Wednesday, November 12, 2008

What I can't write speaks volumes.

I have always (like nearly any red-blooded American male) enjoyed/encouraged/perved upon my wife's predilections towards the fairer sex. I mean it's just hot.

What's good for the goose, however, is NOT good for the gander.

Some time ago, my wife had a little fantasy involving my femme dressed up side. Ok, still hot. With another crossdresser, umm, well pushing it bit...

Her enthusiasm was infectious though. I-er-well, practiced a bit. I mean its not like I haven't had up close and personal "in depth" lessons on you know..~blush~ fellatio.

Another time she told me she had been awakened (aroused even!) by an erotic dream that compelled her to masturbate. Hot! A homo-erotic, hot? With me as the centerpiece...rapid hydraulic failure.

Still, there are times when she is thinking about such things. Like when I am fellating her aroused clit for example.

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped during the middle of one such event and reached into the drawer where I keep some crossdressing thing and pulled out the life-like vibe there. No, it wasn't mine and I had questioned her as to why it was there, and she explained she was just putting it up out of the way...

It isn't mine. Not coincidentally looks a lot like mine. She had purchased it years ago at an adult shop by herself while I waited in the car. She had endured the smirks and grins and the "testing it out to make sure it works." I found it quite flattering that she had chosen one with similar shape, coloring and vein-ature as mine. Most politic of her to select a six-incher to let me tower over it. (Ok my extra inch might not have intimidated Mr. Buzzy, but neither was I threatened by him!)

That night went well. Me demonstrating my furtively practiced skills. I, unlike her do have a gag reflex, but still. Both of us tonguing together on it conjured up all sorts of sights and textures and feelings. It was hot, but at the conclusion, spent, sated, I said, "Let's not speak of this again!" only half in jest.

A little aside:

I have to explain the unexplainable here. Why it is that I found from an early age crossdressing fascinating. Why it is that although this had a sexual component when I was pre-pubescent it is difficult to channel that place now.

Short version:

Repressed household, domineering mother, older sister with privilege and pretty things. Panties on were private, but laundry and folding of same were in no way women's work so handling them held no appeal, seeing them on was naughty. So when dressed there is a narcissistic suspension of my maleness in my mind and the ability to model and view and voyeur them as if I were seeing them on a girl..... I think.

As puberty approached I was still small in stature, slender, but my male bits didn't hide well to say the least especially proportionally speaking. Also I had all sorts of societal messages equating queer issues with gay issues, only recently realized as distinct. I mean if something seems gay, it must be. The very phrase "light in the loafers" and that stereotype seemed femme, when really what gay guy wants that? they like 'em butchy and beefy and strong. dunno.

So last night I was going down on my very female partner in a totally not gay way at all. I was slurping a way and took up some flesh in my mouth and saw what I perceived to be a look in her eye. I said something like, "you like me sucking it don't you?" or some such an allusion quickly understood to the other occasion we had agreed "Let's not speak of this again!"

Eventually she had me on my knees in a wig and a shaper slip, her against the wall being directive.

She spun a tale, slowly pushing my boundaries. At some point she had me noticing the bristles on the chin going down on me. Apparently (as I inquired about later) she was monitoring my arousal and "squick-ish-ness" using my flagging erection as a barometer. She quickly shifted gears to have me notice that it was in fact a girl in drab, wearing a fake cock, and we all lived hornily ever after.

Smart girl this one.

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