Young ladies must preserve their precious neurotransmitters! DON'T GIVE HIM YOUR DOPAMINE GIRL.

Man, the abstinence movement rhetoric about oxytocin is weird.

Never mind that the scientific basis is pretty shaky. Never mind that it's creepy as shit to assign love to a chemical released at orgasm. Never mind that apparently marriage is so sacred that it alters your biochemistry.

I just think it's weird to A) need any scientific backing for the statement "ending relationships causes emotional pain" and B) use that as an argument against having any relationships at all. It makes them sound like cranky old divorcees. I know, going into a relationship, that it's going to end and that it's going to suck when it does. I just believe that the stuff in between is worth it.

I don't know the name of the specific neurotransmitter involved here, but I'm pretty damn sure that going to bed alone every night for goddamn years isn't entirely emotionally painless either.

Resolved:

To not have one more anonymous fuck or play session until I have been on at least one honest-to-God, clothes-on, actual-conversation-made date.

(Established fuckbuddies are okay, but don't reset the date counter.)
(Fucking at the end of the date is okay, as long as it comes as at least a minor surprise.)
(Five minutes in a coffeeshop is not a date.)

Don't get me wrong, Slut Lyfe 4Eva, but the last couple weeks I've had all kinds of weird discontents, and I think I need to take a break. I've fucked enough dudes; I want to fuck a person.

It's so lame when you call it that.

Shove me to my knees, piss in my face, make me call you Daddy, beat me til I cry.


Let's engage in humiliation, watersports, role-play, and corporal.


I hate fetish labels. They distance and categorize everything that's supposed to be nasty and messed-up and visceral. It's like eating pizza with a knife and fork. Labels give a weird sort of legitimacy to things that are only hot because they're illegitimate. They're useful for detached third-person discourse I guess, but trying to "engage in corporal" when you want to be fucking hit is a miserable thing.

Political Intern.

And part-time indie rocker, hair jet black and spiky, body pale and lean. I met him near his apartment, in a cool part of town, where even on a cold weekday night the streets were packed. We talked over late-night coffee, then walked back to his place and cracked open bottles of beer. We never finished them.

For a moment we just sat on the couch quietly, then I turned toward him and it was all set in motion. A moment later we were kissing, me straddling him and grinding on him, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing the pale chest underneath. He leaned down and bit me hard on the neck, grabbed my hair, and a moment later we were in bed and naked and I was stroking his cock with his hand knuckle-deep in my pussy.

He stood to put on a condom, and I came up behind him, stroking his ass with one hand and his cock with the other, and we went down to our knees on the floor. He pushed me back and fucked me hard. For such a skinny guy he was shockingly strong and he fucked me like he was trying to go through me. It was the way men fuck when they're just about to come, but he didn't, he just kept going. I came and then he did, violently, slamming me against the floor.

We got in bed and lay there just kissing over and over until he was hard again. I kissed my way down his body and sucked his cock, feeling the thickness of it in my mouth, tasting the little aftertaste of his come still on the tip. He grabbed the back of my head, pushed me further down on it, just to the point of gagging.

We rolled over, me laying on my belly on the bed and him on top, and he fucked me again, from behind. He was as forceful as before, almost the edge of what I could take, and lasted even longer. I was moaning, working my hips back against him, and he had a fistfull of my hair and pushed my head down into the mattress.

So, um, I had fun! I think I'm gonna see him again.

The 10 men you meet on Craigslist.

1. Mr. Standalone Dick Shot
"u like wat u see? 8 inches"
[picture of angry purple erection, taken down body, dick clenched in fist and glossy with mysterious fluids, patchy hair scattered on thighs like sagebrush on the side of a desert hill]

2. Mr. Discreet
"I'm married, but she'll be out of the house between 2:30 and 3:00 picking up our kids from karate... you'll have to be precise but I think this'll work out if you come at exactly 2:30 and work fast."

3. Mr. Concise
"hey"

4. Mr. Enormous Prefabricated Story
"...You feel the head of his cock settle at the lips of your pussy. Now tell me you're sorry, he says. You cannot say anything as your breathing is frenzied and your mind is swinging and spinning with what you desire, with what you need. You feel his hand come down hard on your ass, harder than the whipping before and it stings as if a swarm of bees had stung you. I'm sorry, sir, you manage to stammer out, and it is cut off with a moan as his enormous cock slides inside of you fast. It is enough to make you almost come right there. He stops suddenly..."
[like ten pages of this]

5. Mr. There Is a Goddamn Baby In My Picture
"Sorry hun this is the only pic I had. It's my nephew."

6. Mr. Unqualified
"I know you said you were looking for a guy under 35 who could meet today and host, but I'm a really healthy 54 and I'm a little busy right now and we can't use my home but maybe we could do it in the backseat of your car or something sometime next week?"

7. Mr. Suspicious
"I'm sorry but I have been burned before, so could you please prove to me that you are actually a woman? I need some kind of concrete proof that you are not a spambot for a transsexual hooker sting operation before I can carry this discussion any further."

8. Mr. Fucking Scary
"I WANT TO POUND YOUR CUNT ASS WITH MY GIANT HORSE DOG DONG UNTIL YOU SCREAM FOR THE PAIN OF RIPPING SLUT MEMBRANES AND I WILL TEAR YOU APART AND SEND YOU HOME SOBBING AND BLEEDING FROM YOUR HOLE PUSSY ASS CUNT ANUS."

9. Mr. Presumptuous
"I'll be at the Starbucks on Western at 5. I'm a tall guy and I'll be wearing a blue shirt. See you there!"

10. Mr. Suspicious Motives
"I don't remotely meet the qualifications in your ad, but you are gorgeous and I love your ad! Oh well, I guess that's all for now since I don't measure up, I just wanted to let you know how awesome you are and I hope you find what you're looking for.

...If you don't, you could always give me a call."

Cosmocking: November '08!

Lauren Conrad on the cover! Whoever that is! And she's wearing a top that looks sort of like a sports bra and sort of like a corset! A sports corset!

My work partner found this magazine with a bunch of sex tips circled and didn't believe me when I said it was just to make fun of them and he's still giving me shit about it!

Sneaky Signs He's Dating Other Chicks
Before the exclusivity talk, it's tough to tell if a guy is seeing only you.
So? That's the point. If you want exclusivity, you have the exclusivity talk! You don't tell him it's a casual thing and then get offended when he "cheats." Having a secret invisible exclusivity talk with yourself will only lead to broken hearts and dead bunnies.

"My guy is supershy and hates when people take photos of him--he'll duck out of pictures or put his hands in front of his face. It didn't really bother me until I got the idea to make a scrapbook for our one-year anniversary and realized we had hardly any shots of us! I made the book anyway, using the few photos I did have, plus pictures of couples cut out from magazines. When I presented him with the book, he was obviously confused about why I'd included random people, so I explained that his refusal to be photographed meant there was little documentation of our relationship."
Wow, that's... that's really crazy.

Play porn star by bringing a camcorder into bed to bed to view yourselves. But don't record the action--just seeing each other through the lens is a huge turn-on.
It is? I thought that SOP with camcorder sex was a tripod and leaving it on, not wrestling the damn hard blocky camcorder around in the bed with you. That's less "ooh so exhibitionistic" and more "get that thing out of my face, man, I'm trying to get fucked here." Also, I'm generally opposed to this kind of fakeness--if you're going to film yourselves, grow some balls and film it! You can always destroy the tape later, and you won't have to take half a drink next time you play "I Never."

Build momentum by keying into an urban legend that the seventh in a series of ocean waves is the strongest. Lie on your back on a bench and have your man make every seventh thrust his most powerful.
"That was six, honey, you're doing it all wrong, this isn't like the ocean at all! Ugh. Do you just want to stop and watch TV or something?"

In-bed aggression makes sex more exciting, so have him be a little firm with you by pinning you to the bed. Playfully resist by trying to close your legs or sit up. Just don't get too rough, and make sure you have a safe word.
Yes, when engaging in highly edgy perverted kink like light wrist-holding, it's very important to have a safeword. I mean, I don't want to get too harsh on Cosmo here, it's never wrong to have a safeword, but god dammit, stop talking about your uber-vanilla tickle-with-no-slap like it's hardcore kink. It's just a variant on plain ordinary sex, and that's okay, it's actually a really fun one, but stop co-opting the label I earned with blood and bruises.

Show up at his place in a long coat and knee-high boots and nothing underneath.
I get the appeal, but I can't help thinking that would be the one day I get pulled over...

Come to bed wearing nothing but sky-high fetish-style or gladiator heels. Your footwear will give your tryst a kinky S and M vibe.
Cosmo, Cosmo, Cosmo. Let's make a deal. You stop throwing around the phrases "kink", "S and M," and the like until you've been lashed down on a spanking bench while a man slaps your dildo-stuffed ass with tack-studded gloves, and I'll stop calling it "fashion" when my shoes are the same color as my belt. I'm holding up my end of the deal here, Cosmo. Come on now.

In missionary, up the G-spot action by having him rotate his body clockwise, using his arms to support himself, until you're facing opposite directions. From there, grip his waist with his thighs as he thrusts back in you.
I think I need a diagram here. But if this looks the way I'm guessing--he ends up with his head by my feet, still face-down--how in the hell is his cock going to stay in? It sounds incredibly uncomfortable for both of us. Also, wouldn't all the pressure be on the back of my vagina, opposite the G-spot? I suppose I don't know for sure until I try it, but... yeah, I'm not going to try it.

Q: Can a man physically tell when a chick peaks?
A: We definitely pick up the hints. You tense your muscles, you arch your back, you intensify your breathing, and we feel your vagina tighten around our penis as it contracts--signs you can't easily fake.
Actually, you kinda just listed the ways to fake it, and I'm pretty sure I can do all those things. So I guess now I have the tools I need to... oh. Oh. OHHHH. OH YEAH OH GOD FUCK ME FUCKMEFUUUCKKMEEEE AAAHHHHHHH. Mmmm. Ahhh. That was good, baby, really. Honestly. You were great.

The average vagina is 1.3 inches in diameter at its widest; the average erect penis diameter is 1.5 inches. So chances are, your guy in larger than you are. Whew!
How do you measure the diameter of a vagina? Because I never got down there with calipers, but I think my diameter goes from about zero inches at rest to... hangon, lemme get a tape measure... divide by π... about 2.75 inches when properly worked up to it. It's like asking "how open is a mouth?"

I'm guessing they measured the comfortable stretch in an unaroused, unprepared state, for which 1.3 sounds about right, but if "unaroused, unprepared" describes your sex life, you kids need to sit down and have a little talk.

Pick your favorite tree, and have your guy do the same. Then see where your attitudes toward life and love sync up and where they clash.
This was part of an entire page with pictures of trees and text about how if he's an oak he's loyal but if he's a redwood he's stubborn and seriously what the fuck Cosmo.

Finally, from the horoscope:
Thanks to captivating Uranus, men are more attracted to you than ever.

:)

Historian.

Another random fuck today! Sometimes I worry a little that this is a dangerous hobby, and it is, but I think the dangers also get overhyped for "moral" reasons. I certainly haven't had to deal with an STD, pregnancy, or violence yet, and I've been doing this slut thing on and off for years now. I'm religious about condoms, I listen to my gut (untrustworthy, but hell, it's gotta be better than not listening), and I have a lot of naïve trust both in other people and in my luck.

This one was a historian, and sadly, not great in bed. He was just so nervous! I didn't smell girlfriend/wife (although, again, I should probably put less stock in my psychic powers), just that he's not used to having girls pick him up. He kept touching me like he was afraid he'd tear something. Soft teasing touches have their place, but when we get down to business I like to be pawed and squeezed and stretched, and he wouldn't stop being all tentative.

I still feel all good now though. Even when it's not optimal fucking, I still love it. I just feel so warm and happy afterwards. I wonder if I'm an addict? One of my friends told me about someone he knew who quit heroin. He was able to taper off relatively quickly, but he had this constant feeling of wanting something and not even knowing what. I can sympathize with that. I get it after about a week. On the other hand, I also get thirsty when I don't drink, and you wouldn't call me a water addict.

I've copped my fix and I've learned some fascinating things about private companies' role in imperialism in 19th century America.

Celebrity Crush!

FYI: I would lick the sweat from Joel McHale's balls.


Also, Anthony Bourdain! And he probably tastes a lot worse.

Chef.

The last time I had sex it was a one-night stand with a chef with pierced nipples and a charming resemblance to a younger Anthony Bourdain. He fucked me in installments; sixty seconds missionary, sixty seconds doggy, sixty seconds cowgirl, sixty seconds sideways, and by this method managed to last a heroically long time while making me feel very thoroughly fucked. Finally he made me kneel, stood over me, and made me jerk him off all over my face. He moaned louder when he was coming than any guy I've ever heard. (Well, than any guy I've heard coming from his cock. Guys who enjoy getting fucked up the ass make amazing noises.)

Then he bent down and slurped it all up. He licked my face clean and then he licked his lips.

Then, like a true gentleman, he handed me a towel.

My ol' bad habit.

I hung out with Benny and I feel better. We didn't play or fuck, just talked and watched TV all cuddled up. There's probably something wrong about using your (rather obnoxious, although he's gotten a lot more respectful lately; either he's growing up or he actually missed me) fuckbuddy as a teddy bear, but he was cool with it and I do feel better now.

I also made the sad realization that he's now my longest-running sexual relationship of all time. Of course that's mostly due to us not giving a crap about each other, but we have sort of reached the stage where we know each other, you know? "Care" would be too strong a word but we know how to talk to each other and touch each other and that's a little bit comforting. He may be an Axe-wearing affection-spurning douchebag, but at least he's not a stranger.

God I need a real date.

Sigh.

I'm having a lonely. A pretty harsh one actually. I think I need to find myself an actual date.

I've had a bad streak of playing with people who treated it like a professional massage; overcommunicating constantly in sensitive but detached voices while making the play as nonsexual as possible. I certainly respect if someone doesn't want to fuck me, but maybe I've gotta start turning down play in that case, because when I try to do the hitty part without being sexually aroused or emotionally involved, shit just hurts. I want to be mastered and fucked, not just thudded and stinged.

Of course that's a tough, slightly dangerous, and maybe unrealistic thing to be asking of random strangers. But when it works out it's so worth it.

At the moment, anyway, I'm getting this really nasty hollow feeling like I just want to cuddle and kiss a whole lot and have a partner all to myself for a little bit before getting down the mastering and fucking. Again, this is sort of a tall order for the world, but I'm sure I can get it eventually. I'm going to cool off the play parties for a bit and try and go on some actual goddamn dates like a normal person.

Well, not entirely normal.

Guten Tag.

Hallo, die Deutschen! Ich bin sehr sexuell erregt durch Ihre Rasse! Bitte senden Sie mir einige Ihrer köstliche Bier!

Secret Identity.

Unfortunately, at work we're very comfortable talking about our sex lives. No problem if your sex life is basically a binary "I got laid"/"I didn't get laid", but I still feel awkward when I'm asked about mine.

Work friend: "How did that date Thursday night go?"

Real answer: "The guy was kind of a dud although I did like it when he put clothespins all over my breasts and ripped them off. Later in the night, after I'd worked off some nervous energy dancing around topless, I ended up in bed with about eight people lying between a midget and a biker with the midget's naked girlfriend in my lap and a slaveboy rubbing my feet. I didn't technically get laid, but one of my friends who's a puppy player got his paw four fingers deep in me and everyone watched me scream as I came."

Out-loud answer: "Eh, the guy was kind of a dud."

It's like being Batman.

Wuss.

I played with a new top today and sadly I think it was one of the least satisfying experiences since I've been active in the kinky community. It kinda went like this:

Him: Okay, I'm going to start you out with some light warmup.
*ENORMOUS THUNDERING THWOCK*
Me: OW yellow ow ow ow.
Him [crestfallen]: Gee, you're very... sensitive. I mean, not that that's a bad thing, but I wasn't really planning on just sensation play. Hmph. I don't think I brought light enough toys for you.

It's rough feeling sexually inadequate under any circumstances, but when someone ties your adequacy to your ability to be beaten like a carpet and finds you lacking, that really sucks. I'm a masochist; I am not a heavy masochist. I like being slapped and spanked and whipped and pinched; I don't like being royally THWOCKED, and I don't like feeling like having a merely-human pain tolerance makes me a crappy bottom.

The guy wasn't a deliberate jerk, he respected my limits, he was just so transparently disappointed by them that the whole mood of the scene went to Suckland. I left feeling like a wuss and he left feeling like he'd barely gotten to play. If I hadn't gotten into an awesome fun wrestling match with another guy later in the evening, the whole night would've been a downer.

Ah well. They can't all be winners. And in the "men who would like to spank a slutty 22-year-old redhead" sea, there are a fuckload of fish.

The Illusion of Safety.

Don't worry, everything's perfectly safe! I've got one of these!



Not that they're a bad idea, of course, but these things seem to have a talismanic as much as functional value to some people in the BDSM community. When Sir Master RavenLord unpacks his toybag, the very first thing to come out is the shears and they come out with a grand pronouncement that this is now Safe Play. I've seen people haul them out when they weren't even using rope! Are you planning to snip through the quarter-inch leather cuff or the steel chain there, buddy?

This is a little alarmist of me of course, because the truth is that beating restrained people is a fundamentally safe activity that's actually pretty hard to screw up. (That's not really a joke. I'm fairly sure that even among people who have no clue and no education at all, kink-related injuries or deaths are somewhere on the lightning-strike level of likelihood.) It just bothers me that I see these shears brandished as a Totem Of Safety by people who then proceed to hit their sub square on the tailbone, or make them stand with a collar tied to the wall and knees locked, or squeeze their throat shut, or any number of retarded things.

Of course, the trust placed in the Magical Scissors is nothing compared to the other safety blanket of the sex-positive world:



Again, a very very good idea. Again, just not the end of the story. They make being a big ol' slut massively, 90-something percent safer in terms of both disease and pregnancy; they do not provide 100 percent anything. And they don't do diddly for you when you go off alone with someone you don't know. Any more than "meeting in a public place" does; unless you're planning to fuck right there under the espresso machine, someone's ability to seem nice enough for 15 minutes in a coffee shop doesn't really provide a guarantee of honesty and safety.

What to do? I wouldn't stop beating or fucking just because they're unsafe; I think that even with goofy misconceptions about safety I'm more likely to get killed driving to a freaky sexual rendezvous than during it. Driving is a good metaphor, really; it's dangerous, you know it, and you do it anyway. But you don't put on a seatbelt and then go weaving willy-nilly down the road with random stomps on the pedals; you're continuously aware of and active in your safety, rather than relying on a few passive devices to do all the work.

Driving is worth it, climbing mountains is worth it, diving with sharks is worth it. Life is dangerous, and that's okay. Despite what they seem to be telling kids these days, calculated, manageable risk is no reason to stay at home with a Nerf helmet on. Just realize that there is a risk, and don't bullshit yourself or your partners about it.

:(

I am, in a sort of amicable and inevitable way, single again. Sigh. It's (I hope) not a "fuck you, you crazy bitch" thing half so much as a "we're too far apart and this was an intense but short thing which is clearly burning itself out" thing.

It's one breakup where I really hope the "we can still be friends" part isn't bullshit, though. Tommy's too damn cool a guy to just disappear entirely.

The "welp, that was bound to happen, kind of a relief in a way, let's get to meeting dudes in my own time zone" part of my brain is having one hell of a battle with the "DAMMIT DAMMIT, wail to the heavens and eat cookie dough" part of my brain.



(DUDES WHO LIVE IN THE GENERAL SEATTLE AREA: THIS IS TOTALLY YOUR SHOT. PERVOCRACY@GMAIL.COM DUDES.)

Woof.

I was playing with a puppy last night. By "puppy," I mean "grown ass man down on all fours going 'ruff' and begging for ear scritches", and by "playing" I quite literally mean playing. He was fetching balls (no, literally) and getting bellyrubs (still entirely literal dammit) from me and a couple other thoroughly amused humans. And he was having an awesome fucking time.

To be honest I can't really see that sort of thing as sexual. Not that he was sexualizing it, at least overtly; ironically, he was wearing a lot more clothing than most humans in the room. I don't know whether puppy-play frequently culminates with going off with someone and humping their leg (or whatever), but this wasn't "oh baby woof at me again OHHH," it was more like... playing with a dog. Fun, cute, not panty-dampening but definitely smile-making. Puppy dude was really kind of awesome.


I'm still not a furry.

Sexpert!

Welp, I shot the bit. It's for a piece about craigslist's beautifully skanky Casual Encounters page and I told stories about meeting guys on there and doing skanky things with them. I'm always glad to put an ordinary-looking, intelligent, unpaid female face to skankery. I feel like our culture is laboring under the perception that random sex is the purview of dumb sluts, emotionally damaged women, drunk women, paid women (either directly or by sugar-daddying), and of course men. And I'm only too willing to make the sacrifices necessary to act as counterexample.

(Actually, I'm never quite 100% sure about the whole emotional damage thing but shhh that would ruin my point okay shhh. At any rate it's at least subtle; I'm certainly not some abused waif or bunny-boiling predator.)

Frequently, I feel like we have a cultural idea that men fuck because they like fucking and women fuck for any other reason in the world. Fuck him cause he's rich, fuck him cause you love him, fuck him cause you're lonely, fuck him cause he's earned it, fuck him cause you owe him, fuck him cause he's your boyfriend, fuck him cause he convinced you to, fuck him cause you're just screwed up inside... but for God's sake don't fuck him cause you're horny.


One of my coworkers was talking about his no-fail seduction technique when a girl says she just wants to sleep on the couch: "Hey, just in case you change your mind, I make a great teddy bear."
My friend was shaking his head. "Any girl who goes for that has got to be retarded."
"Or they just decided they wanted to do him."
"Man, any girl who falls for that deserves to get screwed by Teddy Bear."
"Well, maybe that's the point."

I can't be the only woman in the world who doesn't need a reason to have sex. Just a place.

HUMP!

Every year, Seattle's awesome alternative weekly The Stranger hosts a porn/sexually-oriented-filmmaking-of-some-sort festival called HUMP!

I'm going to be in an entry for this one! I won't be doing the nakey on film, sadly, just acting as a talking head in a documentary, but hey. That's the perfect compromise, right? No theoretically-life-destroying porn taint, but the opportunity to appear in the sexual media nonetheless.

I'm pretty sure that once you talk about sex in a documentary, you officially become a "sexpert."

Casual Encounters.

What is it with firefighters and craigslist? I mean, I know they're manhos and have as much right to be as any profession short of NASA test pilot, but dizamn. Maybe the IAFF has an autoposting system that spams "turnout pants, big red suspenders, no shirt" photos of all members on an hourly basis. Or something.