Wax On; Wacks Off - Sex~Kitten.net

"You should start a blog," the wife says. Her lips say, "blog," but her eyes say, "sex blog."

Naturally, I feel a bit odd about that.

Naturally, she wants to know why.

I start to say how weird it is to have your wife know you have a sex blog, but I realize as I begin that it will be a lost cause, especially with this particular wife.

"Why on earth would it be weird? You know I write a blog, and that doesn't creep you out," she begins. "Or does it?" she asks.

I assure her it doesn't. Because it really doesn't. Honestly, how could watching her look at porn be a problem? It's one of the reasons her personal collection of porn -- I mean "sexual history collection" -- is so large; I like it too. While it's officially her collection, I have special check-out privileges with the archivist -- and all the sexy librarian action guys like me dream about.

She knows this already, but as I have to defend myself from my stupid attempt to reject having a sex blog of my own, I have to spell it all out again. She's pretty intent on having this discussion; not even a playful slap on her ass can distract her from this mission.

"So why then, would your having a blog about sex be weird?" she demands to know. "Is there some kind of porn you're hiding from me -- something you think I don't already know about you?" She tacks a laughing "you big perv" on the end so that I know she's not feeling threatened.

But maybe I'm the one feeling a bit threatened.

(If she says she knows that, it will only make it worse; what man wants his wife's I-told-you-so 'understanding' during - or regarding - his discomfort with a sex conversation? So I table the talk. I only get away from it for about a day, then we resume.)

The truth is, I'm not exactly sure why I'm so resistant... We've always been not only sexually compatible, but compatible in our erotic material too; we like to do and look at the same things.

So what's the problem? I don't know.

I'm having those typical male articulation issues, so I avoid giving any real answer for as long as I can. But when she starts that hands-on-her-hips tone, I cave. I blurt out, "What it all comes down to really, is that I feel weird having you know I'm doing it."

I can tell she wants to bust out laughing.

"Fuck you!" I say (That never fails to make her laugh -- I'm not an asshole, so when I pose as one, the absurdity knocks her on her ass.)

After a good laugh, she returns to business. (Like the slap on the ass, the big laugh won't distract her.)

"Why-how on earth would that be any different than when I find you looking at it on the Internet? Or find you looking at a magazine -- or a woman on TV, at the mall--"

I interrupt her -- not because I'm an asshole, but because I get it already.

"I get it already; stop making me sound like a jerk."

She grins, "But isn't that the whole point -- that I don't think you're a jerk?"

"The world doesn't need another babe photo blog," I say.

"So don't make one of those," she retorts.

"What else would I do? You're the writer, not me."

"Compliments will not get you out of this one, babe," she says with a smirk.

"I'm serious. What would I say?"

"What you tell me," she says.

:insert blank stare here:

She prompts me like our children when they were small, "What do we usually do..."

"We fuck like rabbits," I grin.

"Hey, baby, with a stallion like you, it's more like a great fuck from a well-hung racehorse!" she grins back.

(I could have just screwed her right there for that; but I tried to keep penis out of this -- for the time being.)

She sees me struggling to maintain proper blood flow and quickly picks up where she left off.

"When you look at smut -- or, I should say, when I see you looking at smut -- what happens? We talk about it, right? You tell me what about the photo makes you hot--"

"So do you, my slutty smut collector."

"Yes! Exactly! The photo or whatever is really just a starting place, see?"

I was beginning to see...

"All you need to do is write about those things... Let the photo be the starting place, and type your thoughts there, just as if we were talking."

"Talk about it..." I say, mulling it over.

"Yeah, talk about it," she says. "Make 'em as hot as you make me, us -- at least those who are wired like we are."

Her face lights up and she says, "Hey, you 'wax on' until they 'wacks off!'"

"I got it; no bad puns are necessary, thanks," I groan.

While I have started a ~~weak-ass~~ blog, I still have not been able to do the 'wax on' thing yet. I still find myself suffering from a typical male articulation problem & require her help to start the conversation about the fantasy -- and when she does, we leave to go act it (or the sexual impulse) out.

So while I cannot complain, my blog readers likely can; so far, all I've offered the world is another sexy babe blog. But I do get laid a lot.

There are worse things that could happen.

"I guess I'm just going to have to hold out long enough to make you type it first," she says.

"Baby, denying yourself me just hurts you."

"Who said anything about denying anyone anything? It will just prolong the foreplay... You know how I am with a man who can use words..."

"Aren't you afraid that some other woman's gonna get the hots for me then?"

"Every day, babe; every day. Why do you think I put out so much?"

"Yeah, I do!" she laughs. "But what other woman is going to come along with a bigger, better porn collection than me -- and let you enjoy it too?" she says with a wink.