Category Archives: Romance

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.

Unleashing Your Inner Vixen: Breakout Moves Pt. 1

I bet Isaac Newton was the bomb in bed. I bet he was sitting under that tree, fantasizing about hiking up Mathilda’s knickers the night before when that apple came toppling down out of that tree.
After all, Newton’s famous Third Law of Physics, “Each action must have an equal and opposite reaction,” should be every lover’s credo.
Recently, I wrote a little piece I playfully called “Fishies: Wake Up and Smell the Pheromones,” about “dead fish” lovers who lie there. Woman On Bottom wrote, asking:

So… the chick is on bottom, the dude is on top and they’re having sex. He’s thrusting like nobody’s business. The age-old question remains: what is she supposed to be doing? Scratching his back? Moaning? Wrapping her legs around him? Rocking against him? Talking dirty to him?
How does she avoid this whole “dead fish” syndrome guys always complain about? What skills should she posess? And, is there a difference in the “woman on bottom”‘s job from fucking to lovemaking?

Well, Bottom, it was funny you should ask. I was kicking this idea around for a few days before you asked, and since then, I’ve just been giving it some thought.
See, the problem with a lot of women in your position (hardy-har) is that you simply fail to realize the potential that being on the bottom offers. What, you can’t move your legs when you’re under there? Sure you can. You ask about scratching – hell, yeah!
The normal, healthy, sexually active male will be in his glory if he thinks he’s inspired you to become this sexually insatiable beast who just can’t get enough of his lovin’. If you’re digging your nails into him, moaning, and locking your legs around his hips, well, he’s gonna think you’re having a good time. More importantly, he’s gonna think he’s The Man, and that’s gonna get him more involved too.
Being on the receiving end of true desire always, always feels incredible. If your man’s never felt that desire, it might explain away a lot of changes in his behaviour, or a reduced focus on his appearance or attention to you.
I’ve encountered what happens to men when their women fail to get involved sexually, and the outcome is always this sad, seemingly fractured man who simply seems to have ‘something missing’ in him. Sure, passion.
It’s really, really, really important women learn how much they can offer sex, even if they’re stuck on the bottom. By changing that up, showing you’re interested, it’s likely you’ll take it to the next level and learn a whole schwack of new positions.
Before any of this goes anywhere, you’ve got to understand Newton’s Law. Every little thing he does to you should provoke a reaction to him. If not, then why’s he bothering? Every little thing you do to him will also provoke a reaction. This is the sexual circle. One reaction gets another gets another gets another gets an orgasm. Something like that, but there’s a few more moves in there, I think.
Your first step in releasing your inner vixen? Kegel exercises. Now, I just don’t care enough to keep looking until I find a site that agrees with my views, so keep in mind, that site thinks men don’t really have to do Kegels, that women offer more by learning them – WTF? YES, MEN HAVE TO DO KEGELS. Shit, man.
Yes, guys, learn to do Kegel exercises because we want you to be able to break the mold and enter into the 15+ minute zone of loving, thanks. We want every one of you to be a rumoured super-lover-man that Sting is, and HE does HIS Kegels. Jesus Christ. Oh, the work I have yet to do!
But I do digress. Every time you squeeze your vaginal muscles, he’s going to feel it. More importantly, every time you squeeze them, you know you’re contributing, you’re impacting things a bit. Most importantly? Great exercise for the abs.
If you want the best reason of all for being a rockstar lover – it’s the exercise. You’re supposed to get 30-minutes of exercise a day, right? Well… what if I told you that you could have better abs, a tighter ass, a stronger lower back, tight inner thighs, and improved endurance, all from 30 minutes of exercise every day, without ever, ever having to leave your bed? You’d call the FCC and try to bust my ass for fraud, I’d bet.
But it’s true. Fuck your way to a better ass, says I. Hell, it might even help your bust if you do enough with your arms. Yep, Tony Little can take his Gazelle and shove it, man.
The next step towards Rockstar-Loverness:
Put on an aural show. Start moaning and gasping a little. It’s interesting, I think there’s enough fodder to do a couple postings on the importance of moaning. You go back and you look at this site, you’ll find the second or third posting I did was about moaning and such. It annoyed me. But then, right after posting that, I was talking with a lady I know and she told me about the bad old days when she was in an sanitarium in the Czech Republic for “sexual dysfunction.” There was a woman there who’d used to be a real tiger in bed. She and her husband moved into the city, and her sexual enjoyment went to nil, and it’d been years since she orgasmed.
What did they discover? She had to scream when having sex. They moved from a quiet countryside farmhouse into a small, thin-walled apartment, and she went from screamer sex to silent sex, and lost the orgasms to go with it.
It got me thinking. I started to wonder if the silent sex I was having was somehow psychically reinforcing any of the old hang-ups I had from my Catholic youth, et al. Since then, during the sex I’ve had (including masturbation, actually), I’ve made myself be much more vocal, and oh, my God, it’s just so much hotter! I was really surprised that I’d feel less self-conscious as a result of it, but that was the case. I started feeling more dominant, confident, and willing to do what it took to make myself really enjoy the moment — moreso than ever before. It was a conscious effort for the first five minutes, but then it became natural, just putting a voice to all those things I’d already been feeling.
So, here I was, always championing the “shut up and fuck me” approach, but I’m a big girl and I can admit my personal discovery that moaning audibly, inserting dramatic gasps that really convey my surprise or delight, muttering a bit to my lover, etc, really allows me to get into the moment and be a player. I think it’s the conscious shunning of all that repression and backwards sexual thinking I’d had foisted on me since my youth.
I think you really need to open your mouth a little and get involved. If you just lie there, silently, every single time, you’re going to find it easier to slip into a rut. But if you groan, moan, or gasp whenever your lover changes a move or something, it’s the early warning system to your pleasure or pain. It clues your lover in: “She wants more of that. Wow, I’m hot.”
Unleashing your inner vixens & rockstars will continue next time around, and I’ll divulge a few specific newby moves for converting the boring old Missionary Position into the start of a whole new thang for you. For now, really focus on the Kegels and the notion of having a voice during sex. They’re small things, but they’re huge, huge foundations for this thing, this new lover, that you’re building here.
NOTE: The photo is of a position some call the Bamboo. It’s a slight deviation from the Missionary Position, and, uh, a real good time, if you know what I’m sayin’. There are a couple other slick positions like this for the starting rockstar to engage in, starting in the Missionary, on bottom. That’s next time.

Jungle Fever

Primal, baby.
Why is it so wrong? You wanna wager on how many women lusted after our buddy Tarzan here in 1938? Oh, I think between him and Errol Flynn in Robin Hood, Fantasyland was fully booked for the last half of the Dirty ’30s.
I’ll make you ululate, Tarzan, just watch me.
When I’m comfortable with a man and trust him, getting primal isn’t hard at all. But when I first get to know him, I have a hard time letting him see that side of me. It doesn’t really take long, just usually not the first time we have sex. It’s not that I don’t want to show that side to him, it’s just that I have concerns he’ll view me as only that kind of a lover, and that’s something I don’t want to see happen. Sigh.
It’s all so very dumb. It really is.
We’re warm-blooded, and some nights, downright hot-blooded. We’re animals. We’ve just forgotten how to behave like them.
On the African Savannah, on Antarctica, on any stretch of terrain anywhere in the world, animals are being called to their natural needs, copulating en masse, enacting species-specific mating rituals, and doing everything they can to climax. It’s the call of the wild, and we’re the only fucking species that ain’t answering.
Our modern take on the call of the wild? A kiss, a grope, some humping on the couch, and some fumbling, and some wham-bam-thank you-ma’am.
Unless, of course, you remember you’re an animal and that a heart pounds hard inside of you, then maybe, just maybe, you’ll try to break the kichen table.
Of course intimacy is incredibly important. Eye contact, deep kisses, endless caressing, it’s all very important, but so too is throwing down and fucking furiously on the living room floor, with or without the blinds closed.
Look around you. Look at the world around you. Look at the road rage. Look at the office rage. Look at all this bullshit where we see true rage and fury emitting from people, over the stupidest, most inconsequential things.
We try to deceive ourselves by saying we live in a civilized society. We think the right Prada bag or the proper choice of vehicle will somehow elevate our status, and with it, quell the beasts that dwell within.
It’s bullshit, of course. We’re not civilized. Watching any newscast will prove it. It’s out there, it’s on every street — the animal within. But we fool ourselves well.
This time of year, though, it’s a little harder to make the primal-within sit down and behave.
Know that little bit of weariness tempered with exuberance, the feistiness stirring within? That’s cabin fever. The awakening of all of us as the season progresses. Spring’s rising, and with it, so are our temperatures. Pheromones abound. Please do not feed the hormones.
We want to be good people. We want to respect others’ rights. We want to be gracious, caring, passionate, but there are too many people who feel there’s no way to balance being that with being a primal lover who growls, bites, scratches, and moans like they’re howling at the moon. And as crazy as it sounds, it’s absolutely possible to play both roles – on the same night, even.
Being that lover, though, is a hell of a lot better than going to therapy. Getting that need, that primal, down-n-dirty need out of your system does a hell of a lot of good for someone. Some people do it through S&M, with pain or humiliation being involved. All right, fine, not my bag, but that’s cool. Me, I’m one of the “put some tribal rhythms on and let’s go native, baby” type who’s into jungle-fever lovin’. It’s the one kind of sex that leaves a lover absolutely satiated. Worn out, thankful, and thrilled, it’s the best experience I can have, some days. It’s not something I could do every time, but my god, I’m unlikely to pass it up, too.
I try to think of it, I try to understand, and I just can’t fathom it. What is it like to be unable to admit to what lies in your heart, to admit you have a primal beast within? How do you tell yourself that vanilla is all you really want, that a little taste of something exotic doesn’t appeal? How can you kid yourself and pretend those dark places you know you have aren’t really there? What must it be like to force yourself to live a mundane, safe little life where you never, ever push the limits to see what you can or can’t do, or better yet, just how good all that pushing can feel?
You know, primal sex is the lover’s equivalent of extreme sports. If you haven’t bought your ticket to ride, well, you won’t believe the rush you’re missing.

Guests: He Bop, She Bop, a-We… Never Bopped?

A big ol’ Canadian thank you out to these lovely Texan bloggers, Goose & Gander, who decided to take a stroll through the happy walkways of mutual masturbation for us, the flies on the wall.
Now, I couldn’t find any nice photos about this topic — nada, none, nyet. And I like pictures, they’re purty. So, I thought instead I’d include a photo from one of my favourite sites, of one of my favourite sexual positions.
What I found interesting here was that two people who are so into each other sexually were initially ambivalent about this. God knows I’ve been the ambivalent one, too. But that’s the thing, that ambivalence is out there. I’m not going to keep banging my drum, though. You heard my thoughts. Here’s theirs. Thanks, G&G.

______________

Recently we were honored to receive a request from La Scribe Steff to discuss amongst ourselves, and share with you our thoughts, the timely topic of mutual masturbation. We told her, yes yes yes!, but, well, we’d really never done it much.

What to do, what to do in a case like this? Well, mutually masturbate, of course!
But before we get to the juicy details: Why haven’t we done it? There were a couple of reasons.

  1. It never came up
  2. We were good with each other already
  3. Silly old embarrassment

Embarrassment was the tough one, of course, so we decided to investigate in stages. We are nothing if not determined to bring to you, the Cunting Linguist reader, high-quality research.

Really Shy Mutual Masturbation

The first night we chatted a bit, took off our clothes, got completely under the covers, snuggled our heads together, closed our eyes and got to business.
It started off kind of odd and, well, dry. So, out came the lube and I pulled out ye old silver vibe just to ensure a good result. I’d say the first few minutes were kind of stiff (ha) and quiet and a little uncomfortable. But soon, the vibe did its work, and my breathing increased, and so did Gander, and then little chirps and moans began and then I came and he came and I came, and selfishly (because the experiment was mostly over) came again. I like to come in threes.
Then we put the laundry away and laughed.

Silly Vanilla Mutual Masturbation

The next night we were both very horny. It was about 6:45 and Gander was due to go back out from 8:00-midnight, and there was no way in hell I was going to stay up that late to jill off. I decided at this moment that we’d distract the goslings with large bowls of ice cream and a movie.
With this semblance of privacy, we ran into the bedroom, latched the door, and went to town. This was a much better experience. There was necking, pinching, fucking, rubbing and oral. At one point, when Gander was going down on me, I stopped him and had him put his fingers in me as I masturbated while he watched. Oooh! That was great! Then we fucked a little bit more, and he pulled out and I stroked his balls while he masturbated. Ooh! That was great, too.
Then we raced back out of the room to stop the kids from destroying the couch while pretending to be dinosaurs.
All in all, we began to see the point.

Kinda-Kinky Mutual Masturbation

Life intruded and we were unable to really have any sexual contact for days and days. But last night, after talking with friends about spanking for a few hours, we got into bed and started fooling around. One thing led to another and Gander grabbed my hand, shoved it between my legs rather forcefully, and rolled me over. I rubbed myself furiously while he spanked me very hard. Yessiree! Then I rolled over and massaged his balls and he jerked off on my stomach.
Hooray!
Okay. I think we have the hang of it and we’ll be including it in our repertoire. Thanks Steff, for helping us break through a barrier we didn’t even know we had.

_____________________

BACK TO ME, LE SCRIBE STEFF: And thank you, you fabulous folks, for contributing to the series. True mutual masturbation is getting to the finishing point solo with your partner observing and responding in kind, it’s ALSO a weird-as-shit experience because of the embarrassment listed above. It’s not for everyone, but yeah, it’s highly recommended. Besides, varying sex is a good, good thing. And like these brilliant folk above, trying it once, twice, three times before you pass judgment is a smart move. It’s like trying anal or something — it’s not going to be a great fit with everyone, but when it works, well… y’all come back now, y’hear?

Getting What You Ask For

Words hurt. What we say can hurt others. It can traumatize them. It can lead to unthinkable acts. Without a doubt, words can hurt.
But what we don’t say can often hurt us every bit as much. Unfortunately, as you read this, lovers all over the world are having unnecessarily bad sex all because of words they’re not saying.
Words like, “Honey, not so hard.” Or perhaps, “Can you move a little to the left?” Or quite possibly the worst phrase of all to overlook, “I think we could use a little lube.”
I’m making light of it, to be sure, but honestly, I still feel the best way to dial up a sex life is through talk. I’m not suggesting getting into a discourse on the pros and cons of ratifying Kyoto or anything, but rather, an interactive discussion on whether things are working or not. But let’s come back to that.
I recently received a happy package in the mail from my Secret Santa. In it was a copy of the Better Sex Series on DVD. This was Volume One: Advanced Sexual techniques and Positions.
Now, personally, I didn’t find there was anything really new in the DVD, but I really was glad to watch it. I’ll be keeping it around. It may come in handy with a future lover. It’s a “how to” video that explains a whole lot about sex, and I think it’d probably be useful for any new or even intermediate couple. It echoes a lot of things I’ve always believed.
There was a lot of great information included, everything from how every person’s body will respond differently to stimulation, to the uniqueness of different cocks and vaginas, and a myriad of useful position and technique advice. Great stuff.
It also highlighted the necessity of communication. The program’s participants appear to be real couples who occasionally suck at acting (in that they’re just trying too hard to say the lines right) but they sure as hell have it going on in bed. The couples talk on-screen about aspects of their sex lives correlating to whatever topic might be showing at any given time, from cunnilingus to come, and then you see snippets of them getting it on in rather elegant, if sparse, and nicely lit surroundings, illustrating how hot their sex really is.
(An assumption one might draw if they excelled in naivety would be along the lines of, “Dude, they talked about it and then, whammo! They had frickin’ hot sex! Talking is HOT, dude!”)
There are scenes, though, that illustrate beautifully what kind of dialogue can be used to really spice up your relationship. How? It’ll give you a roadmap for your partner’s pleasure zones. Here’s some questions I think ought to be asked in these scenarios, and some are variations of ones asked in the DVD:
“How do you like having your clit rubbed?”
“What part of your cock is the most sensitive?”
“Is there something I don’t do that you wish I did?”
“What part of your body do you think needs more attention?”
“What do I do that you like the most?”
“What do you like the least?”
“When’s your favourite time to have sex?”
“Please tell me when I’m doing something that doesn’t feel right.”
“I wish we could keep doing this longer…”
You obviously can surmise that having information on any of the above questions would give you a little more insight into your lover. I mean, haven’t you ever had that experience where, when you were younger, you had certain beliefs (political, ethical, spiritual, philosophical, whatever) and you happened upon a book that somehow encapsulated everything you ever believed, and you suddenly just had this totally invigorated worldview?
Not everyone knows that feeling, but I do, and those that do, I bet they know what I’m saying here. If, say, you have an inkling that the way you tickle your lover’s anus when you’re making out, playing naked in bed, but it’s one of those sorta odd taboos you’ve never really spoken about, so it’s almost like a guilty little pleasure when you sneak a little tweak for kicks, right?
But let’s say it finally comes up in conversation. They somehow look up at you, all abashed, and guiltily confess, “I gotta say, I get so, so, so hot whenever you do that thing to my ass, but I’ve been too embarrassed to admit it… and I’d like a little more.”
One little statement, that’s all it takes. I couldn’t care less if assplay is a notion that gets you off or not, but you see my point. Confess your desires, inquire as to theirs, and start fulfilling them. What part of this is so hard to understand?
Not much, I gather. It’s just hard to do. At first. One day, you just come to realize that being vulnerable may get you a little more hurt more often, but wow, the dividends it pays in most of your life is frickin’ killer — especially when it comes to sex. You’ll find that the more you open up, the more you will be rewarded in kind. When that happens, a synergy starts to build between you. There’s something there, more tangible, more open, more adventurous. It’s like you’re finally receiving permission to act.
What’s more, it’ll start spilling out into other areas of your life. You’ll feel more comfortable being open. It takes a while to find the right people who are receptive to it, but once you do, then you need to find a way to get them talking.
And if you can’t get them talking, then at least try to get them to watch something like the Better Sex series. There is help out there, kids. It’s a matter of finding it.

A Nibble Here, A Bite There…

Food and sex, two of my favourite things. The two, really. Perhaps I’m secretly male. Maybe a hermaphrodite. The Caramilk secret of Steff. Who knows.
Anyhow, suffice to say that I don’t really get into porn, so I settle for Food TV. Oh, my freakin’ god, the goodness. Tonight’s a good Food TV night, and since I’m sexually frustrated and sort of on a diet, it just makes sense. I have a couple observations to make.
One. I was watching a pissy British cooking show, and I was marvelling at the importance of communication in the kitchen. If a chef wants to successfully pull off a night of cooking that results in totally satiating his clientele, then he absolutely must do a few things well. First off, he really needs to know how to season. He’s got to keep it just spicy enough. He needs to know how to control the temperature; when to kill the heat and bring her to a simmer. He needs to engage in conversation when necessary in order to know exactly what’s going on in all regions of his domain. I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining the commonalities between a good chef and a good lover. You can do the math.
Two. There are as many kinds of restaurants as there are breeds of sex.

  • For starters, the slow’n’easy ones that cater to all your little desires and never, ever rush you.
  • Then there are the always-safe, purely utilitarian fast food restaurants where you get in there quick’n’dirty, like one of the masses, and when you’re through, it may not set your heart afire, but it whetted your appetite and you will have gotten exactly what you were expecting.
  • Don’t forget the avant garde, with the crowds who follow the trends and seem to be around for a while before fading back into the masses, something for a time, and good while it lasted, and definitely always interesting, but somehow never really felt real.
  • Then there are those that leave you stunned at their constant reliability and seeming perfection. They’re the pinstripe-suit of the restaurant industry; always classy, always fulfilling, always reliable, and always safe, but in a reasonably good and comfortable way.
  • And who doesn’t love the exotic? They take you to a place you’ve really only read about, tap you into a different culture and a different flavour, in every sense of the word — and leave you somehow feeling just a little more cosmopolitan because you’re there then.
  • Who says you can’t go home? There are the down-home, c’mon-in-and-sit-awhile establishments that keep you feeling like yes, I really can go home and thank god, I can leave. It’s good for awhile, but then you remember why you left in the first place: Something different was necessary.
  • Finally, there are my favourite, the unassuming type you always have your suspicions about, but leave you utterly surprised at how masterful they are, even in their simplicity. They’re quiet, out-of-the-way, with a casual, confident appearances that belie the full intensity of their real deal.

It’s a beautiful world of flavours out there, and I unfortunately have far too great of appreciation for each.
My, I wish I was doing a little dining this evening. Well, ironically, I could have been, but as geared to go as I may be, I absolutely know I’d let myself down. It’s called honesty. 😉 A smart night in.

Kissing: Oh, So Telling

Ah, the kiss.
We all remember those kisses that have left our knees weak, our hearts pounding, and us wanting more, more, and more. There’s something about a well-delivered kiss that can melt the hardest heart. There’s no sexual act that leaves us wanting more, wishing for more, than the kiss.
Me, I rate a good kisser on a curve, no matter what else he offers. I just can’t get over a great kiss. Out of all the things I do well, I think being a great kisser is one of the best things I offer in a relationship. There’s nothing more fun than laying a deep, passionate kiss on a man on a couch and getting into a heavy makeout session.
For all the fuss we make about sex — the oral, the penetrative, the games — if the kiss isn’t there, it’s hard to find real satisfaction in the rest of it.

Does he love me? I want to know
How can I tell, if he loves me so?
Is it in his eyes?
Oh no, you’ll be deceived
Is it in his signs? A
Oh no, he’ll make believe
If you want to know if he loves you so
It’s in his kiss
That’s where it is

After all, most sex trade workers will tell you the one thing they won’t do, is kiss a client on the lips. There’s something about eyes closed, tongue-probing that smacks of intimacy like no other sex act does.
I remember my first kiss, but I remember the first kiss that left me melted. It was a story-book date with a guy who was a poet. We would eventually spend seven years in and out of love, but the first time we enjoyed each other’s company was spent outdoors just like it was for any teenager. We headed to Vancouver’s famed Little Mountain and sat on a small garden bridge, talking the night away. Finally, he decided it was time to lay one on me, and we began to kiss. About a minute or two into it, a transformer in the park blew, and every light exploded into darkness. The full moon was the only illumination we had, and I can still, a decade and a half later, remember the shivers that ran up my spine.
When it comes to being single, I may miss the sex, but I mostly miss the kissing and touching that comes from straight-up intimacy. There’s more to be found in a warm body and a wet, warm kiss than there is in all the orgasms to follow.
Kissing comes down to a few things — how your mouths fit together, how you taste to each other, quality of breath, moisture, technique. Unfortunately, some people ain’t got the skill. Some people don’t have the hygeine. And some people just don’t have the passion.
Lip shape does play a pretty big factor in how a kiss comes off. If you’ve got thin or flat lips, it does make for a little less oomph, but there are things you can do to compensate.
Coming up next time, kissing techniques to leave ‘em wanting.

The Waiting Game: The Better Way to Play

If you’ve never seen it, there’s a brilliantly inventive, noire-ish hospital dramedy found on Sunday nights on ABC. Grey’s Anatomyinspired me to order cable again, and last night I saw it for the first time this season.
Coincidentally, earlier in the day, I had been writing about the difference between suspense and anticipation when it comes to romance relationships. When I watched the show, guess what the sub-plot was? Hmm?
One of the last lines of Sunday’s episode came after the protagonist, Meredith Grey, finally finds out where she stands in the battlefield of love with Dr. McDreamy, as he’s known, who’s portrayed by Patrick Dempsey. In a voiceover, she comments, “Whoever said “What you don’t know can’t hurt you” was a complete and utter moron, because for many of us, not knowing is the worst feeling in the world.”
Recent events have reminded me that I’m one of those people. Oh, I try to play it cool, but not knowing where I stand, whether it’s movie plans with a friend or my place in the Cosmos, fills me with dread and apprehension. It’s unavoidable. Give me “suspense” and you’ll make a mess of me.
I said in my last posting that things were “confusing.” That’s just because I didn’t know when I was next hooking up with the nifty new guy I know. Face it. We’re all adults, and our lives get complicated. Some of our lives are more complicated than others can understand. Sometimes that’s by choice, sometimes destiny just takes a hand. It is what it is.
However, yesterday we cemented some plans for next week. This was what got me thinking about suspense versus anticipation. You see, I hung the phone up, furrowed my brow and thought, “Another week?” And then I realized, “Pfft, it’s only a week.” I grinned and went off and made my breakfast and had a terrific day.
I had been thinking that my uncertainty had been because I was insecure or uneasy with myself, and this was why I was so damned frustrated at all the unknowingness. Then I realized that it really was something altogether different.
I was in the room, too. I know we had some pretty wicked good times. I know what I offer. I know the expressions I saw on his face, and vice versa. I know it was pretty damned awesome. That logic, though, goes right the fuck out the window when I’ve got nothing empirical to back it up.
Figures, baby. Numbers, dates, times, whatever. Lay it on me. If I know we’ve got plans, I’m cool. Seems to me that guys are often hesitant to make plans because they want to have control of some kind. Now, I don’t get that sense from this guy, so that’s groovy, but it’s often been the case in the past. “If I can hold that card, I hold ’em all,” seems to be the line of thought sometimes. (This goes for members of both sexes, unfortunately.)
With an intelligent, strong, independent chick like me, that’s not going to be the case, though. You want to hold that card, then I hope you’re playing Solitaire, because that game just ain’t one I aim to play. I don’t have the patience or the strength. I really just don’t. Headgames are for people who don’t have control over their lives and who want to exert it over others to compensate. That ain’t me, man.
Fortunately, I don’t think I have to worry about that in my present scenario. And now I get to have those little fun thoughts in the back of my mind as to all the things I want to do with my playmate in a few days. Which brings us to another fabulous point in regards to the anticipation versus suspense argument.
If you’re sitting around in suspense, you just never know when, where,or if the games are gonna get back on track. In that case, it can be pretty hard to fill in the possible blanks, so to speak. When you do know that the games are on schedule for the future, then you get to turn your imagination on. You can scheme, you can plot, you can devise.
If you have a creative lover, one that likes to keep things interesting, then the best gift you can give yourself is to give them the gift of anticipation.
But we’re all so self-involved these days that it’s easy to forget what anticipation can do for us.
Really, it’s incredible how much damage we do to our relationships by not doing the simple things. Just committing to a date later in the week or making a quick email or a call to say “hey, you were in my thoughts. I can’t talk, but wanted to hear your voice,” can make all the different in cutting the tensions that eat away at our passion.
We all know modern life’s demands. We know we’re all spread pretty thin. Too often, we overfocus on ourselves. We frequently fail to think about lives from our partners’ point of views. We fail to understand the true stresses and challenges they face, despite the fact that we’ve got front-row seats. We’d like to think it’s all sunshine and roses because we’re in their lives now, but that’s pretty egomaniacal.
Like Grandma Death says in Donnie Darko, “In the end, every living creature dies alone.” We all have our lives, with their myriad complexities, to get through on our own. Most of us choose to share parts of those lives with our loved ones, but when the lights go out at night, we’re right back inside our self-contained universes.
Every now and then, we have to remember that our lives are filled with enough suspense. From the day we’re born to that day we die alone, suspense is all we get. What does your future hold? Do you really know?
When it comes to love and sex, isn’t it time we got a little something we don’t get enough of? The thrill of anticipation and eagerness?
For me, it makes me hotter. It makes me confident, secure, and inspires me to want to make the wait all that much more worthwhile. One of my readers said that a secure man is a horny man. This is true. But a secure lover is a better lover, regardless of gender.
And it’s so easy to build that added security in. Anticipation is more than just looking forwards to future events. It’s the knowing that there’s something to look forwards to. Think about it.

Decoding Feminine Desire: Yeah, Right

Okay, so supposedly you’re all here ‘cos this girl knows her shit, right?
I gotta tell you, though, I’m stumped. Seems a reader who simply goes by “Regular” wants to know how a man can then get his woman all riled in response to the posting below this one, A Few Ways To Get Your Man Rock Hard.
Would that it were so easy, my friend, but we all know women are complicated. Them’s the facts. Anyone who tells you different is full of shit. There’s no Magic 8-Ball easy-peasy decoder ring to turning women on. We’re a chore.
Women talking about how hard it is to understand men sometimes strikes me as laughable. The truth is, we got it easy. Your buttons are so goddamned easy to push. Whether it be stuffing your suit pocket with our panties after a ritzy meal out, or dropping our clothes in front of you, it seems like that’s all it ever takes.

Excepting the occasional so-called “dysfunction” episode, of course. I hate that word because it implies that guys should have a money shot every time a thought about sex occurs to them. What kind of fucked-up expectations are we encouraging here? Can’t they just be aroused on a different level for a change? Not if you listen to the goodly folk like Pfizer pushing a Viagra-sized solution on the masses. “A man needs a manly response,” seems to be the spin of the decade. Seems we missed the memo explaining intimacy sized up to a lot more than just seven inches rigid, or whether a chick comes.

Chicks, though, our hot buttons come from a world full of different places. For us, it’s not as visual as it is for men. It’s something almost intangible. A expression, a phrase uttered, that way you’re sitting all cross-legged and peering at us like you can see right through us as we regale you about our childhood, or any other number of absurdly impalpable means of getting stimulated. Or at least it’s that way for those of us in touch with our sex drives. We all know there’re some pretty fucking androgynous folks out there.
I’m turned on by everything from the way a guy sits with a guitar to how he focuses in on me in conversation. He can make me insane by delivering a hard kiss against the wall, or by lightly tracing a finger up my jeans as he approaches from behind, or by tugging me down to the ground for a hard massage that soon goes awry. I’m so fucking turned on by earnestness and honesty in a guy that I wish it could be bottled. Often, it ain’t nothing he does… it’s how he is that’ll draw me in.
I don’t know what the margin is for chicks who initiate sex, but I’m pretty fucking sure I’m somewhere near the head of the class. I like sex, and in a relationship, I’m not afraid to express the want to have it — in any number of ways and often, very often. This means I’m pretty in touch with my sex drive, and as such, I probably get turned on by more with a man than your average chick might. Maybe. I’m speculating.
I really want to hear from the chicks on this one. What do the boys do that really get you hot? How can they best press your buttons?
For me, it’s a guy that strokes my legs or ass in a really nice, intimate, gentle manner, just as we’re watching television or something. Over and over and over again. The longer he does it, the more I move towards Meltdown Mode. It’s a guy who shows absolute interest in me. Who leans towards me whenever I begin to speak, who hangs off my words, who drinks me in. If I get that, I’m absolutely fascinated. It’s about intensity and intimacy, and it’s no one thing a man does that makes me want to jump him. It builds, escalates, then implodes on me, and I attack.
In general, guys have all the tried-n-true methods at their disposal: massages, surprise candlelit dinners, a good pair of jeans that advertise your goods, a blanket and a bottle of wine on the floor before a fire, love notes hidden in her purse, biting her neck, and so on. As for specific make-her-want-me-now moves, I can’t really help you. I’m an odd duck.
So now let’s hear about it from readers. Well, girls? In what ways can a guy best delicately manipulate his fuckability factor with you? Hmm?
And guys, you could add a little more to the posting below, so we know what else we can do to/for you. Before you begin to feel transparent and all, just think, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ll give more chicks more means for knowing how to spell out “Fuck-me-now,-please” for your benefit. So, a little cooperation? Thanks.

A few ways to get your man rock hard

  • Send him a very, very dirty note. He must receive the note when he’s not in your presence and can’t be for several hours. If you know his company isn’t too strict on emails received at the office, or he has a public email client like gmail or hotmail, then send him an email. If that’s not an option, before he leaves one morning, slip a printed note into his wallet. Tell him those dirty little thoughts you’re nursing about him — doing you from behind, soaping you in the shower, taking you on the floor in front the television — whatever gets you hot. Tell him how badly you’re wanting him to have you, and most guys will be getting hot at just the thought. But you have to describe the position and how hot it makes you in order for him to get really, really riled up. Then tell him you’ll be ready for him at a time when you know he’ll be able to be there. Tell him you’re touching yourself just thinking about it now.
  • Greet him naked at the door. (Or maybe in a man’s dress shirt or lingerie, with nothing else.) It’s so easy to do this inconspicuously. Get naked, and when answering the door, hide behind it as you crack it open and peer coyly around at him. As he sets his stuff down, he’ll clue in quickly. Just don’t expect small talk.
  • When you’re naked in the bed and he needs to leave to relieve himself, stretch out on your back, pull the covers off you, spreadeagle your legs, and start massaging your clit before he returns. When he returns, reach out as if to slip your finger insider yourself, then groan in frustration and tell him “it’s itchy and I can’t reach…” or something else as preposterously girlie-girl and grin like the bad girl you know he wants you to be.
  • Or just masturbate as per normal when you know he’ll be entering the room. There are few men strong enough to overcome this sight.
  • While watching nothing special on television, lean over suddenly and take his soft cock in your mouth. Gum and suck him as you massage his inner thigh and/or prostate. This kind of oral is just like gardening… just add moisture and warmth and watch it grow nice and big and strong. I’ve had reports that blowjobs from the soft state are incredibly hot.
  • Be really, really obvious about what you want. Initiate sex. All you really need to do, if you’re not sure how to be obvious, is stand up and take your clothes off and sweetly say, “Fuck me, please.” Really, is there a guy who wouldn’t enjoy such a proposition? It may seem crass to you, but to him, it’s hot, hot, hot.
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You’re possibly thinking how easy it is to get guys hard anyhow, so why go through the effort? Because when you really, really want to fuck someone, you usually fuck better. Don’t you want to be fucked better? This goes back to the “pounded like a cheap steak” question I asked last week. If you’re wanting to be the cheap steak, then this will help, and it’s a great boost to his ego. To his way of thinking, it’s by being a bad girl that you’re being such a good girl.
Leave your hang-ups behind, girls. You’ll be surprised how fun breaking down your old boundaries can be. Try one of these out, and have a fun evening in.
Works for me. What do you think, guys? Anything else she can do to further her agenda?