Same Procedure As Last Year...

Just a quickie...

We got back from UK after a brilliant Christmas safe and sound last night. It was quite a shock to find the car, which we had parked at the airport, covered in a thick layer of ice.

I'll save the details of our first night together in our own bed after a week of enforced celibacy for another occasion as we have a fair bit to do this afternoon in preparation for our new year celebrations.

Hopefully it will unfold in much the same was as last year, Son is off to have supper with his gf and her family (M1 for those who can keep up) and then on to a party. Daughter is throwing us out so that she can have a few friends round so we are consigned to the summerhouse, a roaring fire and chilled champagne.

See you all in 2008 and have a very

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Full Circle

I’d had a fairly unadventurous upbringing. Apart from a trip to Paris to visit my aunt when I was 7 I’d never been abroad until I got myself bewitched by the beautiful Viking I met at university. So it was in September 1978 that I took my first flight to go and visit her and meet the in-laws.

It was a charter flight organised by the NUS travel bureau. A bargain by the standards of the day (though hugely expensive compared with today’s fares) the disadvantage was that it flew from Luton-Diametrically the other side of London from where I lived- to Copenhagen, necessitating a further flight to our final destination. (But not before we’d had a night of debauchery in Copenhagen).

The airline in question was a little-known outfit called Sterling who operated charter flights only, using such venerable machines as the Sud-Aviation Caravelle. A fine piece of kit in its day but nearing retirement in 1978.

It was a fine day over most of England, and I looked out of the cabin window, hoping to identify the place where we crossed the British coastline. Clacton was my best guess so I was rather concerned on seeing what looked like Beachy Head slipping past under our wing. I must admit to never having seen Beachy Head from 35,000 feet, but my geography isn’t all that far out and the coast of East Anglia is not really known for it’s chalk cliffs.

Maybe we’d turn from our southerly heading once out over The English Channel, I thought. As we prepared for landing after a surprisingly quick flight I looked out of the window again and was surprised to see that Copenhagen had a metal erection at least as impressive as the Eiffel Tower, however the rising fear within me that I had somehow got on the wrong plane were allayed by the announcement that the flight was indeed bound for Copenhagen.

Via Paris.

Unfortunately the travel agency hadn’t thought to inform us of this small detail. The arrival time I forwarded to Heather, who was by then waiting for me at Kastrup airport, Copenhagen, was in fact our arrival time at Orly.


Fast forward to December 2007. We’re flying to England on Sunday and the airline we’re flying with is once again Sterling. They’ve re-invented themselves along the lines of Ryanair and Easy-thing as a cut price operator flying from regional airports. Fortunately, one of the regional airports they operate from now is right on our doorstep. They’ve retired their Caravelles now, and operate a modern fleet of these.

Just kidding, though it wouldn’t bother me. I’ve flown in one of those and it’s FUN!

So in a way we've gone full circle, from the first time I ventured overseas by myself, first time in an aircraft as a young student going to visit his girlfriend at her parent's house, to leaving that same house with that same girl and with our own family in tow to spend a holiday in the UK.

Anyway. This will probably be the last chance I get to post this year so have a merry Christmas* and a happy new year, wherever you are, and I hope to be posting much more in 2008!

If you see us in UK then give us a wave. We'll be driving round The Road To Hell (aka the M25) from Gatwick to the M3 on Sunday night in an Avis rental car so we should be easy to spot. I thought I'd put up this song because it is one of my favourites with a Christmas theme and it is also just very appropriate:

*Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, our best wishes for an environmentally-conscious, socially-responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practised within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practise religious or secular traditions at all.

We also wish you a fiscally-successful, personally-fulfilling and medically-uncomplicated recognition of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make this country great. Not to imply that either England or Europe are necessarily greater than any other country or culture, and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishes.

By accepting these greetings you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her-self or him-self or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher.

This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of anew wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

Nisser!

They live in attics in every house in the land but only really come out in December. They apparently help Santa in some undefined role. Possibly in distribution of the presents or in spying on the members of the household through cracks in the walls throughout the year and reporting back to Santa on who’s been naughty or nice. They also leave small presents for each child every night during advent, as long as you remember to leave out a bowl of rice pudding and a glass of beer for them. They are called Nisser and they are everywhere at the moment.



(Have a look here as well, but don't ask me what Anton is doing to that pig. I'd rather not know.)

There are even specialist nisser. 'Drillenisser' are the little mischevious buggers that are responsible for everything that goes wrong around the house, a kind of Gremlin in other words, and there is a special breed that is found only in the printing trade; "Sætternisser" are the ones that cause all the typos, mipsprints and smelling mistales. They must have lots of those at 'The Grauniad'.

For those people who haven't got a gnome to go to, they can be provided free of charge under the National Elf Service.

We've got one as well of course. He's called Mr O'Reilly, after the 'Fawlty Towers' episode.



Say 'Hi' to Mr O' Reilly.

Sugasm #110

Sugasm #110

December 17th, 2007 by Vixen Updated: December 17th, 2007

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #111? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Sex Worker Solidarity: Audacia Ray“Visibility on our own terms and the ability to uses our voices (and other mediums of expression) are key to the progress of sex worker’s rights.”

So Many Men, So Few Sluts“Everyone wants to avoid generalizations about men and women, yet they’re too powerful to ignore.”

This Time“She had That Look, and despite my earlier fatigue, I knew what was coming.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Hombre Magazine’s Left Handed Ads

Editor’s Choice
Love in an Elevator

More SugasmJoin the Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Sex Advice
The Everything Guide To Bras
Giving a woman a pedicure
Sex Tips for “Married Old Guys” - How to Keep Your Sex Life Hot, Even Without Erections!
Ten Things I’ve Learned abut Sex #3: Leave Your Clothing on a Pile

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Different Level of Consciousness
Intimacy
Jodie Foster, a lesbianLoved endlessly…
Non-anniversary, uncelebration
Unwanted sexual experiences from a new angle; Men have needs too!
Where Do I Come (In)?

Sex & Politics
Strippers and libertarianism

BDSM & Fetish
Dinner and a Menage’ a Trois
Dominating her, er again part2
A Little Restraint
More from my last visit (pt. 2)
My First Erotic Awakening Massage
One Hell Of First Date
Thoughts…V is for Vicious Ardor

Sex Work
Whip Me, Beat Me — And Call It Girlfriend Experience

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Featured Design: Pro-Porn
Fuck The Cheerleader, Fuck The World. (Hogtied.com, Forced Orgasms, Cheerleader)
Gift Guide #2
Intern Sex Toy Review - Saturn Cockring
Interview with Greta Christina about hiring a professional submissive
Pinky & Jade at Pinkys House (Inside Dacia’s Dirty Mind)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Catalina loves Turning 36
Christmas Tree HNT
Fingers
Foreplay
I Speak Roughly, Part 2: RBU
It’sThe Kiss: All Through The Night.
The Limitations of Terminology
Patience Rewarded
The Shower - Part One
Trying on Shoes (a fantasy)
Women Dancing

Sex Poetry
While sleeping

NSFW Pics & Videos
Danni’s Friends in Daring Nude Galleries
Janelle Elson - Stairway To Janelle
Pornsaint Niya Yu

Sex Humor
Brunch Stories 2-The Strange Folks On Craigslist
Condom Use

Things I'm Not Supposed To Know

Today, Heather was taking quick stock of the presents we’d bought, trying to work out if we had bought enough for each of the kids. She decided that Daughter needed something else, but fortunately she had seen a bra and briefs set in the clothes shop a few doors down in a leopard-skin pattern. Daughter likes leopard skin.

“What cup-size do you think she takes. A or B?” She called back at me on her way upstairs to see if she could find any of her existing bras.

I honestly didn’t know what to answer. After all, it’s not the kind of thing I ought to be taking an interest in. I know she's certainly not flat-chested but I can't say I have studied the question very intensively.

There are some things that a father just isn’t supposed to know about his daughter

A Little Less Restraint

Well, I didn’t have to wait long to try anal with the harness. A couple of days ago we took an ’early’ night. (That is to say, around midnight) so that we could spend just a little more time on each other. I put my cock-ring on again just for fun and after much kissing, nibbling and scratching of fingernails up and down backs, Heather got up on all fours, announcing that she wanted to see how it felt with my harnesed balls slapping against her.

So I knelt up behind her and pleasured myself in her moist depths while gripping the back of her neck in one hand and scratching all the way down her back from her neck to the crack of her bum with the other. Inexorably, the thumb of that hand sought further down until it was resting over the little rosebud of her arsehole. I pressed in a little, requesting permission and, having received a somewhat breathless acquiescence, I wetted the thumb in her ample juices and pushed it on in. She opened up for me delightfully easily, so I wetted first one finger, then two, and pushed them deep inside her, twisting them round and opening them out before squeezing a third finger in beside them and bunching up my hand so stretch her even more.

Easing the fingers out again, I lubed myself and her copiously and eased my cock warily into her. We’re no strangers to anal sex, as long term readers may know, but we haven’t had it for quite a while now. Heather just hasn’t felt able recently, and that’s just fine. It’s not something you would want to do every time you jump into bed, like they appear to do in countless porn flicks. I’d prefer to keep it as a rare and precious treat, to be enjoyed when we are able to relax and spend the time needed to do it properly.

I placed the head of my cock up against her arsehole, and gingerly pushed. Gently does it. We've done this a hundred times before, but she always tenses slightly. Push too hard or at the wrong angle and the discomfort can spoil the whole evening, but a little jab is necessary to propel myself past that tight little sphincter. She held her breath, I was tensed, ready to pull out again at the first sign of distress. Gently does it.

Then in it popped, accompanied by a flood of relief. The harness really seemed to help to get the angle just right. Now she could begin to enjoy it, and I too. I leaned back a little on my heels and let her push back on me, but buffered her buttocks in my hands so that I was just barely dipping into her, the head of my cock tickled and tittilated on her spincter. Heather was unhappy about this, though, fearing that I might at any moment slip out altogether and drive into her at the wrong angle at the next thrust. I pushed deeper into her again and I could tell from her breathing and from her moans that she was not far from coming; but there is always that barrier that just holds her back. She reached a hand back, managing to stimulate her clit and tickle my balls with one economical hand movement. This helped, brought her even closer. Her excitement spurred me on to even greater efforts as I hammered away recklessly in her behind. She scrunched up into a little ball, reaching between her legs with both hands now, her face completely submerged in the pillow.

I tried to detatch my mind from what I was doing, to prolong my penetration of her for long enough for her to finally come, but in the end we both realised that, though tantalisingly close, it just wasn’t going to happen. At least not that way. I grabbed her hips and pulled her frantically on to me as I finally let go, sending another wave of pleasure through her, but just not enough to tip her over the edge. I pulled out again after a decent interval, drove my thumb straight into her dripping cunt and fumbled for her clitoris with the remaining fingers. She clamped her legs tight over my hand and came in seconds, gasping with joy and relief and exhaustion. It seems we can’t get around it: In order forHeather to come she has to have her legs together and she needs her clitoral stimulation.

To actually get her to come with me inside her is something of a challenge. It takes ingenuity and patience.

But it’s fun trying.



Note: For anyone contemplating venturing into anal sex for the first time, this should be compulsory reading. In fact everything that AAG has written on the subject is worth reading for it's wisdom and humour and plain common sense.

A Little Restraint

Last time We were in UK, I was in an Ann Summers store and had a rummage in their bargain bin when I found this.







I assumed it was some sort of medical support, possibly for the thumb after a cricket injury, perhaps. Or too much masturbation. Lol.

Actually when we got back from hols and it was time to unpack we had several other goodies we couldn’t wait to try out. Namely the Rampant Rabbit, the leg spreaders and various lubes. Plus the fact that three weeks away from home had left me somewhat unkempt and you don’t want to be putting rubber rings on places with a liberal sprinkling of hair. So this little chap got a bit forgotten in the bottom of our goody bag.

Until the other night.

I was undressed and ready, while Heather was taking her sweet time in the bathroom. Situation normal. While I was waiting I investigated the contents of the goody bag. I can’t remember what I was looking for, or what I was planning to do with it, but I found my little leather and rubber appliance and, being in a more satisfactory state of pubic baldness, decided to try it on.

It wasn’t easy the first time, bollocks can be slippery customers sometimes. They have a mind of their own and mine didn’t want to be restrained. I also hesitated, bent double with both hands between my legs, before snapping the press-studs shut. What if I should catch a loose flap of scrotal skin in the popper? It would hurt like buggery. The very thought brought tears to the eyes..

At last I got the leather strap snapped closed above my balls, with the rubber ring in place, and it just felt so goooood! Scrotum stretched smooth and taut over balls, the rubber ring having the effect of drawing the foreskin back as my erection powered forward. As I stood up the whole kit of parts was standing proud and ready instead of flopping and lolling about the place. (My balls normally have a tendency to dangle more than most due to some apprentice butcher surgeon taking the wrong bit out of me during my first vasectomy-That’s probably too much information. Sorry).

I couldn’t wait to show myself off. I went into the bathroom to parade around in front of Heather and she was suitably impressed. She’s never complained of me being deficient in the size department (she’s very kind) and stamina has not yet become an issue (unless I’m very very drunk) but the angle at which my cock stuck out just made it look bigger and it felt rock hard and throbbing under the rubber ring, with the balls bunched together and pushed forward, free of my legs, as I stood there. She cupped my balls in her hand, ran her fingernails over the taut skin. That just felt blissful, along witht the deeply erotic sensation of restraint.

We went back into the bedroom. I lay down and she crawled all over me, caressing my balls with soft fingertips, stroking my shaft with her tongue before enveloping the engorged purple head with her lips and slowly consuming me. I reached out a hand to thrust between her legs but she moved away. For the moment she wanted no other stimulation. I lay back with my hands behind my head and just enjoyed the view of her head bobbing up and down.

When she finally came up for air, I got up, took her by the shoulders and guided her until her head was hanging upside-down off the edge of the bed. I knelt in front of her face, cradled her head in my hands and eased my cock down her throat, gradually increasing the intenity of the thrusts until she could take no more. I leaned in over her, letting her take my cock more passively, while I elbowed her legs out of the way and buried my head between them. I ran my tongue around her clitoris and in the clefts hetween her outer and inner labia, but was drawn inexorably to her cunt. So wet and sweet. I tried to stick my tongue in as deep as it would go but from a straightforward 69 position I could really only dip the tip in her heady juices. I slipped my thumb in instead, wettting it thogoughly before venturing towards her arse. She warned me off with a muffled sound through a mouthful of my cock but I got the message and contented myself with painting her perineum in her own juices with my tongue.

But I wanted that tongue deep inside her! The smell of her was driving me mad. I pushed my face hard onto her again, pressed my lips deeply onto the rim of her cunt, stuck my tongue in as deep as it would go.

And then sucked.

I sucked her into me and my tongue was instantly enveloped in silky, fleshy folds. I felt deeper inside her than I had ever been before and she responded with muffled moans of pleasure. I released the suction and then went back again, probing ever deeper. I could feel her body starting to go rigid, her legs tightening about me. Her head broke free to could take gasping breaths, leaving my cock pressing into her supra-sternal notch. One more deep suck, one more expedition for my tongue into places it had never ventured before and I knew that enough was enough. She was in that agonising state of teetering on the brink of orgasm but being held back by not being able to press her legs together. I pulled away and just had enough time to push a hand roughly up between her legs as they snapped together. I must have tugged and snagged at her gorgeous mat of hair as I struggled to find her clit in that confined space, but she was past caring. Her orgasm had taken on a momentum of its own and all that was left for me to do was to kiss her and stroke her and bring her down again gently.

She lay spread out and exhausted on the bed, her fingers wrapped round my cock, dreamily manipulating it. I took charge, taking it in a firmer grip. It just felt so good! With thumb and forefinger around the shaft I wrap the reamining three fingers around my balls. It was all there in my hand! I was sorely tempted to deposit my pearlescent seed over her pale skin and have done with it. But no, I had to be inside her. With that age-old gesture of total giving, she drew her legs up and apart, offering me the most precious thing she has to give and I took it gratefully, cupping her face in my hands as I eased tenderly into her, kissing her lips as I arched my back to thrust harder, gazing into her eyes as my own orgasm approached before finally falling down beside her, holding her close to me.

I don’t know whether it felt different for her. Whether she noticed any change in hardness or size, whether the leather and the metal studs stimulated her or just annoyed her. We're going to have to experiment some more with this. Certainly it's not the last time we try this little device; For a start I want to anal sex, and I want to have a good long session to see how long we can keep going. It's going to be fun finding out, whatever happens.



Postscript: The following evening I put the thing on again and, just for the fun of it, copiously coated my cock and balls with strawberry and champagne flavour 'Dick Lick'. This turned out to be a big mistake. Firstly; there is another word that also rhymes with 'Dick' and 'Lick'. Yup, 'Stick'. Leather stuck to rubber, rubber stuck to hair, everything stuck to skin, I stuck to her. In all a most uncomfortable experience. Secondly, whereas 'Strawberries and champagne' sounds rather decadent, extravagant, sophisticated, Heather's first reaction on tasting her treat was that it actually reminded her more of candyfloss. Not so much a night of steamy romance in a suite at the Ritz, more a quick shag behind the dodgems at the funfair. Oh well.

...And Here's One I Made Earlier

Just spent a happy weekend in the kitchen, boiling up tons of old newspapers and then dabbling my fingers in gooey papier mâché. An unusual fetish don’t you think?

Actually it was all in a good cause. It has become something of a tradition in our business that our Christmas window display incorporates a working model railway. I alluded to this in passing this time last year. The kids passing by love to stop and watch and of course, being the Fat Controller, I have no objection to being allowed to play trains.

The one I’m working on isn’t quite finished yet. (Have you any idea how long it takes a papier mâché mountain to dry? Me neither.) So here’s one I made a couple of years back. An extravaganza in perspex…

UPDATE!! I found a better video of the thing:

Time To Hang Up My (Table) Football Boots

Thirty one years ago this month, a somewhat spottty and greasy-haired 19 year old got off the train at Bradford Exchange station and made his way down the freezing street towards the technical college (as it was then). I had left school that summer and was taking what is now known as a ’gap year’ but was then called ’doing something useful with yourself until you can convince some university or other to take you’. Hence I took on a job as a trainee manager for a large and well-known company with retail outlets on every British high street and they had sent me to Bradford as a part of the block-release course by which I was to learn my craft. That I’m not really management material, being unable to organise even the proverbial piss-up in a brewery, became apparent later but by then I had managed to con my way into a seat of higher learning, where I met the woman who was to change my life. That’s another story.

The actual course was not too strenuous. I had been doing it by correspondence for the previous four months or so and we were just covering the ground we were already familiar with, backed up with practical exercises. But I did learn a lot that week: For example, I saw a woman naked for the first time, in a strip pub on Manningham Lane. I say woman, she was little more than a kid, escorted still naked from the stage after her performance through the crush of drinkers between two burly minders. After all these years her pinched little face is still etched in my memory, as is the music she performed to. I saw my first porn flick that week too and it was where I discovered a previously hidden talent: Down in the student common room at the college there was a table football machine and I discovered that I could play table football…and win! I have killer wrists, I can flick absolutely unstoppable balls down the length of the table. Video games were just in their infancy then – we had to wait another two years for ’Space Invaders’ - but I have never really been any good at any of them anyway. At darts I am little more than mediocre and most other pub games I tend to sit out so as not to embarass myself, BUT show me a table football machine and I will take on all-comers.

Until…

We were on a mercy dash up to Daughter’s school the other night. She had left ’Rabbit’ * at home at the weekend and she was complaining that there was a big empty space in the bed where he should have been. Rabbit has been her constant companion almost since it was taller than her. What parent could deny such a request? You don’t want them to grow up too quickly after all.

We found her in the dining hall, hanging out with some of her friends. Having drunk a cup of coffee together she suddenly jumped up.

”D’ya want your ass whooped at table football then?” she shouted, and raced across the dining hall towards the students ’hole’ before I had a chance to answer. I rolled up my sleeves, spat on my hands and followed her.

(If you don’t want to know the final score, look away now)

Ten – Nine. To her.

”Ha!, Have you had enough, nazi, or do you want some more?” she crowed in a quote from her favourite TV show of all time (anyone guess which ?). But I was knackered. She had beaten me fair and square. The old killer wrists were still working but she was just sharper, quicker, more in practice.

So age hands over it’s laurels to youth. I suppose it’s nice to know that our school fees are being put to good use.



Meanwhile, we got to finally meet Sophie. Now Sophie is the unscrupulous cradle-snatcher who has her talons in my baby boy. They had met at the party of a mutual friend and a few days later she had texted him suggesting they meet up again. Well, they did and she followed him home and ended up staying two nights. I really don’t know how he does it but he must have something going for him. After all she didn’t run screaming from his flat when she saw the state of the place, she wasn’t at all put out by the sight of Crowley, his pet snake, which he feeds on little pink baby rats he keeps in the freezer, or by the carpet of weeks-old pizza boxes on his floor.

We phoned over to his flat the other evening to let him know that supper would be in about half an hour and he just let us know there would be one more joining us. OK, this is about 30 minutes more notice than he usually gives us. And that was how, after two days of staying at our place, he finally introduced Sophie to us. I must say, she has style. Son says she’s 20 but she looks older. She’s tall, taller than even Son and he’s the tallest in the family, and very slender. She was dressed in goth style with long, slightly frizzy red hair and the long black dress just accentuated her tall and willowy build. She was quiet but not diffident, on the contrary she seemed very self confident.

She’s not his girlfriend, he was at pains to point out later. She has a boyfriend already. So what’s going on here? I give up.

His other gf, M2 seems to have drifted off the scene, but he was invited to M1’s 18th birthday at the weekend although they are not officially an item at the moment. This was the family party as opposed to the schoolmates’ bash and, along with the others she invited, he seems to have been drafted in to annoy the various uncles and aunts present. With his shoulder-length hair, ankle-length leather coat and various piercings he looks like every mother-in-law’s worst nightmare. Other guests were his good mate Martin, an anarchist living in a squat in Copenhagen, and a first-year from college, a lesbian muslim with cropped red hair and a nice line in self-irony (”Damn, I forgot to bring my prayer mat. Can anyone lend me a compass?, I need to work out which way Mecca is”).

Despite going out of their way to be quietly provocative, this motley band seems to have got on ok with the relatives. Us old gits are often a good deal more tolerant than the youth gives us credit for.

They don’t realise that we were young once as well.

*In case of any misunderstanding, this particular rabbit is of the fluffy, cuddly variety, unlike Heathers' which is pink and bendy, but definitely not fluffy.

Fruit Cocktail

Without consulting me, they changed my regular hair shampoo so that my hair now smells of melon.

The soap which I used a few moments ago to wash meticulously around my groin is from a giant multi-pack we bought at Tescos, the last time we were in England. Heather liked the grapefruit scent.

Hopefully the pineapple juice I have been drinking all day will have worked its magic, making my seed more palatable to her.

As I lie on the bed, erection proudly waving in the air, waiting for her to come to me, I dab a little drop of strawberry flavour ‘Dick lick’ on the very tip to entice her.

She won’t know whether she’s giving me a blowjob or eating a fruit cocktail.

Getting Behind

This is our busiest time of year, both at work and socially. That's my excuse for not posting as often as I would like...and there's so much to tell. I'm also way behind with reading all the wonderful blogs out there.

But with the best will in the world I'd rather be having great sex than reading about it :-o

Back soon!

Buttons

Despite this being the pantomime season this is not about Cinderella. Nor is it about the kind of buttons you undo, or the chocolate ones you find in your stocking on Christmas day. It’s about the ones you press…



I have mentioned before Son’s ability to change girlfriends as the rest of us change underwear. Only the other day he received a text from a 20 year old woman he met at a party at the weekend, asking if he was interested in meeting up again. I mean, he’s got women chasing after him! It simply isn’t fair!

Envious though I might be of his powers in this respect, there is still something to be said for good old monogamy. When you’ve lived with the same person for years you know exactly which buttons to press, and when. You can play your partner like a musical instrument and, like a concert pianist, you know exactly how to get the very best out of your chosen instrument for maximum pleasure and get some pretty sweet music as a result. Does it get boring, having a deep intimate relationship with the same person year in and year out? Try asking any concert pianist if they ever get bored knocking out a few tunes on the old Joanna. There is always room for improvement, for experimentation.

Now don’t think for a moment that I am promoting the monogamous lifestyle as the only proper way to go about things. That would fly in the face of all the evidence. I am just saying that it works for us, and for that I feel incredibly grateful.

The other night we were late to bed again, having taken a couple of early nights to try and compensate for the excesses of the weekend. There was a ton of work to do in the office, we both had things we had to go to that evening, in fact I had two separate events that required my presence simultaneously at opposite ends of town. Not having mastered the basic principles of time travel, I had to leave one early and yomp across town to the other in sub-zero temperatures (Heather had the car) to catch the last bit of the other. This is how it always is as we get towards Christmas, there is something going on almost every night and often several things at once.

So we were well and truly knackered when we rolled into bed, and poor Heather was suffering with a backache. She rolled over and asked me to massage her between the shoulder blades, which to me is quite a powerful erogenous zone. I’m convinced that that particular area gives off its’ own unique pheromone. However, I was quite happy to massage her and then snuggle beside her to sleep but suddenly she looked round at me and asked:

“Do you want Sex?”

Silly question. Of course I want sex. Who wouldn’t?

“Do you?” I asked her back.

“Mmmmaybe” she replied coyly. I HATE that. After 30 years of being together she still can’t come straight out and say she wants sex. If there was one thing I would change about her, it would be that. However, the very fact that she asked at 1.30 in the morning suggested that she was as needy as I.

“You’ll have to go a bit gently because of my back, so no sudden twisting or pulling” she warned. “I’m going to have to make an appointment with the chiropractor tomorrow”

“I think I’ll have to make an appointment as well. With you” I whispered.

“What for?”

“It’s high time you had some punishment. You need keeping in line”.

She sighed and parted her legs ever so slightly as I massaged her mons.

“I think you’d benefit from thick leather cuffs on your wrists and ankles but I can’t quite decide what to do with you. Do I stretch you out as far as you will go in the door frame so that the skin of your back is as tight as a drum when I lash you, or should I make you crouch, not able to squat or to stand.

“How would that be?” I carried on. “If I put the nipple clamps on you and joined them to the hooks by the floor by chains so that you couldn’t stand fully upright, but with your wrists chained to the hooks above your head so that you couldn’t fully squat down.”

“That would be very uncomfortable” she panted.

“Yes, it would. After a while the muscles in your legs would be screaming and you would strain upwards, pulling at your nipples to get some relief, or hang by your wrists. Anything to change position for a brief moment”.

She moaned more intensely as I slid a finger down into her soaking wet cleft and dragged some moisture up over her clitoris.

“I think I’d just sit there and watch you twisting and turning. Waiting to see what you’d be willing to do for me in return for your release”.

“You’d have to catch me first” she gasped as the first waves of orgasm hit her.

“No problem”. I purred. I’d lie in wait with a pair of handcuffs and snap them on when you least expected it”

“I’d fight back” The word were forced out through gritted teeth.

“Good”. I whispered as she spasmed and bucked and pressed her pubis up into my hand.

“Maybe I’ll just handcuff you to the end of the bed, strip you, spread your legs and fuck you”.

“I wouldn’t let you” she gasped defiantly as her orgasm rolled on and on.

“I wouldn’t give you the choice. I’d tie your ankles to the end of the bed and fuck you whether you liked it or not.”

That bought her waning orgasm to a new height of intensity as she cried out and thrashed around, and I held her tight as it slowly subsided and left her shivering.

I have to admit I was in two minds about including this last bit. I deleted and re-wrote it several times. I would hate anybody to think that I was trivialising the awful and devastating crime that rape is. That was not my intention. It was just the way it happened. I am proud to say that in the 30 years I have known Heather I have not once raised a hand to her in anger. When we act out these fantasies she is very much a willing participant and if she were to say ‘Stop’ or to use the safe word then it would stop there and then. She never has.

She normally lets me decide what position to use for entering her, but out of consideration for her back, she thought she’d better find one that was comfortable for her. She slowly rolled over onto all fours. I knelt behind her, my knees straddling her legs, and eased into her, massaging her shoulder blades as I did so. She was just so divinely tight and wet and warm. I luxuriated in the closeness of her surrounding me, easing slowly in and out to experience it again and again. Gradually the thrusting became more determined. I pushed harder and grabbed around the back of her neck in a pincer-like grip. She threw her head back, started moaning and contracting again. I was on the point of telling her to put a hand up between her legs, to bring herself off again, but I was past my point of no return. I drove the breath out of her as my parting thrusts slammed into her and then all was quiet.

“You know I was very close to coming again” she said.

I’d felt that. This was extraordinary; for one thing Heather very rarely comes more than the once, and if she does it requires some pretty strenuous attention from me. Secondly, In all the time I have known her she has never come from penetration alone.

I don’t know quite what it was that brought her so close; whether it was the verbal foreplay or her legs squeezed together as I pushed into her, the grip on her neck or maybe I had found just the right angle at which to penetrate her. Whatever it was, I had clearly pushed some of the right buttons

I want to try again soon and do the job properly. There’s always room for improvement.