Monthly Archives: April 2006

Warning: Excessive Bliss May Be Good For You

I would have said that “the Guy has this saying,” but according to Google, there’s 14,700 hits for the phrase “post-coital bliss.”
It’s all about the PCB. Blissed out and riding that wave back to normalcy. Nothing recharges the batteries like a good lay, don’t ya think?
It’s Saturday morning (as if you didn’t know) and it’s cooler than it has been, but not cold. There’s 94% humidity – yep, count it, 94% — and the air’s got that built in chill-enhancer that’s not so friendly in the morning. Still, I’m in bare feet, just not happily naked like I normally am in the morning. Oh, well. The headache burrowing into the back of my skull’s not really a high point this morning, either, but I’m ignoring it and listening to Gomez over my headphones anyhow.
The gym was supposed to be my destination, but I have that all-over-body sore that says somethin’ physical’s been up of late. (The dirty s-e-x, that’s what. I tell ya, the death-grip with your legs around the waist, hiking him towards ya, good fer thighs and ass and abs, ladies.) I figure instead I’ll do some ab work, play with free weights, write, watch TV a spell, and then that’s my day. The Guy hobbles over, crutches and all, to my place this evening.
Back to the more interesting of topics thus far, PCB. It was after the dirty s-e-x that the conversation steered towards the PCB. Nothing takes a sting out of a working man’s week better than getting him laid by 10 on Friday, you know. My guy’s cut from a slightly different cloth. Instead of having sex (the dirty s-e-x, even) and rolling over to sleep the sleep of the dead, he gets energized. He actually enjoys cuddling and talking after a good shagging. How do ya like that? Now that’s serious PCB, folks. He even gave me a couple decent writing topics.
I, for one, am a big fan of the PCB, baby. Sex for everybody, says I. Didn’t you get the memo? I took over the duties of World Domination and Universal Autocrat as of midnight last night.
Lucky for you fuckers, too.
Sex for everybody. Yep. Just step right over here to your frequency lanes and pick a number you’d like as your sexual quota each week. What, three times? Four? More? All rightie, then. Pick a lane, any lane. That’s the number of times you’ll be getting’ your love on each week, my friends.
Ah, if only. I would make such a KICK-ASS dictator. None of the genocide crap, man. No illegal law enforcement. No intimidation. All about the bliss, baby. Personal freedoms for everyone, medical insurance discounts for anyone getting shagged often, sex toys would be tax deductible… If only.
In my pie-in-the-sky utopia, I’d have sex four to six times a week. A couple double-dips and such in there, of course, as well as lazy sleep-in, clothes-off, shaggin’ Sundays.
I’m looking forwards to next month. We’re on the verge of warm, warm nights now, and I’m thinking how much I’m gonna love those late-night just-got-laid departures – riding through the fragrant streets on warm, breezy nights, my scooter weaving back and forth under canopied streets as various perfumes from flowers assail me and cooler air pockets surprise me. Sigh. That’s always the best time to be out commuting in the world: a summer night after sex.
(There you go – a road rage solution. Road rage is all because people aren’t having sex enough. C’mon, people! Spread the sex around. Let’s reclaim our streets. Nice, happy drivers who just couldn’t give a shit if you go faster. They’re thinking about getting a little more of the shaggin’ they just had. A far better traffic pattern would emerge, I bet.)
Y’know, I went out for years with this guy who lived about 35 minutes away from me, and I still, to this day, remember loving the ride home almost as much as I enjoyed the sex and/or his company. It’d be 4am, and I’d be driving out on a highway that always had this awesome turn-off that made it feel like you were driving literally into the sunrise. Whoosh, around the bend, and back headed south-east, towards the sunrise again. I almost always took the long way home.
There’s just something great about sex in the summer. It’s better when you have a fan to cool yourselves off after all that work, but hey, seasonal shagging’s all good. I love staying in for sex in the winter, but if you have to leave, it’s such a bitterly cruel contrast – the cold, cold nights against the warmth and sweat and fury of your recent encounter. Yeah, I’ll take this… summer and the PCBs.

You Asked: What Do I Consider Cheating?


There’s an old saying, “A man never introduces his wife to his mistress,” or vice versa. Last night’s episode of Boston Legal made for good breakfast fare this morning, and the closing line was that.
It reminded me of an email from a reader, to whom I’ve yet to respond (sorry about that, you), inquiring as to my opinion on what “cheating” means today. That email is excerpted here:

At what point do you consider someone to be cheating on another?
I’ve been poking a few friends with this one and been getting back some interesting answers, but outside of my older brother’s girlfriend, I’m getting generally 20-something’s answers. So I figure I should get an older woman’s view too 🙂
In case you’re curious this whole thing got started because a female friend (that’s an oxymoron when you’re a guy isn’t it?) was doing one of those Myspace surveys and the question, “Have you ever cheated on someone?” came up. And I just saw her freeze up for a second and give it some serious thought. So now I’m just randomly poking people for their opinions 🙂

Well, apart from the ass-kickin’ I wanna lay on this boy for calling me an “older woman” at the sweet age of 32, I found it an interesting question.
When this question came in nearly two weeks ago, I didn’t hesitate to bring it up with the Guy. It’s a great conversation for every couple to have, and soon. What is YOUR perception of cheating?
Does it matter only if it includes Bill Clinton’s definition of “sexual relations” or is it something more intrinsic, maybe even innocuous, than that?
Fidelity is a complicated web. Some women feel betrayed if their guy eyes an ass wiggling down the street. Some men feel betrayed if their girlfriend only watches sports and drinks beers with her best guy friend and never him. Who’s to say where the line is?
Every couple needs to set parameters. I’m in an interesting situation here, since I write this sex blog and about sexuality in general. That puts my man in a very interesting situation since he is constantly learning new things about my perspectives on relationships, sex, and everything else under the sun. It also means we’re often in the situation where we’re talking about things other new couples might be deliberately not discussing for a while, since there’s the chance of making it all seem more serious than things really are.
There’s that whole theory of push/pull when it comes to relationships. One partner becomes needier and pulls the other in closer than they should, sooner than they should, and the needed partner then becomes spooked and pulls back. Like rocking a boat, regaining balance (and FAST) is a major challenge, and if not met, the relationship will then be doomed. I did my “pulling” on this blog, and the Guy patiently let me.
In that time, we’ve talked about a great deal of “serious” issues, and nothing’s really spooked either of us, since we’ve confronted it. Cheating is just one of the many topics we’ve broached, but out of all of them, finding his stance on this topic was the thing that made me feel most comfortable about where we stood.
His response was that anything that smacked of intimacy (ie: beyond flirting) could be construed as “cheating,” with the stipulation being that you’ve declared “exclusivity” with your partner. I brought up the point that I occasionally receive sexual emails and I have been known to do semi-extreme flirting in one or two cases with correspondents, and I said that my role in those emails stopped as soon as I began seeing him, since I started to feel as though I would be betraying a trust.
I know my views on “cheating” are fairly old-fashioned; it’s anything that makes me feel like I should be saying or doing that with my Guy, not that other person. I have high standards for what I expect of friends, for what I expect of lovers, and even what I expect of myself. This time, we’re on the same page.
In this day and age of cyber worlds and information highways, “cheating” can take on a million different looks. You can engage in cybersex, have a long-distance literary love affair while still involved with a lover, you can ignore your sexual obligations in a relationship and spend all your time digesting porn and masturbating instead, or you can simply do the old-fashioned stalk-and-hunt of an extramarital lover via internet dating. It doesn’t matter. To me, if you’re in a relationship where you’ve vowed to be exclusive, there are things you unequivocally should not do – such as kissing someone else, exchanging love notes, or an afternoon rendezvous in a $49.99 motel. And you must, without a doubt, seek to have a strong and passionate sex life with your partner. It’s not called “roommates,” people.
But there are fine lines to what may or may not be construed as cheating, and the only way you’ll ever know what your lover would feel is a betrayal is if you ask.
Oh, and if you need to stop and deliberate as to whether the action could be construed as cheating? It’s cheating. I mean, use your fucking brain. Really. If you have to ask how much, you can’t afford it, baby.

But enough about me.
What do YOU think constitutes “cheating”?

Did Somebody Say "Test"?

It’s early on Tuesday, I’ve essentially been up since 5:45. The morning’s awash in this tepid glow. It’s sunny, but there’s no direct sun on me yet. Give it 40 minutes, then it’ll have risen over the low-rise apartment building in front of my place. Summer’s virtually here. It’s been three days in a row of good, good bike rides, and Sunday I even got to do some crusted-earth trail riding and hit a few puddles along the way. Sweet! A fine time to be alive. And a great time to be in a good relationship.
Yesterday was test day. See that? Ugly fucker, isn’t it? The blood pooled under my flesh a bit, just by the needle’s merciless prick. Crimson skin’s there now. Friday, I’ll have my results. HIV, yada, yada. Testing sucks. But it’s a good time in a relationship. Didn’t I just say that? Here we go. Got the testing, baby. Naturally, I just sprung it on the Guy. Funnily, the very day he broke his leg, he planned to go get the full-meal deal of testing done. That was over a month ago. Freaked the shit out of me. “Eager, aren’t you? Jesus!” was essentially my line of thought. But I’m catching up, the fear’s ebbing, and I’m entering the “comfortably committed” mindset that usually eludes me for much, much longer.
So, it’s done like dinner, Martha. Oh, I hate needles. With a passion. As a kid, I was always unhealthy. I had needles drawn every single Friday for about five years. A variety of mystery illnesses plagued me back then. What can I say? I’m enigmatic. Even professionals think so.
But this wasn’t so bad. It was one of those medical people you look at and you think, “Hmm. She’s either really awesome at her job, or she’s gonna suck eggs.” She was awesome. Took seven — yeah, count ’em, seven tubes — for everything from diabetes to HIV and it barely even registered. Well done, nursie-girl! I nearly smooched her.
Y’know, as cool and collected as I sort of am about all this, there’s always something freaky when you see a vial of your blood sitting on a counter with a “CDC” sticker applied to it. (Centre for Disease Control for you off-continent types.)
There’s a reward though: The possible future of condomless sex. More moments, less hassle. A fine thing. Spontanaeity? Check. Throw down and get it on, any time, any where? Check. I’ll have me some o’ dat, thankyouverymuch!
Friday, the good word comes down. Me? Worried? Not at all. I’m a responsible girl and I have higher standards than it may sound like from time to time. Should be just dandy.
Testing: The New Measure of Monogamy. Yep. Gettin’ tests. There’s a plateau. Goin’ steady — and we mean it, dammit. Yep. All ready for the Spontaneous Throw-Downs, soon. Turns out the Guy’s never had outdoor sex. Well, well, well. He claims he’s more of a “winter” guy than a “summer” guy. If he’s never had outdoor sex, I could maybe see how that would be. But I know a trick or two to edumacate him on the finer points of warm nights and dewey grass. And maybe there’ll now be one less hassle when I get my schoolin’ on with ‘im. He’s so game. Lovely.
That’s all the writing you get today. I’m pissed off I’m up, so I’m smoking a little dope (sue me) and rolling back under the covers. It’s the first time this spring that ALL my windows and doors are ajar with a nice spring breeze blowing gently through my place, and I’m sitting around naked, and not freezing, and I love it. But I’d rather be under the covers. So, back to oblivion I shall go for an hour or two.

Oy vey, you searched for what?

This one sounds really innocuous, until you start thinking of the implications of language. In reviewing my webstats just now, I came across someone who landed on me via this search string:
“How do I position myself when having sex with my honeymoon partner?”
Honeymoon partner. Wow. Bet that’ll be an unbridled night of torrid passion. Honeymoon partner. Not lover, not mate, not even spouse. Honeymoon partner.
One should make love on a honeymoon, don’t you think? Not “have sex”? Unfortunately, I don’t know what page they landed on, since I’m too cheap to pay for a full stats package and the info switches over too quickly. Sigh.
If you can’t call the person you’re about to supposedly spend the rest of your life with your lover, you might want to double-think those vows. Lover. I absolutely love having a lover. Not just a boyfriend or a partner or whatever, but a lover. Doesn’t it just roll off the tongue? Don’t you get a little hot just thinking of the word? Isn’t it almost… tasty?
But having sex with a honeymoon partner? I mean, it sounds like there’s gonna be a chaperone standing in the corner, throwing out coaching lessons as they go.

“No, no. To the left. The left. There you go… right. Now again. Again. Deeper. Oh, come on, do it like you mean it. Deeper. Yep! That’s the ticket. Let’s have some more of that! Fabulous. You’re almost getting the hang of… oh, slippage. What a shame. Just when you were fulfilling your potential, too! All right, let’s try that again. From the top.”

Sigh. And this is why people need to stop overthinking things and go more with their feeling. Life’s too short to be clinical.

Whoring for Comments: Pimp Me, Baby

Y’know, this month has been whack. I’ve had some 70,000 people pop by since April Fool’s Day, which is just, well, weird. Yet so few people come out to say hello. C’mon, people. Show some love, say hi, comment on the weather, whatever gets you off.
Blogging’s a pretty masturbatory past-time. We wank off intellectually and throw out emissions out here for y’all to swallow. It can be a strange sensation, especially when it’s of such a personal nature as to be about sex in any way. It’s comments that take the edge off it. Come on, was it good for you, too?
Say something. You know ya wanna. Besides, I’m staring down the barrel of a deadline that has me frozen like a jackrabbit in desert headlights. Humour me.

Handjobs: Things You Need to Know, Part Two

I wrote a rambling introduction to the topic of Handjobs here, and part one of this instructional bit is here.
Pressure:
Ask him, for god’s sake! It’s his penis, he’ll know. This isn’t your ex-lover’s cock, or your high-school boyfriend’s cock, or your college fuck-buddy’s cock. This is his cock, and it feels differently about things than those other dicks did. If you ask, he will think you value making him feel good. It’s a smart way to go. Let him tell you. He’ll be glad you asked. Not all guys are comfortable telling you when it’s too hard, and some men will even endure pain to avoid offending you. Be a real woman, and ask.
Lube:
Covered this before. Most guys’ll say it needs it. If you want to avoid clean up and have better grip, you can put a condom on him. Start with oral and even end with oral, but it doesn’t need to be only one or the other. When it comes to using lube, start with only a little, and increase the quantity as needed. Too much will compromise your control.
Positioning:
It doesn’t “really” matter. He should be comfortable, and reclining or lying down is a good thing for him. I like to begin by lying down next to him, or snuggling up, whatever, and typically begin with oral if I’m in the mood (see below) and then will sit up by his waist when I’m making progress and getting serious about the work. This gives you use of both hands, and more flexible access to all his parts, but begins with greater intimacy.
The Moves:
First off, every single one of these moves changes according to pressure and speed. Doing it nice and gentle will give him one set of feelings, but picking up the pace and gently increasing pressure as you go will take him to a whole new galaxy of feelings. Speed up, slow down, speed up, slow down. When you’re wanting to finish him off, pick the move you’ve seen the best reaction to, and just go to town. Once he comes, he’s going to get super-sensitive super-fast, and when he says stop, STOP. If you like, after a couple minutes, when he’s resting, you can just rest a hand on his cock, as if to say it was good for you, too. Or you can go have the beer you’ve earned. Whatever. 😉
Starting out, just play with everything. Caress his balls, place your open, flat hand over the length of his member and begin doing gentle-pressure circles over the whole region. Play with the tip of his penis, whatever you like. Better yet, take his soft-ish cock into your mouth, or nibble it with your lips, or lick it with varying degrees of pressure.
Then, once it’s harder…
The Ring-a-Ding-Dink:
For this, you make a “ring” of your index finger and thumb, or use the middle finger if he’s got greater girth, and wrap it around the base of his penis. Start tugging up and down, with firm pressure, but slowly, just around the base. So, this move has about a 1” rise on it. You’re not ascending the whole shaft, just staying right there at the base of the penis. Do it with more pressure and faster, and you’ll see him responding. A lot of nerve endings are at the base of the cock, hence why guys love penetrating you deep and hard, so it fires up those basal nerves. This is a great one to use during oral, too, while you have your mouth on his shaft’s head, and toy with it using your tongue to flick and lick around the head.
The Piston:
Standard move, girlies. But not, and I repeat not, a go-to move, not in my book. It’s a transitional thing. If he wants a piston job, let him do it later, and you know he will. Do a little piston work here and there, particularly when you’re wanting to move towards taking him to orgasm, so you can indicate speed’s about to pick up. This move’s just basically you wrapping your hand around the shaft and going up and down, from the base to the tip. If you’re using proper lube or a condom, it’ll make it easier to do full moves that take your hand up, over the penis’ tip, aka the “glans” or head. The head region’s crazy sensitive, so doing the piston via ascending over the head will be pretty hot for your man.
The Tweaker:
With both your hands around his penis (like you have them wrapped around the top of your steering wheel; your thumbs will be next to each other), you want to rotate your hands in opposite directions. One’s rotating towards you, the other’s rotating away from you. This gives him a pretty wicked set of feelings, and this move’s got a lot you can do to vary it. Such as:

  • Stop rotating the hand by the shaft, instead, start pumping a bit, like you would with a stress ball, or if you were checking your blood pressure at the doctor’s, squeezing that rubber bulb. Now and then, just squeeze firmly. All the while, the hand wrapped around the top of the shaft continues what it’s doing.
  • Or… Continue rotating around the shaft area, but flip your head-hand around, so your palm’s facing you and your thumb’s up at the top of his penis. Now your thumb can play with the head. This hand now does a mini-piston, while you rub and tease his glans at the same time. (So you have both the rotating and piston action at the same time.)

Knob-Polisher:
This is a fun one to do, and needs either a well-lubed condom or lots of lube on your hands. One hand’s around the shaft, maybe doing a mini-piston, while your other hand is open, with the palm on top of the head of his penis. Press down and do circles. That’s it. It gives him a lot of stimulation through his head. Press firmly, too, and harder as you go faster. Some guys get desensitized a little too quickly at the head of the penis, so you need to be aware of what your man’s tendencies are that way. You can do circular movements or you can do rapid side-to-side movements, but either way, his glans is gonna be happy.
Collision Course:
This is a bit of a mind-fuck, and one he’s virtually guaranteed to love. With your hands again in the “steering wheel” position mentioned above, you’re doing “opposite” pistons. Meaning, you’re doing the piston move, but your hands will be colliding – one’s going up from the bottom of the shaft, and the other’s coming down from the head. This goes against what his penis has been conditioned to feeling, so it’s a pretty wild departure. You can reverse this, so your bottom hand is moving down to the bottom (and emphatically colliding into his public wall, putting lots of pressure against his basal nerves) and the top hand goes up over the head, which it gives a good squeeze to as it does, and then back down. You can also change hand positions a la the second variation of the “Tweaker” above, but still maintain the opposite movements.
The Garden Hose:
This one’s just a nice departure. It’s a softer move, but it should be done reasonably well-paced, and will give him sensation over his entire penis. In between some heavy action, or even starting out, just pretend you’re pulling out a length of garden hose… One hand goes gently up the shaft and off, followed immediately by the other, again and again and again, and as quickly as you can manage. Doesn’t work with a condom, but lube does the trick.
Diversions:
There are many ways to say to a penis, “I like you, you’re cute.” Tracing a finger up the shaft, either at the front or the back, can be fairly arousing. Playing gently with his balls can be lovely. Tickling his cock can be a pleasant shocker in the middle of a handjob, particularly if you have a feather nearby. Leaning down and breathing hotly on his moist cock can also be titillating sometimes.
I think those are all the “A” moves, and I’ll see if I can think of some more on the weekend. These are at least guaranteed to get you some results in the meantime. No promises about any more postings on this topic for now, though. But the point is, get creative. Bring in props, use your mouth, take moments here and there to nibble his thigh or tease his anus, if you’re wanting to prolong the experience. Don’t be afraid or awkward, and talk to him about what he’s liking. The more you see his enjoyment, and the more intense the orgasm you provide, the more you’re going to be enjoying this, too.

DISCLAIMER: I’ve had comments about uncircumcized guys v. circumcized, and the unaltered boys say they need little, if any, lube. Well, being your standard-edition Canadian girl, I’ve only ever met cut penises. They make lovely friends, but I’m sure I’d like there uncut companions, too. Unfortunately, I remain ignorant of more than just their company. So, their penis heads are apparently more sensitive, and lube is less of an issue. Duly noted.

Hand-Jobs: Things You Need To Know, Part One

Handjobs can be one of those awkward moments for women. It seems so… odd. How hard is too hard? How soft is too soft? Where’s the sweet spot? What in the hell should be done, just tugging, rubbing? What, what, what?
Every chick’s had a moment when they’ve caused a man to wince, or even cry out, from accidentally hurting his testicles or penis. We’ve all seen that terrible moment on the playground when some kid inevitably kicks another in the sack, only to see the victim crumple to the ground and begin crying like a girl.
I’ve only ever been violent once, and it was in a 7-Eleven, when a boy started clawing at me and trying to grab my then-growing boobs. I told him to stop, he didn’t, and I kicked him in the nuts, which surely looked different with me in my Catholic school kilt and dress shoes (poor fucker). I was 12, then, and didn’t really mean to kick as hard as it looked like I did, but boy, oh, boy, did I feel badly when I saw him balled up into a fetal position on the floor, whimpering like a kid whose dog just got mowed down by an 18-wheeler in front of his eyes.
Even as little girls, we learn that the cock is oh, so very sensitive, and yet, there guys are, tugging viciously on their members, it looks like, and so we think, “Well, that’s how to do it, then.”
Naturally, we reach out, manhandle that cock (or we do the opposite), and invariably hear, “Not so hard! Gently!” (Or “Harder, more like this.”) Our synapses start firing. “What the fuck? Look at YOUR technique, buddy! What’s wrong with mine?”
Let’s see if we can clear some of that up right now. Oh, I should mention, specific moves come next time. This topic deserves some depth.
First off, guys need to be lubed up. Hand cream, baby oil, Aquaglide, whatever, but lube up. Chicks might sometimes use spit, but it dries quickly. Try tugging your finger, repeatedly, the way you would normally tug a cock. If you just rub up and down with no lube, two things happen: one, it burns, and two, it becomes raw. Not exactly the sensation you’re going for. And don’t forget, when it comes to sensitivity, there’s a world of difference between your digit and his.
Lube’s a great way to go, since you get the glide-effect going on. Personally, I find too much lube makes it hard to keep a little control over my hands. I mean, I’ve made good friends with my friendly neighbourhood penis, but really, I’m not sure I quite have the key to his house yet, if you know what I mean. Too much lube loses that little bit of control, and I’m more liable to overshoot my mark and have my hand keep slipping off his cock. Moderation.
Another great option that more chicks need to explore is that of using a condom for handjobs. If you’re wearing rings and forget to take them off, it’ll protect his crown jewels. If you have dry hands, it won’t be an issue. First off, the condom’s lubricated anyhow, but then there’s the pre-cum that also adds to his lubrication. (You can even use studded or ribbed condoms to heighten the experience further.)
The bonus, though? No need to worry about sperm shooting half-way across the room, or landing on you, or sullying the sheets, sofa, rug, or whatever. It’s tidy, it’s easy, and it takes the awkwardness out of the experience. Personally, it’s my favourite way to give a handjob. Starting to use condoms transformed how I felt about the experience (and made me realize how anal I am about having sperm shooting randomly across the room or wherever it’ll land, given my snazzy digs). Now I love giving a handjob and try to prolong his pleasure as long as I possibly can, since I know I can give a really, really intense orgasm, yet don’t have to exert myself too much, which means I can give him a handjob no matter how tired or not in the mood I may be. And, really, seeing the end result and knowing how satisfied I can make him, that’s a reward in itself, no matter what my mood was previously.
Handjobs, and some may not like the word since it seems so perfunctory, can truly be a beautiful, intimate moment between you and your guy. You’re able to keep eye contact, yet smother his body with kisses in between, as you stroke him towards nirvana. One reader even states he gets a much more powerful orgasm from a handjob than a blowjob, and perhaps it’s because more control can be had over what’s done and where, plus, you’re better able to see the reaction to all you do and gauge your actions as a result.
I wish I could have a penis, just for a day, so I could learn how everything feels. When I see what touching different parts of the penis can do to a man, it makes me curiouser and curiouser. Every time I give a handjob, it seems I learn something new about his penis. If, just as an example, I rub the base of it between my thumb and forefinger (always the flat part of your fingers, never the tip), just as if I were playing with a stone or something, rolling it back and forth, the reaction is pretty amazing… far more than I’d have expected, just seeing the standard rub-and-tug guys seem to get engaged in.
And that’s the thing women need to realize works to their advantage. Guys typically have a favourite method of masturbating, and they seldom vary it. Because of the angles we can have over them when it comes to doing the job on their behalf, we’ve got so many more approaches we can take. Because it’s foreign to us, even exploring new moves and ways of handling it will surprise and shock him, usually in positive ways — if you’re watching the pressure you’re applying. It’s in the way we vary and switch things up that we’re able to bring that pleasure to a new plateau for them. It’s a new peak, a new high, and it’s never, ever what they would do for themselves.
Next time, I’ll be writing about specific moves. What you need to know now, though, is this: Every single part of the penis and the balls are sensitive to touch, even the inner thighs, and none of them should be neglected during a handjob. It’s not about “tugging one out,” it’s about variation, changes in speed, changes in technique, watching his reaction, knowing when to pull back, when to speed up, when to move your hand down to massage his balls or trace a finger up his thigh, and no guide book or scribe will ever be able to explain that. Every time you deliver a handjob, it should (and likely will) get better and better and better, because your knowledge of your lover is escalating… if you’re paying attention to him, that is.
Handjobs shouldn’t be awkward or strange. They should be something you can do for your man when he’s had a bad day or is feeling a little out of sorts, or when he’s hot and bothered but you’re tired and have a headache. It’s five, ten, fifteen minutes of your life, and hardly difficult to do, but immeasurably rewarding to him, and a terrific tool to use in keeping your relationship healthy and happy. If it’s clean-up and lube and grip that trouble you, keeping a pack of condoms around just for handjobs makes giving them far less of a chore, and really transforms them into the go-to move for keeping your lover happy. And becoming a master? Well, he’ll probably never be sorry you’ve compromised to give him manual stimulation, and in fact may come to look forwards to it. And hey, a surprise handjob during his favourite show or when he’s just lying on the couch might be a great way to shift gears for the evening.
You can do it, grasshopper, and next time, I’ll tell you how.
[Part Two is finished, with select moves and tips. You can read it here.]

Hey, honey, mind photocopying this — and your ass — for me?

A recent sexual harassment lawsuit was tossed out of court in the USA. It doesn’t amount to much in the scheme of things, but I’m fucking elated about it.
During writing meetings on the show “Friends,” things would get raunchy. Sex-talk and profanity would lace the meetings, and one woman got her panties in a twist as a result of it.
I’m sick and tired of the politically correct bullshit out in the world. Whether it’s no longer being able to flirt at all at work or having to check your tongue before you speak, people just take things way too goddamned seriously.
I recently had a reader object to my use of the word “chick” when talking about women. I had to rewrite my response to her because I was so pissed off at first. What the fuck? “Broad” or “skirt” or “twat” or “bitch,” yeah, those are offensive, sure. When you get an email from me, wanna know what the sign-off signature reads? “Resident Cunt.”
Words are words. Intentions behind them are what matters, and people need to start looking at the big picture, not using a macro lens to examine every little happening.
I will never, ever clean my language up for you, people. Sorry, not going to happen. Don’t like it? Read someone else. Go read fucking Miss Manners, for all I care. My blog, my words, my way. Soon, I’ll be having to watch every period and every verb when editors harangue me for perfection and for publication-quality work, but for now? I’m a rebel with a cause, baby, and my cause is “whimsy” and “spontanaeity”. I think it, I say it.
This chick, getting a job on a sitcom about sex, one of the top sitcoms of its time (this was six years ago), was LUCKY. She was FORTUNATE to have an inside fly-on-the-wall perspective of some of the best comedy writing on television. She was warned about the workplace approach when she got the job, yet she decided to rock the boat based on her own narrow perceptions.
It doesn’t work like that, honey.
This is tantamount to something we have occurring a lot here in Vancouver, home of the million-dollar apartments. Yuppies move into areas with clubs and bars and then they piss, moan, and bitch about noise after they’ve moved in. What part of “entertainment district” did you fail to fucking comprehend BEFORE you moved in, HUH? Fucking whiners.
There are a lot of standards I possess that are not met by the world at large, whether it’s cleanliness, food, manners, what have you, but when I leave my front door, I know I need to compromise. That’s life. But these whiners and wimps looking for a perfect, safe, clean, proper life, they’re spoiling it for the rest of us.
It’s one thing to say that unwanted sexual advancements are not appropriate for work, but it’s another thing to let that pendulum of so-called decency swing to extremes. Life just isn’t as fun as it used to be. Personally, I always pushed the envelope in the office. I was known as “flippant.” When I write, I have a backspace key. You think I’m off the hook here? You don’t know shit. In person, the things I say, man, I’m amazed I’ve never been beaten senseless and left for dead some days. Having a cute smile and a twinkle in ze eye serves a girl well, it would seem.
But why should I have to watch what I say? Why can’t I just say it, and if it’s too much, apologize? When did we start cutting the leg off before the gangrene set in, huh? We’re a preventative society now. Playgrounds aren’t nearly as fun as they used to be. Merry-go-rounds are practically a thing of the past. Teeter-totters? Dear god, the potential for death and dismemberment! Get that thing out of here!
We are a nation of pussies, and I don’t mean in the get-it-wet-and-get-it-now “mreow!” sort of way. We’re wimps. We’re too timid. “Park your indecency at the door and homogenize with the rest of us” seems to be the credo of the day. If we were a colour, we’d be beige, man.
So, we’ve had a small victory here with this court case being trounced. For once it seems like filth and debauchery are allowed to be a part of the creative process. But what about the rest of the world? What about workplaces that are boring and stoic? What if a little juice and impropriety was good for productivity? Maybe workers wouldn’t be so compelled to surf for tits and ass when the boss ain’t looking. Who knows. All I know is, talking about sex and swearing and being inappropriate makes me smile. Smiling means I’m happy. Happiness means I get more shit done. Getting more shit done means the wheels of this economy work better.
There’s an argument for scrapping the harassment laws. Economic benefit. Really, look at it – all this shit came into play since the whole Justice Clarence Thomas “Is that a pube on my can of Coke?!” scandal way back when. The economy? Has been tanking ever since.
A connection? Elementary, Dr. Watson.

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Addendum: Okay, I’m being a tad facetious, but really… don’t we all hate work a little more than we used to? Isn’t impropriety, oh, I don’t know… fun?

You asked? My thoughts on tit-fucking, then

I’ve opened the topic of handjobs, and I’ll continue on them, too, but first a foray into titty-fucking, as one male reader has asked my thoughts on it.
I don’t know the numbers for how many women enjoy titty-fucking, but I know I’m actually turned off by the thought of it, and I simply won’t engage. I wish I wasn’t actually turned off , but it is what it is.
Fortunately, it’s never been a problem. I’ve actually never expressed the dislike until a conversation with the Guy tonight, but no guy I’ve ever been with has been interested. Why not? Maybe it’s not as common a fetish as porn would have us believe. Nonetheless, I have a couple reasons for why it’s not my thang.
First off, depending who’s doing the measuring and my time of month (breasts swell and reduce in relation to the cycle), I’m between a generous B-cup and a smallish C-cup. I don’t care, I’m fine with my breasts as-is, but their size would limit the benefit for titty-fucking, IMHO.
Second, I just don’t find it attractive. It’s not my thing. I won’t apologize for not liking it, either. I won’t judge others, since I really don’t give a fuck what you do in your home. It gets you off? FABULOUS. Not me.
There’s an interesting dichotomy in the sexual world. One aspect is the woman who enjoys almost any sexual act. She’s often portrayed as lewd, slutty, easy, or loose, just because she’s an enthusiast. And that’s bullshit, my friends. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the activities you enjoy surrounding sex should not judge who you are as a person.
But then there’s the flipside. If you’re hesitant to do some of the so-called edgier/pornified things, you get painted a bit as a vanilla lover, or someone who’s “conservative” in the bedroom, which is also bullshit, my friends. There are many things I’ll do, and I’m caught between both extremes on the perception of what kind of woman I am, too. I’ve probably had more public sex than a lion’s share of the people out there, I’ve dabbled in bondage and many other little game-type scenarios. I dirty talk, I’m creative, and I sure as hell take the initiative. I’ll talk about nearly any aspect of sex, but there are things that pull me back into my shell a bit, things that sometimes daunt me, things that even turn me off. I shouldn’t be judged for knowing what I like or dislike, and that’s precisely what happens too fucking much.
There are sex-bloggers who might even snicker at me for admitting I have found handjobs awkward, or that I’m not as come-friendly as others might be, or that I view titty-fucking with great disdain, but you know what? Get the fuck over it. It’s my prerogative.
Being a good lover is: A) Knowing what you like, dislike, and love. B) Knowing how to express your needs. C) Being open-minded without compromising yourself, whatever that might mean for you. D) Not judging your lover’s desires, but being true to yourself so you’re not going to resent them after the fact. (Always, always consider how you’re going to feel if you perform an act that’s not generally your cup of tea. Some things I’ll do because I know how “he’ll” feel, and thus, I know I’ll feel great seeing that expression on “his” face. Some things, “his” response just doesn’t matter because I know I’ll be left feeling like I’ve compromised who I am as a result of my actions.)
Sex and love and intimacy are minefields. There are things that will hit and miss with each of us, and our likes or dislikes need to be respected, or the collateral damage leaves all players pretty frickin’ fragged.
Honestly, titty-fucking’s just one of those things that I suspect every woman has a multitude of thoughts on. Personally, being a woman with a little more to grab around the mid-section, there’s nothing that turns me on better than a guy who navigates my entire body and who enjoys every inch of me. I’m fortunate in my present relationship to have a great guy who appreciates the whole of the female form, not just the three money-shot areas that many guys obsess over: Twat, tits, and ass.
And that’s one of the problems with titty-fucking. It takes some of us back to the boring same old shit that focuses on specific regions of our bodies when not enough of our bodies get explored during the rest of the act. When’s the last time you kissed her behind the knees? Or nibbled her low back? Or sucked the folds of her elbows? Huh?
My opinion on tit-fucking isn’t going to change any time soon. It’s one of those things that’s just true to who I am. I’m open to anything from anal to bondage to outdoor sex and sex toys of all kinds, but there are some things I’m just not in the mindset to ever enjoy, and I don’t even want to humour the guy and do it, just because I know how I’ll feel at the end of it, and it probably will be something along the lines of feeling cheap. No, thanks.
Again, this is MY perspective on tit-fucking. There are women who absolutely love it, and kudos to them. Whatever gets your rocks off, baby. But don’t judge me for what I dislike. Instead, realize that my knowing not only what I dislike but being able to express why takes maturity, insight, and self-knowledge – things I wish more people had the courage to express. Until, however, we stop judging people for what they do or don’t do, the sexual self-knowledge club might remain on the exclusive side of things. A real fucking pity, that.

Hickies are great when they can’t be seen, but for professional reasons (I work with kids), I’d rather they not wind up on my neck. Got home last night to discover loverboy had accidentally (because he knows how I feel) left a small hickey on the front of my neck, where a guy’s Adam’s apple would be. I wasn’t ticked off or anything, since I remember the moment and I think it’s sort of worth it, but I reached into my cabinet and put some Arnica cream on it (a natural remedy good for bruises). This morning? 50% lighter, and I usually take forever to lose hickies! Thought I’d throw it out there as a tip for others who also need to avoid showing off their love bites.