Sex Education 101 (1967)

Mistress and Slave made it home safely Sunday evening, though poor Mistress was back in another car bight and early Monday for a long drive to the north with some work colleagues. Fortunately, she got home early enough last night for a bike ride to knock out some of those non-sexual kinks.

Last night we simply relaxed in our empty nest, relieved that we have some time together again without too many prying eyes and ears around.

While we were on the road last week, I did not have the time to comment here on the lunatic ramblings of the Missouri Senate candidates and his biological  theory that women's reproductive systems simply "shut that down" when subject to a "legitimate rape". As the week progressed it seemed that more politicos got their feet stuck in the same crazy swamp, with frat boy Paul Ryan noting that rape was just another "method of conception".

But as the media pealed back Scott Aiken's biologocal theories the scary part to me was that he cited as his medical source the guy who provided me and my high school classmates the only class that passed for "sex education" at my Catholic High School here in River City back in 1967.

Of course, even as a high school Junior poor Slave's sex education was rather spartan. Of course, I knew what "felt good", and was always trying to do it with my high school girl friend, who let me get about as far as a pick off play between 2nd and 3rd bases.  I also knew that there were sometimes of the month that my girl friend got pissy and would not go swimming. What the fuck was that about?

But the notion of birth control and its various methodologies was grad school material as far as I was concerned.

So when Dr. Jack Willke and his wife Barbara showed up to explain it all  to us, I was all ears.

Sadly, the presentation was limited to a "scare them abstinent" approach.... sex is an evil impulse, that should be abused only when you decide to make babies. If you "experiment" you're likely to get the poor girl pregnant, and that will ruin your life and hers". Then, so, "once you are married, and the girls in the class feel compelled to submit to your pathetic husband's concupiscent demands, here's how to avoid getting pregnant...."

We then got a detailed description of the "rhythm method", which involved monitoring the phases of the moon as far as I could tell as the presentation proceeded.

Even at the tender age of 16 or so, this rap made me roll my eyes at these incredibly un-cool, tedious scolds.

Dr. Willke and his wife later emerged as the local and then national leaders of the "Right to Life" movement, as the discussion of abortion obsessed so many people in the years prior to and after Roe v. Wade.

But I had thought Dr. Willke had faded from public view years ago. 

But no, there he was, last week, being cited in the national media as the "medical" source of the theory ( an old wives' tale that apparently has floated around for centuries) that a woman must be "acceptive" of conception, and therefore, in the event of "legitimate" rape her reproductive equipment will be all "spastic" and tense, therefore dodging conception.

Fortunately, I didn't remember this little lesson as part of their 60's era sex education curriculum. The subtext, of course, is that the only women who claim they became pregnant as a result of "rape" were not raped at all, but must have been "looking for it",  either by the way they addressed or behaved. As a result, there really is no need for a "rape" exception for any abortion prohibition, is there?

Of course, from the perspective of a father of four daughters, rather than a horny teen, this attitude is not just quaint but frightening. It's certainly something to consider as we go to vote, isn't it.

OK.... enough for political screeds this week, dear readers.  I promise, there is more sex for this sex blog to come. In fact I better get upstairs right now!

Coming to Ground on the East Coast

I'm writing from the awninged deck of a B & B where Mistress and Slave have come to ground in one of those old East Coast beach towns where most folks resemble someone  from the cast of the Sopranos. And way to many of those remind you of Tony's crazy sister, whatever her name is.  The sun is coming up over a coastal lake, some sprinkles are tapping on the awning, and the breeze is gently churning the flowering trees that surround this little oasis.

Mistress is snoozing in bed, and I am awaiting her call.

Slave's been remiss this week in updating all of you on our adventures, but most were pretty mundane. The early morning departure with our whiny sullen teen on Wednesday for her new life in College. Dinner with a long lost cousin who lives not far from her campus, then the overnight in a nearby "sketchy" Motel, where the teen lectured us on how inappropriate it was to make her share a room with us at her lofty age.

"It's not like we were doing anything .... ummmm.... wrong", I muttered to Mistress. Ah well, it was out last night together for a while, and Slave would just have to stifle, I suppose.

The next day there was the big move-in to her dorm, meeting the roomies, and the official greetings from the President of this small liberal arts college, who insists that everyone call him "Sandy."

Somehow I don't think I would have gotten away with calling my University President "Ted", but times have changed, and most likely for the better. That eye popping tuition lets you call the President whatever you want, I suppose.

After our daughter made it clear to us that our presence had become an embarrassment it was time to go. Some tearful goodbyes behind us, we considered an evening exploring the sights of her new town ... but had a better idea.

After all, (sit down loyal readers) it had been TWO WHOLE DAYS since there was a chance for any type of sexual encounter for us.  So it was back to the sketchy motel, where we tossed back the bedspread that our daughter had suggested one could AIDS from (I can't make this shit up) and got down to business.

"Don't have high expectations, Mistress, I'm not sure I remember how to do this...."

But, it all came back with surprising ease. First I made sure to lavish attention on the still clean shaven folds, assuring that Mistress had a nice starter cum. Then she turned her attention to my firm and drooling cock, which needed no priming prior to completing it's mission. Actually. the ambiance of the sketchy motel room seemed only to enhance the furtive fun of our fucking.

Maybe someday our daughter will come to value such retro joys?  Or even her parents.

We made sure to take advantage of our privacy again yesterday morning, before climbing back in our rented mini-van (needed to transport all the stuff that our non-material girl needs to survive for the next few months), and heading to the "Sho-wa".  And after a day soaking up sun on the crowded beach we made sure to reserve some time for another round of fucking in our B & B before dinner.

We found a cute little organic restaurant where we ate on the deck, watching the Sopranos cast walk bye, wondering about the guys who go to dinner on a Friday night with their family in tank tops and shorts.

"I guess it's so they can display those fancy tatoos, Mistress?"

Then we strolled the crowded board walk, though we passed on the bumper cars. I led the way, steering us past the bars and restaurants, including one with a large collection of drag queens preening on the deck.  Diversity has come to the Shore!

When we found ourselves back at our B & B, Mistress was impressed.

"I had no idea where we were Slave....."

"See guys are good for a few things.... sense of direction... cocks...."

"Carrying baggage too."

"That, too, Mistress...."

It was

We did see a machine  on the boardwalk that brought to mind the big question that all "old" married couples have to consider when their little ones finally leave the nest. 

Although the details may be obscure, I have a feeling they will include a lot of sex.

Still Switching After All These Years.

It's been (and will continue to be) a chaotic week for Mistress and Slave, with way to early wake-up calls, followed tomorrow by a trip to the East Coast to drop the sullen teen off to start her collegiate "career".  So it may not be until the weekend that we come up for air here in our alternative sexual adventurous universe.

You will be happy to know that despite the prying ears of our little darling, I made sure Mistress got a full dosage of switch on Sunday morning, before a long bike ride that had the teen moaning about the sore muscles we had forced upon her.

Indeed, it was Mistress doing the moaning after I tied her to the bed (the classical music station on to mask those erotic sounds from the teen down the hall). I will provide the illustrations....  Just imagine what a well positioned Hitachi Magic Wand might squeeze from a securely bound damsel with a string quartet playing in the background.

Now I better haul my ass back upstairs and get our morning going properly before we are out the door for another unnecessary 8 am meeting on Mistress's dance card.

We will be back in touch -- liberated -- by the weekend. Have a good week all.

One Down

I suppose I should be grateful that sorority girls are disinclined to do anything before 11 am on a Saturday morning.

That was the announced time for our departure to her campus yesterday, giving Mistress and Slave some time for a leisurely session of worship and fucking in the executive suite here at the UCTMW World HQ, followed by a bike ride in some mercifully cool weather here before we loaded up TWO vehicles for the hour drive to her leafy, bucolic campus just north of here.

Don't get me started on all the stuff that she needed to haul up there. Lots of clothes, shoes and other paraphernalia , much of which consisted of the equipment you need to help store, stack or contain all the stuff you are trying to shmush into a small space while still making room for another sorority's girls stuff and related containment and storage devices. This might lead a father to explain that with less "stuff" you might not need quite as much other stuff for storage, stacking and containment. But I do know when to shut up.

The biggest, heaviest item was a double sized futon / couch which barely fit between the two girls' single beds. Useful for..... well, I don;t think we want to go there, do we?

So once we hit campus, it was Slave's job to help haul all that stuff up to the 2nd floor room, as the women folk set to the organizational tasks - making beds, finding plugs for electronic devices, etc.

Fortunately, there was another father / field slave available when it came time to haul that futon up the stairs.  I am very hopeful that next year, when our sorority girl no doubt will want to move into an off-campus house or apartment, there are some Frat Boys in her life who can do some of this heavy lifting!  If not, then what was the point of hauling that double sized futon upstairs in the first place?

I know there are some readers out there wondering if Slave got an eyeful of the other sorority girls moving in. I did notice a few of them splayed on their beds as I was hauling stuff past open dorm room doors. There was even a sort of cute blonde wrapped in only a towel, emerging from the showers, which are communal, not "en suite".

But quite frankly, young nubile vacuous sorority girls are not my cup of tea. I much prefer the experienced, wise and authoritative Mistress in my life.

After a lunch on the cute little main street of this throw back college town, where one would expect to see Betty and Veronica emerging from the local Malt shop, we gave our daughter a hug goodbye and headed home.

The sullen teen had accompanied us, and dismissed the place with three words: "Way too preppy."

True.  This is definitely Paul Ryan territory. Not for her, and I am grateful that she has her own values.

Back at home we needed to crash, and a nice nap, followed by an evening watching a cute but vapid movie at home was in order.

Mistress did fret a bit that our sex life has gotten a little vanilla of late. Too much time spent dealing with kids and work stresses.  But these things go in cycles, don't they?  A week from now our other daughter will be gone off to college, and the nest will be emptied for at least a few months.

But there's no need to contain ourselves until then.  It is Switch Day here, after all.  Maybe I can "whip something up" to surprise Mistress?