We had a night recently, expected well in advance, with no kid home. So we were expecting a big night, but kind of at the last minute I decided we needed to celebrate and got us a room at The Logan Hotel on the Parkway, and a reservation for dinner at Urban Farmer, inside the hotel. It’s a steakhouse but had enough fish dishes on the menu that we felt comfortable going, plus it’s the middle of winter so we weren’t all that interested in eating anywhere that involved going outside. I got Haddock or Cod or one of those, and it was great, and she got Salmon and it was great. Not cheap but I’d much rather pay $40 for a great entree than $32 for a crap one, like we’d just done recently at White Dog Cafe in Ardmore.
Preparing for a night like this involves prepping a lot of stuff–the lubes, the machines, the drugs, as well as all the clothes etc. I forgot the weed. Argh! Fortunately we had a half-hour to kill after unpacking (and realizing I didn’t have the weed) so I ran to a nearby dispensary and all was good. On the one hand I felt like I was losing my mind if that’s what I forgot. On the other hand, I recognized the issue immediately and being in Philly it wasn’t hard at all to work around, and 20 minutes later I was fine.
It was an amazing night. She wore an outfit she has from Victoria’s Secret, I’ve probably mentioned it before, skimpy red lacy bra and thong and a silky red robe. Which she wore with red fuck-me pumps. Yow. One mistake I kind of made, which I knew going in, was that we’d fucked each of the two previous nights, so I didn’t have any pent-up desire to fuel my part of the evening, but it didn’t matter that much. It was amazing not worrying about making noise or someone bursting into the room (which hasn’t happened for about 10 years, but it’s hard to stop thinking about it when you hear the footsteps outside the bedroom door). And she looked amazing for dinner, too; it’s the middle of winter and the middle of a cold snap, temperatures very low, but we only had to take te elevator down to the lobby and walk over to the restaurant. She got a lot of looks from the people milling around the lobby.
One thought that’s been occurring to me lately is I’m not sure I want to go on vacations where we can’t get high. I mean, I do, but if I’m comparing and two destinations are similar, I’ll pick the one where we can get high. It may be a moot point since there are so few countries where you can get legal weed, and I’ve never been comfortable buying it off the street. Plus do those guys sell gummies? I don’t know. Weed is legal in Mexico but only for possession, I’m pretty sure, i.e. selling is still illegal. Germany has legal weed but it hasn’t really been on our list. France doesn’t and Paris is on the list. Maybe we fly to Munich (who wants to go to Frankfurt), buy some weed, and then train to Paris? There’s no border crossing issue now, I think, but I still feel like I wouldn’t take weed on a plane to a place where it’s illegal. But how could we be in Paris (this is a trip for just the two of us) and not get high and fuck a lot? We could try just fucking un-high and when we do that we’re still able, but come on. Vacation is supposed to be fun.
Canada? Montreal is an awesome city and Quebec City is cool and very pretty. But I don’t know. Neither is Paris.
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A little aside: I set this post aside a little while ago and have lost a lot of it. I swear I saved my draft, I always do. But I lost a lot, I forget what it was, and it had nothing to do with getting high in foreign countries. I just added that because I’ve been thinking about it in the last couple days. Fuck.
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I read Want, a book of women’s fantasies edited by Gillian Anderson, of X-files fame and erstwhile sexiest woman in the world. It’s very good, I recommend it. You should know that not a lot of it is titillating; for the most part the bits describe their fantasies rather than showing or telling them so it’s a little more clinical, not like reading literotica or that other website I was on for a while, the name of which escapes me. Some of them are definitely a little arousing, but you know, I’m in my mid 50s so I’m not getting hard-ons, I’m getting little twitches. A teenager might get hard.
Anyway that’s kind of beside the point; like Nancy Friday’s The Secret Garden, this is about showing a breadth of fantasies. Anderson selected them so there’s no generalizing from them, really; in fact she tried, it appears, to get a wide variety. Among the authors there are virgins, very religious people, straight women who want to fuck other women and lesbians who want to fuck men. Well, “want” may not be exactly the word, right, even if it’s the title of the book? Because as she notes at least a few times, having the fantasy doesn’t mean you want it in real life, and maybe they’re even exciting because you don’t really want them. I mean, most of the time when my wife makes one of my simplest fantasies real, I kind of blow it the first time, just from surprise and performance anxiety and maybe over-excitement. I do better the second time. But when I get high enough and horny enough and brainless enough from all the fucking, it’s easy to story-ize about hot dudes or teenage girls and I don’t genuinely want to have sex with either. Well, if a super hot dude showed up with a big dick at one of those moments, I’d probably go for it because who knows if I’d ever get another chance, but not the teenager. Gross.
Speaking of which, during a recent big night, and we’ve had a lot of them–probably more nights than not since the sex vacation; we’re getting really bad–I said I was the college kid back home from school and she was the hot MILF next door neighbor. She had watched me grow up and get strong and handsome the last couple years, you know, in her pool when she told me I could come swim anytime, and well, when she had the opportunity to take advantage of my youthful libido and constantly hard schlong she took it. She LOVED the story. Oh my god, what a role reversal. And she loved it so I loved it, and then it gets even better because we’re both loving it, and damn if I didn’t spurt pre-come all over inside her and out. She doesn’t have fantasies but maybe she should try :-).
Alright, so back to the book. I have a few things to say about it.
First, a lot of it is depressing. There are at least a few women who are in long-term marriages with men who suck at pleasing them, and there’s at least one who’s been with a lot of men, none of whom paid any attention to having good sex. What is wrong with men? At the same time, I have to wonder how much these women say what they want. Many of them (in other stories) admit that they feel very awkward about asking for what they want, and that’s why they have fantasies (I guess these are the fantasies you do want to experience in real life). I talked to my wife about it, because she’s never had any difficulty expressing what she wants, and she said “I’ve never had difficulty expressing what I want–I don’t even stop to think whether there’s anything wrong with asking.” It’s true–as far back as I can remember, maybe from the first time we had sex or at worst the second, she’s always told me what she likes, asked me to move to the left or right or up or down, and in every possible way making sure I knew how to please her. So to think about all these women going through their whole lives never getting what they want kills me. I don’t blame them, I blame the stupid men, but I do think that maybe not all men are stupid and if they’d felt comfortable talking about what they want they’d eventually get it from someone.
I mean, let’s say at this point I had to go find another lover. Would I go in and just do what I do now with my wife? I don’t doubt I’d apply some of the same skills, but I would watch and listen and see what gets her off, and do those things. I mean, we don’t have to read the book to know that people have a hard time talking about sex, but it’s not that hard to figure out what they like. And any effort you put in gets paid back with better sex, so why not do it? I don’t get it.
Second, and I hinted at this earlier, apart from the depressing I don’t really get much of a takeaway message from this. It’s totally not the point of the book to say “look at this research we’ve done”; Anderson is totally clear that it’s a selection, and of course it starts with self-selection, because who is going to write out a fantasy to send to Gillian Anderson? I think it’s two kinds of people: people who love Gillian Anderson and people whose fantasies are really important to them. Anyway, there’s nothing statistical here, like 7% of lesbians fantasize about men; you could have one of those stories in 10,000 and you’d still pick it for the book because it’s a lesbian who fantasizes about men and how could you not? Anderson more or less wanted to carry the torch lit by Nancy Friday and just make it clear that women fantasize about all kinds of expected and unexpected situations, and that she did, but part of me wants to know the numbers to get more of a sense of impact.
Third, and like I said I shouldn’t generalize from these non-scientifically selected stories, but it appears that what women want is to be ravished–to be so desired that their partner loses control and just can’t resist. That’s what my wife wants, and it’s certainly what I want, but it can be a little scary cutting loose like that, right? What if you go too far, for example. So maybe that’s easier when you’ve been together a long time, except that for most people the desire fades as the comfort increases. So, you know, take some gummies and fuck your wife’s brains out, man.
Fourth, you know she gets to do this because she’s famous, but she handles that well, avoiding the how and focusing on the why, which is that when she played a sex therapist in Sex Education, a very good series (or at least a very good first season; I’m not sure how much else I watched), she read My Secret Garden for preparation. She then became interested in the topic without claiming to be any kind of expert. I mean, we all know having her name on the cover means it’ll sell and that’s mostly why it got published. But I don’t know what other kinds of qualification you need to read through a bunch of fantasies and pick some fun ones. Different people might do a better or worse job of it, sure, but she did a good job so good for her, and us.
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