Anyway, let’s move onto more important things, shall we?

The sexual side of our relationship has taken a turn (and certainly for the better).  I have become less shy about my body; August isn’t in the best shape, but he’s not at all shy about his and this puts me at ease.  I’ve taken to walking around our home in the nude (I love the admiring glances I get when I strut into view) and there are many nights when we fall asleep cuddled together, both naked and unashamed.

What I am most proud of recently is that I’ve gotten over my fear of telling August what I want.  If I like what he’s doing, I’ll moan something along the lines of “Oh, that feels so good”.  If I want him to do something else, I’ll shift my body or move his hand.  Ever eager to please, he adapts to my need and delights in my reaction when he gets it just right.

We’ve also gotten a bit bolder.  Just last week we were visiting his family for the holidays and stayed in the guest room (which was once his childhood bedroom); I awoke one morning feeling horny, so I sidled up to him and started kissing his neck.  This turned into passionate making out, which led to one hot handjob.  After he’d come all over himself, I slipped undetected into the bathroom, grabbed something with which to clean him up, then slipped back into our room.  He cleaned up, and I crawled back under the covers.  He cuddled up to me, then began kissing me again.  He slid his hand under my shirt to feel my nipples harden, then slid into my pajama pants to feel my wetness.  He began rubbing my clit, and — Oh God!  Of the two of us I am certainly the loud one when I come, but I managed to bite back my cries.  “I wanna scream,” I whispered in August’s ear just before I came.  I buried my face in his neck as he brought me to orgasm.

Two hours later we were having brunch with his siblings.  As he reached for the butter, slick and yellow in its packaging, I smiled thinking of where his nimbled fingers had been that morning.  No one suspected anything.

I took a pregnancy test last Wednesday.  Ever the good boyfriend, August had bought them for me at a store we rarely frequent.  I took the test the next morning when he wasn’t home (he wanted to be here when I did it, but I felt less anxious on my own), then waited the required two minutes.  Then I waited an extra minute, just to be sure.

I peeked around the bathroom door, faking calm and confidence.  There was one line on the stick.  I checked the directions to make sure, but I already knew what that result meant:  negative.  The test was negative for a baby inside me.  There was no baby.  We were not having a baby at this point in time.

I texted August to let him know that no one would be calling him “Daddy” any time soon.  He was so happy– happier than I was.  I mean, I was relieved of course, but part of me had begun to reconcile with the idea that, with a plus sign from the test, our lives would change forever, we would  be parents.  People would ask questions.  But not now.  Now no one would ever know.  My secret longing for a child of my own was pushed aside… for now.

Being the cautious person I am, I decided that I would take another test after a few days (it’s possible to get a false negative, but taking tests too close together will yield the same wrong result).  However, at the planned time I was distracted (by August, with his fingers and tongue deliciously inside my pussy) and then fell asleep.

The second test proved to be unnecessary, however, when I awoke the next morning to my period showing up ten days late.  August was beyond ecstatic.  As for me, I was too busy curling up in a painful crampy ball to share in his joy.

My period is about a week late.  August is more observant of my cycle than I am and his predictions as to when it will begin usually turns out pretty accurately– always within a day or two.  Not so this time.  I should have started the second or third day of this month, but so far… nothing.  I’ve had a few symptoms (mild cramps, cravings, moodiness, fatigue) but so far I am missing the ever so crucial bleeding.  I am trying not to freak out.  I have confided in only one friend, who told me that I can only get pregnant from unprotected sex.  I know this is inaccurate, but I’m hoping it proves to be true this time.

August and I have barely discussed it.  Last night as we were laying in bed it came up, and he said little else besides “maybe you should take a test.”  Vague, but I know what he meant; but neither of us wanted to say the word “pregnancy”.  Like not saying it will make it not real.  What fools we are.  What fools we’ve been all along.

I keep asking myself what will happen if I am.  Obviously, there’s the easy way out– abortion.  But I don’t want to lie to people, I don’t want to cover up the mistake and pretend it never happened.  I’m not sure I could live with the guilt, and I don’t believe that the easiest thing is the right thing.

So in the unlikely event that I am, we’ll have to face it.  We’ll have to shame-facedly tell everyone.  We’ll have to get married.  And we’ll have to have a child.

I’m so scared.

I ordered a book online.  How is this going to help me (us)?  It’s not just any book.  It’s Suzi Godson’s Sexploration.  I’ve read nearly a hundred pages, and it’s incredible.  The author, assuming nothing of the reader’s knowledge, starts with the very basics.  Things are explained in detailed yet understandable terms.  There are even diagrams and realistic drawings.  For a curious person such as myself, it is a gold mine of valuable knowledge.

Much of it is very simple, almost common sense.  For example:  I knew before reading this that most of the nerve endings are in the head of the penis, thus making it more sensitive than the rest.  However, it never occurred to me until now that I should be focusing my attention there (as opposed to trying to stimulate the entire shaft, which was what I had been attempting to do up until this point).  But I get it now.  Only an inch of two of penis needs my attention, which is a relief.  I tried this technique on August last night to confirm my new hypothesis, and it worked.  Within mere minutes, he was writhing and gasping and moaning, and then he came so forcefully that it squirt all over his stomach and chest.  Like any good scientist, I will  be testing this hypothesis multiple times to be sure that the result is conclusive.  August has no idea what he’s in store for.  I can’t wait to master giving a hand job so that I can move on to perfecting my oral technique.

About twelve hours later when we finally got home, we picked up where we left off.  Not long after walking in the door we stripped ourselves bare and took a long, sensuous shower.  When the water lost all its heat, we toweled off and slid under the covers together.  We cuddled up close to each other, and he ran his hands all over my body– my breasts, my back, my hips, my neck and face.  He kissed me and pulled me closer, grinding his hips against me.  I could feel his erection pressing against my vaginal lips, and in that moment I wanted to take things to the next level.  I wanted him inside me so badly.  My body begged.

I didn’t tell him this.  I knew as soon as I mentioned that I wanted to have sex, he would be endlessly persistant to have my virginity.  How could I be sure I wasn’t just caught up in the moment?  I didn’t have a good answer, so I didn’t say anything.  Instead I let his fingers work their magic.  I pressed against him, moaning softly as I kissed his skin.  I could feel the anticipation radiating from both of us; we were both eager for me to come.  This time when I could feel myself about to peak, I didn’t have to hold back.  I let myself go, moaning in short little gasps as I felt the incredible sensation of orgasm flow through me.  When I finished, August held a finger to my mouth, and I tasted my own wetness.  He slid another slick finger into his own mouth and sucked greedily, his eyes closed in obvious enjoyment.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms, and when morning came we picked up where we left off.  He came on my stomach and in my pubic hair, then rushed off to work.  It’s good to be home.

I suspect the problem is with August.  To put things simply:  my body and I are getting bored.  I feel like he just does the minimum to get me going, which is getting tiresome (and frankly, it’s a bit disappointing).  However, I feel like I don’t really have a place to complain because I don’t do much exploring either.  I don’t have much experience, so I’m afraid to stray from the standard and simple things.  What if I do something wrong?  What if he doesn’t like it and I just end up boring him?  He seems content, so why can’t I be?  I always seem to be the one who wants more in a relationship.

I feel kind of bad.  Last night he was trying to get me off with his fingers, and it just didn’t happen.  There was barely a murmur from my body.  After awhile I just stopped him and we kept kissing until we got tired and fell asleep.  I wonder if he feels how I feel when I try without success to give him a hand job.  Is it going to nag at him today?  Is he going to try again later, or just give up?

Truth be told, I wish he’d use his mouth.  He’s only done it twice, which I don’t understand because it’s pretty clear that it gets me off in rather quickly.  I thought about asking him to, but I feel like that’s unfair because I never go down on him.  I’m actually quite terrified at the idea of giving a blow job; I’ve never done it, never seen it done, never had it explained to me in detail.  The only things I know about it I learned from Cosmo, and I don’t know how helpful that would be when actually facing such a task.  Sometimes I think about trying, but then I think about how I haven’t even mastered yet the simple mechanics of giving a great hand job.

I feel pathetic.  I should know these things at my age… right?

I realize twenty minutes later that I was wrong.  Now overly confident in my skills, I had taken hold of him and tried to get him off manually.  I can tell he likes it, it’s what he wanted; he bucks his hips in time with my hand movements.  More heavy  breathing.  I can tell he’s close a few times, but I always mess it up somehow– I slow down because my wrist is getting tired and sore, I loosen my grip for a second, or my hand just completely slips and I lose my grasp.  I just can’t win, and I’m getting increasingly frustrated.  It gets to the point where I’m trying so hard that I forget everything but my grim determination and the exhausted pain in my arm.  But I don’t give up, I can’t I can’t I won’t.

August stops me, apologizes, says he doesn’t know what the problem is.  I tell him it’s me, that I must be doing something wrong.  He tries to blame himself, and finally I give up and accept the excuse he meant to make me feel better.  I roll onto my side and curled up, facing away from him.  I don’t want to watch as he effortlessly finishes himself (in a matter of about two minutes, I might add), but I can’t help hearing his gasps and then groans as he comes all over himself.

He gets up and heads for the bathroom, and then I can hear the shower going.  I roll over to face his side of the bed and sigh.  I  can see the stains from our sweat, but there aren’t any other stains.  I decide this a good thing, considering the other set of sheets (which are still soiled with come I’d victoriously expelled from August’s penis on another night) haven’t been washed yet.  Secretly, I’m just glad there’s no proof of my failure.

I turn back over to switch off the bedside lamp.  When August comes out of the bathroom and into the dark, I can tell by his silhouette that he’s in his preferred state of naked.  He crawls into bed, curls his body around mine, and whispers “I love you.”  I whisper back, wishing that I could be naked too.

So now, this one is completely and utterly about my sexual thoughts and experiences.  Lucky you.

We live together now.  As I type this he is on the other couch playing a video game like the typical guy that he is.  I’m not sure how I’m going to feel living with someone else (we’ve both lived alone the past couple years), but I like to think that it’ll be enjoyable.  Especially since I have figured out the technique required to give an orgasmic handjob.

I’ll try to post more frequently from now on.

I think I just feel like good girls don’t use those words, and I’ve always been a good girl… until August came along.  I’m amazed at how easily he can say things like “Your pussy’s so tight” or “I can’ t wait to put my dick inside you”.  It shocks me, and I never know the proper response.  Just this morning as he was getting ready for work (after several blissful minutes of naked skin and cunnilingus (see?  I can’t even say “eating me out”)) he kissed me and whispered “You have no idea how badly I want to throw you on that bed and fuck the shit outta you”.  What is the proper response to that?  I know what I wanted to say– “Please, please do that, just skip work and spend the entire day fucking me!” but that’s not something I would ever utter.  Instead I just murmured between kisses, “You have to go to work.”  And he did, of course; even if I had said what I was thinking, it wouldn’t have been plausible.  The place can hardly function without him.

That’s exactly how I feel.