porn, the bookish kind

Last night, as one door closed, another door opened. My J came by to watch the light show from my couch (aka, the sunset) and get cozy, have a cocktail, soak in the tubby. Her skin makes me tingle. Her smile is my pleasure. She wasn't smiling enough. I want to make her heart light. Nothing came through, not even the orgasm in the tubby. I gave up and turned to the porn.

I have about 12 books. Victorian porn collected from old Victorian magazines and serials. Cheap, anonymously written porn (two of my favorites are in this category and both involve non-consexual sex), gay male porn, lesbian fluffer, and modern memoir porn along the lines of O but on different topics including pony play.

Things were so bad, that when I started reading the fluffer to her, she fell asleep. I gave up. I took my porn to bed and asked her if she would like to join me and proceeded. I found it was difficult, for the first time in years to actually get off while reading my favorite passages. I had to get out my dildo and fuck myself concentrating on the scene of Jenny getting whipped by her master's head mistress, Sadia, and then fucked by their master, the Lord of Kordofan, and then forced to pleasure Sadia as well. These passages used to be enough to make a wet spot on the sheets between my legs. I always preferred the book of porn to the video but I wonder if everything I've seen and done has jaded me just a little. Perhaps I was just expecting a similar response that MSR had given when I read these passages aloud to her.

I wanted J to touch me, kiss me, fondle me, squeeze my nipples, tug at them, fuck my wet hole.

Eventually, I did cum and the orgasm was very intense. So much so, that I almost wanted to go again like you would want to go the second time on a roller coaster. I suppose the power of the imagination still holds court if you launch it.