From Behind Our White Picket Fence: Week 205

We're often surprised by the reactions we get when revealing we've been together since 1988 (that's 22 years, for those of you math-challenged). It's not so much the length of time, though in our age of 50 percent divorce rates our relationship longevity does seem oddly durable. No, what really causes surprise is our unabashed penchant for PDA (public displays of affection). Though it may sicken everyone around our ancient, 40-plus-and-then-some physical forms, we rarely stray more than a few inches from each other, hold hands incessantly, kiss and squeeze body parts at random, and generally conduct ourselves in a manner that has our 11-year-old son rolling his eyes as he saunters behind us. Alas, even parents at his elementary school begrudgingly acknowledge the freakish nature of our obscene behavior, muttering under their breaths and behind our backs how we can't possibly continue our “act” indefinitely, let alone last another 22 years.

which we chart on a monthly basis here). Touch leads to desire leads to sex, so our theory goes.

The fruits this robust sexual activity and all that has preceded it over our many years together is the obvious: we've become more trusting and stretched our boundaries and sexual intensity, as well as the subtle. The types of sexual encounters have become ever more varied as we've gone along. In simpler terms, we've finally shed some of the societal guilt surrounding sex and what it's supposed to be in favor of what we want from our carnal desires. Making love, for example, can take many twists and turns not suitable for fairy tales and Harlequin romance novels. Don't get us wrong, Tantric breathing, candles, soft music and sweet foreplay are all wonderful ingredients in intimate recipes; but sometimes one side of a partnership has to grab the initiative, throw inhibitions out the window, and fuck.

Yes, fuck. Dirty, nasty, hard, pummeling, rip-your-clothes-off slam bang pornographic fucking. Doing the things nice girls and gentlemen supposedly never do. Some of you might remember such passion; it was present back in your youth when sexual energy occupied your every thought. Your pulse exploded every time an attractive classmate walked by in high school or you flirted with that hot stranger in a bar during college or after work. If you were fortunate enough to let it take you into the bedroom, the momentum was unstoppable. Remorse could wait; the union of flesh was what we were ultimately built for, right? Without it, life itself could not continue – why shouldn't sex be the most powerful urge we possess?

But we digress. A few weeks ago, we'd decided to try fucking anew. We agreed – and this is key to successful fucking – that whenever the urge hit, either one of us would succumb, period, for a period lasting seven days in duration. The kitchen, the car, a random park, dirty, clean, happy, sad... it was all fair game. We would throw our respective guard down and allow the other control; not in totality, mind you, as we agreed to respect certain boundaries (anal sex was not part of the deal, nor was BDSM or additional partners). However, if a blow job or oral tongue lashing was requested, the other was obliged to perform, as was intercourse in any requested position or place. Our hope was that the mere threat of spontaneous intimacy was, in itself, a nice change up to our usual home-bound routine.

And, after one week passed, we're happy to report not only that our sexual modus operandi was revitalized, but that the bulk of the initiative was taken by the female side of our duo (flying directly in the face of our expectations). In short order, we had sex: in broad daylight in a Venice Beach parking lot, on top of a parking garage (one leg over the railing) at the Grove, in our backyard (never done that one before), at the beach on a lifeguard tower, and on our roof (again, a first). Fellatio was mostly contained to our home and Tacoma pickup, but occasionally the act was performed with gusto in such venues as a restroom stall, baseball stands, and in a neighborhood alley. All in all, we increased our frequency slightly, though not momentously so, and managed to inject a bit of excitement and uncertainly to an already healthy sex life.

Suggestions?

Hitachi Magic Wand type device that runs on batteries as opposed to needing electricity (very powerful and much more versatile, in our opinion).

archived here on their website.

Image: Nicholas Tarling.


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