Okay, so we're calling today Monday...

I'm terribly sorry, my dutiful and wonderful lovers. I said that I would post on Monday, and COMPLETELY DIDN'T!! I'm a horrible, evil blogger, and should cut off my right thumb!

Like I said, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm hoping that I can make it up to you by writing today, only one day late. Half credit, right?

Before I start my riveting story about the rest of my weekend, lemme say something off topic:

akaqueenj9: If you're only planning on buying ONE leather jacket, (variety is always the best, but being poor, I completely understand if you're just going with one jacket, I have mastered the art of buying things that will go with EVERYTHING.) then I have a question to ask: What is your wardrobe like? In particular, your shoes. If most of your shoes are black, or tennis shoes, I would go with a black jacket, because I'm guessing it would go best with the large majority of your wardrobe. (Black matches EVERYTHING, except sometimes other blacks...) If you're more prone to brown shoes and sandals, I would suggest a brown. Brown can be picky, and if it's not the EXACT SAME brown as the uggs you're wearing, it can COMPLETELY ruin an outfit. If you're confident in your ability to flaunt neutrals, however, brown is your choice. If you're going for a bold jacket, like the red, it would have to be if you're planning on using it primarily as a jacket, rather than an accessory. If you wear it every day, even a red jacket will match everything.

SO! In simple terms, here are my suggestions, in order of best to least: Black, Red, and finally Brown. I hope I help. xD

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Okay, so my weekend...

Just after I signed off this Saturday, I made a journey to the bathroom, threw on some red lipstick, because I thought it was a good idea, and proceeded to sit in the warm tv room of W's house and watch two movies: The breakfast club, and Juno. By the time the breakfast club was finished, I was a little perplexed, because it was quite late, and W had still not arrived. But, not having a phone, I rode out my anxiety, and threw in the second movie.

Just as the end-of-the-movie plot was unfolding, I heard the truck rumble outside the tv room window, and knew that my baby had arrived. He promptly tracked me down, and told me with much shivering and excitement that he had been in an auto accident! I left my movie alone, (I still don't know what the note says at the end, when Juno leaves the paper on the adoptive parent's step...) and proceeded to be supporting and excited, just the way I should have been.

Turned out that he had barely been touched, but the car that had lost control on the highway had grazed past him, and was promptly smashed by another truck following close behind. Lucky, too, because he had his brand new tax return flat screen tv in the bed of his own truck.

And so, we spent the rest of the night playing with the new tv, and reliving the events of the evening. (The poor boy had actually been quite spooked by the accident, even though nobody was hurt. He had dreams about it that night.)

So, here's the point where I segway into the part of the story that you are actually interested in: My boredom problem. That evening, at about ten thirty, we decided to go out to eat. I expressed my interest in trying something new, the boredom of my sex life pouring over into my eating habits, it seems. We drove about for a short amount of time, trying to think of places to eat, but nothing really came up. (Keep in mind, it was ten thirty at night in a town still small enough to sleep. There really weren't many choices.)

So, he said that he wanted Caesar's Pizza. (We have Caesar's Pizza quite often.) He had, however, taken to heart my want of something different. (I had, earlier in the weekend, very gently mentioned that I would like to have sex somewhere besides the bed, and he took that to heart as well. I had made it known that I am the sort to get bored with things, and I think it put him on edge. He really did try.) So, when he mentioned Caesar's, we just happened to be passing one of their locations, so he started to pull over. Before doing so, however, he sounded very concerned, asking if it was okay that we were getting pizza. (See, he really did take it to heart. He listens to me.)

It was in THIS moment that I realized something. This problem that I am having, it has nothing to do with him. In fact, it isn't his fault at all. It has everything to do with me. I told him that it was just fine if we had Caesar's, and covered any trace of disappointment that I felt.

I just can't say no to him, and I can't let him think that I'm unhappy, because I know how hard he will try, and how much he will... take it all to heart!! It has already happened on occasion. Exhibit one: our sex life. He spends so much time trying to get ME to orgasm that it just becomes tedious for both of us.

So it's MY issue, not his.

And he really tried this weekend. ((warning, naughtiness ahead.))

On Sunday, we had sex. (The only time, all weekend.) We were in front of his shiny new TV downstairs, and had taken out some candy-canes that were sitting in the closet. (Jolly rancher flavored. Oh. My. GAWD, they were so good.) In an attempt at spicing things up, he used the candies, rubbing them on my nipples and breasts, then sucking off the sugar.

Not gonna lie, it got me hot. I thought, Okay, this is actually exciting.

So, once he tired of that, he pulled my panties aside, and left his pants on while we actually did the dirty. (He later pulled his pants to his ankles, just because having them at his waist greatly restricts his movement.) We couldn't exactly start missionary, because my panties were in the way, so he flipped me over and came at me from behind. Eventually, the panties came off, but that I didn't really mind either, they were in the way as well.

But now here's where it gets bad. once he was in, his movements went from sort of interesting so SLOWER THAN A TURTLE ON THE BACK OF A SNAIL. And that shit you read in romance novels, where the super-studly, vaguely homosexual man goes slowly, and still gets his freckled, intelligent, vaguely homosexual female partner to some, is strait-up bullshit.

Going slow is just plain boring.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there's a way to do it to where it's pleasurable for all involved. But the rate at which he took it... it was excruciating. I was LITERALLY at the point where I just rolled my eyes, and stopped participating. And I felt like he was just as bored as I was!! (He came, an eternity later, for about five minutes straight, so I assume it wasn't terrible for him... This always happens, the better the orgasm he has, the more apathetic and detached I was throughout the process.)

Seriously, worst end to what could have been the best sex we've ever had. I was so unsatisfied afterward. Usually, I get a rush when he comes, because then he goes hard, and fast, and I know he's enjoying himself. This time, there was no hard and fast, there was no build up, there was just a long, quiet orgasm, filling me up with gallons of empty fluid.

I don't know what to do. This is an issue that I have to fix, but I honestly just don't know how. Maybe we're just not as compatible as I thought we were.

Sigh.