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i have yet to see any of the guys do this. thank God. because then their manhood would be ruined =)
13,000 now. once i have 300,000 i'll throw a monster party =)
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…
The wife counted her husband’s thrusts. Silently, of course. To herself, in her head. She’d lost all interest in sex twenty years ago and didn’t think her husband should suffer for that.
Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two…
She’d done the cliché things at first – picking colours, making grocery lists, thinking of things that needed doing. Er… other than the husband.
That’s what she called him: The husband.
Not my husband. The husband. As though he were infinite, ultimate, abstract.
Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four…
Counting was better. Continuous. Rhythmic. Keeping time to the bedspring squeals, her head gently knock knock knocking on the headboard.
Plus, it reduced the risk of zoning out, forgetting where she was – and what she was doing.
Once, in the old days, she’d been busy during sex with the husband, planning a party. A big party, a surprise party, for one of her closest friends. She got so caught up in planning that, without even thinking, she rolled over. Rolled right out from under the husband, who had been on his knees behind her… dislodging him, shocking him, leaving him panting.
“I…” said the wife, trying to think of some way of justifying what she’d done.
“Sorry. Here. Let’s try it like this instead.”
Once he was back inside her, he forgot. But she felt terrible about it for weeks. And that’s when she switched from thinking to counting.
Counting hadn’t let her down. Sometimes, she lost her place. Like, sometimes she couldn’t remember if she was at 121 or 221 or 321. But it really didn’t matter. She just dropped the hundreds and kept on from 21. After all, it wasn’t like she was keeping score. Just keeping busy, getting by, getting through it.
Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one…
Her loss of interest, way back when, hadn’t gone unnoticed. Once, he accused her of having an affair. It was the only reason he could think of (after a lot of thinking, over a lot of months, during which the temperature of their sex was definitely cooling)… an affair was the only reason he could think of for her apparent loss of interest.
When he accused her, she had to fight from busting out in hysterical laughter.
“I hate sex!” she wanted to finally admit. “I only do it to keep you happy, keep you satisfied – whichever one is easier. Why on Earth would I want to do it with someone else, too?”
Really, it was funny. But of course she couldn’t share that joke with the husband.
Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six…
It wasn’t that she didn’t find him attractive. She did. And he was a very good husband. They had raised four children together. And back in the day… yeah, sure. They frisked around like kids. Hell, back then, they were kids.
Now they were grown up, and decidedly so… soft, achy, full of complaints and baggy in their skins. After the last baby, she had wanted to say to him, “I’ve birthed four babies. It was hard hard work. Hard, hard HARD work, okay? You get it? I think my vagina has served its time; has done its duty for this family. Don’t you? I hitherto request the right to… so-to-speak… hang it up. Pack it in. Pack it away. Put it in dry storage. Forever.”
Of course she didn’t. Couldn’t say that to the husband. No sirree.
So she kept having sex with him, and kept not liking it, and figured they were coming out somewhere in the middle.
Bad sex, unresponsive sex, sex with someone who was counting, fer crissakes… well, she knew men. She knew the husband. She knew that men weren’t choosy when it came to sex. Having it was what really mattered. Having their partner enjoy it was gravy.
She liked it when it was fast. When it was over with, quickly. Then she could get on to doing other things. Like embroidery. She liked to embroider. Had been tarting up tablecloths and pillowcases and runners and whatnot since she was a girl. She loved the pretty shiny coloured soft skeins of thread… pinks and blues and greens and yellows, reds and blacks and browns and whites.
She liked to run her hand across a row of them… lying there, neatly aligned by colour in her sewing basket, row after row, so nice and tidy. She loved to feel their silkiness, to stroke them, like silent pets. She loved, too, the tiny sure certain pressure of the needle, breaking through the fabric, again and again, leading the thread in loops and lines and x’s that became faces, flowers, kittens, ribbons, monograms.
She had embroidered the pillowcases that were on their bed right now. She reached behind her head and touched a corner of the stitched white cotton, reading the familiar floral pattern like a message to herself in Braille.
She embroidered that pillowcase when she was eighteen. Fresh from the farm. Right out of high school. Anxious to finish up her hope chest before the wedding that fall.
They married in a Catholic church. The bishop told her father they would need proof that she was a virgin. He demanded signed statements from three different witnesses, attesting to the pristine quality of her character.
Her father was offended. Who in hell could prove that his daughter was a virgin – and how? And why was his word (hers didn’t really matter) not enough?
He told the bishop: “You get me signatures from three legitimate witnesses attesting to the existence of God, and we’ll talk. Okay?”
And the bishop backed down. And they had a lovely, big, loud, multi-day drunken Catholic wedding. And then the babies started coming. And then, for her, it was all about mothering.
All in all, she was happy with her life. The kids had turned out well… each successful in his or her way. The mortgage was paid. The husband was almost ready to retire. And she, the wife, was looking forward to traveling… taking it easy… doing some of the things they’d put off when the kids were young.
Really, when she thought about it, this whole sex thing was pretty much the only unpleasant thing she had to do.
Silently she willed the husband to hurry, get it over with. And of course she kept counting. And sure enough, in a minute or so, he started thrusting harder and faster.
But it didn’t end. It kept getting harder. Ouch, dammit! She almost screamed.
“Relax,” she told herself. “This will all be over soon. Just keep counting and forget about the pain.”
But when she thought it couldn’t get more painful, it did. And finally… still counting… she screamed.
Not some random sex sound. No. She screamed out, “Two forty-three!!”
But he was finally finished. And he gave no indication he’d heard anything but nondescript screaming. In fact, he seemed extra satisfied as they settled down to sleep in the darkness.
She was on her side with her back to him, drifting off and counting again – this time, counting backwards, ticking off the weeks till the husband retired and they could start traveling.
Arizona. She wanted to go to Arizona, see the desert, maybe in spring. She’d always wanted to see those pretty wild flowers blooming.
Coloured petals floated in her mind. She was almost asleep when the husband said her name. With a question mark. As in… she was meant to answer.
“Hmm?” she murmured. “What is it, dear?”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear:
Met Laura while we were rocking out at a sex slaves show (bsg~before Suicide Girls). She was going to school to be a social worker. The only thing her cover says about her is that she's colorful..... leave all other assumptions at the door. What a great girl!
One eye sees, the other feels. - Paul Klee
Imagination is the eye of the soul. - Joseph Joubert
Lend me your eyes so i can see what you see. - Count Chanel
No object is mysterious. The mystery is your eye. - Elizabeth Bowen
When you see a person, do you just concentrate on their looks? It's just a first impression. Then there's someone who doesn't catch your eye immediately, but you talk to them and they become the most beautiful thing in the world. The greatest actors aren't what you would call beautiful sex symbols. - Brad Pitt
The girls use each other in a training session at Babara Massage Parlour. Bangkok. For a further look please visit- www.jonathantaylorphotography.com
Or my Bangkok based photo school www.photographyschoolasia.com
Hi. Come to me for a chat. I like to communicate on different intimate topics -http://gg.gg/11rlme

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10 Sex Positions That Will Get Her Off Every Time
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Women and men don’t always agree about what qualifies as pleasurable sex . Due to our differing anatomies, intercourse that feels pleasurable to one partner may not be all that impressive to the other.
In this satisfaction battle of the sexes, women often lose out. “Intercourse itself seems to be designed really for giving the man pleasure,” says Deborah Caust , clinical sexologist and licensed marriage and family therapist.
There is hope, however, in the form of relatively simple sex positions, specially curated by Caust with women’s desires in mind.
Of course, none of these amount to much without foreplay (i.e. oral sex), proper lubrication , and communication, but combine any one of them with that trifecta, and the both of you will be well on your way to having great sex. Remember, some positions like anal sex (rear entry) and deep penetration can be painful for women, so take the necessary steps to make her both emotionally and physically comfortable with deeper penetration.
Sex helps women in a variety of ways, including pain alleviation, better cardiovascular health, decreased melancholy and anxiety, and increased self-esteem. Here are the 10 best sex positions for women that she will definitely love, according to a sex therapist.

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This position is a common favorite for both men and women, as it encourages deep penetration. With the woman lying on her back (hips at the edge of the bed), the man enters her from under her legs.
Her legs can rest up against his torso or she can place her feet on his chest, options that allow her some control over what angle feels best. (Note: this position can be a bit problematic for more well-endowed men.)
The Coital Alignment Technique or CAT is penetrative sex position designed to stimulate the clitoris. It is a modification of missionary position where the woman has her legs together and the man has his apart. The man then uses his legs to move his entire body.
When done correctly this position should move the woman’s mons Venus (the fatty tissue covering the pubic bones) over the shaft of her erectile tissue, which lies under the skin.
In this position, a man will only be able to penetrate about an inch or so inside the vagina but not to worry, Caust says men still get plenty of satisfying sensation.
“Even though [men] are more used to being able to thrust inside completely, they’re feeling her thighs everywhere,” she says. “So he is getting complete stimulation anyway.”
Right away, know that this position requires some added effort and flexibility — but it pays off for the woman by offering lots of control. To get into the Amazon position, the man lies on his back and brings his knees to his chest.
The woman then squats down onto him, with his legs wrapping over hers. Variations of this position include reversing the woman’s position or having her kneel over her partner.
The ease of this position inspires its pleasant name, and it’s another great choice for full access to the clitoris. This position is a variation on an “X” position, like scissors.
Specifically, the man lies on his side and the woman lies on her back. She puts one leg over his hip and the other can wrapped around his lower leg to pull him in close.
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