Sunday, April 11, 2004

The glowing state of pregnancy

I am pregnant. Very pregnant. 8 ½ months pregnant. I left my job last October and worked on a couple of contracts from home since then, so no more travel stories for now … for a long time ... forever?

But let’s talk about pregnancies …

Most women I know that have children have been telling me from the beginning how wonderful it is to be pregnant. What a great state, how glowing you get, and how much attention you attract. Everybody is trying to find out if you are having a boy or a girl, how far along you are, do you have the room ready, did you pick a name, did you get this gadget or that other one … blah blah blah … lots of baby talk and advice.

Let me tell you about my own view. You getting pregnant equals you stop being a woman and start being a mom, you stop being a person and start being a thing worth taking care of because you are carrying a baby, period. You are not seen as sexy anymore, and you don’t feel sexy, at least I don’t. My clothes didn’t fit anymore after the first 2 months, although I didn’t gain any weight until the 3rd month, but you start retaining water and seem bigger anyway. Your breasts get so tender even a light touch hurts. You can’t sleep on your stomach anymore because it hurt you breasts at the beginning and your belly later on, and you can’t sleep on your back because is bad for your circulation. So if those were your favorite positions, like me, get ready for a long battle trying to sleep on your sides, struggle to get comfortable and many other related pains.

Get ready to have big boobies! Who said all women wanted bigger boobies? I didn’t! I was perfectly fine with mines, which were naturally big enough, perky and smooth. Now they are too big, they are sagging and they have all kind of brown spots and … ahhhhgrrrrrrrr … stretch marks! Oh yes, no matter how close you watch your weight gain and what kind of moisturizer you use, (believe me, I have tried them all, from Wal-Mart’s 10 dollars brand to some French brand’s 60 dollars worth per ounce), you are going to get stretch marks … in your breasts or your belly or your legs or even in your arms … and maybe in more than one place, blame it on genetics. A real nightmare which you will have to live with for the rest of your life unless you are incredibly wealthy and can afford 10 session of a half hour-400 dollar laser treatment that does not guarantee to get rid of it, but improve the appearance; unfortunately, I am not.

You get a cold or a headache and your options for medication are very limited, but you have to take those horrible vitamins that make you sick religiously. Your friends seem to organize parties every weekend while you are pregnant … and you can’t drink. And they all dress in tiny, tight-fitting clothes while, no matter what you wear, you look like a tent or a whale next to them … they all decided to loose weight and went on a diet while you can’t do anything but keep getting bigger. And they keep having the same conversations we all had before you were pregnant about cute guys and sex and … but now, you are forbidden to have conversations about anything but pregnancy and babies, so as soon as you walk up to them they change topics and you have to hear lots of predictions about what are you having according to the shape of your belly, the state of your skin, how sick did you feel at the begging, what foods are you craving … and I can keep going on. It irritated me to no end.

You have a huge list of things to buy … people have been having babies since the beginning of times, at home with no doctors and nothing but their own instincts to raise them. Today, you have to have a monthly check up for the first 7 months and a weekly one after that. You need a ton of tests for all kind of things: urine, blood, sugar. You need a Doula for labor, you need to go to the best hospital (the one your health insurance won’t cover 100%), and order a private room that is charged separate so you can have visits. And then, you need the boppy pillow to breastfeed and a glider or rocker to sit on, the special bottles and silicone nipples so the baby won’t get colic, you can’t use a hand-me down crib or car seat because of safety issues (forget that from my grandmother to my younger sister we all used the crib great-grandpa built for grandma, 3 whole generations!) … but hey, somebody has to keep the economy going! You also need a bassinet or cradle, a changing table, a swing, a bouncer, a walker, a learning center or play mat, a play yard, a stroller, a diaper bag for the nursery and a diaper bag for getting out of the house with baby. God forbid you don’t get everything, new and of the most expensive brand, and later on your baby needs a psychologist to help him understand such unloving parents!

And did I tell you about the amount of money all those things cost or the space all that gear occupies in your house? Here is where baby showers come in handy.

Then comes the worst part, the last 2 months … your belly gets huge, you start getting cramps in your legs even if you did yoga the whole pregnancy, you have heartburn all the time. You get gassy, have to pee every ½ hour and have chronic back pain. You can’t sleep through the night anymore, your organism is getting ready for baby and you start waking up for no reason 5 times a night and having a terrible time getting back to sleep. You can’t breath very well anymore; the baby has grown so big that he/she kicks you in your lungs, stomach or ribs and its not cute anymore, but painful. Your belly has a life of its own and you feel like an alien. You can’t bend over, shave or wax your pussy, cut your toenails or even put on a pair of socks or tie your shoelaces. You can’t get anything heavy in the grocery store because you won’t be able to get it from cart to car or from car to house without help. Let’s not even talk about having sex … your hormones are raging through your body and you feel like sex every day, but your belly is so big and the whole process is so painfully uncomfortable that you end up giving up on it. And, your husband keeps reminding you that for men, it’s all about the visual, so you better get back in shape soon after baby.

Oh yeah … your hair and nails will grow lots and very strong, unless you are the exception like me, my nails got weaker and my hair started to grow gray!

But hey … you are in the glowing state of pregnancy!

Friday, May 16, 2003

Those little things

Hello there. Long time no see. As always, life happens faster than we would like. I have been traveling the last two months, I have seen my husband once in those two months and all we did was to have a lot of good old fashion sex in bed, so there isn’t much to tell in that arena.

But I have had an interesting experience this week and I though I should share it. I have gained some weight lately. A lot of traveling and computer related work would do that to you, a friend told me. Nothing crazy really, I’m 5’ 7 and use to weight 145 pounds and now I’m more like 155. Since I’m pretty tall it doesn’t really make me fat but I can tell my clothes are feeling tighter and I’ve lost some confidence. I have been in some nice hotels with huge, blue-watered pools surrounded by palm trees. Like a paradise, and I have avoided them as if they were poisonous. I don’t dare to wear my bikini with the extra weight. And I have been feeling kind of down due to this.

So last Friday I got here … a small, little, hot town; and went to the hotel happy hour around 6:00 PM. And this guy was there. He was looking at me from some distance at first and made his way to where I was somehow. And said hello. We exchanged the normal “where are you from-what are you doing here” hotel conversations, and then some other more mundane topics. We talked for a while. It was very obvious he liked me. He looked at me with that look. Made no effort to hide it.

But let me tell you about him. I didn’t ask his age but he is young 26-28 maybe. Tall, dark eyes and hair. Well spoken. You can tell he has some world on him. Very respectful. Not incredible handsome but attractive. We are both here working.

I talked to him for a while and then made sure I told him all about my husband. I was, after all, very aware of his intentions and didn’t want to send the wrong message. Like my friend said, keeping the flirtation level safe. He asked me out, of course, and I refused very nicely and we have been meeting at the hotel happy hour ever since last Friday. Even the couple of times I didn’t go to the happy hour I met him coincidently (for real) in the elevator during the evening. We went from the handshake and the who-are-you of the first day to the, normal for Latin Americans, kiss in the cheek and how-was-your-day.

So this is one of those little things that make life: I have actually been aware of that 6 o’clock harmless encounter to help me boost my confidence, thanks to a 20 something year old guy, who, no matter what I said, looks at me like I’m some kind of goddess.

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

Of fools and men
A few months ago there was this guy I was working with in a team where there was also another woman. Well, a particular one to whom I’m referring here among others …

He is married and so is she. But the guy had a terrible crush-infatuation or whatever you want to call it with the woman. He would follow her around like a puppy, sit next to her at lunch and dinner, order the same food/drinks she would order, offer to share portions with her, show incredible interest in whatever stupid comment she would make, offer to pick her up at the airport or drop her off on the way back home.

He would go out of his way to be around her and even (sometimes in the evenings and after a few drinks) to touch her, you know, those casual touches on the arm, shoulder or waist as we went in or out of restaurants and bars, when infallibly he would be right in front or behind her.

I have to say the situation was making me uncomfortable. But don’t get me wrong, not uncomfortable in the way of the whole thing being “politic ally incorrect” since they were both married, because I really don’t care about that, I firmly believe that “everyone makes a bus out of his/her ass and let ride in it whoever they like” but because there were more of us around and since the guy was our boss (Oh yes, I think I neglected to mention that part), the world seemed to revolve around him, whose world seemed to revolve around her so our world was inevitable affected and we were following them both around like a line of little ducks following mama duck in the lake. And our opinions and desires were inevitable eclipsed by whatever she-he pleased to do, in that order.

My reactions went from being pissed for being neglected as a person by somebody I considered important and smart like my boss to tired of trying to be understandable when nothing I would say would ever seem important enough to deserve an answer from them to totally disappointed with both of them. Because she was no saint. She knew what was going on, and although is my modest opinion she never had intentions of going any further than the shameless flirt with him, she encouraged the whole thing to keep going on. And so the thing was a widely known secret and topic of conversation between the rests of the team every time they weren’t around. And the joke was to propose in front of them every now and then to do a “team-building” activity and see if they got the hint … they never did.

Some more or less embarrassing situations happened, time went by, they both parted ways along the days (although we are all still working together more or less) and as time all cures, it cured this as well. Or at least made the symptoms not so noticeable anymore … and I forgot all about it … until last night.

They are not involved in what brought back the memories but yesterday this married girl showed up to help with some activities at work and this guy that is not married but knows she is, planned to go out for drinks and dinner to be around her, and since he couldn’t invite her alone, because it will be obvious and politically incorrect and even if she likes him and flirts with him and would go gladly and voluntarily out with him she won’t admit it, so he invited three other of us to go along … and we spent the whole time sitting around them, trying to jump into their conversation, although it was obvious they didn’t want us to. They didn’t even ride with us although there was plenty of space for all of us in one car. We were just the excuse for them to be out alone-but-not-so.

Some times men make such fools of themselves …

Thursday, January 30, 2003

Ladies, liberate yourselves
Most feedback I receive from this blog is from men that wish they had somebody as open as I am in their lives.

I have exchanged a couple of e-mails with a reader of this blog. He told me: “I appreciate the strength of character and depth of emotion you show”

I am a very open person. One thing my husband learned (and liked) when we met was that I don't hold back on what I want or like. I share with him my body and soul. It is hard to find somebody that can handle such a deal but fortunately he can. I just don't know how else to be. This is me and I like it!

One thing every woman should learn is that men don't want conservative women in bed. At least I haven’t met anyone. Men want a lady to show to their friends and family and a whore in bed. Period.

Personally I think if you can't liberate yourself in bed with your partner then you have serious problems to deal with. Life in general can be conservative; sex has to be daring from both in a couple. Of course it requires trust and some level of involvement and even commitment, it is a learning process; but at some point we have to be able to reach the experts level!

Sunday, January 12, 2003

More changes ...
Update: I have changed host to be able to add comments to each entry and make future improvements.

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

New Year, New Face
Hello All. Happy New Year!

I decided to have a fresh start with the year, starting with the template of this site. So I switched to what you are seeing now. I also archived all past entries, so please if you are here for the first time, go check them out at the archive links on the right column.

Still not a profesional design though, I did it myself. Changed the colors to some less bright ones and added my e-mail address (cyberbadgirl AT for the ones that want to send me private messages. No spam or insults please, I won't read or answer any of those!

The old comments are still active so feel free to share your thoughts with me.

I'm also going to try to post more often since that has been a main complain about this site, but for that I'm asking your help: please let me know what would you like me to talk about. As you probably know by now, I like to talk about sex but sometimes the daily strugles and existencial doubts also make me reflect too. Let's here what you want! Whoever doesn't send me or post on the comments a suggestion has no right to word about my contents! :)

Have a great 2003!

Saturday, December 21, 2002

Stranger in the Plane
I walked out of the plane and into the Newark airport and tried to orient myself. I’m used to airports, but this is a large one and I wanted to make sure I was going in the right direction. With my purse, a laptop case that is heavy enough to make me switch it back and fort between my hands every 5 minutes; and my heavy coat to fight the freezing north winter, I wasn’t up to walking around a busy airport fighting holiday travelers. You know, the ones that include lots of kids running, yelling and crying. This was my second stopover, and I was tired. It had been a long day. I woke up at 6:00 AM, worked until 9:00 A.M., got my bags ready, and left for the airport. I boarded the first plane at noon, had the first stopover in Atlanta, boarded the second plane at 4:00 P.M., and landed in Newark at 8:00 PM local time. It seems the day had 30 hours already and I still needed to catch another flight to Canada.

I finally found out that my next flight leaved from another terminal, so I looked for the entrance to the airtrain and took the escalator. Not many people there, so I looked around and saw him across the platform. The presence. The long, dark coat. Those blue eyes. One of those men that have an aura around them. They walk with a certain security about themselves. I couldn’t help myself and stared at him. He wasn’t looking at me, but just in the general direction of the train, so I studied him for a moment. His hair was a dark brown, not long, but not recently trimmed. His bangs had that casual movement that makes it even sexier. He finally caught my eyes and I couldn’t resist the temptation of talking to him. But I couldn’t thing of something right away, so I went for the obvious and asked what side of the platform I had to take to go to terminal A. I had to risk looking stupid. The sign with the arrow pointing to the platform was right above our heads, impossible to miss. Maybe he will be vain enough to think I was trying to make conversation because of him instead of thinking I was stupid.

He pointed it out and kept his eyes on me as if unsure of my intentions, so I made another trivial comment. He answered with a half-smile that made me think he got me right away and we both turned our attention to the coming train. We were a few feet apart along the platform and got into different cars. I concentrated back on the ride and my boarding pass, and forgot about him. When we arrived at terminal A, there were lots of people on the platform waiting for the train, so I didn’t see him getting out. I went about my business. I crossed the security checkpoint, got a bottle of water, and peered at a few souvenir shops. I had two hours to kill until my next flight. I finally made it to my gate to find out that it had been moved to another gate. At the new gate I was informed that the flight had not been posted yet because another flight was leaving first from this same gate. So I got a seat in a quiet corner far away from the gate, pulled out my John Sandford book, one of my last discovered favorite sagas, which I think has much to do with Lucas’s toughness. In real life, I’m attracted to the opposite kind of characters. I dread people that have suicidal tendencies like that, so I look for them in books where they can’t do me any real harm.

After a while, I realized I had been reading for an hour and a half, so I checked back at my gate. Everything and everybody was gone. I sensed that something wasn’t right and headed to the nearest occupied gate and checked on my flight again. It had been moved again, just two doors down the corridor. When I arrived, most of the passengers had already boarded, and I went right into the plane. I sat down at my window seat, put my laptop case under the seat in front of me, got out my book again, and adjusted my seatbelt. The plane was one of those express jets with two rows of seats on one side and one on the other. There were very few passengers. I was in the two seats row in the back and the seat next to me and all the seats around were empty. I was beginning to think I was going to have a quiet flight when somebody started walking toward the end. I didn’t pay any attention; just prayed internally that he didn’t have the seat next to me, but knowing my luck would not let that happen.

He accommodated his bags in the top compartment and sat down … right next to me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, as I looked outside the window irritated. Balancing the possibility of changing seats. But somehow, I always felt bad about doing that. As if it would let the other person know I didn’t want him next to me. I decided against it and relaxed. What the hell, it was just a two hour flight.

As soon as that thought crossed my head, my companion said “Hello” and I looked at him for the first time. His blue eyes were staring at me. His slightly long dark brown bangs over his forehead. His long coat was gone, probably in the top compartment. He was wearing a white button shirt with the top button unbuttoned and gray pants. He had a terrific smile.

I said hello with a smile, too, and went back to my book. The cabin’s lights went off and the plane was rolling down the runway. I turned my over-head light on and kept reading. All the blah-blah-blah from the flight attendant about safety went on. I used to put attention to them. I used to look out the window and follow every movement of the plane on the take-offs and landings. With time and the many trips it all became automatic. But this time, I wasn’t concentrating on the book, and I was very aware of the presence next to me.

We took off. A few minutes went by. I read a couple of pages, and then realized, I didn’t know anything about those pages. I was reading like an automaton, just reading, but not retaining any of it. I shut the book and put it in the front pocket, turned off the light, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply.

The place was dark; my companion hadn’t turned on his light and nobody else was around. A warm feeling enveloped me. I was even more aware of his presence now. I could even smell his cologne, strong and masculine. He was very tall and I could sense his head over mine. I turned my head over just a bit and looked at him. He smiled. And at that moment, something happened. A feeling like the world was a fuzzy memory, not real. The only real thing was that we were both seated next to each other. We concentrated on each other for a while; not speaking any words but exchanging revealing looks. He finally made the first move. His right hand was resting just above his knee and mine was inches away. He didn’t even lift it; just slid it across to mine. For a moment, my smile froze. I wasn’t sure of anything. It was just a split second, and then I smiled again. He slid his hand upwards slowly. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t want to see. Like trying to escape the reality of it all. He was a perfect stranger and he had his hand on my leg. I couldn’t let that happen. But I was caught in the moment and didn’t dare protest; I had gone too far already. I chased all those thoughts away and concentrated back on the moment.

His hand kept moving very slow. For a second, I was afraid he would move too fast and I would come to my senses. At the same time, it occurred to me that I had to do something to encourage him to keep moving or he could interpret my stiffness as doubt. I was thinking too much too fast. I put my right hand over his and pressed it. Invitingly. He kept moving up and down my leg, going a tiny little bit towards the middle of my legs every time. My hand always on top of his, burning now. When he finally touched between my legs, in the middle between my knee and my crotch, I pulled my hand back to give him more freedom of movement. I was growing impatient with desire. My pussy was feeling hot and wet. He slid his hand faster now and kept it pressed against my pussy. His other hand reached the button of my jeans and unbuttoned them, unzipped them. All with the minimum possible movement. Like nothing was happening. He kept pressing and then took his hand out, and stuck a finger at the bottom of the zipper. He pulled down my underwear and moved his hand down, as if testing. I had waxed the day before and trimmed the remaining hair very short. He slid his finger across the thin line of hair and found the beginning of my lips. That was as far as my clothes would let him go, but it was enough for him to feel the warm, the desire, and the readiness. He touched around teasing, increasing the pleasure. I kept my eyes shut and was now in my own world, just concentrating on the pleasure. He finally withdrew his finger, eased my pants further open and put his hand inside, going for the center of the pleasure. He separated my lips and found my clitoris, massaged it expertly, pressing and pushing just right, up and down, one finger at each side. More pressure, less pressure. It became a rhythmic and predictable movement, my blood bubbling all over my body, the back of my neck sweating, my legs pressing his hand. His free hand went under my sweeter and caught my right nipple, squeezing so hard that it hurt. But I didn’t stop him. My nipple turned hard and he took his hand out of my sweeter and wet is fingers on his mouth, and then caught my nipple again. This time pressing softly between his fingers and then pressing with his index finger right on top of it.

I slid my left hand across his crotch reaching for his penis. It was pressing against his pant leg so hard that it seemed as if it was going to explode through the fabric. I massaged over it while concentrating on me. I finally came. An explosion of stars invading my head. I felt my uterus contract hard and fast. And relax.

I kept massaging his penis, went slowly deeper until I reached his testicles. They felt softer, but hotter. I started concentrating on him now, but still kept my eyes closed, escaping reality. I went slowly up, pressing harder. Reached his pants clip and undid it. Unzipped it. Pulled his shirt up and felt his stomach, muscular and flat. His underwear felt soft and wet at the head of his penis. Round, I could outline it. I moved faster, up and down. He moved his legs apart a little, making more room for my hand. I reached under the underwear, peaking out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were closed now, his underwear were a bright white in the dark of the cabin that only I could see. The plane roar and movement contributing to the moment; like magic. If somebody looked back from the front of the plane, it looked like we were asleep. His head slightly tilted back, he was moaning almost imperceptible. He finally came. His semen spreading over his stomach.

He kept his eyes closed for another minute, then reached into his pants pocket and cleaned himself with a handkerchief, put it in the brown bag in the front seat pocket and pulled himself together. I moved against the window doing so myself, and then looked at him half-closing my eyes. He was gorgeous.

A sudden trembling and my head bounced against the seat. I woke up. We were landing. It was pitch dark outside. I looked over and my companion was still there, just waking up. I looked at his front seat pocket: no brown bag. I looked at him, trying to reach under his pants, trying to get a peek of his underwear, but it was impossible.

I just hoped he had had the same dream. Did I say he was gorgeous?

Wednesday, December 04, 2002

The Weblog Review or what?
I have submitted this site, pure curiosity, to be reviewed in a place call "The Weblog Review".

I read the review today. Let me tell you ... what a disappointment. The reviewer didn't get the angle of this blog at all. For him, I'm just an anonymous person trying to attract followers by talking about sex. Oh dear ... I though the subtitle "My daily miseries and sex experiences" was very descriptive of my purpose. I guess I was wrong.

All of the posts on this site are true and real, things that happen to me at some point of my life. Experiences with which I have struggled, suffered or dreamed about ... but the reviewer called it "pure trash" (sic). There is nothing further away from my purpose than to attract readers or be just a sex site. There is a lot of sex talk here yes, but sex happen to be a topic that you cannot easily talk to people, let alone the repressed Americans, so I choose this site as a way to have those talks with the ones out there that don't mind it. But sex is not all; I have put out here some others of my "miseries" as well. As a matter of fact, I counted the entries and 40% are non-sex related posts. So ... draw your own conclusions.

It is an anonymous site yes, because I also have a non-anonymous weblog which lots of people knows including family and co-workers and I'm not sure they would find this kind of talk appropriate for a co-worker, and I can't take the risk to loose a job I like and need. But there is a space where people can leave comments and I always answer them. And I even answer personally to e-mail addresses left here, so there is people out there who knows who I really am.

As for the writing, well, the reviewer makes it sound that I don't care about it at all since the whole purpose, again, is to talk about sex. The truth is, and I have not made a secret of this, I am not a typical native American, although I was born in the USA, I grew up in a Spanish-speaking country and my English goes as far as this. But rest assured, I do my best when writing here.

The posts in this blog are far between. Well, going back to the whole purpose, the real purpose of my blog, I don't write to keep and audience but to let out the things that make me miserable or the sex experiences I cannot share in an every-day conversation. And nobody is miserable or has worth writing sex experiences every day.

As per the colors or design I’m not going to comment. I am not a web designer and I do not do this with any other purpose than to have some feedback from people that’s interested in talking about the topics. One day I may have the time and money to get a paid server and a web designer and make it look much better.

But for now, this is all the there is! Oh … and please … leave your comments!

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

Life and death
I have a wide horizon when it comes to some things: sex, feelings, friendship, conversations, traveling … but there is something I cannot bring myself to deal with: death.

My husband’s grandmother died yesterday. I have already told him I won’t be going to the funeral or any of the rites involved. I didn’t go to my dad’s funeral 4 years ago either, nor my grandfather. And we were as close as family can be. It is not coldness or indifference.

When I was very young my aunt died and that is my first and last recollection of a funeral I have. I couldn’t sleep for 2 weeks after that. I remember going to bed and keeping my eyes open because if I closed it I will see the casket lying next to my bed. I remember having nightmares of my dead aunt dresses in white, her skin pale and cold, as I have seen it in the casket. Those images never went away and that is how I remember her, although she was a very happy and vivacious person. I saw pictures of her many times after that, I forced myself to bring back memories of her before she passed away, but it didn’t work. Te only image that appears in my head when I remember her is the one in the casket, a white and cold image that scares me.

So I have never gone to a funeral after that. Not even my own dad. I didn’t want to risk remembering him that way. And when people suffer a loss of a loved one I just hug them but say as little as possible. I don’t think there is anything you can say that would make them feel better, it didn’t work for me. People would came and try to console me, tell me how great a person my dad was. Well, I knew that! I didn’t want to hear it like that was news, I just wanted for everybody to leave me alone. And so that’s what I do when somebody losses a loved one.

Thursday, August 15, 2002

Married woman, forgotten woman
Yea yea … I have been away for some time. But today I’m back for a few minutes.

It is no secret that I’m not American; most of you probably noticed that because of my orthographic “horrors”, right? In consequence, many of the topics here go around cultural behaviors, and today is no exception.

I have painfully confirmed lately that for American’s men if you are married, you are dead. It would be understandable if we were dead as women, after all I don’t expect from anybody that knows I’m married to pursue me for a relationship but … we are still persons! With the same needs and desires of anybody else to make friends and be consider just another person, and not “Mr. Doe’s wife”.

I know I’m stronger and more independent that most women, and that changes a little my perspective of things but don’t get me wrong; I know where my limits are. Yet still bugs me that any guy that knows my husband totally excludes me from any personal communication by any mean and refuses to became my friend; or, in the best case if the send me an e-mail the cc my husband. From the ones that don't know my husband, even if they are married themselves I, simply, never hear from them again.

I don’t remember that ever happening in my prior relationships in South America so it has to be an American thing. Now why? Can anybody give me a logical explanation?

On a lighter note, no matter how married, engaged or compromised we are we always want to know we are liked and desired by other people. It is just an egotistic thing I guess but it is good to know there are people out there that find us attractive; it keeps our confidence running high.

Guys: please be aware, I’m married but I’m still a person that can act, talk and have an opinion on its own!

Wednesday, June 26, 2002

Jake & Mimi
As I mentioned in the last post, I read Jake & Mimi a few weeks ago. I liked it. Yes, you would say I liked it because I’m a sex addict and this book has so many sex scenes. Well ... gee you are right!

Many people complained that the book waste too much time on the description of the sexual activities. And I ask: Isn’t it categorized as *Erotic Fiction*? What do you expect then? Without all that description it wouldn’t be erotic, it will be just plain fiction. Now, if that’s what you are looking for, I can tell you there are plenty of options. Just skip the Erotic Fiction isle!

The story involves also a mystery plot with murders included and all, which in my opinion is just the perfect link to close the circle and give the story a sense of reality. Otherwise this book could have got lost in the mist of erotic literature.

Now, let’s talk about the sex activity described here. Jake is obsessed with torturing women sexually by teasing them until the edge and then some more, until they beg for relief. And I find that extremely arousing. Because, realistically, few men would spend that much time trying to drive a woman sexually crazy before having intercourse. And I find the idea just perfect!

On other hands, Mimi plays the voyeur in me. Invited by Jake, she watches the tortures from a short distance, struggling with her own sexual desire and the fact that she craves adventurous sex but it’s condemned to have none with her conservative fiancé. The idea of getting some from Jake starts boiling in her head … and makes her stalker upset that she’s having impure thoughts. So what she will be having later is a confrontation with a murderer and a fight for her own life.

This novel was written by Frank Baldwin, who grew up in Japan. I wonder if he learned this sexual torture from some ancient Japanese ritual.

Tuesday, June 25, 2002

Reasoning sex?
My best friend’s girlfriend (let’s call her Mimi) and I continue to exchange ideas (see June 4th post) on what we would like to do one day if we can get together.

And I keep commenting our conversations with my husband. But I can feel he is somewhat reluctant to the idea. I have tried to picture just Mimi and me doing all kind of things for him, since I thought the idea of my friend (let’s call him Jake) would be what make him uncomfortable but he still argues things like “I wouldn’t know what to do with 2 women!” or “What if one of you get bored because I can’t give enough attention to both at the same time”.

Ok, so we re 2 very normal couples trying to reason on the idea of having sex together, not together on the sense of in the same room but in different beds, but in the sense of the 4 of us together.

He wants to make a “map” of how the events will be like; he is trying to structure the moment in steps, which will never work. Of course we won’t be having what we personally want every second, but we will most of the time. We have to be flexible, give a little and take a little. Somebody will be enjoying a moment and somebody else will be waiting for his/her turn. But those moments in the middle won’t bore anyone. It is just part of the game.

This kind of experiences should be oriented to share pleasure, to do things we fantasize about doing with more that one person, and to do things that please us without bothering the others. That is essential and surprisingly most people I have talked to don’t seem to understand this concept. It is about reaching a deep level of confidence and intimacy with people we care about and we know we won’t hurt or won’t hurt us back in any way. And not something to do with people we don’t trust or don’t care about us; in other words, not something to do with people that consider us “dismissable” or vice versa.

On that level I understand my husband; he doesn’t know Jake that much; but he, Mimi and I have spent lots of time together in past times. Plus the 3 of us have had some kind of similar experience in the past (not together), and although he had one experience too, it was based on what I think it shouldn’t be: he did not care much about how the others will feel after. He had nothing to loose because there was no women he cared about involved.

Note: I have picked the names Jake & Mimi from a novel I have read recently. Jake & Mimi, by Frank Baldwin.

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By Post
- Those little things
- Of Fools and Men
- Ladies, liberate yourselves
- Stranger in the plane
- The Weblog review or what?
- Life and Death
- Married Woman, Forgotten Woman
- Jake & Mimi
- Reasoning Sex?
- To Kill or not To Kill
- It's all about them
- Unexpected Dream
- Where are the Limits?
- My best Friend, my Adventures Mate
- Virtual Sex
- Sex and Swingers
- A Mysterious Woman
- Something about Courage
- What are the rituals these days?
- Size doesn't matter ... really
- Menstruation
- Sex crazy me?
- Good vibrations
- Bidet ... or the prune cleaner
- Girls ... trim the bush!

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