Your Sexual Fantasy/Story

Feel free to post your own sexual fantasy, story, anything sexual you'd like to share with us here, under "comment."  There are no rules, other than... keep it REAL.  

Q&A Leopard changing his spots

Kat,

Can a leopard change its spots?  I am a 40 year old bachelor who has been single for 12 years.  I have been a very appreciated lover and charming companion to countless women over my tenure.  I have grown bored of being a player and seek a higher level of enjoyment.  Young coed conquest, exotic playmates, sex crazed MILFs, swinger parties and dangerous liaisons with married sluts just doesn't do anything anymore.  I love the pursuit, but I am often disappointed once I get the honey.  Can a sexual deviant settle down with just one woman?  Can I go lagit and still keep my passions alive?  What kind of woman do I need and should I be honest with her about my raunchy past?  I just want to love and adore a woman, like I once did, without the fear of rejection.  I am a good and trustworthy man with a really healthy appetite for pleasure.  Is there a woman for me who will love me in spite of my past?  

Don Juan d'ChicagoCan

Don Juan d'ChicagoCan,

Two things you say stand out to me: 1) You're disappointed once you get the honey; 2) You want to love and adore a woman without the fear of rejection.  The first would lead me to tell you something every mother has every told her potentially equally appreciative daughter... Wait to get to know one another.  My mother said it like this, "Your generation takes the honeymoon before the marriage and you're all messed up because of it."  There's a lot of truth in the words of an old woman.  If you truly want the honey worth a mountain of gold, make a real effort to get to know the Queen Bee before you delve into the honey like a silly big bear waiting to be stung.  In rushing into the honey, there are two ways you'll be disappointed.  1) You fall for the promise of the most fabulous honey and you discover your hive is just plain ordinary for your palate. 2) You actually have a spectacular hive, but you ruin it by jumping into the honey part too soon, missing all else which comprises the real worth of it's sweetness.  Either way, if you don't want disappointment, don't become consumed by the honey until you know what type of stinger is protective of her honey.  

To your second statement, I would say... this is about genuinely understanding yourself. And owning what is yours... confidently.  Your past has made you who you are.  If you're not confident in who you are, no woman can do her voodoo here.  This is up to you to make yourself whole... without the fear of rejecting yourself.  I have found a partner's "rejection" can often be a wonderfully honest piece of information for both parties involved.  If it's not a right connection... better to know sooner than later.  My suggestion is to be true to your sense of life, love, and exploration, and be open to those who equal you here.  If you hide behind your hurt,f for fear of rejection, you're only denying yourself.  

Thus, my answer to your overall question... yes, yes, YES.  Embrace who you were, who you are, and what you want.  Stand tall on that, enjoy the time before getting lost in the honey, and the truth will be very clear to you.  

As to what type of woman you need... your equal.  If you're not afraid of that... she'll be much more evident than you think.  But, it sounds to me you have to decide just how many spots you want these days, before choosing another.  

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Q&A Doggy Head

Kat, I am concerned my wife no longer is satisfied by my love making. The other night I came home early from work and found her naked, on her back, with a jar of peanut butter and our dog between between her thighs. Is this healthy? Should I be worried my four legged buddy is doing my bride?

Sincerely,

Jiffy Lube

Jiffy,

"Healthy?" Let's break it down into two parts. A woman can get all sorts of problems from raunchy sex without a good shower afterwards... urinary tract infections and yeast infections being the most common. A man is also not immune should he join in here. But, cleaning off well, before one goes to sleep, or work for that matter, can ward off any of the annoying little bugs.  And turns out at least a good piss after sex can do the trick.  

As for the "mentally healthy" side... it's all part of nature.  Dogs wouldn't go there if there wasn't some natural smell that attracted them.  FYI... you may want to tell our girl to save the money on the peanut butter, because no Jiffy is needed.  Dogs have incredible long, perfectly rough tongues, and it's just near impossible for any man to match that while munching the muffin.    So for starters... it just plane feels good for "everyone" involved.  Throw in the whole naughtiness, and you're into the mental zone of why both sexes venture out of the typical missionary.  This fantasy is more common than one may think, and I have yet to ever hear of any chick going off the deep end of reason because her dog gave great "head."  

Should you be worried your four legged friend is moving in on your action?  It sounds to me like you have an adventurous woman.  I doubt she's going to only "do" Kujo, the way I doubt she's only into laying on her back for you.  I'm sure you must have recognized this along the way, and probably embraced it in choosing her.  Just think of Kujo like any other toy or plaything she may have had or wants to discover.  None of it replaces love and affection from and for a partner.  My suggestion would be to allow her to feel just as comfortable with this, as you may have in other somewhat off-beat acts of sexuality.  If she hasn't yet gotten her fill, perhaps ask if you can watch and masturbate, during this?  Maybe kissing her while Kujo does all the work?  Your acceptance of this exploration for her will probably bring you closer.  And before you know it, she'll be begging for your tongue down there again.  Don't forget... Kujo is giving her unconditional love.  My bet is she has a whole lot of exploration in her, and would love to do it all with you... the man she married.  But, she will hide it from you if neither one of you can address it, or if she feels you may condemn.  

I would never advocate either lover go along with something the other wanted, with either one feeling it not working for oneself.  Everyone is entitled to their own feelings, and it should be respected... with compromise to any union of two human wills.  If the dog just doesn't work for you, you don't have to be part of it.  But, do realize the woman you married is sexually inquisitive.  I am always a big fan of communication.  If you can at least get to a place of voicing your thoughts on this with her, without making her feel badly for having such thoughts, you may both find an alternative way to explore a similar fantasy which works for both of you. Often, simply dirty talking about a particular fantasy can do wonders for a woman.  Think about it like you would a very naughty fantasy you would love to share with your wife.  What would you want?  

Don't condemn.  Communicate.  And explore TOGETHER.  

The Double Egg

I was remembering my instructions carefully. His voice was deep, and more so when he talked dirty. "I want you to go to the Hustler store on Sunset. I want you to buy a double egg. I want you to come back to the Four Seasons, suite 417. The door will be ajar. I want you to undress at the bottom of my bed, slowly. I want you to bring me those eggs."

I was thirty years old, walking out of my silver BMW, which was still registered in my father's name. Down Sunset Boulevard, I could see the bright lights ahead, "Hustler Hollywood."

This was no dark alley, hide-away smut shop. This was the Virgin Mega-store of sex. It even had a cafe, like Niemans or Barneys. This was liberation at its best. Women could now go where their husbands had been for years.

I roamed through the multi-colored shelves. Rubber penises, glass penises, plastic penises, some that needed batteries, some with balls, some with suction cups, some that looked like baseball bats, plastic blow-up dolls, rubber vaginas, rubber mouths with bright red lips, big plastic rings with horn like things that resembled dog dental bones.

And there they were. Purple, plastic covered egg-shaped things with two cords leading to one battery pack. It was.... the double egg.

On my way to the register, mission almost accomplished, I paused in front of a display shelf of DVDs. It was the first time I had seen my name on a movie, at a store where people were actually paying to watch something I had directed. The name was Snowy Rivers. The movie was one of the early "Barely Legal"s. At the time, I was still saving Kat Slater for the heroine in my big budget feature. Having to choose an adult a.k.a. came all too quickly for me, and seriously analyzing those of my predecessors, I thought one was supposed to pick the cheesiest name one could dream up. So there, at the Hustler video store, I had finally realized what every aspiring filmmaker hopes. The closest person to tell was the gay male sales clerk. I skipped over to the register with my double eggs, and the Barely Legal. "That's me!"

He examined the box cover. "The braces did wonders, honey."

I realized he thought I was the girl in the photo, with the gleaming braces across her white pearlies. "No, no, I directed it. I'm Snowy Rivers."

Not only did he share in my job, but he also gave me a ten percent discount on those eggs. "Send my best to Larry for me, Snowy." I knew then that I was going to have to change my name.

I had grown up on Vogue and Elle and Town and Country, and with friends' mothers who spent more time with their personal trainers than their husbands, and designer clothes that looked best on a hanger. I undressed my one hundred twenty pound, five foot seven frame quickly, and hopped under the covers in hopes that Alexander hadn't see the slight paunch my stomach made when I bent over to untangle my "Seven" jeans from around my ankles. I'm very aware that "Paige" jeans have long since replaced "Seven", but this dates back to 2001. And in 2001 I arrived at that hotel room looking just as fabulous as any Bergdorf Blonde ready to embrace all the lusciousness of those lovely five star robes.

He rolled his broad shoulders over me. I liked a man with broad shoulders. This was a man. He was forty... a decade older than me. I was done dating the trophy boy-toys. I was over the excitement of Hollywood. I had been on the list to every cool club in the nineties, dined across the table from Oliver Stone, attended Daniela Rich's New Year's eve party in Aspen, macked out with a bunch of the hot young actors you saw on television, dated boys who owned Ferraris, and made a movie during which I passed on Katie Holmes and Mena Suvari in the lead roles. And when I sat poolside at my best friend, Bethany's sprawling home, watching her lap in the water with her daughter and this great raw-ruby necklace that was so large it looked, from a distance, that someone slit her throat, and gazing across the weed-proof lawn, past the cabana and up to the white metropolis of security, I knew... I was ready.

I remember what one of those well-kept women at Sebastian's father's four-story town house on the upper east side of Manhattan once told me, "Marry well or marry often." I started to think about the halves of the Ferraris I could have owned by now. But, I was a romantic. I couldn't fuck a man I couldn't convince myself was Prince Charming. And I couldn't marry a man I couldn't fuck. I was ready to fuck Prince Charming.

Alexander had a child, who lived in Greenwich Connecticut, with his ex-wife. His father was a famous architect... the kind who creates multi-billion dollar hotels and block long office buildings seventy-five stories high. He was a Hollywood producer who once had a beach house in Malibu and now had two houses in Greenwich. Having once been a Connecticut kid myself, I could imagine the lovely cedar Greek Revival freshly painted white, with a large porch and red front door, with a brass lion's head knocker, and gardens cleanly cut into a rich green five million dollar lawn.

I took in ever inch of his breath, as if to make it my own. His heart pounding between my naked, natural B-cup breasts, I welcomed his long fingers around the edge of my panties. I was not ready for the lawn-mower sound of the on button, to one of those eggs he was rubbing on my clit. But, I liked it.

I wondered if our kids would inherit his ice blue eyes. I remembered Bethany discussing the big "B"/ little "b" theory of being a brown eyed girl marrying a blue eyed man. My mother's Swedish blue eyes would certainly help the blue eye thing along, I thought.

He slid his penis along the wet lips of what I would later discover to be a puffy pussy... as opposed to meaty. Meaty and puffy are quite different. But, I didn't yet know any of that. I did know that I was really good at getting wet, and wet was something guys liked.

He kept his blond hair rather short, and somewhat conservative. So, just before he would penetrate, I would run my hands through it just enough to give him that Billy Idol look. Then, I really wanted to fuck him.

In all my wetness, he slid the egg in with his penis, deep inside. I can't remember if it felt good, but I do remember that I liked kissing him. I remember how his slightly receding white blond hairline offset the redness his face developed as he worked himself up over me. I remember the large platinum cross he wore around his neck that would bang into my forehead, as he was taking me in missionary. I remember watching his eyes roll back into his head as he was approaching orgasm, with his red temples and the sweat from his cross dripping into my eyes. I remember wondering if he were a devil or an angle, but that either way I would follow him.

This time our hands were pulling and holding and digging. Our hips were moving as one. I was moaning louder than a baby on an airplane. He loved that. Then, his strong chin competing with my strong chin, I gasped for air, "Did you just put that egg-thing up my butt?!"

I was about to hit my sexual peak in more ways than had ever been explained.