X S E X


Sweet To Eat by khemistry

So I have this problem, see? Like everyone else on this planet, I know. But mine is kinda freaky. And kinda vanilla. Maybe not so strange. I’m just not sure how weird I am. I mean, I was married once. Sort of. Back then a girl couldn’t marry another girl, not legally. But we had the ceremony. Both of us were lipstick lezzies. Everyone we knew said it wouldn’t last. And it didn’t. I mean, I’m not strictly speaking a lesbian. Neither was she. But I liked her pussy, and when she left she took it with her.

So what is my problem, then? Well, she did leave this little denim one-piece dress I liked a lot. It zipped up the back, slick as sin. An oh how I loved to reach behind her while we were kissing and unzip her. She was a tiny thing with curly blonde hair. Let’s call her J for the purpose of this discussion.

I don’t know why she left the dress. Maybe she just forgot it. But it was one of her favorite outfits, and she looked so sweet inside it. Like a piece of candy, all for me. And she used to wear a certain perfume. I think it was called ‘Red Door’. She left a little spray bottle of it, too.

Now I’ve had several partners since those days: two men and another woman. But no matter how serious it gets, I do this thing with the denim dress…not a lot…but every few months the feeling will get me going, right? Now, I’m basically a good girl. I write about my sex life with three other college friends. We started XSEX a long time ago, to discuss our ex-girlfriends and boyfriends. Our x-sexlife. Now none of us have really kept up with the site. My college buddy G actually did all the work building the site because I don’t like computers. But we all know the login codes and we all contribute. Until G stopped to become “serious” about a sci-fi novel. Plus, he said talking about this stuff was not “healthy”. I disagree. And it makes me horny.

And it’s been awhile since I got the urge, with the dress. So here it is: last night it just hit me like a wall. I even thought about calling J up. We’ve talked a few times. She’s married to a guy. She has video of him wearing women’s clothes and she will take care of him with a plastic dick. So I don’t know what that means. I guess he’s a freak like all of us. But I have these urges…maybe if I had a copy of the video I could make him leave. I could get into J’s panties. Because I really want to. So instead I find the old bottle of ‘Red Door’ and spray it on the denim dress. The denim dress is way out of style now. But I keep it in the bottom drawer of my dresser. With the perfume and some pictures (PG-13 or a soft R) we took on our “wedding night”.

I lay the denim dress over me, like J used to lay on top of me and we would touch each other. So now I have this physical weight, and it smells like her, and I unzip it and touch myself and remember it all. All the stuff we used to do. And in five minutes I am a wet rag, all wrung out. Breathing heavy. Wow.

I guess I need to get out more. I mean, I’m 40 years old now! I feel cheap when I do this. Once a year now. Maybe twice. And I went for about three years without it. So why do I still think about her? I don’t love her, she doesn’t love me. We’ve talked on the phone. She sent me a picture of her tits once. Still firm. “Remember when these used to be yours?” she texted me. What a bitch.

My boyfriend is home. Oh shit.

 



THINGS I SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE by khemistry
February 15, 2014, 8:58 pm
Filed under: I'll Show You Mine | Tags: , , ,

After some discussion with G, I’ve decided to quit writing for the three kink blogs. Our discussion revolved mainly over G’s hatred of porn (he’s the ONLY guy I know that really does hate porn and can argue you into his corner (if you’re not an ex-stripper who makes a living partially by writing porn) and maybe he’s right but I hate his stoopid sci fi stories so ha-ha-ha.) but what he really wanted, being a male and a hypocrite, is me to resurrect XSEX as a viable blog.

Since two of the other places I write for owe me money, I have decided to stay with the non-Wordpress blog where I actually make cash, and contribute more of Katie’s Khemistry to XSEX.

He also made me promised to reveal my side of an argument he calls TOO MANY ORIENTATIONS IS KINDA DUMB: PICK A SIDE.
So that’s gonna be our first “argument post” for this new resurrected XSEX.

And by the way: XSEX meant sex with your ex, which I was having plenty of and G wanted a little of.
It also means sex as seen by two Gen-X’ers: a straight male and a bi female.
We’d like to recruit some writing talent by a straight up homosexual…ha ha ha, I love little sayings like that.

Anyway, more is to come. THINGS I SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE was GOING to be a whole separate blog about stuff we did and regretted, but it is going to fit in real nice I think. If it gets too much, we’ll make it into a blog of its own.



Dildo-A-Thon by khemistry

My girlfriends swear by them. Even my mother has one–though I doubt my father is aware of this. They come in all sizes and colors and shapes. The Dildo.

My (straight) guy-friends roll their eyes and smirk, as if to say: “If you had a REAL man [presumably like him], you wouldn’t NEED one of those.” My gay guy-friends are 50/50. Meaning that 50% of them like them and use them as well. The other 50% have a similar reaction to the straight guys, except their reasoning doesn’t include plans to prove their manhood to the ladies. They figure: why use one when you’ve got the real thing standing up and saluting right in front of you? But for some reason, it seems a bit different than the heterosexual equivalent.

I’ve always been a bit adventurous in the boudoir, but that Lewis and Clark spirit never extended to toys. I’m not really sure why…maybe it’s just that most of them look a bit intimidating. I was in my mid-20’s before I worked up the nerve to buy my first “little friend”. I say “little” because I’ve read that the best way to introduce such toys into a relationship is to stick with the smaller sizes. Why? That should be obvious. But apparently most men are put off by the idea of competing with a “toy” that is larger than their own manhood. Since I was in a long-term relationship at the time, I decided to follow this advice and chose an appropriate “starter model” that was skinny and about 5 inches long.

Though I’d never measured my boyfriend, I knew from an episode of ‘Sex in the City’ that the average penis is about 5 to 5 1/2 inches. I figured a five-inch friend would be playing it safe. I also chose a model that was made of neon-pink plastic. It looked like a giant tube of lipstick much more than a penis, so I figured the boyfriend wasn’t going to freak out about me choosing a “replacement”. After all, the sex store where I purchased the thing had a thousand different models to choose from. Most of them looked a bit creepy hanging there on the brightly-lit shelves. They looked, for all the world, like they had just been chopped off some boy toy and wrapped in plastic. I figured an oddly-colored model that had no realistic veins (yuck) would be the safest for a trial run. And just in case my boyfriend freaked out anyway, I bought a cheap no-frills model and made sure to keep the receipt. (NOTE: I found out when I got to the counter that dildos and other such devices cannot be returned. I suppose I should feel good about that policy.)

I chickened-out that night. In fact, I was so worried about how to introduce the thing to my boyfriend that I actually worried myself into a sex-destroying migraine. Not tonight honey, I have a headache. Oh…nothing happened at work. No, I don’t think I’m getting sick. Its just that I bought a pink dildo today and I’m a bit stressed about how to let you know.

Later that night, I snuck into the bathroom and took a nice, long shower. I had to try out my new purchase. And who knows? I might HATE it.

I didn’t. Quite the contrary. It was like a whole, new universe had exploded all around me, showering me with warm golden sparks and a silver flood of angelic singing drowning out all the other noises around me. WOO-HOO!

The next night, I was ready when the boyfriend got home. I had already showered (several times, actually), slipped into the little negligee from Victoria’s Secret he bought me for Valentine’s Day, and put my favorite fuzzy bathrobe on over that. I fixed his favorite dinner (Beef Stroganoff…no I’m not trying to make a joke), uncorked a bottle of red wine, and lit a few candles. I could tell he was a little surprised…watched the thoughts cross his mind (“Did I forget her birthday?” and “Is it our anniversary?”), and then gave him a long, wet kiss with just a hint of tongue. That’s how we girls tell you that you’re getting some. After all, has your girlfriend EVER given you any tongue if she was developing a no-sex-tonight headache?

After the meal, we slip into the bedroom and I slip out of the bathrobe to reveal…well, ME. Well, the Victoria’s Secret version of me. We make out for a bit, and I’m putting everything into it, making sure he’s most definately in the mood. It’s in this “mood mode”, guys, that we can pretty much do with you as we will. When you guys get that excited, I honestly believe most girls could tell you they had been born guys and you’d just grin stupidly. It always reminds me of that cartoon with the little dog following the big bulldog with the spiked collar around excitedly: “Sure, sure, Spike! You were born a dude! Sure, sure!”

So I stop the sexual torture and reach under my pillow to get the pink dildo where I’d stashed it.

It’s not there.

That’s when I notice the boyfriend, holding out the dildo, smiling.

“Looking for this?” he asks.

“Uh…well, yeah. I know you said you felt kinda weird about these things, but…”

“Oh, not anymore,” he tells  me, sheepishly. “I watched you take a shower last night. It was really hot.”

So the moral of this story is: guys will pretty much accept anything sexually, no matter what they might say. It’s all in marketing, baby. Had I known he was watching, I would have been too intimidated and shy to masturbate. But since I didn’t know he was even awake, I really got into it…which of course got HIM into it.

Of course, I couldn’t get him to try many more toys, and when we broke up he actually asked me if it was because of my new-found “friends”. I didn’t tell him this, but it actually WAS because of sex toys. Sorta.  He just wasn’t adventuresome enough for me. I’ve always been a bit shy about toys, so I needed a lover that wasn’t shy at all, someone who wasn’t intimidated about encouraging a little sexual exploration.

I could say more about my adventures with the pink penis, but I’m a dirty girl and I need a shower. Or three.

By 3Jane