Nothing dulls like routine, and nowhere is that truth more felt than in the bedroom. Our existence turns in cycles. Sex indicates the life we need to lead, and then life, for a while, indicates the sex we need to have. Our separate selves teach one another about who we’re meant to be.

Sometimes, too, circumstances create the cycles. For a few months now I’ve been mostly working in a European capital, and Mrs. X has been a flight away. We have been in a work cycle, rather than a fuck cycle, a fact she has expressed by e-mail to the mysterious Mr. X. Like old lovers, they exchange occasional messages, and they’ve been slowly playing through an evolving dare that I’ll report soon enough, but for a while, at least, their rhythm has slowed. Fortunately there are airplanes (which she’s made forever sexy to me), and fortunately, after some initial romantic sex when she comes to visit, we’re inclined to dare even more together with the time we’ve got. She’s even been using my address (the mail’s more reliable here than back at home) to upgrade her Chinese balls to jiggle balls and anal beads. The neighbors must hear the screams and look at me suspiciously in the elevator. Continue reading »