Saturday, July 22, 2017

Weekend Notes

I'm nervous.  I posted about enjoying this podcast I found called Strictly Anonymous.  I can't tell you how much the format really scratches my particular itch.  Cutting directly to the chase, I sent the host an email  where I gave a little background about myself and some of the things I blog about.  Long story short, she's going to interview me next week.

The person being interviewed doesn't really dictate the direction of the show.  Kathy purposely doesn't do a lot of pre-interview research because she prefers to just let the conversation go where it goes as if she was just meeting a stranger on the street.  I doubt she has seen the blog, and potentially, she didn't even read my long winded email.

So, we will just have to see what comes out of this little conversation.  I'll share a link when she posts it.

Friday night my wife and I hit our local pub for dinner and a beer.  Turns out she was eager to talk about our situation and such.  You'd think that as much as I let it all out in long-winded blog posts here, I'd be eager to sit in a bar with my wife and talk about our relationship.  Truth is, writing sober is easy; talking about it with my wife requires a two drink minimum.  That's pretty sad, when you think about it.

Her point was that she wanted more open discussion.  She explained a conversation she had with JD regarding the current state of their relationship.  She told him that she fully expects that when he is with his family, that is their time.  Whatever they do in that primary relationship is their thing.  But she needs at least one day a month to see him in person, whether that involves just getting a drink and talking, sex with the two of them or sex with the three of us, she just needs that physical connection at least once a month.  And of course, he was agreeable.

She told me that Pancho sent her a picture and told her that if things between her and JD were not working to her satisfaction, he was certainly available to assist.  I say good for him!  She told me it is complicated.  As strange as it sounds, she doesn't feel like she is cheating on me with JD, but if she were to have sex with Pancho, she would feel like she was cheating on JD!  I just laughed.

All of this led to her asking me what I needed from her.  The truth is, I haven't seen her this happy in years.  This whole opening up to her comfortably, openly talking with JD and identifying him as a boyfriend has created a stress release for her.  I told her that I want her to just keep doing this.  I went as far as to say that if things with JD ended, I would want her to be open to another guy filling his shoes.  She was pretty shocked by this suggestion.

If I were being honest, I would tell her that I would want her to be more accepting of my interest in guys, but that just isn't going to happen.  She told me that if we found ourselves in a situation like a MFM threesome with a guy open to MM action, she would take a break and go to another room while we did our thing.  While that is quite a bit of growth on her acceptance of my Bi side, I think I'll stick with her original, DADT policy.  It isn't like I'm out blowing guys at parks or tapping toes in a men's room.  She really is okay with not knowing that my co-workers and I occasionally play with each other's dicks. That I'm sure of.

Later, we jumped in bed and she opened up her briefcase of toys.  As I used a large magic wand vibe on her clit, she told me that actually, she does want to fuck Pancho for his birthday.  She just doesn't want JD to know about it.  Something tells me this would be one of those things where I come home from work and she has something to tell me!  Which, if you know me by now, you know I'm completely okay with.

I love what she has with JD, but truth be told, I've always liked the idea of her and Pancho.  They've known each other since they were kids.  Plus, I've sucked his dick.  It is nice.

As we continued to play and talk, she asked me to fuck her with one of the large dongs.  I think I got an upper body work-out by ramming that thing in and out with one hand while continuing the buzzing pleasure on her clit with my other hand.  Two years ago, we had one, maybe two plastic vibrators.  Now we have a fucking arsenal.

As I worked on her, she put some sort of strawberry lube on my butthole which freaked me out.  I think it was sold as nipple stuff but she stuck it on my hole.  She then took the small butt-plug, rammed it in, then used yet another vibe against the base of the plug. The sensation was wonderful. And then she blew me.

As I worked on her, she worked on me.  She was soaked from cumming multiple times and finally I just let lose with a week's worth of jizz.  She took as much in her mouth as she could and then let the rest fly on her face and all over my stomach.  Let's be honest, I'm not a 17 year-old who shoots a stream across the room, but God invented buttplugs and strawberry nipple cream for a reason.  I nearly passed out.

That was my Friday night.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

The First Memory...

My earliest childhood memories center around the street we lived on briefly in the early 1960's.  I have vague memories of the inside of the house - a rocking chair and some windows.  That's about it. Outside the street was in a typical neighborhood.  Instead of a cul de sac, our street just ended.  The road stopped and there were trees and such.

I recall my brothers helping me climb up into a tree but I was simply unable to climb down.  I can speculate now that I was just afraid to fall.  My father came and reached into the tree to lift me down onto the ground.

There is another memory of being in the back yard and hearing some kids on the other side of the fence. They threw a ball over then fence and I threw it back.  At some point, I made the decision to walk around the block to see if I could get to the house where they were at.  I went out to the front of my house and started walking down the street.  As I recall, I was either counting the houses or somehow trying to determine how many houses I would have to pass on the other street to get back to where those kids were.  No idea how far I walked or if I ever got there.

The final memory of that street was of the candy man.  There was a man (I actually remember his name) who we called the candy man because he would work in his garage and give us candy when he saw us out playing.  I do very specifically recall going into his garage alone with him.  I might have even gone in his house.  I'm not trying to imply anything good or bad from this visit, I simply don't know.

In my mind, we moved away shortly after that, but I simply have no frame of reference aside from the fact that my father was reassigned to a military base two hours away and we relocated.

One of the reasons I'm so reluctant to believe the historical accuracy of books like the bible is that I often find it difficult to get a straight story on what happened when two people witnessed the same event that occurred an hour ago.  Lawyers will argue that witnesses to events are highly inaccurate in describing what they saw.  No telling how many innocent people are in jail because an eyewitness placed them in a place they don't otherwise have an alibi for.  I bring this up because I want to write about my earliest memories of childhood. But really, aside from being able corroborate dates and locations with my parents, how do I even know if my memories of my earliest beginnings are even real?

I've written before that I was (by today's standards) very promiscuous at an early age.  I'm no longer trying to determine if I was somehow molested or abused in some way.  But I would like to at least draw a line between the first time I started showing my dick to my playmates and how that translated into the person I am today.  Or maybe there is no correlation and I'm just grasping at straws.  


Thursday, July 13, 2017

The Little Blue Pill

Why are we men so embarrassed to tell our doctors anything?  JD finally told his doctor about the issues with maintaining a boner he has experienced and the doctor was apparently quite matter of fact about it most likely being the result of stress in his life and some blood pressure issues.  A prescription for boner pills was written and as soon as it is viable, potentially today, JD will see if he can make that big wiener ridable for my wife.

Of course, when he was telling my wife what happened, she was embarrassed to admit that she had no idea about how these things work.  Rather than Google, she contacted Pancho.  You may recall from a previous blog entry, Pancho responded to some Low T issues that also had some impact on boner production.  One of his medications included the Viagra.  He explained the ins and outs (ha ha) of how it works to her, then offered to come demonstrate said pill in action.

When my wife told JD about this offer, he actually became turned on and said, he now understands why I get so turned on by the idea of another guy servicing his wife.  Wow, how strange would that be?  JD jacking off to Pancho banging my wife while I jack off to all of them?

Let's not get carried away.




Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Peeping Tom vs Reality TV

Lat week I stumbled upon yet another podcast that I've been binge-listening to as time allows.  It is called Strictly Anonymous with host Kathy K.  The premise of the show is, people with a story to tell (usually something sexual in nature) are interviewed anonymously so they can be free to tell the story openly and honestly.

So far I've heard about a guy who banged his step-mom (which was actually really good); a guy who has been involved in a variety of sexual taboos since a young age (not sure I believed all his stuff); a girl who came on the show under the auspices of having a sugar daddy but in reality, she has a boyfriend who is old enough to be her grandfather.  But, the one I'm talking about now is a guy who accidentally became a peeping Tom.  It is episode 132 dated June 27, 2016.

This guy, Tom (of course, what other nickname would they use), lives in an apartment complex that has a doggy walking area.  It just so happens that when he takes his little pooch out at the crack of dawn each morning, he walks past the window of a guy sleeping in the nude.  Every morning, naked, sometimes with a boner, sometimes flaccid, sometimes with his ass facing the window, sometimes in a fetal position, but always asleep.

The conversation quickly moves from the excitement of this man (happens to be gay) seeing a sleeping guy in the buff and how exciting that is to the social norms of privacy, nudity, sharing of pictures, exhibitionism, and the difference of Reality TV and real voyeurism.  All this to tell you I enjoyed that particular episode, though I was frustrated at times because the host could not seem to grasp that there is a difference between the voyeuristic interest in people unaware that they are being observed, and nudity.  And also, it reminded me about the time a guy let me borrow his radio scanner.

So this is back in the early 1990's before everyone including 10 year-olds had smart phones.  This was also a time when people still had land-lines and we didn't know to encrypt the baby monitor in our houses.  Oh the good old days when you could go to Radio Shack and buy stuff.

This guy ate work let me use his scanner that when set to the 900 Mhz band would scan for anything in the vicinity that was broadcasting on that frequency.  I remember as soon as I fired it up out in the garage, I picked up my wife on a phone call with her sister.  Clear as day, I listened to their entire conversation.  Just family gossip as I recall.  That conversation got me hooked and I recall spending several hours scanning around picking up the neighbor's baby monitor and phone calls.

I ended up setting the device on a scan mode that allowed it to find a conversation, then when that conversation ended, would automatically start scanning again for the next viable signal.  And then I connected the output to a recorder and let it go.  I'd come back later, fast forward through the tape until I found something and move on if it was boring. I did this for several weeks before the guy at work demanded to have his scanner back.

It is amazing what you hear when people don't realize you are listening.  And for a voyeur like me, this is fascinating.  This is exactly the difference between a Reality TV show where not only do the players know they are on camera, but if you believe what insiders say, most that shit is scripted.  A peeping Tom on the other hand sees true reality.  It isn't exciting because you see the person naked.  It is exciting because they don't know that you see them naked.  The guy on this podcast was trying to explain this to the host and she was having a tough time making the distinction.

Through listening to a neighbor have a conversation with his adult aged son, I learned a valuable life-long lesson and advice that I have offered others many times over.  I only knew these people well enough to wave hello, yet, I gained so much from that private conversation.  The man died years ago, but his fatherly advice has stayed with me.

In another case, a juicier tidbit occurred.  I listened to a police officer tell his wife he had to stay and finish paperwork on an arrest and then immediately click-over to call waiting and tell his girlfriend he'd meet her in a few minutes.

In a call I taped, I listened to a city councilman talking with some official conspiring to screw over a local businessman who was not cooperating with whatever plan they had. They talked about rezoning his street and basically surrounding his business with bars and strip clubs.   I guess this is really how things get done.  I really agonized over that tape.  I had thoughts of turning it over to the newspaper, or turning it over to some sort of law enforcement, but the problem was, based on the job I did for the military, I knew all well that I was just as bad for listening to these conversations and recording them.

I've never been the guy that peers into windows and takes pictures of women in a shower, but I have certainly been a voyeur almost all of my life.

Thursday, July 6, 2017

A Yard of Penis...

I must have been about nineteen at the time.  My first overseas military assignment, living in the dorms.  It was Mid-Day Break.  For those of you that have worked rotating shifts, you know the agony.  For those that haven't, I'll explain.

In the military, one of the shift models we worked to cover 24 hour, 365 day a year jobs was to have rotating shifts.  Your flight would cover an hour hour period from say, 1400 to 2200 (Swing), the next flight would work 2200 to 0600 (Mid), another flight from 0600 to 1400 (Days) and that would leave the fourth flight on break.  If you rotated this cycle every four shifts, what it meant was you got a 24 hour period off between each rotation.  That period when you got off at 0600 on your last mid before going back to work the following morning at 0600 was called mid-day break and it was a killer.

People would come up with all sorts of strategies as to how to adjust your internal clock.  Some people would go home, sleep for a few hours, then get up and just be tired all day, then get back in bed and sleep at night.  Another strategy was to "hang".  Basically, stay up the entire day until your body couldn't take it anymore, then pass out with hopes of sleeping through the night until it was time to get up and go to your 0600 shift.

Because we were in the military and always looked for an opportunity to party, on this particular Mid-Day break, we arranged to have a big cook-out in the pavilion area of our dorm. The grill was going, burgers were cooking, cases of beer, bottles of Jack Daniels and Jim Beam were in abundance and the party was on.  Things were going fine until the standard daily overcast drizzle of rain turned into an unexpected downpour.

It was decided the party would move to the third floor day room (a large TV room with couches and chairs for people to hang out).  All the booze was brought upstairs, a few brave souls continued running the grill as best they could and bring up burgers as they were ready.

Meanwhile, the party continued and one of the dorm residents brought out a real Yard of Ale.  Not the novelty one that holds a few beers, but the big one that requires the assistance of another to hold it.  If you aren't familiar, check this out.

As one of the guys who was outside helping to run burgers from the grill up to the party, I ended up getting soaked.  Since we were now going to be inside, I ran into my dorm room, pulled off my wet jeans and shirt and just threw on a pair of running shorts and a new t-shirt.  These running shorts were the kind with the liner, so a skipped the step of putting n underwear.  You can see where this is going, I'm sure.

As the party went on, people were taking turns drinking from this yard of ale.  The person drinking would stand on a coffee table, the yard would be filled and then they would drink for the crowd of people to watch.  Great spectator sport.

When it was my turn, I got up on the coffee table, the yard was filled and the moment I had the container hoisted to my lips, one of my buddies who assumed I had underwear on, decided to grab my shorts and yank them down.  Yep, there I was with both hands holding up this full yard of beer, feeling my shorts drop and my shriveled, flaccid, exposed penis was left hanging for fifty of my closest co-workers to observe until I could pound the beer and hand the glass yard off to someone on order to reach down and pull up my shorts.

Of course it was only fifteen or twenty seconds, but that was enough for anyone who had not seen my dick in our gang-style open showers to see it.  My buddy apologized profusely, saying he had no way of knowing I wasn't wearing underwear.  It was all in good fun and it wasn't like they nicknamed me, "Tiny McPrickerson" or anything mean like that.

I was thinking about this the other day and I realized that in today's military, this little prank would have been considered some sort of sexual assault.  Then again, this sort of party created to help people adjust to the changing body clock would probably be frowned upon as the military promoting binge drinking.  Times have changed, my friends.

Saturday, July 1, 2017

Repost: JD Has a Party...

This is a repost of a blog I first presented in 2013.  It actually has a lot of meaning to me now, given the things that have transpired this past week.
------<<<>>>------ 
I've written in the past about our friend and former threesome partner, JD, who, though not the first of our partners, was without question the longest lasting and both our favorite guest in our bed.  It has been years since the last interlude, either in form of threesome or with my wife and JD sneaking away alone for a little fun time.  There have been lunches with JD's wife who, for as far as we can tell, has remained clueless to the entire situation.

Saturday, we went to a party at JD's home.  He has finished his military service and while the wife stayed back, he was away for the last few years, making it home on weekends when he could or having her visit him when her job allowed.

Whenever we visit, and Saturday was no different, there is this immediate connection between he and I and he and my wife.  We make that eye contact that says, "I acknowledge all that has occurred in the past, but for this place and at this time, we are simply friends".  Admittedly, that's the eye contact he and I share; the message between JD and my wife might be slightly different, but I trust it equates to: "We are not going to fuck tonight".

There is no awkwardness or strange feeling being around him or his wife.  This was not always true.  There was a time when my wife was simply terrified of the possibility that, even though past visits have not resulted in any issue, this could be the visit where the wife explodes and reveals that she knows everything.  So much time has passed now, that I think we would simply look at her and say, "That was ten years ago, let it go."

On this visit, there was no discussion of anything even remotely sexual.  We congratulated JD on his career, thanked him for his service, enjoyed drinks and snacks and talked of gardening and decks and barbecue pits and the things that any neighbor or colleague might talk about at a party.

When other people began filing out of the house, we too bid our farewell with promises of getting together soon.  JD asked us if we didn't want to stay longer and have a few more beers, but it was only prudent that we didn't.

When my wife and I got into our truck for the drive home, she commented that he looked older but the same.  She had a few unflattering comments about the wife who, honestly still looks beautiful in her mid-40's.  There was a few moments of quiet between us and then my wife blurted out, Before you even ask, yes.  Yes I would totally fuck him in a heartbeat.

I smiled and chuckled a bit, then thought to myself, Yes, I would totally fuck him in a heartbeat, too.

So what happens next?  Probably nothing, but it makes wonderful banter during our sex talk at night.

------<<<>>>------

And of course, it's all happened...

More of the Sun bathing Beauty...

Jesus!  Before I tell you what I just observed, I need to make it perfectly clear that I'm not going out of my way to be the nosy, perverted neighbor who lies in wait just to catch a glimpse of the attractive lady next door getting some sun.  This lady spends hours, literally hours a day sunbathing.  I simply don't know why she does it given what we all know about the sun and skin cancer.  The fact that I can look out my window nearly any time the sun is out and see her in her black thong is not my fault.

 But, having given my defense up front, let me tell you.

My wife and I came home from a very busy morning and I decided to relax a bit before we head out this afternoon for more errands.  I went upstairs and turned on the TV and gave my dog a treat.  Since I was near the window and the sun was out, I figured I'd take a quick peek over into the neighbors yard.

My beautiful neighbor was standing there in her bathing suit with a tank top over her.  She was patting down her lounger to clean of any twigs or leaves, and scooting it into the position she needed. Once everything was set, she pulled off the tank top and set it down under the lawn chair, then grabbed a spray bottle of tanning lotion before laying down with her feet toward me.

As soon as she laid down it was like her ass cheeks swallowed the thong.  I need to remind you dear readers, this lady is in her mid to late forties, and I would easily compare her to your average thirty-something lady in great shape.  Just looking at her face, you'd never guess she was approaching fifty.
I would have been happy if the show had stopped there and just retreated to my recliner to watch This Old House, but then she started to apply the lotion.

I stood there with the blinds cracked only enough to allow my view but without being seen by anyone happening to look my way.

As God is my witness, the neighbor lady rolled on her right side, lifted her left leg up and began rubbing the lotion from her feet up to her hips.  So limber.  And the bonus is, with legs open, it was like one of those moves a stripper does to give a crotch shot.  Oh to have been just a little bit closer.

I'm embarrassed to even write this but, there I was whispering to myself, "Oh baby, there you go.  Rub it in, oh yes, that's how daddy likes it."

After covering the left leg, she rolled to the other side then repeated this incredibly sexy process again on the right.  Once her legs were done, she laid flat on her tummy, then, I swear to you, she lifted her ass up and sprayed the lotion on her ass cheeks then rubbed it in.  For fucks sake, from this view I realized just how hot it must be to fuck her from behind.  I also realized that she has darkened several shades since I first saw her out in the yard.

I totally get that I am as goofy as a fourteen year old seeing a chick in a bikini for the first time, but damn!   I could not have asked for a better view.

I guess it goes without saying, this is one of those posts that is useless without photos.  Sorry, I wish I could share what I've seen.  I hope the description at leasts gives you an idea.