Filed under: Morty, sex | Tags: affairs, cheating wife, horny, horny housewife, love, milf, sex, sex in public, sex with strangers
I’ve been e-mail-flirting with Morty, a smart guy who reads this blog, although apparently not avidly. He wrote to me about the draw of sex with strangers, and I must say it made an impression on me:
“I fantasize about it all the time. Seeing a woman in a department store, watching her, feeling her watch me, then leading her to the dressing room. No words spoken. Hard, reckless, hungry fucking then leaving without a word. Until the next time…”
It sounds really delicious, doesn’t it? It captured my imagination. Today I was in a small grocery store and I must have looked extra hot or something, because I could feel all of the men in the store looking at me. One especially handsome one checked me out as I selected a shopping cart. It was one of those things where where ever I was in the store, I felt the physical sensation of his distance or nearness to me. He was rugged and cocky looking (a favorite combination of mine).
Something about him reminded me of Detective Curt, which was a powerful draw because Detective Curt has been on my mind lately. For some reason I really want to accidentally run into him while I’m at work so that he can see how good I look and how happy I am with my new man and my new job. In my fantasy he propositions me and I say “no.”
So today I’m in the store and I think “This is my chance for sex with a stranger. He’s cute and I know he likes me.” But I spent years and years honing my skills at sending strange men minute signals that I’m taken, so it was really hard to change my natural reactions. We kept almost making eye contact. Finally, I walked by the check stands and he was standing in line. I looked him right in the eye and he looked back at me and did this quick, debonair-but-not-corny nod at me. It was very Clark Gable. He might have even winked. I don’t know. I meant to look at him seriously for just a moment and then smile, but I spent too long looking serious and he looked away before I smiled. I think he thought I was saying “no,” when actually, what I meant to convey was an “I’m-very-cool-maybe.”
I made one more pass around the store, then I got in line in the check stand next to his. Another mistake. I should have gotten in line behind him. We could have casually chatted. I positioned my cart in front of the front aisle of the store so his cart would be blocked when he needed to get out. “Pretty clever,” I congratulated myself. But the grocery checker thwarted my plan. She moved my cart out of his way, that bitch! As he pushed his cart towards me and out the door, I looked right into his eyes and he looked into mine. Again, he might have thought I was glaring rather than beckoning him to come hither.
Note to Horny Self: must smile more if I want to have sex with hot strangers in public places…
Filed under: Mike, Orgasm, blogosphere, motherhood, sex, submission | Tags: affairs, anal sex, cheating, cheating wife, consciousness, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, motherhood, Orgasm, relationships, sex
I’m there, and yet I’m not there. Detective Curt’s cock is in my pussy. Valentine Dave’s tongue is rubbing against my clit. Sergeant Shane’s balls are pushing against my ass. Quirky Ted’s fingers are manipulating my vagina. And it’s feeling good, and I’m coming, but my head is mostly somewhere else.
What does it say about a person when to come she must imagine herself in another situation? It’s always made me feel inferior and like I had something to hide. But I’ve also always suspected it meant that there was something deeply wrong with me. Maybe my real life wasn’t enough, and something inside me needed to exist in the world of fantasy in order to feel completely fulfilled, which meant that I wasn’t enough, which is what a lot of things come down to when I let fear take over.
What would it mean to come without a parallel fantasy playing in my head? It would mean I was fully present. It would mean I took ownership of my surroundings, my partner, and my self. It would mean self-acceptance: unembellished possession of my own life and decisions.
Hmmm…
♥♥♥
Detective Curt was so exciting and I had such a big crush on him. Valentine Dave was sweet as can be and I’m still a little in love with him, but it’s in my brain. Sergeant Shane had the biggest and best penis I’ve ever seen, and I thought Quirky Ted was my soul mate. But I’ve got to say, I have the most consistently incredible sex with Mike. (Should I read anything into the fact that I’ve never given him a nickname?)
I saw Mike yesterday. Really really good…uhh…really really good. It began will all kinds of dominant-submissive play. He told me I was his little whore. He ordered me to crawl slowly towards him on the floor. He commanded me to make him a drink, and when I made it wrong he spanked my ass until it was bright red. There was a plethora of cock sucking and hair pulling.
Do you want to hear the craziest thing he does that turns me on until I’m dripping wet? Sometimes when we’re in the hotel room together and he needs to go get something out of his car, he tells me to sit with my hands palm-down on the table and not move. He leaves and while he’s gone I just sit there and obey him. I really do, even though he can’t see me. If my nose itches, I’ll rub it with my shoulder, but I keep my palms on the table. When he comes back in he asks me if I moved. “No, Master,” I say, my panties soaked through.
The other thing he does is something that had actually been a fantasy of mine before I met him. He turns on the TV and tells me to get in front of him on the floor where I belong. I get on my hands and knees in front of his arm chair and he puts his feet up on me. It makes me feel so completely degraded, used, humiliated, and ignored. I love it. I could sit there like that forever, except I would eventually get so turned on that I couldn’t stand it.
He fucked me in the ass again yesterday. First on my stomach, bent over the hotel room ottoman. (Now I know why my instincts have always told me not to touch anything in a hotel room.) Then, on my back with my legs up in the air. It was in that position that we added the bunny vibrator and I came. It wasn’t quite as powerful as last time. I didn’t quite see God . (Yes – God approves of anal sex, and she’s aware of all my orgasms.) Rather than mind-shattering, it was only earth-moving, but I’ll take that.
After I came he turned me over onto my stomach again and fucked me for a really long time in the ass. Apparently, it was the longest he’d ever done that to someone and he really liked it. He kept talking about it afterwards, which made me feel kind of proud.
♥♥♥
When I got home yesterday I went to the supermarket and I was scanning a shelf for peanut oil when something occurred to me: I wasn’t fantasizing about anything when I came. I’ve only come without a fantasy one other time in my life, and I was incredibly stoned. Then yesterday, Mike was fucking me in the ass and my vibrator was inside me, and every time he thrust his penis into my ass he pushed the vibrator farther into my vagina. I was calling him “master” and he was telling me that all my holes belonged to him, and before I knew it I was coming really hard, without anything else in my mind. Just the actual situation I was actually in. And that felt good.
What is the difference between self-consciousness and consciousness? When you’re self-conscious you are hyper-aware of your situation, but it’s all intellectual. You analyze every detail of an experience, but doing so cuts you off from feeling yourself in it. It’s why I hate video taping important events in my life.
When you are conscious you are mentally, physically, spiritually, and sexually present. It’s like when you are meditating and your concentration becomes so powerful that you forget where you are and who you are and you just are.
It sounds really simple, but my entire life I’ve struggled to be present, to be conscious. I’ve become better at it the last few years, maybe because I’ve become a mother. Having a baby forces you to recognize and enjoy small moments. When your day consists of dirty diapers and washing dishes, a warm giggle coming from a chubby, drooling, loving mouth can and should transmit bliss.
Did I just say that an infant helped make it possible for me to come while my extramarital lover was fucking me in the ass? I think I did. Oh well. That’s what this blog is about: fucking and motherhood and love and feelings and joining all of my disparate pieces. This blog helps give me a more complete view of myself. Maybe when I can see my whole self I’ll be able to accept my whole self, and then I’ll be fully conscious. Self-awareness through orgasm: I love it.
Filed under: Mike, divorce, job | Tags: affairs, cheating, divorce, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, love, marriage, milf, relationships, sex, working mom, working wife
The Horny Housewife got herself a job. Incredibly close to home and Spencer’s school. Great employer with lots of benefits, and big big money. She starts in July.
It’s good, but scary. It will change things. Will I now have to change the name of this blog? I don’t know. Also, it gives me more independence. Divorce is now financially doable.
Things with Mike are great. I like him more and more. We have long, interesting conversations. The other night in his car he stuck one of those huge long cucumbers inside me. When we’re on the phone and he says even the slightest dirty thing I get so wet.
I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love. I will not fall in love.
I’ve had the stomach flu and I’ve been in bed all day. This hasn’t been the most scintillating or moving post. Just an update. I need to be careful not to get my expectations for posts here so hight that I go weeks without posting. You know how I am.
Thanks for listening.
HH
Filed under: Give your Heart, Ted, kissing, love | Tags: affairs, cheating, cheating spouse, cheating wife, dating, divorce, evolution, evolve, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, kiss, kissing, love, marriage, milf, relationships, sex
The first time I kissed Quirky Ted we were sitting on a stoop. We had been e-mailing, IMing, and talking on the phone for a couple of weeks. Our relationship already felt so intimate. I felt so optimistic about him. I felt like he was a very old, very close friend I just hadn’t met yet. I was so excited at the prospect of being in his presence, that for twenty-four hours before our first encounter I would get hot and dizzy when I even thought about him.
We met for the first time in a parking lot and went for a walk in a pleasant residential neighborhood. After walking only a couple of blocks, we sat down on a stoop. It felt so good to actually be together. Very soon, he put his arms around me and kissed me. We stayed there kissing for about half an hour. Later, we talked about it.
“That wasn’t regular kissing,” he told me. “That was sex kissing.” I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant at first, so he explained. Apparently, sometimes people (normal people?) kiss just as some kind of a pleasant pastime. You know, like, ”Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?…Oh, here’s my tongue in your mouth…Let’s go get a latte.”
I had never really thought about it before, but that’s not how I kiss. I kiss (especially someone new) like I’m a fanatical knight on a sacred crusade. I kiss like my loins are afire. I kiss like I really want to feel your cock inside me.
I don’t mean I ram my tongue down your throat, or suck on your face like I’m a lamprey or something. I’ve got subtlety. I’ve got grace and poise and elegance. My tongue charms and my lips beguile. But, yes, Ted was right. I always kiss with sex in my mind as the ultimate goal. Like maybe right now it’s summer we’re walking down a beautiful tree-lined road, but down this path is a campground, and I’ve got a picnic in mind. And I’m hungry, make that ravenous. That is how I kiss.
Which isn’t a problem, when it comes to kissing. But I’ve realized I’m like that with a lot of things. I’m obsessive, but it isn’t just that. I like to take things to the extreme. I’m an extremist. Right now, for instance, I’m obsessed with Facebook Scrabulous and Scramble. I suck at both, so I’ve been playing them obsessively to improve. (Anyone want to play the Horny Housewife?) Before I became a stay-at-home mom, three years ago, when I was working, I was a workaholic. And here’s another one: I fall in love. Four little words that say so much about me. I fall in love. That is extreme.
♥♥♥
That first day I met Ted, after all the sexy kissing, we walked back to our cars, holding hands. In the parking lot something sparkled in my peripheral vision. It caught my attention and I looked down as we walked past it. The thing glimmering on the ground was a heart-shaped piece of metal. On it were roughly embossed the letters L-O-V-E. (There is a picture of the very item I describe at the top of this post.)
I wanted to stop right there and pick the LOVE up. I wanted to fall to my knees, gather the love into my strong, tiny hands, and press it up to my cheek to feel its cool electricity, but I didn’t want to freak Quirky Ted out. So I pretended to let him walk me back to my car. I checked fake messages on my cell phone as he drove away, and then I went looking for my heart.
I started to panic. Would the love still be there? Where, exactly, had I seen it? Had someone stolen my love in the brief time I’d been away from it? Had it ever really even existed? Was the love only imagined? And then I saw it. I picked it up. It wasn’t fancy or anything. It wasn’t gold or sterling or platinum. It was just metal. It had fallen off someone’s purse or bag, but now it was mine. I put it in my car, stuck with tape to the dashboard, and imagined that years later, when Ted and I were still together, we would treasure this funny keepsake of the day we met.
Of course, it’s two-and-a-half months later we’re not together anymore. But the LOVE still lives in my car. I brought it into the house today for the first time so that I could take a picture of it for this post. As research, I did press it up to my face to see how it would feel. It was cool, but also warm, like an old friend kissing my cheek. A friend I had met many times before.
When I took the love off my cheek it left an impression, of course. Love always leaves an impression. Do you know what the backward impression of love spells out? Well, nothing. Just EVOL. But it reminded me of the word EVOLVE. I had never realized before that Evolve is one and a half Loves. That made me feel hopeful, to have the beginning of “evolve” stamped onto my face. To have the start of a future evolution kissed onto my cheek by an old friend.
It may be extreme, but I’ll take it.
Filed under: Mike, Orgasm, domination, sex, submission | Tags: affairs, anal, cheating wife, fuck, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, love, Orgasm, relationships, sex, vibrator
…was what I had today with Mike. Oh my god! He was fucking me in the ass. I had my big pink bunny vibrator inside my vagina. The little bunny head was working hard against my clit and…OMG!
I made the most remarkable noises. A little tiny piece of my brain (like .5%) was saying, “uh…Horny Housewife, you sound kind of wierd. Maybe you shouldn’t make those noises in front of this man you don’t know that well yet.”
But the the other 99.5% of my brain was like, “Shut up, bitch, and enjoy this!” So I did. I almost cried. I’m not kidding. I could have cried, but I stopped myself. That was how good it felt.
Wow. Just wanted to share.
♥, HH
Filed under: Cheating Website, Husband, Mike, blogosphere, domination, sex, submission, writing | Tags: affairs, cheating, cheating wife, Cher, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, love, marriage, milf, Moonstruck, Nicolas Cage, relationships, sex
“Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn’t know this either, but love don’t make things nice – it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren’t here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are bullshit. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and get in my bed!” — Moonstruck
It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, sweetheart? It’s funny, our running into each other here, like this. It’s like old times, isn’t it? I’ve thought a lot about you. Have you thought about me? Do you wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty, wet, humping your pillow and imagining my words? I dream about you every now and then. There have been others since I last saw you, I admit, but it was never like it was with you. So raw. So desperate. So anonymous.
I’ve been gone for a little while. It’s been about a month since I’ve written here regularly. I’m not sure what happened between us. That first, hot, erotic infatuation was gone, maybe. Someone else turned my head. I began taking a short fiction class and started doing some outside writing. It was “legitimate” writing. Writing I could show to the people who know my name. Writing I could take home to my mother. Not secret, filthy, and raw, like it always was with you.
It felt good: to be out in a restaurant, run into a friend, and not have to act like my writing was a stranger the maitre’d just happened to seat across from me; when I was with my family or my friends, to know I wasn’t lying quite so much about quite so everything. I felt downright legit, sitting in my creative writing class at the local community college, reading my little stories out loud, in my very own reading-aloud-voice, while my audience looked at my actual face, right into my eyes.
The sex in the pitch black darkness that you and I have always had is hot. It’s freeing. It’s utterly unrestrained. But I felt like I needed to be seen. I wanted a lover who would look into my big brown eyes as he heaved and grunted. I wanted to see his face when he came inside me. I needed that. And it was good. I don’t regret it.
But I’ve been thinking about you lately. I’ve been imagining what I would say to you if we ran into each other, just like this. I composed a lot of speeches to you in my head, but let’s just cut to the chase. Here is what I want you to know: I miss you and I want you back.
It won’t be like it was before, and anyway, I don’t want it to be like that. I’ve realized I need you, but I also need something else. We never said we’d be monogamous. And anyway, writing, like love, is messy. Writing doesn’t make things perfect. It breaks your heart, and you pour your blood, sweat, and tears into words, words, and more words, and then you die! The storybooks about stories and books are bullshit!
I have a new actual lover, from the Married-People-Cheating Website. His mind works in exactly the same, filthy way mine does. He slaps my face hard and spanks me and calls me his slave and his bitch. He fucked me in the ass and I loved it. His penis is quite big, but not huge. He is handsome, but not very tall. I like him a lot, but I don’t love him. I’ve spent the past six months against the ropes, beaten to a pulp by love, so I’m okay with sincere like.
I’m still with my husband, and he’s trying, but still no sex with him. It’s been six months. I understand that perhaps things will never be healed between my husband and me if I continue to lie to him and have sex with other men. On the other hand, am I the kind of girl who can live the rest of her life having sex only twice a year? Oh, you know me by now, don’t you, baby?
You and I have a lot ahead of us. I can see it all now. It will be sexy. It will be raw. It will be anonymous. It will be 100% the real me. It feels so good to be in your arms again. Thank you for still being here for me. I really needed you tonight.
Finally, what I want to say to you is this: “Come upstairs with me, and GET IN MY BED!”
Much love ♥,
The Horny Housewife
