Sex Blog Roundup: Making Time

Sometimes it's all in the (wait for it ... ) timing. Today's tour of some of our favorite recent writing from the sex blog scene finds that while one may have to make do with a mere four hours of making love, one might also be happy heading out the door after twenty minutes among stuffed animals. Between the quickies and the long dances, fate may throw some curve balls—with chance encounters among the melons or by providing the perfect soundtrack for fucking another guy's girlfriend.

Count down the seconds with Jefferson after the jump.

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Sex Blog Roundup
by Jefferson

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Gigantic: The Pixies

I'm not sure how long we'd been having sex when her boyfriend walked in. Or ex-boyfriend, it wasn't clear. When she noticed him standing next to the bed, looking down at us with a dejected expression he'd obviously been practicing for most of the night, she immediately jumped out of bed and covered herself with the blanket. It wasn't the kind of modesty you'd expect from people who still see each other naked on a regular basis. But then again, she was crying and hiding her face in her hands and muttering, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," which isn't something a sane person says to an ex-lover who has just broken into their bedroom. A more reasonable response would've been, "Yo, dude, are you brain damaged? What part of 'we're over' did you not understand? Get the fuck out of here!"

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Four Hours

There's no time. No time for anything but fucking, and it's not what I would have chosen, but if it's all I'm offered then I'll take it. I need the slow build up, the impassioned kisses, the craving for every touch, and then to lie there afterwards, languid and mindless, with my mind wiped clean of everything. I have to roll over and inhale the smell of his skin, to lie beside him with an arm draped over his chest, closing my fist around the hair, stroking my flat palm over his nipples, letting my hand wander with tantalizing slowness. I want to know that everything we do we can do again and again, until it hurts—that every discovery is money in the bank, to be added to, and exchanged for something of corresponding value.

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Soft and Fuzzy

Luckily M found me before any local authorities asked me to move it along. He was dressed in a navy suit and looked like Penn or Teller. I can never remember which is which, so just picture whichever one makes the story better for you. He took me back to his house, which was filled with feminine bric a brac like the Precious Moments figurines my grandmother kept in a locked cabinet growing up. I stood in the middle of the room in front of a treadmill cum clothes rack and pulled my clothes off at his request. Next to me, a white and brown cat snoozed. I wondered what he thought when he looked at the naked nineteen-year-old prostitute disrupting this scene of domesticity. Would he bend me over the very spot where his wife liked to cross-stitch the inspirational sayings that dotted the walls?

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Honey, Do You Need Sleep More Than I Need Sex?

A fruitful half hour later I was wet and horny as hell. Surely Pervert had enough sleep by now, a whole two hours.

I walked in to the bedroom and he opened his bloodshot eyes. I slowly removed my top and smiled at him. "Phwoar" he says, followed by shutting his eyes and a grunt that showed he was asleep again.

Okay, thinks me, I'll massage moisturizer into my belly and breasts and moan loud enough that he wakes up, sees what I'm doing and gets the idea.

Result: Me more horny, him asleep and snoring.

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A Brief Meeting With the Girl Next Door

As I stood pondering the melons in the grocery store and, in effect, blocking the path of middle-aged mothers with equally interesting melons, I heard a voice behind me . . . a voice I recognized at the drop of the hat. I turned to face the girl next door, her golden locks freshly manicured at the salon, perfectly complementing her large, honey-brown eyes. I had never been this close to her before, and it made me catch my breath.

"Hi . . . " I breathed, wanting only to scream, "You have beautiful breasts."

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Mixed Messages, Part II

"I like sex with you. Do you want to try the slow sex?"

"Yeah."

He rocked his body over mine, creating a sweet friction and kissing me deeply before he rolled over to get the condom. Rubbered, he penetrated me in slow motion. He inched himself deeper and deeper inside me. I felt every inch of him slide slowly in. He moved thickly, lethargically, in extremely slow thrusts. Each movement became so resonate. I was able to experience every fraction of it.

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See also: Sugasm #95: The best of this week's blogs by the bloggers who blog them (sugasm.com)

Thumbnail via Quickie Fuck (TGP/preview gallery @ chilipepperporn.com, via Ask Jolene)

Previously: Sex Blog Roundup Archive

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