by Kathleen Bradean
I don't think there's that much outside my comfort zone, but things I just don't "get" are numerous.
Balloon fetishes. To me, balloons are things that suddenly make a loud noise. Or worse, they're wielded by budget clowns at parties where feral packs of screeching kids are hopped up on sugar and lack of parental supervision. Even the sound of balloons being rubbed together hits a raw nerve. So the idea of sitting on a balloon to make it pop for sexual pleasure is just... no. Or climbing into a big balloon. Having one inserted into me has all the charm of a medical exam, complete with the latex stench.
(For the record, I don't have a clown phobia. I just think they're one of those 'symbols' of fun that long ago ceased being fun for anyone. But I recognize that some people find them creepy. Most people do. Which makes me wonder why anyone hires a clown for a children's party. They must be subtly indoctrinating kids with the idea that everything that should be fun is tinged with scaryassed crap so you should never relax and enjoy yourself - never, ever, ever in your entire life - because you have to always keep an eye out for random clowns. That's all I can figure.)
Tickling. When I was really young, one of my cousins used to hold me down and tickle me until I cried so hard I couldn't breathe or I wet my pants. Some people sexualized those childhood memories of being rendered helpless by laughter and actually seek out tickle torture. I've written peripherally about it, but really can't go there because my experience was abuse, and there's nothing sexy about that.
Food in sex scenes. Maybe it's a sign of age, but when people grab out the chocolate sauce and whipped cream in a story, all I can think of is the clean up afterwards. And the person I assume will be left with the mess is the woman. How can I get into a sex scene when I'm thinking, "She should start pre-treating those sheets now before that sets," or "what would really make this story for me is if the guy let her enjoy the afterglow while he puts all that stuff back in the fridge." Hah! As if! Erotica might be fantasy sex, but it still has to be believable.
Feet. Oh, hold on. Feet. Yeah. I've never looked at a foot and thought, "Oh, baby!" But I remember years ago following a six mile walk when I grabbed some lotion and rubbed R's feet for a while. He melted. He even snoozed for a bit. When he woke up, he said, "You have to try this," and rubbed my feet. Heaven! It's not part of our regular repertoire, but occasionally we'll treat each other to foot rubs and it feels really good. Sexy though? Not to me, but I took that idea and ran with it in one of my unpublished (unpublishable) stories.
... "I'm sorry. I'm just too tired."
I let his semi-hard cock slide out of my mouth and grinned at him. "That's my line, Greg."
He chuckled, but I could sense the frustration as he caressed my hair. Three weeks away from each other and I was ready to show him that this momma was ready to take advantage of her empty nest. Sex in the afternoon. We hadn't done that since we dated. But my timing was off.
His flights had been delayed, and then cancelled, so finally they put him on a crowded flight with screaming kids and no leg room. By the time I picked him up at the airport, he was one tired guy. I figured a quickie then I'd let him sleep. He was all for it, but the frustrations of the day still had him in their grip and wouldn't shake loose no matter what I did. Even a pinky up his ass only got him semi-hard.
I'd been thinking about this since the night before though. Planned the whole seduction out - if a wife needed to seduce her husband. The whole ride to the airport, my clit had been tingling with anticipation. By the time we got home, it was swollen and juicy as if he'd spent an hour teasing me with his tongue. It was throbbing now, and my pussy was in need of something hard to clutch.
"Hon, I appreciate..."
I didn't want to hear it. I encircled the base of his cock with my fingers and bobbed over his failing erection. When my neck got stiff from all that work, I pushed with my knees until my clit rocked against something hard. At first I thought it was his shin or ankle, but he'd bent his knee so I was over his foot.
Greg moaned. "What the hell are you doing?"
His cock stiffened up real quick.
"Like that?" I asked.
He moaned. And in a moment of 'what the hell, I'm over fifty and can do what I damn well want to' insanity, I, well...
I fucked his big toe. No. Really. I fucked it.
I pushed down on it and as I rocked back and forth sucking his cock, I rode the fat, hard digit. My pussy gripped its rough edges and I knew that I'd be sore, oh so sore, later, but for now, my juices were anointing his foot. I slipped a hand between my legs to pinch my clit into a peak of pleasure. He lasted about two seconds before he spurted all over my face and hair.
He sat up. "Oh god. I'm so sorry."
Playfully, I shoved him onto back and wiped the long drip of his come off my cheek. "But, baby, that's what I was trying to make you do."
"That was really weird," he said, but he had that look of wonder and awe on his face that I hadn't seen after sex since the first year we were together.
So now you know. Feet, maybe. Food, meh. Tickling, never. The rest - if I can find a way to make it sexy, I will. Just don't slip a balloon under me if I'm trying to settle into my comfy chair, or I'll send the clowns after you.