in my gut, just hoping that Rick had deleted any old emails he sent to or from me.  We talked about sex a lot.  We talked about women at work, who we wanted to fuck or who we didn't.  I wrote several years ago about the phase Rick was going through where he was fucking any woman he could lure into bed and the fact that he was sending me pics and videos as proof of his own mid-life crisis.

I just think that is a thing his daughter, even if she is an adult, doesn't need to see.

So I noticed that one of his daughter's followers was an ex-girlfriend of Rick's.  Yes, I have seen every nook and cranny of this woman in both picture and video.  My understanding is, Rick told her he had shared the pics and after her initial shock, she was okay with it.  In fact, according to Rick, she wanted to have a four-way with my wife and me, but my wife put an end to that idea when Rick brought it up during a party we were at.

So I reached out to the ex and we exchanged a few e-mails.  She hinted that Rick confided in her about "everything" but it wasn't clear to me if that meant he was upfront about his alcohol abuse or the sexual hijinx he had engaged in with my wife and me.

Either way, I felt like she was someone I could openly talk to about the downward spiral Rick's life took and the fact that he drank himself to death.  So unlike the longwinded e-mail I sent to the daughter that was full of fun and proud memories, I gave her the unvarnished truth about how his behavior at work led to him being dismissed.  I told her how hard it was to watch this guy just give up on his professional life in favor of spending his days at a bar.

After several e-mail exchanges, usually disjointed blurbs from her as if she was so excited that her mind was typing faster than her fingers could, I arranged to call her.  I had come up with a series of questions I wanted to ask, but among the first was how much she knew and if she thought the e-mail account the daughter was using contained any details that should have been long ago deleted.

For the first part, she told me that she knew every single detail about everything Rick had done with my wife and me.  I told her I assumed as much and it was no big deal or anything I was ashamed of.  She was very straight-forward with her, "You guys have nothing to be ashamed about, or worry about."  

Granted, this ex had been out of the picture with Rick for close to a year before he passed, but she told me how the house had become such a place of turmoil with the daughters running roughshod over everything as he sunk deeper and deeper into the bottle.  She said the girls we manipulative and while he would privately complain about them, he was such a loving father that in spite of the pain they put him through, he couldn't seem to get control.

She told me about the shitty way Rick had essentially moved a new woman into the house under the auspices of helping out a friend, only to find out that he just didn't have the courage to break up with her (the ex), until one day he came home drunk and put her and her belongings out on the street.

Keep in mind, there are multiple sides of every historical event or break-up, but given his situation, I'm not doubting that her version of events was at least ball park close.

Throughout the conversation, the ex repeatedly told me how much she had loved, and still loved Rick and how much she continues to care for his daughters.  She mourns his death and like me, is a little saddened that the daughters along with Rick's mom couldn't seem to pull off a memorial of some sort.

By the end of the call, I felt like I had gotten whatever closure I was going to get from this lady.  She thanked me for being someone who understood the pain she was feeling and hoped that we could talk more at some point. 


People, delete your old e-mail.  I know there is this urge to hang on to past conversations or the pics someone sent you on a lark.  You don't need it.  Just look at the e-mails and the pics, jack off or whatever you need, then delete it, empty the trash and move on. 

Google makes it so easy to never have to empty your mailbox, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't.  Anyone could get hit by a car tomorrow and unless you already share an e-mail account with your spouse or your kids (like apparently Rick did), there is no need to put them through any pain after your death with e-mails and such from your naughty Internet play.

Of course, this advice from a guy who has a sex blog.

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Weird Anxiety Dreams...

Throughout my life I've been plagued with these anxiety dreams, not so different from a lot of people. You know the one. You are late for class and you get to your locker and you can't seem to get the combination to open.  You know you have the right combo.  It is 16-22-36.  Yes, that is one of my actual school combinations and for years it was a frequent number in my dreams.

At some point in adulthood, my anxiety dreams about lockers and being late for class made a dramatic shift.  I started having these dreams about places I had lived or visited in the past.  Not my house per se, but places in towns.  Riding my bike from a great distance to try to get home, but there was always some situation preventing me from getting there.  A traffic thing or perhaps a dog on the loose or maybe a bad person that had to be avoided, taking me further away from the shortest path home. 

Later, and probably for the last decade at least, my anxiety dreams have centered finding a place to poop.  Yep, I'm one of those people who can't just go at any corner gas station, at a friends house, or in a restaurant. It makes sense that this normal bodily function that causes me occasional stress in my awakened hours would cause me a huge amount of anxiety in my dreams.

I seem to revisit these old buildings that I've been to in my life, either previous military installations or old homes of friends or just places that have morphed out of something in the darkest places of my mind.

At first, the issue always seemed to be finding a suitable toilet.  Imagine if you found a restroom that was abandoned and with each cubicle door you opened, there was something wrong.  Either the toilet was broken, or it was disgusting, or the door had no latch.  Each of these infractions cause you to move to another area, and by the time you find the right place, people come in. 

An interesting thing was the design and layout of these restrooms.  All of these places have at least some amount of familiarity to me, either they are part of a place I have been or worked at, but once in the restroom, they appear to be designed with no functional method.  Like toilets in a cubicle facing one another, or a toilet sitting in a shower area where you'd be sitting there as people showered around you.

And most of these places have dozens of toilets and showers.  Years ago when I lived in military dorms, there was usually a set up with six stalls in a row for commodes, six sinks, six urinals, and then a room with nine shower heads spread three each across three of the walls.  In my dreams, there are just toilets, some in walled cubicles, some in the open, interspersed amongst showers and sinks.  There is no real rhyme or reason to the layout.

In each of these dreams, something else has led up tot he moment that I am in need of the restroom.  That is, it could be a perfectly normal dream about anything, then suddenly, I'm in one of these places with weird bathrooms.  The entire point of the first part of the dream is gone, and my only focus is on where to go without people watching me.

Okay, so that's the background.  And if you've made it this far...

I woke up this morning from a super weird dream with a morale question.  I was at this gym like facility with just rows and rows of toilet cubicles.  As my weird dreams go, this was actually pretty good.  I could almost imagine this being a  real place.

After some amount of time wandering around in only a towel (as if I was going to get in the shower), I finally find a stall that is not next to another occupied stall, and I go in, lock the latch and life is good.  But nothing in these dreams is ever perfect.

At some point I look up and notice that hanging on the wall is someone's clothes.  Just like in a gym where some people forgo the locker and simply hang their clothes up in the open, but these were in a stall.

Next, I notice someone outside my stall and they are talking loudly.  Where previously, the stall had been perfectly secured, I now see a man peek in, looking at me sitting there.  I mumble that the stall is occupied, and the guy pulls his head away.

Now, the latch on the door is gone.  The door swings open and a lady with a scowl on her face informs me that I'm in her stall.  I suggest that she can have it as soon as I'm done.  I try to push the door closed, but it is useless.  Not only is the latch gone, but the door has gotten so small that there might as well be no door.

Now, a daughter, an adult aged daughter appears and says that I'm in their stall and their clothes are in there.  I suggest they gather there clothes and I can finish. 

I attempt to cover myself with the towel and I stand up with the intent of handing them the clothes.  But now, the three of them are attempting to force me out of the stall. 

Here is the question.  Does it make sense that you would hang your clothing inside a toilet stall while you are at the gym or the pool or wherever, thereby limiting the use of that toilet?  That's what the lady said was the policy in my dream.  That once you stake out a toilet, it is yours until you are done.  My counter to that was that if there was a lock on the outside, I'd buy it, but the only lock is on the inside, thus, the only fair use of the stall is when you are locked inside.

People, this is what happens when you don't have the social skills necessary to take a dump anywhere and in front of anyone.  You have anxiety dreams about finding a place to poop.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

The Confession: Finally...

I've often written about the confession game where my wife and I will be engaged in a slow comfortable fuck session, usually her riding me, just slowly grinding away, and I will begin asking random questions.  Of course, at this point in our lives, there aren't a whole lot of new answers, especially given that over the last year, there has been so much open discussion.  But, this weekend, I got confirmation of something I had pieced together at the time.  She admitted to and provided details about the affair with the truck driver.

This all goes back fifteen years ago at a time when, as a couple we were fairly miserable.   Our kids were old enough to be self-sufficient teens, not requiring us to be at home with them, etc.  Of course, that meant that they were old enough that any at home antics would have to be very carefully orchestrated.  In short, our threesomes were pretty much on hiatus back then.

At the time, my wife was still working and she usually worked early Sunday mornings.  This was also around the time that I was just getting into Internet chat rooms as had used Sunday mornings while the wife was at work and the kids were sleeping in to leave the house and meet-up with a guy I met online for brief jack-off sessions.  I was just learning to accept my interest in other guys.

My friend Rick, may he rest in peace, would invite me over to his house on Sunday afternoons so we could watch football. This often meant that I was leaving the house at about the same time as my wife was getting home from work.

I should mention now that my wife has always had a jealous streak, hence the reason that our threesomes have never included a second woman, in spite of several offers over the years.  If she were interested in other women sexually, she's told me the sex would have to be without me there.  Bat least she knows herself and is honest about it.

The problem with jealousy is that for her, it goes beyond fear that I might desire another woman.  For her, that jealousy is around not paying attention to her.  So when I was spending several hours away at Rick's house watching football, I was ignoring her.  It wasn't Rick, it was that I wasn't home.   You could fill in that time with golfing or reading at a library or going to a class.  The who wasn't the issue, it was that I wasn't attached to her hip.

I know that makes her sound shitty, but that's just the situation. It has gotten slightly better over the years, but still, I certainly don't golf.

So during these Sundays, I'd come home and her bitter complaints about how I was off doing whatever I wanted to do without regard for her and the kids (who, by the way, were doing their own things), made her feel like I was abandoning her or something.  In hindsight it was just so ridiculous.  Each Sunday I'd have to put up with the wrath of her bitching, then it suddenly changed.

She announced that during my football time, she'd be meeting with "the girls".  I've always known when she used that term, there was little chance she was meeting with her ladies from work.

During sex I would play the confession game (we've done this for years) and I'd ask about different guys she worked with.  One guy she mentioned was the truck driver who delivered for her restaurant. For the sake of a name, I'll just call him Bill since I haven't used that name yet.

This guy Bill would come in on the weekend to make a full delivery, then stay overnight before leaving in the morning. Something to do with logs and the maximum number of hours on the road.  She implied that he slept in his truck, so I had this fantasy of her fucking Bill in the sleeper of his 18 wheeler.

She would imply that there was flirtatious conversations and even that he had shown her the inside of the truck - the entire inside to include the sleeper. Of course, this would get me off but she wouldn't confess to actually fucking him.  As our confession games very often ended up with her telling a very tall sexual tale, then admitting it was all made up, I loved the idea that this guy was flirting and maybe being flashed.  I just guessed that if in fact they fucked, she'd eventually tell me about it in one of these confession stories, and then tell me it was true. 

That never happened until this weekend.

What I learned was that during the time she was "going out with the girls", she was meeting with Bill.  He was staying in a hotel, not his rig, and at first it was just meeting for lunch but it soon turned into sex.

She kept it from me because even though we were no strangers to MFMs or even her fucking friends of ours without me being present, this was an affair created, in her mind, by me not being there for her.   

If your first reaction is to yell, "That fucking bitch!", I completely understand.

Truth is though, it only confirmed what I knew all along.  I knew she was fucking someone and I assumed it was Bill. She just wouldn't confirm it.

One Sunday I got home from watching football with Rick earlier than normal.  It must have been a crappy game.  The kids were off doing whatever they were doing and when my wife came in, I knew she had been with another guy.  You just know these things.  His scent was on her.

I shut the bedroom door and locked it, then I as much as ripped her pants off her.  She tried to keep me from pulling off her panties, but my face was going in her crotch, no matter what. 

She relented and when I pulled her panties down, they were soaked.  I went down on her but I only tasted her and another man's scent, though no male cum.

He wore a condom, but her juice was obvious.

She told me that after I seemed to be on to her, that was the last time she met with Bill. She was too afraid I would bust her and leave her.  The funny thing is, even then she could not see just how turned on the whole thing made me.  I stopped the Sunday football games with Rick and in reality, she got just what she wanted.  More time with me.

Now, you could be saying to yourself, perhaps her confession this weekend was one of those sexy tall tales, but there is no question.  The fact that she narrowed down the time frame to that particular time I was insistent on going down on her.  In fact, she said that I was so aggressive in wanting at her pussy that it was technically like a rape scenario, and not in a good way. 

The following morning I honestly hadn't given this confession much of a thought. It was great to finally get the conformation and the specifics (the hotel versus the truck, etc), but it wasn't news, per se.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked as she poured coffee.


"You know.  What I told you last night." 

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Why would I be upset about that?"

And the truth is, why would I be?  What does some irrational husband do after all this time.  This changes everything?  I think not.

Sunday, July 1, 2018

More on SESTA-FOSTA...

I read a quick article regarding SESTA-FOSTA and I'm even more convinced this was one of those things pushed by people thinking they were doing something supportive of women, but in the end, screws women over.

I feel bad that some of these famous actors and comedians that I normally enjoy worked hard to push this crap.  At least they could have the guts to come back and say that they miscalculated the harm that these laws create.

I'm not a user of sex-workers in general, but I do look at porn and I have enjoyed the friendship of people who have been involved in some form or fashion of sex-work.  The use of the Internet, whether it is Backpage or Craigslist or some similar interactive tool for communicating, made this work safer for both the client and the sex-worker. 

From the article:
“Negotiating sex commerce online is beneficial for consumers as well as providers,” says Alba. “Prior to this bill, a client would be able to do some research regarding a provider, what they offer, read reviews and find the provider best suited to their needs. If a consumer is forced to go through a brothel or hire a street worker, they have much less choice in what type of provider they encounter, and no guarantee that the provider isn’t being exploited by their working circumstances, as opposed to being able to negotiate directly with an independent provider via the internet.”
There is no question that some people engaged in sex work are victims of trafficking.  Some.  But that is also true of many hotel maids, kitchen workers, farm workers and the like.  Where are the stars at in relation to all those hotel workers who have their passports held by their employer (or some employment service) until the fee for getting them to this country is paid.  That shit happens all over this country.

Nobody supports trafficking of any kind, be it underage sex workers or the equivalent of slaves in the hotel industry.  But because sex-workers are so under-appreciated as "workers",  and the word "sex" is involved, you have all these do-gooders thinking they are solving the world's problems. 

I hope no person, male or female, finds themselves having to perform sex acts to feed their kids.  Granted, some people do that and they are called wives.  But regardless, there are some people, many in fact, who would prefer to be sex workers and make a good living instead of taking a minimum wage job with no benefits.  Why our politicians and Hollywood stars can't see that is beyond me.

Saturday, June 30, 2018

The Boner That Won't Quit...

So, I took one of JD's Viagra that he keeps at our house.  He rarely uses them but when he has, the results are spectacular.  Anyway, I decided what the heck and proudly announced to my wife that before long, I'd be harder than normal and for longer. 

Big mistake.

We jumped in the hot tub as soon as it was almost dark and the suits came off.  My wife pushed me toward the corner that is out of the eyesight of the pervy 14 year-old kid next door, and began to blow me.  Yes, the hard on was impressive, but to be honest, my hard on is always impressive, hence the reason I don't need Viagra in the first place.

Once in bed, we played for quite a while.  Nothing fancy, just lots of boner riding.  The issue would come later.

They warn you about having a boner lasting longer than three hours.  Well, that didn't happen, but what did happen was, I must have had ten, twenty-minute boners all throughout the night.  And even when I woke up to let out the dog, my dick was stretching the front of my underwear for the neighbors to see.

Boners don't bother me.  But the headache I got was unbelievably harsh.  So, no more Viagra for me.  Jesus, why would you want to wake up feeling like you had a huge massive hangover?

Thursday, June 28, 2018


There were no afternoon shenanigans with JD and my wife this week due to a tight schedule, but he did stop by to drop off a new toy he bought.   My wife looked at the box and asked him if he wanted her to use it on him.  "No, no.  Not on me!" 

My wife showed me the device when I got home from work.  I smiled and looked at the three attachments of various sizes.  The small and the medium seem a bit wasteful considering my previous experiences with things being shoved up my butt.  The largest one would require a lot of lube.

This sounds horrible but while I clearly have an interest in the pegging scene (I definitely enjoy videos and images of women pegging men), I'm not as turned on by the idea of my wife doing the pegging.  In other words, I'd probably get off on having someone else's wife fill in.

I think this is one of those Madonna/Whore Complex things.  Or something like that.  You know how some men are very comfortable wit the idea of going down on their wife after they have cum inside them yet would freak the fuck out over the idea of going down on them after another man had cum inside them - while for me, it is the opposite.  I won't think twice about a cream pie that is made of another man's seed, but when I've made the deposit, no thanks.   Or, there are some men who would do all sorts of kinky things with a hooker, but wouldn't consider similar acts with their wife. 

And, throw in the fact that my wife has said she gets nothing out of the act of being the pegger.  She recognizes the enjoyment I get from ass play and prostate stimulation.  She will very often reach into her briefcase of fun and pull out a butt plug or a slim vibe and ask if I want it.  But the strap on action, though she has done it, doesn;t seem to be her thing.  Now, how to convince her to invite in a special guest pegger!

Oh, by the way, JD dropped off a box of condoms he didn't want his wife to find. Braggart.

I took the empty boxes and casually walked out to the recycle bin and deposited them.  My wife laughed wondering what the garbage man would think since they have those cameras installed in the trucks to make sure you aren't putting regular trash in with the recycled items.  We joked that they probably have little check marks in some sort of recycle bin BINGO.  Strapon. Check.  Condoms. Check.  Just imagine what those guys see on any given day.

Monday, June 25, 2018

Here is a Real Stunner: We Like Group Sex!

I wanted to share a link to a quick read I got off of my Medium feed this morning.  The title was, Americans Crave Group Sex.  Yes, yes we do.

Here is a quote from the article which references a book by  Dr. Justin Lehmiller, called Tell Me What You Want: The Science of Sexual Desire and How It Can Help You Improve Your Sex Life.
“The results of my investigation reveal that the single most popular sexual fantasy among Americans today is — drum roll, please — group sex. More than one-third of my participants described it as their favorite fantasy of all time, and when asked if they had ever fantasized about multipartner sex before — not just whether it was their favorite fantasy — the vast majority of both men and women agreed. In fact, it was rare for people to say they’ve never had such a fantasy — we’re talking just 5 percent of men and 13 percent of women. In other words, group sex is perhaps the most normal thing there is to fantasize about because almost everyone has been turned on by the thought of it at one time or another.” 
Hell, yes!  And now you know why the Internet continues to make me feel like less and less of a freak every single day.