The voyeur

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Blast from the past

One thing that keeps me sane is a stable of fuck buddies: Old lovers who moved on but are reliable after their fashion, trustworthy, sexy and insatiably horny. One of my more forbidden secrets is that I still have sex once every year or two with my former husband. It's true. We had a very messy break-up, with adultery on both sides. The funny thing is, even during the divorce, we fucked a few times. And after. Maybe it's not so funny: I know a number of women who slept with their exes even after the marriage ended. Even with all the damage, there's still that magnetism that drew you together in the first place, the magic — white and black magic — of shared history. I'd be interested in reader experiences.

So my ex-husband called. He was coming to town and did I want to have dinner? I knew where this would end up (as an insecure boyfriend put it a few years ago, "If you go see him, you'll fuck him). So I just shortcut the process and told him to come over. Come over to my place with my oh-so-experienced bed that has taken so many men and a few women since we were married. Of course, he needed no coaxing. Of the many things we have in common: We're both sluts.

He's still a handsome man, smart as hell with the kind of voice that makes me melt. He still makes me laugh. He reads, unlike so many men now. The affair with his little Rachel led to marriage and that blew up, but not before they had a daughter and he's paying major child support. Do I ever think about the children we could have had? Someday I'll tell you about that. But this is a sex blog, right? "Why would I be doing this?" my so-called healthy girlfriends would say. Because he knows just how to kiss me, when to brush my lips and neck with his mouth, when to pull me forcefully to him and kiss me deeply. Because he knows just how to undress me, and when I want to be fucked dressed hoisted up on the bathroom vanity (as happened this time, panties pulled aside, my skirt up, stockings still on and high heels digging little souvenirs in his back.

His cock is average length, thick, with a big head. It still hurts a little when that big head enters me, a good hurt that will ease very quickly but leave a forbidden memory. He's gotten better as he's aged, and not every man can say that. Before I set aside my own jealousy, I remember once he was fucking me with my legs pulled wide against his elbows, giving me this amazing pounding I'd never experienced before. "You've been practicing!" I moaned. (He claimed the wife hadn't had sex with him for a year, which I actually believe). He appreciates my sluttiness, too. Oh, my god, he can lick me. Of all my lovers, he's the best cunnilinguist. So this time, after he carried me to the bed after the hard, screaming standup fuck in the bathroom, he lovingly undressed me and started, as he always does, at my toes. A major foot-fetish guy, he loves to lick my toes — a major turn-on. Then he started kissing and caressing all the way up one leg. He barely touched my pussy with his mouth and breath before starting again on the other leg, all the way back at the foot. He loves my feet. He loves my legs and spends much time on the inside of my thighs, driving me crazy. Soon he was licking every millimeter of my labia and deep tongue-fucking me, before moving up, ever-so-gently, to my clit. Then doing all this at just the right pressure before I came again so hard I thought I was going to pass out. Later, I rode him and ran my fingers across his so-familiar chest, with its light thatch of dark hair, feeling his warm hands on my hips, then letting him pull me down to suck hard on my nipples. Then, face to face missionary style, a long, long time.

We have new traditions, one of which is when I give him a last blow job before he leaves, I say, "You're really going to miss this." I started that when we had our first strange but irresistible sex after the big blow up and separation. And he always says, as he did this time, "I know."

Linda's faithful tales of adultery, part I

The brother-in-law saga generated plenty of comments. Some of you think I am quite a slut, capable of anything...

I am capable of a lot. You know I am a junkie for the new, the thrilling, the sexual. I am also brutally honest with you, dear reader, because we don't have to see each other every day.

Some readers admitted to a fetish about adultery. It's with all of us, whether the poleax in the middle when we discover a lover has been unfaithful, the illicit thrill of getting away with it, or the secret arousal that comes from imagining the act that left us devastated.

I've felt all three.

Believe it or not, I married a man I thought was the love of my life. But the sex trickled off once we were married and then stopped altogether. Then I found that he was fucking his young assistant. I had a hole in my middle. I fell apart. But I was also wildly aroused, especially when I followed him and saw that the love interest was an 21-year-old physical copy of me. We fought and separated.

My husband's best friend Ted, a Republican family values type, was quick to get a radar lock on my emotional state. Talks led to hugs led to...a revenge fuck. I was wild with anger, fear, grief, but I knew exactly what I was doing. At one point, I arranged for Ted to be fucking me in our marriage bed when my husband made one of his unannounced visits home "to pick up his clothes."

My husband was hysterical when he found us, Ted on top, my legs wrapped around him. He could hear me screaming in pleasure as he snuck up the stairs. Ted never even lost his erection. He just fucked me a couple more strokes, dismounted, dressed and left. I pulled up the sheets, laughed, screamed, cried. It was a bad scene, but I made a vow.

I vowed I would never be without sex.

I need it at the core of my soul -- and I realize that sets me apart from many other people. I've fucked a few other married men. I have no regrets. It's not my problem if their wives can't keep them satisfied, or lose interest in sex. Monogamy is overrated and perhaps impossible for highly sexual people. The only question is what polite lies we use to cover our tracks. I know of several upright soccer moms who have played around, but in conversations are oh-so-judgmental about adultery.

As for Justin, I'm not interested in him in real life. He and Amber made their choices. I made mine.