Best fuck in town

“That was the best fuck in town last night.” “Yeah it was! Coming at the same time beats 99 out of 100 others right there.” That’s an exaggeration. I hope.

And I always thought the concept of “coming together” was some crappy 70s “making love” thing. Like I hate the expression “simultaneous orgasm”. I just hate it. Too long. Too many syllables. Completely clinical and unvisceral. If you have a better word let me know and I’ll start using it.

Usually I like to take turns and enjoy the hell out of both her orgasm(s) and mine. But with River the simul-thing works out really well. We can each come and enjoy the other’s come at the same time.

And she knows if she ever wants me to come in a hurry all she needs to do is fake an orgasm and and it will make me come whether I want to or not. But she says she can’t fake it.

“I’m actually glad we weren’t on the balcony last night after all. We couldn’t have done what we did out there. Brook still probably would have banged on the wall at us though.” Apparently we breathe too hard for her.

“I remember when I was her age, hearing my mom giggle and my step-dad growl. And I was partly disgusted, and partly happy for my mom. These days I’m just happy for her.”

“I worry about Brook, hearing us, and thinking sex must be pretty great. And then when she finally does it she’ll be thinking, is that all there is?”

“I don’t think she’ll have any problem having a good sex life.”

“I mean because of the guy.” I’m forgetting it might be a girl.

“Oh. Yeah. I had to go through a couple of duds. You did too, I think.”

“You mean sexual duds? Um, not really.” It took me quite a while to get a dud, and it may have been me who was the dud on that occasion. To this day she’s the only woman I’ve ever had sex with just once. Not something we wanted to do again it seems.

“I thought you said whatsername wasn’t so good.”

“Well she wasn’t very imaginative, and we had a bit of a rut (no pun intended), but at least she liked sex. And that other whatsername really liked sex.”

“I used to like sex, remember. Whatsisname was the first guy I liked sex with.”

Hmm. That’s the guy she’s described as sex being just something he did to her. And she used to credit a different whatisname as the first guy she liked sex with. But I’m not gonna go there with her.

“Yeah, you used to like sex. I remember. And sometimes you still do. Like when we have the best fuck in town.”



I’ve been lacking motivation to write lately. I’m starting things but not finishing them. Let’s see if I’ve at least got a quickie in me.

“I got this cherry for you.”
“Well I’ll just have to pop that. Right into my mouth.”

They say when you’ve been together as long as we have you don’t have to talk a whole lot. But it’s still fun.

Unlimited refills

I’m in a much better mood than I have been for about the last ten days. I was about to text River to tell her then I realized why: we had a great fuck last night. The first one in about ten days. Now I really have to text her. Ok. Just did.

For a long time I’ve said River’s fatal flaw is being too nice, or rather, too accommodating, at her own expense.  But lately it’s being too busy, not having a good work/school/life balance. Which may just be fallout from that first fatal flaw. Because of the imbalance I haven’t been feeling emotionally or physically close in the right ways to want to initiate sex. I’d actually rather support her by letting her get the sleep she needs. Which is ok for while.

We talk about this of course, and she opens up most of a day for family activities which was great. But at the end of the day (literally), I feel like sex would just be something I do to her, sex for sex’s sake, or rather for my sake. I still don’t have the right emotional warmup.

So I think about it, because that’s what I do, and I realize that I haven’t done a back rub for her in a while. Back rubs are great. I love touching and being touched. I love River melting beneath me. Back rubs are good physical and emotional warmup for both of us.

So I let River know that’s what we need, and she agrees. We’re so compatible.

And we have a good back rub followed by a great fuck with an incredible finish.

And the next day I’m in a good mood. Sex is my best antidepressant ever. I want a prescription for it. I want to be able to say, “Look!  My doctor says sex PRN but at least every other day.  Unlimited refills.”

P.S. That would be a fine ending for this post. But I have to add, I wish I had a doctor. Where we live there aren’t enough to go around. Maybe River can get the prescription.

On another planet

My plans never work out. The tracking page for my unboundbox says it has been delivered. I check my porch excitedly.  No box. I double-check. Still nothing. I check the tracking page again. Yep, it says delivered.  WTF. Only then do I notice my box has been delivered to somewhere in North Carolina. I do not live in North Carolina. I don’t even know where North Carolina is. On another planet for all the good it does me. All I know about North Carolina is the capital is named after some English drug pusher. And someone there is having a windfall of a good time with the deliciously obscene contents of my box.

I’m exaggerating in my moment of frustration here. I’m actually pretty good at geography. North Carolina is just above South Carolina. And to the left of East Carolina. But since East Carolina is completely underwater that doesn’t help much.

“The Girls” at are sincerely apologetic and graciously offer to overnight me a replacement. I let them know they don’t need to go to that expense on my behalf. Three days would actually be ideal timing.

Meanwhile, rest assured that River did indeed “make it up” to me.


It’s been six days. Or four and a half, but that last was a short, but friendly and vigorous, unfinished fuck. So I’m going to say six. River’s had a really hectic last two weeks, what with school, and work, and going out of town twice, not to mention the usual crap. She turned me down last night, but said “I’ll make it up to you.”

So when she comes home from work during the day I think maybe it’s for that quickie we’ve talked about. But no, she’s just here to put on an undershirt because maybe her shirt is too see-through. As if. “You did say you’d make it up to me. Can’t blame me for my eternal hope.” “Well I have to give the world its due first.” Sigh. It’s really disheartening. Fuck the world.  Bad idea.  Fuck me instead.

But here comes my optimism again. I’m wondering what she might come up with as a make up?

I think I can help. Some months ago I was contacted by “The Girls” at (To be clear, I’ve neither gotten nor intend to get any kind of compensation for plugging them here or anywhere else, other than a discount on my first order, and the pleasure of having some correspondence with them.) What’s  “The Girls” there put together curated boxes of sexual goodies on a quarterly subscription basis. Clicking over to their site, their boxes seem thoughtfully put together and varied. But River would probably roll her eyes at them. Like she does at me, and for the same reason.

Good thing I have a friend who would put a box like that to good use. And she says her partner would be ok with me having an unboundbox sent to her. So I do. It would have been sad to just let that first-order discount burn a hole in my pocket. And “The Girls” are so sweet.

So my friend gets her first box. I’m not even sure quite what’s in it. And what does she say . . . she seems to like it, and tells me the lube was particularly great. I’m sure she’s not telling me everything. Such a tease.

Then she gets her second box. And her response is a bit of a rave. I don’t think she’ll mind if I quote her:

Sweet Baby Jeebus! It all looks deliciously obscene and looking forward to trying ‘stuff’ out… The unbound packages are very well done. Love the wrapping, the contents and also the fact that a % goes to a relevant charity. So cool!

So I respond:

Your micro-review has me wanting to get one for River. So don’t tell me what’s in it. I want to be as surprised as you.

To which she says:

OMG you soooo should!! Xxx

So I do. And that sets the stage for River “making it up” to me.  Because the box comes today.

Why do I call it that

Why do I call it fucking? Some people think that’s not a nice word. I think it’s a very nice word. It’s what River and I do, after all. We fuck.  And it’s very nice.

What about alternatives?  We don’t “have sex”. That just sounds so much like “Hmm. I know I used to have some sex. It was around here somewhere. I wonder where it’s wandered off to?”

And we certainly don’t “make love”. Eew. That’s so 70s. A decade best forgotten. Except for Devo, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. And sending people to the moon. And the first microprocessor.

It’s not “making love”.  Even though there’s an extraordinary amount of love involved. The love is already there, we’re not making it. Even though we’re “making it” in another sense of the term. Or is that what “making it” really means? Fuck.

Sometimes we call it “doing it”. When we’re feeling geekish it might be “mating”. Sometimes “being affectionate”. Then there’s “screwing”, but that’s for when we’re feeling extra raunchy.

So most often we call it good ol’ straight up fucking. It’s what we do.

And I hope you do too.

Sweet little fuck, aka meat dildo

River has to leave tomorrow morning. She doesn’t usually leave without a little parting gift. But she’s had a hectic day and she’s totally frazzled. When I’m like that a nice fuck is just what I need. But she’s the complete opposite. It would just be piling on to her non-stop day.

She surprises me by coming over to snuggle on me in bed. “I was hoping you’d do that.” “You must have been hoping pretty loud.” But how far will it go? Is she just snuggling on me because she thinks I expect something, and that I won’t like it if she leaves for a few days without the parting gift? It would be ok. I know she’s frazzled, and I don’t want to make it worse.

“You probably just want to sleep. And I’m stinky.” “Nice come on. Does that work with most girls?” “Most girls don’t just want to sleep.” “That’s what you think.”

Then she pulls out the magic wand. “There’s time for a quickie.” Now the pressure is on. River likes to be fucked in the orgasm. But can I get a good stiffie before she orgasms? Damn ED.

She’s buzzing herself. I’m fingering myself, and touching her body for inspiration. A progress report: “I’m not there yet.” Maybe she’ll have to wait for her second orgasm. “Take your time. I can hold off. And make it even better.” “You don’t hold off very often.” “Usually it takes so long I just have to go with it when it happens.” That’s how it is for me on the antidepressant. I don’t like it.

The thought of River holding off, controlling her orgasm to make it even better, turns me on. I slip a finger into her for her g-spot. My cock stiffens nicely. “I’m ready.” It can be hard to tell when she’s coming, but when she switches the wand off it’s a sure sign. My finger slips out. My cock slips in. And we fuck.

River shudders and moans beneath me as I aim for her g-spot and pound her. It’s going to be quickie for sure because despite the antidepressant I can feel it already. It’s nice how her g-spot is so stimulating for both of us.

But it’s not a normal orgasm for me. The Citalopram is factoring in. It’s achingly slow. It’s like it doesn’t want to come. And even when it does it’s like slow motion, almost painful in a nice super-sensitive way, like I’m drained from coming four times already and there’s nothing left to squeeze out. But I work it for all it’s worth, and River’s enjoyment is infectious.

“That shall be known as the Sweet Little Fuck. I think it will help me sleep.” Interesting. For me it was more like being a meat dildo. But I don’t mind. She should use me like that more often.