Licensed to.....

Well yesterday’s post here led to lots of interesting comments, and even Mistress weighed in at the end of our day. You may want to turn back a page to catch the “debate”, and get the WC’s more straightforward embrace of the male proclivity to stray.

On further reflection, maybe the young testosterone overloaded Mick was just exploiting a skill he nurtured in his high school days. If I had been a better bass player in that high school rock band, than I was getting  female members of the audience to “make out” with me after the show, maybe I would be an aging rocker, backing up Steely Dan now, rather than writing a sex blog for the entertainment of this “vast” audience.

When I went searching for that James Bond image, it opened up a another set of memories for me that I’ve been sorting through in the last day.

I recall seeing my first James Bond movie from the back seat of a friends car, at a Drive In movie theatre in up state NY, on the banks of the Hudson River. Apparently his parents thought "From Russia With Love was good entertainment for an 8th grader.

It was the summer of 1963. JFK was still with us.The Beatles had yet to appear on the Ed Sullivan show.

Here is the trailer – short on the special effects that came to dominate and deaden the series as it lumbered over the next few decades. Looks like there was even a bit of bondage tucked in.

Of course, I was hardly a  sexually educated dude on the cusp of 8th grade, I just knew that this guy was pretty danged cool, and seemed to have a charm that got a really nice looking blonde into bed with him. What happened next, who knew? But the concept has a certain compelling, if mysterious, appeal.

I learned later, most likely after the Assassination, that the novel the movie had been based on was one of JFK’s favorite books (was he role modeling James too?). The movie was the last one he saw before his murder in November of that year.

With that inspiration, as a teen I set aside Tom Swift and devoured the whole series of Ian Fleming’s novels, though one, Thunderball maybe,  was “seized” by a nun at my Catholic High School here in River City.

“I can’t believe that your parents allow you to read that smut, Mr. Collins.”

I suspected she and the other nuns passed that book from one to another back at the convent. Who knows what happened next in their little narrow beds.

So with role models like these, who can doubt why I responded to any sign of female attraction that crossed my bow. I mean, I was just getting read for my first assignment, once I obtained that License to Kill.

I liked the thought of the women I would encounter would someday be mumbling “Oh….Mick”, just like Tatiana and all the rest of the “Bond girls” in the series would sooner or later murmur, “Oh…. James….” at some point in the film. The Cold War would be won one seduction at a time.

Of course, that photo of Sean Connery brandishing his “special occasion firearm”, and its cheap phallic imagery, made it abundantly clear that sex mixed with violence was to be the formula for selling tickets. And sure enough, subsequent Bond marketing did not fall far from that tree. Here are just a few:

It's nice that Sean Connery sometimes only brandished a "work-a-day" firearm.

Yesterday Mistress chimed in with her own comments about the Male weakness for cheating. But what she has yet to share with us is her own motivation as a femme fatale.

You see, when she and I had our transcendent chemical reaction to one another back in the days of the short Greek from Massachusetts, she brought to the table her own little list of conquests.

Over the months she slowly disclosed her history to me, with one older guy after another falling for her devastating charms. And she was married too, but only about 26 at the time. By my calculation, she seemed to have as many extracurricular relationships / year as the older Mick. Who was her role model?

Don’t you think she owes us a little history about how and why all these men fell into her web?

I know I’d like to hear about it with the benefit of some hindsight. Wouldn’t you?

On "Straying".

I thought I would take a break from the day to day sexual antics here at the UCTMW World HQ and flashback a bit, inspired by a post a few days back by Sin on the subject of men and their proclivity to “stray”.

Sin’s theory was that men crave “variety”, which may be supported by the old biological imperative to sow those dna particles wide and far.

Of course, Sin’s not the only one talking about this subject. The recent public meltdown of a certain New York Congressman got tongues wagging on the subject “what is it about these guys”.

The New York Times had an article Sunday, linked here http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/19/fashion/scholars-discuss-weiners-behavior.html?_r=1&ref=anthonydweiner, which trots out some experts to speculate on why the male political class tend to get caught with their dicks twisting in the wind. As one “expert” opines, “Most people who get as far as he’s gotten are high testosterone people … Along with that ambition comes a high sex drive.” Another Prof claims that “men, particularly successful men, have an evolutionary history of polygamy.”

Of course, for folks like Mitt Romney, that history is only a generation or so removed.

But, Mick, you ask, isn’t this kind of boring?

Next you’re going to be talking anthropology, and we’re going to look elsewhere for our fun.

Okay, lets get a little more personal.

Let me talk from personal experience.

Back in the day – I’m talking late 60’s up until I discovered Molly  in 1988– Mick was a bit of a Wiener, so to speak. But of course that was before Twitter. I didn’t do my talking by text message. I did it the old fashioned way, one slap and tickle at a time.

When Mistress and I had our own crisis abut my fidelity, which led to my signing the contract that gives title to this blog, I found the need to consult with a psychologist here in River City.

I picked a woman I had dealt with in a professional capacity. Someone who specialized in sexual matters. But a grandmotherly type who I knew who call things straight and not tell me what she thought I wanted to hear.

One of my first “homework assignments” was to prepare a list of all the women I’d had sex with in my adult life.

I figured this would be easy, but as I started writing, I started remembering, and the list got longer. And longer.

It made for an ugly pattern.  While a few were one or two night stands, most were real relationships, extending for months or even years, and overlapping with other relationships.

I traveled more for business in those days. So there were women in Chicago. New York. DC.

You get the picture.

Am I sounding like Rif Dog?  Well there was some of that to it, but I was not nearly as swaggering-ish about it. And that was before anything like Ashley Madison which facilitated off-line hookups.

Man, I had to work to find these “opportunities”. And I worked to keep them alive.

Keep in mind that most of these encounters happened during the time I was involved with or married to my first wife. With the one exception that Molly knows about, I’ve stayed “on the wagon” during my involvement with her, since 1988.

So what explained my proclivity to “stray” in those days?

At the time, I had some bad examples for “heroes” in politics and popular culture. JFK.  James Bond. It was cool to make oneself available to the ladies, wasn’t it?

And my father had modeled some of this behavior. Think Don Draper, but in the insurance business. I’d seen some evidence of his straying when I was a teen.

Of course, I had a rather cocky attitude: If a woman came onto me, who was I to deny them the opportunity to be with the one and only Mick Collins.

I suppose my marital life was a tad dull. Certainly not like with Molly. But is that really an excuse? Couldn’t I have worked harder at bringing some adventure home?  Of course I could have.

When I went over the list with my Psychologist, she rolled her eyes a bit. The phrase “sex addict” came up. But she seemed to back away from that diagnosis. It seemed that while I had a high count, she’d seen a lot worse. And that fact that most of mine were actual relationships discounted that diagnosis.

After some session she focused on the type of relationship I had with my Mother. She was distant, self-absorbed. Not particularly affectionate.  (Think Rose Kennedy here).

Was my need  to seduce other women  fallout from my  desire to find the affection that my Mother supposedly denied me? And practice made perfect. I had become a bit of a seduction machine, apparently sending off signals that made the next conquest all the easier than the one before.

Mingle that with the higher testosterone that may have come with the territory – after all I was apolitical activist, though I never pulled the trigger on running for office myself – and you have a toxic mix.

The good part about my time with the Psychologist is that I had a better idea of what led to this behavior. That more clinical understanding helped me back up and see the harm and anxiety I had caused others – particularly Molly, but my first wife too, and some of the women on that list.

And it also helped me admit what a reckless, inconsiderate asshole I had been.

No one wants to be an asshole, right?

So Sin, at least or me, it was a bit deeper than “variety”.

Past Our Bedtime / HNT

Mistress was spared having another “take daughter to work day” yesterday, which was also a break for me: no cage, and a chance to ride to and from work with her.

She even stopped by for lunch. But apparently I was not quick enough to take the hint.

When she arrived at my office, I was on a rant about something, can’t recall what now, and we talked on the subject, distracting me from what should have been the primary task at hand. As I reached for my jacket, ready to leave for lunch, I realized that something important had been neglected.

“Oh… would you like me to worship, Mistress….”

“I was wondering when you might ask, Slave….I’ve been pacing here waiting for you, a little on edge….”

Interesting. Maybe Mistress now gets a little pavlovian response when she enters my office, her cunt anticipating what should be coming up next. My distraction had been a subliminal source of frustration for her.

Love it.

I quickly acted to correct my error, shutting the door, sliding the chair into place and taking the proper position – on my knees – to lavish her with the soothing attentions of my tongue and lips.

A little work on my part took the “edge” off, and we were soon headed to lunch on our public square on what was a mild if blustery day, a little window of opportunity between thunderstorms.

At home after work, Mistress was worshipped again before we headed for a bike ride. Then Mistress stopped by her Mother’s house (just up the street) for a walk with her, as I hunkered down at home to fix a little sandwich and watch the President’s speech.

Mistress was back at about 8:30 or so, and we lingered downstairs in front of the TV, until I could take no more of the grousing from left and right about his plans to back our troops out of Afghanistan.

Not fast enough. Too fast. Accelerated timetable needed. No timetable. Argh. The Whipsawing was impressive. Maybe Rachel should run for President and solve all this for us, right? I wanted to scream, but then Howard Dean was already doing it for me.

We headed upstairs to the “Executive Suite”, hunkered down in bed, both with our lap tops out , Mistress responding to some emails – including a quite if exasperated one from Aisha – let’s hope she survived that tornado warning. We were teetering on the edge of “calling it a night” or “night cap” sex.

I won’t go into the details of what tipped us in the direction that makes my continued writing worthwhile here. Suffice it to say, the feeling was mutual.

“Slave… I know it’s a little late…. Go put in your device (the aneros)… you may need a little extra for after hours activity….”

True, that little sucker can be like a “booster” rocket, particularly when Slave is tuckered out. And being told what to do in that commanding tone adds a bit to the erotic stew.

As I slid back into bed, Mistress’s soft fingers made a beeline for my already thickening cock. We snuggled close, my hand diving between her legs, sliding through those moist clean shaven folds.

I was already getting close as her hand worked me with a slow, sensuous fervor.

“Would you like me to lick, Mistress?”

“Not now, Slave…. this is nice, don’t you think….”

The question soon became whether her fingers or mine would win the race of driving the other one over the edge first.

I was determined not to blink, or pull away…. And on this occasion, it was my fingers that prevailed, as Mistress bucked and moaned through a nice little starter cum.

“Would you like to fuck me now, Slave?”

“Uhhh, yeah… I thought you’d never ask, Mistress…”

On "Variety".

Summer has arrived here in River City. We are more than a week into “school’s out” and a bit frazzled about it.

Sullen teen # 1 is on an even keel, low maintenance, getting ready for her college experience, with some trips with friends and family thrown in. It seems she will only be making cameo appearances here at the world HQ over the next few weeks.

Sullen Teen # 2 is a whole different story.

She just finished her junior year, but will be overseas for her senior year, studying abroad. And since she seems to have forsaken all the “boring” and “loser” friends she had accumulated in high school,   she is in our face (more typically Mistress’s face) just about 24/7.

Combine that with some prep she must do to be able to graduate on time (two on-line courses), scrambling to visit some colleges she may lower herself to apply to, and arranging for a visa and medical clearance for a year abroad, well…. she has become a full time  job for poor Molly, and to a much lesser extent for me.

This can throw a monkey wrench into the more indulgent lifestyle that Molly and Mick have become accustomed to here in River City.

With Teen #2 deciding she is best working on her on-line studies at Molly’s office, and constantly poking her head in to her mother’s work space, well that has certainly cut down on chances for Mistress to engage in those occasional smutty conversations with the WC.

And it also means we’ve been driving separately to work over the past week, depriving us of that morning and afternoon decompression time.

And, let’s not forget the infernal cage that Mick is required to wear when we drive separately.  Ouch.

The teen’s trips to Mom’s office have also put a damper on Mistress’s visits to my office for our little mid-day worship sessions. (“Where are you going?... and why can’t I come? Can we stop for ice cream on the way?)

But there was a brief respite yesterday. At mid-morning, the teen discovered she needed to go to the MD’s office for one of those TB tests so he could sign off on her visa paperwork. That meant she borrowed my car from my downtown garage, and gave Molly a few hours of relative solitude to do her “real” job, and also visit me without her little “shadow”. I was more than happy to turn over the keys.

Mistress arrived at my office shortly after lunch, dressed for business in an elegant cotton dress, her legs bare. As we talked about our mutual exasperation with the teen, I was already positioning the chair against my door, draping the maroon blanket, and otherwise preparing her “throne”.

As I gently kissed her lips, the taste and aroma was just a little bit different, exotic maybe….I filed it away to mull over.  But the difference got me thinking about the post Sin had made the other day about men who “stray”. Her theory was it’s about “variety”, that somehow men get a little bored or stale with the same old, same old. (or  same young, for that matter).

I don’t  exactly agree. Maybe it’s something I need to write about later, in the context of my own “wild oats’ days during my first marriage.

But suffice it to say that since it had been a while since Mistress had stopped by my office, and this odd new taste and scent, it all seemed a little different, new and … exciting to me.

But of course there was the cage.

 As I knelt to worship, inhaling the musky scent that mingled with the new aroma I had detected, my cock stirred, strained and banged up against it’s restraining steel.

Double Ouch.

And although I knew it was Mistress here doing what we had done many times before, it was hard not to imagine doing this for the first time, the risk of it, the submissiveness of being on my knees, focusing only on her pleasure. I even imagined  that Mistress had dispatched someone else, a friend maybe, a business colleague, or maybe a “babysitter”, like Tammy over at All Mine has for the weeks when Suzanne is overseas this summer.

That musing didn’t help the cage situation at all. I should have been thinking about who would be starting on the mound for the home team that night.

Fortunately, my highly trained and experienced lips and tongue, were already busily engaged, and soon Mistress was more than satisfied, her hips rising off the chair, her head gently clunking against my door, little muted gasps coming from those full, lush lips.

We drove home, and on the way home chatted with Donna about the reactions to her wonderful posting here yesterday. They commiserated a bit about some human resource issues here at UCTMW World Enterprises.

By the time we got home, I made sure to offer to worship Mistress again before our evening bike ride. But first, as  my mouth lingered at Mistress neck as I unzipped her dress, I asked about that new taste / scent.

“Oh…. I didn’t think you’d notice…. It’s something I wore in college… “White Shoulders.”  I used it when we were in Europe, then put it on this morning because I figured I wouldn’t see you today until we got home…”

It’s funny isn’t it, how a little change can make an intriguing difference?

It wasn’t until after Mistress was worshiped again, lying across our bed, me kneeling on the floor, that she remembered the cage, and reached for the little key.

“Poor slave….”

Actually, I have it pretty good.