I’m sorry, Iggy, but it’s true.
This one goes out to the porn school boys. Yeah. You know who you are. The guys who watch porn and think women actually want to fuck like that.
The majority of women don’t have “getting titty-fucked” at the top of their weekend to-do lists, all right? We don’t necessarily globally relish having our asses smacked while we’re being ridden doggy-style by some dude who thinks he’s one lap away from the Kentucky Derby. (Probably most women like to take one of those laps from time to time, though.)
The majority of chicks aren’t going to gush and coo like a girl on Christmas morning as you cum on their face. Most will be pissed that you’ve even attempted it, really.
Face it, boys. Porn movies are movies that are made by men, for men. They are entertainment. They’re the sexual equivalent of the DC Comics’ League of Justice: highly improbable, hugely exaggerrated, and excessively stylized.
If you’re taking your sex tips from porn, you might just want to think twice before you invite Debbie over for a little diddling.
Fact is, porn’s for the uninteresting. Most North American porn is so laughably cliche, so utterly uninspired, that it’s a wonder Europeans ever sleep with any of us. Thank god they know better than to believe everything they see on television. Pity the same can’t be said of everyone on this big ol’ continent, though.
If you’re content to underperform, then porn away, boys. If you really want to get fucked, and you really want to know what an orgasm has the potential to feel like, then explore the full dimensions of sex.
The problem with the Porn Boys is they just don’t fucking understand that orgasms are like concert seats. Just because you’re at the concert doesn’t mean you’re getting the best show. In fact, sitting in the nosebleeds might get you into the gig, but with all that frenzied distortion and being so far away visually, you’re barely scratching the surface of the experience.
Upgrading and getting in close seems to sometimes slow it all down and make the experience bigger than life. The bass rocks you, the sweat slowly builds as the tension gets better and better throughout the headliner’s act before they finally blow their wad on the show-stopping encore that leaves them and the audience gasping for more.
Stop being content to just show up and get rocked. Put yourself in the show and really make it an event.
What have you really got to lose, besides your breath?
Tag Archives: Sex
Rights and Freedoms
Money, they say, is the root of all evil. Arguable, at the best of times.
Today, though, a coalition of 18 companies are telling us that they’re gonna put a stop to that tree of evil when it comes to child pornography. While child porn is, in my opinion, one of the worst things a human can be a part of, it’s also a multi-billion dollar industry. Where there is money, there is a way.
That coalition — including the likes of Visa, Mastercard, PayPal, Wells Fargo, e-gold, Microsoft, and more — has vowed to stamp out the commercial viability of child pornography. Payments to such sites will be halted. Cease and desist orders shall be issued.
I suppose I should stand up and cheer. Hurrah for the good guys! Instead, I’m sitting here thinking “What the fuck took you so long?”
_____________
In OTHER news… more reasons to love living under the Maple Leaf. I was chatting yesterday with a new arrival here in Vancouver, an internet sex-industry business guy who’s moved to Canada to get out from under the repressive sexual climate that the United States is becoming.
He illustrated his point with this story. The gist is this. You can’t buy a sex toy in Mississippi.
A double-barrel shotgun? Sure! A high-power vibrator? Fuck you, you sick fuck! You’re gonna do WHAT with that thing? Up the ASS? Holy shit, you sodomizing sick son of a bitch! Henry, get me my rifle!
I just can’t even begin to understand how a country –that’s clearly smoking crack– can purport to be “the land of the free” and you can’t even buy a fucking toy to use on yourself in the privacy of your own goddamned home.
And where the fuck are the people? There are those who are out there saying what needs to be said. There are those trying to fight for freedoms for all of you, and maybe you don’t think the Right to Vibe is up there with the rest of your freedoms, but how can a line be drawn? You are free, or you are not. But where in the FUCK are the REST of you? Where are YOUR voices?
America is sometimes the greatest illusion in the world. There’s the dream of America, and there’s the reality of America, and sometimes some of us just wish y’all would open your fucking eyes and see which is which.
Demand your freedom. Demand that your government not just try to pose as the land of the free, but that it seeks to define laws that are inspired by the spirit of what your constitution claims that it is.
If there’s anything more heart-breaking than the APATHY of America today, I wish someone would tell me what it is. As a Canadian, it breaks my fucking heart to see the changing of your nation from across the 49th parallel.
Rise up and stab ’em with your plastic forks, people, ‘cos it ain’t getting any better any time soon. You have voices. Fucking use them.
A Game For New (And Old) Lovers
Part of the fun of a new relationship is that of getting to know each other. We get to make a mental checklist. You learn their mannerisms, routine comments, favourite phrases, what their contemplative expressions are, how they look in that moment where they’re truly relaxed, and so forth. In the bedroom, it’s no different.
(But let’s be honest. The beauty of a great relationship is that you continue learning about your lover over the long term. Hell, we never stop learning about ourselves, so how could we ever stop learning about them?)
We forget, sometimes, how truly expansive the land of lovemaking is. It covers vast territory, and the amount of activities at our disposal is legion. Sometimes, it might be nice to have a map at our disposal.
Enter this little game I’ve thought of. Let’s call it “School Me, Baby.” It’s a lusty little literary exercise, the kinda thing that turns a geek like me on.
You and your lover go to the bookstore and you each pick out a book on sexuality that best appeals to you. Now, it’s not rocket science, this book-selecting thing. Most of them will cover all the basics, but the question is whether or not it covers the best for you. I mean, self-help books are like underwear; almost any will technically do the job, but which best fits you is a highly subjective matter. In this matter, you want to ensure that the book covers everything from foreplay to positioning. If you’ve got kinks, you may have to buy a second book to reflect that, too, so go right ahead.* Take the time to scan through books. If you’re not really pro at deciding what books work for you, simply pick one subject to look up in each; say, oral. Read. Whichever passage evokes the experience best for you, that’s the book that best fits you.
So, you pick a lazy Sunday morning, head into the bookstore together, and spend an hour or two just browsing through sex books in the corner together. Decide which one each of you wants to take home, buy them, and head back to the pad.
Now you get to either head home to read in different parts of the house, or you can separate for the day and read in different areas. The only thing is, you’re going to decide how much you’ll be reading, and if you want to, what sections you’ll be covering. (Foreplay? Oral? Anal? Kinky? Old-fashioned lovemaking? Something rougher? Waterplay?)
You’ll make arrangements to meet again soon – that night, the next – for dinner.
Between now and then, your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to read the required readings with a highlighter in hand. Anything that turns you on, gets you revving, or has you touching yourself, you highlight.
You can make an evening of reading the passages together, if you like, or you can trade books and get together again the next night, after you’ve done your homework. I think it’d be kind of sexy and hot to get a bunch of candles going, toss a blanket on the floor, scatter pillows about, and open up to, say, the highlighted section on oral. Naked, sprawled on the floor, the receiver reads the passage out to the soon-to-be-giver, and when the giver’s suitably inspired, they get down to work – possibly even while still being read to.
I have this image of the guy going down, hearing about, oh, say clitoral sucking techniques, and after he gives it a valiant try, looking up, and saying “Like that?” This is one of those times you can have a dialogue while you’re doing it. Have fun, exchange feedback, make it a game where you try slight variations of each technique, and see what one provokes the best reaction. Call it the “compare and contrast” segment of the evening.
Any which way, the point is that you learn from your lover’s perspective, in clear and certain terms, what it is that they find works for them, or what it is they’d like to experience.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, no two bodies are the same. There is no one surefire just-add-water instant-orgasm trick. Everyone has different needs, and for many people, it’s really hard to express exactly what it is we’re desiring. This is one of those little tricks designed to take care of those differences between us all.
VARIATIONS:
Not only can you highlight what turns you on as far as having done to you, but you can also highlight, in another colour, the things you’d love to do to your partner.
You can buy the book for your lover, highlight all the things you’d like to have done to you, and put Post-It notes opposite those sections with little suggestive notes, such as, “And in return, I would pin you down, and then perform – turn to page 94.” On page 94, you’d highlight raunchier parts the passage of what it is you’d do. Use page tabs to mark sections.
When reading your lovers’ book’s highlighted passage, if anything smacks of something you’d like to experience that wasn’t covered in your own book, underline it and mark the page for your lover.
As mentioned above, there are kinks in the world. Kinks are made, not born, and if you’re entering a new phase with your lover where kinks are something you’re wanting to explore together, starting that phase with an exercise like this, except using books focusing on BDSM and other alternative lifestyles, might ensure you’re both on the same page when you’re starting out, or give you an overview of the possibilities the new lifestyle you’re considering might offer to you as a couple.
Advice for Young Lovers
The sun was rising by 6a.m. this morning, and spring seems to be all around. A comment was left by an 18-year-old male, and I thought about when I was 18, the first time I made love, and how disappointed I was. I thought about the things I wish I’d been told back then. These are them.
Everyone tells you not to rush things. As a female, this is doubly true. Men can begin having sex younger and have positive results sooner, provided they know what they’re doing, but for women, more than 30% will not orgasm until well past their 20th birthday.
The best advice anyone can ever tell you about sex is this, it’s not about the orgasm.
Sex is about cartography and geography. Sex is literally the lay of the land. It’s about discovering your partner’s body – all of it. It’s about knowing how he or she reacts when you kiss the back of their knees, what favourite odd spots on their bodies you can suck and bite and have them shudder senselessly.
It’s about being in the moment, reacting to every little thing your lover does, either vocally or physically. It’s forgetting about end results and expectations. It’s here, now, and nothing more, regardless of what you might wish to make of it.
Sex is a language, and like any language, it takes time to learn the subtleties that distinguish an amateur from a master. Like any language, one can spend their entire lives improving their abilities and exploring ways to use the words. Writers become greater as their lives extend, orators become more powerful every speech they deliver. So too do lovers command skill as time passes.
Women take longer to identify with their sexual selves. As a young male lover, you need to be brave enough to talk to your woman before you have sex. You have to make a pact to tell each other when something feels comfortable or not, you need to express your fears and apprehensions, and if you have boundaries, you must state them, and they must be respected. You need to never take it personally when something’s not working. It’s biology, not you.
Women also take longer to be aroused. If she isn’t wet, she’s likely not aroused*. You could use lubricant, but then you would be jumping the gun. If she ain’t feeling it, honey, it ain’t happening. The more aroused you make her, the more you’ll realize how awesome it feels to take someone to that place. Take the time to really make a journey of it.
As a young female lover, you must lower your expectations. At first, things might hurt, but then they begin to feel incredible, if your lover has skill. Think of it as getting your ears pierced. Sex, like wine and blue cheese, can sometimes be an acquired taste for a young woman, but you need to get past the fear and apprehension. If you don’t feel like you can trust your lover, then you have no business sleeping with him.
In no place in our lives is trust more important than between us and our lovers.
You have to trust that if you said, You can do anything you’d like to me, that they would know where to stop.
You have to be patient. You have to know that the best sex of your life will not come until after the age of 25, if not after the age of 30. You have to know that sex is the physical manifestation of emotion. It’s spontanaeity, need, desire, passion, love, lust, curiousity, creativity, and eagerness balled up into one experience. It can be overwhelming when it’s great, and for new lovers, that can be intimidating and shut you down. Do not be afraid of the feelings, let go. Embrace it.
Making love is the physical act of making yourself vulnerable. When it comes to day to day life, we tend to try to avoid vulnerability. We do everything we can to not reveal our fears and failures to others. When making love, there’s nothing you can hide. It’s all there. You might as well give in to the moment and embrace the exposure vulnerability brings with it.
As you grow up, you realize the old cliché is true. If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger. The more you’re able to make yourself vulnerable in everyday life, the richer your relationships of all kinds shall be, the deeper your experiences with others will be. Perhaps you’ll be hurt easier more often, but the depths and richness of other relationships will far exceed the pale of a cautiously lived life. So too with sexual experiences. The more you trust each other and open up, the greater the sexual reward.
I’m old-fashioned and I don’t believe people should have sex until they’re 18 or so. I’m a pragmatic person, though. Whenever I do something new, I educate myself about it. I read everything I can, I learn what I need to learn, and I do what I need to do, and I do it well. The only time that didn’t happen was with sex, as I first slept with a lover at 17. As time went on, I educated myself and learned more. It changed everything for me.
The best thing you can do is head to your local independent bookstore that focuses on psychology and sexuality and scour the sexuality section for a book that speaks in a language that you relate to. Then, learn about the biology of the human form, not just what the bits and pieces are called, but how they will respond to your touch. I think it’s better to do this in a bookstore because there’s so much misinformation and opportunism on the web. Just my two cents.
But don’t take the authors’ word for what makes great sex & great loving. Take your lovers’ word. Every person’s body responds differently to touch, and you absolutely must know from your lover what is or is not working for them. You cannot just assume what you’re doing is working, since that twitch or shudder may be from discomfort. Ask. Let them tell you what they feel about what you’re doing, and again, do not take it personally.
It’s not about you. It’s about them. Never forget that.
If you cannot speak about sex with your partner, then your communication on everything else will be shit as well. You must be able to express what you want and need, because these are the things that are true to your core. If you cannot express these things, then what of any consequence, I ask, can you ever express?
And when you learn to be patient, to communicate, to react to each other, to trust each other, then you will be on the road to reaching sexual satisfaction together.
Don’t forget, it’s nice to feel pleasure yourself, but it’s incredible to know you’re providing it for another. Learn to enjoy the experience of giving, since that’s what separates the good lovers from the great: Generosity.
*There are SOME women with lubrication difficulties who sometimes never really emit the same signs of arousal as another woman might, so again, communicate and follow the signs. Does she look like she wants more of you? Does she look ready to take it a notch further? Use your powers of deduction, Sherlock. Better yet? Ask.
Rant: The Kid and the Long, Long Night
Ed. Note: This is a classic “me” post — starts one place, ends miles away. It’s a bit of a trip, but it’s a fun one. Hang tight.
I should go back to bed. It’s a raining Tuesday morning and I have a few minor goals today. One, I want to write my goals. (Ironic, isn’t that?) Two, I want to brainstorm a few ideas. Three, I want to have a nice breakfast, take a soggy walk up to the video store, come home, and write for a couple hours. The reward? Episodes five and six of the second season of The Wire.
(If you like intelligence, you admire a well-written, complex criminal story, and you like good acting, editing, and directing (and I mentioned the writing) and you’ve not yet seen The Wire, then what, pray tell, are you waiting for? Brilliance. Really.)
So, I sound like I’ve got it together. Plans for a low-key day, chilling. A day without men. Full-stop.
Let’s face it, there’s a certain point where we each get tired of the opposite sex’s bullshit in dating. One of the luxuries of being single is that when it all gets exacerbating, we can pull up the stakes and say, “Nah, man, party of one this week.” Yeah, don’t think I ain’t considering it.
Okay, I try to keep things relatively benign here. You don’t need to know my business. You probably want to know (filthy pervs) but you don’t need to know. Let’s break the rules this morning. A special exception.
So, a week or so ago, I hooked up with this kid. I was going through this two week period where my hormones raged like some political coup d’etat in South America. It was excruciating. I needed relief. I lowered the standards a bit, let’s say. Sorry, but it’s true. Yes, I let one slip by me.
This kid. I really, really, really hate to admit this, but I literally forget his name. I think I blocked it all out. I know I knew it earlier in the evening, but I remember thinking, at about 11, “What the fuck is his name?” and I’ve never since found out. So, I think it starts with a J, but it might be a D, and either way, I just don’t care enough to look the damned name up. I wrote it. Somewhere. But he’s The Kid.
I’m 32, he’s 26, not a big age difference. The thing is, I realized right then that all the men I’ve been seeing have been 34-36 of late. It’s been wonderful. I’d always toyed more with younger guys, since I do have a pretty young disposition when I want to, given my music and culture tastes and love of rebellion and so forth. But these guys I’ve been seeing have all kind of had it a bit more together, and certainly were far better lovers overall, with patience and dedication and openness being factored in, than I’d had in the past.
(You know, I got to say, there’s something much more attractive about divorced men now that I’ve had the privilege. They’ve had sex, regularly, and sorta know what they’re doing. Usually, even a sexless marriage means he gets out and gets free, then gets laid and gets open about it. Not an entirely bad set of circumstances, girls, if you’re looking for someone who has the geographical prowess to find your damned g-spot.)
So, he’s 26. One of these kids into Anime and punk and foreign flicks and art-house indies and classical music on Sundays. You know how it is. “I am artist, hear you roar.”
We hooked up for a coffee and had basically already said we’d watch a foreign flick, cuddle up with blankets and some wine, watch the movie, and play with each other the whole night. Given it was snowing outside, it sounded like brilliance. We ordered Chinese in, laid about, and got pretty damned intimate.
The great thing about the couch-and-movie thing with someone you’re interested in, at the very beginning of an encounter or relationship, is that virgin groping of each others’ bodies. It lasts for a couple hours running time, and then things heat up exponentially. When you’re already in a relationship, you just press pause. I like delay.
So, here’s where you need to know that I’ve gone from being a steamed milk lover to a vanilla lover to a malted milk lover. I ain’t chocolate yet, daddy. You don’t really know much about those aspects of me, but yeah, the only thing I don’t do, really, is pain or humiliation. Maybe one day I might get interested with the right person, and I don’t rule it out at all, but this is not that day. Suffice to say, I’m certainly beyond “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” and other basics that may well reside in another galaxy. I obviously feel no fear about speaking out about sex, and certainly not while doing it. I’m very helpful. Older guys seem to enjoy this. Most of the time, younger guys did, too. Again, this was not that day.
Necking, kissing, groping, ooh. Nice. Of course, someone always needs to go to the bathroom, and it was him. Naturally, we decided the bedroom a more fitting place to play the extra innings. Onto the bed we went.
Things escalated to all-over kissing and using fingers in orifices and all those fun things. Now, for me, I have to say the experience was a headtrip. Longtime or thorough readers will have heard tell of a certain sexual encounter I retold that I’ve long since made private — a guy we’ll call M I really fell for and was devastated by in my youth.
I was cutting The Kid extra leeway because I knew the body type, the personality type, and for me, he was very much a throwback to that great guy who introduced me to my sexuality and gave me a glimpse at the lifestyle I now lead. Absolutely, the eyes, everything sort of reminded me of that sexy irreverent man of the past.
But make no mistake, regardless of where the “inspiration” came from, I was absolutely turned on. It didn’t matter how he fumbled or did whatever the hell he did, I was into the moment because I was making it happen for me.
We rested later, and then after an hour or two of sleeping, I rolled over and snaked down his body and gave him a blowjob, thinking of M the entire fucking time. (Hence the post about oral last week.) It was hot, probably last an hour or slightly longer, with a couple cuddle breaks for five, but yeah. The lights out, my mind was elsewhere. That part of the night went over very, very well.
But when he left, I knew I’d never be interested again. If you can’t get someone’s face out of your head when you’re playing with someone else, it just ain’t fair to do it again.
He left, though, because I finally rolled over, turned his face towards mine, and said simply, “You need to leave now” at 7:30am. I mean, fuck. 7:30? I think there should be a law about inquiring in 90-minute intervals from 4:30 on about departures for first-night sleepovers. Jesus. Then I won’t have to come shy of muttering “get the fuck out” when I need my sleep before work in the afternoon.
So, he left. We exchanged kisses. “Another movie next time,” he said/I said. Nod. Smooch. Buh-bye, and thanks for flying Indoor Air.
So, yesterday I encountered the kid. “So, that’s that,” I commented.
“Yeah, well, that was no fun, you were way too aggressive,” the Kid says.
I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, if they’re rubbing something like a clit and it’s not a clit, it bears mentioning, yes? If they haven’t got a clue where the g-spot is, it’s kind of nice to give them the keys to the future, n’est ce pas? And rolling over for an un-asked, un-told blowjob in the dead of the night, definitely a bad kind of aggression, I know, but I can’t help myself. I’m a monster. I should be locked up. Or tied up, at the very least. Please?
Yes. You heard it here first, readers. I’m too aggressive.
God, shoot me if I ever have to have feather sex again.** I’m implementing an “extraordinary cases only” rule about fucking guys under 30 now. Yes, one bad apple spoiled the barrel, but shit, I’ve only heard rumours about the bad lovers thing before now. I just hate having evidence thrown in my bed. I tell you.
And on top of all that, he was the kind of guy who doesn’t pick up the condom after. Learn this, men: It pisses us off when you do that. Toilet seat up? Not half as bad. Take your fucking condom with you. Please, and thank you. That concludes this public service announcement.
End rant. Thank you for listening. Now, which coffee shall I brew?
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.
Love Will Conquer All, Baby
I was reading something just before bed, stated by the venerable clothing designer Karl Lagerfeld, in answer to the soon-to-come fashion onslaught of heavy, dark clothing that’s to be replacing the light, fun, and airy lines we’ve been enjoying of late. Lagerfeld said, “If you read the daily papers, you are not in the mood for pink and green.”
If you are what you wear, are we as a society becoming depressed? Valium and Lithium and Prozac, oh my.
I’d lay my cash on a big, fat yes, but hey, what do I know? I’m just a formerly depressed not-even-yuppie who’s an observer, not a player.
Depression’s out there. Hell, even the upcoming ankle-length hemlines are screaming it. We’re depressed. As a people, we need to get happy. This war shit’s bringing us all down. We got Vice Presidents running around shooting good citizens. Gas prices are nuts. The Canadian economy’s strong enough to be a steamroller. Clearly, it is the end of times, and our nerves are a tad frazzled.
Me, I say the cure is sex.
Okay, let’s look at this, then. Stress and self-esteem issues, as well as external factors (thus the stress) cause depression, as do biochemical issues. Right? Sex is good for the nerves, great for the self-esteem — (especially if you can get ‘em to scream your name. Hmm. I really have to stop falling for the strong, silent types. My ego’s taking a hit.) – and releases endorphins.
In all seriousness, studies have shown we’re all at an all-time touch deficit. I’ve been hooking up with some guys of late, lots of great dates, no seconds, but I’ve kissed (uh, to coin a phrase) every one of ‘em. Life’s too short not to share a kiss (or something) or stretch it out over three or four hours. Sex? Nice but not needed. Making out does wonders for the self-esteem. Gets the juices flowing, the pulse racing. It’s the very definition of alive. No one should have to go without. I’m going into withdrawal, days without a kiss. A necking session would hit the spot, but I know what else would, too.
In a world where there’s famine and war and natural disasters and poverty and stupid religious extremism and pettiness… shouldn’t you at least be getting laid?
I for one applaud the relatively recent revival of the “Make Love, Not War” campaign. I need to get me a button, man. I’m willing to sacrifice myself to the cause. I will have sex in the name of peace, and soon. Afterwards, we’ll spoon, smoke a joint, drink some absinthe, and listen to Imagine, followed by White Rabbit, and some Dark Side of the Moon. Is there anybody out there?
Maybe this whole Iraq thing was just what the Sexuality Movement needed. Drop some bombs, shed some innocent lives, get the tempers flaring back home, have the pacifists realize they’re really pissed off but since they’re pacifists, they can’t go out back and shoot beer cans off the fence, so, instead, they smoke fatties and fuck.
Who knows. Maybe Bush did the right thing after all. I don’t fucking know. I do know that everyone getting a little more action would probably be not such a bad thing. Me, I always liked the fact that Clinton was getting head in the Oval Office. I figured he’d at least be relaxed enough to make the rational choice in any scenario that unfolded.
I think anyone in power with lives in their hands should absolutely be on a sex quota. They must be gone down on once every eight days, minimum, and are entitled to sex twice per week, minimum, with no less than 28 minutes foreplay each time. Sure. As a start. With time on the job, age, and increased responsibility, the sex allotment increases. Like a health plan or any other benefit.
Yeah, I don’t know what the hell the problem is, but I know sex is the solution.
Pity the new fashion scene’ll be here soon and skin will be a thing of the past. But, brothers and sisters, we shall overcome. Right?
*Yeah, I’m a pinko lefty with a loathing for the war and a disdain for both the American and new Canadian regimes. I mean, does it sound like I have conservative sex? C’mon! Get real. You knew this. You like me anyway. I’m the good kinda libertarianish type.
Can't Orgasm?
A word of advice?
If you’re a woman, and you’re unable to orgasm,
and you have photos of your family
anywhere near
a place you regularly like to have sex?
Move them. Seriously.
Why? Because psychology is important in sex, and so is shame. If you feel shame, you won’t orgasm. If your mommy or daddy or little nephew Joey have eyes on you with your legs spread and a guy controlling you?
Yeah, good luck with finding your happy spot.
Vixen Moves: "Wake Me Up Before You Blow-Blow"
There are some things that, if you’ve never done them, you’re simply not a vixen, no matter how hard you kid yourself.
Love, sex, life — they’re all made better with surprises.
That said, if you’ve never woken up at four in the morning, rolled over, and snaked down your sleeping lover with kisses from head to toe, until they’ve awoken, and then gone down on them, well, you’re really missing a fantastic experience, and you ain’t the vixen you could be.
I guess guys are more open to night moves than women might be, but me, well, my lovers have carte blanche to roll over and begin playing with me anytime they want. They know there’s a chance I will say no or push ‘em away, but a better chance I’ll say yes, and most importantly, they know I’d never fault’em for trying. And you shouldn’t either. You should never leave your lover feeling trepidatious about sharing their desire with you. That should go without saying, but fuck, one could write a book about it.
This kind of unsolicited move is the sort of thing a guy just loves. “She thought about my cock? By herself? Way over there, on the other side of the bed? And, oh, my god. Look how bad she wants it. Ooh… God, I’m a lucky guy.”
I’m being cutesy about it, but it’s true. Even if you go down on your man and don’t bring him to orgasm, I bet he’ll be more affectionate towards you and feel more secure about how you feel regarding him. It’s a really, really hot moment, but it can also be an incredibly tender and affectionate moment. I love the intimacy it provokes. It’s hard to get behind the wall of The Common Male, but once you do, it’s a great place to be. Doing things like this, it takes you there.
As a woman, you simply need to understand the love a guy has for his cock.
It’s the only toy he gets to play with his entire life. He never needs to change the batteries, it’s there morning, noon, and night. When everyone else forsakes him, his penis won’t. It’s the source of some of the best physical feelings he’s ever had (and the worst).
It’s not just some appendage that signals he’s ready for sex, and too many women are dismissive of that incredible bond a guy has with his cock. All you have to do is imagine the lifelong weirdness of dressing rooms, the unwanted uprisings, the intra-guy size competitions that don’t even need words, and you begin to get a sense of this strange alternate universe inhabited only by Owners of Penises.
What you also have to understand is that you should never just pounce yourself on a penis in the middle of the night. Some surprises are bad. Plus, chicks can make the mistake of assuming a middle-of-the-night erection is a result of him being next to her. Nice. Pigs look good in flight, too, and I just bought my season boarding pass for Mount Hell.
It’s biology, simply nature, and probably has little, if anything, to do with you. Get over yerself, honey. It’s a penis.
So, you’ve got to ignore that erect cock if it’s there, but it’s likely not, and start the games by gently kissing your way up and down his torso. Increase friction as he’s starting to wake.
Going tender all the way is nice, and definitely an option, depending on mood and the kind of day you know he’s had, but there’s something surreal and wild about being woken for someone’s primal desire, and that’s speaking as a woman. I can’t even fathom how a guy would feel being woken for a reasonably primal session of body bites and a blowjob. (Feel free to offer testimony, boys. I’m all ears.)
But being a playful kinda gal myself, I’ve seen the result of a man being awoken for that, and I’m guessing those shudders, gasps, and moans were a ringing endorsement.
So, long story short: wake his body before you wake his cock, otherwise the experience isn’t going to be as much bang for the buck, or worse, could be a blatant failure. Take the time to tease him awake. It’s simply more fun, and it should serve to put you more in the mood, too.
Another thing you need to know, if his penis begins to grow flaccid during the experience, a) you’re probably not doing anything wrong, and b) don’t keep working it.
It’s a blood-flow thing, and you need to let his biology get what it wants. Move away from a softening penis, if you’re wanting it hard again, and start biting, licking, sucking in other areas. Engage in ass play. Anything you want, so long as you’re drawing all the blood away from the penis. But you want to keep a hand on his balls or shaft, just gently squeezing or touching, not in an erotic way, but in a “I’m still here, baby” kind of way. Remember, cock play is as nurturing as it can be for a guy sometimes, and if you’re doing a special treat like this, don’t let him forget why you’re there. But don’t keep arousing the beast, either, since you’re going for longevity and this will help you get there. Just be present.
Having a hand on the resting member also tells you when he’s hardened again. Then, you make your way back down. Take him in your mouth and do what you need to do.
I say, make it as slow and long and doting of a blowjob as you can muster. Have spurts of primal savagery, but be mostly attentive, steady, and tender, not because we’re avoiding savage, but because this special-event head should be a long session and you need to conserve energy. (Be PowerSmart!)
Between the intermittent moments of cuddling and the kissing and all that, I tend to try to stretch a middle-of-the-night special-event blowjob to an hour or so of a long, drawn out tease, with one or two “rest” breaks of five or so minutes in between. (And you can remove your hand during the breaks, maybe lie down at his side, your head on his chest, your hands exploring his body, with a knee/calf resting bent over his groin, maybe making gentle tugging motions from time to time. You’re still there, but in a way that says you’re taking some time to recoup, ”but I’ve not forgotten”.)
If he’s starting to want to be inside you, tell him he can (and should) do that in the morning, that this is about him. Seriously, let him have his time in the sun, and make sure he understands that’s what this is. It’s about him. For him. By you. Happily. It’s knowing someone wants you pleasured that’s as hot as being pleasured, and don’t forget that.
The blowjob technique itself is pretty much the same as what I’ve described before (see “Good Girl’s Guide to Giving Great Head, parts one and two). It’s the waking-the-body-up bit that really is imperative, particularly when he’s got an auto-erection in the night. (If he’s been lying there cupping the round of your ass or breast while spooning you, odds are there are external factors at work. Still, wake the body before the beast.)
And, ladies? If you’ve never had the pleasure of being awoken for sex, what have you been waiting for? Look your lover in the eye and say, “I’ve never been woken up for sex before and I hear it’s a little more surreal and intense. I’d love it if you’d take me in the night sometime. Surprise me.”
If your guy isn’t the brightest bulb in the box, tell him to do so via smothering your sleeping body with kisses. There’s nothing quite so lovely and nice as being awoken by lips dancing down your body. You’d be surprised how much your body will want it, if you let it go there.
I keep saying that the goal as a good lover is simply to feel the moments and go with them, but really, why do we always wait to be in the moment before we feel it? Let’s make the moments happen. Initiate. Women do it far too little. What, you’re concerned he’ll REJECT you? Have you been present on Planet Earth long? Man reject woman for sex, free sex? It happens, but so does lightning striking humans. It’s a long shot. Run with the odds. The plus is, you’ll feel like a goddess when it works out.
C’mon. Live a little. Wake the beast. He’ll play nice for you.
the all-sex diet
mm. this is what i needed, a friday night in, relaxing.
it’d be better only one way, if i had a little quality male companionship, maybe some massages, getting intimate on the floor. that’d be nice. a bottle of red, naked, too many blankets, a small world of candles scattered… mm.
to confess, i’m a little tired and i’d probably fail to be myself. being alone’s really not too bad a thing this evening. i have a beer, a little vancouver herbology, and soon, a long oily soak in the tub. lots and lots of oil. sigh. my own private valdez.
had a nice night earlier this week, but i didn’t realize how much he’d worn me out (and vice versa, i’m sure) until today. i have that sore-all-over kinda stiffness from full-body overexertion, but as much as it’s a little annoying, it’s also nice to know it really was as much work as it felt like. fun work, but still. now that’s my kinda fatigue, baby.
you know what i want? i want to take off the weight i have in mind to lose by way of sex. i don’t really overeat anymore (i sure as shit don’t undereat) but i certainly need more exercise. i need sex. that’s all. all i need is a little aerobics and a lil’ strengthening and toning. i know precisely how to obtain it. a plan of conquest. especially in light of all these well-placed aches. (the inner thighs, the lower belly, the arms, hell, the boobs. oi.)
fuck the l.a. diet. damn the jenny craigs. to hell with grapefruit. watch this, weight watchers. give me orgasms and breathlessness. i know. i’ll call it the all-sex diet.
yeah, that’s the ticket.
“and thursday, we recommend two hours foreplay (staggered for endurance purposes) followed by a rigorous 15-minute doggy style, as well as two sets of wall-aided laterals, and to conclude, water sports, including…”
“friday, rest.”
“saturday, turn off the phone. close the blinds. it’s time for a six-hour session of territorial pursuit. you will need: tethers, non-slip surfaces…”
sigh. if i could sign up for that diet, i absolutely promise to take my vitamins every day and even eat my veggies.
i didn’t even have sex with the guy, it was all foreplay, and it was still that strenuous. keep in mind, i cycle, i have freeweights. i may be a bonus lover, but girl’s got endurance, a’ight? the last guy i slept with didn’t even get me close to that overextended. (not that i didn’t try to cause it. some things are mysteries.) it was nice for a change.
(wistful sigh, low groan) yeah. that’s the lifestyle.
but, i ask you, some days, is there just nothing else better than kissing? there’s nothing like the duel of two smooth, soft, energetic tongues. feathery caresses, grip’n’grab gropes. pushin’ up ‘gainst each other, angling for a better, closer position. that slow escalation of breath.
every kiss is an aphrodisiac for another. i can never have just one.
it’s so hot. a guy who can kiss, well, forget his bad points, he’s graded on a curve. kissing, what is it? what is it that makes kissing so damned sublime? it’s almost like necking’s the reminder of all things good. it’s innocence, yet it’s heat.
as much as i love having sex and thus tend to not wait too long for it, i have to admit that it often feels disappointing in a jaded way if necking sessions always result in sex. there’s something really hot about working yourself into that slobbery frenzy brought on by a heated make-out session on the sofa/then bed — and having to let it ride.
do you ever just sit back and enjoy that somewhat sexually frustrated expression on your partner’s face when you just know it can’t go further? not that you’re thrilled to be paining them, but it’s just great to always know you’re the one who’s bringing that heightened sensation into their world, and it’s nice to know they feel that it’s such a loss it ain’t goin’ further.
i guess, for me, i like the anticipation, knowing what’s going to happen next time as a result. i suppose that’s what makes it easier for me, as a chick, is i can honestly say, “yep, gettin’ laid next time” since, well, if I want it, i’m pretty liable to get it, right? how often does a chick want to get laid and the guy say, “well, not right now.” it happens, sure, but the odds are in my favour.
and my powers of persuasion make me suspect i’ve missed my calling as a jedi knight. just saying.
so, i’m on the hunt for the man who can calm my savage beast. when located, the all-sex diet goes full boil. i’m always so gung-ho when i start new things.
what, beginner’s enthusiasm? luckily it takes me awhile to tire of things. 😉 and i’m very, very goal-oriented. love that pursuit.
the all-sex diet program is now accepting applicants.