Tag Archives: Sex

Damn Right, It Feels Good

I’ve been remiss in mentioning a book the publishers Rodale sent to me at the end of the summer. I usually turn down offers of free products because I hate feeling obligated when it comes to writing reviews afterward, but when the rep told me what Debby Herbenick’s book, Because it Feels Good: A Woman’s Guide to Sexual Pleasure and Satisfaction was about, that Herbenick writes about sex from a psychological place as much as a how-to place, well, I was totally interested. Continue reading

Arousing — Er, Awaking the Beast

I’m at my breaking point, I suspect. My resolve isn’t very resolved anymore.

I have this incredibly awesome gift most people would KILL for. When I’m not sexually involved, I can flip my libido off like a lightswitch. It’s why I’m so content to not date. Because dating just toys with my resolve. Once I’m on the business end of a kiss? Whew.

Sooner or later, however, Requirements will need to be met. Continue reading

Are You Askin’ Or Tellin’?

I had a private chat with chick on Twitter recently, and we spoke of men who’ve made rather over-the-top “requests” before first meetings with us.

Well, with her. I’ve never actually followed through with plans with any of those guys. But that’s how I roll. My Spidey senses are on the job 24/7.

I’ve been “dating” for forever. But, now and then, I toy with the idea of trying to find some simple, convenient, mostly-for-sex thingie with some worthy fella. It’s always a big fail, but I keep the search open.

Recently it involved chatting with a fellow that would’ve been remarkably convenient in the just-a-shag capacity, as he lived five blocks from my home. Continue reading

7 More Things You Maybe Didn’t Know About Me

I got tagged for this meme for a second time, this time by JamieLD. The first time was here. And why not just brush it off and say “But I did it already?” Huh? Why?

Well, I’ll tell you. ‘Cos, like, there ARE 14 things about me you don’t know. How do ya like them apples? I know, you’re thinking, “Dude, this is one seriously vast chick.” We’re so on the same page. Here’s just some of that vastness, my fabulous minions:

1. Well, you know I’m funny. In fact, I’ve been told on occasion that I’m even, gasp, “really” funny. I’ll accept that answer. But you know what’s also funny? I don’t watch a lot of comedy. You scour my DVD collection and there are very, very few comedies. Maybe 10% of what I own can be classified as funny. Continue reading

Thoughts On Community: In With the Out Crowd

It’s funny, this whole “sex blogger community” thing. I’m all for it, but I don’t feel part of it at all. Not because people don’t include me, they do. It’s just… it’s complicated.

I’ve always felt this way, but in the recent months my feelings have been given a boost and now I feel sort of even more isolated and unsexblogger. What’s been the recent impetus for that?

Twitter. Flat-out. See, I’ve got a little over 400 followers or so now, and I follow about 160 people or so. In the beginning, I tapped the people I recognized from blogging, they tapped me back, and I guess as I began yammering all the whacked shit I do, and what with the moniker “SmuttySteff“, my sex following grew, but thanks to my always-weird Twitter feed, also began growing past the mostly sex-blog writing-and-reading community.

Real-time comments from others in the community, about their sexual hijinks, who they’re screwing, what dates they have lined up, chronicles of their masturbation, what new toys they’ve received, how they’re dressing for X, their social interactions, and so forth, juxtaposed against the very vanilla-like-me feeds of others, just all has served to remind me that there’s a very big distinction between being a fan of sex and having really healthy attitudes about it versus being an enthusiast who seeks to keep it present in their life at all times, some of whom might be defined as “lifestylers”.

Debauched Domestic Diva wrote an interesting post this week in which she speaks of “The Lifestyle” and how she feels there seems to be this almost clique-ish attitude in the BDSM community about whether you’re a “lifestyler” or not.

I don’t mean to offend or insult anyone who uses that phrase in their lives and I am sorry if I do, but it confuses the hell out of me because I don’t really understand what it exactly means other than that judgemental feeling I get when I see or hear it. I don’t know if it means you are poly, kinky or what.

I have such a wide range of people in my life these days who all seem to be into something different. Which one of their lives if the correct lifestyle? Maybe someone can explain better to me and help me understand it because I know that right now all I am trying to do these days is just live my life.

I agree with DDD. I don’t have a “lifestyle”. Likely never will. I’m just this girl who got tired of feeling like a “slut” just because she wanted to have a little better sex. I’m 35 now, I’ve never been the type to sleep around. I don’t have multiple partners, ever. I don’t have someone lined up for a filler-shag in between relationships, and have never had someone there in that capacity. I don’t go to sex parties. I don’t really use or look for or even have porn, it’s just not my thing. I prefer my photography erotic, and certainly seek it out at times. On top of that, I have opinions on sex work that run contrary to what most of the active sex blog community believes.

I like sex. I make no apologies for the sex I like. And I sure as hell don’t judge others for having the sex THEY like. Because THAT is what it is all about. But, when I don’t have sex in my life, that’s just fine with me. I’m all right with that. I’m not a lifestyler. It’s not even a hobby for me.

But one of the problems with the sex blog community is, when I’m opting out of the sex race and dating chaos, I feel like I somehow should apologize for it. Like, “how can I like sex if I’m not raving about it daily?” I don’t think anyone’s ever made me FEEL that way, but just stacked up against the oh-so-public exploits I hear, I’m often left feeling like someone let the kindergarten kids into the grade seven class again. I’m just left feeling like I’m somehow out of my league because I don’t do it LIKE THAT.

Which is bullshit.

Because the sex I have is the sex that’s right for me. It gets me hot, keeps me hot, tends to keep me indoors, and keeps me very, very satiated — when I go there. The life I lead is the life I need to be leading right now. The lifestyle I have suits MY style for the time being. I don’t have a lifestyle. I have mystyle. I don’t need to be in relationships. I don’t need approval from anyone else. I don’t have to be sexually engaged to feel a part of my world, or even on top of it.

Not that anyone else in the community does feel they need to lead the life they do, or that they need to do so publicly for any kind of approval. I’m just saying, from my perspective, how I sometimes feel about my own exploits or the glaring lack thereof — probably mostly because I’m fully aware in a first-person kinda way of how plain and unglamourous my little existence is.

But it’s MY life. I’m doing what I need to be doing for ME. Is that really not right? Is it not “good enough” to be a part of the community? Is it just not in keeping with what’s going on out there? Or does it even matter at all?

Judging by the fact that I feel welcomed and appreciated by the community, even if I don’t really feel as if *I* belong there, it doesn’t look like it matters much at all. And that’s very nice.

Yet the fact remains. Here I am, leading a pretty “vanilla” life comparatively, and day-in, day-out, I’m reminded of that fact because I can vicariously experience some of these others’ exploits in real-time through the social world of Twitter. Let’s face it. I’m just that old-school good-girl who’s only as bad as she needs to be to have a good time. How’d I ever get running with this crowd anyhow? It’s a weird, weird world, friends. Still, it’s a fun ride.

Of Rainy Days, Write Nights, And Kissing Boys

Oh! The rain is pounding the streets as car tires slap-slap-slap their way over the busy streets near my home. I’ve hit bottom on my coffee mug and should be zapping to the door, but first need to get the funk out with a long hot shower.

I’m bussing in the downpour. Tonight I’ll come home armed with a bottle of wine. I’m sequestering myself for some writing. I like to bottle it up sometimes, like sexual tension. When you don’t write for a while, it comes a little harder, a little faster, a little more furious, sometimes longer. I’m getting to that bursting point.

The great dead Canuck writer Robertson Davies once uttered that a writer ought not write until the thought of not writing becomes unbearable. I give in so much to the want to write that I seldom know the fit-to-burst waiting-for-it sensation. And like with sex, a little deprivation can go a long, long ways to making things fun again.

But I know the writing desire will hit before I return home this evening. I can feel it percolating.

Now, that doesn’t mean I’ll write worth a shit. It could all be recycled pretentious crap. But I’d rather hope for the best.

Whatever to write on, though? I’m torn between the right-wing idiots who’ve been writing on my blog of late, or matters of lust and longing that have begun to appear in my life. I’m leaning toward the matters of the heart, though, as we’ve all probably been getting our fill of politics of late. After all, I still haven’t told you about the fantastic makeout session I had just before my back gave out on me. Literally RIGHT before. Talk about the agony and the ecstasy. Love me a great makeout session. Three hours on the floor, well.

Speaking of which, to say I’m keen to see this boy again is a bit of an understatement. Perhaps the word “riled” might be more befitting. I had dirty notions that such an encounter might come my way this weekend, now that my back’s healing. What happens then? I get my period last night, a few days early. Talk about getting a red flag on the play(ing). God.

Ah well. Yes, working for a living is a foolish, foolish thing. If ever a girl deserved to be independently wealthy and work-free, this would be she. I could blog to my heart’s content. And putter about my home. And make boys call in sick to work to while away a dirty, dirty day.

But. Sadly I’m a working girl, and this girl’s finally going to scrub up and get out the door to the office. Tonight, a write night. I love a Friday night write night with good wine. Of the simple “me” things that keep my life mine, it’s one of my favourites.