FIRE!

Tonight I got set on fire. It was frightening to see, but the physical sensation was surprisingly gentle.

(Okay, technically I wasn't on fire, some alcohol on my skin was on fire. But it's awfully like being on fire, you know?)


I worry sometimes that this blog reads as a descent. That as I push through more boundaries and try more extreme things, I seem to be documenting a slide into debauchery. But it's not. It's more like a coming of age. My skin was on fire and my friends were holding my hands and we were all laughing.

Pictures of Pride.

Today was the Seattle Pride Parade. It was enormous and awesome and joyful. I brought a camera. (Pictures may be NWS.)

Resplendent in shiny colors!

Bears!

Leather Pride! WHOOO!

The Internet is leaking!

THE AWESOMEST SHIT YOU EVER SAW!

Frankie!

Hitachi relay race!

YARRRR!

This car is an angry vagina!

This man is a happy penis!

And through all the silliness, the ultimate message of Pride:

A little bit about pain.

Submission's easy to explain. Pain's hard. It's not just about giving up control, it's about giving up control and being betrayed. If D/s is a trust fall, SM is a trust fall where you hit the ground. Still thrilling, and with a competent top still safe, but... fuuuck, it hurts.

I've heard people say things like "masochists transform pleasure to pain," or "it's not pain, it's intense sensation." Really? Is that what it's like for you? Maybe it is. But for me, there's a lot of real, no-euphemism pain in the experience. Certain types of pain are straight-up pleasurable: very mild slap 'n tickle, pain during sex, and sometimes pain that's sufficiently severe and extended that I get a little out of my head. The meat of a scene, though, hurts me.

So why? Dunno. I don't think it's any kind of negative or self-destructive impulse; hitting makes me happy! I do get a little high afterwards, but it doesn't happen every time and I don't think it's the primary motivation. Ascribing it to The Patriarchy is too ridiculous for words. Maybe it's just one of those random oddities that people are born with. Like an eleventh toe.

Pain teaches you about yourself. You learn how strong you are--I've been whipped with a fucking chain! I've had a knife held to my throat! I've fucked with my tits and pussy bruised purple!--and how weak. Silly James Bond fantasies about how you'd stand up under torture crumble in the face of real pain. Even "moderate" pain can turn me into a sniveling coward, someone who'll kneel and beg and suck cock to make it stop. Some of that is an act, is deliberate submission; some of it isn't. Ultimately there is no strength against pain, and although he could probably take more than me, if you hit him hard enough, James Bond would cry and suck your cock.

(Okay, well, Moore would. Brosnan would be wetting up his lips before you were done with the warmup. Jury's out on Craig. Connery would die defiant.)

Sometimes, though. Sometimes I'm handcuffed up on a chainlink fence, ass-naked in boots and there are strangers staring at me and a man with a cane and a maniac grin is making me cry. Sometimes I laugh, sometimes I know I'm enjoying it, sometimes I'm horrified and begging for it to stop and yet soaking wet between my legs. No, I can't say "every blow is a surge of pleasure." Every blow hurts. And that's awesome.

Lust makes hypocrites of us all.

Clothes on, sitting around talking:
"I'm just into normal kink, you know, hitty stuff. Crazy fucked-up shit like ageplay and calling someone 'Daddy,' that's so not my thing."
"Oh yeah, me too, that's... good for other people if they like it I guess, but yeesh, weird. Like those crazy fucks who play with piss."
"Oy. Yeah, the whole bathroom thing, so not sexy."

...

Naked, on my knees in the bathtub with bruises on my tits and his cock in my face:
"Be a good little girl and pee for Daddy."

Cosmocking; July '08.

Carrie Underwood on the cover. Yeek. I freakin' hate Carrie Underwood and if you follow this link or this one you will begin to understand why. (God helps those who help themselves. And your last name is Underwood, doofus.) The words "TABOO SEX" are on the cover in rather too large a font and bold a color considering this thing gets shelved at the supermarket. "Mommy, what's 'taboo sex'?"

(Yeah, I value free expression over innocence, and given the power I wouldn't make the editors change their cover, but I still don't like it.)

The notion of "going steady" is as antiquated to today's 20somethings as the phrase itself--dating on university campuses is all but extinct.
...Buh? I'm in my twenties, I've been to college, and... uh, yeah, people date and have relationships. I'm pretty sure about this one.

Girls who sit at the bar come across as validation junkies. They want to get hit on and then deny guys all night to make up for low self-esteem.
Dammit, you're ruining it for those of us who sit at the bar to get hit on and say yes. Not to mention the girls who sit at the bar because they're just relaxing, or their friends are over there, or they're talking to the bartender, or otherwise being normal human beings. I swear, denying men sex really isn't that popular a hobby.

Men are anesthetized to mild degrees of naughty, so they crave kicking things up a notch--by role-playing, participating in light bondage, or trying other slightly risqué tricks.
I'm pretty sure that "light" bondage (there's a heavy kind? heaven forfend!) and being "slightly risqué" are mild. But my bigger gripe with this statement is the implication--and it's an unsettlingly common one in the vanilla world--that kink is a response to numbness. That freaks get beaten because they can't feel anything else. BULLSHIT. Horrible, condescending, clinicalizing, other-izing bullshit. I, and every other kinky person I know, get turned on by kissing. I love having my neck rubbed and running my fingers through a man's hair and making love cheek to cheek. I just also love being belt-whipped until I cry.

When he's close to climax during girl-on-top sex and you're arched over him with your breasts in his face, suddenly lean back and widen your legs. Not only will his penis feel a different sensation, but the visual shock of seeing your hottest body part up close and personal will totally thrill him.
People may vary on this one, but in my experience, when your partner is close to climax the best thing you can do for them is exactly what you were doing. At that point, any sudden change in angle/speed/pressure is at best going to derail the Orgasm Train and at worst lead to painful slipping-out misthrusts. Also, no matter which way you lean I don't think it's possible to show your vagina to his face while it is also on his dick. Physics.

Be a Little Kinky:You can raise the bad-girl bar without flying your freak flag. Anything that's somewhat taboo (pretending that you're strangers, for example) makes a guy feel like he's being naughty, which is very exciting.
What is with this fixation on being a tiny eensy smidge kinky? There's certainly nothing wrong with light kink if that's the way you play, but this article's constant repetition of "no, no, this isn't the bad scary freaky kind of kink" comes off as a condemnation of people who aren't bunnyfur light.

Also, I notice the basic theme of the article is that kink is for the man's benefit, and the tips on playing as light as possible are basically ways to satisfy his evil desires without enduring too much pain. The idea that a woman could herself want to dominate or submit is not addressed anywhere in this four-page cover article on kink.

During dinner with friends, fondle him under the table. He'll have to work hard to control himself and not respond to your touches so no one knows what's going on.
Um, ew. Let's not use our friends in our sex life without their knowledge, m'kay? (Also, it might turn out like this. Only Owen Wilson won't be there to save your ass.)

Swap your usual one-note body spray for a subtle fragrance with oriental, musk, amber, or gardenia notes--they'll tap into his craving for variety in your relationship. When he notices, reply "Hey, I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?"
HAHAHAHA like he'll even notice HAHAHHA full of surprises right HAHAHHAHA oh man HAHAHAHA can't breathe HAHAHAHA laughing too HAHAHAHA okay I need some water now.

"Before we started dating, my honey would go out almost every night of the week. So I started throwing parties at his place, and at some point during the night, I'd pull him into the bathroom or closet to kiss him or show him the lacy undies I was wearing. It made him wish everyone else would leave! If he went out with his buddies, I'd send him sexy text messaves that made him want to rush home. After a while, he realized that being with me was all the good time he wanted."
Hey, congratulations on ruining a social life! I bet his friends are... "just jealous," is that how you justify it to yourself? Anyway, I hope they're willing to take him back once the novelty of your poonani runs out and you start resorting to harsher tactics to maintain your monopoly.

My boyfriend knows I'm insecure, yet sometimes he slips and talks about how hot someone is or mentions porn. He says I'm stupid for getting upset, but why would he care about others when he has me?
Oy, another one from the "monogamy means monopoly" camp. Fortunately, Cosmo has the answer: stare at other guys in front of him and see how he likes that! How deliciously kindergarten.

Aftereffects.

When I was about ten, I got a cabin at Sixth Grade Camp with a counselor who told filthy stories about her sex life to the kids. (I think this moment is the first time I realized there was something wrong with that. I mean, she was telling sixth-graders what semen tastes like. But at the time I didn't feel violated, I was just glad to be learning.)

I remember her saying "You know, after you have good sex, you're really sore afterwards."

It took me twelve years to appreciate just how right that lady was.

Especially in the places where the clothespins were.

Guest Blogger

Dear Pervocracy,

Holly's a little preoccupied right now. OK screw this, it's the Pervocracy so why mince words. Holly's sucking my dick for the 20th time this weekend(bless wireless keyboards. Bless 'em). We're awesome perverted geeks. So what the hell, let me toss off a couple of quick points here while I've got my hands free.

1) Ladies, whatever the magazines say, FUCK NO, USING TEETH DURING ORAL SEX IS NOT A GOOD IDEA. Holy crap, I feel better just having said it. Holly, honey, you're good about this one. Seriously. It doesn't feel good. I don't know how somebody got it into their heads that that's a good technique, but I don't think a guy came up with that one. Imagine some guy using teeth on your va-jay. It's not a pleasant idea, right?

2) People that whine about how much their partners aren't willing to have sex with them need to change something. Whether it's their partner, their arrangements, or their whinging, something's got to give.

3) People who waste time on Pick-Up Artist bullshit rather than oh, say, improving themselves as people, physically, mentally, and emotionally, are losers. There's no exception to this. I'm a geek from New Jersey, folks, I love Bon Jovi, Star Wars, and comic books, and I still get laid pretty frequently. Y'know why? Not because I'm some superstar catch physically(I'm not bad, but I'm not Brad Pitt), not because I make a ton of money, not because I have some super-sekrit(tm) way of putting women down in such a way that they'll sleep with me. Because I'm willing to better myself. Yes, Eurosabra, just so that I'm fucking crystal clear here, I'm talking to you. Go work out, get a job, and pull your head out of your ass.

Now, if you folks'll excuse me, I'm gonna go make this pretty lady cry (and come!) before I have to hop a plane back to the East Coast.

-Tommy

Now THAT'S sadism.

Cosmo suggested that to get kinky and taboo, I could wear sexy lingerie or give him an oil massage or--so very naughty--pretend we were strangers.

Tommy rolled up the magazine and spanked me with it.

Like bunnies.

Tommy the Cuddliest Sadist has been staying over. He's been here since late Thursday night and we've had sex thirteen times. That works out to... about every four hours. Really more since we sleep. The boy has stamina.

And by "boy," I mean "Daddy." In the last couple days he's shoved a piece of ginger up my ass, put clothespins on my breasts, beaten the holy hell out of my tits and ass, snapped a thin piece of metal against my pussy to raise welts before he fucked me, and made me scream "come in me, Daddy!" where people could hear. And then we cuddled.

We've got more planned. I can't type for too long here. But it's just the coolest thing ever to be spending so much time with someone whose sexual interests and appetite are as weird and large as my own. I'm used to guys being less horny than me, used to them cutting me off at some point and telling me I've had enough sex or hitting. Tommy is as horny as me. It's fucking awesome.

Although god damn am I sore right now.

Blogosexuality.

The awesome thing about having a sex blog is that it can get you laid.

The awkward thing is that after the laying, he rolls over and says "Oh God, I'm going to be an entry on the Pervocracy, aren't I?"

Well... yeah.

"I never say 'no'..."

Stupid ol' real life is still making it difficult to write full entries, but I present for your amusement one of the worse things I've seen on the Internet today:

Sex Doll Rental

The FAQ is priceless, too:

Q: When and how do the extra charges like "Loss and Damage Policy Fees" or "Clean-Up Fee" apply and how much are they?
A: Hopefully such circumstances never occur. However, if we are forced to apply such fees they will be applied in the following cases: fingernail marks, bite marks, and cuts made with a knife or other bladed instrument; burn marks; liquid other than lotion; excessive bending of the doll’s joints; dirty or torn clothing; a dirty head; semen anywhere on the doll's surface or her entries, handcuff marks. Note: We require that you WEAR A CONDOM at all time when entering the doll's entries. The previous list is not definite and we reserve the rights to asses fees if needed. The amount of "Loss and Damage Policy Fees" are determined on a case by case basis.

"Clean-Up Fee" is assesed if the doll is found in inapropriate sanitary condition for collection. "Clean-Up Fee" is $100 and it will be collected in cash or charged to customer's credit card.

New apartment's tentative name: The Den of Sin.

I'm moving over the next couple days. There will be a slight interruption in your perversion service. Apologies for any inconvenience.

Find out what it means to me.

Saturday night I played with a guy who, while incredibly cute and fun, was way too respectful. This is a ridiculous thing to criticize when you're engaging in violent sex acts with strangers (gosh, it sounds terrible when I put it like that!), but it reached awkward proportions.

"Is it okay if I touch your back? I don't wanna make any assumptions here. Alright, is it okay if I touch the back of your arms? If that's a limit I understand."

I felt like such a ho that my answer was constantly "yes." Wait... am I not supposed to want my back touched? Did he expect me to say no? Is that some people's limit? Do they have a good reason for that?

I suppose this attitude is infinitely preferable to making assumptions about what you can do with a stranger's body. Far, far be it from me to think anything like "a Dominant doesn't need to ask permission." And yet. There's gotta be a better way.

If it were me, I think I'd start out with "can I fuck you in the ass?" and work backwards. That avoids the ho-feeling and shows self-confidence. Much more polite.

Kinds of wanting.

I want enough money to pay my bills, go out with friends, and have some left over for savings each month. I also want to be a billionaire.

It's easy enough to sort out the reasonable desire from the goofily overreaching one in this case. In others it's harder.

I want to find a sexual partner who fulfills my needs, respects me, and is also a friend. I also want to get laid every night by a wide variety of sexually dominant men with large frames and short hair.



(My sexual preferences make me the inverse Anita Blake.)

Protocol.

Much as i hate to admit it, doing goofy-ass BDSM typing/talking protocol does kind of secretly turn me on.

Love and Sex.

Maybe the problem of zipless-fuck culture is not that we don't value love enough but that we value it too highly. Love is like enlightenment, this far-off ethereal thing that must never be pretended to. We fuck without love not because we don't want to be in love, but because we don't expect it any time soon--it's too precious.

My friends and I have an instant reaction to anyone with less than a year of dating saying they're in love and anyone with less than five years getting married: "They're crazy." Love at first sight? Fucknuts. How can you make any kind of commitment without a lifetime of deliberation and field-playing? It's too important!

And so we fuck pretty much whoever's handy and doesn't smell funny. I'm not the kind of person who could call this a bad thing--I never really made the emotional connection that being in love has any relation to sexual monogamy anyway--but I think it's perhaps a reaction to the divorces or bad marriages of our parents who married young. How big of a faux pas is it to say "love" to someone you're dating? My young, pervy, mostly-liberal, free-wheeling peer group may be sluts but we're secretly romantics. Because we lost our virginities young and casually, we're not saving ourselves? Nonsense. When we jealously guard our hearts against any but the truest and most tested love, we're saving ourselves.

It's the motion of the ocean, fellas!

Dominant:


Dominanter:


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