Feeling Down About Going Down

I’ve been in a bit of an emotional tailspin since my last post. I can’t lie. Reading the comments really left me heavyhearted. I began questioning if I should even attempt to get Nathan to add going down on me to our sexual mix. What if I tried and he refused? My optimism was dashed. I felt incredibly sad. Continue reading

Things Aren’t Perfect

Perfect is a high standard. One I tell myself I should let go of. It’s a lot of pressure you know… trying to be perfect all the time. Trying to live up the standards I expect of myself. But if I’m going to aim for a something, it should be high. Right? So then I revise my statement to “self”, crack the whip, and once again strive for perfection.

But things aren’t perfect.

I could write a very long list of all the things about me that aren’t. But I don’t feel like penning a post with that many words. So instead I’m going to talk about one aspect of my relationship with Nathan that isn’t perfect. This doesn’t mean that it’s the only part that needs work… just the part I’m choosing to write about at the moment.

The sex. It isn’t all I want it to be.

I want more. I want him to be more passionate. To manhandle me. To toss me across the bed and have his way with me. Somewhat subjective, I know. But if I stepped back and pin-pointed a key element that relates to all of those wants… the one missing act that I crave… I keep coming back to cunnilingnus. That’s right. I want the man to want to go down on me.

I realized this isn’t something he enjoys soon after we started having sex. He never made a move to go there. Even after copious amount of oral sex from me. It simply didn’t/doesn’t happen.

I tried making a game of it. We got in a faux debate over who sang a certain song and I knew I was right. So I told him, “Loser has to go down on the winner.” He laughed and said, “Sure!” But he still hasn’t paid up. Not for that time or the other three times he’s lost our now “usual bet.”

One of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard a man say was when a friend of mine was describing his first time seeing a girl naked. They were both in their teens and upon the removal of her bikini bottoms he said a switch just flipped in his head that said, “Oh. Mouth goes there.”

And there he and his mouth went. It was a natural reaction.

That’s how I feel about sucking on a cock. It’s supposed to go in my mouth. It feels so good there… tastes. so. good. Just thinking about it makes my tongue start to circle.

But Nathan obviously doesn’t feel the same way about my pussy. Is this something that can be taught? Can I teach him to love feasting on me?

I don’t know. But I’m formulating a plan.

Testing My Will Power

The screen on my phone showed an incoming call from Cameron. After confessing that I wanted to see him again there had been no more communication. Now, almost 24 hours later, he was calling.

“Hullo,” I answered.

“Hi beautiful,” he crooned, “Whatcha doing?”

“I’ve just finished dropping off gifts to my grandmother’s friends that she wasn’t able to deliver herself because of the stroke. Of course it’s taken a while because at every stop there’s a lot of visiting that happens. So now I’m hoping I can drive to town and get some dinner before everything closes.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I have no idea,” I laughed, “You forget I haven’t lived here in 16 years.”

“Oh no… that is something I have certainly not forgotten. I know some places that are decent. Would you like some company?”

“Actually,” I said with a sigh, “That sounds wonderful. I really don’t feel like being alone right now. It’s been a hard day.”

“If you’ll come to my place, I’ll drive.” Continue reading

The Kind Of Sex I Need

I was driving to the bank when it hit me. An over powering urge for sex. But not just any sex. No… run-of-the-mill sex won’t do today.

I need mouth on my clit, fingers in my channel, can-hardly-get-air sex.

I need arms pinned above my head, legs on shoulders, balls slapping ass sex.

I need cock in my throat, moans in my ear, mouth on my breast sex.

I need bent over the bed, filled to the max, come until I can’t come anymore sex.

So here I am, at work, trying to complete ten different projects. But the majority of my brain is flashing dirty thoughts faster than a barking auctioneer. Maybe I can manage a finger in my panties on my drive home…

Muscle Memory (Dancing With Boundaries Part 5)

I stared down at his erect manhood. It bobbed up at me by way of greeting. I licked the tip of my middle finger and delicately traced the edge of the large helmet. Mr. Past leaned back in his seat and moaned.

Unable to resist I wrapped my hand around his girth and squeezed. I could feel the pulsing against my palm. For a few minutes I reveled in the smooth texture of his skin, the length of him, the power of the spear that throbbed in my hand. And then I couldn’t help myself. I had to taste him.

The smell of pine scented soap filled my nostrils as I opened my mouth to accommodate him. At first I could only take the head and a couple of inches, but gradually my jaw relaxed and I took him deeper and deeper. This I remembered. Like it was yesterday. The feel of him against the back of my throat. I swallowed, clenching my muscles around him. A satisfied moan was my reward.

“Are you going to?” he asked.

I nodded, not letting him leave me.

“Will you open your mouth and let me see it?”

I nodded again.

I pulled back and began flicking my tongue around and around the tip, faster and faster. And then, as I felt him pulse, I slowed, and switched to long deep strokes with my mouth against my hand, creating a fluid rhythm that would take him to the brink. My lips clenched around his shaft, working with my throat and tongue to pleasure him. I wanted to give him this. This memory.

“Marian,” he whispered, “almost… there…”

I hummed in acknowledgement and felt his balls tighten, but didn’t stop the steady pace. Three seconds later the hot stream of his release filled my mouth. I slowed, but kept milking him. When he finally relaxed I pulled away. And opened my mouth for him to see.

“Oh wow,” he said.

I smiled, reached for my almost empty iced tea, removed the lid, and spit his seed in the cup.

“You know it gives me a tummy ache,” I said in explanation.

He leaned in quickly and kissed me—hard—not minding the taste of himself still on my lips. I kissed back with all the longing for a reality between us that didn’t materialize. That wouldn’t. But that didn’t keep me from loving him with a love that wouldn’t fade. No matter the distance or the years we put between us.

We sat and reminisced for a few more minutes before he drove me back to the hospital. Back in my grandmother’s room I thought about what I had done. I tried to feel guilty for it. It went against my commitment to Nathan. But I didn’t. There was no rationalizing away what I had just done. Mr. Past and I came before Nathan. Somehow the love of auld lang syne was completely separate from the love of present and future. It was like I was living in parallel worlds that didn’t touch. One did not affect the other.

The only guilt I felt was for my lack of guilt.

My phone chimed. I looked down, expecting a text from Mr. Past. But it wasn’t from him. It was from Cameron. “Hope you had a safe trip home,” it read.

“I’m still here.” I texted back, with an explanation of what had happened with my grandmother.

After he shared his concerned he sent, “Do you know how long you’ll be staying?”

“Why do you ask?” I replied.

“I really want to see you again,” he answered.

I sat there, staring at my phone, and thought a long moment before I sent, “Me too.”

The Problem With Fabric Upholstery (Dancing With Boundaries Part 4)

I ate the last bite of my drive through chicken and took a long sip of iced tea. Mr. Past took a swig from his bottle of water and smiled.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said with a sigh, “There hasn’t been time to eat today. This is the first nourishment I’ve had.”

“I’m glad I could provide it,” he said tenderly.

“Thank you,” I said softly, “I’m going to have to get back soon.”

“I know. But first…” he leaned in for a kiss.

The tea and the water had cleansed our mouths and the coolness of our tongues mingled slowly. I felt a warm hand on my thigh, moving toward my heated center. Cupping my mound through my leggings I felt his palm move against me, pressing, hard. Instinctively I pushed back. And then, the pressure was gone.

I glanced over in time to catch him with his palm in front of his nose. I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Your pussy always smells the same. God, it takes me back,” he said by way of explanation.

“I hope you mean that in a good way.”

“I do. You’re full of sweet musk. Always. That hasn’t changed since we were teenagers.”

“And has this changed?” I asked. Boldly placing a hand on the erection that strained against his jeans. “Do you still list a little to the left?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. Feel free to check for yourself.”

Instead of taking his hint I just let my hand rest where it was, and deepened our kiss. His hand returned to my crotch.

“How do I get inside these tight things?” he asked.

“From the waistband,” I moaned, easing back in the seat to give him better access.

“Is this thing one piece?”

“No… here. See?”

He saw. And, once the path had been illuminated for him, he had his warm hand against the flesh of my warm mound, fingering my wetness.

“Oh, wow.” I moaned, easing the leggings further down my hips.

Back and forth his fingers went, teasing me, playing with me.

“Please put them inside,” I whispered.

“What was that darling? I don’t think I heard you.”

“Please. Please. Please. Please.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Please. More. Please.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Oh yes.”

My words were whispered groans…

“Oh! Oh! I’m so sorry! How did you make me do that so fast? Oh my gosh! Your seat!”

“It’s ok. I put a shirt down.”

“Huh?” I asked stupidly as I dug for fast food napkins to dry up the mess I had just made. Mr. Past quickly offered me a roll of paper towels. Props to the man for being prepared.

“I put one of my workout shirts in the passenger seat just in case,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said lamely. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Now, where were we?” he asked, reaching for my well again.

“Oh no you don’t,” I said, scooting away to the edge of the seat. “I can’t be trusted to not soil your car. Or my pants, which I have to wear tomorrow. I’m just relieved they didn’t get wet.”

We resumed our kissing and petting, with him staying above my waist with his explorations. But the more I felt the straining against his jeans, the more I wanted… more.

“May I just look at it?” I asked.

“You do whatever you want with it.”

I unbuttoned and unzipped the denim. Mr. Past lifted his hips and eased down his boxers. Yes. It still listed a bit to left.

Reader note: Yes. I know I’m stretching this out. But I’m trying to keep each post fairly short and add a new installment everyday. I’m not teasing intentionally. Promise. 

Making Out in a Parked Car (Dancing With Boundaries Part 3)

“Too bad I don’t have the wife’s van again,” Mr. Past chuckled as we approached his four door sedan.

“That was wrong on so many levels,” I said smiling.

“Yeah,” he said as we got in the car, “I had to chuck that air mattress because you soaked it so badly.”

“No!” I gasped, “It wasn’t that bad!”

“It was!” he insisted. “Best $30 I ever threw away in my life.”

I sat in the passenger seat trying to not be embarrassed that I had lost control like that. When I looked up at his gentle teasing and met his eyes all I saw was love. Our eyes locked for a full two seconds. I don’t know if he moved first or I did, but there in the dark, inside his parked car we met across the center console in a passionate kiss.

I leaned into him, drawing him into deeper and deeper kisses. Our mouths opened and tongues explored. His hands framed my neck and the back of my head, cradling me. There was a new confidence about him. One that I believe has come with age and his toned physique.

His mouth explored my face, leaving the safety of my lips for other terrains. Down my cheek to my jawline he went, leaving a trail of yearning in his wake. As he left a line of firm, insistent kisses I felt myself yielding to his touch. I was across the console arching into him.

Even though it was dark and foggy out and the windows of his car were tinted I was aware that if someone passed by and looked closely, our actions would be noticed. I pulled away, leaving my hand on his thigh, and took a long breath.

“That was nice,” I said.

“Mmmhmmm,” Mr. Past agreed.

“Not to change the subject,” I said, “but I’m really hungry. Would you mind driving me somewhere to get some nourishment?”

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, “and we could also find a more private place to park.”

“I like that idea,” I said smiling.

He put the car into gear and drove out into the darkness in search of drive through chicken and a secluded alley. Seven minutes later he had found both.

Dancing With Boundaries Part 2

“I’m here.” the simple text read.

Mr. Past and I had agreed that he would message me when he was at the hospital so I could slip out and meet him without disturbing my grandmother. My heart skipped a bit. He was here.

“Grandmother,” I whispered in her ear, “I’m stepping out to get a quick bite. Will you be okay with the nurses to check on you?”

She nodded and dozed back off. With a quick check of my appearance in the institutional-looking mirror I evaluated my reflection. A tight black long sleeved workout-shirt topped tight black leggings that were tucked into brown riding boots. Nothing about my shape was left to the imagination.

I left the room quietly and rounded the corner, looking for Mr. Past. I didn’t have to wait long. He came down the hallway, a vision of all-American good-looking man. Long, lean legs were encased in jeans that hugged him just the right way. A fitted half-zip fleece showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His hair, longer than it’s ever been, was swept to the side giving him a sexy air I wasn’t accustomed to. He had never looked so good.

We closed the distance to each other and in moments I was in a tight embrace. His arms held me tight while his hands ran up and down my back. His lips pressed tenderly against my forehead. We stayed like that for several minutes before breaking apart and going down the elevator to the main lobby. Inside the elevator he liberally groped my ass while I enjoyed marveling at the man he has worked so hard to become.

Downstairs in the almost empty lobby we sat, our clasped hands resting on his thigh, talking candidly. Talking as we haven’t been able to do in person for years. He shared about the frustrations he has in his marriage. And I about how well things are going with Nathan. Yet there I was, wanting him just like old times. Mr. Past knows me though. He knows my fickle nature. He expects my flashes passion that cool without warning only to flare back up hotter than ever. And he loves me in spite of that.

I gradually became aware of how close we were sitting. How intimate our body language was. How his thumb was tracing gentle circle inside my palm. And of his occasional glancing around. “Are we okay like this?” I asked.

“I’m just watching…” he trailed off. But I knew what he meant. It’s not a big town. He could be seen and that could mean trouble for him.

“We could go to your car,” I suggested.

“It would definitely be more private,” he said with a suggestive smile.

We rose together and walked out into the cold night, hand in hand.


Dancing With Boundaries

I promised a post where Mr. Past would make an appearance. This is the first one.

I sat curled up in the hospital chair watching my grandmother sleep. It was my shift. My phone chimed and I smiled as I read the “hope you had a safe trip home” text from Mr. Past. He didn’t know I was still in town.

“I’m still here,” I told him. And then proceeded to fill him in on all that had happened with my grandmother.

He wanted to know where I would be sleeping. At that time I wasn’t sure, but told him I would probably be alone at my grandmother’s house. The wheels began turning. He began plotting how he could get away for an extended amount of time. I began remembering what it felt like to have his hands and body on me. My grandmother slept on, oblivious to the plotting taking place just feet away.

However, as much as I wanted to have some alone time with Mr. Past I was afraid of how I would feel if I did have sex with him. My relationship with Nathan has, for the moment anyway, taken precedent over my lusting nature. The side of me that keeps winning is the one that wants to curl up with Nathan, calm in the knowledge that I have saved my body for him. That, while I may flirt and have my many secrets, I do halt before another man is inside me.

If Mr. Past and I were alone in a house I did not trust myself to keep those boundaries in place. You see, though I try to posture as strong, I know that I am weak. So, when Mother called and said she would like to get a full night’s sleep on a real bed and asked me to continue my shift until morning I was relieved. But also disappointed.

Ahhh… the conflicting emotions. I craved alone time with Mr. Past. But didn’t want the guilt of sex with him. I texted Mr. Past to let him know I would be staying at the hospital all night and that our rendezvous at Grandmother’s house would be impossible. He already had his plan of action in place, so offered to come by and see me there.

If I hadn’t been afraid of waking Grandmother up I would have done a little happy dance in the room. I would get to see him. Without the prying eyes of his family or mine.

Selfie Sunday and Thoughts on Standing Between My Past and My Future

I’m here in the hospital listening to my grandmother softly snore. Thoughts of the past week swirl through my brain while I simultaneously attempt to fight off a headache. I remember the feelings I had when Mr. Past showed up to rescue Christmas dinner. This was before we realized Grandmother wasn’t “just tired.”

Instead of snow, brown leaves drifted down from the giant live oak tree underneath which my father and Nathan were attempting to fry a turkey. But with no propane in the tank they weren’t getting anywhere fast. Phone calls were made and with Mr. Past down visiting his own family he soon heard of our dilemma. And fifteen minutes later, there he was. Propane procured, looking better than he ever has. Ever.

When he hugged me hello it was tight but brief. Nathan was standing right there. As was my father. Our past is our secret. It wouldn’t do to let slip what we are to each other now. So what did I feel in those moments standing between him and Nathan? My past and my future? It was a twisted sort of nostalgia. One that longed for the simplicity of when we were everything to each other. Not just because of that magical season, but because of all that surrounded it.

Back then my grandfather was alive and healthy. My grandmother didn’t need to hold on the wall for balance. I had my whole life ahead of me with so many possibilities. Those things and more, I miss. But the twist to it is that now I have settled into a life path that I’m successful at and enjoy. I don’t want to ever have to relearn all the things one learns from 16 to 33. So while the ache for the old days and Mr. Past’s touch was acute, I shifted to Nathan’s side and place a hand briefly on the small of his back.

However, that would not be the last time I saw Mr. Past during my visit.

So here I sit, in the chair I slept in last night, in the clothes I slept in last night, composing my thoughts into words.

Selfie Sunday - January 4th

Selfie Sunday – January 4th

There’s No Pocket in a Shroud

Sometimes unexpected events occur that shake one’s life foundations and it becomes very clear that what one believed to be important actually holds very little meaning. Just such an event impacted my life over Christmas.

It was the day before Christmas and all was not well. My grandmother—who is the rock of our family—moved about like sand snaking on a windy road in the desert. Down the hall she would weave, clutching at the half-inch chair rail for balance. At times she would be mentally present and at others, in a world I could not see or access. She was drifting. There were more signs that I see now, looking back, but was blind to their significance at the time.

And then she fell.

Hospital rooms. Doctors. Long nights. Tests. Scans. Questions. Nurses. Cardiologists. Neurologists.

A stroke.

My grandmother had been the victim of a stroke.

In the days that followed Nathan had to return to work, as did my father. That left my mother and I to handle things in this small Southern town far away from our current native habitat. There we would know the best doctors to take her to. There we would know people to call for support. There we would have our men to wrap us in warm embraces when we felt ourselves falling apart. But we were not there.

We were here.

But in spite of the sleepless nights and the worry and the planning, some of my ghosts of Christmas’ past came creeping in. Mr. Past will make an appearance in an upcoming post. As will Cameron. I’m not sure why I allowed myself to be surrounded by temptation among all the stress. It was almost like a test. A science experiment if you will.

If you mix a highly stressed, emotional and horny Marian with her high school love while she is in a committed relationship with Nathan (but Nathan is several hundred miles away), what will she do?

If you put Marian alone in a house with a man she had a severe crush on in high school who claims to have been looking for her for 16 years (which of course stirred up all sorts of emotions), what will she do?

So after leaving you with those two questions to ponder I will tell you this. My grandmother is stable and recovering. And I am so very thankful.

I will not say Happy New Year to you all because for many of us happiness is a moving target. Instead I leave you with a quote from Neil Gaiman. Because he has said what I feel already. And right now I’m all about efficiency rather than pride in being original.

And for this year, my wish for each of us is small
and very simple.

And it’s this.
I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.
So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
Whatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.
Make your mistakes, next year and forever.

—Neil Gaiman