Thursday, July 31, 2008


Today I deleted my OkCupid profile. It gave me an amazing rush of relief.

Alan never did change his OkCupid/MySpace/Facebook profiles from "single" the whole nearly-a-year we were dating. I never said anything because that would be silly and pushy, but I noticed.

My sister found one of my profiles listing me as "interested in: both" and convinced my mom that I was gay.

My Facebook relationship status is always set to "It's Complicated." So far, that's never been inaccurate.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

A little kink is okay!

Via the always cutting Mistress Matisse, the latest weird mainstream look at my sex life:

I love that picture, because you know, that's exactly what I look like. Seriously. It's uncanny. Of course, like all people who dare to have a sexuality, I'm a 5'10" 110-pound blonde with D-cups and legs upta here, but they also nailed the way I dress. When I'm feeling sexy, I always put on $300 worth of awkward Catwoman costume. It gets me wet.

(Yeah, yeah, if the article was about gardening they'd give a hot underdressed model a trowel, I know it's not supposed to be strictly representational. But it bothers me that they can only depict alternative sexuality through the lens of mainstream sexuality, you know? By using a model so conventionally sexy, they dodge the question of why the kink itself is sexy. Everyone already knows why a slinky blonde in vinyl with a whip is hot; it's a lot more provocative to explore why a short pudgy dude in cotton underwear with a whip is hot. Although I guess that might sell fewer issues. Feh.)

Anyway, the article is supposedly about how having various "taboo" feelings is normal, but it ends up being an eerie retread of Cosmo's "it's okay to be kinky, as long as you aren't really kinky!" bullshit.

Unusual sexual practices are mostly harmless as long as they are part of a range of sexual responses. If you like dirty talk or get aroused by women's underwear, that's nothing to worry about unless it's the only thing that turns you on.

Why? If I'm not in significant distress or impairment--if I like women's underwear and I have a girlfriend who likes to have me play with her underwear and we live happily ever after--why is it so damn crucial that my kink be part-time? The message seems to be "it's okay to act kinky as long as you are vanilla."

Well. One of the things I've learned this year is that, sadly, I can't maintain a monogamous vanilla relationship. The happy flipside is I've also learned that I really can get spanked every time, and by a damn decent guy at that. Harm? The only harm happened because I got into a vanilla relationship in the first place--because I thought I could make my kink part-time.

For instance: A guy who can get off only when he's wearing diapers, or a woman who insists on dominating her partner. The person "is now substituting a behavior for a partner, and the behavior has become necessary for sexual satisfaction," sex educator and author Yvonne Fulbright explains.

Gosh, Yvonne, you could say that about all sex. If I can only get off when my partner penetrates my vagina, does that mean that penetration means more to me than he does? Is it somehow pathological that I'm "dependent" on penetration? Does it make my partner nothing to me but a faceless penetration machine?

It seems like a common media habit to equate kink with sex and vanilla with love. Hell, even in Secretary, which is about as sweetly kink-positive as a mainstream movie can get, you only know they're really in love when they lie down and cuddle vanilla-style. And, well, I certainly enjoy the cuddles, but there's nothing unemotional about a good beating. Mixing vanilla sex in a kinky relationship should be variety, not reassurance.

A little bit of kink is a good thing if it spurs open-mindedness and a spirit of adventure. But when an object or a ritual becomes more important than the living, breathing partner, it gets in the way of a relationship and of sexual fulfillment.

So again, it's about being a dabbler, about being a fundamentally "normal" person who merely experiments before getting back to correct sexuality. Kink as Ethiopian cuisine. Except that God help you if you're actually an Ethiopian chef, because jeez, that stuff's a great adventure and all, but you're not supposed to use it for food.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

The Amazing Peloop!

I got this message through the Pervocracy Gmail account recently:

I am the webmaster of
I find your blog very interesting to read. Your way of writing can magnet and lure a lot of visitors/readers. Would you be able to write about our product after visiting our site?
Or if you have a friend who is interested to try our product, we can send you one. From this, you can gain insights and share your friend's experience to us.
I would really be interested to know if you would be able to post your findings/review in your blog, it may be a positive or negative one, with links to our site.
Sara Smith

Well, Sara, I certainly enjoy to magnet and lure my readers. So let's take a look!

It's a $40 plastic cockring.

More specifically, it's a $40 plastic cockring supported with twenty-five screens full (seriously, I counted, and I have a big screen) of disorganized gibberish. It's like the Time Cube of cockrings. Sara honey, if you're serious about marketing this thing, could I recommend an order page and some separate "how it 'works'" pages, rather than narrowing down your already overexploited "small-penised and gullible" demographic to "small-penised, gullible, and really really patient"?

As far as I can gather it works because of magnets. And if your penis was made of metal, that would mean something!

Seriously, I've got a home experiment (if looking at the micrograph of "blood cells before a magnetic field" and realizing it looks like nothing in nature isn't enough): get a little blood. Use a lancet if you've got one handy, use the drippings in a meat package, whatever, just get a little drop of blood. Now put it near a magnet. Now watch as nothing whatsoever happens. Now imagine this is your penis. Now imagine you just spent $40 on a Livestrong bracelet with little adjusty snaps. Are adjusty snaps worth $39 to you?

A couple awesome quotes:
The second benefit comes from Tourmaline and Germanium which emit negative ions (also known as "Air Vitamins") and Far Infra-Red Rays (also known as "Growth Rays").
Growth rays. Dude. We have to be careful with this. If some mad fool shines far infrared on an anthill, we're all doomed. Doomed I tell you. Doomed.

Also, every time they mention "Germanium," I read "Geranium." Flower powah!

FIR is also known as; the growth radiation, growth rays, growth light, heat light, and life light.
Y'know, even if this were true, and if the massive amount of far infrared emitted by the sun hadn't turned us all into penile Goliaths, there's still nothing on an inert lump of silicone and magnets that's going to emit infrared radiation. It would at least need a battery or something...

No amount of money, power or success will make a man feel as good as having a big hard cock that deeply satisfies a women.
They've got you there, fellas. That thing between your legs is all there is and nothing else you have or do can ever matter. Smile!

If it's been a very long time since you ordered and did not received it, then contact us.
"Uh, yeah, sometimes our highly professional organization kinda forgets to fill its orders, you know how it is, we just had shit to do, bro."

Friday, July 25, 2008

Gettin' on a Schmooplane.

Welp. The flight is booked. August 9-12, I'm going to be in Boston and I'm gonna give Tommy a BIG HUG and then let him beat me and piss on me. And then, more hugging. (Maybe a quick shower in between.)

It feels weird, like a big step to be making this kind of trip just for a boy. But it also feels really really good.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008


I haven't had sex in a month. Not for lack of drive nor lack of boys, but for lack of Tommy. He's... not perfect, now, but he's a lot of what I could want in a man. He's smart, funny, geeky, tough, responsible, affectionate as hell, and a sick bastard. Even though he's in Boston now, we talk all the time and it always makes me happy.

The word we've been using is "schmoop." Schmoop covers a lot--everything from "call me when you've had a bad day" to "I'm going to tell you exactly how cute you are and I won't take no for an answer" to "let's just stay up late on the phone talking about nothing for hours." Schmoop feels good.

And it just wouldn't feel right to have sex with someone else now. Having Tommy find out about it would make me feel horrible, and hiding it from Tommy would make me feel horrible. I'm horny as hell, like always, but right now I'm really only horny for Tommy. The sex we had a month ago was rough and sweet and fucking amazing. Maybe I'm spoiled, but I don't just want to have sex--I want to have that sex.

I'm going out to Boston some time in the next month or so. Eventually, he might actually move to Seattle. Which scares me that it might be too much too soon--how could someone think of changing their whole life because of lil ol' me, he must be crazy--but it also feels like something that would make me fantastically happy. I almost don't want to talk to him about it for fear that I'll wrongly encourage him to do it; I'd love to have him here so much that I don't want to influence him into making a bad decision.

(This isn't as out of the blue as it may sound. Tommy and I have been schmooping for several months. I've just been circumspect about posting about it because Tommy reads the Pervocracy. But now we've talked about these things so I feel okay posting them.)

I like Tommy so much that I'm actually giving up my slut ways. It's bizarre. Thank God he's a sick fucking freak in bed, or I don't know what I'd do with myself.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

(This is NOT related to my sex life.)

I have a PUPPY!

She is the best.

(Italian Greyhound, tiny little thing of about five pounds, shockingly well-behaved, technically belongs to my roommate but I have full joint-custody rights. I have to get pictures. She's the best.)



Friday, July 18, 2008

Third try.

I keep trying to write posts and accidentally over-baring my soul because I'm really sleep-deprived. (Or I think it's my soul; eight hours later I may reread these works of naked agony and find that they actually read "the circles go pooty poo.") So rather than put up something I'll regret, I'll just point out three anatomical weirdnesses in my genitals.

Weirdness 1: My vagina points the wrong way. I mean, not wrong, it doesn't go sideways or something, but according to a gynecologist and a couple of guys, it's at a nonstandard angle. Sometimes doggy-style sex won't work, sometimes doggy-style is the only way that works. There's a lot of slip-outage the first couple times with a new guy. Apparently I have a learning curve.

Weirdness 2: I don't like to have my clitoris touched. Maybe very softly or indirectly, but then it's just soft or indirect pleasure; to touch it directly, at any stage of sex, feels terrible to me. It's oversensitive. I have amazing and easy orgasms from penetration, and can only sometimes manage to have a difficult and uncomfortable one from clit stimulation. (I still like oral sex! You just don't do it directly to my clit and you don't expect me to come from it.)

Weirdness 3: I haven't gotten my period since April. I'm not pregnant. I'm just kind of weird this way. 3 months isn't unusual for me, and I've gone more than a year. PCOS? I do have a bit of abdominal fat, but no other symptoms--I've got clear skin, little body hair, and healthy blood sugar, none of which are very PCOSy. Probably it's just the way I am. I don't know yet if I'll have trouble having kids, but for right now, it's nothing but a convenience. A mildly worrying convenience.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Never too old.

One of the most touching moments from the Pride Parade was when a Femme Pride group marched through. It was a big group of women, but walking at the very back, all on her own and kind of shuffling, was a woman of about eighty years old. She was going slower than most, almost shuffling, in a big frippy hat and one of those purple old-lady skirt suits and she looked very proper except for an enormous smile.

The crowd went wild.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Cosmo Mad Libs: The Result!

A sneaky way to suss out his fantasies
Ask your guy to give you arousing fill-in-the-blank answers, then read him the story. It'll be arousing... and enlightening.

It's ass-fuck time, and we're feeling frisky while at the ice cream truck. Because of a performance I was just in, I'm dressed as Lady Macbeth; for less apparent reasons, you're in a priest's robes. You lean in to me and whisper, "You look even hotter than Madam Curie." Once we're alone, we quickly disrobe for a quick dip in the kiddie pool full of semen. As we're drying off, I take my pseudopod and slowly rub it around your boobies. You lose control and grab an iron and rub it seductively against my gills. In a moment of inspiration, you jump up and go to the refrigerator to grab some semen, then bring it over. I slowly devour it off your pretty blue eyes. We then have wild sex for the length of the Neolithic Age, switching from "the pretzel" to A2M before climaxing simultaneously. Afterward, we file teeth.

I feel aroused... and enlightened.

Monday, July 14, 2008

When it asks for "noun" I always put "penis."

Please comment with some or all of the following:

Time of day:
Location traditionally associated with sex:
Woman's costume:
Man's costume:
Famous woman:
Something people swim or bathe in:
Erogenous zone:
Household object:
Body part:
Gooey edible substance:
Body part:
Period of time:
Sex position/move:
Sex position/move:
Whatever activity your heart desires:

I expect great things!

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Real transgression.

I want to be pissed on.

It's not that I have anything specific for piss, not that I've admitted to myself yet. What I have is the knowledge that piss is still disgusting. Fucking? I love fucking, but it's a pretty normal thing for an adult to do. Hitting? Not normal, but... not disgusting. It can be glamorized, clad in slick black leather, ascribed a culture and even a sort of spirituality. It can be rationalized. It's probably not even uncommon. In my head and my social circle, hitting is okay.

Piss is not. Oh, I know there are people out there who are cool with piss, who see it as just another kind of play. Fortunately I'm not one of them, or I'd have to be shit on or something. (I do not want to be shit on.) I think pissing on someone in bed is fucking disgusting. It's not "naughty"--it's sick.

So you see.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

That Meme That Everyone's Doin'.


1. Chocolate or Whipped Cream:
Neither. Slick salty man sweat. Why would you want to cover such a great taste?

2. Leather or PVC
Leather. I don't get that visceral caveman thrill unless something's died for my pleasure, you know? Also, it looks, smells, and feels better, and it doesn't stick to your skin when you get hot.

3. Outdoor Sex or Indoor Sex:
I've never done it outdoors. I'd like to.

4. In the Jacuzzi or In Bed?
Bed. Ironically, it's impossible to get properly wet in water.

5. Bad Sex or No Sex:
Depends. I'd rather have bad sex with someone I like, but if the sex is bad because of the partner, I'd rather not do it at all.

6. Dominate or Be Dominated:
Duh. (I have dominated, and even gotten off on it pretty good, but it's not my preference.)

7. Thigh Highs or Bodystocking:
Generally neither, but thigh highs. I'd feel ridiculous in a bodystocking.

8. Fast or Slow:
Start slow, finish fast.

9. Rough or Gentle:

10. Bite or Suck:

11. Roleplay or Reality:
I hate to keep giving copout answers, but I love the borderline. The instant when I stop saying "Oooh, Daddy, stop" and go "No, dude, seriously, ow, stop." And he still doesn't.

12. Dirty Talking or Dirty Talking To:
It's kind of a reciprocal activity, isn't it? But I do love filthy words whispered hot and breathy into my ear.

13. Edible panties or No Panties:
No panties. Ew.

14. Spanking Paddle or Barehanded:
Barehanded, unless you can be nice about it, and I know you can't--hard strokes from a paddle just push me to my limit too fast.

15. Landing Strip or Kojak:
Uh, "Kojak." I enjoy the smooth look and feel, as well as the sense that what I'm doing is pretty damn filthy.

16. Multiple Sessions or One Good Fuck:
Multiples. With the right partner I can go like a freakin' bunnyrabbit.

17. Moaning or Screaming:
Both, and a lot of 'em.

18. Older Men or Young Men:
Older, just because I'm so darn young myself. There aren't a lot of experienced tops under 22.

19. Threeway or No Way:
Yes way! If I could find two amenable people for it.

20. Swing or No Swinging:
I'm not married and the word "swing" always kinda weirds me out, but if my partner was down with it, I'd totally schwing for swing.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

I missed a spot.

In writing the last Cosmocking, I skimmed the magazine too quickly and missed one of the best features:

An article on how to analyze your man's personality from his pubic hair style.

Monday, July 7, 2008

What it's like to be hit.

You'd like to be swept away, ideally; you'd like him to truly take control and know what you need and ravish you and use you as he sees fit. But you are realistic, and you know that to have the experience you want, you can't pretend it wasn't your idea. You have to take responsibility for your own pain. You have to hit yourself.

At some point before he hits you, you have to talk about it. You sit face to face as equals and disclose your kinks like you're working out a takeout order. This was agonizing for me the first couple times. "I like... uh... you know! I can't just say it!" I got over that. "I like hand spanking, flogging, clothespins, and verbal humiliation. I don't want to use a blindfold." "Interesting. I like the hand spanking too... how do you feel about caning?" And so on until you've hashed out an outline of how you'll be hurt. If you told him, at this point, that you didn't want to experience pain, he would respect that. You don't tell him that.

You start with him clothed and you naked, generally. Unless he's much stronger than you and somewhat experienced, you have to participate in your restraint--quietly offering wrists for the handcuffs, holding still and adjusting as needed for the ropes. With rope you can spend some time in this state, a human canvas for the fiddly art of bondage, calmly standing in the requested pose as you watch the work become beautiful and inexorable.

He faces you away from him, and you don't know when it's coming. In reality, probably you know within five seconds when it's coming. But within that five seconds are five thousand milliseconds, and you're going to spend every one of them tensed and clenched and agonizingly waiting for it.

And then he hits you. That's what you came here for, isn't it, you little slut? I bet you love this, don't you? You do. Warming up, before it hurts, the hitting is pure pleasure, it's being caressed and then fondled and then groped hard. It's being fucked, and when it starts to hurt, it's being fucked so hard it hurts.

Not literally, understand. Literally it feels like you're being hurt. The pleasure happens not in your skin but in your head. THWAP, THWAP, THWAP, and you yelp in pain even though you like it, because you can't help yourself. If he goes far enough, you won't be able to help crying. That's okay. It sounds terrible, but crying is intense and freeing and rewarding. Sometimes you cry from coming too hard; sometimes you cry because he wouldn't stop hitting you with a thick plastic rod. It all comes from the same place, and afterwards, at least, you're able to understand that it was a good one.

Sometimes a moment comes where you change your mind about everything. I want off this ride, he's a crazy person, I'm a crazy person, this shit hurts! You hold your tongue mostly because you went to such trouble to get here, and you'd hate to ruin the party for everyone. And an instant later it's a little less painful or a little more, and you're gone again. You're wet and you're flying and your skin is hot and you know just how damn lucky you are to be there.

At the end, if you have that sort of relationship, he fucks you. Any doubts you had about whether you really wanted this or you're really into it disappear as you have the most intense orgasms of your entire fucking life.

Afterwards you collapse or barely manage to crawl off onto a bed or sofa, and he cuddles with you. At this point, if it was good, you get high. The room spins and you giggle and your whole skin feels good. The cuddling's not just a comfort but an amazing tactile pleasure. You laugh like an idiot and walk all wobbly. It's a relatively brief experience, but a giddy one, and by God, you earned it.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Cosmocking: August '08!

A white cover! And the cover model is Scarlett Johansson and she's almost tastefully dressed! Wow! However, this cover also wants you to know that it's "The Guys & Sex Special," as opposed to, you know, their regular content of original fiction and investigative journalism. (Not a joke; back in the day Cosmopolitan was a literary journal running work from the likes of George Bernard Shaw, Jack London, H.G. Wells, Ambrose Bierce, and Rudyard Kipling. Rudyard freakin' Kipling!)

The Boyfriend Test I Failed
"A girl told me not to come to a family event, then felt bad because all her cousins had brought dates. She got mad because I 'should have wanted to come'."

You did not fail the boyfriend test. She failed the girlfriend test. (It's hard to tell from the story whether she wanted him to psychically divine that no meant yes, or if she didn't realize she needed a date and decided to blame him after the fact. Either way, it's a fail.)

This is the second issue in a row to have two pages repeated. I guess layout and production are man skills.

Now that communication is so easy and instant, when you don't hear from him for a day or two, it's usually a sign he's not fully invested.
It depends on your type of relationship of course, but why does Cosmo always depict romance as a mind-and-body monopoly? If you don't hear from him for a week it's probably bad news; if you don't hear from him for a day it means he has other things in his life. And if you're fully invested in him you can chill out and know you still have a relationship even without constantly reconfirming it.

If you want to broach the subject of moving in with a dude you've been dating for a while, try "I think we have an amazing relationship, and I'm ready to take the next step and move in together. Think of how much sex we'd have living under the same roof!"
Ergh. That is one selling point of cohabitation, but it's crude and condescending to use it to sell a major life change. "I know you won't be motivated by intimacy, companionship, or supporting each other's life goals... so how about some sex, boy! I know you care about that!"

While ordering dinner, caress up his leg as high as you can get away with. If you're feeling super-daring, reach inside his pants, and slip a hair tie around his penis--this gutsy move will keep him slightly stimulated all night.
"Honey, what are you... GACK! Okay, that feels really weird and annoying and I have no way of taking it off out here. I'm going to waddle to the bathroom now and I hate you."

How to Keep Your Man Loyal
One way to do this is to plan lots of summer activities for you two only--such as a playful afternoon-swim ritual at a lake or a private happy hour on your deck. If he's spending a lot of time with you, he won't be able to catch the eye of other females.

Why not do it right and invest in an Invisible Fence? You can set up the collar to deliver a bigger shock if he tries to remove it.

Advice section:
I'd been with my boyfriend for a year when I told him that I'd been faking orgasms the entire time we'd been together. It really hurt him, and he got mad. We haven't broken up, but we also haven't had sex for weeks. What can I do to make him want me again?
"Dear Cosmo: I lied constantly to someone who trusted me, then threw his sexual insecurities in his face. I'd like to experience no consequences. Can this be arranged?"

My man's ex tried to break us up by telling people that they'd recently slept together. I know they didn't, but I'm still having a hard time trusting him. He thinks I'm out of control and got mad when I asked for his email password. Am I being irrational or should he understand what I'm going through?
Bitch, you ain't "going through" shit because it didn't happen. If he did cheat it wouldn't give you the right to read his goddamn email, but reading it because he didn't cheat on you... what the fuck.

Cosmo's Naughty Truth-or-Dare
Dare: Imitate what I sound and look like when I orgasm.

Hm. It's a good dare, but a sexy dare? I think even the most sensitive of guys couldn't resist the temptation to reference zoo animals: "and then you make sort of a monkey face, and then you're all [falsetto] 'OOOOOGGGHHHAAAAA,' like an ostrich with a really big egg!"

All good fun as far as I'm concerned, but I imagine if you did it to a Cosmo girl she might get a wee bit sensitive about it.

This is an ad (for a quack tattoo removal cream), not editorial, but it's hilarious:
It all started when I walked down the aisle. The smirks; the giggles; the regret - the old tattoo from college sprawled across my back. Two years of my life getting ready for this very moment and all I felt was remorse. 'My day' ended up with a fight with my in-laws and then led to an ugly divorce soon after.
Yes, folks, her wedding and indeed her marriage were completely ruined because she had a tattoo on her back. It's a goddamn shame there's no such thing as a wedding dress that covers your back. (Also, the only way I can picture a tattoo causing that much of a reaction is if it was a swastika inside a biohazard symbol inside the text "I'm a classy ho - sucky sucky ten dollah!" Inside a ring of cocks. With devil horns.)

Bond with him: Hold your guy's gaze for five minutes. It might feel a little awkward at first, but soon you should both start to relax. This exercise can help you read each other better and grow super in tune.
Ooh, I've played this game! But he made silly faces at me and I blinked first.

The last thing on your mind after a session with your favorite sex is cleaning it.
Um, no, how about you talk to me like I'm not a filthy moron? I'm sort of concerned that Cosmo automatically assumes we all get regular waxes and manicures, but reminds us to wash our sex toys. I mean, you'd think by the time it started to form a crust...

(Tangent: doesn't it seem like the vanilla-sexy women wax, but the real pervs shave? Waxing is "I'm glamorously groomed," shaving is "I'm ready for some fucking action.")

God WHY.

Last night marks my second queasily sexual dream about Barack Obama.

Subconcious, whhhhyyyy?

(Last time he cuddled naked with me. This time he told me we couldn't have sex because of Michelle, but he whipped out a riding crop and told me that just playing wasn't cheating. WHAT IS WRONG IN MY HEAD?)

Friday, July 4, 2008

Guest Blogger: Bruno.

Hello. Bruno here. I seem to be the token straight vanilla guy around the Pervocracy, but I’ve been asked a few times to write something. So when Tommy set the example, I decided to follow it.

No, Holly’s not blowing me as I write this. I’m fully clothed and alone, actually, and nowhere near the Northwest. And this post is about stuff that happens while the clothes are still on. It’s decidedly non-filthy.

You’ve been warned.

I’m sometimes asked why I’m single. I try to take it as a compliment – it has to be better than obviously deserving to be single – but of course I would prefer not to be single at all. So I’ve given the question a fair amount of thought.

A complete answer would take an entire blog of its own to provide, and in the process would risk collapsing upon itself into a sphincter-shaped, snot-drenched pit of delusional adolescent wankery from which not even Internet hyperbole could escape. I’ll spare everyone.

Instead, I want to focus on one of the reasons I may not try harder not to be single.

The short version.

The long version:

At a school function years ago – a cocktail reception in an airy glassed-in pavilion just before sunset – I noticed a classmate. I’d seen her before in the hall. I’d thought she was kind of pretty, in an unusual way. She reminded me of royalty from a medieval tapestry. But something about the way I experienced her at that moment hit me in the chest like lightning.

It was intoxicating. It resonated in my head like turbulent flame. It hurt.

And I was hooked. I watched for her everywhere I went, tried to learn about her, and sought opportunities to interact with her. But I was shy, and she was shy, and our schedules didn’t match up well, so it took months before I even knew her name. Until I did, I referred to her as “cattle prod girl.”

Nothing ever happened between us. One drunken night not long before we all packed up and moved away from campus, I managed, in humiliatingly adolescent fashion, to tell her she was beautiful. I suppose I must have at least embarrassed her, because she walked away.

I never saw her again.

That electricity is the sensation I’m always hoping to recapture. Cattle prod girl isn’t the only woman who’s ever given it to me, and I can be attracted to a woman without it – otherwise I could never flirt, date, or have sex (thankfully Little Bruno’s not as picky as I am) – but it seems that even if I want to, I can’t fully commit unless I get that incapacitating, almost painful validation of my attraction.

Rationally, I understand that’s foolish. I also worry that it’s cruel, and that it proves I’m an insecure asswad. There are many, many wonderful women in the world. I even meet some of them from time to time, and not all of them are married/gay/incarcerated/etc. Sometimes I’ll even try to date them, but I’m usually unsuccessful. Maybe I give off insecure asswad vibes.

Of the handful of other women who’ve given me similar sensations – though none has ever been so strong – none has come any closer than cattle prod girl to dating me. I’ve never so much as kissed one of them. Some have rejected me and others have ultimately proven not to be anyone I’d want to date. Others disappeared before anything happened.

Remember that I’d seen cattle prod girl a few times before she gave me a heart attack. She was only one of the hundreds of attractive women around, and not even one who was heavily pursued or gossiped about. My experience seems to show that there’s no predicting which woman I’ve thought was attractive will suddenly electrocute me.

I suppose that leaves some hope that I can find it within a relationship rather than from a stranger.

But I can’t know which are the cattle prod girls or whether I’ll ever meet another one, and compatibility with cattle prod girls may be no more likely than with anyone else. It’s a recipe either for serial monogamy or for inaction, loneliness, and celibacy. I’ve taken the latter path: It’s no accident that I recently ended a two-year drought or that I’ve been single for over four years.

Those periods could, and perhaps should, have been longer. Despite being an insecure asswad (among other failings), I somehow seem to be able to attract women. And, perhaps because I’m an asswad, I don’t always reject them. I don’t know whether I’ve ever inspired anything near the same electricity, but of the five women who’ve gotten naked with me, only one was someone I pursued. The other four all pursued me, up to and including propositioning sex.

To be fair, I’ve tried to maintain relationships in most cases, and I’ve always been a generous lover. Yet knowing that I have experienced paralyzing magnetism – knowing that with no warning I might experience it again – makes long-term commitment feel impossible. Having to settle for a more mundane sense of attraction seems unfair.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

The big reveal.

Fire cupping!

A hot glass cup contains less dense air than its surroundings. If the cup is sealed onto your skin and cools, as the air inside it contracts it forms a powerful suction. This, like other forms of fireplay, looks absolutely wicked--a huge bubble of purple-red flesh is sucked up from your body--but feels surprisingly mild. It's like a really, really big hickey.

And like a hickey, it leaves very dramatic bruises despite inflicting little pain. If for some perverted reason you want to be marked all to shit without suffering, cupping is the way to go.

Guess How!

(Professional kinksters, shhh. I want to hear the vanilla people's guesses.)

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

The downside of 5'2".

I am forever being accidentally smacked in the back of the head.

Maybe I should play in really high heels or something. Or a football helmet. Or--God this would be sexy--both.