Cage – This is a neat fantasy, providing that I’m not just stuck in a cage and left alone *grin I don’t think that’d do much for me. I know people who enjoy the headspace of that, but it’s not something I’d be that interested.
Cat O' Nine Tails – These can be fun if you’re into pain. I have one or two of these in my very overstocked toybag, I’ve played with them in conjunction other toys like whips and floggers, but outside of a real S&M scene, I’m not sure there would be much use for them.
Cattle Prod Play – watched it, not interested.
CBT – Not interested in this either. See my previous answers about fun things to do with a cock. Hurting it is not included in my list.
Cells/Closet-confined – Same as cages.
Chauffeuring – I’m not really interested in this, unless it’s for a specific reason or scene. I can see it being a hot roleplay thing but that’s about it.
Chains – I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a set of custom made chains, made for me by a friend who is a welder (I also have a welded chain spreader bar). I’ve never had them on. I’m not even sure I still have the key. They’re nice, but they’re impractical unless you’re playing at home (heavy…very heavy) and I just don’t know that I’d ever use them. Other than that, I think chain bondage loots very sexy. But metal is cold *grin
Chastity Belts – No. Please, no.
Chemical Play-peppermint oil, tiger balm, rubbing alcohol etc. – A strong mint before oral sex is fun *grin
Chosen Food For || Chosen Clothing For – as a scene or even a weekend? Yes. Every day? No. I’m not the kind of person who likes to be micromanaged 24/7.
Clothespins – This is basically the same as clamps. They can be fun, but they can also be intense.
Cockrings/cockstraps - Cockrings are fun when you’re trying to keep an erection for an extended period of time. As far as using them for anything else, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that – again with the pain not belonging in that area of a man I’m fucking….
Cock worship – This is fun …*grin
Cold Room – one of the worst kinds of torture for me. I hate being cold, and I find nothing sexy about this at all
Collars-scene I love having things around my neck. Chokers, tight necklaces and yes, collars. There is, of course, some significance to it as far as D/s is concerned. They are not just a fashion accessory. But I can’t help it if I actually like how that feels, can I? *grin
Collars- 24 hours- a leather or chain one? No. Something else with the same significance? Maybe.
Corsets-wearing – I absolutely positively love corsets. I have one real one, and a couple more that are just ‘lingerie’. I intend to have a new one made when my weight loss is complete. Not only are they sexy as hell, but it’s a secure, constricting feeling, much like the collar around a neck.
Cross Dressing – Not interested.
Cuffs-leather || Cuffs-metal – Yum. Every time you seer bondage on my list, you’re going to see me say Yum and I don’t know what more I can say that I haven’t already said *grin
Cunt Torture – Well, there’s pain and then there’s torture and I’m not much of a torture girl. Pain along with sex though….that’s fun sometimes.
Cupping - I had a friend in California who had a cupping set, and I experienced it once. Frankly it didn’t do anything for me. I know people who love it, but for me it’s one of those meh things.
Cutting-temporary || Cutting- Permanent- i.e. ash rubbing - Firstly, how is cutting temporary? Almost any cut can scar. Secondly, this falls into the branding category for me.
Cowboys/Cowgirls – I’ve admitted to a boot fetish. And a hat fetish. And I like jeans on men. Draw your own conclusions…….
I’m find a lot of duplicate topics in this list and am deleting them as I go, so if you are familiar with this list or not, you’re not missing anything. I don’t seem to have as much to say about these as I do the sex ones, but that’s likely because I’ve discussed most of these topics in this blog at one time or another.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Sunday Night Ramble
I think I mentioned recently that I have my laptop set up in my living room on the wireless and that I’m doing the majority of my blogging from the comfort of my recliner. I love being able to do this. It’s so comfortable in here. I used to hate this chair, because I bought it for C. It’s not my taste as far as furniture and it’s certainly not my color (it’s light blue). But it’s comfortable to write in, so for now it’s safe.
Well, until I get this round chair that I saw while I was on the East Coast and fell in love with ( and have had more than one sexual fantasy about …. But that’s another story entirely. It’s sort of like this but not this big.) the recliner will have to do.
Anyway.
I have the laptop set up on a TV table next to recliner and it sits there until I need it (like now) and I stretch out. That’s my favorite part, I think. The stretching out.
I mentioned earlier that I’m at least partially double jointed. I like to find new ways that my body bends into different positions. So I’m lying here tonight, after putting up my last post, all comfortable and proud of myself, and I realized how I was laying in the chair.
The heel of my right foot was right up against the inside of my thigh. It could not have gotten any closer to the top – you know what that means without me having to say it, right? You want me to say it, don’t you? But I’m a tease, and I’m not going to *grin
While it’s true I’ve discovered a few new ways I can bend my body around since I’ve shed some weight, it’s always interesting to find a new one *grin It reminds me, mostly, of how far I have come. And on those days that I wake up unhappy with my body, those kinds of things are more than enough to pull me out of it.
Here’s to hoping I never run out of them.
Well, until I get this round chair that I saw while I was on the East Coast and fell in love with ( and have had more than one sexual fantasy about …. But that’s another story entirely. It’s sort of like this but not this big.) the recliner will have to do.
Anyway.
I have the laptop set up on a TV table next to recliner and it sits there until I need it (like now) and I stretch out. That’s my favorite part, I think. The stretching out.
I mentioned earlier that I’m at least partially double jointed. I like to find new ways that my body bends into different positions. So I’m lying here tonight, after putting up my last post, all comfortable and proud of myself, and I realized how I was laying in the chair.
The heel of my right foot was right up against the inside of my thigh. It could not have gotten any closer to the top – you know what that means without me having to say it, right? You want me to say it, don’t you? But I’m a tease, and I’m not going to *grin
While it’s true I’ve discovered a few new ways I can bend my body around since I’ve shed some weight, it’s always interesting to find a new one *grin It reminds me, mostly, of how far I have come. And on those days that I wake up unhappy with my body, those kinds of things are more than enough to pull me out of it.
Here’s to hoping I never run out of them.
Senses
The culmination of a wonderful sexual experience - the physical culmination - has such power. While the male orgasm produces much more of a tangible outcome so to speak … the female orgasm is no less powerful
Both male and female orgasms are multi-dimensional experiences, as far as the senses are concerned, whether you explore them all each time or not.
I mentioned recently that I love the smell of sex. If I can smell sex on my skin after leaving someone I’ve just been with, just that alone will keep the experience alive for me for a long time afterward. I’ve been known to stay wet for hours just from smelling a lover’s scent on my skin. That’s a very cool thing. I’m happy that I have that.
Seeing the face of someone who’s orgasming inside of you – seeing their eyes, their mouths open – such an aphrodisiac. Watching yourself get fucked in a mirror? Watching your lover cum on you, their orgasm spilling out across your skin? There’s so much to see during your time engaged with someone sexually – such a shame to waste that in the dark, don’t you think?
That orgasm that’s spilling out on you? Or on your cock or fingers if you’re a man? The feel of the skin changing, the wetness, the stickyness and softness, the viscosity of the fluid. The feel of teeth and nails against skin are hard – the feel of tongues and lips are soft. Sexuality is first and foremost about the sense of touch, isn’t it? The feel of your shirt as your lover slides it off? Their hair on your skin? Their breath against your cheek as they lean down to say something wicked?
And what about that something wicked? Words, for many of us, activate parts of our brain that would remain quiet without them during a good sound fucking. And the other noises, too. The whimpering, moaning, screaming, begging. The skin slapping against wet skin, sweat-soaked or otherwise. The clothes rustling. Things being knocked off nightstands in the heat of the moment. The occasional laughter. Sex is incredibly auditory, or at least it can be.
And then there is taste. *laugh What can we say about taste? The taste of cum, the taste of sweat, the taste of someone else’s mouth – can make you lightheaded and weak. Can make you amorous all over again. Can make you crazy with lust.
I feel bad for people who regard sex to be a one-dimensional act to simply have an orgasm and go on about life. There is so much breadth and depth to the simple act of fucking that people miss because they’re too concerned about time, about their hair getting messed up, and what other people would say. Foreplay, during play and after-play (which lives in your head for as long as you let it) are so much more important than having to brush out tangles or missing a TV show.
Let your five senses loose. Taste, feel, see, smell and hear the sex you’re having.
Yes, even if you’re just having it with yourself.
Just say yes.
Both male and female orgasms are multi-dimensional experiences, as far as the senses are concerned, whether you explore them all each time or not.
I mentioned recently that I love the smell of sex. If I can smell sex on my skin after leaving someone I’ve just been with, just that alone will keep the experience alive for me for a long time afterward. I’ve been known to stay wet for hours just from smelling a lover’s scent on my skin. That’s a very cool thing. I’m happy that I have that.
Seeing the face of someone who’s orgasming inside of you – seeing their eyes, their mouths open – such an aphrodisiac. Watching yourself get fucked in a mirror? Watching your lover cum on you, their orgasm spilling out across your skin? There’s so much to see during your time engaged with someone sexually – such a shame to waste that in the dark, don’t you think?
That orgasm that’s spilling out on you? Or on your cock or fingers if you’re a man? The feel of the skin changing, the wetness, the stickyness and softness, the viscosity of the fluid. The feel of teeth and nails against skin are hard – the feel of tongues and lips are soft. Sexuality is first and foremost about the sense of touch, isn’t it? The feel of your shirt as your lover slides it off? Their hair on your skin? Their breath against your cheek as they lean down to say something wicked?
And what about that something wicked? Words, for many of us, activate parts of our brain that would remain quiet without them during a good sound fucking. And the other noises, too. The whimpering, moaning, screaming, begging. The skin slapping against wet skin, sweat-soaked or otherwise. The clothes rustling. Things being knocked off nightstands in the heat of the moment. The occasional laughter. Sex is incredibly auditory, or at least it can be.
And then there is taste. *laugh What can we say about taste? The taste of cum, the taste of sweat, the taste of someone else’s mouth – can make you lightheaded and weak. Can make you amorous all over again. Can make you crazy with lust.
I feel bad for people who regard sex to be a one-dimensional act to simply have an orgasm and go on about life. There is so much breadth and depth to the simple act of fucking that people miss because they’re too concerned about time, about their hair getting messed up, and what other people would say. Foreplay, during play and after-play (which lives in your head for as long as you let it) are so much more important than having to brush out tangles or missing a TV show.
Let your five senses loose. Taste, feel, see, smell and hear the sex you’re having.
Yes, even if you’re just having it with yourself.
Just say yes.
The BDSM ABC's -- B's
I thought it'd be fun to break these out by letter. That gives me a good stopping and starting place *grin
Ball Stretching - male genital torture is not my idea of having a good time with that general region of the male sex :p
Bastinado – I’ll admit I had to look this up. I’ll save you the trouble. It’s foot torture. And no. I don’t even like going to have a pedicure. I don’t like anyone messing with my feet.
Bathroom use control – if we’re just talking about control over when it’s okay to go, I can see this as a short term thing. Long term, I don’t think I want that kind of micromanagement in my life.
Bestiality – see animals. No.
Beating soft || Beating hard – Depends, but as a general rule, yes. Spanking, flogging, paddling something – depending on the person wielding the weapon of red-ass-giving, I may enjoy this very much. I’ve had beatings I loved, and beatings I hated. As with most anything with me, intent is the deciding factor. If this is an experience for us to share, I can go about any distance. If it’s about showing off, making someone else jealous, something nefarious like that – then no, I’m not going to enjoy it. I’m not in it for pain. Period.
Being Bitten – Yes, please.
Being Blindfolded - Yes, please. This used to actually bother me, but not for typical reasons. I hated being the center of attention. I hated being at someone else’s mercy. Neither of those things bother me in that way anymore. Now, it’s about trusting someone and using the lack of sight as a way to heighten the other senses. Yum.
Being Gagged – This is something I’ve changed my mind on a couple of times over the years. Having a big part of my sexual identity wrapped up in NOT being quiet (ffs, Screamer…hello….) makes me want to immediately say no to this. But maybe I’d be willing to give this a try, depending on the situation. Although, ball gags are out, just because I find them ugly and as unsexy as you can get.
Being serviced-sex – A year ago I might have said yuck, but the fact is, I’ve gotten to play with being ‘in charge’ in bed a couple of times and I have to admit that when it comes to sex, that can be fun. Especially if the other person is into it, and is so obviously willing to be pleasing *grin It’s one example of switching that I think I can firmly stand behind
Biting - well, since being bitten was already on the list, I’m going to have to assume that this means biting someone else. And yes. Whimpering, moaning, carrying on is one way of releasing energy during sex. Scratching and biting are another. I enjoy all of them. Honestly I don’t think I bite all that often. Maybe because I’m rarely in a position to, unless I’m ‘in charge’ *grin.
Blood Play – There was a time when I wanted to bleed. I think that time has passed. I’ve found better ways to release than that. I think, in a committed relationship, if it was important to my partner, I’d be willing to openly discuss it, but it’s not something I’d activity seek.
Breast Bondage – I had my breasts bound once, during an experimental phase that M was having with everything in the book “Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns.” We bought the book in San Francisco and went through it together when he was exploring his ‘kinks’. I can take this or leave it. It’s not giving me any of the rush I get from being bound – meaning that I lose control – it’s mostly an ornamental thing. I think it can be pretty, if you’re going for pretty. And I have seen in done in conjunction with other forms of bondage – like a rope harness. And I’ve seen it done in conjunction with a hog-tie (which I love). On it’s own, though? I can take it or leave it.
Branding – No. I watched a branding once, at an event in San Jose. It’s not that I have anything against it, but that kind of pain isn’t for me, and I can think of a few more interesting ways to be marked *grin
Boot Worship – I love boots. There’s no question about that. I love them on me. I love them on men. And I love them on other women. But outside of a very serious dominant-submissive ‘scene’, I can’t see myself ‘worshiping’ them.
Bondage-Light || Bondage-heavy – Yes, please. I think I’ve written pretty extensively about this recently, so I’ll just leave it at that.
Breast Clamping - I used to love clamps. I might yet again. But the last time I tried them, the pain was pretty intense. My nipples can take a lot – biting, etc – but the set of clamps I have with me were the nasty ones. Maybe next time I’ll get the prettier ones out and try them again *grin. I do like to have my nipples hurt. I can’t explain why, nor do I care enough to put any great deal of thought into it. It’s just one of those things, you know? One of those things that make me absolutely crazy, especially in foreplay and during sex. It is what it is. And it’s something that I absolutely love.
Breast Whipping – I have a little bit of experience with this, and more than a little bit of interest in it. Much like with my nipples, my breasts are sensitive to hot, cold and pain, and I enjoy that stimulation. Hard or soft.
Brown Showers - No.
Butt Plugs – I actually own two. One small one, one large one. I’ve used the small one on several occasions, and even wore it out to dinner once (hint: make sure it’s lubed overly well before you do this, it wears off fast and becomes more of a distraction in an uncomfortable way than a distraction in a good way – but maybe your goal is uncomfortable so…. yea) I don’t think I’ve ever had the large one all the way in my ass. I’ve played with it a bit, but it’s never been fully inserted. Maybe I’ll have to try that sometime *grin
And that’s the B’s!
Ball Stretching - male genital torture is not my idea of having a good time with that general region of the male sex :p
Bastinado – I’ll admit I had to look this up. I’ll save you the trouble. It’s foot torture. And no. I don’t even like going to have a pedicure. I don’t like anyone messing with my feet.
Bathroom use control – if we’re just talking about control over when it’s okay to go, I can see this as a short term thing. Long term, I don’t think I want that kind of micromanagement in my life.
Bestiality – see animals. No.
Beating soft || Beating hard – Depends, but as a general rule, yes. Spanking, flogging, paddling something – depending on the person wielding the weapon of red-ass-giving, I may enjoy this very much. I’ve had beatings I loved, and beatings I hated. As with most anything with me, intent is the deciding factor. If this is an experience for us to share, I can go about any distance. If it’s about showing off, making someone else jealous, something nefarious like that – then no, I’m not going to enjoy it. I’m not in it for pain. Period.
Being Bitten – Yes, please.
Being Blindfolded - Yes, please. This used to actually bother me, but not for typical reasons. I hated being the center of attention. I hated being at someone else’s mercy. Neither of those things bother me in that way anymore. Now, it’s about trusting someone and using the lack of sight as a way to heighten the other senses. Yum.
Being Gagged – This is something I’ve changed my mind on a couple of times over the years. Having a big part of my sexual identity wrapped up in NOT being quiet (ffs, Screamer…hello….) makes me want to immediately say no to this. But maybe I’d be willing to give this a try, depending on the situation. Although, ball gags are out, just because I find them ugly and as unsexy as you can get.
Being serviced-sex – A year ago I might have said yuck, but the fact is, I’ve gotten to play with being ‘in charge’ in bed a couple of times and I have to admit that when it comes to sex, that can be fun. Especially if the other person is into it, and is so obviously willing to be pleasing *grin It’s one example of switching that I think I can firmly stand behind
Biting - well, since being bitten was already on the list, I’m going to have to assume that this means biting someone else. And yes. Whimpering, moaning, carrying on is one way of releasing energy during sex. Scratching and biting are another. I enjoy all of them. Honestly I don’t think I bite all that often. Maybe because I’m rarely in a position to, unless I’m ‘in charge’ *grin.
Blood Play – There was a time when I wanted to bleed. I think that time has passed. I’ve found better ways to release than that. I think, in a committed relationship, if it was important to my partner, I’d be willing to openly discuss it, but it’s not something I’d activity seek.
Breast Bondage – I had my breasts bound once, during an experimental phase that M was having with everything in the book “Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns.” We bought the book in San Francisco and went through it together when he was exploring his ‘kinks’. I can take this or leave it. It’s not giving me any of the rush I get from being bound – meaning that I lose control – it’s mostly an ornamental thing. I think it can be pretty, if you’re going for pretty. And I have seen in done in conjunction with other forms of bondage – like a rope harness. And I’ve seen it done in conjunction with a hog-tie (which I love). On it’s own, though? I can take it or leave it.
Branding – No. I watched a branding once, at an event in San Jose. It’s not that I have anything against it, but that kind of pain isn’t for me, and I can think of a few more interesting ways to be marked *grin
Boot Worship – I love boots. There’s no question about that. I love them on me. I love them on men. And I love them on other women. But outside of a very serious dominant-submissive ‘scene’, I can’t see myself ‘worshiping’ them.
Bondage-Light || Bondage-heavy – Yes, please. I think I’ve written pretty extensively about this recently, so I’ll just leave it at that.
Breast Clamping - I used to love clamps. I might yet again. But the last time I tried them, the pain was pretty intense. My nipples can take a lot – biting, etc – but the set of clamps I have with me were the nasty ones. Maybe next time I’ll get the prettier ones out and try them again *grin. I do like to have my nipples hurt. I can’t explain why, nor do I care enough to put any great deal of thought into it. It’s just one of those things, you know? One of those things that make me absolutely crazy, especially in foreplay and during sex. It is what it is. And it’s something that I absolutely love.
Breast Whipping – I have a little bit of experience with this, and more than a little bit of interest in it. Much like with my nipples, my breasts are sensitive to hot, cold and pain, and I enjoy that stimulation. Hard or soft.
Brown Showers - No.
Butt Plugs – I actually own two. One small one, one large one. I’ve used the small one on several occasions, and even wore it out to dinner once (hint: make sure it’s lubed overly well before you do this, it wears off fast and becomes more of a distraction in an uncomfortable way than a distraction in a good way – but maybe your goal is uncomfortable so…. yea) I don’t think I’ve ever had the large one all the way in my ass. I’ve played with it a bit, but it’s never been fully inserted. Maybe I’ll have to try that sometime *grin
And that’s the B’s!
Friday, April 25, 2008
A new set questions for a new week!
So, I did this entire sex questionnaire a couple weeks ago. Tonight, I got a link to an ‘old’ bdsm checklist from a list I’m on and it’s way more extensive than any other one I’ve seen before. And since my topic list is getting shorter, I thought maybe I’d maybe throw some answers into some topics and see where my mind wanders off to. I like these things. They’re fun. And they let me think about things I might not have thought about before. It’s also a good way to log answers to them so I can refer to them later on.
So I’ll start on that.
But before that, I ordered my new glasses Wednesday, and I love them. They are the antithesis of what I wear now and I’m very excited about them.
I’m pretty happy with both of those changes. Because I finally got C to at least start the divorce proceedings and I want to accompany that milestone with some updates for myself.
So since I’m feeling so good, I’m going to pick out the first couple off this list and run through them before I go get busy doing something else.
Abrasion - abrasion to me are things like sandpaper, fingernail files, fingernails themselves. I don’t have much experience with anything but the fingernails. And fingernails, scratched over the top of a freshly spanked or flogged ass – rawr. Fingernails, like biting, during sex are one of those things that will amp up an otherwise normal sexual experience. I’ve said many times that pain accompanying sex is one of those things that will ramp up an oncoming orgasm for me. So, yes. *grin
Age Play - I’ve written about this many times, from many different approaches, with many different attitudes. I think a little teenage slut or teenage angel is fun, but any younger than that doesn’t appeal to me.
Animals/Insects/Reptiles - Not so much. As a matter of fact, not at all.
Animal Roles – No interest. I know people who enjoy it, and more power to them, but it’s just not my thing
Anal Sex-cock || Anal Sex-dildo/butt plug || Anal Sex-fingers/fist - I wrote about anal sex with the other questionnaire, all except the fist part. I’m going to have to say not so much to that, too. While I enjoy anal play and I don’t shy away from size (anymore), I don’t think that’s something I’d be interested in playing with. Butt plugs? Sure. Dildos? Sure. Cock? Definitely. Fingers? Sure. One? Two? Maybe even three? Yes. But not a fist. Fisting, to me, is more of a mental thing, and the last thing I want at the point when I’m in the throes of enjoying anal, is to have to stop and think about it. I want to just enjoy it. It’d be something I’d be willing to consider in a bdsm relationship, but not for casual play.
Arm & Leg sleeves – I’m not sure what the point of leg sleeves are, unless it’s strictly a bondage-without-sex-or-play situation. But arm sleeves hold some appeal for me. I wrote the other night about having my arms tied behind me; this is kind that squared.
Aromas – I’m not sure what the intended meaning of this is, but there are certain aromas that I find sexy. The Scent of Men is one of them *grin. I love how men smell, period. I also find a darker vanilla scent sexy. I guess I’ve never heard of scents being used in a bdsm sense, so that’s all I got. *laugh
Asphyxiation – as with anything else, there are degrees of this. Do I like a hand across the front of my throat during sex play? Yes. With a little pressure? Yes. Do I want someone to wrap their hands around my throat and knock me out? No. For me it’s not about the breath play, it’s about fear. There was a time when C and I first got back together that we had some pretty frank discussions about new stuff we’d like to try. On my list were the hand-on-throat thing as well as light face slapping. One afternoon, as he passed me in the hallway of his apartment, he reached out, grabbed my arm, lightly tapped my cheek with his hand and then put it around my throat and kissed me very hard. Yes, my knees almost gave out. Shame that’s the only time he ever did either of those things. Maybe we’d have had more fun if he’d been willing to step out of his little box.
Auctioned for Charity – I’ll be honest. I laughed the first time I read this. I gave it a little serious thought, because I try very hard not to laugh things off that other people take seriously. I think if the cause were good enough, I’d auction off a couple hours of my time, or an evening – with some guidelines of course. In a bdsm sense, I’d have no problem doing so, but as far as sex? Not unless it was a roleplay situation. For real, no, I can’t see myself consenting to that. It’s kind of a hot fantasy though, huh? *grin
And that’s the A’s.
Happy Friday Night!
So I’ll start on that.
But before that, I ordered my new glasses Wednesday, and I love them. They are the antithesis of what I wear now and I’m very excited about them.
I’m pretty happy with both of those changes. Because I finally got C to at least start the divorce proceedings and I want to accompany that milestone with some updates for myself.
So since I’m feeling so good, I’m going to pick out the first couple off this list and run through them before I go get busy doing something else.
Abrasion - abrasion to me are things like sandpaper, fingernail files, fingernails themselves. I don’t have much experience with anything but the fingernails. And fingernails, scratched over the top of a freshly spanked or flogged ass – rawr. Fingernails, like biting, during sex are one of those things that will amp up an otherwise normal sexual experience. I’ve said many times that pain accompanying sex is one of those things that will ramp up an oncoming orgasm for me. So, yes. *grin
Age Play - I’ve written about this many times, from many different approaches, with many different attitudes. I think a little teenage slut or teenage angel is fun, but any younger than that doesn’t appeal to me.
Animals/Insects/Reptiles - Not so much. As a matter of fact, not at all.
Animal Roles – No interest. I know people who enjoy it, and more power to them, but it’s just not my thing
Anal Sex-cock || Anal Sex-dildo/butt plug || Anal Sex-fingers/fist - I wrote about anal sex with the other questionnaire, all except the fist part. I’m going to have to say not so much to that, too. While I enjoy anal play and I don’t shy away from size (anymore), I don’t think that’s something I’d be interested in playing with. Butt plugs? Sure. Dildos? Sure. Cock? Definitely. Fingers? Sure. One? Two? Maybe even three? Yes. But not a fist. Fisting, to me, is more of a mental thing, and the last thing I want at the point when I’m in the throes of enjoying anal, is to have to stop and think about it. I want to just enjoy it. It’d be something I’d be willing to consider in a bdsm relationship, but not for casual play.
Arm & Leg sleeves – I’m not sure what the point of leg sleeves are, unless it’s strictly a bondage-without-sex-or-play situation. But arm sleeves hold some appeal for me. I wrote the other night about having my arms tied behind me; this is kind that squared.
Aromas – I’m not sure what the intended meaning of this is, but there are certain aromas that I find sexy. The Scent of Men is one of them *grin. I love how men smell, period. I also find a darker vanilla scent sexy. I guess I’ve never heard of scents being used in a bdsm sense, so that’s all I got. *laugh
Asphyxiation – as with anything else, there are degrees of this. Do I like a hand across the front of my throat during sex play? Yes. With a little pressure? Yes. Do I want someone to wrap their hands around my throat and knock me out? No. For me it’s not about the breath play, it’s about fear. There was a time when C and I first got back together that we had some pretty frank discussions about new stuff we’d like to try. On my list were the hand-on-throat thing as well as light face slapping. One afternoon, as he passed me in the hallway of his apartment, he reached out, grabbed my arm, lightly tapped my cheek with his hand and then put it around my throat and kissed me very hard. Yes, my knees almost gave out. Shame that’s the only time he ever did either of those things. Maybe we’d have had more fun if he’d been willing to step out of his little box.
Auctioned for Charity – I’ll be honest. I laughed the first time I read this. I gave it a little serious thought, because I try very hard not to laugh things off that other people take seriously. I think if the cause were good enough, I’d auction off a couple hours of my time, or an evening – with some guidelines of course. In a bdsm sense, I’d have no problem doing so, but as far as sex? Not unless it was a roleplay situation. For real, no, I can’t see myself consenting to that. It’s kind of a hot fantasy though, huh? *grin
And that’s the A’s.
Happy Friday Night!
So, yea
Who knew I had this much curl in me?
I got my hair cut today. The sides have long, soft layers that start at my chin and go all the way to the end - I took no length off the back and when my stylist found out I was doing something different, she went a little crazy *grin. I probably would not put this much curl in it, but as a shocker to something new, I gotta say I'm loving it. The cut has a lot of versatility and I can wear it straight, curly or in between. I can put as much or as little time into that I want.
And that's exactly what I wanted. It doesn't have to look the same every day. And since I don't feel the same every day, I shouldn't have to look the same every day. And frankly right now it makes me feel sexy as hell. I needed a change, and I got it. I can't wait to see it with my new glasses!
Great way to start a weekend of writing other things!
I got my hair cut today. The sides have long, soft layers that start at my chin and go all the way to the end - I took no length off the back and when my stylist found out I was doing something different, she went a little crazy *grin. I probably would not put this much curl in it, but as a shocker to something new, I gotta say I'm loving it. The cut has a lot of versatility and I can wear it straight, curly or in between. I can put as much or as little time into that I want.
And that's exactly what I wanted. It doesn't have to look the same every day. And since I don't feel the same every day, I shouldn't have to look the same every day. And frankly right now it makes me feel sexy as hell. I needed a change, and I got it. I can't wait to see it with my new glasses!
Great way to start a weekend of writing other things!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Break from all that serious...
There is something very sexy about bondage. That’s not a secret with me, right? But I saw this image awhile back and it struck me pretty hard for whatever reason. It’s a lot of rope and a lot of work and the same effect could be achieved with a lot less time and energy. It’s not that her hands are bound, or that there is rope around her body. It’s her arms that intrigues me.
When I was filling out the questionnaire, I made mention of my experiences with bondage inside a bdsm relationship. It *can be for show. It *can be a lot of work. It *can be just for discipline or pain play purposes. But it doesn’t have to be for any of those reasons. And it doesn’t have to be any of those things. Sometimes, bondage can just be – because.
Arms behind my back? Hot. It’s just a little bit more forceful than my hands. It’s just a little bit more serious. It’s just a little bit more intimidating and real. I can only remember being bound like that once, and it was at a party. It was fun, because the binder was a good friend of mine but it didn’t go much further than that, and that’s always disappointed me a little.
Maybe that’s why hog-tie pictures, like this one, always intrigue me, too.
Maybe I just felt like posting pretty bondage pictures. *smirk
When I was filling out the questionnaire, I made mention of my experiences with bondage inside a bdsm relationship. It *can be for show. It *can be a lot of work. It *can be just for discipline or pain play purposes. But it doesn’t have to be for any of those reasons. And it doesn’t have to be any of those things. Sometimes, bondage can just be – because.
Arms behind my back? Hot. It’s just a little bit more forceful than my hands. It’s just a little bit more serious. It’s just a little bit more intimidating and real. I can only remember being bound like that once, and it was at a party. It was fun, because the binder was a good friend of mine but it didn’t go much further than that, and that’s always disappointed me a little.
Maybe that’s why hog-tie pictures, like this one, always intrigue me, too.
Maybe I just felt like posting pretty bondage pictures. *smirk
Growing Up
So, I got pretty pissed off last Tuesday when I did my taxes. And yes, I waited til the last minute because for the last couple years, I've owed to federal. Why pay them before I have to? Anyway, this married filing separately shit costs me money, and I'm sick of it. So I called C. And left him a wicked serious voice mail. And continued to be wicked serious when he called me back.
Somewhere between then, and Sunday night when he called again to tell me that he was too broke to file divorce papers (I straighted him out on that btw), something in me snapped. I have put so much stuff on hold for the last three years -- while I waited to get divorced, while I waited to hit my goal weight -- while I waited to decide where I wanted to live -- that I forgot that I was burning daylight so to speak, and that my life was continuing to move on, with or without my active participation.
Being on hold sucks. And even without the Muzak, it continues to drain life from me every day that I let it win.
So I'm done with that now. Or at least, I'm trying to be done with that. I made the appointment to go see my eye doctor for a checkup and a new pair of glasses. I made an appointment for Friday to go get my hair cut differently (not short, oh hell no, not the back anyway) and while I'm doing that on Friday I'm going to actually try some clothes on and try to break out of this "too big for me but safe" wardrobe thing I got goin' on. I need to learn to work with what I have now, not what I'll have in a year. And I need to learn to be happy with it, because let's face it. I'm a hell of a lot better off than I have been in my entire life. I'm working out at home, I'm walking on my lunch hour, and I'm actually seriously considering re-joining the gym across the street.
Before I get my name back, I'm going to have quit smoking too. Those will be the last two pieces to get put into the puzzle to solve it. Every week, the cigarette money will go into the Plastic Surgery fund instead of my lungs.
But until then, I'm going to learn to work with what is on my plate -right now-. And you know what? It's not all that bad.
At work, when I've been buried eyeball deep in a project for a few hours or a few days, I start to lose my perspective of the big picture. I become focused and tuned to it, and I start missing the pieces I can't see right in front of me at the time. And I started to do that with my life, too.
Enough. No more punishing myself for not being perfect yet.
Somewhere between then, and Sunday night when he called again to tell me that he was too broke to file divorce papers (I straighted him out on that btw), something in me snapped. I have put so much stuff on hold for the last three years -- while I waited to get divorced, while I waited to hit my goal weight -- while I waited to decide where I wanted to live -- that I forgot that I was burning daylight so to speak, and that my life was continuing to move on, with or without my active participation.
Being on hold sucks. And even without the Muzak, it continues to drain life from me every day that I let it win.
So I'm done with that now. Or at least, I'm trying to be done with that. I made the appointment to go see my eye doctor for a checkup and a new pair of glasses. I made an appointment for Friday to go get my hair cut differently (not short, oh hell no, not the back anyway) and while I'm doing that on Friday I'm going to actually try some clothes on and try to break out of this "too big for me but safe" wardrobe thing I got goin' on. I need to learn to work with what I have now, not what I'll have in a year. And I need to learn to be happy with it, because let's face it. I'm a hell of a lot better off than I have been in my entire life. I'm working out at home, I'm walking on my lunch hour, and I'm actually seriously considering re-joining the gym across the street.
Before I get my name back, I'm going to have quit smoking too. Those will be the last two pieces to get put into the puzzle to solve it. Every week, the cigarette money will go into the Plastic Surgery fund instead of my lungs.
But until then, I'm going to learn to work with what is on my plate -right now-. And you know what? It's not all that bad.
At work, when I've been buried eyeball deep in a project for a few hours or a few days, I start to lose my perspective of the big picture. I become focused and tuned to it, and I start missing the pieces I can't see right in front of me at the time. And I started to do that with my life, too.
Enough. No more punishing myself for not being perfect yet.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Energy
This has been a different kind of weekend for me. Typically on the weekends, I do my chores while playing on the computer or watching TV. I spend maybe a little time writing but more often than not, I’m messing around on the computer.
This weekend I undertook spring-cleaning. I nearly finished the whole house, including my own closets, but still have a little left to do. But I didn’t spend all of my off time in my office playing games. I spent it in my recliner, where my laptop and my wireless network make it possible for me to write. And write I did.
I drew some sexual energy from a conversation that I had with a friend on Friday and I’ve managed to hold onto it all weekend, and I’ve used that energy to draw upon, to cover some blog topics I’ve been meaning to get to, and to write one full piece of fiction and start another. Not to say that the energy didn’t get enhanced over the two days, because it definitely did. But I’ve managed to keep hold of it, even while cleaning and sorting through stuff.
I’m a person who likes to live in that state of ‘almost sexually excited’ as often as I possibly can. Because again, that sexual energy feeds my creativity. All creative people get inspired differently. Sex just happens to be my most reliable source. Even the slightest innuendo can make me grin and start to feel that little bit of heat. And if that’s all it is, it stays there and it keeps my awareness high, and keeps me on the edge of ‘where is this headed’. And I can definitely pull creativity from that.
That little bit of inspiration can come from a lot of places. Conversations in IM, email, reading other people’s writing, my own imagination and even things that touch one of the five senses, like voice or smell. I don’t need another person to feed it. But when I get that fed from another person, it seems to take me in directions that I wouldn’t necessarily think to go without it.
If I hear a man’s voice that I’ve heard in the throes of sex at a completely unsexual time, it can definitely turn my mind toward that path. Not always. But often enough. If I catch a whiff of something that reminds me of sex, or of a certain place and a certain time when I had that sexual energy cooking, it’s enough to send me off somewhere.
I’ve talked about all of that a lot this weekend because it’s been on my mind. I can go months it seems without being inspired, but the truth is, it’s not inspiration I’ve lacked at those times when the blog seemed dead and I was nowhere to be found. It was drive. It was motivation. It was energy. When I have all of those things, and when I am inspired, I am unstoppable at my keyboard. And those are the times when I am most satisfied with myself. When I am writing, and writing about things that make me smile, laugh, or want to run for my vibrator *grin
It’s definitely time for me to start thinking about publishing again. I have a huge backlog of stories that need to be edited and sorted out. I have some topics I’ve written about here that could easily be turned into essays. And I have my old book of poetry just sitting around, and since my publisher went out of business completely, I need to start thinking about either republishing it as it is, or adding to it.
This is something that honestly fulfills me and makes me feel happy and makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. I need to take all of this creative energy and enrich my whole life with it.
It’s time for me to continue the trend from this weekend. To spend more time with the laptop and less time wasting time.
We’ll see how that works out *grin
This weekend I undertook spring-cleaning. I nearly finished the whole house, including my own closets, but still have a little left to do. But I didn’t spend all of my off time in my office playing games. I spent it in my recliner, where my laptop and my wireless network make it possible for me to write. And write I did.
I drew some sexual energy from a conversation that I had with a friend on Friday and I’ve managed to hold onto it all weekend, and I’ve used that energy to draw upon, to cover some blog topics I’ve been meaning to get to, and to write one full piece of fiction and start another. Not to say that the energy didn’t get enhanced over the two days, because it definitely did. But I’ve managed to keep hold of it, even while cleaning and sorting through stuff.
I’m a person who likes to live in that state of ‘almost sexually excited’ as often as I possibly can. Because again, that sexual energy feeds my creativity. All creative people get inspired differently. Sex just happens to be my most reliable source. Even the slightest innuendo can make me grin and start to feel that little bit of heat. And if that’s all it is, it stays there and it keeps my awareness high, and keeps me on the edge of ‘where is this headed’. And I can definitely pull creativity from that.
That little bit of inspiration can come from a lot of places. Conversations in IM, email, reading other people’s writing, my own imagination and even things that touch one of the five senses, like voice or smell. I don’t need another person to feed it. But when I get that fed from another person, it seems to take me in directions that I wouldn’t necessarily think to go without it.
If I hear a man’s voice that I’ve heard in the throes of sex at a completely unsexual time, it can definitely turn my mind toward that path. Not always. But often enough. If I catch a whiff of something that reminds me of sex, or of a certain place and a certain time when I had that sexual energy cooking, it’s enough to send me off somewhere.
I’ve talked about all of that a lot this weekend because it’s been on my mind. I can go months it seems without being inspired, but the truth is, it’s not inspiration I’ve lacked at those times when the blog seemed dead and I was nowhere to be found. It was drive. It was motivation. It was energy. When I have all of those things, and when I am inspired, I am unstoppable at my keyboard. And those are the times when I am most satisfied with myself. When I am writing, and writing about things that make me smile, laugh, or want to run for my vibrator *grin
It’s definitely time for me to start thinking about publishing again. I have a huge backlog of stories that need to be edited and sorted out. I have some topics I’ve written about here that could easily be turned into essays. And I have my old book of poetry just sitting around, and since my publisher went out of business completely, I need to start thinking about either republishing it as it is, or adding to it.
This is something that honestly fulfills me and makes me feel happy and makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. I need to take all of this creative energy and enrich my whole life with it.
It’s time for me to continue the trend from this weekend. To spend more time with the laptop and less time wasting time.
We’ll see how that works out *grin
Virtually Sex (Part Two)
So, there’s cyber. And sometimes, cyber leads to something else.
Phone sex.
In the time line of my life, that’s the order they came to me, too. Until I started making connections with people online, phone sex to me was a 1-900 number commercial in the back of a porn magazine. It never occurred to me that people actually did it for fun with people they ‘knew’.
I think C was the first person I experienced that with, and it came about during a candid conversation about him coming up with a nickname for me. We started talking about everything sexual, and when I told him that I was not a ‘quiet’ girl, he decided he wanted to hear for himself. It grew organically from that (and that’s where Screamer came from).
Over the years, I’ve experienced it with several other people, but typically only with people I’d cybered with, or was in an actual relationship with. I’ll be the first to admit that phone sex is easier with someone that I’ve actually fucked in the flesh. But it’s also a good way to learn if the person on the other end of the line is someone I even want to fuck.
I want to hear the person on the other end of the line. I don’t just mean words, but those are important, too. I want to hear them as if they were lying on top of me and making those noises in my ear. I’m not a quiet lover and I am not all that fond of quiet lovers either. There are of course exceptions; times that it’s important to be quiet, but just as with myself, I want to hear how much someone is enjoying what they’re doing – or what’s being done to them – at the time. It’s a sexy form of feedback. And I’m someone who likes to know how I’m doing *grin
Phone sex varies from person to person. Some men want to do all the talking. They want to ask questions and have you answer them. They want to hear you moan and whimper but *they want to be the storyteller. And there are others that are completely opposite. They want you to direct them. They don’t want to touch their cock unless you tell them to. And then there are those that are collaborative. They want to contribute and they want you to contribute.
Some men want to hear you talk about what you’re doing. Some want to hear about what you’d like to be doing to them. And some want to actually *hear – not just your typical sex noises but they want to hear a slap, want to her how wet you are, things along those lines.
The first time you get on the phone with someone with the thought in the back of your head that it could lead to mutual masturbation across a phone line can be a little scary. Unless you’re specifically discussed it before hand, you don’t know which kind of person they are. Are you supposed to talk or react? Are you supposed to tell the story? Are you supposed to describe where your hands are? Because I’ve gone all different ways I typically wait to see what happens, and let it happen more naturally. Sometimes I do take the wheel, and I do enjoy that as well. But for phone sex to be good for both people on the phone, it needs to be a cooperative effort.
Above all, isn’t it supposed to be fun? Live porn, with someone who have made a sexual connection with? It’s like coactive erotica.
I don’t get the same things from phone sex that I get from cyber. I don’t get that creative energy most of the time.
But I do get other things. I get a voice.
And along with hands that I wrote about yesterday and masculinity and body hair that I wrote about yesterday, a man’s voice can be a very big turn on for me. He doesn’t have to sound like Barry White, and he doesn’t have to have an accent (though…accents are fun *grin) but when I can start relating a voice to a sexual experience, it just adds another sense on top of an already heightened experience. A strong voice on the phone when I’m feeling a sexual vibe can almost hypnotize me. That all maybe a holdover from when I was mostly into bdsm as opposed to other kinds of sex. Regardless, it's there and I feel it deeply.
So all in all, phone sex with someone that I have a good sexual energy with can be a great way of being able to express that. Even at times when I feel more shy than others (and believe it or not, I can be painfully shy sometimes), I can be drawn into it.
When I first started experiencing phone sex, I didn’t think I’d become a proponent of it. It hasn’t always been a comfortable thing for me, but once I do feel comfortable with someone, it can be a way to explore fantasies that one or both of you have. It can be a way of experimenting with something that you might like to do in person with the person on the other end of the phone someday and while it’s not a 100% guarantee, it’s a good way to at least gauge their interest.
Besides all of that, if you’re on the phone with someone with whom you have a good chemistry with, the experience can leave you sated in ways that cyber without that added sense of voice can.
And it is called phone *sex, isn’t it? *grin
Phone sex.
In the time line of my life, that’s the order they came to me, too. Until I started making connections with people online, phone sex to me was a 1-900 number commercial in the back of a porn magazine. It never occurred to me that people actually did it for fun with people they ‘knew’.
I think C was the first person I experienced that with, and it came about during a candid conversation about him coming up with a nickname for me. We started talking about everything sexual, and when I told him that I was not a ‘quiet’ girl, he decided he wanted to hear for himself. It grew organically from that (and that’s where Screamer came from).
Over the years, I’ve experienced it with several other people, but typically only with people I’d cybered with, or was in an actual relationship with. I’ll be the first to admit that phone sex is easier with someone that I’ve actually fucked in the flesh. But it’s also a good way to learn if the person on the other end of the line is someone I even want to fuck.
I want to hear the person on the other end of the line. I don’t just mean words, but those are important, too. I want to hear them as if they were lying on top of me and making those noises in my ear. I’m not a quiet lover and I am not all that fond of quiet lovers either. There are of course exceptions; times that it’s important to be quiet, but just as with myself, I want to hear how much someone is enjoying what they’re doing – or what’s being done to them – at the time. It’s a sexy form of feedback. And I’m someone who likes to know how I’m doing *grin
Phone sex varies from person to person. Some men want to do all the talking. They want to ask questions and have you answer them. They want to hear you moan and whimper but *they want to be the storyteller. And there are others that are completely opposite. They want you to direct them. They don’t want to touch their cock unless you tell them to. And then there are those that are collaborative. They want to contribute and they want you to contribute.
Some men want to hear you talk about what you’re doing. Some want to hear about what you’d like to be doing to them. And some want to actually *hear – not just your typical sex noises but they want to hear a slap, want to her how wet you are, things along those lines.
The first time you get on the phone with someone with the thought in the back of your head that it could lead to mutual masturbation across a phone line can be a little scary. Unless you’re specifically discussed it before hand, you don’t know which kind of person they are. Are you supposed to talk or react? Are you supposed to tell the story? Are you supposed to describe where your hands are? Because I’ve gone all different ways I typically wait to see what happens, and let it happen more naturally. Sometimes I do take the wheel, and I do enjoy that as well. But for phone sex to be good for both people on the phone, it needs to be a cooperative effort.
Above all, isn’t it supposed to be fun? Live porn, with someone who have made a sexual connection with? It’s like coactive erotica.
I don’t get the same things from phone sex that I get from cyber. I don’t get that creative energy most of the time.
But I do get other things. I get a voice.
And along with hands that I wrote about yesterday and masculinity and body hair that I wrote about yesterday, a man’s voice can be a very big turn on for me. He doesn’t have to sound like Barry White, and he doesn’t have to have an accent (though…accents are fun *grin) but when I can start relating a voice to a sexual experience, it just adds another sense on top of an already heightened experience. A strong voice on the phone when I’m feeling a sexual vibe can almost hypnotize me. That all maybe a holdover from when I was mostly into bdsm as opposed to other kinds of sex. Regardless, it's there and I feel it deeply.
So all in all, phone sex with someone that I have a good sexual energy with can be a great way of being able to express that. Even at times when I feel more shy than others (and believe it or not, I can be painfully shy sometimes), I can be drawn into it.
When I first started experiencing phone sex, I didn’t think I’d become a proponent of it. It hasn’t always been a comfortable thing for me, but once I do feel comfortable with someone, it can be a way to explore fantasies that one or both of you have. It can be a way of experimenting with something that you might like to do in person with the person on the other end of the phone someday and while it’s not a 100% guarantee, it’s a good way to at least gauge their interest.
Besides all of that, if you’re on the phone with someone with whom you have a good chemistry with, the experience can leave you sated in ways that cyber without that added sense of voice can.
And it is called phone *sex, isn’t it? *grin
Saturday, April 19, 2008
It's the little things ...
I wrote about hands earlier. And how sexy I find strong, masculine hands.
But there are other things that say masculinity to me. Things that I find incredibly sexy. Things that make my knees weak. I like manly men. I like men who look like and sound like and smell like and *feel like men. Men have those physical characteristics that I find so enthralling.
My email box tonight reminded me of one that I hadn’t consciously thought of for awhile.
I love chest hair. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before. But the fact is there’s something I like a little bit more. That line of hair that runs from a man’s navel to their pubic bone – thick or thin, dark or light - as long as I can see it against the color of his skin – as long as it’s evident – it’s almost enough to wind me up.
It’s not just that it’s a very masculine thing. It’s because it’s a very subtle way of leading my eyes, my fingers or my tongue to what lies beneath it. I always want to see where that line of hair goes, whether in my mind or in the flesh.
The fashion these days seems to be for men to shave off most of their body hair, especially facial hair and chest hair. I think that’s a shame. I realize that some women do like that, but for me, that’s like taking away one of my play toys *grin Leave it alone. I like it just the way it is.
I am a fan of subtle. That’s why when someone asks me what I find sexy, the first things that spring to my mind are not cock, ass, lips… it’s the little things, that add up to be big things for me. Like the hands. And that hair ….
Men are visual creatures. That’s not news. But it might interest those visual creatures to know that women can be that way, too. It’s just different things we want to look at *grin
But there are other things that say masculinity to me. Things that I find incredibly sexy. Things that make my knees weak. I like manly men. I like men who look like and sound like and smell like and *feel like men. Men have those physical characteristics that I find so enthralling.
My email box tonight reminded me of one that I hadn’t consciously thought of for awhile.
I love chest hair. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before. But the fact is there’s something I like a little bit more. That line of hair that runs from a man’s navel to their pubic bone – thick or thin, dark or light - as long as I can see it against the color of his skin – as long as it’s evident – it’s almost enough to wind me up.
It’s not just that it’s a very masculine thing. It’s because it’s a very subtle way of leading my eyes, my fingers or my tongue to what lies beneath it. I always want to see where that line of hair goes, whether in my mind or in the flesh.
The fashion these days seems to be for men to shave off most of their body hair, especially facial hair and chest hair. I think that’s a shame. I realize that some women do like that, but for me, that’s like taking away one of my play toys *grin Leave it alone. I like it just the way it is.
I am a fan of subtle. That’s why when someone asks me what I find sexy, the first things that spring to my mind are not cock, ass, lips… it’s the little things, that add up to be big things for me. Like the hands. And that hair ….
Men are visual creatures. That’s not news. But it might interest those visual creatures to know that women can be that way, too. It’s just different things we want to look at *grin
Virtually Sex (Part One)
In the massive questionnaire, there were a couple questions about phone sex and cyber sex. I answered them there, but the idea of writing more about the topic of virtual sex has been kind of lingering at the back of my mind. I don’t have a plan here, about what to write about, but I’m going to just kind of let my mind do its thing.
Because honestly, it’s that the reason we’re *all here?
I got my first computer in the early 90’s. Shortly thereafter I installed AOL 1.0, and got connected. At first, it was a networking tool for my feminist projects, and a place to debate (Anyone from the old AOL Days remember “the Newsroom”?). I bet I’d been online a good six months before I realized that there were user created channels. Names like “Dark Parking Garage” and “Lonely Housewife” (I never went in there, but it certainly fit my life at the time). I went into one here or there, on the many nights when my first husband was out with his drinking buddies and such. I’d go in, giggle at the instant messages I’d get and the offers for ‘hot cyber’, then go back to doing something else. For awhile, anyway.
Eventually, my marriage got to be bad enough that I started considering trying out this ‘cyber’ thing that people kept asking me about. One night I got brave enough to actually say yes to one of the horny net guys asking me to ‘play’.
I remember that first foray into the cyber sex world. It was awful. I giggled my way through it, and logged out, swearing I’d never do it again. And I didn’t. For awhile anyway.
One evening I was looking through the list of user created rooms and found one named “Le Chateau”. Having recently read ‘The Story of O’ (picked up at a porn store that I went to with my first husband in an attempt to put some spark into our relationship), I found the name intriguing and I double clicked it, just to see ….
… and found a home.
I made friendships in the Chateau rooms (there were 3-4 at any given time) that I continue with today. I met M in one. I met C in one. I met a couple of ‘one weekend stands’ in them as well. And some very good people that I still communicate with now, and hold very dear.
Cyber was different in the Chateau rooms, but it was still very present and accounted for. There were just very heavy d/s overtones to it. And you know how I feel about that ….
After C and then M, I kinda walked away from the whole cyber thing. I hadn’t had a very good track record with using it as a way to meet people (well, duh!) so I just kinda stayed away from it.
Then I started gaming.
And ran into a couple of men who sparked that interest in me again. I certainly didn’t go looking for it, but it landed in my lap. Three of them. One turned out to be the jackass of the century. One disappeared. And one turned into a good friend.
When people ask the question “What do you get out of cyber, anyway?”, it’s a hard question to answer. Different people bring different things to the table. I’ve been inspired to fiction. I’ve been inspired to blog. I’ve been inspired to pull the vibrator out of my desk drawer *grin. It depends on each situation what you get out of it. And what you put into it counts, too.
But I think the most important thing for me, besides sexual gratification is that cyber fuels my imagination. And for me, that’s so much more than sexual. That’s life and breath.
Boring is for someone else. I need to be engaged in whatever I’m doing – sexually or otherwise. If what I’m talking about with anyone doesn’t put vivid images in my head and make me “write ahead” about what it’s making me feel, then it’s not going to keep me mentally occupied. I’ll drift. That’s why I do the work that I do (problem solving, creatively), that’s why I write, that’s why I make soap, that’s why I love to bake, that’s why I love sex. Creativity takes the activity to the next level.
I’ve had bad, unimaginative cyber and I’ve gotten away from it quickly. And I have had incredibly creative cyber that’s kept me engaged and made me want to write, to continue, to build the images into something that I can keep with me, like a piece of fiction or an essay like these.
I want to be inspired to actually ‘play along’. I want to be inspired to *want to take the cybersex into the real world, whether I ever do or not. I want to want.
I don’t go looking for it, ever. I never have. And that’s because cyber with random strangers is neither inviting nor interesting to me. Getting to know someone outside the realm of sexual experience, getting to know who they are, what they like – talking about sex but not ‘doing it’ in the real or cyber world is where I build a connection with someone that’s necessary for me to be able to enjoy myself and relax. I want to be comfortable but not so comfortable that it’s predictable. I want to learn something new about myself through them, and I want them to take someone that I like and make it their own in such a way that they like it, too. For someone to capture my attention and keep it, there really needs to be some common ground upon which I can start to build that palette I need to open to being inspired. Chances are if someone tries that in the first two or three conversations I have with them, I will walk away from them. Because it’s not going to give me what I want and need.
I wrote a few years ago about my search for a new muse. And this is what I was talking about. Someone who can inspire me to dream in sex without sleeping. Someone who looks at things differently than I do, and can let me see through their eyes. I want to take someone else’s wants and try them on for size. Cyber allows me to do that safely. Cyber allows me to walk a different path than I might feel comfortable walking in my well worn boots.
And besides all of that, cyber with someone who has a good vocabulary, a willingness to experiment and a fantastic sense of their own sexuality is just fucking fun.
Because honestly, it’s that the reason we’re *all here?
I got my first computer in the early 90’s. Shortly thereafter I installed AOL 1.0, and got connected. At first, it was a networking tool for my feminist projects, and a place to debate (Anyone from the old AOL Days remember “the Newsroom”?). I bet I’d been online a good six months before I realized that there were user created channels. Names like “Dark Parking Garage” and “Lonely Housewife” (I never went in there, but it certainly fit my life at the time). I went into one here or there, on the many nights when my first husband was out with his drinking buddies and such. I’d go in, giggle at the instant messages I’d get and the offers for ‘hot cyber’, then go back to doing something else. For awhile, anyway.
Eventually, my marriage got to be bad enough that I started considering trying out this ‘cyber’ thing that people kept asking me about. One night I got brave enough to actually say yes to one of the horny net guys asking me to ‘play’.
I remember that first foray into the cyber sex world. It was awful. I giggled my way through it, and logged out, swearing I’d never do it again. And I didn’t. For awhile anyway.
One evening I was looking through the list of user created rooms and found one named “Le Chateau”. Having recently read ‘The Story of O’ (picked up at a porn store that I went to with my first husband in an attempt to put some spark into our relationship), I found the name intriguing and I double clicked it, just to see ….
… and found a home.
I made friendships in the Chateau rooms (there were 3-4 at any given time) that I continue with today. I met M in one. I met C in one. I met a couple of ‘one weekend stands’ in them as well. And some very good people that I still communicate with now, and hold very dear.
Cyber was different in the Chateau rooms, but it was still very present and accounted for. There were just very heavy d/s overtones to it. And you know how I feel about that ….
After C and then M, I kinda walked away from the whole cyber thing. I hadn’t had a very good track record with using it as a way to meet people (well, duh!) so I just kinda stayed away from it.
Then I started gaming.
And ran into a couple of men who sparked that interest in me again. I certainly didn’t go looking for it, but it landed in my lap. Three of them. One turned out to be the jackass of the century. One disappeared. And one turned into a good friend.
When people ask the question “What do you get out of cyber, anyway?”, it’s a hard question to answer. Different people bring different things to the table. I’ve been inspired to fiction. I’ve been inspired to blog. I’ve been inspired to pull the vibrator out of my desk drawer *grin. It depends on each situation what you get out of it. And what you put into it counts, too.
But I think the most important thing for me, besides sexual gratification is that cyber fuels my imagination. And for me, that’s so much more than sexual. That’s life and breath.
Boring is for someone else. I need to be engaged in whatever I’m doing – sexually or otherwise. If what I’m talking about with anyone doesn’t put vivid images in my head and make me “write ahead” about what it’s making me feel, then it’s not going to keep me mentally occupied. I’ll drift. That’s why I do the work that I do (problem solving, creatively), that’s why I write, that’s why I make soap, that’s why I love to bake, that’s why I love sex. Creativity takes the activity to the next level.
I’ve had bad, unimaginative cyber and I’ve gotten away from it quickly. And I have had incredibly creative cyber that’s kept me engaged and made me want to write, to continue, to build the images into something that I can keep with me, like a piece of fiction or an essay like these.
I want to be inspired to actually ‘play along’. I want to be inspired to *want to take the cybersex into the real world, whether I ever do or not. I want to want.
I don’t go looking for it, ever. I never have. And that’s because cyber with random strangers is neither inviting nor interesting to me. Getting to know someone outside the realm of sexual experience, getting to know who they are, what they like – talking about sex but not ‘doing it’ in the real or cyber world is where I build a connection with someone that’s necessary for me to be able to enjoy myself and relax. I want to be comfortable but not so comfortable that it’s predictable. I want to learn something new about myself through them, and I want them to take someone that I like and make it their own in such a way that they like it, too. For someone to capture my attention and keep it, there really needs to be some common ground upon which I can start to build that palette I need to open to being inspired. Chances are if someone tries that in the first two or three conversations I have with them, I will walk away from them. Because it’s not going to give me what I want and need.
I wrote a few years ago about my search for a new muse. And this is what I was talking about. Someone who can inspire me to dream in sex without sleeping. Someone who looks at things differently than I do, and can let me see through their eyes. I want to take someone else’s wants and try them on for size. Cyber allows me to do that safely. Cyber allows me to walk a different path than I might feel comfortable walking in my well worn boots.
And besides all of that, cyber with someone who has a good vocabulary, a willingness to experiment and a fantastic sense of their own sexuality is just fucking fun.
Play the Hand You're Dealt
“I love a hand that meets my own with a grasp that causes some sensation.” Samuel Osgood
I mentioned awhile back that I have nice hands. And I think I do. I have long skinny piano-player fingers (too bad I never used them to their potential), and I usually keep my nails done. I do not have small hands, but they’re very feminine. I love them.
I have always worn rings, but the weight loss has proved to be a challenge with that because while I used to have 8 on all the time, and some spares, I am down to 4 that I can wear daily and one of those is really too big and I’m afraid I’m going to lose it one of these days. I need to replace them eventually. My rings are all silver. I don’t wear gold. Most have a Celtic detail and most have a gemstone of some sort (currently I have onyx and amethyst). I love them. They are pretty much all the jewelry I wear.
I’m a little double jointed. I can bend my fingers backward to a 45-degree angle. I used to freak my stepdaughters out with that and it was fun. I’ve been told that at the moment of orgasm sometimes they bend back even further than that. I wouldn’t know. I’m not looking at my hands usually at that time *grin
But it’s not just my hands that I like. I like hands in general. Hands are almost the first thing I glance at when I’m looking at a man. The only one of my past lovers that did not have good, strong big hands was C. His hands were actually smaller than mine, and it had absolutely nothing to do with my weight. Maybe that should have been my first clue, hm? *laugh
So why the fascination with hands? It could be any number of things. Strong male hands show masculinity (which I love). Hands can hold. Hands can spank. Hands have fingers that can bury themselves into parts of me and make me weak. Hands can hold me down. Hands can pull my hair. Hands can pinch, tickle, stroke.
Need I go on? Of course it’s sexual. How could it have been anything else?
Clean, short nails are important, because if he does not have them, I know those hands are not going anywhere near any part of me that I want them to go. They don’t have to be soft. They don’t have to be overly big. But they do have to be strong and clean.
I think maybe it’s sexual potential I see in them. There is, of course, the old myth about a man’s cock being as long as the tip of his middle finger to the top of his wrist but I don’t buy that. It’s the hands themselves that clue me in to what I’m about to experience. Even if I’m not going to fuck him I am looking at his hands, just to see.
It’s probably the closest thing I have to a body part preference, besides height.
If I can imagine his hands on me, I can imagine everything else. And there’s where sex starts with me. In my imagination. But more on that later. *grin
I mentioned awhile back that I have nice hands. And I think I do. I have long skinny piano-player fingers (too bad I never used them to their potential), and I usually keep my nails done. I do not have small hands, but they’re very feminine. I love them.
I have always worn rings, but the weight loss has proved to be a challenge with that because while I used to have 8 on all the time, and some spares, I am down to 4 that I can wear daily and one of those is really too big and I’m afraid I’m going to lose it one of these days. I need to replace them eventually. My rings are all silver. I don’t wear gold. Most have a Celtic detail and most have a gemstone of some sort (currently I have onyx and amethyst). I love them. They are pretty much all the jewelry I wear.
I’m a little double jointed. I can bend my fingers backward to a 45-degree angle. I used to freak my stepdaughters out with that and it was fun. I’ve been told that at the moment of orgasm sometimes they bend back even further than that. I wouldn’t know. I’m not looking at my hands usually at that time *grin
But it’s not just my hands that I like. I like hands in general. Hands are almost the first thing I glance at when I’m looking at a man. The only one of my past lovers that did not have good, strong big hands was C. His hands were actually smaller than mine, and it had absolutely nothing to do with my weight. Maybe that should have been my first clue, hm? *laugh
So why the fascination with hands? It could be any number of things. Strong male hands show masculinity (which I love). Hands can hold. Hands can spank. Hands have fingers that can bury themselves into parts of me and make me weak. Hands can hold me down. Hands can pull my hair. Hands can pinch, tickle, stroke.
Need I go on? Of course it’s sexual. How could it have been anything else?
Clean, short nails are important, because if he does not have them, I know those hands are not going anywhere near any part of me that I want them to go. They don’t have to be soft. They don’t have to be overly big. But they do have to be strong and clean.
I think maybe it’s sexual potential I see in them. There is, of course, the old myth about a man’s cock being as long as the tip of his middle finger to the top of his wrist but I don’t buy that. It’s the hands themselves that clue me in to what I’m about to experience. Even if I’m not going to fuck him I am looking at his hands, just to see.
It’s probably the closest thing I have to a body part preference, besides height.
If I can imagine his hands on me, I can imagine everything else. And there’s where sex starts with me. In my imagination. But more on that later. *grin
Sweet, but with a kick
I wrote a piece of fiction tonight. My first in quite some time. I needed to do it. I mean, seriously needed to.
Here's a taste:
The table is quiet for a little while. Your cock stays hard and you’re sure her pussy stays wet while you eat in silence. The waitress drops back by and leaves the check. She reaches for it, but you pull it away from her. "You’ve provided the entertainment so far. I’ll pay for dinner. But."
"But?"
"But you’re not done yet."
"I’m not?" She pushes her plate away and leans back in the booth. She reaches her hand up as if to brush hair from her neck and slickly undoes a button on her blouse. "What else did you have in mind?"
"Surprise me."
Running her index finger across her lips again, she thinks for a moment. The grin lights up her eyes before her lips even begin to turn upward. "I think I need a drink."
"You do?"
"I do." She turns to reach into her purse for her wallet, and then slides slowly out of the booth. Without looking at you again, she walks away from you, and toward the bar.
You watch her move. She walks around to the far side of the bar, so that when she gets the bartender’s attention, she’s facing you. Somewhere along her journey over there, she’s undone another button on her blouse and she leans over the bar, much further than necessary to order her drink. You can’t see the bartender’s face, but you’re without doubt that he isn’t looking into her eyes at that moment. She’s flirting with him.
The bartender turns away from her to make her beverage of choice and looking directly at you, she casually flicks yet another button of the blouse open, and slides her hand inside the white bra beneath it. Her fingers disappear far enough inside to have pinched her nipple, and by the look on her face, you know that she has. By the time the bartender tuns back toward her, her fingers are nearly out, and she runs them up to her neck and runs the tips of her fingers across her collarbone. He sets the drink in front of her and she slides a bill across the bar at him and waves her hand, so that he knows the change is a tip. She says something and he laughs. She picks up her drink and smiles at him, and then heads back toward your table.
She slides back into the booth and lays her wallet on the table. She offers you a taste of her drink, and you take the glass from her, sipping from the side. It’s sweet, but it has a kick to it.
Kind of like she does.
Here's a taste:
The table is quiet for a little while. Your cock stays hard and you’re sure her pussy stays wet while you eat in silence. The waitress drops back by and leaves the check. She reaches for it, but you pull it away from her. "You’ve provided the entertainment so far. I’ll pay for dinner. But."
"But?"
"But you’re not done yet."
"I’m not?" She pushes her plate away and leans back in the booth. She reaches her hand up as if to brush hair from her neck and slickly undoes a button on her blouse. "What else did you have in mind?"
"Surprise me."
Running her index finger across her lips again, she thinks for a moment. The grin lights up her eyes before her lips even begin to turn upward. "I think I need a drink."
"You do?"
"I do." She turns to reach into her purse for her wallet, and then slides slowly out of the booth. Without looking at you again, she walks away from you, and toward the bar.
You watch her move. She walks around to the far side of the bar, so that when she gets the bartender’s attention, she’s facing you. Somewhere along her journey over there, she’s undone another button on her blouse and she leans over the bar, much further than necessary to order her drink. You can’t see the bartender’s face, but you’re without doubt that he isn’t looking into her eyes at that moment. She’s flirting with him.
The bartender turns away from her to make her beverage of choice and looking directly at you, she casually flicks yet another button of the blouse open, and slides her hand inside the white bra beneath it. Her fingers disappear far enough inside to have pinched her nipple, and by the look on her face, you know that she has. By the time the bartender tuns back toward her, her fingers are nearly out, and she runs them up to her neck and runs the tips of her fingers across her collarbone. He sets the drink in front of her and she slides a bill across the bar at him and waves her hand, so that he knows the change is a tip. She says something and he laughs. She picks up her drink and smiles at him, and then heads back toward your table.
She slides back into the booth and lays her wallet on the table. She offers you a taste of her drink, and you take the glass from her, sipping from the side. It’s sweet, but it has a kick to it.
Kind of like she does.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Volume
Isn’t it fun to discover things you never gave much thought to are really hot to some people?
A friend of mine, who is famous for sending me weird links on IM, sent me one today for a new sort of drug. Now, this isn’t like a vitamin or Xanax or diet pills. No, this drug serves a very specific purpose And it’s not a purpose I ever gave much thought to…but now that you mention it …
There is apparently a fetish for semen volume, and a new drug to help you produce it.
Occasionally, even Jill gets surprised.
That’s not to say that I don’t get it, or that I can’t see why someone would enjoy either shooting more, or wanting to have their partner gush. It’s just not something I really ever gave that much thought to. Until recently, I didn’t really have a lot of experience with what I would consider to be copious amounts of cum. Again, it’s not like something I ever measured or anything but it definitely makes a difference when it’s not IN you, but ON you.
One of my best friends has a ‘facial’ fetish. He’s got loads (pardon the pun) of pictures with women’s facing dripping with cum. I have a submissive friend who enjoyed being the center of a group of men jacking off. I had a friend in California whose boyfriend rarely came anywhere but her mouth even if they’d been fucking. I, myself, have enjoyed a few instances of being jacked off on – used as a repository for my lover’s semen, and I have never shied away from swallowing.
So I don’t know why I’m surprised that volume is turn on for some people, either letting on fly, or being with someone who lets one fly *smirk
There is something visceral and animalistic about sharing the outcome (sorry, another pun, I can’t help it) of the sexual experience. I’ve always enjoyed that. I just never thought about it in volume *grin.
Maybe size does matter ……
A friend of mine, who is famous for sending me weird links on IM, sent me one today for a new sort of drug. Now, this isn’t like a vitamin or Xanax or diet pills. No, this drug serves a very specific purpose And it’s not a purpose I ever gave much thought to…but now that you mention it …
There is apparently a fetish for semen volume, and a new drug to help you produce it.
Occasionally, even Jill gets surprised.
That’s not to say that I don’t get it, or that I can’t see why someone would enjoy either shooting more, or wanting to have their partner gush. It’s just not something I really ever gave that much thought to. Until recently, I didn’t really have a lot of experience with what I would consider to be copious amounts of cum. Again, it’s not like something I ever measured or anything but it definitely makes a difference when it’s not IN you, but ON you.
One of my best friends has a ‘facial’ fetish. He’s got loads (pardon the pun) of pictures with women’s facing dripping with cum. I have a submissive friend who enjoyed being the center of a group of men jacking off. I had a friend in California whose boyfriend rarely came anywhere but her mouth even if they’d been fucking. I, myself, have enjoyed a few instances of being jacked off on – used as a repository for my lover’s semen, and I have never shied away from swallowing.
So I don’t know why I’m surprised that volume is turn on for some people, either letting on fly, or being with someone who lets one fly *smirk
There is something visceral and animalistic about sharing the outcome (sorry, another pun, I can’t help it) of the sexual experience. I’ve always enjoyed that. I just never thought about it in volume *grin.
Maybe size does matter ……
Friday, April 11, 2008
Tristan and Isolde
Anyone who has spent any amount of time talking to me knows what a freak I am about Arthurian Legend. The multitude of stories, and the many many ways they have been told over the years keeps me enthralled and entertained. After having read a series of books by Rosalind Miles about Guenevere (her spelling, not mine), I purchased another novel by her entitled Isolde, Queen of the Western Isle. I was introduced to new characters from the same basic time period who enthralled me as well, even with their lack of magic. So I was excited when I saw that they had made a movie about this new set of characters, Tristan and Isolde.
I bought the movie several months ago when it first came out on DVD but for some reason, it remained on the shelf, unwatched. Tonight, after having written my post about smoking, I decided that I needed a bigger distraction than a game or reality TV or even one of the TV-Series-on-DVD that I have to watch. I wanted to be enthralled in a fairy tale.
Strangely enough, the commonalties between Tristan and Isolde and Lancelot and Guinevere (my spelling) are startling. Star crossed lovers who manage to fuck their way into ripping a kingdom apart. (As an aside, I recently bought season 1 of The Tudors, for even more groin-related kingdom destruction). The likeness stops there for the most part though, because Tristan, our hero in the case, bears no likely resemblance to the Arthur I have grown to love over the years. Enjoyable movie to be sure, but not even close to the pomp and circumstance of Morgan, Mordred or Arthur.
Except that it brings to mind one thing: Within all the romance of this story, with the sweet (sugary even) scene where Tristan takes Isolde’s virginity, I am reminded just how different life is from the images that flash across a scene, written by people just like me, with vivid imaginations and a penchant for fictional drama and romance. I could easily have written that scene. But it wouldn’t have been from a memory or even from any shred of personal experience. That’s not the kind of sex I’ve had. At least, not enough of it to warrant more than a fading brief glimpse of memory here and there.
I’m all right with that. I think. Because sex is sex. And romance is something else entirely.
Can they be joined? Of course. Normal people everywhere do it every day and I’m sure that most women swoon like crazy over the thought of it. Does it make me a freak to not want that? Maybe, but who cares?
Romance is affection. Closeness. Intimacy. Romance is not married to love, and thank goodness for that. For me, these things are not necessarily wrapped up in sex. Sex can follow. Sex can precede. Either of these is likely to make the sexual experience richer for me. But during? Unnecessary. During, I want passion. And passion and romance, while sometimes compared, are totally different in my book.
I watched the scene intently, looking for something to draw me in – make me even a little titillated but there was nothing in it like that for me. It was romantic. And I love romance. But it wasn’t sexy in my eyes. They may as well have been lying on that stone floor doing nothing more than kissing and talking. If that were the case, I definitely would have been enthralled by it.
Maybe that makes me jaded. But I am unapologetic about feeling the way that I do.
I bought the movie several months ago when it first came out on DVD but for some reason, it remained on the shelf, unwatched. Tonight, after having written my post about smoking, I decided that I needed a bigger distraction than a game or reality TV or even one of the TV-Series-on-DVD that I have to watch. I wanted to be enthralled in a fairy tale.
Strangely enough, the commonalties between Tristan and Isolde and Lancelot and Guinevere (my spelling) are startling. Star crossed lovers who manage to fuck their way into ripping a kingdom apart. (As an aside, I recently bought season 1 of The Tudors, for even more groin-related kingdom destruction). The likeness stops there for the most part though, because Tristan, our hero in the case, bears no likely resemblance to the Arthur I have grown to love over the years. Enjoyable movie to be sure, but not even close to the pomp and circumstance of Morgan, Mordred or Arthur.
Except that it brings to mind one thing: Within all the romance of this story, with the sweet (sugary even) scene where Tristan takes Isolde’s virginity, I am reminded just how different life is from the images that flash across a scene, written by people just like me, with vivid imaginations and a penchant for fictional drama and romance. I could easily have written that scene. But it wouldn’t have been from a memory or even from any shred of personal experience. That’s not the kind of sex I’ve had. At least, not enough of it to warrant more than a fading brief glimpse of memory here and there.
I’m all right with that. I think. Because sex is sex. And romance is something else entirely.
Can they be joined? Of course. Normal people everywhere do it every day and I’m sure that most women swoon like crazy over the thought of it. Does it make me a freak to not want that? Maybe, but who cares?
Romance is affection. Closeness. Intimacy. Romance is not married to love, and thank goodness for that. For me, these things are not necessarily wrapped up in sex. Sex can follow. Sex can precede. Either of these is likely to make the sexual experience richer for me. But during? Unnecessary. During, I want passion. And passion and romance, while sometimes compared, are totally different in my book.
I watched the scene intently, looking for something to draw me in – make me even a little titillated but there was nothing in it like that for me. It was romantic. And I love romance. But it wasn’t sexy in my eyes. They may as well have been lying on that stone floor doing nothing more than kissing and talking. If that were the case, I definitely would have been enthralled by it.
Maybe that makes me jaded. But I am unapologetic about feeling the way that I do.
The Last Vestiges
There are very few things about me five years ago that still exist today. My heart is the same, I still wear my leather jacket even though it’s too big and I still write, read, listen to the same music. There are a few other things – sex included – that are the same. Everything about my physical exterior has changed except my eyes and my height. Additionally, a lot about the interior me has changed, too. I almost feel like my transition to ‘The New Improved Jill 2.0’ is complete. Oh I’d still like to have a thicker skin and I’d still like to learn to take better care of my basic health and well-being. But for the most part, I’ve exceeded my own expectations in these changes that began the day I said “yes” to my lap band.
There’s just this one thing left that I want to make a serious effort to change. Something that’s been with me since high school. Something that has brought me comfort in times of stress; has given me excuses to bail on things when I needed a break; has been my only consolation when things were really bad. It’s my last rebellion, my only remaining vice.
It’s this pack of Marlboro Light Box right here next to me.
Last year, I bought a box of nicotine patches. They’re been on my dining room (the catch all for my house) since. For the last year, I have wanted to quit. But I’ve been resistant. And today I think I realized why.
It’s pretty much all that’s left of me.
I was unhappy five years ago. But I was comfortable with who I was. And quitting smoking is the final step in letting Jill 1.0 go completely. It’s become much less about giving up an unhealthy habit and much more about letting go.
It’s not because I don’t believe it’s unhealthy – I do. I watched my father-in-law (C’s dad) die slowly and painfully to COPD brought on by smoking. My own grandfather, my mom’s dad – died from throat cancer, again more than likely brought on by smoking. I know that these little white sticks will be the death of me if I don’t toss them. I do know it. Please don’t mistake my reticence for ignorance. I just need to be able to let go of my past completely.
After a winter of having to bundle up to trudge out into the snow to have a cigarette at work, after having to brush perfume through my hair before my cousin’s wedding because I smoked like a chimney for the 3 hour drive to the town that the wedding was in, after not being able to smell right, taste right or go places I want to go – I know that the time has come. I’m running out of excuses. It’s something I need to face head on.
I realize, though, that it’s more about psychology than it is about physicality. I walked outside into the rain today to get in my car mid-afternoon to have a smoke and as soon as I shut the door of my car, that little thought hit me. “You’re not doing this because you want to do it. You’re doing it because you’ve always done it and because you don’t know how to not want to do it.”
I used to believe that nicotine had control over me, but I don’t think that’s it. I don’t feel like this is a physical addiction. Oh, I’m not naïve enough to believe that there won’t be some issues when I finally give them up, but I do think that the habit, and the psychology that surrounds it, is going to be much more difficult to throw away.
My reason for writing this today is that I feel if I write it, I’ll be able to own it. It’s very easy to talk the talk. I want to be able to really and truly understand that taking the step to throw the little white sticks away is not only for my physical health but letting go of this last vestige of Who I Was and taking one more step toward Who I Almost Am.
Last year, when my weight loss slowed down and I stopped exercising, I had to have a serious ‘talk to myself’ weekend. Maybe it’s time for another one of those. This time, about this.
I’ll be working on getting ready to make that happen.
They say that understanding is 90% of fixing. I understand now. Let’s see if it’s enough to make me fix.
There’s just this one thing left that I want to make a serious effort to change. Something that’s been with me since high school. Something that has brought me comfort in times of stress; has given me excuses to bail on things when I needed a break; has been my only consolation when things were really bad. It’s my last rebellion, my only remaining vice.
It’s this pack of Marlboro Light Box right here next to me.
Last year, I bought a box of nicotine patches. They’re been on my dining room (the catch all for my house) since. For the last year, I have wanted to quit. But I’ve been resistant. And today I think I realized why.
It’s pretty much all that’s left of me.
I was unhappy five years ago. But I was comfortable with who I was. And quitting smoking is the final step in letting Jill 1.0 go completely. It’s become much less about giving up an unhealthy habit and much more about letting go.
It’s not because I don’t believe it’s unhealthy – I do. I watched my father-in-law (C’s dad) die slowly and painfully to COPD brought on by smoking. My own grandfather, my mom’s dad – died from throat cancer, again more than likely brought on by smoking. I know that these little white sticks will be the death of me if I don’t toss them. I do know it. Please don’t mistake my reticence for ignorance. I just need to be able to let go of my past completely.
After a winter of having to bundle up to trudge out into the snow to have a cigarette at work, after having to brush perfume through my hair before my cousin’s wedding because I smoked like a chimney for the 3 hour drive to the town that the wedding was in, after not being able to smell right, taste right or go places I want to go – I know that the time has come. I’m running out of excuses. It’s something I need to face head on.
I realize, though, that it’s more about psychology than it is about physicality. I walked outside into the rain today to get in my car mid-afternoon to have a smoke and as soon as I shut the door of my car, that little thought hit me. “You’re not doing this because you want to do it. You’re doing it because you’ve always done it and because you don’t know how to not want to do it.”
I used to believe that nicotine had control over me, but I don’t think that’s it. I don’t feel like this is a physical addiction. Oh, I’m not naïve enough to believe that there won’t be some issues when I finally give them up, but I do think that the habit, and the psychology that surrounds it, is going to be much more difficult to throw away.
My reason for writing this today is that I feel if I write it, I’ll be able to own it. It’s very easy to talk the talk. I want to be able to really and truly understand that taking the step to throw the little white sticks away is not only for my physical health but letting go of this last vestige of Who I Was and taking one more step toward Who I Almost Am.
Last year, when my weight loss slowed down and I stopped exercising, I had to have a serious ‘talk to myself’ weekend. Maybe it’s time for another one of those. This time, about this.
I’ll be working on getting ready to make that happen.
They say that understanding is 90% of fixing. I understand now. Let’s see if it’s enough to make me fix.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Revelation in Pink
For the better part of my life, pink has been banned from my wardrobe. I’ve never really been a girly-girl, and I think I look awful in pink. As a matter of fact, since high school, I can only remember one pink blouse – a very very light pink – a long tunic blouse with a keyhole neckline, which is the only reason I bought it (keyholes are my favorite, followed closely by a mandarin collar). I wore it til it fell apart. But I never took pink on as a color I’d even look at on any other item of clothing.
If I were being honest – and let’s face it, if I’m not honest in my writing here, what the fuck is the point of doing it – I’d say that at least 50 percent of my winter/fall closet for casual clothes (and even work clothes) are men’s shirts. Sweatshirts, long sleeve insulated shirts, stuff like that. Additionally, there is not one of them that’s appropriately sized - they’re all at least 2 sizes too big. They’re comfy. I never have to worry about how they look. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how they looked.
They look like shit.
I do have some feminine clothes. The sweater I wore to my cousin’s wedding for example was a beautiful cream color and had ‘seed pearls’ sewn onto the high neck and cuffs. I have some other sweaters that are equally feminine, and a lot of my spring/summer clothes are as well. But for the most part, I do not dress appropriately for my gender, my new body, or my personality. The fact is, I’m not sure how to dress the Jill of today. She’s not even close to who I’m usually buying clothes for.
I didn’t really ever give serious thought to pink before. I mean, I avoided it, but it was never a physical reaction to it. It just didn’t fit with who I was. I’m still not sure that I’m a pink girl. But while shopping for work pants today, I wandered into the ‘Intimates’ section (I really really need to stay out of there. Seriously. The panty fetish continues…) and the first pair that I stopped and picked up were black…
…with pink lace and detail.
I shocked myself a little by tossing them into my basket. And then promptly picked up another pair, again black, with the word ‘cutie’ written in cursive ….
…in pink.
Out of the 3 new pairs I bought today, two – count them, two – had pink on them.
It didn’t even occur to me until I was on my way back to work the significance of those purchases. It’s not so much the color, but what it represents: Pink is a girl’s color.
Being overweight for most of my adult life (ok, ok, my whole life) had a profound effect on the way I looked at myself in that regard. While I have full sexy lips and a larger-than-necessary chest, I’ve never felt girly. And at this point in my life, when I actually have a more feminine body , I should be dressing it accordingly.
Question is: How in the sam hell do I do that?
I’ll admit it. There are certain channels on TV that I watch more than others, and one of those is TLC. I watch “What Not To Wear” pretty often, hoping to pick up some tips about how to dress the me of today. And I have picked up a few rules and tried to apply them, but I’m almost frustrated enough with the whole thing right now that I’d pay a stylist a couple hundred bucks to look at me and show me what’s going to look good on me and what isn’t.
In the last three years, I have spent a metric fuckton of money on clothes. But not because I liked them, or because I was buying quality pieces. It’s because I had to buy stuff that fits. There’s a big difference between something that fits, and something that flatters. I’m still trying to figure out what that is.
The revelation in the car today about the whole pink thing reminded me that I’m a long way off from looking as good as I could. My nails are good, and my hair is good and my brows are good. But from the neck down and the wrists up, I need some serious help.
So either I start looking for a stylist, or I get a DVR from my cable company and start recording “What Not To Wear” every time it’s on. One way or another, something needs to change.
The pink is a good start. Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings.
If I were being honest – and let’s face it, if I’m not honest in my writing here, what the fuck is the point of doing it – I’d say that at least 50 percent of my winter/fall closet for casual clothes (and even work clothes) are men’s shirts. Sweatshirts, long sleeve insulated shirts, stuff like that. Additionally, there is not one of them that’s appropriately sized - they’re all at least 2 sizes too big. They’re comfy. I never have to worry about how they look. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how they looked.
They look like shit.
I do have some feminine clothes. The sweater I wore to my cousin’s wedding for example was a beautiful cream color and had ‘seed pearls’ sewn onto the high neck and cuffs. I have some other sweaters that are equally feminine, and a lot of my spring/summer clothes are as well. But for the most part, I do not dress appropriately for my gender, my new body, or my personality. The fact is, I’m not sure how to dress the Jill of today. She’s not even close to who I’m usually buying clothes for.
I didn’t really ever give serious thought to pink before. I mean, I avoided it, but it was never a physical reaction to it. It just didn’t fit with who I was. I’m still not sure that I’m a pink girl. But while shopping for work pants today, I wandered into the ‘Intimates’ section (I really really need to stay out of there. Seriously. The panty fetish continues…) and the first pair that I stopped and picked up were black…
…with pink lace and detail.
I shocked myself a little by tossing them into my basket. And then promptly picked up another pair, again black, with the word ‘cutie’ written in cursive ….
…in pink.
Out of the 3 new pairs I bought today, two – count them, two – had pink on them.
It didn’t even occur to me until I was on my way back to work the significance of those purchases. It’s not so much the color, but what it represents: Pink is a girl’s color.
Being overweight for most of my adult life (ok, ok, my whole life) had a profound effect on the way I looked at myself in that regard. While I have full sexy lips and a larger-than-necessary chest, I’ve never felt girly. And at this point in my life, when I actually have a more feminine body , I should be dressing it accordingly.
Question is: How in the sam hell do I do that?
I’ll admit it. There are certain channels on TV that I watch more than others, and one of those is TLC. I watch “What Not To Wear” pretty often, hoping to pick up some tips about how to dress the me of today. And I have picked up a few rules and tried to apply them, but I’m almost frustrated enough with the whole thing right now that I’d pay a stylist a couple hundred bucks to look at me and show me what’s going to look good on me and what isn’t.
In the last three years, I have spent a metric fuckton of money on clothes. But not because I liked them, or because I was buying quality pieces. It’s because I had to buy stuff that fits. There’s a big difference between something that fits, and something that flatters. I’m still trying to figure out what that is.
The revelation in the car today about the whole pink thing reminded me that I’m a long way off from looking as good as I could. My nails are good, and my hair is good and my brows are good. But from the neck down and the wrists up, I need some serious help.
So either I start looking for a stylist, or I get a DVR from my cable company and start recording “What Not To Wear” every time it’s on. One way or another, something needs to change.
The pink is a good start. Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings.
What the Hell is my Type?
And on the subject of new admirers…. Another subject comes to mind.
What the hell is my ‘type’?
Five years ago, that would have been so simple to answer. Tight jeans wearing (with or without the motorcycle) , long, dark haired, facial-haired tall guy who knows how to treat a woman in bed.
Now?
Well the tall is still on the list, as is the facial hair *grin. Strong legs always make me weak. And warm eyes. And enjoying not-quite-vanilla-or-sweet sex is a huge plus. But what else? Where does it go after that?
Being picky has its advantages I guess. And not being in a hurry. And being able to look at each man as his own person rather than ‘a potential boyfriend’, or a ‘cure for loneliness’ or a ‘cure for horniness’. When I’m ready to start being serious about ‘looking’, I can take all the time I want to. I have the other areas covered.
So, when I start looking, what I am looking for? Maybe it’s easier to start with what I’m not looking for. Or more specifically, what I don’t care about.
There are certain things that mattered a lot to me in the past, but matter very little now. Age being one of them. I have had lovers up to 12 years older and 13 years younger and frankly the age has never been a factor either way. I used to think (and my mother is famous for saying…) that I should have an older man. But most of that stemmed from feeling like I wanted security and to be taken care of and I really don’t have that feeling anymore. In 3.5 years, I’ve been damn self-sufficient. And I’m happy that way.
So with age off the list and the typical unkempt, slovenly, unemployed man off the list, what direction should we go next?
A geek is good. Someone who is able to have as much fun at home as he can going out. A reader is good. Intelligent enough to keep me interested. A good sense of humor and a genuine laugh. Affectionate but not clingy. Someone who can listen to today’s music or my 70’s rock and roll or my 80’s hair bands and not turn up his nose. Someone who enjoys the fantasy end of science-fiction/fantasy and can laugh at Kevin Smith and be engrossed by a good drama. Someone who can enjoy Buffy the Vampire Slayer as much as Queer as Folk. Someone who doesn’t want a ‘baby mama’ (because I am so much more than that). Someone who ‘gets’ me. Someone who has something to invest in me, and invites me to invest in him.
A tall order, certainly. Am I going to find him my first shot out of the gate? Unlikely. But as someone who never really did the whole ‘dating’ thing, and frankly doesn’t know if I’m going to enjoy it or not, the proposition of looking is both scary and exciting. And a little overwhelming.
But that’s good, right? That I know that? And that I’m still willing to put for the effort when the time comes?
I’m willing to invest the time in what makes me happy.
What the hell is my ‘type’?
Five years ago, that would have been so simple to answer. Tight jeans wearing (with or without the motorcycle) , long, dark haired, facial-haired tall guy who knows how to treat a woman in bed.
Now?
Well the tall is still on the list, as is the facial hair *grin. Strong legs always make me weak. And warm eyes. And enjoying not-quite-vanilla-or-sweet sex is a huge plus. But what else? Where does it go after that?
Being picky has its advantages I guess. And not being in a hurry. And being able to look at each man as his own person rather than ‘a potential boyfriend’, or a ‘cure for loneliness’ or a ‘cure for horniness’. When I’m ready to start being serious about ‘looking’, I can take all the time I want to. I have the other areas covered.
So, when I start looking, what I am looking for? Maybe it’s easier to start with what I’m not looking for. Or more specifically, what I don’t care about.
There are certain things that mattered a lot to me in the past, but matter very little now. Age being one of them. I have had lovers up to 12 years older and 13 years younger and frankly the age has never been a factor either way. I used to think (and my mother is famous for saying…) that I should have an older man. But most of that stemmed from feeling like I wanted security and to be taken care of and I really don’t have that feeling anymore. In 3.5 years, I’ve been damn self-sufficient. And I’m happy that way.
So with age off the list and the typical unkempt, slovenly, unemployed man off the list, what direction should we go next?
A geek is good. Someone who is able to have as much fun at home as he can going out. A reader is good. Intelligent enough to keep me interested. A good sense of humor and a genuine laugh. Affectionate but not clingy. Someone who can listen to today’s music or my 70’s rock and roll or my 80’s hair bands and not turn up his nose. Someone who enjoys the fantasy end of science-fiction/fantasy and can laugh at Kevin Smith and be engrossed by a good drama. Someone who can enjoy Buffy the Vampire Slayer as much as Queer as Folk. Someone who doesn’t want a ‘baby mama’ (because I am so much more than that). Someone who ‘gets’ me. Someone who has something to invest in me, and invites me to invest in him.
A tall order, certainly. Am I going to find him my first shot out of the gate? Unlikely. But as someone who never really did the whole ‘dating’ thing, and frankly doesn’t know if I’m going to enjoy it or not, the proposition of looking is both scary and exciting. And a little overwhelming.
But that’s good, right? That I know that? And that I’m still willing to put for the effort when the time comes?
I’m willing to invest the time in what makes me happy.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
What Did You See In Me?
I was walking down the hall the other day at work, feeling pretty good about how my day was going and an odd thought popped into my head. It made me stop and think a bit.
What was it about me that my exes were attracted to?
Well the first one was easy, and was the thought that came to me in the hallway. My first husband said one of the first things he noticed about me and liked was my walk. Personally I don’t think I have an unusual or a sexy walk, but he liked it and that was enough for me. He also liked the little dip above my upper lip. Mine is very pronounced, because of the shape and fullness of my lips.
Most of the time, if I ask a lover what attracted them to me, I get the obvious answer: My boobs. That’s a little discouraging, but all in all, at least it’s something, right? *grin. C. came right out and told me it was my chest, my lips and my blonde hair. With M, it was my writing and my eyes. I’ve also heard – long legs, smile, sense of humor and voice.
All in all, if you wrap all that up, it’s a pretty decent array of attractive qualities, made even better by the fact that I’m a lot healthier physically and emotionally than I was when I met – any of them. And more outgoing. And less afraid of people and life in general.
Besides the walk, most of what they’ve said about parts of me that were attractive I can agree with. I have always loved my lips, and I do have very long legs. I’m vain about my hair. I like my sense of humor and wit, and I have been told by more than one person that I have a great voice. And you know how I feel about my writing.
There are things about me, back then, that they also found attractive about me that would never be spoken but were obvious. I was easy. I was moldable. I was so happy that someone was attracted to me that I let their flaws take a back seat to the fact that they were interested in me. I was comfortable to be with because I did all the work and I made their job easy. They felt like they could do anything and I wouldn't leave them. And in some cases, they were right – up until the point that I found the One Thing that would break my will. And I never stayed then. No. Even with shitty self-esteem there was always part of me that knew when I’d had enough.
I think that point comes much sooner for me now. I’m less willing to put up with someone else’s bullshit for the sake of being mated. I’d actually rather be alone than have someone who didn’t treat me with respect.
I wonder how many of my exes would be attracted to That. Considering most of them, I’d say none. A few might surprise me. Like C. But the others wouldn’t stick around long, when they realized that they had to give a little to get a little.
But that’s all right. Because here’s the thing. I’m worth it.
So, I raise my glass of water to all of my exes in salute. Thank you for finding something besides my crap self esteem about me to like. And thank you for breaking my heart. Because of you, I am who I am today.
The sexy, kinky bitch who can write from her heart as well as her nether regions. And who can look in the mirror and see all of the good that you saw.
Now take a hike, cause it’s time to make room for a new set of admirers.
What was it about me that my exes were attracted to?
Well the first one was easy, and was the thought that came to me in the hallway. My first husband said one of the first things he noticed about me and liked was my walk. Personally I don’t think I have an unusual or a sexy walk, but he liked it and that was enough for me. He also liked the little dip above my upper lip. Mine is very pronounced, because of the shape and fullness of my lips.
Most of the time, if I ask a lover what attracted them to me, I get the obvious answer: My boobs. That’s a little discouraging, but all in all, at least it’s something, right? *grin. C. came right out and told me it was my chest, my lips and my blonde hair. With M, it was my writing and my eyes. I’ve also heard – long legs, smile, sense of humor and voice.
All in all, if you wrap all that up, it’s a pretty decent array of attractive qualities, made even better by the fact that I’m a lot healthier physically and emotionally than I was when I met – any of them. And more outgoing. And less afraid of people and life in general.
Besides the walk, most of what they’ve said about parts of me that were attractive I can agree with. I have always loved my lips, and I do have very long legs. I’m vain about my hair. I like my sense of humor and wit, and I have been told by more than one person that I have a great voice. And you know how I feel about my writing.
There are things about me, back then, that they also found attractive about me that would never be spoken but were obvious. I was easy. I was moldable. I was so happy that someone was attracted to me that I let their flaws take a back seat to the fact that they were interested in me. I was comfortable to be with because I did all the work and I made their job easy. They felt like they could do anything and I wouldn't leave them. And in some cases, they were right – up until the point that I found the One Thing that would break my will. And I never stayed then. No. Even with shitty self-esteem there was always part of me that knew when I’d had enough.
I think that point comes much sooner for me now. I’m less willing to put up with someone else’s bullshit for the sake of being mated. I’d actually rather be alone than have someone who didn’t treat me with respect.
I wonder how many of my exes would be attracted to That. Considering most of them, I’d say none. A few might surprise me. Like C. But the others wouldn’t stick around long, when they realized that they had to give a little to get a little.
But that’s all right. Because here’s the thing. I’m worth it.
So, I raise my glass of water to all of my exes in salute. Thank you for finding something besides my crap self esteem about me to like. And thank you for breaking my heart. Because of you, I am who I am today.
The sexy, kinky bitch who can write from her heart as well as her nether regions. And who can look in the mirror and see all of the good that you saw.
Now take a hike, cause it’s time to make room for a new set of admirers.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Risk.
When you risk losing everything, you invariably stand to gain everything. (The L Word, Season 2)
You’re not living your life, Shane, and if you don’t take any risks you might as well be dead. (The L Word, Season 2)
I talk a good game about making myself vulnerable to life in general and taking risks. And I do take a great deal more than I used to. But I don’t remember the last time I made myself completely vulnerable to anyone or anything.
Probably while I was married.
I left myself completely open to C. Even after we separated, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and left myself wide open to be hurt. And I was.
About two years ago – before I moved from my apartment in West Madison – something turned that off. I built some defenses up. And as far as my emotional health is concerned, that was probably a very good thing. I still took small risks with my emotions and larger risks in other parts of my life, but I did miss the feeling of opening myself up to someone in a vulnerable sort of way. I still do.
I don’t know if I feel ready to do that on a consistent basis, though. I don’t think I’m ready to say to someone “you hold all the cards”. I think I want to be ready, but I really don’t think I am.
The “you hold all the cards” line is also from The L Word. I do remember now why I enjoyed this series so much the first time I watched it. It really does give me pause, and it makes me stop and think about things – like risk and vulnerability – in my own life.
You’re not living your life, Shane, and if you don’t take any risks you might as well be dead. (The L Word, Season 2)
I talk a good game about making myself vulnerable to life in general and taking risks. And I do take a great deal more than I used to. But I don’t remember the last time I made myself completely vulnerable to anyone or anything.
Probably while I was married.
I left myself completely open to C. Even after we separated, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and left myself wide open to be hurt. And I was.
About two years ago – before I moved from my apartment in West Madison – something turned that off. I built some defenses up. And as far as my emotional health is concerned, that was probably a very good thing. I still took small risks with my emotions and larger risks in other parts of my life, but I did miss the feeling of opening myself up to someone in a vulnerable sort of way. I still do.
I don’t know if I feel ready to do that on a consistent basis, though. I don’t think I’m ready to say to someone “you hold all the cards”. I think I want to be ready, but I really don’t think I am.
The “you hold all the cards” line is also from The L Word. I do remember now why I enjoyed this series so much the first time I watched it. It really does give me pause, and it makes me stop and think about things – like risk and vulnerability – in my own life.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Naughty Pictures
So I did take some pictures this weekend. It’s a weak spot with me; I’m very judgmental of every shot I take and probably only 1/4 of them are ever seen by anyone but my Recycle Bin. I’ve always said that I’d rather have someone else take them for me, because what I see when I look at a picture is not necessarily what everyone else sees. Just like looking in the mirror. I see every flaw. Other people see different things. Not to say that I see no good when I look in the mirror or at pictures. Quite the contrary, I see plenty. But as a registered Type-A Perfectionist, I don’t see what I want to see. It’s not my weight, although I have 12 more pounds I’d like to lose. It’s the after-effects of the weigh loss that make me delete pictures.
But as I said, I do have some redeeming visual qualities *grin For instance, I look extremely good in pigtails *smirk. And lipstick. And my long legs pretty damn good in a short skirt. With my hair straightened and my make-up done and a smile or smirk on my lips, I look and feel pretty good.
So yea, I took a couple (is 35 a couple?) of pictures. I try different poses that seem like they’re going to work and then I proof them and shudder. But some turned out well. Some actually make me grin to look at them.
I only went through two outfits. I had four I wanted to wear, plus a couple of regular plain old dressed pictures for family. Maybe I’ll do some more this weekend, we’ll see.
Like I said, I do think it’d be easier to have someone else take them. Someone who finds me physically attractive. Someone who enjoys the idea of directing me into poses that will make me look good. Someone motivated to make me look good. Maybe I’ll work on that *wink.
The idea of posing for pictures that are perhaps a little (or more) risqué in nature is pretty arousing to me. It’s not something I’d have considered at all until recently. In the past, even when asked for pictures like that, I refused to do it. As I’ve lost weight, I’ve gotten a little bit more relaxed with that. There are still pictures that I would never take, and would only allow to be taken on *my camera for *my use. But the idea of posing for them is certainly hot. Maybe part of that is being directed in how to do it. Maybe part of it is my little bit of an exhibitionist steak coming to the surface. Maybe part of it is just that I’m a kinky bitch and I like the idea of a man taking naughty pictures of me *grin.
I leave you with pigtails and lipstick and the world-famous smirk of a pouting bad girl who’s just been caught with her hand somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be ….
But as I said, I do have some redeeming visual qualities *grin For instance, I look extremely good in pigtails *smirk. And lipstick. And my long legs pretty damn good in a short skirt. With my hair straightened and my make-up done and a smile or smirk on my lips, I look and feel pretty good.
So yea, I took a couple (is 35 a couple?) of pictures. I try different poses that seem like they’re going to work and then I proof them and shudder. But some turned out well. Some actually make me grin to look at them.
I only went through two outfits. I had four I wanted to wear, plus a couple of regular plain old dressed pictures for family. Maybe I’ll do some more this weekend, we’ll see.
Like I said, I do think it’d be easier to have someone else take them. Someone who finds me physically attractive. Someone who enjoys the idea of directing me into poses that will make me look good. Someone motivated to make me look good. Maybe I’ll work on that *wink.
The idea of posing for pictures that are perhaps a little (or more) risqué in nature is pretty arousing to me. It’s not something I’d have considered at all until recently. In the past, even when asked for pictures like that, I refused to do it. As I’ve lost weight, I’ve gotten a little bit more relaxed with that. There are still pictures that I would never take, and would only allow to be taken on *my camera for *my use. But the idea of posing for them is certainly hot. Maybe part of that is being directed in how to do it. Maybe part of it is my little bit of an exhibitionist steak coming to the surface. Maybe part of it is just that I’m a kinky bitch and I like the idea of a man taking naughty pictures of me *grin.
I leave you with pigtails and lipstick and the world-famous smirk of a pouting bad girl who’s just been caught with her hand somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be ….
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Scary can be sexy sometimes
I’m re-watching The L Word from the beginning. I really like this series because it portrays people’s relationships as all being the same whether the partners are of the same sex or the opposite ones. Some of the characters drive me insane but the fact is they are the epitome of all that’s right and wrong with each of us.
I’ve just started Season Two. And in one of the episodes, this line made me actually pause the DVD and write it down:
Scary can be sexy sometimes.
If it weren’t, why would most women go after a bad boy at least once in their lives?
I think that maybe that’s why I’m so enamored with having my partner behind me. Fucking, making out, just a brief moment of intimacy – doesn’t matter. There is just something about that that sends me over the edge.
Don’t get me wrong please. There are multitudes of positions for sex that I enjoy and I especially enjoy the tried-and-true missionary. But even if you’re with someone you know well and have been with for awhile, having them behind you where you can’t see them – can’t see their eyes or their intentions – you still really don’t have any idea what they’re looking at, what they’re thinking, what they’re about to do. You can guess. And if it’s someone you’ve been with many times before, you probably know the routine by heart. But there’s also a possibility of something else - something new, something unexpected. That is what makes it a little scary. Good scary. Mostly *grin
There are other things of course that can be scary. Doing things publicly where you can be discovered. Doing something new or something you aren’t sure about. Those things are equally exciting scary. Exciting scary is good scary. And good scary is fucking hot scary.
Sometimes it’s fun to experiment with that. I have a little bit of a fantasy about being fucked bent over a bathroom sink and watching in the mirror. When you’re being fucked from behind, you miss out on all of the visuals and a lot of the point to point contact. Doing it in front of a mirror removes that. And that is also a little scary. You’d think that it would remove that – the being able to see – but it’s the seeing that’s scary in this case.
Fear pumps endorphins through your body. Maybe that’s what makes it so exciting to include a little bit of that in your sexual encounters sometimes. Then again, I like good surprises and being scared – just a little good scary – certain is a good surprise.
I’ve just started Season Two. And in one of the episodes, this line made me actually pause the DVD and write it down:
Scary can be sexy sometimes.
If it weren’t, why would most women go after a bad boy at least once in their lives?
I think that maybe that’s why I’m so enamored with having my partner behind me. Fucking, making out, just a brief moment of intimacy – doesn’t matter. There is just something about that that sends me over the edge.
Don’t get me wrong please. There are multitudes of positions for sex that I enjoy and I especially enjoy the tried-and-true missionary. But even if you’re with someone you know well and have been with for awhile, having them behind you where you can’t see them – can’t see their eyes or their intentions – you still really don’t have any idea what they’re looking at, what they’re thinking, what they’re about to do. You can guess. And if it’s someone you’ve been with many times before, you probably know the routine by heart. But there’s also a possibility of something else - something new, something unexpected. That is what makes it a little scary. Good scary. Mostly *grin
There are other things of course that can be scary. Doing things publicly where you can be discovered. Doing something new or something you aren’t sure about. Those things are equally exciting scary. Exciting scary is good scary. And good scary is fucking hot scary.
Sometimes it’s fun to experiment with that. I have a little bit of a fantasy about being fucked bent over a bathroom sink and watching in the mirror. When you’re being fucked from behind, you miss out on all of the visuals and a lot of the point to point contact. Doing it in front of a mirror removes that. And that is also a little scary. You’d think that it would remove that – the being able to see – but it’s the seeing that’s scary in this case.
Fear pumps endorphins through your body. Maybe that’s what makes it so exciting to include a little bit of that in your sexual encounters sometimes. Then again, I like good surprises and being scared – just a little good scary – certain is a good surprise.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Halfway
I don’t do things half way most of the time. I have a hard time doing things that I don’t invest myself fully in. There are exceptions. I’m typically not all that excited about doing things that are ‘good for me’ like doing things for my folks or work. But I will give 100% to these things whether I feel them fully passionately or not.
There is another exception, too. And that’s being half-dressed.
While I realize that in our culture, sex is typically done naked. But in my culture – in the Jill Book of Human Sexuality – being half dressed and getting fucked is pretty terrific. It says something, you know? It says “I can’t wait long enough to get my clothes all the way off. I need to have you right now.” Even if that isn’t in reality saying that, the aura of it is certainly present. Urgency can be sexy as hell. It can be expressed in many ways, and fucking without taking the time to take all of your clothes off is one of those ways. Dishelved, hair messed up, lipstick smeared, clothes hanging off. Hot.
It’s a little kinky, a little against the rules, a little this side of vanilla. That in and of itself is enough.
Urgency is not ‘half way’. Urgency is full on need expressed in action and word. Urgency is a borderline inability to control desire.
Urgency is hot.
Sitting around my house in something that is not presentable to be worn outside, like a sexy nightgown or a T-shirt and nothing else – while not any sort of display of urgency in the forefront – represent that to me, too. It says to me that even if I’m not in the mood when I dress that way, if something puts me in the mood, what I need to have available to me is readily and easily available. I don’t do it often, but I do occasionally do it. It usually will put me in the mood to take advantage of the fact that I’m dressed that way. I did this last night. And it kept me on edge for most of the night. It’s a pretty incredible feeling.
Maybe that sounds a little obsessive. Maybe it does sound like I’m captivated by sex. And maybe I am. Maybe I just like putting it to the forefront of my mind because it gives me something fun and happy to concentrate on.
Doesn’t matter really, does it? Sexuality is what it is. I have never been one of those kinds of people who didn’t enjoy sex and I’ve never been one of those kinds of people who didn’t want sex. Even when I went 14 months without fucking anyone, sex was still important to me, and I had as many orgasms as I wanted; wrote about it; dreamed about it and talked about it.
Nothing half way.
There is another exception, too. And that’s being half-dressed.
While I realize that in our culture, sex is typically done naked. But in my culture – in the Jill Book of Human Sexuality – being half dressed and getting fucked is pretty terrific. It says something, you know? It says “I can’t wait long enough to get my clothes all the way off. I need to have you right now.” Even if that isn’t in reality saying that, the aura of it is certainly present. Urgency can be sexy as hell. It can be expressed in many ways, and fucking without taking the time to take all of your clothes off is one of those ways. Dishelved, hair messed up, lipstick smeared, clothes hanging off. Hot.
It’s a little kinky, a little against the rules, a little this side of vanilla. That in and of itself is enough.
Urgency is not ‘half way’. Urgency is full on need expressed in action and word. Urgency is a borderline inability to control desire.
Urgency is hot.
Sitting around my house in something that is not presentable to be worn outside, like a sexy nightgown or a T-shirt and nothing else – while not any sort of display of urgency in the forefront – represent that to me, too. It says to me that even if I’m not in the mood when I dress that way, if something puts me in the mood, what I need to have available to me is readily and easily available. I don’t do it often, but I do occasionally do it. It usually will put me in the mood to take advantage of the fact that I’m dressed that way. I did this last night. And it kept me on edge for most of the night. It’s a pretty incredible feeling.
Maybe that sounds a little obsessive. Maybe it does sound like I’m captivated by sex. And maybe I am. Maybe I just like putting it to the forefront of my mind because it gives me something fun and happy to concentrate on.
Doesn’t matter really, does it? Sexuality is what it is. I have never been one of those kinds of people who didn’t enjoy sex and I’ve never been one of those kinds of people who didn’t want sex. Even when I went 14 months without fucking anyone, sex was still important to me, and I had as many orgasms as I wanted; wrote about it; dreamed about it and talked about it.
Nothing half way.
The Questionnaire, Part 11
Have you ever given or received an enema from your partner? No, but I’ve discussed it with a few, mostly about receiving one. I know that it’s considered kink, and maybe that’s part of my minor attraction to it. But I also know that it’s considered anal-erotic and I seem to have developed a higher level of desire for that as well. I’m not sure how I’d react to the reality of it, but it’s not something I’m frightened of. I’d call it more neutral than anything right now.
Have you ever left or received bruises from your partner during play? Yes. As a matter of fact, there is still a small light one on my forearm from an encounter several weeks ago. I like that. I like reminders. I like to be marked so that every time I see the mark it reminds me of how wet and wild and good the sex was. Marking is also a deeper thing. Marking is like someone saying “this is mine” which can be hot, too. Yes, indeed you can say that I like bruises *smirk
Have you ever choked or been choked by your partner during sex? Well, choking has extremes. Have I ever had a hand over my throat that partially cut my air off? Yes, a few times. Consensually. C and I tried that once. It did a lot for him, did nothing for him or so he said. I’ve tried it one other time as well and I did like it, and I’d like to play with it a little more. I have this picture in my head of a lover coming up behind me and wrapping his forearm around my throat, tiling me backwards and having his way with me with the arm pressed against the front of my throat. That’s incredibly hot. Makes me shiver a little just writing about it. I don’t know, beyond it being another show of force/resistance I’m not sure why I’m drawn to it, but I am. Maybe it’s like face slapping for me in that regard.
Have you had a sex with someone you just met without even knowing their name? No. As I’ve said throughout this questionnaire, I like having at least a minor connection with someone I’m sleeping with, male or female. The idea of seeing someone across the room and immediately being sexually attracted to them and acting on it without speaking makes a good fantasy but I’m not sure it’d work for me.
And thus concludes this amazing set of questions. I’m grateful for them. They really sparked my sexual creativity again and have produced a whole list of topics to write about. Some I’m going to back to revisit. In other cases, they brought up whole new topics.
So I ask this: If you have a question for me that didn’t come up on the list, send me an email using the link at the top of the screen and I’ll answer it here.
Have you ever left or received bruises from your partner during play? Yes. As a matter of fact, there is still a small light one on my forearm from an encounter several weeks ago. I like that. I like reminders. I like to be marked so that every time I see the mark it reminds me of how wet and wild and good the sex was. Marking is also a deeper thing. Marking is like someone saying “this is mine” which can be hot, too. Yes, indeed you can say that I like bruises *smirk
Have you ever choked or been choked by your partner during sex? Well, choking has extremes. Have I ever had a hand over my throat that partially cut my air off? Yes, a few times. Consensually. C and I tried that once. It did a lot for him, did nothing for him or so he said. I’ve tried it one other time as well and I did like it, and I’d like to play with it a little more. I have this picture in my head of a lover coming up behind me and wrapping his forearm around my throat, tiling me backwards and having his way with me with the arm pressed against the front of my throat. That’s incredibly hot. Makes me shiver a little just writing about it. I don’t know, beyond it being another show of force/resistance I’m not sure why I’m drawn to it, but I am. Maybe it’s like face slapping for me in that regard.
Have you had a sex with someone you just met without even knowing their name? No. As I’ve said throughout this questionnaire, I like having at least a minor connection with someone I’m sleeping with, male or female. The idea of seeing someone across the room and immediately being sexually attracted to them and acting on it without speaking makes a good fantasy but I’m not sure it’d work for me.
And thus concludes this amazing set of questions. I’m grateful for them. They really sparked my sexual creativity again and have produced a whole list of topics to write about. Some I’m going to back to revisit. In other cases, they brought up whole new topics.
So I ask this: If you have a question for me that didn’t come up on the list, send me an email using the link at the top of the screen and I’ll answer it here.
Ramped
I’m supposed to be taking pictures today. I have a couple of outfits I want to take some sexier ones in, and then I have some vanilla ones I need to take as well. I woke up this morning knowing I was going to do this. But for some reason, I am having a hard time pulling it together to do it. I don’t know if it’s because it’s daylight or what, but that brings up an interesting point.
My sexuality seems to ramp up after dark.
I’m a night owl by nature, even though I work during the day and am at the office at 7:30 every morning, no matter how much or how little sleep I’ve had at night. I don’t know if the sexual part of that is my nature or if it’s just habit or if it’s because there’s a traditional part of me that believes that sex is supposed to be at night, although I have struggled with that in the past. But taking pictures that are sensual and sexual and are of me wearing some hot little piece of lingerie while the sun is shining really brightly into the room just doesn’t seem to give me the charge that taking them at night does. I want to *feel sexy when I take sexy pictures. I want to be wet. I want to want. Because I want those things to show on my face and in my eyes.
The night time thing – that’s not to say that I shy away from sex during the day. Sometimes, first thing in the morning before I’m even fully awake – sex is completely amazing. A lazy, rainy afternoon that starts with watching tv on the couch and ends up with one or both of us naked and sweaty – yum. But I don’t initiate that as often as I do after the sun goes down. And in the last several years, I’ve really begun to enjoy the power of initiating sex.
So, I wonder then what it is about the absence of daylight that seems to prepare me better for acting on my carnal desires? It makes me want to put on red lipstick and black thigh-high stockings and seduce the hell out of someone who makes me want them. I’m going to have to give that some thought.
But in the back of my mind there are these pictures ….
My sexuality seems to ramp up after dark.
I’m a night owl by nature, even though I work during the day and am at the office at 7:30 every morning, no matter how much or how little sleep I’ve had at night. I don’t know if the sexual part of that is my nature or if it’s just habit or if it’s because there’s a traditional part of me that believes that sex is supposed to be at night, although I have struggled with that in the past. But taking pictures that are sensual and sexual and are of me wearing some hot little piece of lingerie while the sun is shining really brightly into the room just doesn’t seem to give me the charge that taking them at night does. I want to *feel sexy when I take sexy pictures. I want to be wet. I want to want. Because I want those things to show on my face and in my eyes.
The night time thing – that’s not to say that I shy away from sex during the day. Sometimes, first thing in the morning before I’m even fully awake – sex is completely amazing. A lazy, rainy afternoon that starts with watching tv on the couch and ends up with one or both of us naked and sweaty – yum. But I don’t initiate that as often as I do after the sun goes down. And in the last several years, I’ve really begun to enjoy the power of initiating sex.
So, I wonder then what it is about the absence of daylight that seems to prepare me better for acting on my carnal desires? It makes me want to put on red lipstick and black thigh-high stockings and seduce the hell out of someone who makes me want them. I’m going to have to give that some thought.
But in the back of my mind there are these pictures ….
The Questionnaire, Part 10
Would you consider intimately sharing your mate with a friend for purely educational purposes? I think that’d depend on the activity and the people involved. Would I let a friend suck his cock so she could learn how? Sure, if I get to play, too *grin
Have you ever had an audience of strangers watch you perform intimate acts? Yes, at the swinger’s club. To be honest, after the first few minutes, I forgot that they were there. I’m not sure I feel about it on a deeper level. I know that at the club it was fine, but then again, I wasn’t there because it was my fantasy; it was M’s.
Have you ever participated in a bukkake party (several men ejaculating on a woman)? No. That doesn’t really appeal to me. There’s no sort of connection to the men who are jacking off on you, and it’s a purely fetish thing I think. Not my fetish, but someone’s fetish.
Have you ever masturbated while on webcam for others to watch? No. Actually, I just bought my very first webcam this week. I’m not crazy about the quality, but I didn’t spend much either. I just wanted one to play with a little. Will I use it for this purpose? I’m not thinking so. But then again you never know, do you? The idea of it is pretty hot, but because I’m still not 100% where body confidence is concerned I’m not sure if I’d feel inhibited or not. I might surprise myself.
Do you like resistance play where you're holding or being held down and struggling to get free during sex? I like to be held down, yes. And as it turns out, I also like the idea of holding a lover down sometimes. It’s a little empowering to push a man down onto a bed and climb on top of him. Now typically it’s not like he’s going to resist that *grin but at the point you place your hand on his chest and push, do you really care if he’s resisting or not? I don’t know how I’d feel about being resisted but I certainly do enjoy taking the lead sometimes. As far as the other side, fuck yes I like to be held down and I like to resist physically even though my heart is never in it. I like to fight it. I like to wrestle around. I like to be overpowered. For so many years, I was heavier than my lovers for the most part. I liked the idea of being weaker at that point. But now that’s not necessarily the case anymore. My desire to resist hasn’t weakened a bit though. *grin
Have you ever used 'dirty talk' with a partner while having sex? Are you kidding? Yes. Yes, yes, yes. This adds to my sexual experience so much I cannot even begin to tell you. Nor can I tell you why exactly, but I’m kind of past the point of caring about why. Every sexual experience does not need to have this but the more of it I get, the harder I seem to get off. Typically for most of my experience it’s either been words based on the act that was being performed (being called a good little cocksucker can be a very very good thing *smirk) or it’s been names that most people would consider derogatory or downright rude, and that for some reason make me melt into a little whimpering mess. But there are other things too, and the other night while talking with a friend I discovered that using the names in conjunction with a remark about my behavior – as if being chastised – amps the entire thing up to a different level. If I’m in a more submissive mindset for whatever reason, that really moves me along to a different place and I find myself a little lost in it. It’s like being called a ‘bad girl’ when I’m in the mood to be a bad girl. It’s like having that acknowledged in some wild, deep sexy way and …yum. Dirty talk for me is not a requirement but it certainly is a desire in a big way.
Have you ever had an audience of strangers watch you perform intimate acts? Yes, at the swinger’s club. To be honest, after the first few minutes, I forgot that they were there. I’m not sure I feel about it on a deeper level. I know that at the club it was fine, but then again, I wasn’t there because it was my fantasy; it was M’s.
Have you ever participated in a bukkake party (several men ejaculating on a woman)? No. That doesn’t really appeal to me. There’s no sort of connection to the men who are jacking off on you, and it’s a purely fetish thing I think. Not my fetish, but someone’s fetish.
Have you ever masturbated while on webcam for others to watch? No. Actually, I just bought my very first webcam this week. I’m not crazy about the quality, but I didn’t spend much either. I just wanted one to play with a little. Will I use it for this purpose? I’m not thinking so. But then again you never know, do you? The idea of it is pretty hot, but because I’m still not 100% where body confidence is concerned I’m not sure if I’d feel inhibited or not. I might surprise myself.
Do you like resistance play where you're holding or being held down and struggling to get free during sex? I like to be held down, yes. And as it turns out, I also like the idea of holding a lover down sometimes. It’s a little empowering to push a man down onto a bed and climb on top of him. Now typically it’s not like he’s going to resist that *grin but at the point you place your hand on his chest and push, do you really care if he’s resisting or not? I don’t know how I’d feel about being resisted but I certainly do enjoy taking the lead sometimes. As far as the other side, fuck yes I like to be held down and I like to resist physically even though my heart is never in it. I like to fight it. I like to wrestle around. I like to be overpowered. For so many years, I was heavier than my lovers for the most part. I liked the idea of being weaker at that point. But now that’s not necessarily the case anymore. My desire to resist hasn’t weakened a bit though. *grin
Have you ever used 'dirty talk' with a partner while having sex? Are you kidding? Yes. Yes, yes, yes. This adds to my sexual experience so much I cannot even begin to tell you. Nor can I tell you why exactly, but I’m kind of past the point of caring about why. Every sexual experience does not need to have this but the more of it I get, the harder I seem to get off. Typically for most of my experience it’s either been words based on the act that was being performed (being called a good little cocksucker can be a very very good thing *smirk) or it’s been names that most people would consider derogatory or downright rude, and that for some reason make me melt into a little whimpering mess. But there are other things too, and the other night while talking with a friend I discovered that using the names in conjunction with a remark about my behavior – as if being chastised – amps the entire thing up to a different level. If I’m in a more submissive mindset for whatever reason, that really moves me along to a different place and I find myself a little lost in it. It’s like being called a ‘bad girl’ when I’m in the mood to be a bad girl. It’s like having that acknowledged in some wild, deep sexy way and …yum. Dirty talk for me is not a requirement but it certainly is a desire in a big way.
Friday, April 04, 2008
The Questionnaire, Part 9
Have you ever seen a stripper or been to a strip club? Yes. M and I spent a very fun Saturday night up in San Francisco. I had been before, but neither of us had been with a partner. There was one girl in particular that appealed to both of us. We had lap dances from her and fantasized about fucking her together. It was a very sensual evening and I enjoyed it very much. I’d like to go with a lover again. Just the titillation factor alone, if both parties are enthusiastic and creative, would be more than worth the cover charge.
Have you ever committed an act of exhibitionism (moon, streak, flash)? No mooning, no streaking. Flashing is fun though, although I admit I haven’t done it in quite some time. I’m not sure any of those – in the context of them being the same thing as each – really say ‘exhibitionism’ to me though – it seems more prankish. To me, exhibitionism is nudity – full, partial, or slight – in public for the purpose of sexual enticement or excitement. Now, if you were to ask me if I like to be with a partner who enjoys brief flashes of skin in public for the purpose of seduction? Yes. That I do like. And that, I would do *grin
Have you ever committed an act of voyeurism? Have I watched someone fuck or masturbate? Yes. But I think that they’ve always known about it. I don’t think I’ve ever watched anyone engage in sexuality without their knowledge, though that might be fun *grin
If you had a choice as to how often you would have sex, how often would it be? I don’t suppose I can get away with “it depends” here, can I? But it really does. Am I with a partner? If so, then I would like to have some sort of sexual contact every day. Whether that entails fucking or oral sex or just plain making out on the couch is up for grabs, but I like to connect with a lover on a sexual level at least once a day. I think that if you don’t necessarily fuck every day, but do other things instead – even something as simple as shopping for lingerie – it keeps passion alive.
Do you currently have or have you had in the past a friend with benefits, fuck buddy or other regular casual sex partner? I have had three. I have one now, have had for about a year. The ones I had in the past lasted anywhere from three months to five years (off and on). Each of them has been completely different. Fuck buddy relationships can be tricky. If this is someone you are truly friends with, lines are much easier to cross, and it’s difficult to remember sometimes what the relationship is. The best ones leave room for both activities without them taking away from the other. There are different levels of casual (see my recent post on casual vs. nonchalant), and each relationship has to be defined by both people, often more than once. But having sex with someone you truly like and would spend time with outside the bedroom? That’s a pretty cool thing to have in your life.
Have you ever been taught or had someone demonstrate a new sexual act for you in order to better your sexual skills? I don’t think so, outside of the BDSM community.
Do you keep a change of clothes in your vehicle for unexpected overnight visits? No. If I had a local lover, maybe I would be I don’t, so this would just leave me looking for whatever I packed in the bag *grin.
Have you ever committed an act of exhibitionism (moon, streak, flash)? No mooning, no streaking. Flashing is fun though, although I admit I haven’t done it in quite some time. I’m not sure any of those – in the context of them being the same thing as each – really say ‘exhibitionism’ to me though – it seems more prankish. To me, exhibitionism is nudity – full, partial, or slight – in public for the purpose of sexual enticement or excitement. Now, if you were to ask me if I like to be with a partner who enjoys brief flashes of skin in public for the purpose of seduction? Yes. That I do like. And that, I would do *grin
Have you ever committed an act of voyeurism? Have I watched someone fuck or masturbate? Yes. But I think that they’ve always known about it. I don’t think I’ve ever watched anyone engage in sexuality without their knowledge, though that might be fun *grin
If you had a choice as to how often you would have sex, how often would it be? I don’t suppose I can get away with “it depends” here, can I? But it really does. Am I with a partner? If so, then I would like to have some sort of sexual contact every day. Whether that entails fucking or oral sex or just plain making out on the couch is up for grabs, but I like to connect with a lover on a sexual level at least once a day. I think that if you don’t necessarily fuck every day, but do other things instead – even something as simple as shopping for lingerie – it keeps passion alive.
Do you currently have or have you had in the past a friend with benefits, fuck buddy or other regular casual sex partner? I have had three. I have one now, have had for about a year. The ones I had in the past lasted anywhere from three months to five years (off and on). Each of them has been completely different. Fuck buddy relationships can be tricky. If this is someone you are truly friends with, lines are much easier to cross, and it’s difficult to remember sometimes what the relationship is. The best ones leave room for both activities without them taking away from the other. There are different levels of casual (see my recent post on casual vs. nonchalant), and each relationship has to be defined by both people, often more than once. But having sex with someone you truly like and would spend time with outside the bedroom? That’s a pretty cool thing to have in your life.
Have you ever been taught or had someone demonstrate a new sexual act for you in order to better your sexual skills? I don’t think so, outside of the BDSM community.
Do you keep a change of clothes in your vehicle for unexpected overnight visits? No. If I had a local lover, maybe I would be I don’t, so this would just leave me looking for whatever I packed in the bag *grin.
Edge
I love feeling like this.
It's been awhile since I felt the creative juices (so to speak *smirk*) flowing to the extent they have been this week. That questionnaire certainly re-sparked my energy as far as writing is concerned. That, combined with a couple of other interesting things that have happened this week has brought on a rush of feelings that I missed having.
I realize that I'm pretty easy to inspire in that regard - easy to put into a mindset that's just built for writing about, or doing sexual things. Those are the kinds of days when nearly anything will set me off on a spiral -- even wearing the wrong (or right!) kind of panties that ride up into certain sensitive areas of my anatomy *grin
I have more questions to answer from the questionnaire, and then I need to go back and revisit some of the ones that I did answer. Some did not get the in-depth discussion from me that they deserved.
Additionally, my topic list for this blog is almost a whole page long. Now if I can just get my time schedule to cooperate, maybe I'll even be able to fit some fiction in *grin
Days like this are what make me remember why I do this in the first place. I sit on the edge of the sexual precipice because that's where I belong.
It's been awhile since I felt the creative juices (so to speak *smirk*) flowing to the extent they have been this week. That questionnaire certainly re-sparked my energy as far as writing is concerned. That, combined with a couple of other interesting things that have happened this week has brought on a rush of feelings that I missed having.
I realize that I'm pretty easy to inspire in that regard - easy to put into a mindset that's just built for writing about, or doing sexual things. Those are the kinds of days when nearly anything will set me off on a spiral -- even wearing the wrong (or right!) kind of panties that ride up into certain sensitive areas of my anatomy *grin
I have more questions to answer from the questionnaire, and then I need to go back and revisit some of the ones that I did answer. Some did not get the in-depth discussion from me that they deserved.
Additionally, my topic list for this blog is almost a whole page long. Now if I can just get my time schedule to cooperate, maybe I'll even be able to fit some fiction in *grin
Days like this are what make me remember why I do this in the first place. I sit on the edge of the sexual precipice because that's where I belong.
You can leave your hat on ...
I'm having such a great time with the questionnaire, but I figured I'd better take a break from it so that my answers stay fresh :) I still have a long list of questions to go, and will probably get back to working on them tonight.
In the mean time, I ran across a page with some quotes I liked recently, and this one keeps coming to the top of the list for me for some reason:
The good thing about masturbation is that you don't have to get dressed up for it. ~ Truman Capote
That's all well and good, Mr. Capote, but what if you want to get dressed up for it? *smirk
I understand that masturbation is yet another thing that people view differently. I almost said men and women there, but from my own personal relationships I know it's not that kind of line.
For some people, it's purely a stress reliever and a frustration release valve. Getting off lets off some steam that may not have another outlet. It's quick, either in a bathroom or other private place. And as soon as it's over, it's a quick hand wash (hopefully) and off to something else.
On the other end of the spectrum from the "Quick and Dirty" crowd are the "I make love to me" crowd, who make a huge production out of mastubating. Candles, music, sensual materials, maybe even special silk sheets on the bed. They take their time, prolonging the experience for as long as possible.
You have people who do it, but would never admit to doing it because of their religious or social beliefs. You have married men who do it to porn on their computers every day while their wives are out. You have women who spend half an afternoon in bed with themselves because they can't bring themselves to tell their partner what really makes them cum. You have people who try and fail to have orgasms this way. You have others who simply never have -- and never would -- do it at all.
You would assume that masturbation is strictly for sexual satisfaction, wouldn't you? Not so. As I said above, it's also good for stress relief. For some people, the sexual satisfaction is simply a byproduct of the real emotion driving their jacking-off: anger, revenge, grief, shame, hurt. And yet others do it for no other reason than it's become a habit or a nice warm security blanket that they curl up before they go to sleep at night. In that vein, it can also be used as a sleep aid. Ask me how I know /wink.
You have people who consider masturbation when you have a partner to be as bad as cheating. I'm not in agreement with that, however, having had some experience with Mr Internet Porn While The Wife is Busy that I wrote of above, I can tell you that if it becomes a frequent occurence it's likely indicative of other problems in the relationship.
But back to Mr Capote ....
Have I ever dressed up to masturbate? Yes. Not often. But I have, either by request (from a dominant or dominant partner) or because I wanted to. Have I ever made a big production out of playing with myself? Candles and soft music? no. Special sheets? no. But a locked door, a variety of toys at my disposal and an erotic novel or some other stimulant handy? Yes, I have. I've been known to spend an hour or so getting myself off over and over when it was something I felt the desire to do.
It's unfortunate that most of the time that's not really a viable option. Frequently, having an orgasm is the last thing I do before I close my eyes to go to sleep at night. I'll get ready for bed, turn off the light (most of the time *grin), and have one,maybe two good orgasms before I roll over and go to sleep. Timing, more than anything else, dictates that.
That's not to say that I don't do it at other times of the day. I do. But that time of the day is most consistent, and happens almost nightly.
Timing is not always the deciding factor. Sometimes, the deciding factor is the fact that I need to get off, right then. I've been known to masturbate in the bathroom in the warehouse at work, in my car and a couple of other less inappropriate places. When the need is enough that I need to ask myself if it's worth the risk, it usually is.
So, no, Mr Capote, you don't have to dress up to jack off. But you certainly can. And maybe sometimes, you should ~
In the mean time, I ran across a page with some quotes I liked recently, and this one keeps coming to the top of the list for me for some reason:
The good thing about masturbation is that you don't have to get dressed up for it. ~ Truman Capote
That's all well and good, Mr. Capote, but what if you want to get dressed up for it? *smirk
I understand that masturbation is yet another thing that people view differently. I almost said men and women there, but from my own personal relationships I know it's not that kind of line.
For some people, it's purely a stress reliever and a frustration release valve. Getting off lets off some steam that may not have another outlet. It's quick, either in a bathroom or other private place. And as soon as it's over, it's a quick hand wash (hopefully) and off to something else.
On the other end of the spectrum from the "Quick and Dirty" crowd are the "I make love to me" crowd, who make a huge production out of mastubating. Candles, music, sensual materials, maybe even special silk sheets on the bed. They take their time, prolonging the experience for as long as possible.
You have people who do it, but would never admit to doing it because of their religious or social beliefs. You have married men who do it to porn on their computers every day while their wives are out. You have women who spend half an afternoon in bed with themselves because they can't bring themselves to tell their partner what really makes them cum. You have people who try and fail to have orgasms this way. You have others who simply never have -- and never would -- do it at all.
You would assume that masturbation is strictly for sexual satisfaction, wouldn't you? Not so. As I said above, it's also good for stress relief. For some people, the sexual satisfaction is simply a byproduct of the real emotion driving their jacking-off: anger, revenge, grief, shame, hurt. And yet others do it for no other reason than it's become a habit or a nice warm security blanket that they curl up before they go to sleep at night. In that vein, it can also be used as a sleep aid. Ask me how I know /wink.
You have people who consider masturbation when you have a partner to be as bad as cheating. I'm not in agreement with that, however, having had some experience with Mr Internet Porn While The Wife is Busy that I wrote of above, I can tell you that if it becomes a frequent occurence it's likely indicative of other problems in the relationship.
But back to Mr Capote ....
Have I ever dressed up to masturbate? Yes. Not often. But I have, either by request (from a dominant or dominant partner) or because I wanted to. Have I ever made a big production out of playing with myself? Candles and soft music? no. Special sheets? no. But a locked door, a variety of toys at my disposal and an erotic novel or some other stimulant handy? Yes, I have. I've been known to spend an hour or so getting myself off over and over when it was something I felt the desire to do.
It's unfortunate that most of the time that's not really a viable option. Frequently, having an orgasm is the last thing I do before I close my eyes to go to sleep at night. I'll get ready for bed, turn off the light (most of the time *grin), and have one,maybe two good orgasms before I roll over and go to sleep. Timing, more than anything else, dictates that.
That's not to say that I don't do it at other times of the day. I do. But that time of the day is most consistent, and happens almost nightly.
Timing is not always the deciding factor. Sometimes, the deciding factor is the fact that I need to get off, right then. I've been known to masturbate in the bathroom in the warehouse at work, in my car and a couple of other less inappropriate places. When the need is enough that I need to ask myself if it's worth the risk, it usually is.
So, no, Mr Capote, you don't have to dress up to jack off. But you certainly can. And maybe sometimes, you should ~
Thursday, April 03, 2008
The Questionnaire, Part 8
Do you have your nipples pierced? Not now, not ever. Listen, I like my nipples just how they are right now. I’m even nervous about having a breast lift when I do my plastic surgery because I don’t want to give up the sensitivity that they have, and how I react to having them played with. So, no. No piercing. Ever.
How many genital piercings do you have? I had my clit hood pierced for several years. One day, a year or so ago, I just took it out. I don’t know why, I just felt that it had served its purpose and I was over it. I enjoyed having it. I stand by the reasons I got it. But I just didn’t seem to need it anymore. Was it painful when I got it? Fuck, yes. Did it add to my sexual experience? Yes. Do I miss it? Not really.
How many tattoos do you have? One. I have a flower on my right shoulder blade. I have a dragonfly picked out for the left one, I just need to get off my ass and go get it done.
Have you ever participated in a double penetration? Yes *grin. Both with two real cocks and one real/one fake. There is definitely a difference, although both experiences were enjoyable for different reasons. Having two real cocks entails having two real bodies against you – two different skin temperatures and textures. Two sets of hands of different sizes. Two sets of lips. It’s a little bit of sensory overload, which at times can be a good thing, and at other times can be unnecessarily distracting. That, and I never did feel like I could devote enough attention to either man. It’s a wholly sensual experience but it comes with its own set of pitfalls. One real cock, one fake cock leaves a bit more head room for concentrating on just two people’s pleasures. Although I can’t speak from personal experience, I’m guessing that having your cock inside a woman’s ass while her cunt is also stuffed full must make the experience more intense for the man, too. Not only because she’s probably a whimpering ball of ‘fuck me’ but also because of how the fake cock must feel against the inside of her. I have to imagine that it would make being inside her a warmer, tighter experience. From my perspective, all I can tell you is that I was that whimpering wet ball of ‘fuck me’ and I enjoyed it immensely.
Have you ever participated in a gang bang? No, although the fantasy of that is hot. I had a very good friend who I never really did ‘cyber’ or phone with although I talked extensively about sex with him in both venues – who told me that his fantasy for me would be to line up 5 or 6 of his friends to fuck me until I couldn’t take anymore, and then to fuck me himself and prove me wrong. I’ll admit that that story kept me… um occupied while I masturbated for a few weeks *grin. The reality of it might be a very different story. While I enjoy feeling ‘used’ in a sexual manner with someone that I know isn’t really using me specifically for that, I’m not sure the actuality of it would be quite so hot.
Have you ever peed on or been peed on by your partner (golden showers)? No. M got it in his head once to try that. We went into the shower and we both tried, and failed to ‘produce’. Again, the fantasy of that scenario – being marked as belonging to someone – is extremely erotic, and I’d be willing to give it a try with someone, but I’m not sure it’s something I’d want to do as a regular thing. Given a certain situation with a certain purpose, possibly though.
Have you ever had sex while you or your partner was having their period? Yes. Funny thing, my orgasms while I’m on my period are often stronger than those when I’m not, and to be honest, orgasms during my period relieve a multitude of problems that are associated with ‘that time of the month’. However, depending on where at in my cycle I am, the mess isn’t worth it. It all depends on the ‘when’ and the ‘where’. As far as my experience with men’s reactions to it, M was just fine with it, and C wanted nothing to do with it. I guess it all depends on the man.
Do you like being marked by your partner? Yum. I don’t bruise easily on most parts of my body but some do. My neck does. My forearms do. And my thighs and breasts do. If I am marked in any of those places, depending on the intensity, they can last up to a week to ten days. Marks on my ass, again depending on intensity, don’t last nearly as long, but I think that’s typical of most people in general. It also depends on the instrument or body part used to mark. Bruises on my arms or wrists from being held down can last up to a week or longer. Bite marks on my breasts, neck and thighs will last for a week if they are dark to start with. Paddles will bruises me whereas a hand spanking usually does not, and I’ve had mixed experience with floggers. A single tail mark on my ass can last up to two weeks. Again, it all depends on intensity. And intent.
Have you ever taken a shower with your partner? A few times, yes, although the experience wasn’t really sexual. Sensual, yes. But not sexual. I’ve never fucked in the shower. I do however have a fantasy of stepping into a shower in a white tshirt and giving a blowjob under hot streaming water…. *smirk.
How many genital piercings do you have? I had my clit hood pierced for several years. One day, a year or so ago, I just took it out. I don’t know why, I just felt that it had served its purpose and I was over it. I enjoyed having it. I stand by the reasons I got it. But I just didn’t seem to need it anymore. Was it painful when I got it? Fuck, yes. Did it add to my sexual experience? Yes. Do I miss it? Not really.
How many tattoos do you have? One. I have a flower on my right shoulder blade. I have a dragonfly picked out for the left one, I just need to get off my ass and go get it done.
Have you ever participated in a double penetration? Yes *grin. Both with two real cocks and one real/one fake. There is definitely a difference, although both experiences were enjoyable for different reasons. Having two real cocks entails having two real bodies against you – two different skin temperatures and textures. Two sets of hands of different sizes. Two sets of lips. It’s a little bit of sensory overload, which at times can be a good thing, and at other times can be unnecessarily distracting. That, and I never did feel like I could devote enough attention to either man. It’s a wholly sensual experience but it comes with its own set of pitfalls. One real cock, one fake cock leaves a bit more head room for concentrating on just two people’s pleasures. Although I can’t speak from personal experience, I’m guessing that having your cock inside a woman’s ass while her cunt is also stuffed full must make the experience more intense for the man, too. Not only because she’s probably a whimpering ball of ‘fuck me’ but also because of how the fake cock must feel against the inside of her. I have to imagine that it would make being inside her a warmer, tighter experience. From my perspective, all I can tell you is that I was that whimpering wet ball of ‘fuck me’ and I enjoyed it immensely.
Have you ever participated in a gang bang? No, although the fantasy of that is hot. I had a very good friend who I never really did ‘cyber’ or phone with although I talked extensively about sex with him in both venues – who told me that his fantasy for me would be to line up 5 or 6 of his friends to fuck me until I couldn’t take anymore, and then to fuck me himself and prove me wrong. I’ll admit that that story kept me… um occupied while I masturbated for a few weeks *grin. The reality of it might be a very different story. While I enjoy feeling ‘used’ in a sexual manner with someone that I know isn’t really using me specifically for that, I’m not sure the actuality of it would be quite so hot.
Have you ever peed on or been peed on by your partner (golden showers)? No. M got it in his head once to try that. We went into the shower and we both tried, and failed to ‘produce’. Again, the fantasy of that scenario – being marked as belonging to someone – is extremely erotic, and I’d be willing to give it a try with someone, but I’m not sure it’s something I’d want to do as a regular thing. Given a certain situation with a certain purpose, possibly though.
Have you ever had sex while you or your partner was having their period? Yes. Funny thing, my orgasms while I’m on my period are often stronger than those when I’m not, and to be honest, orgasms during my period relieve a multitude of problems that are associated with ‘that time of the month’. However, depending on where at in my cycle I am, the mess isn’t worth it. It all depends on the ‘when’ and the ‘where’. As far as my experience with men’s reactions to it, M was just fine with it, and C wanted nothing to do with it. I guess it all depends on the man.
Do you like being marked by your partner? Yum. I don’t bruise easily on most parts of my body but some do. My neck does. My forearms do. And my thighs and breasts do. If I am marked in any of those places, depending on the intensity, they can last up to a week to ten days. Marks on my ass, again depending on intensity, don’t last nearly as long, but I think that’s typical of most people in general. It also depends on the instrument or body part used to mark. Bruises on my arms or wrists from being held down can last up to a week or longer. Bite marks on my breasts, neck and thighs will last for a week if they are dark to start with. Paddles will bruises me whereas a hand spanking usually does not, and I’ve had mixed experience with floggers. A single tail mark on my ass can last up to two weeks. Again, it all depends on intensity. And intent.
Have you ever taken a shower with your partner? A few times, yes, although the experience wasn’t really sexual. Sensual, yes. But not sexual. I’ve never fucked in the shower. I do however have a fantasy of stepping into a shower in a white tshirt and giving a blowjob under hot streaming water…. *smirk.
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