SexyPrime, a blog by Susan Crain Bakos

Seize “The Cougar Moment”: No Matter Your Age, Let’s Bring Back Glamour and Good Kissing

Photo Credit: "Lips" on Photobucket

We are living in “The Cougar Moment” according to Emily Nussbaum in this week’s New York magazine—but she implies that Courtney Cox might kill it as the insecure Jules in the dreadful sitcom “Cougar Town”.  Now and then I write a Cougar post.  Younger men love the posts—and sometimes ask for an “application form” to be my cub.   Occasionally I hear from women who object to the term “cougar”, a word I embrace for the same reason lesbians and gays adopted “queer” and young black men “nigger”:  When you own a word, it can’t define you.

This morning I received a delicious email from a 30 year old man extolling the joys of being with older women.

“I just realized something:  It’s not only about the sex though you [Cougars] exude sexuality and kiss better than any girl.  I love being with you because you are charming.  You are flirtatious in a way that lets a guy know you could do just about anything he’s imagining—but probably won’t unless he really inspires you.  He won’t get so much as a kiss, but he’ll go away feeling you appreciated him—something he probably won’t feel after he gets a blow job from a girl at the party.  You are in control of who, when, where, what and how—but are open to being ravished by the right guy under the right circumstances…and it will be special…”

It gets a little personal from there—And, darling, I did enjoy the photos and fantasies.—but he makes his point in the first paragraph anyway:  A lot of men are very attracted to grown-up women who have the self confidence to be charming and selective.   Some of those men are younger than the stodgy segment of aging Boomers and the prematurely old faction of Gen X males.   A woman doesn’t have to be Cougar age to be grown-up, of course, but many single women in their 20s and well into their 30s are as trapped in their Girl-land culture as many of the same age men are mired in Guyland.  Dressed as Barbie Sluts and wobbling drunkenly on very high heels, they run in noisy packs on weekend nights in Manhattan and dominate L.A. 24/7.  (Maybe everything began to go wrong when Barbie went from a fashion doll to a girl who can’t cover her butt in her little skirts.)

Why is it so hard to grow up in our culture without becoming “old”?  Is it the dearth of role models?  Samantha Jones, Cougar Extraordinare, as played by Kim Cattrail on “Sex and the City”, had the occasional qualm about aging but she both reviled in and defied the years.  Jules in “Cougar Town” is terrified of what every passing day might do to disintegrate her Botox.  (I agree with Emily Nussbaum:  she is horrifying.)

Grown-up women are glamorous and sophisticated and sexy.  When I was a child, little girls wanted to become women, not suspend time as lifelong teenagers, because women clearly had the secrets and the pleasures.  I adored my big sisters who were 20 and 17 when I was born.  Ellen especially was my concept of the ideal feminine with her curly dark hair, luscious red lips, elegant clothes and perfect nails.  She held a martini glass like the cocktail was created for her.   Her husband adored her too.

Grown-up women of all ages, let’s bring back glamour—and good kissing.  More on kissing tomorrow after I go to a full body kiss workshop at Sexy Spirits tonight.

COME GET ME....:Time For The Cub To Take Charge Of A Cougar Flirtation

I printed out the seductive emails from my admirer.  Then I took my purple JimmyJane Form 6 vibe from its charging stand, flipped the switch and began to read.  The speed was up to highest by the time i got to this one:

"I check into the hotel, and after getting settled in, I head up to the rooftop lounge to get something to drink.  Might as well unwind before I have to start interviewing witnesses for the upcoming hearing.  While I'm sitting there enjoying my drink and viewing the scenery along the pool, I notice this stunningly curvaceous redhead come into the lounge and sit at the bar.  She doesn't see me, though.  I feel a stirring in my lap.  She's wearing a tight black pencil skirt and snow white blouse, unbuttoned enough to show off her cleavage.  I walk up and ask her if she would like to join me for a drink.  She obliges.

 

"Back at our table, sitting across from her, I can't help but to steal glances at her breasts.  I can tell she is wearing black lace demi bra, but from what I can tell, she is in fabulous shape and the bra is providing more sexy show than actual use.  It's obvious she works out a lot and her breasts are just perfect.  Her pearl necklace hangs just where the cleavage starts.  Her legs, which she strategically crosses and uncrosses, are athletic and sexy, and are encased in black stockings - which I slyly spy end mid thigh - just before what appears to be tiny black, French lace panties.  I know right then that I need be able to somehow get her back to my room.

 

"After a while I suggest heading out for light dinner, and she finally agrees to join me.  I mention that I need to stop by my room, and does she mind.  She says, "sure."  Pulling her chair out for her, I steal a glance down her shirt and hope that my raging erection isn't obvious.  Opening the door to the interior of the hotel, I let her through, placing my hand on the small of her back (just below waist band of the skirt and above where her firm bottom begins.)  I detect a faint whimper, or breathless exhale, as my hand gently guides her through the door.  I let me hand linger, and she does nothing to increase her speed or cause my hand to drop.  Her back is firm and I feel her muscles as she walks.

 

"Not a word is spoken on the elevator, but I notice that she is breathing deep.  As the door opens, I again guide her through and I definitely hear her "hmmmm" as once again I place my hand on her body.  I wonder if this quick detour could somehow be delayed.  I wonder what she is thinking...."

She is thinking:  This orgasm was very nice, but I want to get laid, well laid, and not just by anyone.  Your letters have created a craving inside me, a craving for you.  I want to be in that elevator with you, not speaking a word, breathing you in....

Come get me.

IS IT THE YEAR OF THE COUGAR?: Check Out The Summer Films

"COUGARS ON THE PROWL!" screams the Sunday, June 14, 2009, edition of The New York Daily News.  

"In movies and on TV and in real life, cougars are getting their paws on younger guys," writes Patrick Huguenin.

Ryan Reynolds, the cub, and Sandra Bullock, the cougar, in "The Proposal"

"However simplistic," he writes, "the pop fascination with courgarism could be the antidote for outdated romantic movies.  The right roar could blast away some of those old-school Hollywood laws of love--and throw much-needed spice into the entertainment world's depiction of what it means to be a sexually active woman over 40,"

YES!, but I object to the phrase "on the prowl."  Babes, as I have said before, younger men chase me.  I don't chase them.  I don't pay for them either.  (Read my interview with The Zola on Why I Am A Cougar.)  Bottom line:  1.  Older guys don't ask me out; and 2.  Younger dicks are harder dicks.  Those are just the facts of my sex life.

My favorite part of the News piece:  the sidebar on "codgers," the "age-old tradition" of older man/younger woman.  Recent examples:  Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart in real life; Larry David and Rachel Wood in Woody Allen's new flick, "Whatever Works".  Presumably, cougars are "in" and codgers are "out."  Whatever.  I'm with Woody:  whatever works for you is fine with me; I'm just glad women are now allowed to be triumphantly sexual past 40 as men were always allowed to be.

This Summer of '09 Cougar Trend is one more indication that women are influencing the movies--and thus the culture reflected by the movies.  Traditionally, filmmakers targeted men, the purchasers of "date movie" tickets, particularly in the summertime.  They put all their money into special effects and fake blood.  (If you missed it, read my guest blog on why Will Ferrell is tanking at the box office.)  The lame stuff aimed at us was largely romantic comedy at low tide.  

We'll have to see how the new crop of films work out.  (I am hoping that Michelle Peiffer is outstanding in  the film version of Colette's "Cheri.")  Whatever the box office numbers, the times they are a' changin' as Bob Dylan once said.  Women of all ages have more influence in every area of popular culture than we did just a decade ago.

Whether you are a cougar or way too young to think about going there--be glad for the increased choices, the increased POWER that we have now.  Someday you'll appreciate the fact that Mummy could have a Boy Toy.

WHY I AM A COUGAR: In My First Interview With Zola, The Truth Comes Out

In "What's Up With The Cougar Thing?" the first of two (maybe more) interviews with my pal Alex Zola on his blog The Zola System--I admit the truth.  Younger men have harder cocks.

Here is the interview in its entirety:

Over the course of five interviews, first published on SexyPrime and then re-posted here and on OpenSalon, my life, such as it stands, was examined or autopsied if you have a cynical bent, by Susan Crain Bakos. Now, in a wonderful show that Karma does exist and yes, it does have a sense of irony, I got Susan, dear family friend, my Auntie Mame and my Torquemada all wrapped into one, to sit down and allow me to interview her.

The subject for this interview is the rise of the Cougar phenomenon and why she only likes to date younger men.  We’ll see if we can’t get her on that reality TV show after all.

Enjoy!

Q. You’ve told me several times over the years you would never date anyone younger than me.  Why the change of heart?

A. That’s not my fault, Alex.  It was ten years ago.  You’ve aged.  I don’t go looking for men of a certain age, they come after me.  Half of my Facebook friends are wanna be boy toys.  Today I got an e-mail from one saying ‘I want to experience your experienced vagina.’  It’s not a very good line and it’s not getting him anywhere but I found it kind of amusing.

Q. Actually, I think that line is pathetic.  It’s a kind of Facebook version of hey baby, what’s your sign.  How often do you hear younger men use lines like that?

A. First, I don’t think it’s a pathetic line.  Lame, not pathetic.  A pathetic line is delivered by a man who knows you don’t want him and he is resentful and his resentment just bubbles up. 

Q.  Is it only younger men that come on to you?

A. Mostly.  It’s rare that I attract men my age.  It’s been that way for years.

Q.  You’ve sat at several of the bars I have worked over the course of the years and I watched younger men over look younger, more beautiful women to hit on you.  Frankly, it amuses the hell out me.  However I can never figure out why they walk past the bleach blondes.

A.  It’s a positive attitude about sexuality.  Men respond to that energy.  It makes them feel more comfortable with their sexuality.

Q. I know one young man who was utterly horrified of you and your openness when it comes to sexuality.  At a dinner party we attended, He actually had to leave the table when you and another woman were discussing the new sex toys available.  While turning beet red, he demanded you call them marital aides and ran away.

A. Neither one of us were married.  All of this from a discussion of the viability of new vibes in the marketplace. (laughs)  It wasn’t like I was describing masturbation sessions. 

Q. Ok, that begs the question: why younger men?

A.  Ok, let’s take on the stereotype: the cougar pays most of the young man’s bills, serves as a mentor and has most of the power.  My boy toys are accomplished, interesting men in fields not my own.  I don’t mentor them and they pay.  I don’t pay for men; men pay for me.

My first cougar love experience was with a man named Jack who used to joke he was more mature than I was.  He definitely took care of me on many levels and I wrote about his penis in an article for Penthouse.  It was re-printed around the world.

Q.  You avoided the question.  So again, I ask: why younger men?

A.   Hard cocks.

Q.  (Zola laughing)

A.  Come on Alex, how long have you known me?  You know the one man my age I have seen in the last decade possessed an exceptionally fine cock.  He played tennis several times a week.  The cock is all about blood flow.  I worship the cock.  Nothing relieves stress like sucking one.  I was totally dick-matized by this particular man.

Q.  Ok, I’ll play along.  If it’s all about the cock, why do you only hang out with accomplished men?

A.  It’s a good question.  Men have to be smart.  If they are stupid, I’m not getting to the cock.   Men have to be smart and interesting to engage me in conversation.  The cock is an extension of all they are.  If he’s not a wonderful, smart, interesting man, I’m not getting to the cock.  I will not go there.

Q.  So it’s the cock then?

A.  The cock leads the way for these guys.  They’re dominant because the cock leads them; and I like my men to be dominant in bed.  Not in a BDSM way, just a take charge kind of way.  As men get older and lose confidence in their cocks, they become less dominant.  Some women find that endearing.

Q. It freaks a lot of younger women out when their men are in charge in the bedroom.

A.  They aren’t completely comfortable the male/female sexual dynamic. They can’t separate the daily life competition at work with the nighttime–I want this guy to ravish me.  Because some women aren’t yet comfortable in their sexual skins, they have difficulty with men who are comfortable in theirs.  The strong, sexual self-confidence of the younger male can seem overbearing.  I find it very appealing.

Q. What does the cub get from the cougar?

A.  Sexual confidence, sexual expertise and no pressure.  They can have an affectionate relationship and hot sex without all the relationship talks via text messages.  Girls are always telling me that they ask guys “Where is this going” after a few dates.

Q. Really– because my cougar sent me long, odd e-mails demanding to know what I was doing and why I acted a certain way.

A.  Your cougar was a therapist. She was crazy.  I just call my boy toy and say, “Can I come over and suck your cock?”

 Next week, race and sex.

THE BOY TOY WILL GET LUCKY TONIGHT.....

Below is another excerpt from a continuing fantasy dialogue between me and a VERY Hot Guy.  I will read it to the Boy (which stirs his competitive spirit among other things) and we'll see what we can do with this one.

 

I'm already close to orgasm.

 

Photo credit:  "Nude Woman With Pearls," a vintage photo collected by ATC Queen

 

How would you like to wake up to this in your e mail box?

 

After dinner, when her friend excuses herself briefly, I lean over and whisper, "Go with her and explain that you have alternate plans this evening and will catch up with her tomorrow."  When she looks confused, I gently place her hand on my crotch and she immediately feels the outline of my erect cock, already beginning to leak pre-cum.  Her knowing look and exploring squeeze lets me know, "Yes."

 

When we part company, her friend shoots a glance and ever so slight knowing smile.  I hug her friend goodbye, and I'm convinced that she knows whats about to happen by the way she hugs me back - she presses herself to me as if to get just a little feel of what her friend is about to share.

 

"Come with me," I say.  She takes my arm an follows me onto the elevator.  As we get in, I press the button and the door closes.  The only words I speak are, "Did you bring your little black dress."  Without saying a word, she simply rubs the bulge in my pants, gently squeezing.

 

Opening the door to the room, I lead her in and tell her make herself comfortable and that I'll be right back after I get some ice.  When I return, the room is dark, except for the light from the skyline shining through the open curtains.  She is silouetted by the light.  Her auburn hair shimmers in the faint glow.  Burned into my memory are her slender neck draped with pearls, firm round breasts with hard nipples pointing ever so slightly upward, flat tummy, just a whisp of pubic hair and her magnificent legs.  She is an amazing sight to behold - pure sex - and I have her all to myself tonight.

 

Realizing that what I thought was the hardest erection I ever had was nothing compared to what that lovely sight brought on, I hoarsly whispered, "Get over here."  She slowly walks over and stops inches from me.  I lean forward, my hands resting on her warm hips, and kiss her passionately.  She responds in kind, and her hands begin unbuttoning my shirt.  Running her hands over my chest, shoulders, back, she ends the kiss and begins nibbling my lips and my neck.  She traces a long, wet trail over my chest, sucking my nipples and travels further down until she is on her knees, kissing my navel area.

 

Looking me straight in the eyes, she unfastens my belt and pants, which drop with the slighest sound.  She begins rubbing my erect cock through the fabric of my underwear, kissing where the tip is.  Without any prodding from me, she pulls down my underwear, allowing my cock to spring forward into a rush of cool air.  But, she is an artist and instead of engulfing me immediately, she turns her attention to my inner thighs, planting small kisses all along them, getting ever so close to my cock and scrotum without actually touching them.  The only touch I feel is her hot tongue on my thighs, her hands on my buttocks, and her auburn hair occassionally whisping my penis.

 

She pulls away to look at what she's done.  So hard that is is pointing upward at a 45 degree angle slightly to the left, my cock is literally pulsing with excitement.  She notices the pre-cum begining to drip away and she takes her hand and encircles the head with the glimmering, viscous fluid.  Ever so gently, she pushes my cock up and out of the way and begins to gently suck on one testicle and then another - sucking ever so gently, tugging with her lips, engulfing the whole sac.  All I can do is try to catch my breath.  She runs her tongue the length of the underside of my shaft, and pausing to get my attention, she takes the entire length of my penis into her steaming hot mouth.  Ever so slowly, painfully slow, she takes the length of me into her mouth.  I've been wanting this for longer than I can remember and as much as I want it to go on forever, I succomb to her skill and my lust.  Sensing my pending climax, she pulls away just as the first stream of cum shoots onto her necklace, followed by several more streams to her breasts.

 

Overcome with lust, I pick her up and place her on the bed.  My cock shows not even the slightest bit of weariness.  I spread her legs and immediately enter her.  As I slowly thrust in and out, I hold her hand above her head and stare into her eyes.  Using my bend, I search for her G-spot, alternating between it and occasionally pulling out to run my length over her clitoris.  Her eyes and open mouth and sexy sounds tell me I'm doing something good.  As I sense her approaching climax, I lean down and take her left breast, coated with a month's worth of cum, into my mouth, licking and hungrily sucking at its semen coated nipple.  As I feels her climax begin to squeeze me, I kiss her full on the mouth, our tongues interwined with frantic lust.  As she lunges her hips foward in ecstasy, she reaches down and cradles my scrotum which is tight against my body.   When she reaches the apex of her cum, she buries her mouth in my neck and stifles and hoarse moan.  I climax immediately and bury my face in her neck, savoring the pulsating of her puss, her hands on my buttocks and the the smell of her fragrance mixed with cum on her breasts.

Not Exactly Visions of Sugar Plums--Better!

Like the rest of you, I am getting into the holiday spirit....thinking about Santa, dreaming of Sugar Plums, more or less. 

If you are in Seattle, go see Fischa Foxx as Ms. Santa Tuesday the 9th at 8.  Check out the Babeland site for events there and in other cities.

And eat your sugar plums before bedtime to induce sexy holiday dreams.  Speaking of that, have you ever been jolted awake by an orgasm in progress?

Sleep orgasms are not for men only. Women have our own version of the “wet dream”. The great sex researcher Dr. Alfred Kinsey reported back in 1953 that 40% of women would experience at least one sleep orgasm before they turned forty. A casual comment, a line from an e-mail, an image, maybe graphic, maybe not--all drift into the sex brain where they get caught up in pulsating waves of desire. Before you realize what’s happening, your restless tossing and turning has rubbed your clit the right way.

It happened to me again a few nights ago.

I woke to an orgasm and the fantasy of a Cougar encounter with a younger man dominating me in bed. He was familiar, yet not. A woman is never so submissive as when she offers her ass to a man; and that vulnerable state is even more thrilling if he is neither stranger nor lover. Thrusting his dick rhythmically into my anus, he occasionally slapped each cheek. The sound of smacks on sweating flesh echoed in my head. I closed my eyes and felt his hot breath behind me. Here’s the thing about anal sex: If you’re into it at the moment, it hurts so good. (The porn films never get it right.) And I was into it. I played with my clit as he rammed in and out of me; and I came.

He withdrew, turned me over, pulled off the condom, tossed it. I thought he was going to fuck me, but he picked up his belt from the floor and ordered, “Spread your legs open wide.”

Legs widespread, hand in pussy, I moved my hips up toward him as he lightly hit my inner thighs with his belt. I was straining to come, gasping and pulling deep inside for an orgasm that made me work for it. He put down the belt, entered me, fucked me hard and fast--and I came and came. His face close to mine still wasn’t quite clear.

I fell back asleep with my hand in my pussy. In the morning, I thought: I need to call the Boy Toy.

Share Your Toys With The Boys!

The Boy Toy touched my heart and pussy--well, actually my heart is in my pussy--when he returned from a business trip to L.A. with a sex toy for me. We had such a good time with the toy that he bought another. [Read the Cougar Chronicles] Now toys are part of our game.

I tossed Pleasure Tops, my new vibe from Babeland, into the tote bag when I visited him this week.

Like The Cone, an amazing pink vibe, Pleasure Tops is cone-shaped, but it has two vibes, one in the body and the other in a little projecting “spout”. Imagine a big fat rabbit with one powerful ear. You can sit straight down on Pleasure Tops or lie on it or come up with your own imaginative approach to the design. The lower you go down the shaft of the cone, the stronger the vibrations and greater the sensations. Bonus: Both hands free!

I lowered my body onto Pleasure Tops as I took The Boy’s cock into my mouth. In no more than a minute, we were rocking, my sucking in time to the vibrations, his hands in my hair, pulling, twisting.  His moans mingled with the sound of the vibes. I came before he did.

Amazed at the quality and variety of vibrators, he was also envious.

“Is that vibrating cock ring the only thing you’ve got for me?” he asked later as we were lying in bed, examining the toy like two research scientists. He added, “Not that I don’t like the ring.”

So I pulled my Lelo Gigi out from under his pillow where I’d left it.

“Pink?” he said, looking askance at me with those sparkling blue eyes. “You’re using a pink toy on me?”

“Close your eyes,” I said.

This is how you do what I did to him:

• Start on low-speed. Run the vibrator along the shaft of his penis, then press it against the base, the scrotum, and the perineum.

• Guided by his response, experiment with higher speeds and firmer pressures.

• Don’t apply more powerful vibrators directly to his penis. Hold it against the back of your hand as your are holding the shaft of his penis. Move his penis up and down with your vibrating hand.

Also buy him a vibrating cock ring. The silicone ring attached to a vibrating torpedo and battery pack looks a bit strange, but you will both love the way it feels.

• Place the stretchy cock ring around the base of his penis with the attached torpedo turned down to stimulate his perineum--or up during intercourse to stimulate your clitoris. Either way, he feels the vibrations around the base of his penis.

As I was getting dressed to leave, the Boy was sitting naked in bed, laptop open to the Babeland site.

“Couples’ sex toys,” he said, smiling in satisfaction.

More to come I am sure…….

Sometimes "The Girls" Attract The Wrong Kind

The young man who’d introduced himself to my cleavage told me over burgers a few days later that he had a special sex technique, a manual trick for making a woman's clit stand up and pay attention before quivering in delight. I was intrigued. But by then, I’d checked him out and knew he’d lied about his identity. I had him show me how his technique worked on my fingers and wrote down the directions before dismissing him. No play dates for boys who claim they are on leave from their fourth tour of duty in the Middle East. (He said he was, of course, “Special Ops,” Did you ever meet a sexy guy “on military leave“ who wasn‘t Special Ops or a Navy Seal?) I have a close friend with access to military records. This boy was no name, no rank, no serial number in the Army‘s web files.

I was leaving Sexy Spirits the other after working with my pal Anton (the founder) on our secret sex project--that is going to change the world! As I was walking down this long flight of stairs, I realized that a hot young black guy, who’d come out of the Tantra teacher’s studio on the floor below, was right behind me. His eyes on my cleavage, rising above a black cashmere tank top, he chatted briefly with me in the building lobby.

I had a copy of The Sex Bible for Women under my arm and was on my way to an interview with a visiting foreign journalist--or I would have accepted his invitation to join him for a drink right then. Instead I gave him my card. Led by my breasts, he went straight to the blog.

Cleavage is my trademark, (Yes, I sound immodest, but I also have great legs. Come on. All women know what their good parts are.) My breasts are 34C, soft but firm, relatively unaffected by gravity thanks to years of weight training. I like them and I always have. Why not share them with the world? The power of breasts over men cannot be over-estimated. After forty, cleavage is the best thing a woman has going for her. Men become mesmerized staring into cleavage. They don’t even check out her face. In fact, they won’t notice how old she is for months. I once said to the Boy Toy: “You wouldn’t recognize me in a turtleneck.” His reply: “That’s not true; I am vaguely aware that you have red hair.”

Men notice cleavage with varying degrees of interest, but few are disinterested. Some men all but fall into it in their avid enthusiasm for female curves. Women notice too, some with disapproving grimaces. As a society, we are conflicted about female sexuality but cleavage forces us to take an immediate stand. Given the intensity of this response evoked by breasts, exposing cleavage is an art best practiced by a sexually empowered woman--likely someone who is no longer very young so she can handle the attention and the opinions. If a woman’s sexuality isn’t clearly self-defined, she may let others draw the lines for her on that tender exposed flesh.

Cleavage is for women, not girls.

Cleavage properly flaunted is the most honest signal of intent a woman can make. Sometimes, alas, it attracts the wrong kind, like boys pretending to be someone they are not.

Major Not was fun for the first fifteen or twenty minutes of our conversation at a burger bar on Eighth Avenue. Then he told me this story about his brother’s date with a black woman who didn’t know the shrimp in shrimp cocktail were chilled, not fried. I knew that bit was lifted from a film by a black filmmaker.

“Tell me about your special technique,” I said.

He took my hand, surrounded the knuckle of my middle finger with two of his fingers.

“That is your clit,” he said, pointing to my knuckle. “I squeeze it between my fingers until it pops out from under the hood. Then with one finger I tap ir and stroke, alternating the taps and the strokes. It drives women crazy.”

Later that week, the Boy Toy tried it on me.

“Ouch,” I said, as he squeezed and “popped” my clit from beneath the hood. “Okay, stop,” I said, after a few taps and strokes. “That’s annoying.”

Laughing, he asked, “Where did you meet this guy again?”

“On the stairs at Anton’s.”

“Oh, right. He met the girls first.”

Then he did one of the things that he does best. He lowered his face to my pussy and applied his tongue.

Now and again, the cleavage attracts the wrong kind. That’s life. It also brought me the Boy Toy.

The Boy Buys Me A Big Toy

"Want to play?" I asked him.

"Where are you?"

"In a cab, leaving a dinner date,"  I said and he laughed.  Oh, yes, there's humor in that.  One guy paid for dinner; the other gets laid.  "I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"Excellent.  I have another new toy for you.  A big one.  Rebecca inspired me."

Oh, no.  Rebecca's story of the big toy isn't exactly inspirational.  (Read the three parts in order if you haven't read it yet.)  I was expecting a big dildo; and I had my polite refusal all ready to go.  Nobody, not even me, uses something like that on me.

Ah, but The Boy, fresh from a quick shower, surprised me with a Hitachi Magic Wand--and its brand new attachment Off With Your Head.  I, of course, have my own Hitachi, but not the special head.  I was intrigued.  And he's so cute when he flips switches and reads directions.

"Lie down," he said, unbuttoning my black silk shirt as I stepped out of my skirt."I'm going to give you a full body electronic massage."

Using the Hitachi's original head, he massaged my neck and shoulders and back, taking all the tension away, then turned me over and ran the vibe up and down my legs and stomach, playing with my inner thighs until my insides felt like molten silk.  Uhmmmm....I wanted him to put that sweet head against my clit and bring me to orgasm.  But he turned off the switch and changed the heads.

"The platinum silicone head warms to body temperature," he said.

I put some Liquid Silk on my fingers and played with myself while he changed heads.  This black one has vertical ridges for vulva stimulation on one side and a round ridge for clitoral stimulation on the other.  His eyebrows coming together in concentration, he turned the toy back on and applied it with skill.  Oh, yes, very nice...the vibrations not as strong as with the original head...but more diffuse and, yes, very nice.

He kissed me long and hard while I came.  And came again.  Little beads of sweat fell off his forehead onto mine. I came again as he held the wand between his thighs, in place against me while he played with my breasts and caressed my hair and face--the motion of his body changing the pattern of the vibrations. 

Here's the thing with Hitachi, the big girl's toy.  You can come over and over with virtually no down time between orgasms, unless you need to move the toy away because your clit is momentarily too sensitive to touch.  You know that feeling of helplessness as the desire for orgasm turns into the thing itself and you whimper and give yourself over completely?  That feeling goes on......

He turned off the toy and entered me and--I don't know why--I was transported back thirty years to an affair I had with a much older man.  I remember the orgasms he induced with the tip of his rapidly flicking tongue and how I felt holding him as he thrust inside me later, as if I were holding his past too.  With The Boy, I was briefly holding his future, the man, the lover he would be to someone very special, perhaps very soon.  There is something so poignant and touching about holding a man who is not yours.  He is a momentary gift.

And to tell you the truth:  The delicious feelings of desire also made me long for yet another man, someone I've been with only once really...and won't let myself think about again.  I fantasized that big dick inside me; and I was moaning over him.

Orgasms.  Even as I lose myself in them, I feel connected to men and to deep longings, past and present.

(Check out the Hitachi Magic Wand and all its attachments at Babeland.)

 

Returning The Borrowed Shirt--and Playing With "We"

The Boy called and asked, "Can you come over and play?  You haven't seen the new toy I bought you in L.A."

I did need to return the white shirt I'd borrowed the last time we played. 

"Will there be champagne?"  I asked. 

There was champagne.  The toy was wrapped in shiny purple paper and tied with rows of thin pink and purple ribbons.  Festive. The Boy had put a little gel in his black hair, spiking it up.  Sweet.  His blue eyes were bright, glinting naughtily.

"A We Vibe!" I exclaimed.

(How like him.  The Boy is into building "partnerships".)

"It's the first and only internal vibrator designed to be worn during intercourse," he read from the box.

"Are you going to put it in?" I asked; and he grinned.

"Eventually."

I slipped out of my blouse and skirt and black lace panties, leaving on the lace-topped black thigh highs and bra.

"Don't take your shoes off," he said, as I was about to kick them off.  "I love those snake-skin stilettos."

I laid back on his bed, legs open wide.  Kneeling between my legs, he poured a little champagne from his flute onto my clit.  The bubbles felt sexy.  He poured a little more.  It ran down, a rivulet following the curves of my inner lips.  He licked it up, using broad strokes of his tongue.  A little more champagne, a little more tongue.  Then he settled into the familiar rhythm of cunnilingus, alternating his two best moves--lips covering clit and surrounding area and gently sucking--with the fast, teasing flick of the tip of his tongue across the tip of my clit.

I was near orgasm when he stopped and reached for a packet of lube.

"Fuck me," I said.

He picked up the We and inserted it, the cup at one end of the C-shaped vibe over my clit, the other one inside my vagina, surrounding the G spot.  (The manufacturer promises that the vibe's "slender profile leaves room for penetration."  More on that later.)  He licked and sucked my inner thighs--one of my secret hot spots-- while I rocked to orgasm on We.

"I want your dick," I gasped.

I love my vibes, but when I'm with a man, I want that dick.  I wrapped my legs around his neck--careful not to gouge him with my heels--and he thrust deeply into me.  I loved the sensations of the vibe and the thrusting, but the faster and harder we moved together, the more the "slender profile" seemed to get in the way.  He reached down and pulled it out--and we finished the old fashioned way with my hand between our bodies.

As I was licking champagne off his nipples a few minutes later, he said, "I like the toy.  I should have more toys for you here."

Once again, I left wearing one of his shirts because we spilled some champagne on my ivory silk blouse.  Damn.  I just have to go back again to return this shirt, don't I?

(The We Vibe is on sale at Babeland this week--for less than I am sure The Boy paid--along with a lot of other goodies.  Has anyone else tried We?  I'd love to hear your experiences with it :)