In current news, my new wrist splint worked pretty damn well. I woke up with less pain in my hand than I've had in a long time. It was a little stiff from being immobile so long, but altogether pretty good.

Deb and I had planned a quiet evening of reading together last night, but Sara called around suppertime asking if Jake could borrow Deb to rub her shoulders. She'd been experiencing some major tightness and hasn't been feeling good for a couple days. Sara said Jake had offered her up in exchange. Well, it's not quite appropriate for a swap on a night you'd planned to be together on, so we just decided to go over to their house and I'd hang out while Deb worked on Jake. They did their massage thing in the living room while I lay on the bed with Sara and talked about ideas, and writing, and writing down writing ideas to the point of completion and how we both have problems doing it in novel length, and novel ideas, history, romance, that kind of thing.

I think Deb and Jake were surprised that we were behaving ourselves. We DO talk, you know. I love just talking with Sara, even though my brain dump does feel pretty meager compared to her vast stores of knowledge sometimes. Lucky for us she has enough human traits to keep her humble.

And speaking of humble. That was some update from her yesterday, eh? I get to see the in-scene Sara so much that I forget how pervasive the influence of a guilt-saturated Catholic upbringing can be in her life. When she says she feels guilty about something that I consider ridiculous to feel guilty about, it takes me a few minutes to realize she's serious. Then I have to stop mocking her for feeling guilty about it and be supportive instead.

And speaking of that update, my new favorite word is fuckathon. That is my kind of sport. Just think of all the training and conditioning involved. I wonder if a fuckathon would be fucking 26 times. Cause I think we may have completed the course.

But it's hard to decide how you'll count, um, fucks, if you will. If you're having sex, and you bring her to a big, hard orgasm, and then you only wait about 10 or 20 seconds for her to catch her breath, then you do it again, and then once more, is that one fuck or three fucks? How do you count? Does oral sex to pretend orgasm count as one?

On that note, let's get back to the date report. We're up to Sunday morning now.

I woke up pretty early with my hand hurting, so I left the bedroom, closed some doors so that I wouldn't wake Sara, took care of the dogs, and watched a cartoon until the pain went away.

By the time I came back to the bedroom, sun was streaming in through the window and Sara was curled into a cute ball. I crawled back into bed and spooned up behind her, absorbing the heat of her body and enjoying the inviting movements of her ass grinding against my crotch.

My memory is a little fuzzy about this part of the day. I think we made love two or three times before getting up again and eating a bowl of cereal.

At some point I tied her up again. At some point she asked if I'd brought the sucking dick (a smaller one that's not really big enough for fucking a but perfect size for being able to take the whole thing down her throat) with me. I hadn't. "Too bad," she said, "I could really get into that right now. I think she might've been more specific than "that" but I can't remember the words closely enough. I told her she could take the black dick. I think that's when I strapped on again.

I was wanting my morning coffee and a cigarette but there was no sign that the girls next door were awake, much less up and gone on their bicycles as they had planned. Sara urged me to go over and get my coffee and to leave her tied up.

You may be asking "Who's the top here?" Well, it's me. But let me tell you how much I appreciate it when a bottom can let me know that a particular something, like leaving her alone and tied up, would just rock her world. I am SO fine with that and get so much more out of a scene because of it.

So, strapped and packing, I went next door to our house and quietly unlocked the door. I retrieved my can of coffee out of the freezer quietly enough, but made a big floor creak on the way back out. I grabbed my tub of tobacco and went to sit on the front porch, read the comics and smoke. In about 30 seconds, Deb opened the front door and accused me of stealing her newspaper. Jake was peeking through the door's window, lacey curtains pulled to one side.

I told them exactly what I was up to, and Deb reached out her hand and said, "I'll make your coffee for you, baby." And I let her. What an incredible woman. Jake asked about the dogs, making sure they'd been seen to. She asked what Sara was doing. "She's kinda tied up right now." Haven't you always wanted to use that line? Jake knew exactly what I was talking about.

So anyway, I ended up reading a couple things in the newspaper, having a cup of coffee and another cigarette, moving in and out of the house and talking with the girls before I went back about 40 minutes later with my thermos of coffee. I don't think either of them noticed the big bulge in my pants. They didn't say anything if they did. Oh, and I went up to the attic and grabbed my sucking dick while I was there. Stuffed it in my front pocket.

Back at the north wing of Rancho Lesbiano, Sara had drifted back to sleep in her bondage but was awake again now. I went to the bathroom to wash the pocket fuzz off the sucking dick and change it out with the black one I'd been wearing.

With a little help in maneuvering, Sara lay on her back on the bed with her head hanging off the side, and I, standing, got the blowjob she'd been wanting to give me. You know how guys will hook their thumb over their dick to angle it down and let their fingers hook down around their nuts? That's what I was doing. Except instead of the nuts part, I was feeling myself up. Mmmmm. Nice.

She wanted to know what she looked like from my perspective. Wonderful. Hot. Beautiful. She looked supremely happy. Hard to describe.

I upped the degree of aggression on my part, mimicked the sounds and breathing of getting close to the edge, pulled out and went through the motions of coming on her face and chest. Ungh.

Like Sara said, if you're not hardwired the same way as one of us, you may never get why this is such a turn-on. The kind of thing that I just described above is the hardest for me to write down, for me to tell someone else, because if you think about it from any perspective other than inside Sara's or my head, it just seems silly.

What we're doing is fucking by stimulating our brains instead of our genitals. I'm not getting much, if any, stimulation from my strap-on. Sara, who's getting her face fucked with a silicone dildo, isn't receiving stimulation in a traditionally sexual way. It's all in our minds and how well we can embrace the feel of the situation and the power play. Like having phone sex but not touching yourself. The words, and the mood, and the attitude can bring on an incredible sexual rush.

I think I fucked her with my hand then. And I think that's when she splashed my jeans, making a big wet spot from thigh to shin. I ditched the jeans and strap-on, and we had more sex.

When I eventually untied her, she was very sweet and offered to go next door and fetch fresh clothes for me. I let her.

Tonight, I'll finish up the story. We've still got the afternoon in the attic portion to go.

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11