I want some. I want some!

On the road. At a Courtyard, hooked online with a new ethernet card. Surfing for free thanks to Marriott. And avoiding work. I have a report to crank out for a customer, but I just can't get my shit in one sack. In part cause I've got sex on my mind. Jane called earlier and wanted to have phone sex, but I wasn't interested. I should'a; perhaps it would'a put my mind at ease.

I like phone sex, when I'm in the mood. I guess that's the same with any sex. In bed, the phone cradled up to my ear, my hand on my cock, her voice in my ear, the heavy breathing. Sort'a like this masturbation video. La petite morte. The little death. Damn straight. Give me some of that little death, eyes rolled back in my had, my spine twisted, my face contorted.

Married life... falling into a rut...

Married less than six weeks, and we've fallen into a rut. Okay. Okay. So, we've been shacked up for a while, making it more than a six weeks... hell, more than six months...

We get back last night from visiting my folks for Thanksgiving. Miller isn't feeling so good, but he doesn't want to go to sleep. So, Jane puts Nemo into the player and Miller stands in his crib, dancing, while watching that damn movie. I'm scheduled to head of town for the week, so I'm a little itchy for some action... and we fall asleep intwined together. No sex.

It's the usual, you know. Married people don't get it on. If I'd wanted to keep getting laid, I should never have gotten married.

But married life is good, even without the sex. Jane says her sex drive has gone into the toilet 'cause of the meds. Her depression, you know. Frankly, I'd rather have her not depressed, even if it means I'm not gonna get any. When she's not on her meds, oh, the situation is bad. Real bad. So, Jane's blaming her lack of sex drive on the Zoloft.

And I can relate. I was depressed, and my doc gave me Zoloft, too. Worked like a charm, except it sent my sex drive into the toilet, too. Part of me figured it was age, you know, since I'm so aged and decrepit. Then, maybe six or eight weeks ago, the doc also put me on Strattera. I noticed I was having a difficulty focusing; actually, I think I finally noticed it 'cause I wasn't so blue. After a week or so, my sex drive came back.

Jane thinks maybe she ought to get some, too.

Let's see... we've had sex maybe once or twice the last week. Once while up vising my folks. The baby was asleep. We snuggled together in the darkness, our hands tracing on each other's bodies, following the curves, flesh to flesh. I got hard; my fingers probed her wetness, and she whispered, throatily, she wanted me to climb on top of her. "Fuck me," she said. "Fuck my wet pussy."

I climbed on top of her, my cock driving into her wet cunt. Her pussy feels so good, always. The wetness. The friction. Her leges were splayed wide apart as I drove into her, back and forth. Our mouths met in a wet kiss.

When I came, it felt like I was turning inside out.

Jane's been having nightmares

Tonight after dinner, Jane tells me she's (a) going out for the night to Wal-Mart and (b) she had nightmares last night. In her dream, I had an affair... she will not tell me with whom, but it's somebody I've met, and in the dream Jane spoke with this other woman, and the other woman told her about the affair.

If I were having dreams about having an affair, it would be:

• This drop-dead blonde I ran into while exiting the elevator while escaping from a meeting. She was wearing a long, black dress, and had long, blonde hair, and deep, crystal clear eyes, and when she smiled at me, all I could do was stumble out of the lobby;


• Jane's friend Allison... who, while not as much of a knockout as the girl from the elevator today, is damn, damn sweet and damn, damn sweet looking... I imagine her milk-filled breasts, the warm nectar seeping into my mouth as I pull the nibbles with my lips and teeth;


• Anne of Sam & Anne... who Jane says she's out shopping with right now... Sure... Sorry, I digress... Back to: I'd like a taste of her sweet pussy again... not likely to happen as I think she and her hubby have decided to hang up the swinging... and, anyway, Jane doesn't want me to swing now that we're married;


• Cindy, the mom of Ralph's school chum, but he's changed schools and I haven't seen her this year


• Or, perhaps, Heather, a young lass I knew back in college. We hooked up the night before graduation. She came over to my room, and we blew a little boo, and we were talking about our summer plans, and she was talking about having moved out of her room using a horse trailer, and she's talking about the horse shit in the back of the trailer, and the next thing I know, we've locked lips and then we're naked in my bed and going at it and going at it and going at it, and then some of my drunk buds came by and pounded on the window to get me to come out and party, but the party was fine were I was. And in the morning, I got hard again and climbed on top of Heather who was lying on her stomach, and I stuck my hard cock right up her ass, and she rocked back and forth, liking it, and I came in torrents, again (God, I was young). And then she had to bug out and go pick up her kid sister at the airport before graduation. I saw her one time a year or two later, but circumstances didn't permit us to get back the groove. I've wondered whatever happened to her. The last I heard, she was an elementary school teacher in Brooklyn or Manhattan or one of the other boroughs.

Yeh, those are the women I'd dream of having an affair with.

Let's get it on, let's get it on. Not.

So, to review, Jane left the house some three hours ago to "go shopping at Wal-Mart." And she's worried that I'm having an affair?

Jane's friend Allison

A long time friend of Jane's, Allison, came over today with her infant son, Fromme. Jane's been saying that Allison was attractive. And that I'd want to sleep with her.

• Blonde.


• Big, milk-filled breasts.


• Little pounch of a tummy.


• Bright smile.


• Nice ass.

So, we're at the table eating pizza before the girls took the baby's out for a night-time stroll, and I'm checking her out. And, I'm wondering if she's freaky.

Jane says she's not. Too bad. Too bad.

So, what's it say that I'm checking out my wife's friends?

On the road again

Well, here I am, on the road again. Traveling for The Man. You know how it is; the boss says go, and pretty soon you're rolling down the runway headed for some other gray destination. I find myself in the middle of country, along with the Mississippi, staying at a downtown Marriott. When I checked in, the guy at the counter offered me the concierge floor; oh, nice. Hot and cold running water. Free soda and cookies. Where's the full-service maid? That's what I want. A full service experience while on the road.

So, today I'm doing business with a supplier. They want me to meet with their quality assurance manager. Oh, oh, oh. Damn. Five-eight. Trim. Damn nice in pants. We're running over figures, and all I can think about is her figure and what it would look like spread over the queen-sized bed back in my hotel room on the 20th floor.

But, of course, I was all professional. Kept my thoughts to myself. Well, and now I'm posting them for the world to see. Tall, young, thin blondes in tight pants.

Yu la la... All the girls in Paris, France, love to do the Cancan dance...

Sorry, I digress.

Yesterday before leaving, Jane gave me a little send-off.

If you're looking for birth control, have a baby around. Miller has done a great job of killing off the mood.

Yesterday morning, I was getting ready to leave; was about to jump in the shower. Jane put Miller in the swing (a little electric jobbie; best money I've ever spent). Miller likes to watch FINDING NEMO. He'll stand in his crib or sit in his swing and watch Nemo, hour after hour, time after time. So, Jane popped Miller in the swing and then joined me in the shower. Yu la la.

I soaped up her breasts; we were talking. Talked about going back to North Carolina Life. As we were talking about it, she started playing with my "dooder," and it got hard in her hands, hot water splashing on my back as she stood back against the wall. Pretty soon I was long and hard in her hands. I reached down, my fingers trailing between her legs to find warmth and wetness that wasn't coming from shower water. And then she was standing with her back to me, bent over, hands against the wall of the shower. I stood behind her and slipped into her warmth. Oh, damn, it felt good. And then I was banging up against her. Her head was hitting the wall as I pounded into her.

Ah, what a great send-off.

Escorts in New York, Hookers in London

Well, it's been more than 2 months since I've checked my email. I know, I know: how the hell can I survive without reading mail? Well, truthfully, it's not my only mail account.

Anyway, I received a note from Alexa who asked me to take a look at her blog, A New York Escort's Confessions. I'm sad I haven't been reading her blog since September. Well, we'll add her to the list of regular reads...

And speaking of regular reads, Belle de Jour has ended her blog.

I'm afraid, darlings, the time has come for me to go.

About the same time I stopped reading my email, Belle was hanging up her blogging. I wonder if she's hung up the hooking, too.

Ah, well, in the great circle of life the void will be filled. In the mean time, it's time to head back to Alexa's blog and dream of a business trip to the big apple.

I need a life coach

Ah, yes, I need a life coach. Certainly, I do.

So, I'm sure you're wondering what's going on in the life of Simon Winky and Jane. Well, you might know that Jane is now Jane Winky. Yup, we did it; we got married. I'd say that I said, "I do," but I didn't. I said, "I will."

I will. I will. I will.

Right now, I'm traveling for work. The boss has me all over the frigg'n place trying to either drum up business, make sales, create partnerships, whatever. Sometimes, I just want to stay on the plant floor, you know.

A couple of weeks ago, I was back in Miami at the scene of the crime, back where I'd met Alex. Perhaps you remember her, the dancer who danced to Cocker's "You can leave your hat on."

I was sitting in the darkened hall, watching. Like a good voyeur. Janet is the waitress; pretty; personable; the take-home-to-moma type. Not a hot bod, but a young lady who would turn heads on the street, at least at home in Durham.

I asked her about Alex. "Curly hair?" she asked. "I haven't seen her in months. She was talking about moving to New Orleans. I don't know if she did, but I haven't seen her." And then, she gave me a real smile; teeth. I'm hooked, and I wondered if it showed.

The dancer on stage was wearing FM boots. Do you wanna make love... or do you wanna have sex with me? blared from the loudspeakers. She ground away, lit by hot blue lights.

I wasn't surprised Alex wasn't there. I'd told Jane before I went south. I'd told her I was going to look up Alex. I'd also told her that dancers don't last long in places like this. High turnover. A life so good it begs for motion. Sure. I remember she told me she was trying to stay ahead of her parents, trying to hide from them. They'd hired dicks to track her town and she'd have to bug out in order to stay ahead.

I wonder how a child gets that way with parents. A hell of a relationship. And what's of real interest to me is that these folks -- she for sure, and her parents by description -- are bright. Not like it did much good, huh?

I imagine some night a private dick coming into the club, sitting in the shadows, his hat pulled down tight over his eyes leaving his features in the dark. When she comes by for a lap dance, she can tell he's a PI. And then, he calls her by her real name. And she knows her cover's been blown and she has to cut out. She goes backstage under the pretense of dressing for her next dance, but in reality to gather her things and then duck out and get in her late model Volvo and drive off, leaving the PI in the club's darkness.

I'm drawn back to the here-and-now. The dancer onstage is tall and looks like a southern belle; I was a twitter as she moved lusciously on the stage. And then when she took her top off and her huge, massive, doctor-augmented breasts come into view, I lose all interest. "Why?" I ask myself. Why would she do this? Big boobs. Little boobs. As long as they're natural. I've never seen a pair of augmented breasts which compare to those that the Good Lord has provided. Particularly on a young woman.

Well, it takes all kinds, eh? For every body type, there's a guy who wants it.

And what do you want? Me, I want a naked body pressed up to mine.

No more strip clubs, at least for a while. As a newly married man, it's probably not a good idea to spend a whole lott'a time in clubs. Of course, as a married man, that means I'm not getting laid. You know, married people don't screw. Okay, well, we have a couple of times. The most memorable of the first week of marriage was in the kitchen, Jane bent over the counter, me taking her sloppily from behind while the baby napped in the living room.

Ah, this is the life, eh?