Get to Know Yer Blogger #2:The Sex Edition

I did the first Get to Know Yer Blogger because I was too exhausted to think in linear fashion. But then I had fun doing it.

I figure, what the hell, let’s keep this wagon wheel rolling. I don’t live the wildest of lives, but it’s interesting enough. And writing these sorts of snippets all hodge-podged together is pretty fun for me.

Keep in mind, of course, of my sort-of policy of not revealing intimate particulars about my encounters. So, these are all very allusory — skimming the surfaces. You just don’t need to know, although I know you want to. But that’s the stuff I like to keep all secret to myself. What can I say?

The most recent stuff in my life is all variations of themes begun in the earlier years, so most of this is pretty distant from my world of now.

Without ado, skimming the surface of my sexual life…

The best outdoor sex I’ve ever had? In the absolute pouring rain, middle of a stormy November night. My trench coat was lain down over a muddy patch (but the least wet in the area) under a gigantic elm tree by a river. It was after midnight, no one was around, we got soaked, somewhat dirty but mostly just really wet, and got through it in record time, but it was fucking fantastic. Or fantastic fucking. Both, really.

One of the best nights ever with a lover was when we went out on a cliff, at the end of a forest path in the North Shore mountains, to catch the sunset… and when we tried to get back, it was too dark to find our way. We stayed until the sunrise, huddling together on a small jutting bit of cliff, conveniently flat, but barely larger than our two reclined bodies. Overlooking the Pacific, surrounded by rainforest. Got home six the next morning, snuck in before Mom awoke. Blissed right out. Until she “woke me up” at 7 to say Grandma had died. Weird. Highly memorable night on both counts. Really sore back. Great night.

Longest ever stay-in-and-fuck “weekend” in which pretty much nothing else was accomplished? Five days. And thinking about it still makes me grin. I need me a chance to break that record sometime. Best thing ever, all-sex weekends.

Most sex in a night? I don’t typically count. Six times that I know of, maybe more? Once is just wrong. Besides, it’s not about the number. It’s, can you handle more? Are you at the point where no amount of lube in the world is going to make this easy on ya? Then it’s probably a good time for a break.

What ever happened to sex outdoors? Now that I have an apartment, I just never get around to outdoors sex anymore. Sex on floors, however. Shit, it’s been a decade. That totally sucks. Holy to-do list item, Batman.

Sex under the stars. A lover had a rooftop patio in an apartment that was taller than the other buildings around. We’d pull the mattress out and shag ourselves silly out there, under meteor showers and anything else you can think of. If you’ve never had sex on top of an apartment building? That’s your to-do list item, then. Highly recommended. I should put a personal ad out for penthouse owners, seriously. I love the heavens.

First time I ever had casual sex or, rather, sex I knew would be a fling at best? I was 27. He was a fella I’d met travelling in California. He’d had a girlfriend, but we spent the whole night talking at the Sacramento youth hostel. We wandered around the whole town, talking until five a.m., even happening upon the band Cake rehearsing for a show at 3 a.m. and we sat in the deserted street and listened to ’em and kept chatting. Awesome chemistry, but even though he was away from his gal, he wouldn’t cheat on her — which made me think he was even hotter. Kept in touch by emails after our travels, and when he became single, he booked the world’s fastest plane ticket. He was Mr. Five-Days-Indoors. Then I showed him a little of the town, then we shagged more. His visit was for 10 days. Never spoke again, for whatever reason. But no regrets. Not a one. Had a nasty UTI after all that sex, but like I say, not a regret.

The older I get, the more aggressive a lover I become. Not sure why that is, but it is. I don’t mind, but the younger guys seem to. Silly.

That said, my biggest fumble in bed? Just assuming everyone likes variety in sex. The men who can’t handle any agression at all make me want to bitchslap them and kick them out of my home. I’ll show you some fucking aggression, boy-o. Happens a little too often. My screening is becoming more intense. Men need to be fucking be honest when they say they’re looking for a woman unafraid to say or do what she likes, ‘cos I’m that woman. Such as the guy featured in my rant The Kid and the Long, Long Night.

First time I ever played You-Show-Me-Yours– I was seven or eight and had no idea nudity was bad, since, as hung up about sex as my folks were, we always saw them naked. It was a neighbourhood boy and we were suitably in the forest before we dropped our drawers. He wanted to see how girls peed, too, but I took a pass on that. Thank goodness. I’m so not the golden showers type.

My eyes get me noticed on here, I guess, ‘cos they’re that feisty green us Irish girls play off so well. But I think my lips are my best attribute. They’re full and soft. And strong. And they serve me well. My teeth have a gap in them, not in the centre, though, off to the side. But they’re clean and white. I wrote about what my face “means” in the art of “face-reading.”

I’m deceptively shy when I meet a new guy the first time. Shy, but kind of confident. But once we’ve become acquainted, the hesitation and shyness goes right out the window.

Sexiest thing a man has ever said? Probably “Thank you.” Lots of sexy things get said in the moment, and most of them are just “said in the moment”. But it’s geneuine appreciation or after-the-fact conversations that really stick in my mind. Once every blue moon there’s that sex that’s so awesome it feels like an out-of-the-world gift to you both? And a “thank you” after that, laying spent with each other, just blows my mind. Genuine gratitude and appreciation is so fucking hot. Sexiest thing I’ve ever said? Couldn’t tell you. Not a clue. I say a lot in the moment, and remember little of it after.

I chipped my tooth. I was blindfolded and bound. A lover decided an ice cube of his really wanted to meet my clit. I spazzed and shot up in shock — unfortunately he was leaning in for a kiss. Our teeth collided. Mine chipped. We made sure we were both okay, and the sex took off from there. One of the top three sexual encounters in my life, but probably greatly romanticized because it was 15 years ago. I don’t mind. I love the memory.

I’m an outted blogger working in an office where everyone knows I write about sex. In fact, every single person in my life knows I write this blog. Most of the reason I wanted to write it was to get past my sexual hang-ups. What better way to do that than being honest about your identity? So, yeah. It’s cost me a job or two in the past, but that’s not an issue anymore. Fuck ’em. I won’t work where it’ll be a problem. My life’s too short.

Now, violence-free! I’ve never been assaulted, and have never hit anyone, in a relationship — or in life. I consider myself blessed. And intuitive about when to get the fuck out. Complacency kills, baby. Besides, I tend to take an even split in wrestling matches with lovers. I’m a strong, strong, tough gal. Just try me. No, really. ;)

Most erogenous zones? A reader asked. My neck and inner thighs. Having kept my hair short for several years now, I think of it as an unwitting gift to men. I used to have really long hair and it annoyed me that, while men loved the hair, they focused on it and not my neck. My neck’s where the focus belongs, boys, believe me. Problem solved. But they now pass “go” that much quicker as a result. Inner thighs? Need I say more? Oh, well, let’s say this: I was on the couch last night in short shorts, and it occured to me that my thighs have never been this smooth and firm. They don’t even rub together when I walk anymore. I love these thighs! I want to show them off more.

When I think of you, I touch myself. The first time I ever masturbated, George Michael was my inspiration. I wrote about it, too. You can read that here.

I still have my Catholic school kilt. Better yet, I’m one or two sizes away from fitting it for the first time since ballooning up since I was 13. How exciting. In other sexual stereotypes: Along with being a former Catholic school girl, I’ve also been a leader in Guides, a bookseller, a candy-striper, and a librarian. Christ, I even sang in the choir. That said, I’m good enough to bring home to Mom, but bad enough to keep it all very, very interesting. Plus, that penchant for voyeur sex might just make Mom’s hall closet a good place to try playing. Just be very, very quiet.

The older I get, the more my mind opens. Things I nixed only a couple years ago are now proving more and more intriguing to me. And this is why I judge nothing. Well, except golden showers and scat and stuff. Never going to happen. More thinking along the lines of advancing into BDSM and areas like that, really. Depends entirely on partners from here on out. Will they inspire exploration? That’d be nice. I’m sure you’ll hear, either way. (Here’s my Bondage for Beginners, if you’re interested.)