Nov 012013
 

Beautiful morningA few days ago Harold (my partner in life, love, and hare-brained scheming) turned 65.  He’s not much for celebrating, but we wanted to do something special. Of course we wanted to make love, but what else? We couldn’t think of just the right thing until the day before. I don’t remember now, how tattoos came up. Initially it was sort of a dare or a jest, then we started talking about tattoos as a form of submission to each other – how cool it would be to channel the energy of pain and excitement into sexual energy.

What if I gave my pain to him while I was being marked by his symbol? What if he actually brought me to orgasm while I was being tattooed? We were intrigued by the possibilities, but neither of us was sure there was a permanent mark we were willing to take on. We had feverish conversations throughout the eve of his birthday. Optimistically I made us an appointment.

The next morning we got together early. I wanted to shower and spend some time connecting, so I started up some Janis Joplin and both of us squeezed into a shower clearly made for one. I adore hot water and slick soapy skin. Things were starting to heat up.

With his cock hard in my hand, I asked Harold what he wanted sexually. Like normal, he temporized, telling me to just go with what I felt was right. I’ve been pushing him more to think about and vocalize the things he desires, so I didn’t let him off the hook.

Going downHe began to talk about me punishing him somehow. I was in an excited sexy place, so it took me a few minutes to realize that the energy had changed between us. It stopped feeling sexy. I immediately centered myself and opened up to Harold. I sat him down on the toilet seat and straddled him, wrapping my arms around him. I could feel some pain from his childhood there – something that I had triggered when we fought  last week. We talked through it until it felt okay for us both. We do this kind of thing a lot and it makes for much better sex.

We walked down to the cabin in the glorious morning sunshine, wearing only shoes and coats. The chill air on my thighs and the thrill of being naked outdoors started to make me wet. There was already a fire going in the cabin. We proceeded to have some of the hottest sex we’ve had in a long time. He went down on me until I came. I strung him up in cuffs and did wicked things to his nipples and balls. I pushed him more than I ever have before and we both reached new heights.

IMG_3613When neither of us could wait another second, I bent over in front of him and let him fuck me from behind, his arms still suspended above his head. This is one of my favorite positions. I bent over the bed, where I had all of my tools spread out. He pounded into me. I rocked forward with each thrust, my breath coming out in harsh gasps, escalating to full throated moans, followed shortly by Harold’s ecstatic bellows.

Evidently my head was bumping my phone in the final throes of Harold’s birthday sex and Siri heard our vocalizations. Her voice surprised us, “I do not understand ‘who, who, who, who.’ I could search the Internet for you.” I laughed hysterically when I figured out what was going on.

From there we drove to to get tattoos, anticipation and anxiety sharing equal space. We knew what we wanted but we weren’t sure where. We talked through the positives and negatives of every possible location. Eventually we went with what felt right for each of us.

Harold and his tattooHarold went first. You have to understand that he’s never wanted a tattoo before. The fact that he celebrated turning 65 by getting his first tattoo is very inspirational to me. I think he enjoyed the process. He got spacey in a charming way, holding my hand. Afterwards, he was proud and blissed out. I love him so much.

This was not my first dance, but I was shocked by how intense the pain was in the tender flesh of my upper stomach. It got better over time, but initially there was no way that I could have sexualized that sensation. I’m just not a masochist. What I did do, over and over, was send the energy to Harold, giving him my pain, taking his mark. He held my hand and touched my face.

After, we were so high on endorphins. I felt amazing. We had so much fun.

We went home to my darling husband, who had prepared an incredible and gorgeous conch and squid ceviche just for Harold. Joel had even managed to find Harold’s favorite alcoholic beverage, Punt è Mes, which is rare in these parts. (Have I mentioned that sometimes it is unbelievably awesome to have two partners who care about each other?) The children had all made birthday cards and gotten him flowers. More glowy happiness!

Heart and delta tattooHarold spent some time talking with his wife and I put the kids to bed. We fell into each other’s arms and the softness of bed. Tired happiness gave way to gentle kisses. deep probing kisses became grinding gyrations. Without any thought we were making love again. Happy birthday Baby and many more…

Oct 012013
 

Wrapped in a sheetHave you wondered what it would feel like to make love for hours on end? Could you take sex to such a sacred level that everything you do together is about sustained attraction and pleasure? Could you open your heart and let your partner flow through you?

We had 40 hours alone together in an alpine chalet. We made love for every minute of it, so happy to share company, so enraptured by each other’s pleasure, that everything we did was infused with love. Every time we are together we create a bond that goes deeper.

We made love for 40 hours, holed up in a tiny rundown a-frame. I said “made love”, not fucked, although we did lots of fucking. No, I mean we created love between us. We slept wrapped in each other’s arms, breathing in the scent of our sweat on each other’s skin. We slept in blissful golden safety.

When we woke in the morning, our desire peaked. The river rushed by our window and we simply merged – his mouth driving me wild, fingers inside me, my orgasm stretching out, taking his proud erection in my mouth.  We paused as he entered me. Is this what we wanted? We had all day…

Almost thereBut I’m all for taking pleasure in the moment. We never know what will come. No regrets, fuck now and hope fore more later. We fucked and the sweetness built between us. He filled me with his jism.

For 40 hours we made love with every action. We nibbled on finger foods, drank orange juice and coffee. I feel loved when I am fed. He shows love by providing for me. Food is such a sensual joy when we take time to enjoy it.

I meditated on the bed, feeling his presence strong beside me. I spiraled deep inside myself, seeing everything laid out before me. Anchored by his love, I healed parts of me that had been broken. Stretched out beside his warm body, I experienced a clarity that is often elusive. When I opened my eyes to his smile, I knew he could feel it too.

We cuddled in the hot tub, rain pouring down, but the mountains gorgeous around us. I couldn’t keep my fingers from his skin. I watched his lips when he talked, needing to kiss them.

We surrounded ourselves in music, filling the small space with rhythms and lyrics that conjured up our past, times before we were together and since our lives have slowly grown together. Sometimes the music felt like it was my whole being and sometimes it was the backdrop of our conversation. We danced.

Harold made upI laid him out in front of the gas fireplace. Naked in a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor, I sat on his hips and made up his face. Touching a lover’s face is one of the most intimate things I can imagine and I loved making him my art. I was conscious of my cunt moist against his semi-erect cock, but I was intent on applying eyeliner. He never looks effeminate in make-up, it’s more that his fey nature shines through.

Talking seamlessly moved into oral sex and back. I hovered on the edge of orgasm. We fucked in spurts, laced with making out and kinky bits. I spanked him with a hairbrush, but it was my soft caresses that made him cry. We made love before and after eating, in and out of the hot tub, all over the cabin. Always, we stopped short of coming, letting our energy build.

We tumbled into bed, a bit sore, yet still full of need. A storm raged outside and the power went out, plunging us into total darkness. I felt afraid and slept holding his hand, a flashlight clutched in the other. There was a kind of isolation in that darkness, like being wrapped in a cocoon, but in some way we were still making love. It was just the two of us, far away from the rest of the world.

In the morning, he pampered me – an array of breakfast delights, my vibrator, and kisses all over. I finally found release with the help of his hands and it was incredibly sweet. I took over and spent some time focused on his body. It’s such a gift to have him give himself to me like that.

End of the weekendWe talked more in the hot tub. He broke through some wall I didn’t know was there. One moment we were drying off and the next I was crouched on the floor sobbing. He wrapped his whole body around me and held me while grief thundered out of me. I dripped snot into his hair.

We cleaned up and left. It wasn’t nearly enough, it’s never enough, but we so desperately need these times to connect with each other. We had 40 hours together in a run-down a-frame and we made every second count. What I know is that every second always counts. I want to make love every moment because I don’t know how much time we’ll have together in this world, but the love we make is real and will stay with me forever.

 

Jul 172013
 

kissA week without sex – too busy, too stressed, too sad to even get myself off in the shower. A serious lack that I feel in my bones, but at the end of the day I am sticky with sweat and bone tired. I am touched-out and depleted after caring for kids, dogs, chickens, gardens, house and home. I love these things, but my cup is empty. As a brilliant woman once said, I need a little a little sugar in my bowl.

The air presses against my skin like damp socks in hiking boots. I chafe against the weather and a sudden change in plans that threatens to prevent me from running away with Harold for a few hours. I need to unwind. I need to be the center of someone’s full attention for longer than a sentence. I long to be stroked and kissed and free of need. Our eyes meet over the head of our loquacious child and I know that he feels it too. We both pray for a release.

And we get it. Our planets align after all. We are quick to be out the door and into the forest. I feel lighter already. The atmosphere is different under the trees. With each step, I make an effort to let go of my stress. I picture myself as a tree shedding leaves, old dried up cares that no longer nourish me. It starts to rain.

I need to experience the rain with my whole body. Off go all of the clothes. We lie side by side, naked, as big warm drops fall. Finally my walls come down and I start to cry. His fingertips trace a pattern on my stomach, but he lets me have my space. I know he is with me. The rain washes everything away.

My mind drifts, blessedly free of the need to perform, while Harold’s hands caress my body. This is what I’ve needed – to be able to let go and have my love hold the space for a few moments. I come back to myself and lay on top of him, my skin hungry for more contact. My back is caressed by the light rain. I look into Harold’s eyes and see the whole world.

It still takes me a while to get to a place where I want to go further, despite a strong desire for intercourse. I’m on my period and I don’t really want him to go down on me, even though sometimes I love the messiness of it. Today is different, but we get me off anyway, with the canopy of green leaves above and his kisses on my breasts and his fingers inside me and the rain coming down.

Harold breaks the tension in my body like the rain broke the oppressive humidity. I come in twinges and spasms before letting the huge waves pass through my body. We both ride that wave as far as it goes.

Finally, I am wanting to give to him. His cock feels good in my mouth. I like the pressure on the roof of my mouth, the friction of movement, my tongue tracing the ridge of the head. This is where I feel closest to the divine. I could do this for hours but I start to ache for a different kind of fullness.

He enters me and I am riveted by his eyes. I often close my eyes in throes of passion, the experience being largely internal, but not now. I need to see him. I feel so raw. I am penetrated, pinned by cock and gaze, and it permeates some place inside me that has been unable to feel loved. I caress his face and he doesn’t look away. It feels almost unbearably honest to fuck this way. There is no place to hide.

It’s getting harder for him to meet my eyes as he get close to coming. His face contorts, eyes squeeze shut. For an instant I feel everything – the pulse of my cunt welcoming his cock and ready to take his jism, the trees and the forest around us, the sky and the rain kissing my skin, and the entire universe out there – and then my awareness collapses back to Harold’s hoarse cries as he thrusts into me. There is only this moment. I want it to go on forever.

We can’t get closer than this (but every time I think that, we find a way to get closer). My heart is wide open. I am so in love. Suddenly we are laughing and reality reinstates itself. We are covered in tears, sweat, menstrual blood, cum, and glorious rain. There are mosquitos. It’s getting dark and cold and we need to go home.

Jun 162013
 

Dark moist heat cradles me. Sweat trickles down my flesh like a lover’s caress. Rivulets slide between my breasts and down the backs of my knees. I feel safe and sexy, breathing in the scent of cedar, feeling my muscles release tension. I start to fantasize – parting my legs for his tongue to lick sweat from my creases, our slick hot bodies coming together on the wooden slats, slowly pouring cool water over ourselves as we recover from our passions…

Sauna

 

 

 Who else is feeling hot? Click below!

Sinful Sunday

Jun 062013
 
Owning Your Birthday Suit (with Sinclair Sexsmith and Amy Butcher)

Owning Your Birthday Suit (with Sinclair Sexsmith and Amy Butcher)

Three years ago, when I decided to blog about my whole sex life, I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to do. I wanted to express, through my words and images, an openness and realness about sex – to talk about my experience just as I would any other area of my life. I decided to use my legal name because I didn’t want to hide behind a constructed persona. I chose to show images that reveal both my face and my body, an unusual choice in sex blogging. In short, I set out to bare it all.

I have yet to regret my exposure. We’ve probably been fairly protected by obscurity, but I have my fan base. I’ve had my share of guys who want me to explore some kind of sexual connection with them, yet they’ve been respectful. I am not a fantasy. Everything I am, is out there for people to see. My blog posts cover my joys, rage, embarrassments, silliness, sadness, fantasies, and ecstasy. I take the whole part of WholeSexLife seriously.

Not only am I baring my soul, but also exposing my body. I often get asked how I can post naked pictures of myself on the internet. It does take a kind of courage, not because I care what anyone else thinks, but because I have to love myself. The real vulnerability is not in taking off my clothes for the camera. Generally I am in the moment, making love to myself, my partner, or the photographer. Later, when I go to edit images, I might have a crisis of faith. Do I look too fat or too old? Is the image good enough? Am I good enough? It takes courage to ignore the voices in my head and publish the pics anyway. Vulnerable is way more interesting to me than perfect, anyway.

Of course nudity can be challenging, especially if you’re not used to it. I think most people worry that their body, fully exposed, is not as good as a swimsuit model’s or a porn star’s, but maybe deeper than that is the not unreasonable fear that being naked means you are “asking for it.” Even a thin film of fabric over the nipples or genitals seems to protect one from being seen as dirty or slutty. I decided early on that I own my body, naughty bits and all, and I get to choose how much to share. This has meant full nudity because I refuse to be ruled by fear. There is an openness and freedom about being in my skin.

By dropping artificial boundaries about what body parts are acceptable to show, I am able to more fully explore my own sexual reality. I can express myself artistically as a whole being. As a result, I accept myself (and all of my parts) as a whole being. I am able to bring this fluidity to all aspects of my sex life, knowing all the way to my core that all of me is sacred. Baring my body lets me bare my soul.

Are you thinking of baring it all? I urge you to give it a try. All bodies are unique and beautiful.

 

Apr 132013
 

I wait for you by the window, body lush and ready, flesh bathed in moonlight. I wait for you, aching, longing, naked and open to you. I wait for you my darling, tending the life we have built together, feeding the fire that is our love. I will wait by the window for your return, for my body and soul are yours.

Waiting by the window

 

Please click below to see what other sexy people are doing for Sinful Sunday!

Sinful Sunday

Mar 242013
 

I’ve become hieny-centric. I’ve always found bottoms attractive, but now a nice ass has me thinking about all of the sexy things I’d like to do. Harold and I have done so much intensely erotic anal play that seeing his naked bum makes me lust after him as much as seeing his cock. I have totally objectified his ass – and why not, it’s gorgeous!

I’ve chosen to share a couple of images that are highly erotic for me, loaded with all of the love and intimacy Harold and I have shared. Sex has created a filter of desire for me, come see this piece of ass through my eyes…

 

His gorgeous ass

Diving deep

 

 

Wanna see some other erotic images? Click below!

Sinful Sunday

Mar 092013
 

Dying my hair blue had an unexpected side effect – blue breasts! Of course I had to play.

blue hands on breasts

Blue handprints on breasts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This week is the 100th Sinful Sunday!

Click to see how other people are celebrating…

Sinful Sunday

Feb 142013
 
orgy of love

“Love is not singular except in syllable.” ~Marvin Taylor

This is a real illustration of our polycule’s love. We’re missing a member in this photo, but her love is still with us, entwined like our limbs. Love is not singular, I am blessed many, many times over.

 

To see other entries in this week’s Valentine’s competition, click below…

Sinful Sunday