Monthly Archives: March 2006

All About Oral: Odor, Etiquette, and Why Some Women Don't Want It

So, I received an interesting email recently, and the reader had this to ask:

I was wondering what your opinion is on oral sex etiquette. For guys AND girls, is one obliged to kiss someone who just finished going down on you? If your partner doesn’t feel like swallowing, what should he do about his come?

Personally, I can’t wait to kiss a guy who’s just gone down on me. I’m not really sure why it is, but I like to think that a) it shows my appreciation, and b) he finds it hot. Similarly, if I go down on a guy, I also can’t wait to kiss him afterwards. I find those kisses the hottest, most intense a kiss can get. I look forwards to them every time. Besides, planting a smacker on your lover after they’ve gone down on you is the subtle way of making sure you’re tasting great. I’ve often grabbed the guy mid-oral, made him kiss me, find out the taste-test way if I’m tasting as clean as I want, and if I am, he’s shipped back south to finish the job, and my fears and insecurities are abated. Smart, crafty? Of course I am. 😉
I think it’s rude, really, not to kiss your lover after having received their oral services. I don’t know why, but I do. I’m not sure there’s a hard-and-fast rule out there, but really, if you avoid a lover who’s just been indulging in your bodily juices and such, it communicates that you’re repulsed by yourself. It’s not that sexy. Own your sexuality, own your body, and prove it with a post-oral kiss.
When it comes to swallowing, I’m not one of those “good girls swallow” proponents. I often don’t. It’s different in a relationship, I suppose, and it depends entirely on his hygiene and his personal flavours. I’ve occasionally swallowed, and the first time I ever did it, it was by accident and I was surprised it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I thought it’d be. I’ve sometimes chosen in the past to let a guy ejaculate in my mouth, and as I’ve snaked back up his body, kissing everywhere I go, I’ve deposited bits back on him, and then we kissed and squirmed happily together. I think it doesn’t really matter too much, but guys absolutely love a girl that swallows, not only because her lips are around him as he orgasms in that happy, warm place, but because it shows she accepts him in entirety, and that’s arousing no matter what sex you are.
If you haven’t brought him to orgasm orally, then it comes down to either finishing inside you, or by manual means, in which case either a condom catches the ejaculate, or it “goes where it goes.” Again, what happens with his come in a manual situation’s pretty much up to you, him, and the moment. There’s no real etiquette involved. Want it on your belly? Great. Want to take the chance that he’s not a squirter and your walls or floor won’t catch it? Great. Do whatever strikes you as the right way to go.

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In keeping with this topic, I’ve been asked a few times and just never get around to answering it:

What can a guy (or gal) do to change the flavour of their ejaculate/personal juices?

It comes down to general health as well as diet. Are you prone to infections? There might be little you can do to change flavours if UTIs and/or other infections find you regularly.
But usually it’s a diet-related thing. Most sources tell you that a meat-heavy diet can result in a more bitter-tasting sperm. Rumour has it that vegetarians have the best taste out there. (For some reason, I just find vegetarians a little less sexy, though. There’s something odd about a man who doesn’t like sinking his teeth in meat, you know?) Focusing your diet on more carbohydrates, fruits, and vegetables, as well as drinking a lot of water and other pure, non-sweetened juices can do a lot to giving you a better flavour (and odour).
Smoking, coffee, and alcohol can also result in a bitter, unpleasant come.
You want to eat foods rich in anti-oxidants, high in fibre, and with lots of juice content. Pineapple juice is thought to be one of the best things you can drink in regards to improving your flavour, and is great for overall health anyhow. Drinks like blueberry juice and cranberry juice are also great in this regard. Celery is said to be a terrific food for come.
If you’re really wanting to get serious about things, you could invest in quality juicing at home. Cucumber, celery, pineapple, ginger, and so forth, all mixed together with some protein supplement can really help you develop a sweet, nutty flavour.
There are pills on the market that swear by improving the flavour of come, but what they don’t tell you is that the pills are rich in things like ginger, aromatic herbs and spices, and vegetable supplements. Sticking to a diet that’s rich in spices like ginger, low in sodium, high in natural sweeteners, will do the same trick.

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There are women who resist having men go down on them. These women are resistant for a number of reasons.
One, maybe they just don’t like oral. Strange, but true. Oral’s a very intense experience, as most of us know, and for some, it’s simply too intense.
Two, they’ve had bad experiences. Lovers can be idiots. We can say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and it can turn a pleasant experience into a scarring one. It’s hard to shake the memory of someone who’s been a thoughtless lover, and it takes patience and encouragement and support to overcome a negative experience.
Three, they have a history of infections. Some women are predisposed to infections. Maybe they swim in natural bodies of water too often, maybe they have a bad habit of shaving their legs in the tub, maybe they have poor post-workout hygiene, maybe they’re just built that way. Whatever the case, a history of infections can leave a woman with a really negative sense of herself and her privates.
Four, they simply have a negative sense of their personal odours. Like most women, I’ve had times when I’ve been self-conscious about my odour. I’ve avoided intimacy with a guy based on paranoia, not reality. In the end, I’ve come to learn that I generally smell the way I’m supposed to, and I have an average, if not desirable, taste to me. The only way a woman overcomes these sensitivities is by way of supportive, open lovers who offer compliments and kindness, not crass observations. The odour a woman emits is filled with the pheromones that turn men on, but the pheromones don’t work on us. Instead, it makes us paranoid. I actually worked in a fish restaurant as a teen, and was belittled by guy friends for smelling fishy after work. For years, I’d have issues about any odours my vagina emitted, and was never able to relax when a man went down on me, not until my mid-20s.
Five, your guess is as good as mine. I recently did the piece “Twats and Knives: Together at Last” in which I discussed the new trend of women getting cosmetic surgery done on their pussies. Why would a woman do that? Who knows. It’s not always something we’ll understand.
The point is, whatever the reason, some women aren’t into letting a man perform orally. If you’re a woman and you’re really, really concerned about your odours and tastes, you might want to try douching. It’s not something you should do regularly, as it kills natural bacteria that can fight infections, but if it’s something that gets you past the fear of having a man perform on you, then maybe it’s something worth trying. Including things like pineapple, ginger, celery, and other juice-altering foods in your diet might also give you a better sense of your emissions and scents.
If you’re a guy and you know she won’t let you go down on her, then don’t force the issue. Instead, sometime when you’re fingering her, you can lick your fingers and tell her you love the way she tastes, and you wish you could try it firsthand sometime. Comment on how her natural scents get you aroused. Linger by her belly, kissing her groin and surrounding areas, and toy with her, breathe her in. Don’t be obvious and say all the positive comments all at once, just occasionally make statements, and you’ll probably slowly wear down her resistance.
Insecurities are a hard thing to overcome, and as women, we’re barraged by advertisements on television that tell us we have to worry about our smells. Once every month, we get periods and there’s always inevitably that moment where we discover it’s a little on the ripe side. It’s not a wonder that women have insecurities about their sexual juices and aromas; it’s a wonder we ever overcome it, considering all the crap we see in the media. Any woman who’s ever had a yeast infection and has seen that look on their doctor’s face as he/she describes the “cottage cheese” within her knows how awkward it can feel to be aware of this thing growing inside of her.
It’s a struggle to overcome the paranoia, but supportive lovers get us there.

The Relationship Ride

When I was a little girl, I liked the “nice” rides at amusement parks. The Tilt-a-Whirl was a favourite. There’d be those moments when you’d spin wildly and you’d verge on nausea, and then it’d slow on down, and you’d settle back into an easy pace. It was unpredictable, but never dangerous, and never scary. The perfect combination, I always thought.
When I was eight, I went to Ontario to visit family, and my Evil Vixen cousin decided I needed to try a scarier experience. I was just tall enough to ride, and this was one of those big wheel-type thingies where everyone walks in, gets strapped against the wall, and the thing spins madly at wild speeds, first on a horizontal plane, but then it starts angling and elevating, until you hit absolute vertical – with every rotation, you go from facing skyward to staring at the ground from a height of a hundred feet or more. For an eight-year-old Steff, it was hellishly frightening. Throw in the blasting music and the screams and taunts of others, and there I was, out of control.
I was screaming, crying, and absolutely horrified. Tears poured down my face and I couldn’t stop wailing. They had to stop the ride and let me off. I was heaving and sobbing and needed my mommy, who was thousands of kilometers away.
To this day, there are times when I wish I could do the same with life. Stop the ride, man, let me off. Give me a blankie and a quiet night with reruns, I’m done like dinner.
The beginning of relationships, for me, are one of the most terrifying things I can experience. I’d like to jump in head-first, absolute abandon, and know it’s okay, it’s all right, I can do it. But I can’t. I start to, I throw my pennies in the wishing well and pray it’s all going to be all right, but then the evil What If? Monster starts whispering in my head.
What if I’m wrong? What if he comes to his senses? What if there’s some external factor I can’t control? What if I’m missing out on something better? What if the timing’s wrong?
And I fucking hate the What If? Monster. I hate the ambivalence and apprehension that finds me when the only thing I should be finding is trust. I’m in that rare situation with a guy who’s opening all the trust doors first, so the fear’s a little less than it might normally be, but it’s still there, and I really, fucking hate that it is. I wish it wasn’t. This time, I really wish it wasn’t.
But it’s strange and weird because he has this, this massive decoder ring of mine. Not only do I have this blog, with more than 200 postings, but I have my other blog, with more than 500. I don’t know if I’m your standard blogger, because I try to really peel back my layers. Not for you, not for him, not for anyone but for myself.
Unfortunately, though, he gets to peel back my layers on his own time, by himself, without me seeing his reaction, and I’m left wondering, “What’s he really thinking?” Fortunately, he’s good enough at expressing himself that he often clues me in without my needing to ask. Still, I’m over-analytical, timid, worried, and scared. That’s just me, and it works better when I’m flying solo, because then I can sit around and ask all these grand questions that my readers can relate to. Now, though, I’m not flying solo, so I go and I air these fears, and he’s gonna know. Maybe a good thing, maybe not.
In my life, fear is the great component that I can never, ever shake. All this self-examination and illumination is generally done in the attempt to get past the fear of hurt and pain that has greatly coloured my life over these years. I’ve had, unquestionably, a hard life. I’ve been hurt six ways to Sunday in every arena of my life, no matter what walls I’ve put up or taken down. I’ve had adversity piled upon adversity, and the hardest thing I’ve ever had to learn is a) to love myself in the face of it all, and b) to allow others to love me.
And I’m nowhere near ready on the front of B. I’m having a hard, hard time getting past this fear and apprehension that comes with the beginning of a new relationship, but specifically, this one. There’s the reality that this relationship has begun with more abandon and less restraint than any I’ve ever had. It’s freaking the shit out of me, honestly. That was hard enough at the beginning, but then my bone-breaker had the misfortune of badly breaking his leg and needing surgery for the insertion of a metal plate and several screws. I feel so horribly for him, and because I’ve already come to care a good deal for the man, I really want to be there to be of assistance and comfort for him.
So I have. And today, oh, my GOD. I’ve woken up with The Fear. I hate The Fear. On the one hand, I’m screaming “Stop the ride, lemme off!” On the other, I’m thinking I like this feeling. I love how I feel when I’m around him, but when I’m not… all the niggling doubts squirm to the surface of my psyche and the Questioning begins anew, and quite needlessly, I suspect, given the time we’ve shared and the openness we seem to already have.
During one of our first nights together, we were lying on the bed, comparing notes about what we thought the other would be like versus what they had turned out to really be. He commented that he thought I’d be “more cerebral… no, more pensive.” I told him that I am, but that moods like pensiveness have no place in front of another person. (It’s rude, methinks.) I’m very, very pensive – always, really – but moreso when I’m alone. I do get very quiet, though, in those makeout sessions, lying there, occasionally holding each other’s gaze, and in those moments, it’s true, I’m not really thinking about anything in particular. But the wheel’s turning, and soon, the thoughts strike. Like now, the next morning.
And my question today is, am I my own worst enemy? Is my fear my great undoing? It probably is. But at least I confront it, I give it a voice, and maybe that’s the first step in moving past it. I know I feel this way, and I’ve tried to explain to The Guy that, for now, my actions need to speak much louder than my words, ‘cos baby, I ain’t got the words. Not yet. I try. But I can’t do.
I’m a good woman, a good lover, and a great friend. I know it, and I try to be each of those, but deep down inside, I’m also a scared little girl that wants the safety of the Tilt-a-Whirl. Too bad I’ve met the height requirement for the big fucking roller-coaster, and it’s the only ride operating.

Polyamory: My Take?

Polyamory – it’s the new bi, man. Everyone’s doing it, so why aren’t you?
Oh, you haven’t heard? All right, then. Polyamory’s basically the “new” polygamy, ‘cept polygamy’s against the law, and since no one’s getting hitched, polyamory’s legal.
I’ve been asked, oh, a few times now to weigh in on the topic. So, you wanna know what I think? You really, really wanna know?
Yeah, me too. I can’t truly decide. Personally, that’s not a cookie I’m ever gonna sink my teeth into. It’s just not my taste of the month, and probably never, ever will be. I’m a one-guy gal, always have been.
But what do I think? Hmm. I’m torn. I think there are merits to both sides of the argument. Let’s start with the opposition, shall we? That’s always a fun ball to get rolling.
One of the things I absolutely loathe about our modern society is our inability to commit to anything, let alone anyone. We live in the On-Demand Age. Download the TV show you just watched, TiVO and pause. Single much? Log on to any chat site and find someone willing to cam with you, sans all the relationship bullshit. Hungry? Just around the corner there’s a 24-hour Mickey D’s drive-thru waiting to solve your woes.
We’re a society of spoiled brats. We want what we want and we want it when we want it. We honk our horns, rage our way down the street, ignore each other through our iPODS and portable DVD players, do whatever the hell we want, and seldom consider consequences.
And here’s a contingent of society saying, “Hey, let’s disconnect even more. I’ll get the sex I want when I want it, but I won’t have to actually, you know, be in, like, a ‘relationship’ type relationship.”
Is it really what we need? More disconnect? The easy way out?
Or is that oversimplifying what is, perhaps, one of the more ingenius ways of dealing with the stresses of modern living? Should you really have to decide between being with someone and being alone? Is the secret to balance found in distributing the weight more evenly, rather than off-setting it? Can you not have your cake and eat it, too?
There are those who argue that humans aren’t built for a lifelong commitment, so why are we trying to seek just one? Stats show the average pairbonding succeeds for only 4.5 years. Then what? Try it again, and fail again? Repeat the cycle of hurt? But is more cooks in the kitchen really a productive way of combatting that problem? Doesn’t a greater human element mean greater probability of arguing and hurt?
There are those who state that what they love best about polyamory is the not needing to be there for one person 24/7. I’m in an interesting situation where I’ve just met a great guy, and whammo, he busts his leg, and suddenly the dynamics of this new relationship have become far more complex than I could have foreseen just 48 hours ago. And that’s life. Me, I’m prepared to deal with that. Others, maybe not.
Relationships are hard. They take work. Lots of. When you spread that responsibility around, perhaps it takes some pressure off of you, but it also weakens the bonds you share, whether you want to admit it or not. I could absolutely relate to those who may have gone through hard marriages, who want the practicality and safety of being in a committed relationship, but never, ever want to be that solo go-to person again.
Hell, shit happens, and so does cynicism. Is polyamory cynical? No, I’m not saying that, but it’s certainly self-serving. But aren’t all relationships, to a degree? We wouldn’t be in them if we weren’t getting something out of it, don’t you think? With polyamory, there’s more control over what you’re getting out of it (and putting into it), and when, than is offered in nearly any other kind of relationship.
Control can be pretty attractive when the threat of being hurt enters the picture. Committing to one person, that’s giving a single soul an awful lot of power over yours. Opting to be one of seven women in a relationship with two men, on rotating shifts or however the hell you’ve managed to divvy your time, well, you know you’re one of a number, you know where you stand, and you know you can always pass and protect your own ass.
I don’t disapprove of polyamory, and sometimes I even get it. Maybe when I’m in my late 40s and love has fucked me around and I’m past needing whatever the hell it is a single, committed relationship gives me, maybe then I might drink that Kool-aid when it comes around.
But likely not. I may not be a fan of marriage, but I like commitment. I like knowing who’s going to be in my bed, and I like knowing all the little peccadilloes. I like not having to stack up against competition. I just like it. I don’t have a musical-chairs heart, and probably never will.
If you do, and you’re cool with it, then all the power to you.
Just don’t expect everyone to understand, and don’t get your panties in a bunch when they don’t, ’cause most won’t.

A Sexcipe — Balsamic Strawberries & Pepper

Had a long, doting visit with The Guy at the hospital. I’m good like that. 3-4 months of being on crutches, with limited mobility?Surgery to install a metal plate with four screws, at least? Bah.
What to bring someone in the hospital, especially a romantic foodie someone? Strawberries chopped into smaller bits, marinated in only a touch of balsamic vinegar with fresh-cracked black pepper. Beats the shit out of the mush they serve on those horrific little plastic trays.
If you’ve never tried it, you absolutely must. It’s one of the most sophisticated, delicious ways to eat strawberries, and I’ve never met a man who didn’t love them. The tartness of the vinegar and spiciness of the pepper serve to really bring out the sweetness in berries, even in the bland California ones that show up far too early in the season. It’s nothing like you imagine… fabulous.
Take a pint of fresh strawberries, chop them up into a bowl, add about a tablespoon or so of quality balsamic vinegar (if you’ve got a $3 bottle, just throw the damned thing out! Horror of horrors!), and about a half-teaspoon to a teaspoon of cracked black pepper. (Particularly good on strawberries is Black Tellicherry peppercorns.)
Let them marinate a couple hours, and serve just in a bowl, just like that. You can have some dark chocolate with it, or you can serve it with gingersnaps, that sort of thing. Almost anything works, and even alone is great. It’s a really great date dessert, and it’s never failed to get me action. 😉
The Guy loved them, although the nurse came up, leaned down and said, “You know he’s not dying, right? It’s just an ankle. He will live to see another day.” Yeah, yeah, thanks, babe.

What Happens In Vegas, Stays In Vegas (Baby)

I stirred up a little controversy with this posting the other day when I said most women didn’t like porn sex. C’mon, a girl can have some fun, n’est ce pas?
I love aggressive sex. I love a mix. I come with my own multi-speed. I can’t do the same thing all the time, and when I get given the green light, you bet your ass I can bring added elements into the game. I go from frolicking to ferocious and back again in mere minutes. Never, ever be predictable. That’s my motto.
I wanted to stir a little controversy with that posting, though. Yes, it was in absolutes, and yes, it was tongue-in-cheek. Let me explain things in a little more level-headed manner, then.
Here’s the gist of it: Don’t fucking assume you know what your lover wants. Don’t assume that because you saw it on TV, it’s definitely gonna be working out for them. Talk and find out what page you’re on. Figure out what you’re wanting to do to each other, and know where you’re going to go, to a degree. (I mean, you never want to script these things. It’s about going with the moment. It’s like planning your vacations – sure, having an itinerary is nice, but isn’t a little spontaneity a good way to go, too?)
Be open with your lover, be accepting of hearing what they want, let them know you’re not going to judge them for their desires, make sure they realize that fantasies and wishes are nothing to be ashamed of, that we all have little weird things we’d like to experience, and it’s okay. That’s what you’re there for, for god’s sake. (And it’s always okay to say no. Just don’t judge.)
There are a lot of women out there, particularly, who are terrified of asking for what they really want. They’re scared they’ll be judged. They’re scared they’ll be perceived as being a dirty whore. They need to know they’re in a situation where they can ask for what they want.
That’s why what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
When you’re in your bedroom, or wherever you choose to play, you can be any character you want to be. It should never, ever colour or tint who you are as a person outside of the bounds of play – unless you choose to allow that.
It’s absolutely possible to know how to wield a riding crop and pick the lock of pair of handcuffs, and still be a good, caring person. It’s possible to groan “Fuck me with your throbbing hard cock, you beast” and teach kindergarten. Duality’s possible in the human condition, but the right to privacy in a bedroom’s something everyone deserves.
(Pity the US government’s missed that memo.)
A safe environment needs to exist, and whether a woman wants to be fucked like Jenna Jameson is something she has every right to decide, but not something she should be judged for. Men need to allow their partners the duality of being as bad as they wanna be, without assuming any moral judgments on that behaviour.
And women absolutely need to allow men to speak to their fantasies, too, without judging them. So he would love a three-way, how does it hurt you to know that? The fantasy existed before you, and it will exist after you’re gone. If you’re not interested, you say so, but never, ever judge a lover for saying what they wish they could have.
Hell, I’ve known men who’ve fantasized about three-ways but never actually want to have one, for instance, but sharing that fantasy validated them because it allowed them to put an image to words with someone they wanted to share it with.
Never underestimate the bond of having open communication. Being able to talk about these things can be one of the most erotic experiences you share. Allow the conversations to map the terrain you plan to explore as time passes.
Keep Vegas in Vegas, baby, but keep on rolling them dice.

Confessions of a Serial Kisser

Nice, full lips: I can’t get enough of them. I bite, nibble, and suck them with little regard for consequences. I acquiesce to an invading tongue like a defenseless village against raiders. Enter at will, I silently command, unwilling to put up a fight, but ready to engage regardless.
I nibble, bite, lick, and suck my way down his torso, enjoying it as much or more than he does. It’s my land, my territory, and intimate knowledge is my only goal. There’s no part of the body safe from my probing, and I’m an explorer with abandon, navigating first with my hands, then staking my claim with my lips. A nibble, a bite, a suck… all aphrodisiacs for yet another.
Like an addict, one is never, ever enough.

The Blogger's Code, A Reminder

A few of us sexy bloggers have had our work stolen of late, republished by others, who are claiming our work as their own.

I could be nice about this, but why bother? The deal is, we bust our asses to try and create unique content as often as we’re able. I try to post, for instance, almost daily, and it takes a good deal of time to do, when I’m doing it well. I’m proud of what I create, and make no mistake about it — I own this content. If you reprint entire pieces without giving us credit, then you’re doing a very, very shitty thing. Smarten the hell up. Common sense my ass. It’s rare sense, apparently.

If you like what you read, there is a code you should follow. You print excerpts, not entire content. You link to both the site and then to the post, separately. That’s just the way it goes. I’m always grateful to be quoted/excerpted. That’s flattering. Thank you. Imitation, when it comes to intellectual theft, is not the sincerest form of flattery, whatever the cliches may have you believing. It’s simply theft. Plain, old, unimaginative theft.

Please, respect what we all do, and play by the code. We do.

And if you should ever recognize my work elsewhere, please inform me. I’ll always be grateful.

Our Tale of Many Coincidences

Since The Guy gave me his consent to share this tale with ya, here goes.
Have you ever seen When Harry Met Sally? Remember the cute vignettes that pepper the film? Old couples talking about the coincidences that brought them together?
Well, The Guy and I have our own Tale of Many Coincidences, and it’s why both of us are probably running into this thing a little less guarded than we might otherwise be doing with someone else. And hey, it’s spring. If there’s any time of the year to govern yourself with a sense of abandon, this is that.
Four years ago, we were living across the pond from each other. He was on Vancouver Island, and I lived here on the Lower Mainland, in the big old city of Vancouver. Between us was a two-hour, expensive ferry ride and about two hours’ of driving time.
We encountered each other on Lavalife. I spotted him, thought “Hey, he’s cute, seems like my type” and “smiled,” or something, and emails ensued. I remember being bitter that I had failed to notice he was on the Island, and if I had, I probably never would have contacted him, since long-distance relationships are not something I believe in. I always deliberately avoided the Island guys, so it was very likely a mistake in the first place. (But a happy mistake, as it turns out.)
Well, despite the geographical differences, we volleyed back and forth, about three emails each, but then he stopped the volley. Maybe he just forgot to get back to me, who knows, but I thought it was A Clue, and simply didn’t contact him again.
As so often happens in that crazy world of e-dating, we simply fell away and never did get in touch again.
The emails were great (though odd in the serendipitous coincidental kind of way) and if we’d lived locally, there’s no doubt in our minds that we would have hooked up. We had a strange long, long list of commonalities that we shared, and it seemed a little too odd to ignore at the time, but darn the geography anyhow.
Fast forward four years, and it’s Tuesday, March 7th. The Kid has just told me the night before that the evening we shared “was no fun” because I was “too aggressive.” I wouldn’t say I’m always “that” aggressive, but I sure as shit know what I want. (The Guy will attest to this, since it amuses him. “You, here, come.”) I was pretty annoyed by the Kid’s stupid & naïve comment, which resulted in this rant, and it also resulted in me deciding to write a very, very clear personal ad for Craig’s List, with the heading, “Writer chick, 32, seeks muse and partner in crime.”
The Guy, in what was probably another Weak Moment At Work was bored and just surfing Craig’s List for kicks. He had described himself as “single and not looking,” but when he saw my heading, couldn’t resist at least taking a boo. He read the ad, and as I usually tend to be amusing on my rants days, he had a chuckle, thought, “This chick is kooky,” and decided to check out my blog – which I had listed in the ad.
It didn’t take long, apparently, for him to notice my handle, which has always been the same on Lavalife – Scribe Called Steff. He did the math, recognized the writing style, and decided to take the plunge.
It turns out he’s been living in the city for a year now, and in the four years that have passed, we’ve begun to share even more in common. We’ve held the same jobs, love the same things, have the same beliefs, enjoy the same culture, we’re both foodies, we’ve both come through a lot of hardships with greater understandings of who we are, both our mothers are kaput, we’re both in the same place in our lives right now, yada, yada, yada. It’s enough sap to make syrup with, honestly. But I’m not complaining.
Well, I was thrilled to hear from him, since I don’t believe in “coincidences.” When these strange happenings come down, I investigate. So, naturally, I told him right off that I was interested in meeting him before I would meet anyone else. (Be blunt, it pays.)
Our first date wasn’t much to speak of, since I was pretty sick at the time and we only met for lunch, a bit of a walk, and he took me home, where I rapidly deflated into Land of Sickie-Plus-Nth. The next date entailed him making me dinner, and my selecting Fight Club as the date-flick du jour, which had him grinning madly. We had the first kiss’n’grope session, which led to some pretty wicked fooling around, but we decided it was worth not putting sex on the menu just yet.
The next date was this past Wednesday, with my preparing us breakfast for dinner (hey, don’t knock it – easy and tasty, and anything with bacon rocks) and yet another inappropriate date flick, the pimping classic, Night Shift. Again, we made like a couple of teenagers in heat, leading us to make a little mental list of all the things you can do for fun while keeping your clothes on.
So, yeah, we haven’t had the big Fireworks session just yet, but the Sparks are A-Plenty and Good Fun has been had by all. It’s one of those things that has too much promise to screw it up by sleeping together on dates one, two, or three. Besides, I’ve been sick and it sort of kills my libido a little. We’re both on the same page, though, and I can’t stay sick forever. Still, it’s a great thing so far.
The coincidences, though, and the commonalities we share makes this thing feel really, really comfortable, really, really early in the game. It’s a little odd and surreal, but really fun and worthwhile. We’re both really well-adjusted, and both of us being writers, the communication’s stronger than I’ve had it be at any time in the past long, long time.
It’s nice, it feels good, and hey, it’s spring. The timing’s awesome.
I think it goes without saying, though, that when life rises up and places a bunch of coincidences at your feet, that you’d be a fool not to further investigate matters. I’m glad I have. I’m curious where it leads, but I’m quite enjoying the trip thus far.

Sugasm #27

The best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them, courtesy of Sugarbank.

BDSM/Fetish
HNT #4 – Assume the Position (avaadora.blogspot.com)
I Don’t Mind it Rough (tangysweet.blogspot.com)
Kneeling (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
Making Love in the Rain Revisited (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)
Monde Imaginaire (theninthwave.typepad.com)
The Notorious Bettie Page (sugarbank.com)
Sadist Taking What is His (theheronclan.blogspot.com)
Spanking Site Review: Bars and Stripes (adelehaze.com)
Thigh High Boots (video) (thebootcam.com)
Training and Surrender (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)
Choices – Part Five (masterenigma.blogspot.com)
D/s Correspondence (barbiebaby09.livejournal.com)

Erotica/Erotic Experiences
In Three Minds (orpheusmind.blogspot.com)
My Ultimate Fantasy (gentlygently.blogspot.com)
The Slow Fuck (secretsofadirtygirl.blogspot.com)
Teen Lesbians Brittney and Avril on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)
The Vixxen Chronicles – Walking Funny, Pt. 3 (unfetteredcravings.blogspot.com)
Welcome To My Fantasy (herknees.org)
Coach T… Ch. 5 (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com)
Dear Pussy (secretbrain.blogspot.com)

Sex Work
I am now a sex worker (lumpesse.com)
Half-Nekkid: Topless and Thinking (sabrinainstockings.com)
Mothers and Prostitutes Don’t Mix (taratainton.com)

Experiences
Going Home (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
Single Double (damnjezebel.com)
Women Aren’t the Only Complex Creatures (seanandmel.blogspot.com)
Caught Kissing in the Copier Room (anawtymouz.blogspot.com)

Announcements
Save the Date! NYC Perverts’ Saloon – Monday, April 3rd (viviane212.blogspot.com)
Twilight + Thebes Podcast Discusses Paddles + Devil Girl Sushi Table (tirepaddle.com)

NSFW Pics
Gracie on Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)
My Sister’s Best Friend Review (internetisforporn.com)
I Feel Myself – The Art of Orgasm (sensualarousalblog.com)
Oops, I forgot. The word of the day is “moisture” (realadultsex.com)
Sincerely LaRue (eroticandy.blogspot.com)
S Spot Hentai Links (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex: Sex Commentary, Sex Advice, Blogging
Faking (v-boat.blogspot.com)
Fingering (sexyukgirl.blogspot.com)
Long Ass POST! (alphadominablog.com)
Twats and Knives: Together at Last (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)
Variety Act (seska4lovers.com)
Advice – Tasting Yourself (seskuality.com)
Anatomy Lessons Part 1 (swelteringcelt.com)
Come (sexeteria.blogspot.com)

Sex News / Grab Bag
For the Youthful-Looking Cooter You Deserve (tgp.com)
Mardi Gras Spanking (auntyagony.net)
Profaning the sacred (sexblo.gs)
They’ve Went and Bottled the Pussy! (suburbansexpot.blogs.com)
Tom Cruise’s Cock (sugarpit.com)
Charges Dropped in Teacher Sex Scandal (spiritsex.blogspot.com)
Dress Up Britney Spears (sugarjoy.com)

Funny
Killing An Erection (radicalvixen.com)
after a few shots… (janeluvsdick.com)

I Don't Wanna Be Your Dog

I’m sorry, Iggy, but it’s true.
This one goes out to the porn school boys. Yeah. You know who you are. The guys who watch porn and think women actually want to fuck like that.
The majority of women don’t have “getting titty-fucked” at the top of their weekend to-do lists, all right? We don’t necessarily globally relish having our asses smacked while we’re being ridden doggy-style by some dude who thinks he’s one lap away from the Kentucky Derby. (Probably most women like to take one of those laps from time to time, though.)
The majority of chicks aren’t going to gush and coo like a girl on Christmas morning as you cum on their face. Most will be pissed that you’ve even attempted it, really.
Face it, boys. Porn movies are movies that are made by men, for men. They are entertainment. They’re the sexual equivalent of the DC Comics’ League of Justice: highly improbable, hugely exaggerrated, and excessively stylized.
If you’re taking your sex tips from porn, you might just want to think twice before you invite Debbie over for a little diddling.
Fact is, porn’s for the uninteresting. Most North American porn is so laughably cliche, so utterly uninspired, that it’s a wonder Europeans ever sleep with any of us. Thank god they know better than to believe everything they see on television. Pity the same can’t be said of everyone on this big ol’ continent, though.
If you’re content to underperform, then porn away, boys. If you really want to get fucked, and you really want to know what an orgasm has the potential to feel like, then explore the full dimensions of sex.
The problem with the Porn Boys is they just don’t fucking understand that orgasms are like concert seats. Just because you’re at the concert doesn’t mean you’re getting the best show. In fact, sitting in the nosebleeds might get you into the gig, but with all that frenzied distortion and being so far away visually, you’re barely scratching the surface of the experience.
Upgrading and getting in close seems to sometimes slow it all down and make the experience bigger than life. The bass rocks you, the sweat slowly builds as the tension gets better and better throughout the headliner’s act before they finally blow their wad on the show-stopping encore that leaves them and the audience gasping for more.
Stop being content to just show up and get rocked. Put yourself in the show and really make it an event.
What have you really got to lose, besides your breath?