Candlelight and a reciprocating saw

So, Saturday the 7th was our first official date night, and it was my responsibility to come up with an idea. Feeling a little pressure to shoot for the sky, I decided to get out some items I'd purchased earlier in 2011, but that we'd never had the opportunity to try.

I consider myself to be a very open minded, sexually liberal person (hence the blog), but these items were a bit of a stretch even for me. I was uneasy, and much of that unease was based on how little exposure there was on my part in employing them.

Based on our experience I know Leigh is often a fan of fast paced, forceful pumping action, so when I came across a deal online for an adaptor that would allow my reciprocating saw to be fitted with a dildo it was an easy purchase to make. The items arrived separately, in fact I was concerned the adaptor itself might never arrive because when the dildo came in, the shipping form indicated the adaptor was on back order. (Must be a popular item.) But it showed up a couple of weeks later. Both items sat in their respective packaging, examined but unused, until just last night.

The adaptor is a piece of flat metal, cut and punched to fit just like a reciprocating saw blade. But on one end is a cylindrical stainless steel plug, with ridges. This plug is the positive that fits into any number of negatives molded into the bottom of a line of devices designed to work together.

Unbeknownst to Leigh, I snuck the saw into the bedroom before shutting off the lights and lighting the tea candles running along the headboard.

Our encounter started much like any other, we were both naked in bed, embracing, touching, and generally enjoying each others company. Kissing lead to fondling, and Leigh took the initiative to climb on top of me. Watching her on top of me, naked in the candlelight, gently pinching her nipples and rocking back and forth, cut through my endurance in less than average time. It didn't help that I knew we had something more to come.

As she snuggled on top of me I chuckled. She pulled up and asked what was so funny. I explained I was laughing at myself and my lack of staying power, but also because I had an experiment up my sleeve. I mentioned the adaptor. And she was instantly game to try it out.

It took a few minutes, a quick flip of the light switch to properly read the instructions, several drops of lube into the dildo before sliding it onto the plug, and tah dah! I had transformed my home improvement implement into a sex toy. While assembling the pieces it occurred to me too late that I probably should have carefully cleaned the sawdust out of it ahead of time.

Leigh lay on her back. I stood by the side of the bed, close to an outlet, and imagined what a wonderful Christmas card photo this scene would make. She said she was ready. I gently inserted the tip of the dildo, a pink jelly vibe that did not resemble any part of human anatomy. Then I put in a little more. Leigh indicated it was too deep so I pulled back. I asked if she was ready again. She said yes. I gently pulled the trigger.

It was at this point that I learned the saw did not have a slow start-up similar to my cordless drill. If I squeeze the drill trigger just a bit, it starts turning very slowly. I thought I'd be able to apply this strategy with the saw. Nope. It's either on or off at full speed. The initial movement startled both of us. Leigh with sensation, and me with concern that I would injure her. She asked me to stop. Then start again. This time I intentionally fired a short burst and stopped. She exhaled and asked me to go again. I depressed the trigger longer, let go, and then pulled it again, trying to simulate a cycle of on and off that would modulate the speed.

We went back and forth for several minutes. The sensations shifting between too intense and just right for Leigh. When we were both comfortable with the ins and outs (pun intended) she pulled her go to vibrator (one with a long narrow vibrating tip) out of the bedside drawer, and placed it on her clit as I was working the saw.

What resulted was a thunderous shuddering of her body and a vociferous release from her lungs. After several moments, she asked me to stop, and then she relaxed and started catching her breath.

"How was it? Are you ok?" I asked.

"Yeah," she sighed. "It was weird. I kept feeling like I was just about to orgasm, and then like I just had, over and over."

"Both good feelings?" I confirmed. She responded in the positive.

After Leigh composed herself she got up to go to the bathroom and I went to fetch the vacuum cleaner to clean up the drift of sawdust that fell out of the blade housing onto my side of the bed. We both slept well that night.

I asked Leigh today how her vagina felt and she said it was fine. Although she did admit she was concerned it might be sore today, much as I had. So far, so good.

By chance, we ended up at a home improvement store today. I made a brief suggestion that we look through the tool section but Leigh made it clear we would not be buying a new saw, even if it did come with speed control.

NYE, unseasonably warm with a chance of fat lips

Our Sexual Resolution was technically scheduled to start in 2012. But since NYE was on a Saturday this year, and Saturday 2011 bled so seamlessly into Sunday 2012 I'm including it anyway.

I was driving, so no drinks for me, but Leigh was pleasantly buzzed when we left the house party we attended around 1:30 am. When Leigh gets in a state like that, and we're driving at night, three times out of five she has a go-to idea: Road Head.

Now, if anyone is reading this, and they're male, they're smiling and nodding. Score! Me too. But, and I'm sure to catch some shit for this, I wasn't down for it. Specifically because it was 1:30 am, on NYE, and Road Head can result in irregular driving patterns. With the intensified police presence because of the holiday, I erred on the side of caution and declined her offer. Leigh was displeased (score again, right?).

I explained my reasoning and she understood as well as possible in her buzzed state. But I did have a request.

"How about Road Head after we've safely arrived at home, in the driveway?"

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

Now, I have some experience making deals with the inebriated, so I recognize they aren't always legally binding. We sat for a bit in the driveway, engine off, finishing our conversation that started after Road Head was off the table. Leigh made no indication that sexual thoughts were left floating in her brain, and it was now after 2 am, so we exited the vehicle and made our way into the house.

Ordinary coming home events ensued. Coats on the hook, shoes into the closet, clothes in the hamper. But when I step into the bedroom, there's Leigh, kneeling on the bed, arms akimbo, wearing just a thong.

"Let's get this started." she said.

"What about my Road Head?" I replied. Before any women reply to this post, furious at my looking a gift horse in the mouth, please understand I said it with a smile. To my surprise, Leigh not only recalled our arrangement, but suggested we relocate to the car in the driveway. So we did. Myself, stark naked, and Leigh still in only a thong, entered the brisk January night, traversed the walkway, and climbed back into the car.

Now, readers paying attention will note we're located in a geographic region generally too cold for timber wolves and moose in January. But this particular night is was quite mild. Frostbite was not a concern.

Road Head was going great and interests started to escalate from there leading to an unfortunate realization: car sex doesn't work like it did when we were teenagers. I'm stone sober, but Leigh is still drunk, so coordinating a migration from the front seat of a Fusion to the back seat (without leaving the vehicle) was an effort. Then trying to arrange ourselves was another exercise in futility. Leigh's head smashed under the rear window. Leigh stomps on the sharp corner of an ice scraper. My head pinned against the ceiling. I can't move my legs.

Finally we manage to get into woman-on-top...kind of, but it's uncomfortable. (I'll be including notes in a consumer letter to Ford as soon as I finish this.) So I make an executive decision. We're going back to the bedroom.

"Get out carefully." I say, providing all the instruction I think is necessary. But it's not enough. Leigh gets one leg out, and then one arm, and then disaster. She lands on her face, on the paved driveway. She cries out in pain.

"My tooth is broken!" she shouts between sobs. I leap out, crouching (naked) beside her, between vehicles. If you've ever tried to get a drunk person up off the ground, try to imagine how much harder it would be if she refused to use her hands because she was cradling her broken face. This was my task. Luckily only one car went by before I was able to get her up and bring her inside (Happy New Year neighbor!).

Her tooth was NOT chipped or broken, but her lip was split (broken skin, nothing needing stitches), and very swollen. We cleaned up for a bit, I gave her some tylenol, and then I laid her in bed, still quite upset. When I came back with a cold pack from the freezer I found her lying in the same place, but with one leg sticking straight up in the air, exposing herself to the door of the room.

"Ahm stul secksy foor yoo." she blubbered. It was adorable. I helped her apply the cold pack and things slowed down from there. It was close to 3 am now, and my rush from the adventure of running around outside naked for car sex, has been replaced with exhaustion. It's that kind of tired that makes you pray for death. But sleep defies me.

Around 3:30 am Leigh decides she still needs to get off. She's coming down from the drunk, and still has a cold pack resting on half of her face, but she is undaunted. She starts without me, but then drafts me in to assist. I was instructed to grab a tool from the chest at the end of the bed and get to work.

I followed instructions dutifully and minutes later Leigh was drifting off to sleep...carefully positioned on the right side of her face.

We were off to a bumpy (swollen? split?) start. But we were still off.

Starting a week late, like most resolutions

This blog follows the adventures of Logan and Leigh (I was going to use cool code names more along the lines of G.I. Joe, because I'm 35 and G.I. Joe was a formative experience, but I couldn't settle on a solid pair). We live together outside Albany, New York, going on two years in our committed relationship.

Our sex life wasn't flagging, but it was zig zagging. One of us would crash after a long day, while the other was ready for some late night fun. After a couple of missed opportunities and a little frustration, we decided to make a Sexual Resolution for 2012: Saturday Night is Sex Date Night. We'll alternate responsibility for coming up with an idea, but each of us will plan on a special sexual event every weekend.

That's not to say we're not still having sex whenever we want. But Saturdays are special.

So far, we've stuck to our resolution...but it's only the 8th.

Today was the day I decided to start a blog about it. It should be fun for me to recap. And so far the results have included some unintentional humor, fat lips, and product testing, so it should be fun for readers as well.

Be warned, explicit content will follow.