Friday, February 29, 2008

"...A dry one?"

Alan and I were in bed together under the covers, with me stroking his cock. He closed his eyes and started to groan and move his hips into me, and then grabbed my arm hard and his body tensed and he threw his head back and moaned.

But we looked under the covers, and... nothing. There was no semen and his cock wasn't getting soft. He'd felt an orgasm, but he hadn't ejaculated.

Sadly I can't tell you that I kept going for the gold, because he kind of freaked out and asked me to stop. But I wonder, if he'd let me, what might've happened. It's possible that was just a slightly dysfunctional orgasm, but it's also possible that he was on the verge of multiple orgasms.

And how goddamn cool would that be?


Very often, when we're just starting to have sex, Alan and I will smile at each other. Or flat out laugh. Later on stuff will get serious, we'll wear our tight-set determined faces or our pleasure/pain grimaces or wide-eyed gasps, but in the beginning we can realize how silly the whole thing is.

There's some strange mix of joy and embarrassment and hilarity that washes over us. "Goddamn, I've got part of another person's body inside me and we're ass-naked and making ridiculous noises... and I love it."

What can you do but smile?

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Taken in Vain.

"Oh Jesus, Alan. Jesus. Oh Jesus Jesus Jesus Alan JESUS CHRIST!"



"You're Jewish, doofus."

David Reuben, M.D., on the Evil BDSM Agenda.

A while ago, I read the original 1971 book Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask), and found it hilariously homophobic, kink-phobic, and generally inaccurate. Then I got my hands on the all-new, totally-rewritten 1999 version, opened to the chapter on "Sexual Perversion", and... wow.

BDSM, the King of the Perversions.
Awesome! I'm King Perv!

These innocent initials stand for an immense shadow world that exists in every city and suburb in America and probably reaches right into your own neighborhood.
Shadow world. Whoa. It's pretty cool being part of a Vast International Conspiracy™. (Actually I'm Jewish so I'm in two. I get a great rate on UFO rentals.)

These letters translate to "Bondage-Domination-Sado-Masochism.
And that right there tells you how much research this guy did.

Here are some selections from his attempt at a BDSM glossary:

Asphyxia: A "game" in which the "Bottom" is deprived of air by ropes, gags, masks, plastic bags, etc. See Edgeplay.
What's with the scare quotes? And, um, I hope he doesn't think this is a standard BDSM activity, what with the dying and the brain damage and all.

CB/T: Penis and testicle torture. (The actual words are more graphic.)
This is a book entirely about sex. It has 23 pages devoted to the male sexual organs. I don't think the words "cock and ball" are going to scandalize any innocents.

Edgeplay: These are dangerous D&S "games" that are looked upon with some trepidation. They can bring the victim to the "edge" of death.
Edge of your limits, not edge of death! Christ, he must think we're all psychotic. Knifeplay is edgeplay when you're terrified of knives, not when your top sticks it in your jugular. Sheesh.

Sadist: An individual who enjoys causing pain in a nonconsensual manner or regardless of the presence or absence of consent.
Now he's just being a jerk. (I suppose some people take this book seriously--it's a famous title after all--and God help me if they ever find out I'm into BDSM.)

But how does BDSM actually work?
The basic arrangement goes something like this: The "Top," who is "Dominant," hurts and punishes the "Bottom," who is "Submissive." The "Bottom" has a "Safe Word" if things get out of control--which they often do. When the "Top" hears the "Safe Word" he or she is supposed to stop--which they usually do.

The scare quotes and random capitalizations are going wild. And that fucking snideass "often" and "usually"...

Have you ever seen a headline like this one:
Could that have been BDSM out of control?

No. No it couldn't. Would you please stop calling me a child rapist?

Sometimes a "Top" will choke a "Bottom" during sex or masturbation to try to increase the sensation. But choking someone is a delicate business, and squeezing can quickly turn into "Squicking" and send your "Bottom" to the Next World. Then you go to jail--which may not be a totally disagreeable place for a devoted Masochist.
Oh yeah, because masochists (sorry, Masochists, or maybe "Masochists") are crazy backwards people who think all bad things are good things! You give them a birthday cake and they cry, you hit them with a chainsaw and they laugh! So you know they'd looove prison rape because that is just like SM sex!

(Also, he doesn't know what "squick" means.)

But there's still a real problem because the outer limits of BDSM are rape, torture, and ultimately murder. When you read about people who kidnap and torture little children, who rape infants, who cut their victims into little pieces and/or eat them, you are seeing cases of BDSM far beyond the Play Party stage.
Darn, he's got me there, I do eat babies.

This BDSM stuff makes me nervous. Why do I have to know about it?
Because it is much closer to you then you ever imagined. If you have children, if you have coworkers, if you have employees, if you have relatives that you care about, you need to know what BDSM is all about--because it is all around you.
In recent years BDSM has become big business and part of the "cultural scene". Children as young as three and four years old are being exposed to it, and older children are being bombarded with it.

Wow. This is like the new "gay agenda."

He goes on for two pages talking about ways that kids are exposed to "BDSM" in the media, from animals being comically killed in cartoons to basically any movie scene featuring restraint or violence. Apparently all media violence was planted there by the Evil BDSM Cartel to convert the innocent to our baby-rapin' ways.

The BDSM message is in clothes as well as actions. Black leather, iron and steel jewelry, piercing jewelry, big boots, chains and more chains--all transmit the message:
"BDSM is OK! We want you--and your child!"
Is that what you want for your child?

Holy fuck, man. We really are the new Gay Agenda. We're taking over the media. Corrupting the youth. Eating the youth.

This is actually kind of upsetting me. I'm a nice person, dammit. I give blood, I put money in Santa's kettle, I work with senior citizens. I just like to get beat up and bossed around (by another very nice person) in my free time. And here's a bestselling sex author--whom at least some people are going to believe--calling me a menace to society.

I am, at worst, only a Menace II Society.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Make a Wish.

There's nothing I like more than finding out what someone's sexual fantasies are and doing my damndest to fulfill them. To learn that a guy's always wanted to be tied up, or never had a proper blowjob, or always wanted a girl to do him up the ass... I love that I'm being trusted with his fantasy and I really love when I can make it come true.

In many ways, probably more deeply than bondage or pain or anything, that's my ultimate fantasy--to give someone exactly what he's always wanted. I'd make some snide comment about being a one-woman Make-A-Wish Foundation, but really, it's not pity or even generosity, it just makes me hot to see a guy getting something he's wanted for years. Maybe it's a submissive thing, maybe it's an insecure "if it's his ultimate fantasy I know he won't hate it!" thing, but more than anything it's a goddamn, the look on his face thing.

(It's also a teensy bit of a superiority thing, because I can do things that women who aren't as open-minded or determined to please won't, and I get to hear the guy talk about how none of the other girls ever did that for him.)

It's sure as hell not the only reason I'm kinky, but one of the benefits is that kinky men know exactly what they want. Vanilla guys who just want "really good sex" with a "really hot girl"... I can try my best but it's not the same as "I want you to force me to lick your toes" where I know I can do it just the way he likes. Guys who won't admit any fantasies at all are horribly frustrating.

It's an honor to know someone's fantasies and a huge goddamn thrill to make them happen.

Monday, February 25, 2008


I have breasts. They're awesome.

Breasts are pretty. All sorts. Even man-breasts, usually. The good-looking ones are usually called "pecs," but they've got fat and they've got milk glands.

Mine are exquisitely sensitive. Not just the nipple but the whole damn thing, from the corner up in my armpit down to the base. My nipples have been bitten so hard they bled and liked it; they've been barely brushed with a fingertip and liked it.

They're slightly scarred from being bitten and clamped and fingernailed too hard, but you'd have to look very closely to notice. Maybe breastfeeding will be easier for me, someday; there certainly won't be any "just wait til they toughen up" period because after having unpadded alligator clamps yanked straight off, my tits are pretty fucking tough.

I have average-size breasts, I think. They're not well matched; Righty's a B and Lefty's nearly a C, which probably doesn't meet anybody's beauty standards, but I've noticed that once men actually get them in their hands they don't tend to criticize. Maybe they're just being polite.

Because of his smallness, Brandon can suck my nipples while he's fucking me. Jon can only pinch them--but he does, and hard, and I love it. Having my nipples pinched really hard (nope, harder than you're thinking, seriously, hard, if you aren't a little worried they might come off it's not hard enough) just as I'm coming is one of the best feelings I know.

They sell ridiculously "enhancing" bras at the lingerie shop, enough gel and padding to make me a believable D, and to be honest they look great with a shirt on, but I don't quite see the point, because if the aim of the things is to get me laid... it would be pretty damn embarrassing to pick up a guy with my "enhancements" and then take them off in front of him.

Of course there's another way to enhance but I don't much like the idea of general-anesthesia prosthetic surgery as a cosmetic. I've felt fake breasts and they're not all soft and squooshy like mine; they feel like something swollen, like a giant pimple that you hope to God doesn't pop. And you're risking loss of sensation. I wouldn't give up the feeling of lips (or alligator clamps) on my tits for anything.

Also, fake boobs tend to look absolutely bizarre to me; to say that the ideal breast is a taut sphere is as unnatural as saying it should be shaped like a firetruck. I've read that there are natural teardrop-shaped implants on the market but they don't sell as well because women want people to know that they've had the surgery done. It seems sad that someone would have a sexual preference for a look that can only be created through major surgery.

Several women in my family, including my mother, have had breast cancer. I'm supposed to get tested for the gene but I keep putting it off. My breasts are so great I want to have them forever. I guess wanting it doesn't make it true though.

Chicks dig scars.

I used to cut myself. I stopped when I started getting laid regularly. It's not that sex instantly changed my psyche so much, but it gave me nowhere to hide marks. My partners and I see each other fully nude with the lights on, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Saying "I was chopping vegetables" is dishonest and unconvincing; so is saying "yeah I cut myself, but just for fun, it doesn't mean anything."

Fortunately my skin heals well and even as an angsty teenager I was careful to never do real damage, so I don't have stripes on my arms or anything; the only self-inflicted marks on me are my pierced ears and the heart-shaped scar on my belly, and those aren't exactly mutilations.

Jon has an enormous scar across his chest. He was born with a serious birth defect and had emergency surgery. It's kind of funny to think that the incision must've been just a couple inches at the time, but the scar grew as he did. Now it's a broad slash across his ribs with a strange hollow dimple on one side. When we're lying in bed together I have a habit of running my finger along it and sticking my finger in the dimple. What's more intimate than feeling your friend's guts through his missing rib?

Brandon has a scar on one leg from an ATV accident--he severed an artery and needed a transfusion--and a scar on the other from having sex with me. (I didn't flip out and claw his skin off or anything, I just shoved him up against a rough wall too hard during sex and he didn't say anything until there was blood running down his leg.)

I'm at once embarrassed and proud that I, very literally, made a permanent mark on my lover.

I used to work with a guy who had his girlfriend's name tattooed in giant frilly letters on his neck. He was seventeen. It's possible to take the romance of permanent marks a little too far. At least when Brandon and I break up he can claim it's from the ATV accident or something.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

The Cabin.

"If we ever grew old together--and I know we won't--but if we did I know exactly where I'd want to retire. There's an empty plot near Ocean Shores that I'd buy."

Alan shows me a map. The plot is tucked back into the woods on a little hill, and a meandering stream flows down the hill to the sea.

"I'd build a cabin facing to the west. You can smell the sea in the breeze and every night we could watch the sun set over the ocean. There's wild salmon and trout in the stream and sometimes you see seals on the beach.

"Of course it's never gonna happen. I'll never be able to move there and you wouldn't be with me if I did.

"There's no air pollution there. On a clear night you can see all the stars."

Saturday, February 23, 2008


I love kissing. Being face against face, literally tasting a man with eyes closed and my whole being somehow living in my lips and tongue and slightly unsure where my mouth ends and his begins.

Everyone has a different taste. Semen's all the same, far as I can tell; sweat and saliva are intensely personal. I only kissed my friend Clark once, years ago, and if I tasted him again I'd instantly know. There are no good words for the scent of a man's mouth--instead of a thought it's a feeling and the memory of all the times I've kissed him before.

Kissing before sex. Arousing, maddening, a single kiss sometimes enough to make him hard and me wet. Kissing during sex. Tender, passionate, connecting bodies on a solid line from thighs to foreheads, sweaty. Kissing after sex. Sealing in the bliss.

And "making out"--something I wish I could do more--just kissing and kissing and kissing and for its own sake and not letting it end.

Out in public, a peck on the cheek. No great sensual pleasure, but we know what it means. There's electricity in the lips and a promise of what will happen when we're alone.

There's no masturbation for kissing. Kissing your hand just makes you feel like a dork. There's no good kissing in porn and there's no kiss fetish community. Kissing on screen, even the kind of kiss that shoots straight to your groin and makes you gasp and clutch the back of your partner's head, is G rated.

I like it when a man's kiss is a little slobbery, a little uncontrolled. Being a "good kisser" isn't half so important as forgetting to care whether you're good.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Mars, Venus, Bullshit.

I got the book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus out of the library purely so I could hate it. (I have a bad habit of seeking out things I know will make me angry. It's a sickness.)

And to make this review even more worthless, I didn't actually read it. It's over 300 pages, it's really boring, and between work, school, and better books, I don't have the time to slog through. I just skimmed for the gist and the most ridiculous quotes.

The gist of the book is that men and women are so very different. Women are emotional and talk too much; men are tough and reserved. Women are demanding and nag, and they don't respond to reason. Men want sex and women want men to earn sex. Basically, if I suddenly jumped in your face and yelled "QUICK! THINK OF SOME STEREOTYPES!", you'd write this book.

The whole concept of gender differences--particularly gender opposites--is so overblown in pop psych. I am officially sick of hearing statements in the form "Men go hoody hoo, but women go haddy ha!" Men are rational but women are irrational. Women are sensitive but men are insensitive. The idea that male and female personalities are opposites is dumb, condescending, and makes truly respectful relationships impossible.

So most of the meat of MafMWafV is extremely patronizing suggestions on how to live with someone who's irrational (don't try to reason with her!) or insensitive (don't expect affection from him!). The phrase "talk about your problems in plain English like two adults" does not appear in this book.

Some ridiculous phrases that do appear in this book, under the cut. Bear in mind that this book has sold 14 million copies and built a self-help empire, so this isn't some fringe fruitloop I'm picking on, this is stuff that millions of people have read and most of them probably believed.

[This story is several pages long so I'll summarize.]
Imagine a knight in shining armor traveling through the countryside. Suddenly he sees a princess being attacked by a dragon. He pulls out his sword to slay the dragon, but before he does, the princess hands him a noose, saying "use this instead, it'll work better." He kills the dragon with the noose and saves the princess, but afterwards he feels useless and depressed and leaves town.

He runs into another princess menaced by a dragon. Same story; he pulls out his sword, she gives him poison and says "use this instead," the poison works and the day is saved, but the knight feels all bad and ashamed and again returns to his wandering.

Finally he encounters yet another princess-dragon-standoff, but this princess doesn't give him any advice. He draws his sword, slays the dragon with the sword, feels great, and marries the princess. "But only after making sure his new partner knew nothing about nooses and poisons."

If the moral of this story is anything other than "damn, that knight was a dick," I don't want to hear it.

Just as a woman needs to feel a man's devotion, a man has a primary need to feel a woman's admiration. To admire a man is to regard him with wonder, delight, and pleased approval.
Yipee! A man! Woo hoo! Isn't that amazing! Hip hip hooray!

This is one of those things that's not wrong in itself (except for the implication that a woman wouldn't like to be admired), but seems to recommend a crazily doormatty and dishonest course of action. Of course I express positive feelings about my partners and of course I say good things when they're nice to me or successful in life, but... I don't do it to feed their emotional needs, I do it when it's true. Trying to express the emotion you think your partner wants, rather than the one you're actually feeling, isn't going to work out well for either of you.

Remember: when you offer unsolicited advice he may feel mistrusted, controlled, or rejected.
Okay, I can see how "advice" like "You should use your football nights to exercise instead!" could have that effect, but surely there are some situations in which he, not being an omnipotent power, would actually appreciate some help? I mean, there are things I know that my partners don't, and I'm not going to play dumb and let him drive 20 miles in the wrong direction because I was nurturing his delicate ego.

When a woman keeps score, no matter how big or small a gift of love is, it scores one point... A man, however, thinks he scores one point for one small gift and thirty points for a big gift.
Women: a game you can win! (Also, bullshit. I appreciate small gifts, but believe me, when I get a big one, I know the difference. It's not like "aww, you loaned me your jacket... that's nice" and "aww, three carats... that's nice.")

101 Ways to Score Points With a Woman
Whee, a big numbered list, I love those! About half of these are "perform your basic household obligations." Apparently a man who cooks or cleans occasionally is doing his partner a big damn favor. (It makes me realize how lucky I am in my relationships. Of course we don't live together so maybe that changes everything, but we cook together a lot and it always goes without saying that we'll take turns or work together on the chores.)

35. Wash before having sex or put on a cologne if she likes that.
Okay, washing before sex is not "scoring points." It is "being allowed to have sex."

37. Be patient when she is sharing. Don't look at your watch.
You know, when words are coming out of a woman's mouth, sometimes they're actually specific words that form sentences. "Talking" isn't some sort of uniform white noise women produce.

63. Offer to sharpen her knives in the kitchen.
Her knives? HER knives? If we're living together, they're our goddamn knives in our kitchen where we cook. (I've realized by now that he's mostly speaking to couples where the woman is a full-time housewife, and that entire way of living is so socially and financially unthinkable to me--and most other women in the real world--that it's hard for me to even envision how that would work.)

65. Offer to change lightbulbs as soon as they go out.
"Oh honey, you didn't sit in the dark pretending nothing had happened, you're the best!"

80. When listening to her, reassure her that you are listening by making little noises like ah ha, uh-huh, oh, mmhuh, and hmmmm.
See 37.

How Women Can Score Big With Men
The majority of these are "he does something wrong and she shuts her yap." I understand that over-criticizing your partner is wrong, but I don't like the idea that silence is point-scoring for women.

19. She feels disapproving and instead of expressing it she goes in another room and privately centers herself and then comes back with a more centered and loving heart.
Sacrificing your own feelings for the sake of your partner's incredibly fragile ego is a recurring theme here, isn't it?

21. She really enjoys having sex with him.
Well, if he's any good at it. God, it's just... that's not something I do to "score points!" I enjoy it or I don't! I can't make it all about him!

Next time you are frustrated with the opposite sex, remember men are from Mars and women are from Venus. Even if you don't remember anything else from this book, remembering that we are supposed to be different will help you to be more loving.
No. Remembering that we are fundamentally alike, that I should treat my partners as I want to be treated, that I should speak to them honestly and respectfully, and that I should neither commit nor put up with crazy bullshit just because "my gender always does that," is what helps me love.

I don't love Alan because I understand that men are egocentric fucknuts; I love Alan because he's not an egocentric fucknut.

This post is neither erotic nor insightful.

Both boys have simultaneously and inexplicably developed a fascination with cracking my joints.

"Hey honey, give me your hand for a second."

"Okay, what are you..."


"I hate you."

Wednesday, February 20, 2008


Alan and I are becoming so... comfortable. The way we talk to each other, the way we touch each other--it's not all that affectionate in the "honey sweetie" and cuddles sense, but it's becoming--automatic. Not in the bad "rut" way, but in the good and (to me) novel way of just not being awkward, not constantly needing permission/clarification/reassurance. We're able to be quiet together without it being weird.

The last time we had sex we didn't have to talk about it. In the past there's always been some level of "um, so do you wanna...?", a few moments of "is this working for you...?" and such. Last night we just touched each other and kissed and lay down and fucked. Or... ergh... I hate to say it... "made love." It's hard to call something so slow and quiet and intimate fucking. When you're staring into each other's eyes, stroking each other's faces, kissing and caressing the whole time, is it "fucking"? (Yeah. It is. There's still the whole cock-pussy-orgasm-dealy going on underneath all the fuzzywuzzy.)

I feel like the cultural expectation is that you create this kind of connection by not having sex, by fostering the romance through a courtship period and only getting naked when you really know each other. But Alan and I did the opposite and it worked the same. We had lots of sex--awkward sex, first-date sex when we barely knew each other's names, unsatisfying sex, whoops-it-keeps-falling-out sex, and tons of hot-but-unromantic sex. Having sex early didn't freeze our relationship; the sex simply evolved as the relationship did.

Maybe the slow chaste courting would have had the same result; I've never had the patience to try. All I know for sure is that if you want your wedding-night sex to be really romantic and special and perfect, one way to get that is to have absolute heaps of sex beforehand.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Diff'rent Strokes.

Benny (and every other partner I've had) has woman-on-top sex in the "normal" way--man holds more or less still, woman moves back and forth or up and down. If the man wants more control, he grabs the woman's waist and guides/shoves her movements.

Alan does it differently. He wants me to get on top, leave an inch of space, and hold still while he thrusts up from the bed. It looks terribly strenuous to me, but he seems to love it and if I start moving he'll tell me to stop. Just let him do his thing.

It feels fine to me, but I always think it's funny that he doesn't know he's weird. There's no awareness that "It's weird but it works for me;" as far as he's concerned, that's just how you do it. The first couple times he was amused that I didn't instantly understand what he was trying to do.

Sex is such a private thing that if you're straight and don't watch or read hardcore porn you never really know how your gender "normally" participates in sex. I'm sure he got hints from other girlfriends and whatnot, but in a sense, Alan invented sex himself.

It's amazing he got as many things right as he did. Coulda ended up in my bellybutton or something.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Where are the mudflap boys?

I'm becoming increasingly aware that the female body (or a pinched and bulged caricature thereof) is used as a shorthand for "sexy." I'm sure as hell not opposed to hot women, but I wish they were balanced with hot men. Nearly the only time male bodies are presented in sexy caricature is when they're aimed at a gay male audience.

This becomes really obvious in sex stores, where any item not explicitly marketed at gay men will have a hot woman on the packaging. Vibrator that's clearly designed for female body parts? Hot woman. Realistic dildo that looks exactly like a big damn cock and will only be bought by people who are comfortable with big damn cocks? Hot woman. Generic packaging logos that are supposed to convey "sexiness" in the abstract? Always, always, always a hot woman.

(I don't even like the sexy-male caricature, I'm so used to having sex with regular human guys that it's hard for me to associate any kind of arousal with cut muscles and square jawlines, but at least it would be better than the "sex consists of a hot woman observed by an invisible man" imagery.)

I suppose one reason for this is that men are stereotypically more homophobic than women. That's probably true, but I don't think we should be doing anything to honor it, and anyway it's a self-fulfilling stereotype--if straight men don't see men publicly sexualized, of course they won't be comfortable with it. (I've never heard a woman react to an image of a sexy woman with "that's so lesbian.") Another reason is the male gaze, the tendency of our culture to always cast viewers in the role of a straight male.

And there's a third, even worse reason: the assumption that women don't like titillation just as much as men do. We should want to be the sexy lady on the box, in order to arouse men, but apparently we shouldn't care about being aroused ourselves. That's a very weird message to get from a vibrator manufacturer.

Precipitating event to this post: hearing that Lifestyles Condoms was giving away free sexy posters. Well... they are. But if they're trying to offer a variety of types of sexiness, I think they're missing something.

The Red Cross hates my freedom.

I am no longer technically eligible to donate blood.

"Have you had sex with a man who has had sex with another man since 1977, even once?"

There's no box for "Have you had sex with a man who had protected sex with another man and subsequently tested negative for HIV and STDs?" Apparently all male-male sex is assumed to be high-risk, no matter what, and permanently dirties the blood.

Dammit Benny. You gave me dirty gay blood.

Sunday, February 17, 2008


Benny actually did the porn thing. We were having sex and he suddenly pulled out and told me to kneel on the floor. I did and he stood over me and came on my face.

It was hot while it was happening and hilarious three seconds afterward.

I don't think we're gonna do that again.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Taking Control.

Benny was tied spreadeagle, blindfolded and gagged and his nipples clamped, and I was fucking him. Suddenly his hands pulled out of the cuffs, he yanked the gag out of his mouth, and I felt his hands grab my ass and force me into a harder and faster rhythm. In an instant we weren't playing, we were fucking. Or he was fucking himself with my body.

And he started to moan. I love it when men make a lot of noise during sex and I don't get it often, but Benny was gasping and groaning with each thrust. His hands on my hips, he shoved my body down on his cock and he was literally writhing under me from the feeling. He'd gotten control of the sex just to lose control of himself.

"Baby, I'm coming!" he actually screamed, and he did. He didn't let go of his deathgrip on me until he finished and collapsed completely. I lay down next to him, my head on his arm.

There were four bright red fingermarks pressed into each of my hips.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said, and kissed me.

Sweet Seventeen.

I just found out that a couple I used to know, the man 22 and the woman 24, are exchanging sexy pictures with a 17-year-old they met on an anime forum. They're planning to cross state lines to meet her before her 18th birthday. She's a virgin and they've told her that they're in love with her.

I realize this is within months of legal and to be honest if it were a 17-year-old in a real-life relationship with one twentysomething I might be able to write it off as "kinda messed up but their own business." But the fact that they've never even met her, they want her first sexual experience to be a kinky polyamorous threeway, and they're constantly feeding her stories of unconditional love and of moving in with them and escaping all her problems in a dream poly family... that's sickening. (This couple is also scummy and insane in other ways, but none that hurt anyone except themselves and their families. They're not exactly role models, though.)

I don't know the kid's last name or have any proof beyond a scattered handful of wink-wink nudge-nudge Internet posts that anything illegal is happening.

The couple is constantly emailing me their crazy justifications ("She's so mature!" "We're in love!) without ever explicitly writing out what they're doing. It's driving me insane.

I hope this girl's parents find out, or that this turns out to be just another of their crazy plans that they never follow through on. I wish I could do more than hope.

Bad things.

Okay, the Pervocracy is back online after some Internet harassment. People are mean when they're anonymous. And even though I've made some efforts to disconnect this from my other online personalities and my real-life identity, I'm never 100% confident in my anonymity. I always want to be open and trusting and pour out my vulnerabilities when I write, and this doesn't work well in the face of a bunch of goons screaming "LOL FATTY HAS SEX LOL" and posting pictures of my face.

The good news is that I got up from the computer and had very nice real-life sex with a man who is big and fat and also dead sexy while these people were still typing angrily at me (on Valentine's Day evening no less!), so I don't feel too hurt. :p

I know it's fun to be mean on the Internet and God knows I've done it myself, but those guys suck. (Especially with their use of "fat" as a freestanding insult.) Anyway I think they've lost interest.

If this blog suddenly disappears again for a few more days, I was wrong about that.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

The Best of the Stranger Valentines.

The only good paper in town, The Stranger, has published its annual reader-submitted Valentine blowout. (Jon put one in for me, yay!) And I'm going to break with my tradition of relentless grouchiness and criticism and post some of the best valentines in there.

After ten hard, wet, squishy Valentines days, you still please me greatly. Shall we have another?
I like rice noodles and I dig you. I love you more than pineapple upside down cake at Da Vinci's. Do you love me more than orange spice cupcakes?
My affection for you is like a Dalek: tough on the outside, squishy on the inside, and vulnerable to certain Time Lords...
You sexy goddess. You shaver of the head. You searcher of the library. You gulper of the wine. You do it ALL right.
Arrrr! Ye'll ne'er get me buried booty, just me married booty! AharharAhoy! Will ye be mine agin' & agin'?
You know you are my hero / My love for you is 1/x / as x approaches zero
I kissed your lips/Your fins, your eyes/I did it on porpoise/In case you thought otherwise. Let's make love on the back of a sea turtle.
Babe, I love lying in bed with you in the morning, while the tall trees sway in the wind outside. Let's sleep under the trees together forever.
Will you marry me?

Monday, February 11, 2008

Cosmocking: March '08.

This issue has the word "va-jay-jay" on the cover. Urgh. Can we just say "cunt" like grownups? (Okay, that's maybe not so grownup. But can we say "vagina"? I bet they actually wouldn't put "vagina" on the cover.) I'm not sure who the cover model is but she looks like the love child of Xanax and photoshop.

The main sex article is billed as "21 Naughty Sex Tips" on the cover and table of contents but "Bad-Girl Sex Tips" at the top of the article. Cosmo does this a lot and I know it's a minor thing but it really bugs me. Not all the pages are numbered so this makes it really hard to find a specific article. Worsening the problem is the fact that there aren't actually 21 tips in the article, there's like six. But this isn't my Incompetent Magazine Editing blog, so let's go on to the bizarre sex advice...

A hard-bristled hairbrush is perfect for gently scratching his skin.
Okay, let's pretend I'm game for once, I just grabbed the hairbrush that was on my desk and I'm going to try this. Ergh, okay. That was actually more satisfying than I expected, but I'd be freaked to hell if someone else did it to me. Also it left really weird marks and now that a few seconds have passed it's starting to itch.

Rolling Pin: Run this baker's basic over his back and thighs during an erotic massage.
This is phenomenally stupid but I can't focus on snarking it because my hairbrushed arm is burning and I'm afraid it's going to break out in hives or something. I have to go wash now.

Try no-fail lines like "You make me [adjective]"; "I love it when you [verb] my [body part]"; "I need your [noun] on my [body part]."
"You make me grotesque. I love it when you exfoliate my trachea. I need your frisbee on my pancreas."

The next article is entitled "6 Ways to Train Your Boyfriend," with advice from animal trainers on how to provide positive reinforcement and use a soothing tone of voice and ignore poor behaviors. Jesus Fuckin' Christ. I can't even... Jesus... I can't deal with this.

Then we have "Have Orgasms More Easily," not advice I really need, but let's take a look.

Pay attention to your body and mind right before you climax--where you're touching, how much pressure you're applying, which muscles tense up.
Are there people out there who have such cruddy sex that they're able to do this? I know this article isn't aimed at me but I barely know my own name when I'm about to come, let alone having a yoga-like focus on my muscle tensions.

Masturbating just to the brink--but not allowing yourself to peak--ensures that you'll be bursting at the orgasmic seams by the time your man walks through the door.
Foreplay: no longer a man's problem. (Also, if you come 30 seconds into the sex and you're not good at multiple orgasms, the rest of it is gonna kinda suck.)

Worrying about when you're going to climax takes you out of the moment. Try instead to focus on physical sensations.

There's an article on how to judge a man's personality and sexual abilities from the kind of drink he orders. It's all pretty literal stuff--a shot means he's impetuous, a beer means he's traditional, a Jack and Coke means he's macho, and so on. I know this is just fluff and filler (well, so is all of Cosmo), but sheesh, it's really dumb. Men have exactly one dimension to their personalities and everything they do will fit a single theme!

It occurs to me that the makeup and fashion tips could be bullshit too, but since I'm a "soap, water, t-shirt, jeans" girl I have no frame of reference. It does bother me that they always have at least one article on "dress to minimize your flaws" with sections for giant shirts if you have a belly, floofy skirts if you have an ass, and so on. I don't like the idea of dressing myself with "what's my ugliest feature?" as my first concern.

"Cosmo's Ultimate Guide to Your Va-jay-jay" is actually a fairly responsibly written (except for that word) Remedial Women's Health 101, but it's still Cosmo.

It's not a black hole. A lot of women worry that tampons and other items can become "lost" in the vagina, eventually making their way into the uterus.
The frightening part here is that the only way you could think this is if you've never once stuck your finger in your vagina. Maybe some women's are longer than mine, but when I'm not aroused I can feel my cervix. It's really, really obvious that this is the end and ain't nothing going further than that.

I've in heard various places that some women really don't ever finger themselves. Planned Parenthood's sex ed materials mention "you will have to stick your fingers in your vagina" as a drawback to some birth control methods. Apparently some women... it's one of those things I won't get. I mean, my vagina is with me all the time, and so are my fingers, it's sort of an obvious thing to do. It'd be like someone saying they've never in their entire life put their finger in their ear.

There probably are freaky prissy people who haven't. I don't wanna know.

Wash your vulva once a day.
People need to be told this? Urgh.

There are some design flaws... If your clitoris were inside your vagina rather than between your outer lips, your guy would be able to stimulate it during sex with his penis.
And since the men I date have no hands, toys, or pubic bones, this is a real big problem. (Actually, I personally get off on penetration and not clit stimulation, but I'm just saying.)

When you're between waxing appointments and want to neaten up down below... [blah blah pube-trimming blah]
I'm freaked as hell that they assume all their readers wax.

I leave you on this charming thought:
Females are more likely than males to insist on kissing before, during, and after sex... In fact, males would be happy to have sex without smooching.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

The Baby Trap.

Two men I know are in the same situation: their relationships were starting to break up, so the women they were dating secretly stopped using birth control. Two pregnancies, two sudden conversions to strict anti-abortion beliefs... two upcoming weddings. Congratulations, ladies, your gambit worked, you did make him love you forever!

It's unbelievably disgusting. These girls, both still teenagers (17 and 19) used human life to control their boyfriends. How self-centered and short-sighted can you be? Those poor kids. Can you really devote 18 years of your life to something you did to keep your high school boyfriend from taking someone else to the prom? Maybe you can, maybe once it's born you lose sight of the reasons and just focus on raising your child... but it's definitely not giving your kid the best start in life.

And sometimes I worry that my guys worry that I'd do something like that. Brandon and I don't use condoms much anymore. If I were a conniving skank, it would be very easy for me to get a Brandon Jr. going. Brandon would be on the hook for either child support or marriage, and there'd be absolutely nothing he could do about it. That, not some fuzzy "guys hate intimacy!" thing, could be the real reason they get the heebiee jeebiees when I seem a little too affectionate. I have to admit, if I were a man, it would scare the hell out of me.

(I'm sure it goes without saying, but I have no interest in getting pregnant; I can't take a baby with me to med school and I don't want to mix genes with a man who thinks putting the toilet paper roll vertically on the counter instead of using the freakin' holder is an okay thing to do. He actually whined when I fixed it. Slob.)

I'm pro-choice and I think it cuts both ways: everyone should get the right to decide whether or not they want to reproduce. We badly need a male birth control pill.

(Yes, Our Fucked-Up Society is partly responsible for this, by perpetuating the idea that women are supposed to demand permanent and exclusive love in exchange for sex. But these girls are still responsible for their own actions and that's why I feel okay using words like "skank.")

Saturday, February 9, 2008


My very close, very dear, but incredibly socially conservative friend Julie kept asking how things were going with Alan, and a couple days ago I finally cracked and told her about Benny. It went better than I'd expected; she was surprised, but not shocked, and not at all judgmental.

But the funny part was that she said how surprised she was that neither of the guys was sleeping with anyone besides me. I have neither the looks nor the personality you'd expect of someone who was able to command the exclusive attentions of two men. But it wasn't based on worthiness, it's not like I applied for the post of "manharem owner" and got approved by the Manharem Admissions Committee, things just worked out this way.

("Command the attentions"... sheesh. I fuck them. And sometimes we watch cop shows.)

She also mentioned how she could never handle that emotionally because for her sex and romance are extremely one-person deals. The funny part there was how weird that sounded to me. I mean, why would they be? That's like saying you can only have one close friend! No one says that! "I can't get drunk and watch horror movies with you, I already have a friend!" How weird would that be?

(Julie is married to the only man she ever dated.)

I really don't feel any internal drive to have affection for just one partner. I can see myself doing it for practical reasons someday (seems wrong to screw around while raising kids, although I'm not totally sure why), but there's no feeling, no need to only love/fuck one person, or to have them love/fuck only me.

I can get so lost in my happy little sexual utopia that I forget how the entire rest of the world works.

Thursday, February 7, 2008


Standing at the foot of Alan's bed, both of us down to our jeans, clinched tight together. Our lips are pressed tight together, long hungry kisses interrupted only by little gaspy breaths. Our hands clutch and stroke each other, not "the good parts" but anywhere we can reach. Alan's back and arms are tight with muscle, his skin pale brown in the dim light and butter-soft. Our chests are pressed together, my nipples hard against his pecs, until he breaks the clinch just enough to bend down and very gently suck on my nipple, and I let out a little sigh.

He lets me go, kisses me again, and I start to kiss my way down him, stopping at all the spots I know he likes--a nibble on the earlobe, little bites down the side of his neck and into the hollow of his collarbone, lapping my tongue down his chest and over his nipple, going to my knees and kissing his belly and then darting my tongue down as far under his waistband as I can go.

I cup him through his jeans first, feeling him hard and getting a reaction even though all that sturdy denim. I undo his pants and underpants and yank them down and he's hard as hell, his cock up so far it's almost flat to his belly and I just attack it with my mouth. Alan's a quiet man but that's the one thing that makes him moan, and when I wet my lips and slide them down his cock to the base I hear a low "oh" and his hand is shaky and his motions not quite controlled as he reaches down and holds the side of my face.

We could keep going like this, let him come in my mouth, and feeling his cock warm and thick in my mouth I almost don't want to let it go, but he pulls me up to my feet and lays me down on the edge of the bed. I pull my jeans off, spread my legs, and lay my hand on the back of his head as he starts to lap at my pussy. He runs his tongue up and down my lips, teases at the opening of my cunt, and then moves up and sucks hard on my clit. I gasp and my whole body tenses, and at that moment he stops and in one fluid motion moves up my body and starts fucking me.

Our heights put us directly face to face and he kisses me passionately as he fucks me, his tongue in my mouth mirroring his cock in my pussy for an instant. My hands are on his back; my legs are wrapped around his ass. His whole body feels hard and tense and the look in his soft brown eyes is not one of love or even lust but simply abandon. I'm moaning and I feel like my entire body is filled with pleasure and I'm transported. Both of us are somewhere else even as our bodies are here and now and locked together.

I come back to Earth panting and sweating but he's nowhere near done. He's not looking at me anymore, not kissing, his hands aren't gently exploring my skin but planted on the mattress for leverage. His breath comes in little grunts and he's thrusting so hard it actually pushes me back a few inches. I swing my legs up higher, bringing my feet almost to the level of his neck, changing the angle of everything and suddenly it's deeper. His cock is all the way inside me, so far I can actually feel his balls against my ass, and his face contorts and he starts moaning again and he grabs me hard, so hard there will be marks later, pulls back and fucks all the way into me and I can feel him come.

He stays in me for a moment after, going soft but still connected as he collapses on me and kisses my cheek and strokes my hair, and he gasps a little when he finally pulls out. He lays down beside me, I rest my head on his chest, and for a brief moment the world is nothing but a bed and a blanket and our bodies.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Values Politics.

Y'know, conventional married couples also need sexuality education, birth control, and sometimes abortion services.

I swear, the way some people talk about it, you'd think promiscuous teenagers were the only ones who had to worry about such things, but you can be a grownup, follow all the rules and still not want to have eighteen kids. How do anti-contraception/sex ed/EC/abortion people not acknowledge this?

"You shouldn't have sex if you can't accept the consequences" is a boneheaded thing to say to anyone, but to married adults?

'Tis Better.

Nearly all of my sexual fantasies are about giving pleasure. I imagine I'm feeling pain or nothing for the sake of pleasing a demanding but appreciative partner. He or she comes a million times, loudly and enthusiastically; if I come at all it's forced on me and it's painful. I imagine having things done to my pussy and ass that make them tighter and more pleasing but at the expense of making the sex horribly painful to me. (Meanwhile, of course, I'm giving myself entirely self-centered, not at all painful stimulation, but I don't really think about that.)

In my actual real-world sex life, it's not really like that. I enjoy giving, but I give and get in roughly equal amounts, and I like the getting too. The only caveat is that I can't stand to accept pleasure selfishly. I always want to know that my partner is hard and horny when he's licking or fingering me--not to flatter myself but just to be reassured that I'm not imposing.

Some of this is personal to me; I have an assload of sexual insecurity that's relieved when I feel I'm being generous in bed. (Actually, come to think of it, that thought isn't so personal as I know a lot of other people feel the same way. Including most of my partners, which has led to a lot of frustratingly circular "I want to do what you want!" negotiations.)

But it's not just insecurity. The other reason is that I can have an orgasm on my own. What I can't do on my own is watch a man have an orgasm from skin-on-skin distance, feeling his muscles contract, hearing the sounds he makes, watching his eyes or his face or his cock as he completely loses himself in the pleasure I'm giving him. That, not orgasms or penetration, is an experience I can't get anywhere else.

And it's goddamn beautiful.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Porn Quandrary.

Okay, so poo-eating porn is a tiny, tiny niche and absolutely disgusting to everyone outside that niche, right? If you made a video of a woman eating her own poo, you'd sell it to like a hundred people and everyone else would get a little green just hearing about it, right?

So why does nearly every anal sex scene in ordinary mainstream porn end with the woman turning around and sucking the dick that was just up her butt? I mean, the dick in question usually looks squeaky clean, but still... this is poo eating. Or at least tasting. It's ridiculously degrading and even though I'm into degradation this is really a bit much.

I wish my nice ordinary butt-porn did not all have to end with the ritual Tasting Of The Poo. It's very unpleasant.

Never Assume.

When a guy says he's into anal sex, there's always that moment of awkward uncertainty.

"Uh... my butt or your butt?"

Monday, February 4, 2008

How can you not notice?

"A girl puked on my cock once. I didn't even notice. We were in the dark and I guess she was really embarrassed so she cleaned it all up and didn't say anything. Months later she called me and apologized and that's how I found out about it."

Sunday, February 3, 2008


The store had a two-for-one deal on Valentine's chocolate arrangements.

It's like they know me.

(Do people buy those things for their platonic friends? The giant red heart-shaped boxes? I've never given or gotten one; seems like it would sent the wrong message. It's the only thing that makes the deal make sense though.)

Friday, February 1, 2008


Under the cut, because it's longish, some keywords people have used to find this blog recently.

how to swallow cum
This was the number one search term (except for the Internet handle of one of the commenters... do you search yourself or do you have a stalker, Dorkie?). Anyway, apparently this is something that requires a tutorial. Okay:

Step one: do licky sucky slurpy things to a penis for a nice long time.
Step two: when he makes funny noises, stuff is about to come out
Step three: when stuff comes out, swallow it.

Are we clear now, Internet?

cum swallow blog
Come on now, seriously, there can't be that much to say about it.

I could keep on going with the cum swallowing, it seriously makes up like two thirds of my search engine hits. (And every time I type "cum swallowing" in this post I get a few more. Cum swallowing cum swallowing cum swallowing.)

does swallowing cum make you pregnant
This was more than one person. Let's hear it for abstinence education, folks!

masturbated by sister
What? No. I did not do this. Ew.

urethra fucking
I did not do this either. But if you don't value your sanity, look up "Amazing Ty" (LINK NOT SAFE FOR WORK OR THE HUMAN SPIRIT) and marvel.

"bruno gets laid"
...It's like the title of a children's story. Bruno the bear goes to the circus and then he sees the elephants and the clowns and then he sees the lady bears, oh yeahhhh.

"hit my cervix" inches cock
About six and a half, but it depends on the position.

"metal rod" "my urethra" orgasm -eunuch
I'm bothered by that last search term. I'd ask if it was really necessary... but I'm guessing it was. Freakin' Internet.

dilbert "unless i get hit by a bus"

"figleaf "my partner" -"having sat with" -"fig leaf" -"a figleaf" -"the figleaf" -"figleaf of" -"figleaf for" -gourd -hollyhock"

help with self swallowing cum
Either stretching exercises, or a Dixie Cup.

holly lesbian
Mom! I told you I'm seeing a man now!

is it safe for a girl to eat cum of a man medically
No. It's not. And that is why nearly every straight woman over 18 is dead. Jeez.

mira sky map
Whoa. I don't know how you got here from there. Sorry about that.

shark swallow cum

woman seeking tpe with face fucking

swalow cum
ur doin it rong

what to expect when you swallow cum
Dammit, it is just not that complicated! Nothing happens! It is not difficult! Nothing happens! IT IS LIKE EATING SNOT, OKAY? SNOT FROM A PENIS. AND IT DOES NOT DO ANYTHING. IT IS JUST HAPPY PENIS SNOT IT IS VERY SIMPLE NOW LEAVE ME ALONE.


That Goddamn Holiday is coming. This'll only be the second year I've had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day. The last time was with Kevin and he didn't get me shit. "What'd you expect, a dozen roses?" he asked. "I'm not buying that." Then get me one rose. Or fuck, one carnation. One goddamn dandelion, okay? Dammit. I wouldn't have minded a cheapass or homemade gift but to get nothing but a rude "ho, you ain't worth money" on my only partnered Valentine's Day was pretty rough.

And now, I think, it's going to happen again. There's no way in hell Benny will get me anything. 1% odds on a sex toy, 99% on nothing because God forbid I get the impression he likes me, I should know that my place in his world is "physical convenience."

And then Alan told me he doesn't want to do anything to recognize a "stupid commercial holiday that just makes people feel bad."

I have thirteen days to convince him that this isn't about money or trying to force the relationship to another level. It's about not giving me another Valentine's Day where I get the message "you're good enough to fuck, but that's all."

Despite the impression I sometimes give online, I'm usually cheerful and always extremely undemanding with guys. It's just that when (and I swear, this is not all the time) I do want something silly and symbolic, the whole undemanding thing kinda bites in the ass.

Sometimes I think that if I were strong enough to say "I'm not seeing you unless you treat me well, and I'm not fucking you unless you treat me like a goddamn princess," my relationships would go a lot better. But the problem is that I'm so damn happy to be seeing/fucking the guys at all, I can't stand to withhold it for any reason. (Also, I'm terrified that if I ever say "I'm not seeing you unless...", the answer will be "fine with me, goodbye!")

I think I'll give both guys presents, whether they do anything for me or not. Not heart-festooned teddy bears (that might be a little passive-aggressive), just fancy food or something. So I can say we did something for Valentine's Day.

I desperately need a mushbuddy and have no idea how to get one. Putting up online ads saying "don't worry boys, I may be nothing much to look at but I fall in love real easy on the first date!" works less well than you'd expect.