Soundtrack Life

Posted by Library Vixen on Saturday, April 25, 2009 · 1 Comment

I went on with my day like any other, procrastinating online, looking at the beautiful plastic women sucking hard throbbing cock for way too long, wrote, studied minutely (very minutely), went to work. This day, this damn day, April Fools day, it means something to me, then it hit me– it was my wedding day. We were fools in love. I only recalled this because of the song playing through my ear buds-as I shelved,zoned out into my little bubble world of the library-reminded me of him. It was not in that nostalgic way, it was not a song we shared, but a newer song, that just left me with a feeling of reminiscence about the past.

Music has incredible power, magical, like a photograph. It evokes memory, capturing our history, pains, loves, fucks, friends, those people in and out of our worlds as quickly as they came in, you know– just life the simple and complicated, music is ingrained. There is certain music I cannot even listen to anymore without the tears flowing, reminding me of the tormented (sometimes self induced) past.

Back to my ex-husband. We lived through much pain and do not communicate to this day. At the time of our split it was Jeff Buckley that did it to me. In our gray cold San Francisco winter I would drive to the ocean, staring at the power of the waves, confused and angry, I would sit there for hours listen to his haunting refrains and cry cry cry. He and I had a long history so the soundtrack to our lives is also long. We lived, we fucked, we lived and fucked to a lot of good and bad music. When we got married we made a wedding album, the highlight of which, had to be Fuck like a Beast by W.A.S.P. (his pick). I should have known then it would never last. There were also sweet songs on the list, the Beatles When I’m Sixty-four, Elvis Costello A Good Year for the Roses and Indoor Fireworks, and my favorite, John Doe singing Falling at the Speed of Love. Looking back, I could say that many of the songs predicted the loss and failure of our marriage.

Some of the best sex we had was to film soundtracks. It was like we could reenact, or create our own film through sex. Our favorites were, Headwig and the Angry Inch (has sad songs I can no longer listen to), Down by Law (strange sexy John Lurie stuff) and a classic we used from the time we met, The Rocky Horror Picture Show (on vinyl). The latter was my favorite, because I got to wear a costume, sing, dance and strip. Where I grew up there was nothing much for teenagers to do (besides getting beat up by jocks), but go to the midnight weekend showing of Rocky Horror, so I had all the attire to pull off a fun, weird, corset, fishnet, feather boa, feathered hat, glittered tight fitting, raunchy sex wearing–fuck romp.

We started out by performing the movie, dancing; I would give him a bump and grind lap dance, a mix of burlesque and high school memories. I would tease with the boa, flash one tit then other, shimmy them both directly in his face. I would grind my bare ass on to his dick feeling how hard he was getting. My favorite bump and grind was to the song I Can Make you a Man. I would do a full on performance for my husband, strut, flirt, touch, teases, stroke, yank his head back– forcing my pussy on to his lips, grind and press my tits on every part of his body. Lowering myself in a thigh spread squat, stripper style, between his legs, I would take that cock– that cock that used to mine, by law—tease it with my tongue, lap at the tip in beat, run my boa along the shaft, before finally sinking my mouth around him. He was the kind of man who liked to watch–while I performed on his cock, watch my mouth unhinge to take all of him in. I would fuck him like this for the duration of a song, maybe more, feeling his cock grow even harder, with the knowledge that soon he will be fucking me properly with it, so the harder the better.

When the song Touch a Touch a Touch Me came on, we would watch each other. Me watching him stroke his big husband cock, while I gingerly slide fingers into my slick wife pussy. It was love; dirty, hot and messy. When we flipped the album it was time for the real fun. The fucking! My husband loved to bury his whole head inside me, licking me from front to back. Fucking every hole with his tongue, he was such a good ass licker. He would have me bend over the kitchen chair, my ass pointed out, rubbing his hands up my stockings, his fingers plunging into my cunt then back to my ass where he would spread my ass cheeks apart, gripping my flesh inhis large hands then plunge his head in, fucking my tightest space with his tongue, me grinding back in response, as Rose Tint my World played in my background.

All this, grinding, bouncing, cock sucking, and pussy licking was a prelude to our summation of love, husband and wife fucking. God did we fuck; still bent over the chair he would enter me slowly so I could feel every inch of him spreading my pussy apart. Once his dick was all the way in, he would grasp on to my shoulders and pull me hard back onto his cock, as if to meld our bodies, pulling me into him as far as possible. This pace, his strength his hand pulling on my shoulders and breasts would make cum, would make me soak and catch fire around his dick. Always, if that first plunge was slow and steady, I would cum. Of course after my soak, he would begin to slam into me, my ass slapping against his body with each thrust. We would fuck all over, in every possible position, until both of us would fall in a collapsed heap of feathers, glitter, and cum.

Marriage was so simple until it got complicated. Fucking came easy, we played, laughed, and lived without judgments, poor artist who would rather drink than eat, he was the “gin in my vermouth”; our early life in San Francisco was art school romantic, just as we had anticipated. Through it all music was/is an essential part; in my mind I have the eternal play-list running, the soundtrack to my life.

John and Vixen Get Hitched: Disc One