Saran Wrap Adventures Continue!!

My husband and I started our spring cleaning in the garage. We recently moved so the movers left this gigantic roll of clear Saran wrapping behind. Well given our new love of this great plastic, we decided if a small roll was fun, bigger was better right??

We laid the wrap on our carpeting one night and lightly glazed it with our favorite lube. We got undressed, and started rolling around on the new floor. Nothing like some nude wrestling to get me horny. Mike started to wrap me starting from my breasts, then around my waist and hips. He bounded my wrists together over my head with the Saran wrap too. He headed down south to make a neat hole for my vagina opening and then continued wrapping each leg separately down to my ankles. It was like I was a human condom all bounded up. He sucked and bit my nipples HARD through the wrap making some teeth marks in the plastic. I love every minute. I had to put my mind in a place that made me enjoy every moment, every lick and bite. I was ready to accept all the pleasure I could.

Mike took a couple of pictures of me laying there all wrapped up. He was hard and VERY willing to give me himself. He loved being in control and I relished in losing control. He lubed up a finger and began to caress my lips "down there". He softly rubbed my clit with his thumb up and down and then slowly penetrated me with his two fingers. I think he took his other fingers and rubbed my lips all the while he was doing this. It felt like there were a couple of guys going to town giving me a seductive massage down there. I lost myself in my lust and how beautiful my cunt felt. I really wish I had a mirror to see everything he was doing because the lust and wanting for him to continue was intense. I started to lift up my hips up and down because my first reaction to that kind of rubbing is to thrust. Hard, deep and long.

Ok, all horny husbands out there, sex tip from me: when you combine making your wife feel like the most wanted woman in the world (or in my case, the sluttiest woman), combine that with some dirty talk, lube, gentle clit rubbing, you'll get a female bomb ready and willing for sex. Get ready to hear some groaning, for sure.

His sweat combined with some of the lube made for some good fucking! We slid all over the place and all over each other. I was the wrapped up hole ready for a dick. And no condom this time. And Ronald this one is for you: for most of time since I lost my virginity I rarely had a moment with a condom. Once I got that raw meat in me, I never wanted anything to get in the way of getting that warm cum in me. When my husband and I have sex, I can feel when my husband is getting to cum in me by how warm and rigid he gets Once he cums, all that hot cum presses some sort of button in me and I orgasm.

We had a lot of fun, which of course is what sex is suppose to be all about right?! Hope this inspires everyone to get their own roll of large Saran wrap (or at least have a good time masturbating to our domestic adventure.). Good night.

Ah, the Saran Wrap

Take the following things and roll them into one: saran wrap, a horney wife, and a husband who has a good sense of adventure and what do you get? Our Saturday night.

How Mike and I got on the subject of dental dams I'm not sure. Yeah, I have to be honest that I'm kinda deft about that kind of stuff, but I said "hey why don't you go down on me and we use Saran wrap instead?" Talk about hot. He's ALWAYS willing to down on me, I love it and can come easily from it, but adding the Saran wrap was fun. As he licked me continously, my fantasies ranged from new guy who I just picked up at a bar to a my hot internist that I have a secret crush on. After I came, I made him put on a condom to complete the fantasy of "new guy". At first I was worried I wouldn't have another orgasim, but not so. He got on top and we talked about the girls he fucked with condoms and the guys I didn't. I'll admit it: I've always liked it raw, without condoms.

Sunday morning, woke up naked next to him horney again. Later in the afternoon we napped. I had total sex dreams about fucking old college boyfriends. Mike pressed up against me and with the 10 minutes we had to spare before kids came knocking on the door, we lubed up and fucked again.

Oh, Seth . . .

From Angie's mouth to Seth's ear. I am hopelessly out of touch here in middle America. No sooner do I write a dated blog post about Seth's movies from last fall (I got kids! That's my excuse for everything!) then Seth shows up on the TV circuit, modeling his newly-trained physique.

So Seth Rogen is now sporting a six-pack. What has the world come to? I think we all know how this movie ends - Seth wants to do dramatic roles, Seth wants to be an auteur, Seth pens a workout book.

Okay, I'm not condoning unhealthy living and drug abuse, but sometimes, I really miss the archetypes - John Candy, Chris Farley, John Belushi. Yeah, I'm biased - they all have a Chicago connection. And sure, Seth has probably always been LA. But hey man, those Chicago guys - they were real.

Of course, I'll keep watching his movies. On DVD, of course, because I never get out. Because I'm a mom!

The Many Faces of Seth Rogen . . .

I like Seth Rogen. I like him, even in spite of the mondo overexposure. Well, I don't like the way he overexposes himself in that way, since he could really use a trainer, but I like him. I've liked him (and James Franco and the gang) ever since Freaks and Geeks. And don't even get me started on how the crew at ER has gone out of their way to ruin Linda Cardellini's good looks.

So being a parent with three young kids, who hasn't seen a movie in the theater since Thomas Edison was making them, that means I recently had a chance to catch up with Seth's movies from last fall on DVD. No spoiler alerts here, buster. I mean, my grandma has even seen these dusties.

The movies that Mike and I watched this week were Pineapple Express and Zach and Miri Make A Porno. Yeah, they were entertaining. Yeah, Seth Rogen busted up the place with his usual shtick.

But I kinda had a problem with both movies. The same problem, even though the movies came from different directors. And maybe the problem isn't so much the actors's, or the writers's, or the directors's. Maybe it's our problem.

Basically, you have one movie about making porn movies, and another about dealing drugs. So there's this "countercultural" angle (boy, do I sound like a Nixonian press secretary, or what?) to both movies. But what bugged me about both of them was that there was still this whole relative morality thing going on with both movies.

So in Pineapple Express, there're a lot of pot jokes, and we're all supposed to laugh at them, 'cause we're in on the jokes. But the really bad guys in the movie deal in harder drugs, and they're the ones that the movie judges with its peculiar morality. So basically, pot's cool, but everything else is way bad.

Which I hate. Not because I'm against drugs - I've done them on more than one occasion in my life. And I'm kind of a Libertarian, so whatever people do with their bodies, I don't really care. But please, Mr. Moviemaker, don't get all moral about the relative merits of various drugs. Because if you want to be honest, there has been plenty of collateral damage from the pot trade. So it's okay to say, yeah, let's legalize it, but let's not pretend that plenty of people haven't been hurt by the pot trade.

Same goes for Zach and Miri. Not in the sense that the porn trade is illegal. But again, there was this relative morality laced through the movie, and it felt like it was aimed right at middle America. Basically, Zach and Miri have this unrequited love for each other. But they want to make this porno, so they hire some porn actors to star alongside them in this venture. So while they're making this porn movie, the other actors, the sluts of the movie, have sex with all of the other actors in the movie. But after a bit of did-she/he-sleep-with-someone-else misdirection, Zach and Miri break the rules for making the porno, and they only have sex with each other. Yeah - monogamous pornography.

And what really irritated me was that at the end of the movie, Zach and Miri are rewarded with true love for their monogamy. And all the other characters in the movie are left to drift along from pointless sexual relationship to pointless sexual relationship. Just because they're the sluts.

In other words - sluts are bad, but monogamous people are good. And as a once and future slut, I resent that I'm not allowed by Kevin Smith to feel love. And I know that these movies come together through test screenings and focus groups, and all that, but really, Mr. Director: if you want to pose as an "indie" or "hip" or whatever, please have some balls and take a really controversial position, and not some studio sanctioned version of potheads or porn stars. Give me the likeable heroin addicts from Drugstore Cowboy and Trainspotting. Let me fall in love with Ron Jeremy and have his grandkids. And enough with spoonfeeding us what you think middle America will respond to, okay?

And as the late, great Paul Harvey would say, "Goooood Day!"

Checking In . . .

Thanks to everyone for all the wonderful comments lately. I vacillate over where to go with this blog, but maybe it doesn't have to go anywhere. I like sex blogs, and I like writing about sex. I also like being able to write about everything else in my life (yes, even Real Housewives of NYC, which I am loving/hating as I write).

I love the thoughtful discussion in the comments section, and as a sometimes lurker myself, I think it's okay to just look on silently from the corner. So if you're here for the witty banter, that's cool. And if you're here for the sex, well, I've got an adventure involving Mike, a roll of Saran Wrap, and an amateur porn website called www.windycityxxx.com. More to come . . .

HNT - Not . . .

Angie here - I'm back, but still stuck in some late winter doldrums, I guess. Feeling guilt about not posting, but not feeling particularly inspired by anything enough to write about it.

I was catching up on some blogs, and was over at Broadening Our Horizons reading some very open and honest posts on sexuality, including some very thoughtful discussion on marriage and what it's like to not feel sexual when everyone expects you should.

And one of the things that struck me was that all of this thoughtful writing, over a period of a few weeks, merited only one comment - from his lovely wife. Yet the one HNT picture (of the aforementioned lovely wife) generated nine comments.

Now, I'm not trying to be a comment-whore here. And I'm not against naked pictures - I'm actually one of the few women (0r not-so-few women - I honestly have no statistics to back this up) that enjoys watching porn. But something feels wrong when a couple expresses some of their deepest thoughts to the world, and the best that the audience can do is to say, "hey - nice titties!"

Suburban Hotwife is also kind of feeling around the edges of this subject, and she raises some excellent points about the nature of the audience as well.

I don't know where I'm going with this, and I have a toddler screaming at me to get him out of his crib right now, so I'll have to leave this topic unfinished. Maybe part of it is that I realize that things like HNT, or TMI, or whatever are good prompts to get us all writing, but in some ways, they make me feel like I'm catering to the prurient or voyeuristic side of the audience.

Anyway, I'm all mixed up, but I'll post this just to start the conversation . . .

And Now A Word From the Old Man . . .

Hi all - Mike here. I know my name is up there on the masthead, but my contributions so far have been nil. But since Angie is hard at work contemplating the bathroom wallpaper for her next post (don't ask), I thought I'd fill in for a post of my own, and respond to a tag from ASM.

1. First French kiss? 16. Yes, a classic late bloomer. Please don't make fun of me; I was awkward enough as it is. So a friend and I had this awkward double date at Pizza Hut, and I dropped him and his date off first, and I nervously walked my date to her door. God bless her, she took pity on me and opened her mouth and showed me what all the fuss was about. I was hooked - until the next week, when she was making out with some other guy at one of those basement parties we used to frequent in high school. (If you want to understand the time and place I come from, you must rent Freaks and Geeks.) I was crushed. Until a few weeks later, when I finally got to make out with a girl at one of those parties.

2. First boyfriend/girlfriend. Real girlfriend, as in dated for longer than a few weeks? Linda. My God - very pretty Italian girl I befriended in college. But what a temper. For a long time, I tended to confuse anger and jealousy with love and affection. I know better now. But sometimes, now that I'm safe in a stable, loving marriage, I like to reflect on all that drama - the accusations, the arguments, her chasing me around our apartment with a claw hammer . . . oh wait a minute. Maybe I don't miss it all that much.

3. First type: Cheerleader/athletic girls have always turned me on. I only wished they had loved me as much as I did them. Though I must admit that my own dear Angie is quite a fit and athletic specimen in her own right, with a bit of an All-American, wholesome girl-next-door face thrown in for good measure.

4. First time you had sex. Like our dear ASM's own Hubman, I was a twenty year old virgin. Can you believe it was with a Helen? She was a very plain Jewish grad student, working on a master's in Hindu Culture or something, with her own apartment. And she was a virgin too. And I am now admitting that I lied to her, and pretended that I was experienced, and she thought that I would be a good candidate to rid her of her unwanted virginity. It was actually pretty good, for both of us I think. For a couple months after that, I would pretend to go to the library to study, when I was secretly going over to her house for some interpersonal studies. And stupidly, I broke up with her by pretending to get back together with an old girlfriend. I think it worked out for the best for her - I called her for a booty call (not that that was what we called it back then), and she curtly informed me that she was seeing a nice Indian boy. I totally deserved it. Now I see where Angie gets her Kumar fantasies from. Gotta love the Kama Sutra.

5. First celebrity crush. Probably someone like Karen Valentine on Love, American Style, or Mrs. Brady on the Brady Bunch. Gawd, I'm old.

6. First sexual fantasy. Second grade. Not really so sexual, but I would fantasize about rescuing one of the three girls that everyone in class liked (Sandy, Laurie, or Julie) from some frozen mountaintop.

7. First person you fell in love with. See Linda, above in number 2.

8. First proper sex toy. Oh, it was deeply improper, but it was an electric toothbrush. My God, I would just hold that thing alongside my hard little shaft, and it was like turning on a garden hose, with semen spraying everywhere. To all the rest of my family, I now apologize for using the family toothbrush in such a depraved manner. Really, in the future, teenage boys should just be moved to a secure, plastic-covered, magazine-equipped location where they can just masturbate for about three years until they get it out of their systems.

9. First porn video. Don't really remember. Maybe at some stupid kid's house when I was nineteen, and this awkward guy was trying to impress some equally awkward teen girls with how "adult" he was. Never really been turned on by video much, unless of course, it's authentic amateur porn. That means bad lighting, unshaven pubes, no silicon, no collagen, and no tatts (no offense to my dear sweet ex, Catherine). If there's even a hint of professional production about it, I won't even bother.

10. First sexy lingerie item/sexy briefs owned. Okay, I wore one of my sister's sleek one-piece bathing suits to a Halloween party once in college. I must say, with my water balloon breasts, I looked damn fine. With a nice blond wig, I looked like a slender six foot Amazon wench. I've never really been into the whole cross-dressing thing, but I KNOW there were more than a couple guys licking their chops at the sight of me. Now I know how a stripper feels at a bachelor party.

11. First time giving oral. College, sophomore year. Met an equally awkward girl making prank phone calls to other dorms (oh, the days before caller ID). We got to talking, had a date, and went back to her dorm. Now this was a very sweet, relatively devout Catholic girl, but she had this voracious curiosity to explore her sexuality. She was a bit on the plain side, but she had this lovely athletic figure (see above), and we had this very playful evening of her flexing her very toned calves and thighs for me. It didn't take much for me to convince her that it would be even better for her to model for me in the nude. And when I saw her lovely black bush (yeah, I like a little fur down there), I felt my mouth being inexplicably drawn to that crease between her legs. It tasted yummy, and I was hooked.

12. First time getting oral. Same girl, different date. Back seat of a '77 Mercury Cougar. We had this very unusual conversation of how she was going to dispose of my semen when I came. After searching frantically through the backseat garbage, I came up with an old envelope from a utility bill. She had a beautiful mouth, but my mind was so busy thinking about how I was going to stop, pull out, and then direct my penis into this envelope that I ended up losing my erection. Also my first time experiencing ED (and last, fuck you very much, to all those stupid Viagra and Cialis commercials).

13. First orgasm given by someone else. Jeanie, my lovely geology major. Now that girl could suck the crust off of a geode. Such a sweet and beautiful face, and this sturdy Scandinavian body, with lovely little breasts. After the envelope mishap, I was determined to unload in this girl's mouth, and since I knew from a friend who dated her that she loved to swallow, I felt no anxiety about announcing my impending orgasm. Maybe the idea of sharing a girl with my friend factored somehow into my psychology. But that's a story for another day.


14. First one night stand. Jill, my real live English nanny. As a young slacker in Chicago, I spent a LOT of time in the bars. I found all this out later from her, but apparently she was nearing the end of her year in the States, and was determined not to leave without fucking an American boy. This particular night was the night she chose, and she spent a good three or four hours letting me and some other young man from the bar try to win her favor. I was clever enough to push him out of the picture by spiriting her away to a house party I knew of, and it was game over for him. An hour later, she was slipping a condom over my hard-on, and I was slipping my cock into this dead-ringer for a young Anjelica Huston. You know, I have to admit, it was a HUGE turn-on to fuck someone that you didn't even know that afternoon. Really, you're in between her legs, with your DICK in her! Crazy!

15. First dirty book/dirty mag read. Penthouse, of course. If I could ever find a therapist that would humor me and my dirty fantasies, I would love to explore the effect that reading Penthouse letters when I was twelve turned me on to fantasizing about watching my wife when I grew up.

Okay, I'm not very good with this tagging stuff (never could use a spray paint can, haha), but I tag Rachael Ray. Mmm - love her.

Frisky . . .

Mike and I got out for a little adult time on Saturday. And a little ADULT time, too!

After leaving the kids with their grandparents, we went into the city to meet another couple for a small dinner party at their loft, where we also would be staying the night. It's a nice change - Mike's not a big drinker, but sometimes, it does get old, being the designated driver all the time, so it was relaxing for him to be able to drink along the with the rest of us.

And drink we did. Not crushing hangover-style binge drinking, but enough to loosen up everybody's tongues. With only us, our hosts, and one other couple, it was just the right size get-together to be able to hear everyone talk without shouting over the roar of the party. And when you are able to hear everyone talk, it seems like people are able to be a little more intimate in what they're talking about.

No, there were no major revelations, no one came out of the closet and admitted that they were swingers, but we did talk very frankly about what turns us on and off in the bedroom, which is really refreshing. It's not too often that you can truly talk about this subject with people you know, and who know you, very openly. Which is silly, because sometimes, the best people to turn to for advice on some of these subjects should be the people that know you best. So it was nice to be able to talk about the things we find exciting, and find that we're not too different than the rest of our friends.

And after the other couple left, and our hosts made up the futon for us, we turned out the lights and settled in for the night. I haven't slept on a futon since I was in college, but something about it kind of turned me on. Maybe I was remembering all those different boys that I used to seduce in my studio apartment, or maybe it was all the racy talk, but I was horny, and I couldn't keep my hands off Mike.

He was a little reluctant at first. Not that he was too drunk, cause he wasn't. Just a little shy, since this loft was pretty much an open plan layout. There was a kind of a partial wall separating the bedroom area from the living area and the futon, but it wasn't really designed for privacy.

But after Mike and I heard our hosts whispering, and then grunting a little bit, and then very quietly moaning (like we couldn't hear them!), I reached over and felt his hard-on. And when I felt it, I wasn't going to waste it, or let him wiggle out of this, so I threw my leg over his waist and straddled him.

We were whispering to each other as I slowly slid up and down him, trying to be quiet, and just kind of giggling a little, when we heard footsteps on the creaking floor, and then we saw the bathroom light go on.

We both must have looked up, because our hostess, who was silhouetted in the bathroom door, whispered an apology. "Sorry - hope we didn't wake you guys just now," she said, and then she just kind of stood there for a moment, watching us.

Mike and I both laughed. We were just covered by a thin sheet, and even in the semi-darkness, she could tell that I was straddled over him and moving, so we really didn't make a pretense of trying to hide what we were doing.

"No," I said, "you didn't wake us, but you did kind of inspire us."

It took her a minute, then it dawned on her. "Omigosh - you guys are having sex! I'm so sorry," she whispered loudly.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go," said Mike. "Don't worry about us."

"No really, sorry," she said again. "This is kind of weird. I mean, I don't think I've ever actually talked to anyone while they were having sex. Like, I'm standing here all weird, and you guys are probably thinking, 'leave already', and I'm just babbling." But she still stood there, flustered maybe, not really moving.

I kept moving my hips the whole time. I was really turned on by the whole exhibitionist-thing going on with our friend standing there. I think she kind of realized that we weren't going to stop at this point, and maybe seeing me moving on top of Mike broke her out of her trance. "So, uh, okay, I really should get out of your hair." She went into the bathroom. "I'll be done in a minute. Carry on, or whatever, I guess."

We did. Mike and I heard the toilet flush a few minutes later, and the door open, and the creaking as she tiptoed back to her bed. And just as she was walking past us again, I could sense Mike smiling beneath me as he whispered loudly to her, "sweet dreams, Sherry."

That got a nice little giggle out of her, and a minute later, we were finishing up ourselves. Mmmm.

The List . . .

Wanna know something I hate about living in Chicago? No, not all the snow we've been having. Nope, not even the sub-zero weather that keeps coming back like a bad yeast infection.

It's Eric and Kathy.

For those of you blessed to live in other radio markets, The Eric and Kathy Show is the Chicago radio version of Regis and Kelly, only without the clever banter. Kathy is basically a reformed party girl who pretends like she was a virgin on her wedding night. Eric is an uber-dork, an evangelical Christian who panders for ratings with mildly risque subjects designed by some asinine MBA program director to titillate your average housewife. And there must be someone listening, because these two are each paid more than a million bucks a year.

I can't tell you how bad they are, or how unfunny they are. And yet, when I happen to be driving to a client's office at that time of the morning, flipping the stations on the FM radio (oh, if I could only splurge on a Sirius receiver), I find myself coming back to their crappy show. It's like a scab that I can't stop picking at.

And there I was the other week, picking away, when Jackass (that would be Eric) starts talking about updating his "List" for the new year. Yeah, yeah, the list of celebrities that your spouse has to give you a free pass on if you ever get a chance to fuck them. Now Eric is such a tool that his wife (a pretty hot dental hygienist - yeah, they met after he started making that million a year) knows he's got zero chance of banging any of the chicks on his list. I mean, he's such a loser that he couldn't get George Michael to bang him if he had a baggie of crystal meth taped to his ass. So she probably humors the loser about what a stud he is, should he ever have the opportunity to cross paths with Jessica Alba.

Which of course got me thinking about this whole concept of the List, and how ultimately patronizing it is. It's essentially about your spouse, patting you on the head like a toddler, saying, "now, now, sweetums, of course you can sleep with Britney Spears. You have my full permission."

Because it's never gonna happen.

Which makes me angry. I want something more subversive than some "safe" List where the chance of any danger is less than that of lightning striking you in the middle of a Chicago winter.

You know what I want to see? The real List for people, the one we keep in our heads, and never tell anyone about. The list of friends and acquaintances, co-workers and in-laws, that we really would fuck. Maybe we've flirted with them in the copy room, maybe we exchanged questioning glances with them at the Starbucks. The people that we'd drop our trousers or lift our skirts for if we get just that right combination of cocktails and opportunity and alibi.

I want to see a List that could actually happen. And that would be so shocking, or improper, or just so surprising that your husband's or your wife's jaw would drop when they heard who it includes.

So please readers, feel free to tell me about the pastor at your church, or your wife's younger sister. Your husband's boss, or the next door neighbor's college co-ed. My own list includes a certain ex-boyfriend with a nine-inch cock that for some reason drives Mike insane with jealousy if I even happen to mention his name. Yes, the same Mike that fantasizes about seeing me with other men.

The comment section is now open. I promise I won't tell a soul.

Cock Blocked . . .

My apologies - that title implies that there's something sexual about this post, when it's more about blogging.

I'd like to post more frequently, but I just don't seem to have any adventures to add, even in the realm of fantasy. I mean, it can't really be considered writer's block if I don't have anything to say? I feel like that does a great disservice to all the amazing writers who have great ideas that they want to put down on paper, yet the words just don't come. At work, I write up a storm - business letters, research papers, you name it, it comes flowing out of my copy of Word.

It's me really - I just haven't been thinking about sex enough in general. And cocks in particular. I just don't have any stories that I can put down on paper. So I guess that makes me cock-blocked.

So there you have it - the first reported case of cock-blocking perpetrated on a female.

But . . . the writers will tell you that sometimes, you just have to write your way through it. Keep putting words down on paper, no matter that you can practically smell how bad the writing is even as your pencil keeps moving.

So I'm going to keep putting my cock fantasies down on paper, and I guess I'll tell you about my dream, and you'll promise to forgive me in advance for its lameness. You see, the other night, I had this dream. A dream about that Indian guy from the Harold and Kumar movies. Now, not that there's anything wrong with it, but I've never had a real strong attraction for Indian men. Just my preference, I guess. But the other night, Kumar shows up in my dream. And of course he brings his weed with him. Which, without fail, makes me ragingly horny. And because my husband's a square about those things, I've been deprived of that particular pleasure for more years than I'd like.

So in this dream, Kumar has got me stoned, and I can't stop thinking about how smooth and hard and brown his cock must look. And how smooth and hard and brown his yummy body must look under those clothes. So before you know it, I'm stripping down this B-movie star, and then we're banging away on my couch. And I am loving it. And for the past couple of days, I am looking at every East Indian young man that I see, and wondering if he wants to smoke a joint with me.

So afterward, I wake up from this dream, and of course I'm horny still, so I wake up Mike, and as we're having sex, he asks me what got me so fired up. And I tell him about Kumar while we're fucking, and that reminds him of something that happened a long time ago, when we were just dating casually.

So he tells me about how he was seeing this married woman at the time also, and how she was also fucking this other guy, and how the three of them would get together so that Mike could watch the married woman have sex with the other guy, who just happened to be Indian (yep, that's my Mike). Anyway, at some point, this woman happened to see my picture in Mike's wallet, and asked if I'd be interested in joining their little adventures.

Clearly, Mike didn't know me very well at that point, because he told her that he thought I was too much of a "good" girl to be down with having a mini-orgy with this couple. How wrong he was!

So that little tidbit pretty much sent me over the top, and then some. The past couple of days, I've had to rub out a couple more orgasms just thinking about Kumar and that lost foursome opportunity. Ah, maybe one day . . .

Young People . . .

. . . Fucking (Y.P.F.) is a movie that Mike and I rented last night. Mike basically rents any quasi-indie sex-related movie he comes across on Netflix (0kay, one more link here to another good sex movie), and he gives a movie bonus points if it has anything to do with threesomes or swinging. Now, since the list of good movies about these very interesting subjects is nowhere near as long as it should be, he's dragged home some real winners over the years.

So we really had low expectations for this particular movie. But we were really pleasantly surprised. Okay, so you're saying that there are lots of pleasant, sexy movies out there - is this blog turning into Mike and Angie at the Movies?

No. But given that wife-watching and hotwife fantasies are one of the biggest turn-ons for us, as well as many of our readers, I have to cite this movie as having the single best depiction of this scenario I've ever seen outside of a porno movie. It's not totally sexy (although the actors in this film are nearly all gorgeous to a fault), and it's quite awkward at times (like real life) but it was pretty hilarious.

I won't spoil it, but let's just say that whenever I finally grant Mike the pleasure of watching me have sex with someone, he's going to be bringing a comfy recliner and a roll of frozen cookie dough into the bedroom with him. So give it a try, and let us know what you think.

On that note, Mike and I happened to be in bed reading the other night, flipping through our local newspaper, when I happened across an ad for my gym. There in the center of the ad was my new trainer. Now, I can't say that there's been any vibe between me and him (it's hard to keep up a flirtation with a young stud when the babysitting room is paging me to come claim my tornado of a toddler), but when I showed the picture to Mike, he was very impressed with this handsome young man. He basically told me to go for it if I ever get the chance.

So maybe if I'm lucky enough, I might bring home a sexy tale like Hotwife Jamie's. I'll keep you posted.