Category Archives: fantasies

Whip Me, Beat Me, Slap Me – Just Don’t Judge Me

While all the good little people were out getting in touch with their god of choice, I was having a lovely Sunday morning watching a BDSM fairytale, Secretary.

I’ve been meaning to see Secretary since its release in 2002, as I’ve been a lifelong fan of James Spader ever since I loved hating him in Pretty in Pink when I was just 13.

I remember being apprehensive about the movie, though, way back in 2002. BDSM, I thought, was largely for Weirdos. I suspect the movie was the first really mainstream movie to introduce the lifestyle to a large percentage of the population who probably walked out of the theatre with a silly grin pasted on their lips. It’s not so bad, they likely thought. A little odd, and weird, but certainly not this horridly perverse thing their churches had them believing it was.

Since then, my eyes have opened. No, I’m not into S&M, though I don’t mind a little smack on my ass from time to time, but I’ll probably never join the movement. I ain’t, however, writing that in stone.

The movie Secretary does not dispel the notion that those who gravitate to this pain-for-pleasure lifestyle tend to be somewhat broken inside. It echoes the common perception that the participants are hurting after a life of shortcomings and trouble, and this is their way of finding a coping mechanism. Control the pain that pains you, and you will control the life around you; this seems to be the prevailing wisdom.

So there are those who scoff at them and scorn them, as if they should find healthier mechanisms for dealing.

Aren’t we all hurting to a degree, though? Don’t we all nurse regrets and fears and wishes and wants? Sure we do. But the rest of us got the magic “All Better Now” button installed when we were manufactured. Or did we? Hmm, perhaps we could use a little coping, too.

And what would you suggest? How about a more socially accepted method? Alcohol to cure to ills? Cocaine’s making a comeback, you know. Perhaps cardio-holism is more your thing. Sweat, then, baby. How about a double-banana split? A bag of Doritos? How about shoplifting a new shade of red lipstick? Say, I hear they have a double-bill at church this weekend.

The point is, we all confront our demons in ways particular to us. The notion of willingly allowing ourselves to be hurt seems to be one that most people can’t handle. It’s not as if life doesn’t bruise us often enough as it is, is what people think.

And, sure, there are some right-fucked sadomasochists out there, but there are also some incredibly well-balanced ones as well. It takes all kinds, just like bowling. The thing is, do you understand why you like to have pain inflicted on you? Are you aware of what it does for you? By that same token, are you aware of why you want sex and romance to be all feathers and soft kisses?

It’s all about self-knowledge, this life thing. The more you know about what motivates you to do what you do, the greater your grasp on things will be. If you’re oblivious, then you’re in trouble. Simple.

I’d argue that the person who likes only the soft love – the gentlest of kisses, the lightest of touches – is equally as mentally ill-equipped as the out-of-touch person who prefers only pain. I’d say that they probably fail to realize just how sheltered they’re trying to be from the harshness of reality, and that they need to wake up and smell the rough sex.

I think anyone who’s only into pain for pleasure, and has no other outlets, is unbalanced. Just like in Secretary, there are plenty who like a little roughness and pain in between the soft kisses and lingering caresses. Balance is good. Experimentation is good. Sticking to vanilla all your life, or just Rocky Road, is probably never a healthy way to go.

There is nothing wrong with loving a little roughness. There’s nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to enjoying your lover smacking your ass so hard it’s red when they’re done. There’s simply nothing wrong with liking anything, as long as you understand why you like it, and you’re not just using it to cover up the ills of your existence.

Society doesn’t understand BDSM, and they’re not going to anytime soon, either. Acceptance is increasing, but as long as it’s all the hardcore folk riding front and centre and playing the roles of spokespeople, there will always be a negative perception about the lifestyle.

It is what it is. Enjoy what you do, and know that being discreet doesn’t mean being ashamed; it’s simply self-preservation in a society that just doesn’t understand. Sounds like being gay in the ’40s, don’t it? Oh, well.

Bondage for Beginners: Part Two, Basic Guidelines

(I forgot to include the link to part one, which is here.)

Bondage can become part of your life for a lot of reasons. Sometimes, it’s a way for folks to deal with the anxiety of their lives; symbolically giving control to another, or taking control. Sometimes, it’s for less honourable reasons. Sometimes, it’s just another fun game to play.

Whatever the reasons, however pure or otherwise, trust – having it, taking it, sharing it, abusing it – is the core experience of bondage. I touched on this last time ‘round. Have the right intentions, and this can be an incredible relationship-building experience.

In my fun little world of bondage, the tease is never separated from satisfaction. For me, tying a lover up is not only my opportunity to tease and taunt him, but also a chance to take him to orgasm as slowly and deliberately as I’m able, and make no mistake about it, an orgasm will be had.

As much as we’d like to think we’re all grown-up and it’s easy to give and take orgasms, the reality is, most of us are a little too conscious about whether or not we’re getting not only our partners but ourselves a ticket to the promised land. We overthink it, and we often overplay it.

During bondage my style, it’s a little more honest and straightforward: You will come if it’s the last thing I do – that is my job, my mission, for the next hour or more, my raison d’etre.

This is one of those instances where people want me to lay out step-by-step instructions, but that’s taking it too far. Bondage is about you being creative, using your lover’s body as a canvas or even as a test subject. “I wonder what happens if I drag an ice cube up the inside of his leg.” If you can think it, try it, and see what happens. Any time it doesn’t work, just go back to something you know you will. It’s not the end of the world. Try, try again.

So let me, instead, give you a few guidelines, not rules, all right?

  • I know there’s a contingent who finds the hows and whys of fancy knot-tying really erotic, but there are those of us who just can’t give a shit, too. I’m no sailor. I can’t do a grapevine knot or anything like that. I can tie my shoes, though, so bind a lover I can do. I make up for it in details.
  • Music can be an added bonus, or a negative, depending on your POV. If the submissive’s lying there all bound and blindfolded, sound is one of their major clues as to what’s going on. I have hardwood floor in my bedroom and it creaks and groans. I tend to put some music on to cover the sound a little, so he’s not as aware of what the next move is.
  • Lighting doesn’t really matter, if they can’t see, but the question is, how are you feeling? The sexier you feel, the better you’ll play. If candles make you feel more comfortable, then do that. Whatever makes you feel good, baby.
  • When bringing food into the equation, make sure everything is chopped bite-size. Put ‘em in bowls. Do you need to have all your supplies when you’re starting? Not really, you can leave them bound and wander out to find additional things later, but it might be considered cruel. I prefer to be organized at the start, so he’s not abandoned for more than a moment or two throughout.
  • Misleading them is fun. I’ll drag a finger up his chest, trace it over his lips, and when he thinks he can suck on it, pop a little cherry in his mouth or something else, like a tongue. Play, play, play.
  • If you can, pull your bed out from the wall. I can, and I do. Having 360-degree access means I can do more to him, and that I have more ability to move around.
  • Crawling over them on the bed’s pretty much a suspense killer. What’s the point, then? Get off the bed and walk around. Try to minimize how often you lean onto the bed, because, again, they can feel the weight shifting, thus negating the surprise advantage.
  • When you’re making your way up their body, be it with kisses or with drizzled syrup, going in a straight line doesn’t work as effectively as zig-zagging will. Why not? Because nerves like surprises, and if you’re working in a straight line, the body knows what’s coming next. This is always, always about surprising the senses.
  • Multi-tasking is hot. If you’re standing and you lean down to suck and bite a nipple, then use a hand to tease their inner thigh and the other hand to toy with an ear lobe or something. Remember, they can’t see what’s coming. Every touch, every action, they all get you a new reaction. It can be tricky, when you’re the doer, but as the receiver, it’s just an incredible mix of feelings.
  • Always, always, always mix approaches. Bondage without oral should simply be considered wrong. Bondage with straight-through-to-orgasm oral should also be considered wrong, in my world. I think it should be intermittent, incessant teases. Oral, then kiss and suck and bite all over them, then return again to oral play. Interrupt it with more props and toys. Toy with them manually. Change gears as often as you’re able. When the frustrated groans get louder and more pained, start planning your route to orgasm — by oral? By fucking them? By manual stimulation? Using sex toys? You’re writing the playbook, you decide. If you like, ask what they want. I never bother, though. I’m in control, I’m deciding.
  • Talk to them as you play. Tease them with little suggestive comments, or investigate how they’re enjoying things. Take requests, if you do such things. Most of all, be sure they know you’re having fun. Tell them it’s getting you hot, all this satisfactioning of them. Remember that the only senses they really have fully functioning are hearing, smell, and touch. Now and then you’ll indulge taste, too. Hearing, though, is a great way of keeping them focused on everything. Don’t talk incessantly; shut up and do your job sometimes.
  • Devour your lover. Cover every inch of their body with your hands, mouth, and any other body part you can think of. Every place you touch and claim as yours is one less area they’ll be self-conscious about – and when you’re tied up in bondage, feeling self-conscious isn’t a big stretch. Try to negate it by doting and outwardly desiring them.

This is your chance to really take notice of what your lover does when you touch them in different ways, different places. It’s an opportunity to learn and develop new insight. The question is, will you use it as such? I always do.

I may think of more in regards to bondage, from a beginner’s point of view, but really, it’s not brain surgery. Just try to keep the suspense at a maximum, remember that it’s all about the submissive, and try to take them to the edge as often as you can before you finally give the gift of what’s bound to be a pretty incredible orgasm.

The Fantasy Business

The guy is asleep, about four feet to my left. He looks so different when he’s sleeping.

We were talking the other night and I told him I would have to start getting up before him for awhile on weekends, so I could write, as it’s really important to me. He understood, naturally, and began narrating, suggesting the above opening line as an opening line. I had different ideas in mind, naturally, but hey… I’m in the fantasy-fulfilling business, you know.

And maybe you don’t know it, but you are, too.

I was reading a certain high-profile sex blog yesterday in which another blog was mentioned, in both a positive and negative manner.* The former blog included a negative mention of the latter’s recent dismissal of her lover’s desire to come on her tits sometimes. The latter told her man he was “acting like an idiot,” and apparently he apologized, saying he was “horrified” with his behaviour.

Yeah. Right. Both myself and the voice of the former blog state that any notion of this guy truly being “horrified” is more hilarious than it is likely.

What is likely, though, is that she managed to, in one simple, fell swoop, dissuade her man from being anything but truly honest with her in the future. She more than likely made him feel like an idiot, though. Shame’s a killer in a relationship, and she’s going to come to regret that, whether she wants to admit it or not. Somewhere down the road, she’s gonna wonder where it all changed. Well, that’s the fulcrum there, baby.

Sex takes all kinds. We’ve all got strange little fantasies, although his wasn’t all that strange, nor really out of the norm at all. Far be it for me to suggest you do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but as far as fantasies go, allowing your guy to shoot his load on your tits isn’t exactly all that invasive.

Personally, I’ve admitted before that I’m not really into the above. Would I shut a lover down for asking? Jesus, no!

Your job, as a lover, is to listen to your partner’s wishes, dreams, and desires. That means, if they have a d-i-r-t-y fantasy, you should be listening to it. Do you have to partake? Absolutely not. But I don’t care if you’re the goddamned Queen of England – you have NO right to ridicule them or mock them for their wishes. Don’t you EVER think otherwise.

Deep down inside, I’ve always had this ridiculously stupid fantasy of having sex in an anti-gravity chamber. Yeah, loverboy and I are cracking the code for NASA and taking a field-trip. Right. (Although there was reportedly a hotel in Paris that offered the services once upon a world, if I recall correctly.) Still, I’ve thought of it more than once. It’s there, on that list, “Things I’ll do if the chance arises.” Mental note made, long, long ago.

Fantasies are what they are, and everybody has the right to them. Shutting down your lover for their wishes is akin to telling your kid they’re too stupid to be an architect. Who in the HELL do you think you are?

Don’t like the idea? Just say no. Tell them you understand why it might get them off, but you’re uncomfortable with performing that act. They’re not insulted, and you’ve made your point known. Peachy.

But in a perfect world, you’d grow the hell up, and realize that most of these things aren’t going to kill you, but they might take your lover to a place they’ve never been before. Now you decide. Do you want to be a selfish person, and just say no all the time, or do you want to explain that it doesn’t do anything for you, but you’re willing to indulge their desires, if it makes them happy, once in a blue moon?

Consider it like one of those strange food cravings we’ve all had: pickles and ice cream, a bacon & peanut butter sandwich, liver and onions. It’s not a regular part of our diet, but once in a frickin’ while you just can’t help yourself. There’s almost this shame behind it. I’m eating bacon with peanut butter. Just like that fat fuck Elvis. Is there a dire future with a toilet in front of me? We’re secretive about it. Guilt, guilt, guilt, baby, but GOD, it feels good.

Now, imagine you’re sitting there, dreaming of this sandwich, and in comes your lover, who’s always stated it’d make him/her ill to have one. And there they are, holding the sandwich with bacon cooked just the way you like it, on the best bread, with the best peanut butter, and they made it themselves. Now, I guarantee you, apart from just satisfying a craving, it’s gonna be the best fucking sammich you ever sank your teeth in. It’s a gift, it’s thoughtful, and completely selfless.

Like fulfilling any fantasy can be.

And let me say another thing: If you lord it over them (“see how generous I am? You owe me, you know,”) then you’re still a lousy lover, don’t kid yourself. It’s not about power or debt or superiority. It’s about just being there in a way that makes your lover feel a little more validated by you.

Hmm. And you know? Mine really does look a little different while he’s sleeping, and it’s time I returned to him.

Listen to your lovers. Indulge them sometimes. Never judge them. Always respect them. Is it really so fucking hard?

*I’d rather not give publicity to her in a negative way. She’s already getting slammed, and if she reads this, she’ll know it’s her.

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.

I Done Sprung, Baby

I’m a sexually peaking 32-year-old woman who’s just been hit with her first full dose of spring fever. I need sex, and I want it now.

Tonight I hung out with my first sex blogger for some cool conversation, some Guinness, a stroll, and a bus ride. A nice night. I noticed then as we wandered to the waterfront that it was warmer than I’d have expected. Seasonal. Nice. A little damp, a little chilly, but there it was. Warmer than it oughta be, fresher than dawn on a mountain. A spring night. The first real one.

We hit the bus, he got off at his stop for the hotel, and I carried on my merry way. Two folks quickly sat down opposite me, in a portion of the bus where the aisle expanse is at its narrowest. They were inches from my knees and the sexual energy was just incredible. Wow. You could tell they were on the verge, and they’ve been lodged on that precipice for some time. They’ve clearly known each other for a little, and they’ve connected on a different level. Now, it’s averted gazes, bashful smiles, and too much self-touching.

(You know what I mean, you smooth out your jeans, adjust a pocket, straighten your sleeve – but it’s really just nervous tension, and you know it. These two were popping.)

She was this geeky-chic alt-edge white girlie with these naughty librarian specs, a beret, tapered velvet pants that snaked down her mile-high legs. She used to be a redhead, partially dyed black. In her lap, a wood-mounted freshly sculpted clay statuette (yet to be baked) of a nubile goddess. Her smile was that of a sexy affected intellectual.

Hell, I wanted her.

He was this sexy alternative Middle Eastern guy with chiseled features, smoky eyes, this birthmark on his forehead that looked like a smudge of ash, and this oh-so-perfect little soulpatch (mm) under his tender full lips. His jeans were loose in all the right places, but snug in the better ones. He had a nervous twitch in his left leg and kept bouncing his knee an inch or two up in a fidgety manner that said he really didn’t want to be looking at the floor as she spoke about whatever it was that was moving her then, but would rather be on the floor on top of her.

Hell, I wanted him.

Yet there was this great connection on the level of friends. These shy recognitions exchanged in glances, furtive moments of silence and awkward chuckles. So fucking sexy, so hot.

They each went home alone, to my surprise. He disembarked at my stop, and I hung back to watch those sweet half-moon cheeks swaggering up the drag. “Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.”

And then I realized it. I’m just full of lust, morning, noon, and night these days. I find when I’m able to shut it off for a few hours for work or platonic socializing or whatever, whammo. Girl’s back to raging. God damned peaking.

The sexual peak is the age at which your frequency of sexual arousal reaches an all-time high. It has nothing to do with skill or frequency of being laid. It’s hormones ripening. Men, 16-18, women, 32-35. I’m 32. Wham. I’m on, 24-7. Bulges in jeans on the street are targeted in my sights from a two-block distance. I watch them approach. The shifting side-to-side. I watch asses, always. Shoulders, nice broad and strong ones. I feel dysfunctional. I’m a voyeur every waking moment. Raging. Sigh.

But it was also at that moment that it hit me: It’s spring.

I began to pass nearly sprung apple blossoms, exposed fluffy cherry blossoms. I smelled honeysuckle. I walked my 10 blocks home with my suede jacket dangling open and only my embroidered cotton shirt protecting me. Blissful. Stars glimmering overhead. That freshness that tells you winter’s on the outs. I breathed deeply. Stopped to stare at the stars, smell the air. Shuffled my feet in a lazy amble on home, savouring the walk as long as I could. I even paused to hang in the school playground. Leaning back on the swing, checking the stars.

God, I love the laziness of spring. The easy pace, the affable air. Mm. A very, very happy Steff.

And now, I want sex even more. Actually, no, you know what I want tonight? Intimacy.

The casual heat of just knowing someone well enough to toy endlessly with their bits and pieces as you lie stretched out, soaking in a classic movie or an intelligent foreign flick, sipping wine, candles flickering, naked, skin-on-skin, a blanket draped loosely over you both, a breast hanging out, toes protruding, legs interlocked, occasionally emitting single lines of commentary to each other, getting only a nibble or a bite in response. Just an easy night in.

That’s what I want. That says spring to me. Spring is seasonal foreplay. It’s suggestive of the heat to come. A delicate tease meant to stoke you and ready you for all to come. It’s so fitting, doing prolonged tease and toy sessions, just getting intimate with all they have to offer. Yep. Spring.

Then there’s outdoor sex, the sport of the season… fucking on the grass near the beach, but that’s another story for another time. Yes, do remind me to tackle the subject of public sex sometime. Ahh, how do I love it. Let me count the ways. Oh, my. Yes, that is also what this season says to me. “Get out and play.” Just dew it, baby.

So, my wish to you all: A fine and fair spring, with plenty of fun fucking and frolicking of all kinds. God knows I’ve got one on order. Let’s hope the season delivers.

The Delicate Art of… Face-Sitting?

David E. Kelly starts off with these brilliant shows that eventually get weird and schticky, but so far, Boston Legal is keeping consistently watchable and even loveable.

In a recent episode, William Shatner’s effervescent Alzheimer’s victim-warrior lawyer, Denny Crane, states that when his mind rots to the state of a two-year-old child’s, his bride-to-be has been instructed to euthanize him by way of face-sitting.

Yes, he wants to be killed by snatch.

I’ve written before that the whole face-sitting thing, I can go there, that’s part of the job, I guess, but it does little for me, really. I don’t dislike it, it’s just not a reason to cancel going to the movies, y’know?

That said, I would absolutely feel compelled to give a guy what he asks for from time to time, particularly knowing how wildly fetishistic this love of face can be for guys. If you’re a chick and you don’t get it, try to be a guy for a second:

You’re obsessed with pussy and tits. You have been for a really, really long time. Ass, it’s nice, too. Especially bouncy ass. Very nice, you think. You’ll take two, and don’t call in you in the morning.

Now, you’re a guy who’s in his favourite position – on his back – and not only has this woman come to you, but you don’t even need to sit up to see her. Nope. You’re reclining, life is good, and oh, my God – she’s sitting on you. That nice bouncy round ass is on top of your chest, her twat – that Mecca, that daily fantasy, that height of all things good in your life – is resting on your lowly lips. And, dear god, when she bounces this way or that, presto (or, the gods have smiled, and she’s leaning over and using the headboard for support, and there they are, front and centre – dangling, even). Looming overhead like giants in the Amazon, her breasts. Oh. Oh, ho, ho. Yes. That, there, don’t move – never, ever move – stay right THERE.

Welcome to Male Psychology 101.

Of course, they won’t tell you this. They’ll just say, “I like it. It feels good. You look good up there.” Articulate much, guys?

But maybe it’s hard to quantify. There’s this old Canadian rock song from the late ‘80s by The Northern Pikes, and the song lyrics go, “She ain’t pretty, she just looks that way.”

And it’s kinda how I feel about sex. You may have noticed, I’m an enthusiast. Been known to dabble a tad from time to time in the carnal arts.

But sex looks wack sometimes, man. Face-sitting’s just one of many somewhat amusing scenarios we find ourselves in. Blowjobs, they look kinda silly. Toe-sucking, yes, weird. (Feels great though. Really.) Bondage, well… S&M? Oh, my. It’s a regular freakshow, isn’t it?

Or is it? I mean, every now and then the writer me steps outside and becomes the comedian observer me. He’s doing what to me, where? With what? A kitchen utensil? Shit, that’s weird, I’d think.

But I probably enjoyed myself.

And that’s part of the thing about sex. You sometimes just need to suspend your judgment. Yes, weird things go down. Yes, you have preconceived notions. Yes, you’re a little mystified at how that could possibly be a good thing. But do it anyway.

It’s like sushi. Who knew?