My inbox is full of the good stuff today. Sweet Potato wrote to tell me that she enjoyed our recent romp.
She included part of a letter she had written to a friend about the experience, and allowed me to share it here.
Such kind words—they melt my pervy heart.
I made a new friend in New York who I recently visited.
J. is a pumpkin. I may have forwarded you the link to his very well written but very dirty blog. I began a correspondence only with the intent of asking questions and not having any actual contact with him whatsoever.
As we spoke via e-mail, it soon became apparent that rule was going to fall by the wayside.
Fortunately one of my girlfriends has airline miles and hotel points to burn from her days as a consultant so she was kind enough to spring for a weekend away in New York at a hotel on Central Park South.
Luckily my flight reservations were for the day after the rest of my friends left. I had an extra day all to myself with my new friend J.
We met at the Ritz Carlton bar for drinks. He looked like his picture, was easy to talk to and seemed to be very charming. I adore smart men.
Seeing that the chemistry was there and the Ritz happened to be down the street from my hotel, we made the progression from the Ritz to the Whiskey Parc then to the bar at my hotel. Seemingly with a wink and a nod we were upstairs in bed undressing and kissing.
At times I think that there’s something wrong with me sexually. I love sex—I just don't want to have it with everyone. But to further confound the issue, I've never gone through my true slut phase. I think one should go through this phase to see if I can run these thoughts and feelings out of my system. Sowing wild oats and all that jazz.
Among many things that seem to cause drama is that I truly would rather fuck than do anything else.
Those sentiments are a bit off putting to most men. I think that they believe my enthusiasm and experience don't accurately reflect on how few men I've truly been intimate with. In short, they tend to think I am the village whore when in actuality I am anything but. My intensity very well may scare them or perhaps it's my own sense of ego that may not let me see other things that have been wrong with past relationships.
But I digress . . .
I can honestly say the details are sketchy. From the moment he put his hands on me (and in me) I wouldn't have been able to tell you my name or where I lived. The man is a masterful lover—perhaps a Happy Hooker-type book is in the future for him. No trepidation, no fear just carnality in its purest form. Simply there to please me and to be pleased.
I now understand how a good woman can go very, very bad.
I was under the impression I didn't have a “G” spot, but boy was I wrong. The intensity of my orgasms scared me and I had to make him stop as it was just too much for my brain and my body to handle all at once. I can't remember when I've responded so quickly to someone who really doesn’t know me or my body.
That man is a quick study.
We romped most of the late evening/early morning and went right back at it again after the sun came up. BTW, did I mention that I love morning sex?
The more he touched me, the more I wanted. We even fucked through my 9:10 airport shuttle ride. My only regret is that we didn't have at least a full weekend to devote to pleasure. We didn't do it doggie style and I wanted to try anal again. I figure with such a commanding lover, it wouldn't be a bad thing, eh?
Naturally he has a standing invitation to visit provided he gives me enough notice.
When I think of him the word “sated” comes to mind.
Now isn’t that a stirring testimonial? And a very nice ego stroke for yours truly.
A word to the wise, gentle reader: when you have really great sex with someone, let them know how much you enjoyed it. Sweet’s note really got me going!
I don’t include this note here to demonstrate that I am one dynamic sex machine. (Okay, I’m lying—of course I am!)
Primarily though, I thought Sweet’s comments on being considered the “village whore” because she is such an enthusiastic sex partner might elicit comment on that age-old “Madonna/Whore” complex.
My friends and I talk about this all the time. Every slut knows those moments of “slut remorse,” when you ponder if perhaps too much sex is just too much. We all take breaks now and then; mine are enforced by the regular cycles of parenting duties.
Women may get the bigger doses of slut remorse, given that societal double standard that promiscuous women are “sluts” and promiscuous men are “studs.” But trust me, men get it too.
In Sweet’s case, the dilemma is that she is a true good girl. She flies right, she works hard and she is square with the Lord. And yet that good girl loves to fuck. She likes hours of intense, hardcore, pounding sex that leaves you unable to walk steady or form complete sentences.
It’s hard for her to find a lover (or lovers) who can reconcile those two aspects of her personality. Anyone with similar tales to relate?