(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're re-running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Stories. Feel free to hang out awhile and look around.)
In Greek mythology, Hera and Zeus were arguing over which gender got the most pleasure from sex. Zeus said it was the women and Hera claimed it was the man. Tiresias, who had spent time as both a man and women, sided with Zeus. (For this, Hera struck him blind, adding further complications to already becoming overly eventful life.)
What I take from this is that the Gods are kind of jerky but have interesting conversations. There's also the takeaway idea of experiencing sex from the perception of the other gender. Wouldn't it be interesting to have the body of the opposite sex for an hour or so? You could sort of ravish yourself and see what everything felt like.
That's why I like the following piece. It puts me into the mind and body of a man, without the muss and fuss of expensive surgery or intervention by angry gods. But I'll stop yammering and get to An Anonymous Husband's take on the hand job:
The hand job doesn’t get much press, especially when compared to its more popular and storied cousin, the blowjob. Oh, I imagine the subject is still big in high school, where a quick gf/bf handy in the backseat of the car or on the family room couch is as close to sex as a lot of kids get. But married folks who have long since moved on to the main event tend not to think too much about the humble wife-wank, and I think that’s a shame. Because hand jobs, when done right, are awesome.
My wife enjoys sex more than any other woman I’ve slept with, but her overall libido, at least as far as quantity goes, is far lower than mine. I’m in the same boat with millions of married men: I’m an every-night guy who happens to be madly in love with a once-a-week girl.
Unfortunately, I don’t do particularly well with “not getting any.” Without sex, I get cranky, irritable, and mildly depressed. The change is subtle- I don’t turn into a raging asshole overnight- but it’s there. It’s as if there’s a reservoir of happiness and contentment that, for better or for worse, can only be refilled with orgasms. Since one orgasm a week isn’t going to come close to meeting my wants and needs, I’m more than happy to go it solo when time and circumstances allow. But finding such