What classes as sex?

My wife has by her own count had 14 lovers, where I am the 14th. By this she means that she has fucked 14 guys. Actually there has been a 15th since, during a threesome, but I digress.

When she first told me that figure I assumed she meant that she had had sex with 14 men, but no, that's only the guys she has fucked. She has as she puts it 'squirmed' with a number more. This includes oral, fondling and cumming apparently. In my book that counts as sex no? I always put it down to her being weird but after polling a few female friends I discovered that more than half agree that its only sex if there is penetration! Huh :)

So from now on if I fool around with another woman but don't fuck her its ok cos its not sex, hahah. Somehow when i said that my wife didn't agree:)

Childhood incidents

I recently realised how much power a certain incident has held over me. As with so many others it began as a childhood taunt, meaningless and silly. Caught me unawares and left me wounded. I have been working to exorcise the incident and remove its impact on me.. writing it here is partly to help others who may have felt the same kind of shame, and show what can be done about it.

I will write this in a way that shows the effect it NO LONGER HAS over me. I will not relive it in a way as to strengthen its effect, but to negate its impact and leave it as a healthy distant memory.

I was 9. Already very much a sexual being with little knowledge but an interest. I had recently been told how babies were made by another kid, slightly inaccurately. Apparently a man sticks his willy in a womans bits and pees... Heheh, not exactly correct but hey i was 9. So one day i passed this information on to a friend, not a good friend but a friend. This is important, until i thought hard and relived the incident recently i hadnt remembered that he was someone i got on with. I told him, he looked unsure of what i said, perhaps uncomfortable. Then he laughed and said 'dirty simon'. I remembered this as a taunt, but i am not sure if it was said more than once or twice. It didnt catch on, i certainly wasnt called that for long.

Only i felt dirty ever since, at least the sexual part of me. Not a good way to begin your life especially when it turns out you are kinky. I believed it deep down, so if i ever opened up to anyone about my sexuality and got a similar reaction it just relived the feeling and strengthened the belief. Believe me it happened a lot since i was both so sexual and so sensitive about it.
I have fought it conciously for years with some success but not enough. It has even impacted my relationship. If i asked for something different and got refused, or she laughed, got uncomfortable or even said yes half heartedly, i felt uncomfartable and dirty. You can imagine that i was not then in the best state to convince her to meet my need, or show her it could be FUN. Was never lucky enough to have met as a partner a girl kinky enough to have helped me feel less alone.

So what happened? Well i have learnt a few techniques to soften the memory and accept the emotions that accompanied it. The memory is in black and white now, seen as if on a screen rather than being relived. The little boy who was me has the love and acceptance from me now, the love that he didnt have then. The boy who said something so small, in such passing, well he hasnt even been forgiven as there was nothing to forgive. He also has my love and always will.
And if ever i feel dirty again i will replay that memory and see it happen at a distance, in grainy black and white. It will happen to a little boy who now has my love and support and sits at a campfire with me watching it from a distance. The other boy also sits with us, also just a boy and i wrap him in my love too. My arm is around the younger me and he is ok, he is loved, and so am i.

I am ME, i am ok.

Denial

I am awake. The house is almost silent, creaking a little as it cools, and the atmosphere is heavy, still. I stare up as I listen to my lover's breathing, soft and even as she sleeps. Rolling onto my side I watch her, my love, in all her glory. She is peaceful and at ease, her face relaxed. Eyebrows arched and fine, long lashes fluttering with her breathing. My eyes caress her face as they slide from her eyes to her cheeks, her high cheekbones, her pink soft lips, and down her long neck. Her skin is soft and smooth, I remember its touch and my lips part with the memory.

She is on her side, her arm thrown casually over the bedclothes as is her leg. I watch the side of a breast rythmically rising, falling, and trace the line of her body as it curves into her waist then flares out to her hip. So soft, feminine, only a woman can look so vulnerable yet powerfully sensual. Her gorgeous backside is pert and as she moves my eyes are drawn to the shadow between her legs. I suck it in hungry for more, now looking at her leg as it stretches from her bent at the knee, tapering from her jutting hip to her fine ankle, noting the shadows of her muscles along the way. I try to tear my eyes away but they are drawn to her back, the play of light and shadow highlighting the many small muscles. In fact the light from outside gleams on her silken skin, her fine hairs glowing gold.

I look, I see, and my heart is breaking. She is beautiful. I savour this transient moment before time and age take us, this witching hour where love and sadness are sisters. She is my best friend and my lover. I reach out to her then draw my hand back; sleep well my love, let not my breaking heart mar your slumber.

Denial...