Porn

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The other day I mentioned porn and that got me to thinking. After much consideration I have come to the unequivocal conclusion that men should be forever banned from the making of porn films. Not only that they should not be able to write porn, direct porn, or cast the stars of these low budget features; they probably shouldn’t be able to watch them either.

I will confess right here I am not a big fan of the genre. I don’t like how women are demeaned and objectified. I don’t like “please me no matter what” attitudes of the men involved. But most of all I don’t like the plots. Actually, there are no real plots and that is exactly where the trouble lies.

Men make porn the same way they played with their toy cars when they were kids.  First off, they look for the most elusive or expensive model there is. Always.Who cares about what the color is as long as it’s a Porsche! This is followed by further scrutiny about how they will look driving the car and how fast can they can get into it and go. Next up: Leather or cloth seats? Pumped up tires or standard? With a bra or without? Essentially nothing has changed. Just pull it out back and let it rip. Banging into as many as they can becomes the name of the game, both young and old.

Now, I am not advocating more porn but I know that if women made porn there would be real plots. Instead of sex occurring one minute after the show began, it would take at least a half hour of fancy dresses with numerous costume changes, plenty of castles, and lots kissing and foreplay. The sets wouldn’t be sleazy formica kitchen countertops but fancy feather beds, lush tropical beach settees, and foods like grapes, whipped cream and caviar acting as aphrodisiacs.

I guarantee you that if women made porn the actors would all have straight dicks and perfect teeth. The men would have normal sized tools instead of scary looking tree trucks and the woman would all be able to walk upright instead of bent-over due to the size of their breasts. The actors would all manage to look like your fantasy lover not something that was drug in off of the street. And the sex act itself, well, it would last exactly 22.2 minutes because we all know what happens to our tender parts if you go much longer than that. No woman should ever be put in the position where she has to say, “You are wearing out your welcome.” THAT look of “GET THE HELL OUT” that always crosses the woman’s face in man-made porn would never occur in a film created by gals.

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If women made porn they would turn it into a series in which the viewer knew everything about the characters and cared for them like their own family members. Debbie would do Dallas but she would also do it in the blooming rose gardens of Versailles. By the end of the show you would know all of Debbie’s friends, her parents and her favorite food. She would be a fully developed person, not just a sex machine. And while Debbie and Grant were getting it on in the opera box but we would also get to see the Joffrey Ballet set the mood as they performed a portion of The Nutcracker at the same time.

You see, if women made porn it would be something grand.It would be something your husband would call you about to remind you to chill the wine because tonight is “our night to watch Upstairs and Downstairs too.”  And if there were English accents involved it would be all the better to set the mood.

Women based porn would be something women wanted to watch and men too. It would increase desire and promote safe sex. And I am willing to bet if this were the type of porn that we spent watching with our partner we would all be having a whole lot more pleasurable and sexy sex instead of demeaning sex…and isn’t that what the goal should be in the first place?

 

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Sizzle

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The other afternoon B and I were stretched out on the sofa just enjoying the time spent together when all of a sudden he did it…one small touch sent sparks to my nipples and I groaned. Not one of the quiet as a mouse groans but the kind that radiate deep below your belly in that soft and slightly wet place that knows you are suddenly exploding into sexual awakening and just wants to help get you in the mood…quickly!

“What was that noise?” Andre yells down from the family room upstairs. “Did someone step on the dogs tail again?”

Oh, God, please …. NO. Stay upstairs. JUST STAY UPSTAIRS.

B reaches for me and all the struggles of the past year seem to melt away. I am happy that we still have this lovely hot connection. A place where we can “get into” each other once again and let our hurts vanish for awhile.

B starts to put the tease on me. His kisses yield my body and I melt into him. He begins brushing me softly and then with slightly more pressure, so that my back arches higher, wanting to him to reach those high places that often get ignored. Another audible sigh starts in my toes with its attending electrical current snapping awake those parts of my body that are still in “kid induced limbo” and escapes from my lips…”ohhhhh…myyyyy” I whisper with delight and a sense of impatience. To borrow a phrase from my friend, Marvin Gaye, “Lets get it on!”

B gets the hint and  whispers “Come on baby, lets go upstairs.” I consider the odds of completing this fantasia while our children are awake. One kid, the most perceptive one is gone. According to my calculations that gives us delightfully low only  661/3% chance of being interrupted or “caught.”  A bookie would faint with those odds at this house.  I quickly decide its a chance I can live with. I even let the dog in the house so he won’t be barking and whinning at the door surely killing this arson-setting spark that we have set of which has the possibility of setting this place on fire.

“Ohhhh…Myyyyy!”

This feels like the old days. The Lets See What You Are Made Of kinds of days. They are those raw, needy, urgent, life affirming, first coming together moments of young ferocious sex. That kind that shakes you down to your core and tears open you heart with the kind of lust that has enough energy to change to course of rivers and perhaps even part the Red Sea.

I would like to say we made it to the comfort of our bed but I can’t. The bathroom provided multiple view points and B is harder than the granite countertop that I laying across. My legs grip B like a cowgirl riding bareback, calves against his muscular flank. I must say I was tempted to make a dramatic sweep to clear the counter but I will confess that the thought of what it would cost to replace my Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue (my ONLY expensive I WANT TO FUCK YOUR LIGHTS OUT scent)  and my favorite #242 lipstick made me hold back instead of sail. I was filled with him… all of him. My head.. with sexy “take me now” thoughts of him. My nose… with the musky scent of his body. My eyes… taking in the delightful naked sight of him taking in me, and well, those other parts too. It was hot but with a children-are-in-the-house type of seductive quiet. It was oh-so-sexy and desperately needed.

Everything was perfect…until the dog started howling. Loud, long, and off-key. A fingernails on the blackboard sound.

“Andre,” I manage to pant/yell from the bathroom. “Please go let the dog in.”

I hear the door slide open and the howling stops. But we continue on for as long as age, children in the house, and howling dogs let you. And I am reminded once again…this is why I married this man!

Later, in the evening Andre looks at me with a blush on his cheeks and a grin on his face. He is one of the smartest people I know and the autism just adds to it because he recognizes things and tunes into things that most of us don’t.

“Mom, did you and Dad have a good time this afternoon?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know this afternoon when the dog was howling.”

“I’m sorry I don’t understand”

“Haven’t you figured out yet that every time you and Dad have sex the dog howls?” he replies with a laugh. ” I’ve noticed he’s been howling quite a bit lately.”

Now it is my turn to blush.

Damn dog!

 

 

 

 

Where Am I AND Who Am I With?

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I just returned from the beach where it rained 3/4 of the time we were there but I loved it anyway. Something about that salt air makes me feel calm and peaceful. There I can enjoy all that life has to offer…easily. I am thinking if that is all it takes perhaps I should buy a noise machine that sounds like waves and an automatic scent sprayer that evokes that sea salt smell so I can trick myself into bliss 24 hours a day.

Speaking of bliss, while we were up north, B shaved off his beard and moustache. I haven’t seen him without it for over 25 years. Five of his six children had NEVER seen him that way either. It was quite a shock. But underneath it all there was something edgy and sexy about having a new man by my side. The smooth skin of his face now matches the smoothness of his balls and it does mind-tripping things to the fingers as they slide along matching parts of his body located at different ends. I have to admit I felt a little bit like Mrs. Robinson taking her young smooth talking boy to bed with her but take him I did and was I ever glad I did!  After 30 years of stubble… smooth felt like velvet on my body and my body responded to these new sensations extremely well especially for a 50+ year old woman with four children sleeping under our roof.

Tomorrow (which is now today as I write this) I leave for the southern part of the state where I will spend time with my kids and doctors. When I will write the magazine article that is due sometime in the next six days is beyond me but who cares…I have decided to be carefree and refuse to worry about what MIGHT bite me in the ass because of it! Until then, I am heading upstairs to get in touch with my husband’s new bare-ass naked wild side.

See ya!

Ooo-La-La…Sexy Men In Kilts

I never thought that men in kilts would do anything for me. I mean, after all, knobby knees don’t make me weak in the joints. And hairy legs just make me look at my own and run for the razor. Men in knee highs…well, it is the stuff that horror movies are made of and I have never really had the inclination to lift a skirt regardless of who it belongs to. But this weekend might have changed all that.

Over the past four years or so I have had to get used to watching my husband walk around in a kilt. This kilt-wearing began after a trip to Scotland. I was interviewing a bagpipe maker and B went along for the ride. As we exited the quaint shop in Sterling he said, “I think I want to play the bagpipes.” I almost fell to my knees. First off, B had never played an instrument in his entire life and even the best piper can at times sound like a goat caught in a fence. The odds were not in his favor for becoming the next “Bach of the Bagpipes.” Secondly, for the most part men like B just don’t wear kilts. They wear hardhats, they wear steel-toed boots and they wear Calvin’s tighty whities. They wear those whities because boxers make them highly uncomfortable… there is not enough fabric to protect and hold up what lies within. So an open-air let-’em hang kilt…forget it…I just couldn’t imagine such a thing would ever happen. I was wrong.

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Not only did B buy his pipes he came home and found a pipe band to teach him how to play. It was only a short time later that this Irish lad came home attired in a Scotman’s clothes complete with a sporin. The first time I saw him I looked at those knee socks and thought, “Well there is no way we will ever have sex again!” But eventually I got used his tartan as his ability to play and his demand increased. Now he is a full-fledged member of the band and spends time performing at funerals, store openings and Celtic Festivals. But still the kilt just didn’t do much for me…until this weekend…Really.

Now I don’t know if it was the whiskies talking or the rain but about 2 hours after I started drinking those men in plaid started to look mighty fine. The more I drank the better they looked and those knee socks began to even look like something that might come handy in the bedroom.

And then I spotted my husband… glory be…that Irishman looked better than any Scot in the place. As we stood listening to the rockin’out pipers of Celtica I put my hand on his butt and…oh laa laa…no thick blue jean material between me and his Calvins and… it felt round and good. Really…the perfect handful.

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“Hmmm, maybe I have been missing out on something,” I thought. “I better test this out some more.”

So I did.

That butt felt better the second time around. And I found out the benefit of a man in a kilt. Just where those folds open … how…and why. But I’ve never been one to kiss and tell. Guess you just better go out and find yourself your own man in a kilt so you can find out just exactly what they wear (or don’t) under there and grab your own handful…you won’t be disappointed.

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Shhh…Don’t Say A Word

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This weekend we have hired a sitter and will be without our darling children for 24 hours…I can’t wait! But before we go away I will be telling B something that he needs to know to make our time together perfect.

“Shhhh…don’t say a word.”

Don’t say a word as we walk towards the bedroom. Don’t utter a sound as we pull back the sheets. Don’t whisper a word as we undress (unless you want to tell me how sexy I look). And PLEASE, JUST PLEASE, don’t say anything (nada, nothing) while we are making love.

I know a lot of women like to hear sex talk while they are indulging in adult time with their partner. I am not usually one of them. Okay, maybe sometimes I am, but definitely not tonight. Frankly, I don’t want to hear your fantasies while we are trying to create our own. Worse…I don’t want you intruding on the fantasy that is going on in my own head by imploding/imposing yours onto mine. Believe me they are two totally different shows. Mine is opera and yours is grunge heavy metal. Mine is A Walk In The Clouds while yours is James Bond. Tonight, I just don’t want to hear “it”…I want to hear “you.”

The only external thing I want to hear soft sax music in the background. Besides that, I just want to hear your heart beating as I lay my head on your chest and I want to listen to it quicken when I put my hand between your legs. I want to hear that sigh you make when we first connect with one another and I want to see your blue eyes sparkle at that instant we reach deep into the most intimate of places. I want to eavesdrop on your body’s reactions as we touch one another deeply and passionately. And I want to hear that rumble that starts in your soul and spreads through your body before we both explode.

I want to hear all of you tonight. So please.. “Shhh…don’t say a word!”

The Passionate Journey

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Feeling your body under mine

As we ride to far away places

In that custom saddle we created so long ago

I am reminded that the first part of our odyssey

Made me feel warm, safe, and secure

Believing that passion and love would serve us well

For many years to come

Yet, as the journey continued through our ages

To different and strange unexplored lands

I found that as we rode together we

Struggled to stay insync to the pounding rhythm of life and each other

In this saddle we created and shined to perfection together

Oh so many years ago

Then slowly our bodies began to move to different beats

The spark no longer igniting when flesh richcheted against flesh

Our timing aberrant from what had come before

Akwardly and in silence we rode through valleys so deep and low

They threatened to pull us under

As we wrapped ourselves each in our own protective gear

Bracing ourselves and sitting deep in the saddle spooning

No longer astride one another

During this long exhausting ride

The passion for this particular pilgrimage waning

The heat that once kept us warm

Cooling to small embers and threatening

To extinguish themselves all together

As the light faded and disappeared behind the mountains before us

No longer straddling one atop the another on this migration

But one of us down… crawling on the ground

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By some silent force of nature

That was unwilling to give up or give in

But yet we pressed on

Scraping raw our knees

Scooping out our souls

Our sexual natures vanished somewhere within Mother Nature herself

We traveled wearily like this for so long

Lost, together… yet alone

Until in desperation we finally reached out for the reins to steady and guide us

The accidental brushing together of two souls

Once again serving to remind us of all we have endured

And all we have yet to discover

So now we join hands to do battle

Against all that has kept us apart from one another

And we fight Mother Nature to reclaim our sexuality

The passion igniting our bodies and sweeping us together

And once again we quiver deep within one another

Grinding deep within that saddle

As we climb to the pinnacle of our lives

Looking over the ridge to the future that awaits us

Hanging on for dear life together once again

Our devotion rekindled each for the other

In that saddle that was custom made the two of us

In which we fit together so well

No longer afraid

But curious about where we will end up

On this sojourn through married life

The Best Is Yet To Come…295 Days To Fix This

This past week-end was incredible.

Picture this…the roar of winter waves as they foamed, churned and crashed their way to a rocky stone-strewn shore. Sunsets of deep red, yammering yellows and passionate purples sinking below the marine layer as two 29 years marrieds held each other close. Hummingbirds floated in the garden while slimy banana slugs inched their way to freedom under the garden gate. And quite. Total 100% almost eerie quite… with no yelling for a “Mom” to break up an invisible fight. For three magical days we had time for just us.

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We walked the cliffs looking out over the Pacific, talking quietly and taking time to smell the roses along the way. We ate fancy dinners over whispered salacious conversations that would embarrass our older children for many years to come had they heard them. We walked around naked in the house, walls of plate-glass windows be damned. We treated each other as our best friend. We cuddled, we smooched, we laughed, and we played games like young lovers do with sweet barely there caresses that make the body POP! But mostly we just enjoyed one another from the top of our heads down to the tips of our toes and all places in-between; free to be ourselves like we used to be B.C. (before children)

I thought all was going well. Everything felt sweet and in its proper place on the emotional horizon. B was opening up. He was sharing. He was listening. And he was really there participating on every level. And then it happened and I was left with the sweat of utter terror that consumed me in a matter of seconds. I looked over at B and saw tears slowly sliding down his checks. Real tears from a man who I have only seen cry about four times in almost 30 years. And my first thought was “This is it. He is going to tell me…I did it…I tried…but I cannot keep going on with us, with you. It’s over.”

And I waited for the impact of his imagined words, like a tsunami breaking all that stands in its path.

But he didn’t say them. Instead, his cheeks trembled slightly and his eyes filled even more.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered so still and so scared that a slight wind could have picked up the letters of each word and floated them away.

“I am just so happy,” B said. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us. Spending time with you reminds me of just how much I love you and how happy we can be together. I just want us to be with each other now and forever.”

And I collapsed into his strong arms that I realized can hold my weight, our dreams, my fears and our future as we continue to figure out exactly what that future looks like… together.

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Lust vs. Romantic Love…304 Days To Fix This

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I just read another fascinating study out of the University of Chicago. Seems that within seconds, just by watching the gaze pattern of participants; researchers could determine whether romantic love or lust was in play. Incredibly, for both male and female subjects, eye-tracking of the face signaled that romantic love was in the air whereas those who fixated on the rest of the body were in it for the lust factor. Good information if you are looking for a mate but what about those who are already married?

On this week-end’s date with my hubby I decided to conduct my own research. The first hours of our date were spent in a movie theater so there was no information gathered there except that except that actor Josh Brolin seemed to want to get it on with Elizabeth Debicki who played Dr. Caroline Mackenzie in Everest. (Spoiler alert-they didn’t get it on nor did anyone else in this desperately sad and A-sexual movie)

Next we went to a local micro-brewery. There we spent time gazing into each other’s eyes and talking about mundane and inconsequential things. About half the time B spent looking at my face, another 1/4 of the time looking at this very shear new top that I was wearing and about 1/4 of the time he spent looking at a gravely sounding 65-year-old man who sang sad songs about drought and crops drying up which were what my panties were doing as I listened to the woes of farmers in the area. I couldn’t tell what part of the singers anatomy B was gazing at….should I be worried is my big question for the researchers?

What I also noticed was that from the bar I received five glances at my face before moving down to the new shirt, two gentlemen staring at my boobs, one woman who licked her lips at me and one man who kept looking at me as if to determine if I was a long-lost relative. I don’t have any idea what this all means except that just the thought of dating at my age scares the crap out of me and I don’t want to do it. EVER AGAIN. I also suspect that if this whole body/face gazing is what dating is about then I am doomed unless I skip the formalities and just blatantly stare at a man’s crotch….I wonder what researchers could determine from that?  And maybe, just maybe,  if I find myself single I might decide to become a research subject. Of course, I would only volunteer for the human sexuality studies…all for the sake of science.