Fizzy.

I've noticed I tend to think of penis size in terms of soda containers.

"Hung like a Coke can."
"Hung like a Monster Energy drink."
"Hung like a Red Bull."
"Hung like a two-liter."

Teeth.

The thing I remember most about fucking the giant is his teeth.

Backstory. The day Alan dropped the bomb, I responded in my typical cool, collected, and mature manner, and posted a "hawt slut wants ur bod" ad on craigslist. I got a surprising number of surprisingly appealing responses. I called the cutest one who could spell, we arranged a place, and within four hours of posting the ad I was naked in a fancy hotel suite with a Calvin Klein model. (S'true; I googled him.)

He was a giant, in the literal sense; seven foot one and still growing in his twenties. (And I probably shouldn't have asked, but he already had heart disease and didn't expect to live much past his forties. People aren't meant to be so big.) To answer the obvious question, he wasn't, uh, proportional; he was pretty average. He must get that weird moment of half-disappointment from every girl. "Okay big boy, let's see if you're big everywh... oh." Huge hands though.

But the moment that sticks in my mind and the reason I'll remember him as a good fuck is an instant after I got on top of him and started sliding up and down on his cock. He threw his head back, squeezed his eyes tight, pulled his lips back, until his face was nothing but teeth. Not attractive; not meant to be. An absolute pure unselfconscious grimace of ecstasy and we were only starting.

He didn't do anything special; he didn't even last very long. But he fucking loved it. He screwed up his face and moaned and gasped. And that made it fucking awesome.

Well, that and his six-inch fingers.

Maybe it's coz I'm not pretty enough.

I've been reading some blog posts on the Open Source Boobie Project, and I'm really annoyed. Because although I think the guy who started the project is more than slightly creepy, I also think there's nothing wrong with the idea. Having my boobies touched is fun! I like sex, I like attention, I like fun, and as long as I have consistent veto power, I don't see the problem with an agreement between two adults that there will be boobie-touching. In fact, as long as the veto power is thoroughly respected and women without buttons aren't approached, I have trouble seeing why anyone would object. (It bothers me that the buttons were only for women, I'd appreciate a two-way gropestreet, but that's not a dealbreaker on the whole project I think.)

But then I read this:
Not that I’m blaming the she-geeks that were sucked into this. As a she-geek of sorts, I fully understand that when you are old enough to vote but probably not old enough to drink, you are still getting over the fact that everyone who told you that you were too ugly and unsexy for admission in the human race in high school was probably exaggerating the case. And thus, you might be vulnerable to the flattery of some asshole who says, “Your tits are just good enough to be groped by random dudes who think showering every day is for peons.” But I promise you, young ladies, you don’t need the affections of men who hate you in order to get your grope on.

That's such a steaming pile of "women don't ever really like sex!" and "if you disagree with me, you don't know what's best for you!" I mean, I didn't even get the chance to participate in the project and I still feel personally condescended to. Because this does describe me to a point--I was ugly in high school, still kinda am, and I do enjoy that I can get a surplus of sexual attention now. But... so? This is so bad? The sexual attention makes me happy, and it's not a fake or deluded happy, it's just flat out "boys like my boobs, this is awesome." I'm not degrading myself by seeking sexual attention unless you believe that sex itself is degrading. I do not.

Also, I'm rather offended that being sexually attracted to women's bodies equates (and not for the first time) to hating them. By that standard, I fucking despise men. 'Specially big beefy ones with short hair. Bastards.

In the comments, it goes from condescending to outright foreign to my experience:
-the “status quo” already IS that men go up to women and ask if they can touch their breasts
-Do you know how many times complete strangers have groped me, or asked to grope me? Because I can’t count that high.

Uh... really? Is that what the other chicks are getting? Because--and now I really feel ugly--this doesn't happen to me. It just... doesn't. I walk around the city and ride the bus and go to parties and I've never been seriously groped by a stranger unless I was coming on to them. I thought this was because the human race was basically decent, but is it just because I'm not pretty?

(The exception is patients; I do get groped by mentally impaired people sometimes. But I can't really hold it against them and often I don't even know if it was deliberate.)

I just don't know how to reconcile women's stories of constant public sexual harassment with my experience of never having such a thing happen to me. Or even witnessing it secondhand. Men who deny that this happens are accused of being blinded by male privilege--am I privileged to be a dumpy chick?

Run free, little ovaries! Freeee!

I'm going off the Pill for now. I'm not having uncondomed sex with anyone anyway, I'm trying to lose weight, and I want my full enormous sex drive back. (Not that it ever got so low--I've heard horror stories about women on the Pill permanently losing the ability to orgasm, and I sure as hell haven't experienced anything like that and I'm still plenty horny... but I used to be even more.)

Also, before I went on the Pill I had a period roughly every three months, which, although it occasionally gave me pregnancy paranoia, was pretty awesome.

On the whole, it was cool to know that I was almost completely babyproofed, but there are too many negatives to make it worthwhile if I'm using condoms. I might go back on it sometime in the future if I actually have a relationship steady enough to do the unprotected thing, but that's probably a ways off.

And sadly, I feel like I'm getting to the point in terms of number of partners where I really shouldn't be going uncondomed with anyone until I've committed to monogamy and then been tested. I'm not sure how statistically/medically true this is, but once I cracked the double digits, I started to feel like I'm pretty much Typhoid Mary if I go unprotected. I haven't had anything symptomatic and I did pass an STD test clean (three men ago...) but I do worry about things like HPV. If 25% of people have it, and I've slept with about twelve... AP Statistics was a long time ago but I'm thinking the probability is basically "yes."

Or not. I've been good with condoms. I've only ever barebacked Alan and he'd never barebacked anyone else. It's hard for me to dissect the truth from the slut-shaming in the stories about what diseases you can get even with a condom. The happy little slut in me wants to believe the latex is a truly protective free ride, the paranoid media consumer in me worries that bugs crawl right around that thing, and the medical professional in me just doesn't know who to trust.

Sweat.

It was a long, hard, hot day at work, and at the end of the day I was sitting in the truck next to my partner and I could smell his sweat. He's married and there's nothing about him in particular that gets me, but the smell of a man's sweat always makes me think about sex.

(By the way, there are numerous moments in my life when I am not thinking about sex; I've got a whole entire life that involves having clothes on. I just don't write about it here.)

And more than sex, intimacy. After sex, lying with my head on his chest or in the crook of his arm and breathing in the hot smell of man and fuck. This is the way I want to end every day.


I've borne being alone before and I suppose I will again. But for now I know I'll keep seeing Benny unless I get something good going and probably even then. Just to smell his sweat.

Okay, that's a ridiculous romanticized lie. Just to do a wide variety of athletic and disgusting things that make him sweat, and then to smell it.

Workout.

I just started going to a new gym which has hip abducter/adducter machines. (And not a single ab-crunch bench that I can use; apparently only 6-foot-tall people need to do crunches? Oh well, I can do 'em on the floor mat like some sort of pre-technological cavewoman.) That's really good for me, because I have an old hip injury that could use some work, so I got going on the hip exercises, and...

...oh my. Those machines make you feel the burn in interesting places. There's something about having your legs widely spread and clenching the muscles in your groin and ass that makes you think of things other than your health.

And the look of the machines.



It cries out for a couple of strategic d-rings.

Questions for the boys.

I've always been curious. Use the ticky boxes to answer anonymously if for some reason you're embarrassed to talk about your boners.

-What's it like to have an erection? Is it annoying, pleasurable all on its own, slightly painful, neutral? Do you often get them at random times? Do you have any conscious control over them? Can you pee with an erection?

-What's sex like? How do girls (or boys) feel inside? (I kinda know of course, but only with fingers.) What about sex really feels best to you--pressure, friction, warmth, "all of the above it's sex you silly girl"? Do different partners feel very different?

-What, in your opinion, makes a partner "good in bed" or not?

-Are your nipples sensitive? How 'bout ears? Butt? Anywhere else?

-What's it like to come? Does it feel more like a peak or a relief or both? Do you feel it most right before you ejaculate or as it's happening?

-So, uh, just in general... what's it like having a dick?

EDIT: One more: what are condoms like? How do they change sensation?

As a dog returneth to his vomit.

...I return to the two separate follies of writing explicitly about my personal life, and Benny.

He was good though. No headgames; I think he'd actually missed me. He kissed me a lot, and we fell asleep cuddling after. And, not to deny what this is really about, I spent a whole lot of the time in between hogtied and with toys in both ass and pussy getting the holy hell beaten out of me. But that's just another type of cuddling really.

He made me cry a lot. In the good way; I'd be crying and coming. He was hitting me with this thin horrible plastic rod, and I thought I couldn't possibly take one more blow, and then he'd do it anyway and I'd burst into tears and he'd start fucking me. I don't always know if he likes that for good reasons, but I like it and my reasons are no more coherent so let's just call it a good time.

I've been reading Mary Roach's book Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. There's a passage in there about Alfred Kinsey measuring men's ejaculatory distances; three-quarters of men have basically none, and among the other quarter, it traveled "anywhere from a matter of inches to a foot or two away." (p.35) Which is an awfully complicated windup to me pointing out that I got Benny to hit himself in the face. He's a little over six feet, and I figure his dick is about halfway up, so... the champion!

I know sometimes in this blog I've painted a picture of Alan as the good boy and Benny as the bad boy, Alan as love and Benny as sex. It's not that simple in either direction though.

Lonely.

It's not that I want to get back together with Alan, it's just that I wish we could hang out. Well, and have sex. And I guess with sex you have to have kissing and cuddling. And as long as we're hanging out we should also go out.

...But I don't want to get back together or nothing.

Savta.

My grandmother is staying with me for Passover. Before she arrived, I made a considerable effort to sanitize the house--porn, SM instructional books, and sex toys all carefully concealed. Right now, the trunk of my car looks like the aftermath of a vice bust.

But Grandma takes one look around and takes me to task for "reading filth!" The problem? She found a copy of Cosmo.


...Well, I guess she's right, really.

...But boy am I glad she didn't find the toy we call "Mr. Ed."

Cosmocking: May '08.

It's that time again! Time to reaffirm that Cosmopolitan magazine is made of poop and patriarchy! This is "The SEXY Issue," as distinguished from "The HOT Issue" or "The NAUGHTY Issue."

"I was ecstatic when my boyfriend of three years proposed. He took me out to dinner, and the actual proposal was really emotional and touching. Even better: he invested in a serious rock for me."
EVEN BETTER! I think she's being a little sardonic, but even as a joke, damn that's cold.

Don't immediately hop into the shower [after sex]--lying in his arms with that musky scent helps you bond.
This is one of those cases where I'm offended not by the advice but by the suggestion that someone needs it. "Seeya later honey, I'm so fucking special I can't stand smelling like anything besides cucumber-melon for a single instant!"

Passionate words are more effective when said in the left ear because it corresponds to the right side of the brain, which remembers emotional language better.
Well, if you're dating a split-brain patient. Except that if you are, they won't understand a damn thing you say, because the right side of the brain doesn't really process language at all; that's why people with left-sided strokes are often aphasic.

Nowadays, a lot of chicks are empowered and for good reason. Women are earning advanced degrees, big salaries, and their fair share of recognition in the world. But there's another kind of boldness that's a little harder to come by, the kind you require in more private situations, such as when you spot a hot guy you want to chat up or just before you and said hot guy are about the hit the sheets. We've dubbed it sex-kitten confidence...
Fuck you, Cosmo. I'm all about developing my sex-kitten confidence, but I've fucked a random dude and I've graduated from college, and I can tell you which one is just a teensy bit harder.

"I pay my apartment's cable bill, and my male roommate likes to order adult on demand. Recently, I looked at the bill online and was shocked to see the actual titles. I didn't need to know he's into Lil German Treats... or that he viewed four XXX films in two hours!"
Well, as long as he's paying you back for the on-demand fees, maybe you should mind your own fucking business?

He showed up with two dozen tulips, totally spacing that you love pink gerbera daisies? Thank him for remembering that you love flowers, and concentrate on how lucky you are to have a man who tried.
Is their target readership the cast of My Super Sweet Sixteen? "You gave me the wrong kind of flower and now you've ruined everything, asshole!"

Sprinkle a little pepper under his nose right before he climaxes. Sneezing can feel similar to an orgasm and amplify the feel-good effects.
lol whut

Ask what songs he listened to in junior high, and play them back during a hookup. It will take him back to that time when he was in an almost permanent state of horniness, triggering his primal urges.
"Backstreet's back... alright!"

During sex, place your fingers on his tailbone, and rapidly press and release. This stimulates the coccygeal nerve, a small mass of vascular tissue, and gives him chills.
Man, Cosmo's really laying on the "science!" in this issue. I'm very interested to hear how a nerve can be vascular tissue. Also, I like that "stimulating a nerve" is a sexy selling point. I can make up a lot of hot sex moves on that basis.

"When you and your hunk are doing the dirty deed, press on the inside of his big toe; this stimulates the medial terminal branch of the deep fibular nerve, which means that he'll be able to feel it."

I suppose the damage is done.

Alan and I are, because of this blog, probably No More.

Dammit.

I'm not sure. Probably I shouldn't be posting this or leaving the blog up. But sadly, I just don't think that liking someone as a person compensates for a total failure to meet their sexual expectations. It fucking sucks and I'm completely heartbroken but I guess in some sense it was inevitable. I'm a huge horrible pervert, he's not, and much as I want to say "it's just sex, what about us?" I have a feeling that the answer is "okay, us aren't meant to be having sex."

Dammit.

Fully clothed.

Alan is wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt with Godzilla on it. I'm wearing a tank top, a leather jacket, and a khaki skirt. I'm straddling him and we're fucking. His zipper's open and my panties are pushed aside, but besides that we're obscenely decent. The scene would be PG-13 if we weren't saying such filthy words to each other.

It's an oddly muted fuck; all the light touches are gone, the ones you don't even notice until they're missing. His hands are on my shoulders and I only feel a blunt pressure through the leather. It's a hot fuck, literally, both of us sweating hard. And although we're in private and could be naked if we pleased, there's something deliciously naughty about what we're doing. It's secret sex, hidden under my skirt, not even a flash of pink as I feel his cock slide in and out of me.

After we come we realize how hot we are and strip down, and we cuddle naked.

Million-Dollar Idea.

I'm going to write a pair of sex and relationship advice books entitled Don't Sell This Book to Men and Don't Sell This Book to Women. The advice will be entirely generic, but the aura of gimmicky secrecy, the cross-gender peeking, and the inevitable controversy (especially if some goofy bookstore manger takes the titles seriously--and I should pay one to) will make me a millionaire.

Hostile Work Environment.

So apparently it's okay for the girls at work to read and laugh at Cosmo together, and it's okay to read the sexy articles out loud and even relate them to your own sex life, but it's not okay to comment that "fuzzy handcuffs are for wimps."

I'm feeling very marginalized right now.

That cookie-tossing feeling.

All my life, when I've been about to have sex with a man I didn't know very well, I've become painfully nauseous. I've actually puked before sex with at least three guys (at least two of whom totally knew but weren't dissuaded) and even if my cookies don't come up my stomach is always tied in a knot the first few times I'm about to do a new guy. It's not conscious reluctance, it's just a physical and mental tension. A little fear, a little performance/body anxiety, a whole lot of overexcitement.

Going up to a new friend's apartment wearing matching undies is the same feeling as being on a rollercoaster slowly ratcheting up the first hill. I got myself into this because I thought I'd love it--and I still think I will--but Jesus Christ I'm scared--but there's no backing out now. (Of course I could always tell the ride operator to let me off and I'm sure he would, but I never have, because deep down I know that the fear is false, it's only a ride and once it gets moving I'll be screaming with joy.)

I miss that feeling. Going into sex with your nerves overwound can be uncomfortable and sometimes embarrassing, but it's one fuck of a rush. It's the sympathetic nervous system. Fight or flight. Pupils dilate, heart races, stomach tightens, muscles tense. Hairs stand on end and every nerve is very, very alert.

With Alan, it's long gone. He doesn't judge me, won't hurt me, is cuddlebunny close and frankly pretty predictable. He gives me nothing to fear. I certainly don't resent him for that; that would be ridiculous and I do like nice guys--but I want to feel that exhilarating terror again.

I feel a tad bit sick saying this, it's not a desire that'll serve me well if I get older or marry or have kids, but right now, I want someone new.


(I'm not dumping Alan. Just looking for a... supplementary partner.)
(And if you're new to the blog, Alan does know and approve of my cheatin' heart. He's a sweetie like that.)

It took me forever to figure this out.

If you want to know if your housemates can hear your vibrator, don't pay attention to how loud it is when it's two feet away from your head. Turn it on max, set it down, walk out of the room, close the door, and then see if you can hear it. It's surprising how much difference this makes.

However if you ever make noises in response to your vibrator you're doomed and can only masturbate when everyone else is out of the house, because "probably just some distant highway noise" never goes "oooohhh."

"Double Your Dating."

Sorry for going postless, I've been busy with some major life and job rearrangements. But Bruno just sent me a wonderful booklet on how any guy can learn the secrets to "getting" lots of women, and I figured that was worth a post. (Do most guys really want a large number of women? Seems like one or two attractive ones on a recurrent basis would be more satisfying. But maybe I just don't understand because I'm a girl.)

Anyway, damned if I'm going to read 90 pages of this shit, but the general gist is that women need to be tricked into "giving up" affection and sex and being a manipulative little weaselboy is the height of studliness. Implicit in this, of course, is what Figleaf would call "the no-sex class"--the ridiculous belief that women don't want sex for the same regular horny reasons as men, and therefore will only have sex if tricked or somehow paid. I've heard variations of this belief in a million places and it always drives me insane, because, well, I'm really horny. And of course I'm not horny for all people or at all times, but when I'm not, payment won't help. Pay me enough and I'll fake it, but I cannot be paid or tricked into feeling horny.

But why make fun of the underlying assumption when there's so much to be made fun of in the book?

For most men, a woman is like a Chinese puzzle inside of a brain twister.
Really? Because I feel like I'm just a person. It's not like my actions are apparently-random, is it? I... do things that are fun and avoid things that suck. It's very unmysterious. And I feel like that when guys say "women are a mystery" what they really mean is either "making women have sex with me is a mystery" or just "women are crazy."

Have you ever listened to a group of women talking about men? Ever notice how they speak largely in some kind of code language and constantly make a big deal out of tiny details that seem totally irrelevant? Have you ever noticed, on the other hand, how men are direct with each other and have no interest in bickering over small things? What's going on? Have you ever noticed how attracted to drama most women are?
Nope! I never noticed any of those fucking things! And I don't understand how you can write a book on attracting women from a perspective of hating women. If they're that damn crazy, why do you even want one?

One good example is to say to a hot woman who's acting arrogant "You don't have me fooled for a minute, dear." When she say's "What are you talking about?" you say "Well, I know that most men fall for this 'I'm beautiful and aloof and I get my way' part of your personality... but I know something that none of them know... that there's really another side of you. A side that none of THEM get to see. I'll bet you a dollar right now that I know something about you that no one who's only known you for 5 minutes has EVER known... ... You may act tough, but you're actually EXTREMELY sensitive on the inside. If someone makes a negative comment to you, you might act like it doesn't bother you... but you'll think about it all the way home... I know that secretly you're as sensitive as a little girl... it's just that most people never get to meet that part of you..." This messes up a cold woman soooo hard that you have to be ready for instant personality meltdown and a completely different person to come out of her.
Oh MAN. I would love to see a guy actually go through with this routine. On the ludicrous offchance that it actually works, do you really want an arrogant woman? (Well, "arrogant" here probably means "not properly sexually available," but let's play along.) Seems like it would be more efficient to just walk away and find a woman who's polite in the first place. Oh wait, then she wouldn't be hot, because all hot chicks are arrogant bitches, I nearly forgot.

Women often view men picking up on them as a sort of game. They talk about it with each other, they have standard lines that they learn when you ask for their number - "Why don't you give me YOUR number instead and I can call you...?" and so on.
That's not a game, that's so your creepy ass doesn't call us 500 times at 3 AM.

I believe that underneath it all, men are usually trying to find women who will give them sex, and women are usually trying to find men who will give them loyalty and commitment.
I believe that's your fundamental problem. It seems like if you really just want sex NO STRINGS NO EMOTIONS AWESOME MAN, you could hire a hooker. So are the pickup games just a cash-saving move?

If she complains about you or doesn’t like something, turn it up a notch and do it more. If she says to me “I don’t really like it when you say that” I say “Well then you might want to leave, because I say it a lot” Get it?
Women: Every Day is Opposite Day! (It isn't Opposite Day.)

I do crazy things, like if I’m standing next to a girl at a bar, I’ll turn to her and say in a completely serious voice “Will you PLEASE stop touching me?” And then look them right in the eye. Or say “What are you doing at a bar for godsakes? Can’t you find a nice normal guy? Or are you desperate?” All with a completely straight face.
Hahahaha Jesus Christ this guy has never had sex in his life.

I could go on, there's 90 pages of this shit, but you get the idea. I think even normal men know that "pick-up magic" is for creepy little trolls, so I guess I'm doing the fish-in-a-barrel thing here, but God is this shit hilarious.

Holly's Two-Step Pick-Up Magic:
1. Say hi to a woman. Talk to her like you'd talk to a human being.
(1a. This will not always work, and not always lead to sexytimes. This is not because you lack some asset or skill, it's because she didn't wanna. Don't take it personally and try again.)
2. Once you've gotten to know her a little better, continue to treat her like a human being. The panties will melt down her leg, I tell ya.

Looking.

I haven't seen Benny in a while and I'm fairly sure I'm not going to. Much as it pains me to admit it, the fucking fantastic bondage sex isn't worth the "THIS IS A NO EMOTIONS ZONE, YOU BETTER NOT BE HAVING AN EMOTION THERE MA'AM" bullshit.

Which puts me on the market again. Or the semi-market, because I've still got and love Alan for cuddlywuddly purposes, but when it comes to rough stuff his repertoire's pretty much limited to gently pinching a nipple and then saying "I'm sorry." I'm in the market for a part-time, non-monogamous but warm dominant/sadist who doesn't take this stuff too seriously. (In the Seattle area. Email me.)

Assuming my readership isn't that broad, I guess I'm going to have to do all the tiresome getting-yourself-out-there shticks that I really don't miss from singlehood. Munches, parties, the naughty personals, sheez. I'm sorry to sound so down on it, but man-hunting combines two of my least favorite things: pretending to be outgoing (I'm not unfriendly, but I'm very awkward with strangers) and being judged on my body. I know there's a lot of people and especially BDSM people who don't mind a tummy, but at the same time I feel like "redhead, 22, wants to be your hittyslut" would be a much easier sell than "redhead, 22, 170 pounds, wants to be your hittyslut."

Ah well. I'm a young kinky woman in a kinky town and I'm not much fussy, I suspect this won't be so hard. I'll let you know how it goes. In detail.

What feminism really means to me.

I've talked too much about what I don't think feminism is. (Victimhood, puritanism, or applying academic overanalysis to the real world, for instance. Those aren't it.) I think I have to do something more difficult and talk about what I do see in it.

Freedom.

To me, feminism is about securing choices and opportunities for women. Being able to choose to have a child, or not. To marry, or not. To have forty-five partners or two or one or none, to fuck for love or money or fun, and to not lose other options in your life when you do. To have any job you're qualified for. To dress and act like a boy or girl or neither.

Wearing lipstick is neither feminist nor antifeminist; waking up in the morning and realizing that you can choose for yourself whether you want lipstick, and won't be slutty if you wear it or sloppy if you don't, is feminist.

Of course total freedom is impossible; for me to be entirely free would necessarily remove someone else's freedom, and anyway it's not going to happen. As long as the world has finite resources and humans think independently, no one is free free in the obnoxiously literal sense. But I believe that the goal of feminism is to allow women to be as free as possible.

People, really. Along with releasing women from the necessity of acting ladylike (while preserving the option!) comes releasing men from having to be manly. For every woman who hides her sexuality so as not to be a dirty slut, there's a man who actually doesn't lust for everything with legs and a low BMI but would be a total pansy to admit it. Feminism is about freeing people from the restrictions of gender.

Smallest touch.

Alan and I are out at a bar together, and as he leaves the table to get another drink, he runs his hand across my back as he passes and gives me a little squeeze on the shoulder.

Maybe I'm pathetic for caring but somehow that kind of tiny thoughtless touch means a lot. It's not sexual, it's not major, it's just... confirmation.

"cum out of nose"

I'm tired (just got a new job! I'm an EMT now! whoo!) and I haven't gotten laid in like two weeks ("C'mon baby, I need material for the blog"), so I'm going to do the Lazy Blogger thing and post some of my more hilarious Google Search inquiries.

how to swallow cum
Still the top search, by far! (After the title of the blog.) Along with variants, there are hundreds of these; apparently I'm the premier cum-swallowing blog in the Pacific Northwest. And I still don't understand how you'd need a tutorial on this. Getting a guy to the point of coming in your mouth takes skill or at least enthusiasm, but once you've got the come there, I think you can figure out how to swallow it.

swalow cum
Three separate people. Sheesh.

"women's are longer" orgasms women better
Well, it's not like anyone's in a position to compare.

"hate cum" +facial
That's not very nice.

can you swallow cum when pregnant
Why the hell not?

cum shark
Oh MAN. If I ever need to retitle this blog or pick a new username somewhere, this is a prime candidate. It's just the best phrase ever. "Cum Shark." YES.

how i had sex
"By Billy, grade 4."

swallow cum from condom
No, but I once got everyone at a New Year's Eve party to do "condom shots" of boozed-up milk out of Trojans.

what happens if you make cum
You'll find out when you're older, Billy.

swallow ice cum
Now there's some Chunky Monkey. (Alternate punchline: Chubby Hubby. Hubby's Chubby? I dunno.)

you will eat this cum
Uh... no, thanks. Really.

Cut.

I've been with, I think, roughly even numbers of circumcised and uncircumcised men. Uncut is better; when the head of the penis comes out it's wet and tender like an internal organ, something exquisitely sensitive, making cut cocks look dry and roughened in comparison. And the way the foreskin slides around inside me is a hell of a feeling for both of us. For these reasons, combined with a total lack of evidence of any benefits, I'll never circumcise any son of mine.

(I'm Jewish... this may lead to considerable family drama.)

But I can't be too vociferous about this, can't really start frothing about "mutilation" and "robbing sexual pleasure" because, well, the circumcised men I've been with have been fucking great. If lacking a foreskin makes sex 1% less fun, something else--enthusiasm or kinkiness or creativity--has always made up for it and more. And maybe they just didn't know what they were missing, but the guys sure seemed to enjoy it. It's hard to say if he's enjoying it to its maximum potential, but a guy without a foreskin can sure as hell fuck and love it and come.

In the end, it's like chocolate and vanilla; if I think about it I can decide I like one a little better than the other, but they're both delicious.

Well, except that to make chocolate you have to perform genital surgery without anesthesia on an infant for no reason. So I'm not way into it.

I touch myself.

My sexuality works totally differently when I masturbate compared to when I have sex. Having sex, I like a lot of penetration and not much clit stimulation, and I have multiple orgasms fairly quickly. Masturbating, I rub my clit, take quite a few minutes, come once, and fall asleep. Even if I stay awake, I have absolutely no desire to continue after the first orgasm, and it feels uncomfortable to try.

The weird thing is, although I know I've joked about it a few posts back, I actually can't watch porn and masturbate. Nor can I use a large dildo or buttplug. If I do, I come instantly and can't go on. Setting myself all up for a nice fancy masturbation--moving the computer monitor next to the bed, getting out and lubing the best toys, getting into a really fantastically horny mood--always ends in thirty seconds of disappointment. I'm a premature ejaculator. (Not literally.)

So when I'm alone I use only my hand, and only my imagination, because it's the only way to get more than an instant of enjoyment out of it.

When I'm with a partner I go "prematurely" too, but unlike when I'm alone, I can do it again. And again...

Sugasm!

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #126? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
Filling Myself
“We too want, need, conversations in which someone listens to us and considers our needs, not just their own.”
Sex Worker Solidarity: Amanda Brooks
“There’s a lot of love among activists, even those who disagree with one another.”
Need
“These images that come from the artistic workings of your inner soul speak to me, as mine do to you.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself (one from the vaults)
10 Lies Pornographers Tell
Editor’s Choice
Though We’ve Never Met
More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(Yes, I'm participating in a linkwhoring game. But I actually read Sam Sugar's blog since before he started this, so there's a connection other than "whee linky me.")

EDIT: On reflection, I'm not going to do this again. Making a post with absolutely no original content and links I didn't choose sucks. I don't want to be one of those bloggers who blogs about blogs about blogs, I just want to write dirty things.

A most prosaic difficulty.

Little hands, big wrists.

:(