What sex is REALLY like, in my world:

      34 Comments on What sex is REALLY like, in my world:
view from woman's perspective of man's hand wrapped around thigh during oral sex

Scene /ONE/

Well, I’m naked, I think. So that’s about 90% of the ‘seduction’ bit taken care of right there.

Plumping the pillows, I tick off the preparatory checklist in my mind – showered? check!, bed arranged? yep!, lube somewhere around here? ummm… yes? – and wonder what I should do to tempt the Mister into my lair boudoir mess of a bedroom. After smoothing the towel down over the pillow that will go under my bum, I opt for the tried and true: “SmotchyyyYYY!” hollered at the top of my lungs. 

When he appears in my doorway, I am laid out seductively sprawled like an awkward egret attempting to be swan-like (and failing miserably). But hey! I’m naked. And I’m clearly in a let’s-attempt-some-sexual-shenanigans position. So when, in response to the happily beamed un-question on his smiling lips I say “Um, my v’gina is clean” (I’m fresh from the shower, after all) he starts a little happy-dance jig that turns into a suave stiff-limbed stripper routine, complete with moue-faced unbuttoning of his flannel and twirling overhead of sartorial items one by one (woops! that sleeve just got caught on the ceiling fan blade…) as they come off.

Scene /TWO/

He’s managed to remove most of his clothing at this point, has likewise (miraculously!) managed not to bruise me with his knees in his awkward climbing-onto-the-bed-and-over-my-body maneuvers, and is now settled with his face between my thighs, lapping gently at my Clean V’gina® folds.

I’m a bit twitchy at this point, honestly. Tense. A little anxious. Because while I *want* this to work… Well, we don’t always get what we want, m’kay? And though it doesn’t feel bad, it also doesn’t _quite_ feel good (because, menopause and all that shite), and I don’t want him to stop exactly, but…

BUT

So there I am, trying to determine just what it is that I *do* want…

…when the cat pounces on my husband’s upturned arse.

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You know that saying about…

      33 Comments on You know that saying about…

…a bird in the hand…

ceramic bird held in woman's hand against the backdrop of her bare thighs

…being worth…

two ceramic birds nestled in woman's pubic hair against the backdrop of her bare thighs

…two in the bush?

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Have you ever had your bladder hijack your clitoris and run away with your orgasm?

      12 Comments on Have you ever had your bladder hijack your clitoris and run away with your orgasm?

No? Just me then…

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So, yeah. The other night I couldn’t sleep. I was exhausted – like, slightly headache-y and sick to my stomach kind of tired, from being up too early for a 14-hr work day with not enough sleep the night before and too much caffeine in between – but for whatever reason… Nope. Sleep was not coming.

Well, sometimes when sleep won’t come, the best thing to do is to just come. Because then I can go to sleep. (Or come to sleep, as it were.)

Now… I go pee every night before bed, right? Which doesn’t stop me from getting up once or twice to pee some more as the night wears on, being as I have a bladder the size of a lentil. But still. I make sure I pee before I go to bed. And on the night in question, I had just peed like… I dunno… an hour(?) or maybe two before I decided to give up on the not-sleeping business and take matters into my own hands. (Or hand. Singular. Fun Fact: I’m typically a one-handed masturbationist.) But for some inexplicable reason, my fantasy brain (and to be clear, I’m really pretty much just BAD at fantasy; it’s not my thing AT ALL, which makes this whole episode even weirder for me than it would be otherwise) was like:

Watersports, yo.

And I was like, “…wha…?”

Just go with it.

And I was too tired to do otherwise, really.

Which is why, as I was doing that whole press/rub/swirl thing with my middle finger against my clit, I went from imagining

{a} a nice sauna-type shower environment in which my spouse was kneeling in front of me (with water cascading down from above coating his shoulders — a very important detail, that) licking my puss while I leaned against the shower wall, to…

{b} the sudden and unexpected urgent somatic urgency of OhmygodIgottapee, which somehow translated in my brain as…

{c} telling fantasy-spouse to keep his mouth in place and open his throat so I could continue my pleasure and simultaneously give him something hot and warm to drink.

If you know what I mean.

And it was *this* thought that pushed me over the edge and brought me to orgasm.

Which…

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__________ is for the birds.

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ceramic bird

Since we so recently touched on the subject of shitty things, let me enlighten you as to where the phrase ‘for the birds’ comes from.

Back in the days of horse-drawn (or horse-carried) transportation methodology, the ’emissions’ didn’t exactly have the same kinds of filters we use today. And since horses ate grains and/or harvest foods that contained seeds that didn’t always fully digest before exiting their bodies, the horse droppings were known to attract birds. Because, hey! Grain! Seeds! Bird Food!

So pretty much when someone says “Such-and-such is for the birds,” what they are really saying is “__________ is horseshit.”

And as much as I dig on birds – and I really do, regardless of certain species’ occasional insistence on squatting illegally in my attic – I recently had a bird experience that was, quite frankly, for the birds.

You see, dear reader, it is starting to get cold outside. And while that can lead to certain kinds of enjoyable warming-up activities, it also necessitates the activation of one (1) modern convenience: it requires the firing up of the furnace.

Which is exactly what I attempted to do approximately ten days ago, when I finally said, “Enough of this shivering-all-night horseshit!” and set the thermostat to Heat: GO.

Except the heat did NOT go.

Nope.

The heat go, “Mrnnnhph…ph. . .hhhhh . . . . .” and then stop.

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