The Secret Confessions of a Horny House Wife

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…

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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. 

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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.