The interview...

Part I - Gross Moral Turpitude

Part II - The interview

Cathy had found out that our text sex was occurring in a set of meetings. This got her into “teasing secretary” mode. "Oh you naughty boss..." She had given me an idea...

“See you tonight. Come dressed for an interview,” was my parting comment...

There was a knock at the door of my suite.

“Ah, come in, Miss Minx,” I said. Cathy had put on a charcoal suit and white blouse. The suit was a little too fitted to be totally appropriate for an office environment; the skirt a little too short; the heels a little too high; a little too much cleavage on display. Perfect, in other words...

I was tempted to fuck her then and there - press her up against the wall and taste her familiar juices; pull that skirt up and feel her pussy that fitted my dick so well; have her suck my dick and turn her so I could slide into her from behind... But I resisted.

“Mr. S? I'm here for the interview,” she replied - she had slipped into the role, not even acknowledging me.

She sat demurely where I indicated. But I noticed her skirt rode up just a little.

“Now Miss Minx, I am looking for a new PA. I want someone who can take care of my life, look after my needs. All of my needs...”

“I am used to looking after my employer’s every requirement,” Cathy responded.

“I am a very generous employer but I am extremely demanding.”

“I think you'll find that my previous employers were more than satisfied...” she smirked.

“Hmm. We'll see,” I said sternly. “I require extreme flexibility and unquestioning obedience from my PA. Is that something that you can live with?”

Cathy was a little unsure - what direction was this heading? She was game though... “I have tried many interesting and challenging positions in my life. I'm sure that I can deliver whatever you want...” She pushed her chest out provocatively and a little defiantly.

“Hmm... What skills do you think you can offer, Miss Minx?”

“Well I have passed my O-levels and A-levels” she said confidently

# This is escort-speak for oral and anal sex - Mmm... #

“What about dictation?” I said, unzipping my fly.

“I think you'll find my speeds will do the job.”

“So, if you think you can cope with the demands of the job, I think we can offer you the role.” I began stroking my cock.

“Mr. S! What are you doing?”

“I think you know, Miss Minx. I have had a stressful day. I need you to help me unwind. Come here and suck this cock.”

“I thought you'd never ask...”

To be continued...

Randomness...

Amazing - this bloke has obviously been browsing my blog...

"We've all heard that a million monkeys banging on a million typewriters will eventually reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare. Now, thanks to the Internet, we know this is not true." - Professor Robert Wilensky

Well, before the pedants jump on me, he actually said it in 1996 but it could have been about my blog.

Enjoy...

What was that about?

I mentioned in my comments that Mrs. S. and I had been going through a “dry patch”. Nothing sinister, just very busy schedules, some illness and other factors getting in the way.

So a couple of nights ago, there we were in bed. Kids asleep, not too late, no obvious distractions - perfect conditions for a bit of rumpy-pumpy...

I slid over to my wife and started kissing her neck. “Get off - I just want to sleep,” was the romantic response. Thanks, darling. Normally that would be enough of a hint (I can pick up these subtle female signals, you know). However, I have to admit that my balls were sufficiently blue that I had to push it a bit more. I kept kissing and I got lots of “harrumphs”. Undeterred (I was so sex deprived that I wasn't going to stop unless she actually told me to stop), I slid between her legs to tease my hard cock over her pussy. This is something my wife likes in foreplay - the feeling of my cock pressing against her her labia to her is preferable to a probing finger or tongue.

# As an aside, I suspect that this is down to upbringing rather than sensation - it is rude to touch/lick/suck but pudenda-to-pudenda contact is “acceptable” behaviour (in the privacy of your own home, with the lights out) #

Anyway, as I eased my glans over her pussy, it happened. My cock slid easily and deeply into her vagina.

What the fuck?

This only happens if she's very, very turned on. But mere seconds before she was saying she didn't want to make love. I made a comment about it along the lines of “I guess you want this too” but she brushed it off - “it's not about need”. She then orgasms but is all grumpy.

I'm sorry but orgasms don't leave me grumpy...

She isn't “comfortable” in any position that we try except doggie (which coincidentally is the position that gets me to orgasm fastest). She brushes off anything that might make it a more pleasurable experience for her (and bear in mind that she has orgasmed once). Taking the hint, I up the tempo and come pretty quickly for me. She comes again... No post-shag murmuring either, just silence as I cuddled her.

Now, clearly I was a shit (no new news there...) for pushing it when she didn't seem in the mood but what is going on?

She was clearly horny and her body wanted sex as badly as I did but she trys to avoid it?

We had had no argument. I had committed no heinous offence for which my wife was withholding privileges. I have been - by my standards, at least - the model husband recently (home earlier, flowers, little affectionate kisses when we are alone, talking to her rather than watching the “electric fish tank”, chores done). Indeed, the next night I got treated to a sort of hot sex extravaganza.

So why, when her body clearly wanted sex desperately did she seek to deny both me and herself? I'd get it if she was "tired" and "not turned on" but "tired" + "turned on" = "quick hot-and-horny shag" to me...

Reminds me of the classic and age-old joke:

A man is walking along a deserted beach early one morning when he finds an old oil lamp. Giving it the clichéd rub, the inevitable genie appears. The genie, rather pissed off at the interruption to his sleep offers the bloke a single wish. He thinks about it and says “Well, I have a phobia about flying and I am scared of ships but I really want to visit America. So, I'd like a bridge across the Atlantic, please.”

The genie snorted in disbelief. “No, that's impossible. Think of the engineering challenge, the billions of tons of steel and concrete. Sorry, that is just ridiculous. You'll have to think of something else.”

The man thought hard again. “OK. What I want is to understand women. What makes them laugh: what makes them cry: why they love. That way I'll never be unsure how to relate to my partner.”

The genie replied, “Do you want six or eight lanes on that bridge?"

Enjoy...

Honesty pays?

Virgin Slut asked me some time ago how it felt to keep secrets from my wife, the woman I love.

As you know, dear reader, I fucked my way around the globe in an orgy of debauched and depraved whoring - I'm not proud of it but I can't say I didn't enjoy myself. So, how do I feel about deceiving my nearest and dearest about that period in my life?

Well, not good, in short. But also it has been way easier than I ever thought.

Before you assess that statement and (rightly) judge me to be a souless pig, you should hear my side of the story. There are several strands to this:

Lying
The first thing to make clear is that I have never really lied to my wife. “Whoa there...” I hear you shout. But it's true. My wife has never asked the right (or wrong) question. My alibis were cast iron - there always was a “business trip” or a “client dinner”. I just didn't come home and give her the full truth “dinner was lovely and, by the way, I played 'hide the sausage' with a Russian hooker afterwards”. I am happy I never had to lie, as it is good on two levels. One is obviously that I don't ever want to lie to my wife. Two is that I am a terrible liar: I stutter; I blush. I get the details wrong.
Now, you may wonder how I can have carved a successful career in investment banking - a veritable pit of vipers and shysters - whilst being pathologically unable to be “economical with the actualité”. Well it's simple. Lying I'm not good at. Spinning a wonderful and totally plausible yarn based on a partial and selective truth? That is my real skill (and gets you further in IB than lying will in a million years...).

Damage
If I were ever tempted to confess my past sins to my wife, there is the sure knowledge that it would cause catastophic and painful damage to the ones I love most - my testicles... Seriously though, one just needs to look at the heartbreak caused to a wronged partner by infidelity (see this post by the Odd Wife) or consider the traumatic effects of divorce on children to know that you don't want to go there. I could not do that to my wife, my children - the people I love more than life itself. Why didn't that stop me or make me think twice before unzipping my fly? The the pent-up frustration of enforced celibacy coupled with the red-mist of lust is the only answer I have. Not pretty but it is what it is... So, I genuinely think it is kinder to Mrs S (and not forgetting me and my testicles) for her not to know. The truth goes to the grave with me.

Knowledge
The next element of my seemingly sanguine attitude to the deception that was my life is that I think my wife knew. By that I don't mean that she caught me but rather she is smart - way smarter than me. She also has known me longer than I care to admit. If she couldn't work out that something was going on then she is not the woman I married. So how come I am still here, marriage (and testicles) intact? Well, I think she didn't want to know - the reality of certainty, the consequences of proof, were too terrible to contemplate. She had reasons to question me and never did. She didn't - doesn't - want to know. It wasn't tacit acceptance of the situation - when she realised that I still loved her, I was still attracted to her but all that was missing in the relationship was (hot, spicy, perverted) sex, she set about changing that. Oh boy, did she change that...

Confessional
Lastly, I do have a conscience. It does gnaw away at me to have a secret. I do feel the need to confess my guilt but I surpress it hard in any context that would reveal the truth. That is why I am here - blathering away in cyberspace. It is as though by me anonymously telling you, someone I don't know, what I have done, it lessens the burden. Unlike a religious confessional, I am not looking to be absolved of my sins - I just want to see it set out: the twisted logic, the depths of depravity, the road to personal redemption. I do not seek your forgiveness. I do not even need your understanding (though that is comforting on the occassions it is given). I just need to have the information out there. By being out there, it is as though it will not destroy me from within. This blog is my catharsis...

Now let's recap...

So let's recap...

• I am difficult to arouse;
• I find it difficult to achieve orgasm - not everyone can bring me off;
• I am more interested in the pleasure of my partner than I am in my own;
• I need a relationship and affection to have truly fulfilling sex;
• I am not interested if you want to do it too much; and
• I don't come often but when I do, it's an event.

Fuck. I'm a woman...

Thought for the day:

Why is there only one Monopoly Commission?

Enjoy...

Ding! Ding! Seconds out! Round two....

Right, I can stop squirming now... This is the last of my sexual performance problems .

1. Slow to arouse

2. Slow to orgasm

3. Copious come

4. Slow recovery

When / if I finally get to orgasm, that is it...

Game over.

You can pull at it, you can suck it, you can bounce up and down on it. It will get hard (reluctantly) and stay hard (willingly) but a second serving of "baby custard" will not be forthcoming.

A couple of talented ladies have managed to get me there twice in an hour (it took a lot of work and was strangely unpleasant for all parties involved...) but realistically its best to take a break for dinner / watch the rest of the movie / continue the car journey / apologise to the other occupants of the underground carriage (whatever is appropriate) before trying to repeat.

Again not much of a problem but I am surprised at the number of women who insist on flogging a dead horse, as it were, and really take it as an affront to their womanhood (or worse their attractiveness) that you won't (note, not “can't”) come again.

Given problem no. 2, it isn't going to happen, however much I want it to. My preferred modus operandi with an overnight escort was shag before dinner, shag before bed and shag in the morning - this would give me a chance to recover. Now this isn't age - I can masturbate myself to three orgasms in an evening quite comfortably (well, not counting the soreness...).

Thankfully Mrs. S is usually happy with one monster romp at bedtime but occassionally she wants more (screw on the sofa, quick shower then bonk in bed). I really struggle then...

Thought for the day:

Why don't you ever see the headline "Psychic Wins Lottery"?

Enjoy...

Open the flood gates...

So, another day, another confession...

1. Slow to arouse

2. Slow to orgasm

3. Copious come

There is no polite way of saying this, so I better just (literally) blurt it out...

I seem to produce rather more semen than is usual.

I actually knew nothing about this until I began seeing “ladies of the night” - none of my girlfriends mentioned it. It started with a girl commenting “Wow, you needed that...” as she examined the filled condom and then moved on with, “God, have you ever thought of a career in pornography?...” when I came over the breasts of another girl. One girl asked if I was related to Peter North (not WS!). Virtually every time I came, it garnered a comment. One girl had a fit of the giggles.

Now exactly where is the problem, you might ask? Well, all of the above was pretty good for Salvatori's ego, I have to admit. The issue started when an escort, who gave the most wonderful blow jobs, accused me of trying to drown her, when I came in her mouth. Another choked on it (the jism spurts out fast too). Another was sure I'd somehow pissed in her mouth (I hadn't), as there was too much for it just to be semen. I now find it difficult to come in anyone's mouth - including my wife's (to be clear I haven't tried with anyone else for a while). Even with her, I have to get to the point of no return in her pussy before I can ejaculate in her mouth (though some of that may be her technique...).

Thought for the day:

Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that.

Enjoy...

Slow train coming...

In my series of confessions, this is the next sexual problem from which I suffer.

1. Slow to arouse

2. Slow to orgasm

I find getting to orgasm difficult. I can be rock hard and very turned on but it can take literally hours to get to orgasm. This was a prime example.

Now there are many men that would love to have such a problem (and many women who'd like their man to have such a fault). However, it is actually rather dull, as women usually wonder what's wrong; they get bored (“Aren't you finished, yet?”). I remember one (professional) lady saying “You can't fuck me for a whole hour, you know”. Ah! Romantic words indeed - ideal to put anyone in the mood...

As with any male sexual problem, worrying about it is only going to make it worse. Thus, well-intentioned but solicitous comments only serve to make it more difficult. As one thing that turns me on hugely is seeing a woman getting pleasure, any commentfrom my partner along the lines of “Am I doing something wrong?” (as opposed to, “Oh God, baby, harder... Fuck, I'm going to come again!”) is a massive turn off.

If I sense the woman is flagging or merely “putting up with it” till I come, then it is game over for me. This happens more frequently than I had imagined. Over time, I became increasingly self-conscious about the effect that I was having on my partner - was she really enjoying it or just "keeping going" so I could come?

I have even considered faking an orgasm a few times. One time a girl I picked up was giving me an over-vigorous hand-job and I was starting to feel rather more pain than pleasure. This, if ever, was a moment for a bit of mock gurning and convulsions. However, it is a bit difficult when she is screaming “Come in my face, baby” (that situation resolved itself with my cock detumescing rapidly and remaining resolutely on strike until the lady in question agreed to cease and desist - I didn't see her again...).

As I make love to my wife au naturel, faking is rather difficult, particularly in view of problem No. 3 (more of which tomorrow)...

Thought for the day:

Why do they sterilize the needle for lethal injections?

Enjoy...

Not rising to the occassion...

A couple of posts (Ski Jump II and Sanding the Pool Cue) alluded to sexual performance problems I have. Since this blog is my therapy, I thought that I'd get them out in the open - a problem shared is a problem halved (unless, of course, it is a dose of the clap...).

In fact there are four problems from which I suffer. I will now reveal all. These posts took quite a bit of courage to write, so be gentle with me...

1. Slow to get aroused

I find it very difficult to get aroused with anyone other than a long term partner. With my wife, just the thought of her can get me hard. Kissing her luscious lips will do it. Cuddling her works very well too. Any type of sexual intimacy has me turned on in an instant.

However, when I was seeing escorts, I could be kissing an fondling a Playboy model and the heat-seeking missile would often be malfunctioning - my brave helmeted warrior would be hiding. Why? Guilt and fear are not big turn-ons for me (remember I was doing this for sex - denied to me at home - not to satisfy a kink, so I was thinking about how shitty the whole scenario was). Being professionals, they knew not to worry/comment but merely get on with finding the right buttons to press (for reference, sucking the reluctant hero seems to do a pretty good job of coaxing him out...).

I'm fine once I'm aroused - I am priapic to the last. What happens to the guilt? It is the red mist of lust that overpowers it (not proud of that but it is what it is...).

But I'd be lying if I said it was only guilt. I had the same issue with one night stands before we married. Mr. Todger was not always interested in playing. Fear was the issue. I wanted to be a “great lover”. I wanted her to be screaming my name as she came for the twentieth time. Wicked Wife correctly commented on this here. I want to give pleasure more than I want to receive.

Performance anxiety... Not good.

It sort of put me off dating for a while - would the trouser snake emerge from its lair at the appropriate moment? Women can say the most crass things too - "Does this happen often?", "What's wrong?", "Is it me?". Comments only guaranteed to make sure that playing "hide the sausage" will not be on the agenda for the foreseeable future... Ladies, please ignore it, act like this always happens and it'll get better...

I sort of doubt I'd have the problem now away from escorts (I'm assuming that there is no guilt for a second - I believe that I can deliver the goods) but I guess I won't ever find out.

Thought for the day:

Why is lemon juice made with artificial flavour, and dishwashing liquid made with real lemons?

Enjoy...

Nailed...

I am as busy as a one-legged man in an arse kicking competition, so you'll have to settle for some regurgitated stuff.

Saw this on a private site to which I belong but I thought it was so funny that I'd repeat it here...

A woman goes into a pet shop looking for a parrot. The assistant shows her a beautiful African Grey parrot.
"What about this one, Madam? A beautiful bird, and it’s an absolute steal at only £20."
"Why is it that cheap?" the woman asks.
"Well", replies the assistant, "it used to live in a brothel and as a result, its language is a touch fruity."
"Oh, I don't mind that", said the woman, making her mind up. "I'm broad minded and it'll be a laugh having a profane parrot". So saying, she buys the parrot and takes him home.
Once safely in his new home, the parrot looks around and squawks at the woman, "F**k me, a new brothel and a new madam."
"I'm not a madam and this is not a brothel" scolds the woman trying not to laugh.
A little later, the woman's two teenage daughters arrive home.
"Un-f**king believable. A new brothel, a new madam, and now two new hookers," says the parrot when he sees the daughters.
"Mum! Tell your parrot to shut up: we're not prostitutes,"
complain the girls but nevertheless, they all see the funny side and have a
laugh at their new pet.
A short while later, the woman's husband Dave comes home.
"In-f**king-credible, a new brothel, a new madam, new hookers, but the same old punters. How ya doin', Dave?"

Enjoy...