Phone sex

In all my 54 years I've never had phone sex -- until this week. I was travelling for a few days, which meant spending Tuesday night through this morning in a hotel. Marie's work schedule has her off work Tuesdays and Wednesdays. So I offered to call her Wednesday morning ... maybe we could talk for a bit.

In an e-mail some weeks ago, Marie had broached the idea of phone sex, because she finds herself getting wet at the sound of my voice. At the time I hadn't replied with much conviction either way. But I remembered her idea in the back of my head.

So she called me about 7:00 Wednesday morning. At first we had reception problems. She moved out to her living room because the connection had dropped in her bedroom ... which meant she had to put on a sundress in a hurry. This told me she had started out naked in her bedroom, which means she was thinking the same thing I was. But then she worked her way back into her bedroom and the connection held.

For a long time we talked about this and that; nothing terribly sexual, but just talking. It almost seemed like we had both forgotten the idea of trying sex this way, or given up on it. And that conversation was fine too.

And then I started musing, "Gosh, it would be so nice if you were here ...."

If you were here lying beside me I could kiss you. I could stroke your face and run my fingers through your hair. Then after a while I might nibble your earlobes just a bit ... and maybe run my tongue up and down the ridges of your ears. I could kiss the front of your neck with my lips and tongue while stroking the back of your neck with my fingers.

And then I think I'd run my fingers softly over your shoulders. I'd run down your arms, pausing at the soft skin on the insides of your elbows. You know, skin like that is very sensitive and it gets ticklish easily ... so I'd rub it just firmly enough not to tickle, but still softly enough that you knew it was a caress. I'd stroke the rest of the way down your arms to your hands, hold them, and feel each finger. Then I'd work my way back up to your underarms, and caress them in the same way -- just firmly enough not to tickle, but so that you still new it was a caress.

From there I'd run my hands gently across your breasts. Oh, it looks like your nipples are standing up, so I'd kiss them ... lick them, suckle them, maybe even bite them gently. While I was kissing one, I'd trace my finger around the other -- around and around, pinching gently and then caressing the rest of your breast.

From your breasts I'd let my hands drift across your stomach and down to your sides. I'd rub your hips and feel the soft hair on your legs, caressing the outsides all the way down to your knees. I'd caress the backs of your knees, again taking care to be just firm enough that I didn't tickle; and then stroke your calves down to your feet. I'd nuzzle your feet for a while: rubbing the soles, kissing each toe, and running my fingers gently between your toes. I might even suckle your toes briefly.

From your feet, I'd start back up on the insides of your calves, ... your knees ... your thighs. When I got all the way up, I'd run my fingers up and down the very outside of your vulva for a little while, and the same time that my other hand rubbed across your pubic mound through your pubic hair ... pushing down just a bit so you could feel the pressure. After a minute or two, I'd start peeling back the petals of your labia, one at a time, until I could dip my finger in to tell if you were wet yet or not.

At various points throughout this description, Marie had murmured "Oh my!" or "Oh yes!" When I got to this point she confirmed, "I'm very wet." I went on.

From there, what I think I would do -- by the way, this is kind of like "Sesame Street", you're invited to sing along at home! -- is to insert one finger inside you and let it slide in and out for just a minute or two. My middle finger. Then after a minute I could curl either my index finger or my thumb, depending on the angle, so that it could caress your clit. I'd do this gently at first ... and then do a little more ... and then more ... and more ... and more. More. More. 

And then the laughter started. Like before, it began to bubble through the phone, incoherently, uncontrollably, ecstatically, ... on and on. All the while I murmured in her ear "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!" And she laughed and laughed and laughed.

When she was quite done she asked about me. She didn't have a story line to tell me, so I just described as closely as I could everything that I felt and experienced as I masturbated. It didn't take as long, because I was more businesslike handling myself than I had been with her. But it was still very nice. And then we wound up the phone call.

Later that day I got an e-mail from her that ran, in part:

It's a very good thing we don't have Skype, because I would certainly have abused it this a.m. if it had been available. It's quite a shame that you missed the visuals, however, as you would certainly have enjoyed them -- the squirming, the wild thrashing, the drumming of the heels. It occurs to me that you are still stuck in your hotel tomorrow morning; and that while it's a normal workday for me, I'm not scheduled until 11am. I had been planning to go to the pool again, but it seems to me that if I want to get wet, exercise my cardiovascular system and lungs, and give my lower body a good workout, there are more pleasurable means of doing so than the stationary bike. Besides, we are both good enough scientists to know that only reproducible results count.... As in, "Please sir, I want some more!" Might you be amenable to another 7am call?

I was. We had another phone call Thursday morning, just as agreeably.

Friday -- today -- we had to stop. I had to leave my hotel early and Marie found that she was waking up so early in anticipation of our calls that she wasn't getting enough sleep at night. But when she wrote me Thursday evening to say so, she did add one other comment about that morning's call.

I should possibly mention, too, that scheduled calls should have ... well, built in time on my side at least for ... um .. recovery. For now at least. If you hadn't taken care of me this morning, I would have had to take care of myself! And you're more fun ....

Really? My voice has enough of an effect that she has to masturbate after talking with me on the phone? Wow ... who knew?

I'll blush quietly now, as I sign off for the evening.
    
    

Asynchronous reporting

It looks like I haven't been writing a lot lately, but that's not really true. What's true is that most of my writing has been e-mails and text messages to Marie.

The only way I'll ever be able to catch up the story is to start posting those here, or excerpts from them. And the only way to keep the chronology straight is to post them as of the time they were really written, not as of the time I get around to pasting them into this blog.

That means going back in time and posting things in the past. If anybody is actually following this blog at this point -- which I suspect nobody is -- there's a risk you could find it confusing. You'll log in today and see seven posts in January plus one (this one) in February; later you'll come back and if you only look at what has a date later than this one you might see nothing new ... even if a bunch more posts have been added in January.

So consider this a WARNING: when writing about Marie and my developing relationship with her, I will not restrict myself to posting in current time. You may have to back up. I won't give anything a date earlier than November 28, 2015, so you won't have that far back to go. If I remember, I'll add a note explaining what day I actually posted something.

In fact, the next post I write after this will be dated a week ago. So please don't be confused.

This has been a public service announcement from your blog management .... 
 

Laughing

Marie just left to fly back home. She was here for three nights visiting. I had no available vacation just now, so I was at work during the day and nights were really all we had. It was enough.

Marie had a lot of worries before making the trip, though they were overcome by her desire to see me. Probably her biggest worry was that she would be incapable of orgasm: for decades she has described herself as frigid, ... as permanently anorgasmic. But then I had also explained that my own body is slowing down. She worried that she wouldn't lubricate, and that we would have to buy a commercial lube. She had tried using a Japanese eggplant as a sex toy and found it was painful because it was too large -- it had been twenty years since the last time she'd had sex, and so her cunt wasn't well-stretched.

She needn't have worried.

Yes, it's true that it was difficult for me to slide inside her ... more so because I didn't get very hard. Also her thighs didn't spread apart very wide or very easily (probably from lack of practice) and she has gotten quite fat in the decades since I saw her last -- another reason the mechanics were awkward. Of course, Wife used to be quite fat, so I didn't hold it against Marie. But the mechanics of actually fucking were awkward.

On the other hand, she lubricated beautifully. Copiously. Easily.

And the "frigidity"? Well, Marie was prepared for the prospect that she wouldn't come. She was ready simply to enjoy whatever she enjoyed and leave it at that. So we kissed; and we caressed. She spent some time kissing and fondling my penis, appreciating the texture and the weight. I licked her ears, kissed her neck, suckled her breasts, pinched her nipples, and then worked my way slowly down her front. I kissed and licked -- slowly at first. I inserted a couple of fingers and curled them up to massage her G-spot. Then I kissed and licked a little more intensely ... and a little more ... and more. I rubbed her inside and out ever faster and with ever more urgency. She breathed heavily, mumbled and moaned appreciatively, rocked her hips a little ...

And then laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

The laughter came tumbling out, unstoppably, in waves. It sounded like she was trying to talk over the laughing, but soon I realized it was nothing coherent ... just jumbles of random consonants sprinkled here and there among the laughter. The laughter which flowed out of her, on ... and on ... and on ...

And on!

Finally she had to stop. She waved at me, a little vaguely, please to stop and to come up to kiss her, to hold her. So I did.

We held each other for a while and then maybe we did something else before finally drifting off to sleep.

The next evening, when I got home from work, we were talking for a while. I brought up the previous night a little gingerly, in case she was self-conscious about it, so that I could tell her, "I don't know what it felt like from your side; but from my end, ... if you can't come you sure do a hell of a good imitation." Marie laughed -- a more conversational laugh this time -- and replied, "So maybe I should take the word can't out of my vocabulary? I've been thinking today perhaps I should replace it with the word multi-orgasmic." And she laughed again.

That night was much the same, except she tumbled into her orgasmic laughter a lot sooner. I guess practice makes perfect.

She has stopped talking about frigidity. She has stopped talking about being sexually damaged or inadequate. She smiles and laughs a lot more these days. She's a lot happier.

It was a good visit. I'm glad.


NOTE: I found myself wondering ... why laughter? At first I thought perhaps she felt some kind of anxiety about what was going on, sort of like the one and only time I've been afflicted with uncontrollable laughter in bed, which I described ... oh wait, I guess I haven't. (Just checked.) It was one of the times I was fucking D during the extraordinary "Second date" -- I think probably this time here. And it was because all of a sudden I realized, "My God this is really happening." Somehow our First Date hadn't registered with me the same way, possibly because it was all so new. But with our Second Date I suddenly realized, "I'm in bed naked with a woman who is not my wife. Wife doesn't know about it and hasn't given permission. I am sneaking around behind her back to do this. So this is an honest-to-God affair, and it is really happening, and it has become a real thing. And we are about to start fucking in just a minute ...." And I started to laugh. I laughed uncontrollably for a few minutes before I could go on. All because the whole thing had become too big for me, all at once. But when I asked Marie she said it felt to her more like relief ... after all the stories she had told herself for so many decades about her sexual incapacity, after all the misery she had inflicted on herself with these beliefs, to be past all that was the greatest relief ever.

Also I googled "laughing during orgasm" and found that it's not all that uncommon. Anyway, it's all good.


[Posted on Friday, February 19, 2016.]