When It Rains, It Pours….Part 2

Usually when I have left you all hanging in the echo of my long silence it’s simply because all the boring and mundane trappings of life had me in their snare, but this time it’s quite the opposite.  This time life has me in it’s juicy grasp, and is really having it’s way with me.  I am far, far, from complaining.

I’ve left you in the lurch so long that I am unsure how to even begin.  I feel as though I can barely do it justice now.  These sensuous experiences that have been unfolding one after the other are so intricately woven together into one fantastic symphony, that to dissect such delicious harmony would be an impossible task, not to mention a disservice.

So with that being said, I invite you to re-read “Sexual Mirrors, Sensualist Lovers“, and know that I’m still gleefully riding that ecstasy with this new lover, and it keeps surprising me, beguiling me, and at times, has me lost long in thought.

In some ways he is my twin.  We’ve called each other that on occasion. So compatible, yet there is enough difference to keep things interesting.

The one thing I keep telling myself is not to hide.  I can feel myself being protective.

As I was typing this I paused, cupped my chin gently within my hand, fingertips resting lightly just beneath my nose to smell each one where the scent of him still remains from late this afternoon.  Four and a half hours of being skin to skin, and it still was nearly impossible to find the will to disengage bodies.  My mouth always finds itself hungry for his.  One last kiss never seems to satisfy.

Upcoming posts to look forward to on thoughts I’ve been musing over…related and unrelated to Mirror Twin

  • The delicious ebb and flow of power exchange between switches (the D/s kind)
  • My second experience with lactation from intense erotic nipple stimulation
  • Why ass play is so hot for me
  • The ideal poly relationship and just what it is I want
  • Ending relationships that cross ethical boundaries, even if you’ve already crossed them

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sexual Mirrors, Sensualist Lovers

I have been holding out on you.  I know, I know, for shame on me.  I wrote this over a week ago, but somehow couldn’t bring myself to post it.  Something about my level of excitement over the experience seemed too much.  It’s like I didn’t want to jinx it by being immersed in the joy of it as deeply as I was…or am.  I’m still resisting posting this.  There is hesitation, some trepidation…like standing on the edge of a very high cliff and looking over.  Here goes nothing.

*************

Where to begin.  I’m so lax in writing this week, and so much has transpired in such a short amount of time, so before this gets any further away from me, I wanted to share.

I’d like to say, and for the most part it would be true, that I usually know right away whether I want to pursue being lovers with someone.  There’s the instantaneous physical reaction that is communicated between bodies.  You see someone, exchange a glance or some casual conversation, and it’s just something innately there.  It doesn’t surprise you, or beguile you, it just simply exists.  Sometimes it’s one sided, but if you’re lucky, it’s deliciously reciprocal.

And then sometimes I meet someone, and there’s not an instant acknowledgment of desire.  It’s like my body isn’t aware of that undercurrent at all.  It doesn’t say “yes”, it doesn’t say “no”, it says “I’m not sure…I want to know more before I am sure”.  You would think in those cases that whatever desire is there would then be naturally less powerful than one that is immediately known.

This is so not the case, and although by now knowing this I shouldn’t be surprised, I am in awe.

I was ready for good lovers, middle of the road, “wow, that was fun, let’s do it again” lovers, but I was not ready for this.  I was not ready for a sexual connection with someone that was so deliriously intense that it borders on intoxicating.  It’s passion with intensity that is, to me, mildly frightening.  It both implores me towards it, and makes me want to dial it back so I can feel more in control.  And the best part, the part that I always find myself musing on when I think about it, is how completely unexpected it was.  Even writing about it I find myself wanting to edit and erase.

I have been blessed during my 30-something years here on earth to have some amazingly skillful lovers.  There is a small handful of men that I can heartily thank for helping me to discover things about my body that perhaps I would have never thought to explore on my own until they came into my life.  Yet, amidst that handful, I have had only one other lover with whom I shared this same intense ungovernable ardor, and perhaps that is why I am also finding this new connection to be unraveling threads of anxiety for me at it’s force.  It’s just so incredibly rare.

Sensualists, true sensualists, are not lovers that are easily found.  You may have never found one yourself, but there will be no denying it when you do.200551307-008

Sex with a sensualist is all about the journey, and less about the destination.  There is no route, no map, no end point in sight.  You’re out exploring a sea of sensation and desire that is endless, and only seems to unfold even more before you the more and more you explore it.  This is the rabbit hole you’ve been waiting for, Alice.

I am a very orally fixated lover.  My mouth needs to be engaged.  Kissing, licking, biting, sucking; all of these things increase my pleasure immensely, and are, the very root of my sexuality.  To find someone for whom this is also true, to be almost mirrors sexually, is just beyond compare.  And not only to mirror each other in that, but also in intensity of passionate expression of that sexuality, that is undeniably raw and unrelenting.  A love of touch, a love of skin, a love of sensation and play, and a lack of inhibitions…such an exponentially delightful gift.

kissingSo, this lover and I, spent over 10 hours fucking each other dizzy.  There were hours that passed like minutes, and minutes that shared like hours.  I have rug burn on my elbows, and I have no idea how they got there.  My living room floor, the sofa, and the massage table became our great playground.  At times this was problematic because, let me tell you, sometimes carpet can be quite slippery in the right position.  It can also be quite unforgiving on delicate skin.

10 hours takes a lot of stamina, but really when you are as orally fixated as we are, you need that long because the first 3 hours is spent just kissing.

His body, it’s this incredible instrument of flesh.  I just can’t get enough of it.  There’s not an inch of it that I can keep my mouth from wanting, or needing to be tasting.  He loves touch, and in his love of touch, is skillfully curled the innate knowledge of not only “how” to accept touch so open and willingly, but to communicate through his own fingers and hands, that same lustful art of sensation.

And he makes the most amazing sounds, or as he called them, “appreciations” of my touch, which I think may have made him feel self-conscious of at first, but I told him I was really paying him the deepest compliment.  How I love vocal lovers!  So many people stifle their exclimations of pleasure.  This has never been something I understood, as vocally expressing passion is so inherent for me.  There’s a spot on his body that I love so much, and I can’t decide what makes me love it more; the way it feels to me when I run my fingertips or tongue over it, or the way he throws his head back and moans when i do.

There is a deep pleasure even in the simplicity of the feel of his skin against mine, his body pressed tightly into me.  When there are layers of clothing between us, I want to lift them up and peel them away just to feel his skin touch mine as we kiss.  So soft and electric.

It’s rare to find someone who’s energy can match my own…who rises to meet me, and pushes back against me, and then climbs higher.  It’s solid and comforting, as much as it is so powerfully intoxicating and raw.

It’s the kind of connection I crave, and yet fear allowing myself to revel in the delight of because it might swallow me whole, but I so, so, very much want to be consumed by this.

 

 

 

 

 

When It Rains, It Pours

I’m not even sure where to begin, but suffice it to say things have gotten way interesting as of late.  So much so, that I hadn’t even realized it has been nearly three weeks since I posted.

First, where last we left off I was being heavily tempted into Scarlet Letterdom by my sexy running friend.  In addition, and of less interest, but much less inner cricket complication, I was being pursued fairly persistently by two other men: one who is significantly older than me, and the other who is now several states away. I really didn’t feel so inclined to even write about them, but I suppose it’s worth mentioning because, honestly, I am convinced that the Universe is having a good laugh at my expense.

pouringrainIn all initial retrospection, I find that I really have zero desire or interest in the first man, also a runner.  While in my 20’s and even into my early 30’s I always dated men who were 5 years plus my senior, I found that as I moved into my mid (and now late) 30’s that this proclivity changed.  I’m not sure if men my age finally caught up to me, or I finally became less dismissive of them, but in any case, I really don’t want to date someone who is significantly older than me anymore.  And by “significantly older” I mean he has almost 20 years on me!  All of that aside, I have absolutely no sexual attraction to him.  Our kids used to go to school together, so what I initially thought was just pleasant conversation between friends, inadvertently turned into flirtatious maneuverings on his part.  He’s asked me out several times now, and I have found polite ways to turn him down.  However, he keeps pursuing, and I’m just always so bad at the “Sorry, but I’m not interested” rebuff.  I figure I’ll just keep saying  no until he gets the drift.  I hope this eventually clicks for him.

And then there is the second guy who I have actually been friends with for awhile, albeit casually.  He lived here when I first met him, but recently moved several states away for a new job.  I’ve always been on the fence about him.  I’m not sure what it is really that keeps me indecisive.  I usually am pretty all or nothing in this respect.

He’s super intelligent, witty, not to hard on the eyes at all, but…he’s much shorter than me.  I like my men tall.  I admit it, I do.  They have to be at least my height (5’8″ barefoot), otherwise it just feels awkward to me.  I suppose that is the real clincher for me.  Of course, one of my very hottest romances was with a man who was 3 inches shorter than me, so how can I really rule it out?

He was mildly dropping occasional hints of interest when he was living here, but never made a move, and since I was always unsure about my own interest in him, I didn’t either.  Now that he’s moved away though, he’s become far more direct with his flirtations.  I’m still iffy on him, and it would be worth checking out if he lived here still.  Sorry dude, you’re 3 states away now, so an instant checkmark off on my list.

So, although there have been others players in the game, isn’t it always the way that the one I have the most interest in is the one I should steer clear away from.  What is it I said about not wanting those kind of complications?  Well, I’ve decided to listen to the head on my shoulders, instead of my cute pink little one, and avoid the drama and story juggling that comes with attached men in very closed relationships.  Oh, I’ll continue to flirt with him for sure, and I definitely plan to keep up the sexting, that’s far too delicious to stop doing.  I just can’t take it any further.  Sometimes you have to “check yourself before you wreck yourself”, am I right?

Now that I have you all up to date on the “behind the scenes” from the past several weeks, we can get down to the real juicy stuff.

You know that old adage “Ask and ye shall receive”?  Well, let’s just say I am getting what I asked for, and then some!

 

 

 

 

Orgasms: Batteries Not Included

Still coming down from one of the most intense orgasmic highs I have had in long, long, time.  As I sit here legs crossed and type this, I can still feel the aching sensitivity in my clit as it presses up against my panties, and it makes me want more.  It also makes me think I am far too lazy when it comes to self loving’, and that has to change.

True confession time…I am a lazy masturbator.  I touched on this (pun intended) awhile back when I wrote Flying Solo: Myths About Masturbation and Women.  Technology has made me, like most of us, yearn for instant gratification, and I have let that seep into my solo flying time.  For this reason, I envy you men out there because, although there are toys made for you too, I don’t think you rely on them nearly as much as we women do.

When I was 19 and living in NYC, I confessed to my roommate that although I had had sex before, I had never had an orgasm with a partner, nor when masturbating.  She exclaimed, “You need toys”, and quickly planned a field trip for us up to Eve’s Garden on W. 57th St, and there I discovered the world of sex toys for the first time.  I bought my very first vibrator who I later named Pink Pearl.  It was your basic hand-held “back massager” (winky winky, nudgy nudgy), which was really a super compact hand held vibrating clit lover.  The minute I got home I threw some Mazzy Star on my CD player, closed my bedroom curtain (no door to our bedroom, poor college dorm life), and had my first orgasm within 10 seconds!  Bang Zoom!

Pretty soon after that I began having orgasms with partners with ease, the talented ones at least.  In fact, I think my ex-husband was the first man I had an orgasm with, so I should give him credit where credit is due! <insert a round of applause for him here>  But I digress, this is about my solo loving adventures…

Not the same one, but similar to Pink Pearl

Not the same one, but similar to Pink PearBut I digress, this is really about my adventures in self loving…the five to ten fingered kind.

Still, even after enjoying many nights with my Pink Pearl wonder into my mid 20’s, I had never been able to, despite many attempts, been able to make myself com using only my hand.  I found it a little distressing.  I kind of wondered why I wasn’t able to, and truthfully, felt a little ashamed that i couldn’t…like I was broken compared to other women that seemed to be able to finger themselves into orgasm with ease.

One day I was talking with a female friend while we were on a camping trip, and somehow the topic of masturbation came up.  What can I say?  I have some pretty cool friends and some wild campfire stories because of it.  Anyway, I confessed that I had been unsuccessful at making myself cum by hand, and that I had to rely on toys. Lo and behold, I felt the greatest relief when a huge smile beamed from her face and she cried, “Me too!”  Suddenly, we were no longer solo in our touchy situations!  You could just see the weight of judgements we had made about ourselves silently lifted from our shoulders in this moment of female campfire bonding.

In the summer of 2006 I had taken a job that was out of town, and I ended up staying at my mother’s house during the week in order to make the commute shorter.  I was 30.  The nights were warm and humid, and because I love warm weather, I delighted in sleeping with the window next to my bed open so I could listen to the alluring sounds of night.  Now, that year was a lot like this past one for me.  That July it had been a long stretch of months that I hadn’t had sex, and much like now, that meant my libido was on overdrive.  I had forgotten to bring my vibrator with me, and even if I hadn’t, I would’ve been afraid I would have been overheard even in the middle of the night.

That day at work I had a client who was a doctor on vacation from Canada.  He was very tall (just how I like men to be), with short dark hair and hazel-ocean eyes.  I’m not sure what it was about him that made him stand out to me, maybe it was how he smiled at me that seemed to convey a more desirous subtext then what was actually spoken, but that night he became that focus of my fantasies.

By this point I had just succumbed to the idea that I couldn’t bring myself to orgasm with my fingers, but without my vibrator, I was going to have to make due.  I stroked my pussy while I thought of him…his eyes, his lips…and what I imagined the rest of his body looked like.  I slid my fingers inside myself and stroked my g-spot, making sure to brush the length of each finger against my clit each time I would pull them out.  I was lost in this fantasy fueled by fervid lust of a total stranger.

And then I came, so hard, that I was flying high on both orgasmic bliss and total disbelief!  It was well after midnight, but I couldn’t help it.  I was so excited to have brought myself to orgasm without anything else but my touch, that I immediately (once I could pull myself together enough to speak coherently), called the one person I knew who might be up, my long-time friend (and occasional lover) Emrys, and gleefully shared my glorious accomplishment.  You would have thought I had just won an Oscar for it with the excitement that poured out of me.

That was 8 years ago, and guess what?  Despite the fact that I now knew it was possible for me to make myself cum by only my touch, I fell back into my lazy mastrabatory love of technology, and have used a vibrator ever since.  Admittedly, a lot of the time it just comes down to that: sheer laziness on my part.  I know I can make myself cum this way with very little effort, and sometimes, a quickie is all I really want or have time for.  Sleep is precious man!

If there is one thing I know about the world we live in, it’s that everyone seems to want to find a faster, more efficient way to do things.  Sadly, my solo sexcapades have taken this same trend to heart…or part, should I say.  This afternoon was a lesson in why this is robbing me of some deliriously mind-blowing orgasmic fun time.

Flirty Running Friend to the rescue!  Yes, as always with our sexy little texts he made me instantly juicy.  There was that wanton desire again that was unrelenting, and most definitely required an afternoon tryst with myself.  This time I didn’t reach for the vibrator though.  I wanted to fantasize about what his lips and tongue would feel like on me, and there was no way I could do that any justice with some battery-operated toy.

I am get very wet, but I wanted my pussy even slicker.  Lucky Bloke sent me a wonderful gift package of lubes (so much lube, so little time), and it’s high time I make an effort to play around with them.  I used just a little, but oh, it made my pussy deliciously silky to touch.  I stroked the shaft of my clit from the top of the hood to the tip, and lost myself in pretending it was his tongue.  I  took my time.  I reveled in every blissful sensation of my touch.  It was like drawing with electricity on my skin.  I sent him little texts about what I was doing until I could no longer focus on anything else, but my touch and my fantasy of him.

I reached inside with one…two…three fingers, teased myself, pulled out, and went back to stroking my clit.  I slipped my clit between two fingers and lightly squeezed them together around it as I rubbed up and down.  I was trembling with such fierce electric pleasure from each stroke.  This was something new I discovered I liked.  I always like learning new things about my body, even now after I have been long acquainted with what brings it satisfaction.

When I came, it was more intense than I ever do with toys.  And I do love toys, I do (Lelo, you’re the one for me, baby), but this was in another whole realm completely.  It was so much closer to the intensity of orgasms that I have with partners. This totally blew solo sex with vibrators right out of the water!  As I lay there, still shuddering with tremors of pleasure even several minutes after the crescendo of my orgasmic peak had subsided, I couldn’t help but wonder why I don’t forgo toys more often.  I am more than convinced that I need to wean my solo flights off batteries and spend more time learning how to more artfully play the “sin”strument that is my body.  I want to break free from my 90’s “instant gratification” Generation X’er haze and take my time.  After all, why rush pleasure?  Save that shit for the DMV and the dentist office…aka “things we hate that never seem to go fast enough”, My Precious.

And now I leave you with this 90’s flashback, and a little tribute to Flirty Running friend.

Don’t let this go too much to your head, FRF…you’re not the only one I want. =)

Saudade

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Saudade c. 2013

 

I feel it still

a silent thread so loud inside my skin

and I’m still unraveling with you

after all this time

 

A compass in the dark

I feel you out there like my north

even when I have cast you out, away,

drown your voice in the noise of life’s traffic

 

18 years of lovers, and you

yet still i yearn

for love spoken

that should have never been

and to walk in a world without your gravity

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m Still Here Or Otherwise Known As My Excuses For Not Blogging Recently

It’s been almost a month and a half since I have written anything of substance here.

There have been two or three well-meaning writing attempts, but then my undiagnosed ADD combined with my writers block takes over, and all I end up with is a lot of Facebook surfing and hair twirling, as I stare idly into the white glow of my monitor.

This lull in winter is not the best for me.  My body yearns for spring and summer, and my mind, in protest, engages in a sort of mental hibernation to compliment my physical one.  I am not an outdoor winter person, I am a “I have a serious Netflix addiction” and hot tea person.  I’m not anti-social, I just hate the cold, and I’m not really into the traditional Northeasterner Saturday night bar hopping scene.  Drunk people annoy me.

I’m not a total recluse though, don’t get me wrong.  I like to have fun and I like people, so I force myself to brave the cold long enough to punch my dance card every now and then.  I’m not ready for the flannel nighty yet though I have been known to sport some super sexy flannel pajama bottoms adorned with multi-color snowflakes.  Hey, I have to keep the goods warm somehow, right?  And flannel is cozy, but I digress.

My friend Casandra and I went out for some Saturday night schmoozing.  I suggested this one bar that I knew had karaoke.  You know, look, if I am going to have to suffer drunk stupid people, they might as well be entertaining drunk stupid people who make my cover charge worthwhile with bad renditions of Carly Rae Jepson songs, ok?

You haven’t lived until you have seen a fat, balding, middle-aged man sing his own version of it, TRUST ME on this one!  It might have been the pitcher of Sam Adams we shared that helped me to believe this was the highlight of my evening!

I don’t have a video of that, but I managed to find that EXACT guy doing a Kelly Clarkson song on YouTube, so enjoy.  Don’t say I never gave you anything either!


Now to really understand the sheer head-shaking shamefulness of such an evening, you have to know that during each break when someone wasn’t brave or drunk enough to be singing their hearts out, the DJ would play some run of the mill, “par for the course” club music (read Top 40 hip hop) to which all the bedraggled 40 something women dressed like 80’s hookers, and “this is my good tie” insurance salesmenesque bar patrons would run up to the non-existant dance floor corner and proceed to hump and grind like caged zoo animals during mating season, only with less coordination and sense of purpose.

Did I mention this bar can be found at the end of a busy road that is peppered with a minimum of 5 hotels?  So the air of desperation permeates the room like a thick, choking,  smoke.

I know, it sounds dreadfully dire, but Cass and I were laughing pretty much the whole time.  Except the time when we were singing, no wait, we were still laughing through that too!

We sang a duet to Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” because she said it was the one thing she knew all the words to, and although they have a monitor scrolling all the lyrics as you croon away, it doesn’t help much when I : A) leave my glasses at home, and B) am tipsy enough that I really don’t care how accurate I am.  I had to redeem myself though because I do love to sing, so I picked a song I love, and prefaced it with this,

“I’m going to sing a sing that most likely none of you know…but I don’t give a fuck”  That got an “Ooooh” from the table of 20-something, football fans in the back.

I was not too shabby if I do say so myself, and I got applause, but drunk people are easy like that. I could have sung my receipt from my Starbucks run earlier that afternoon and they still would have loved it.  After all, they clapped for Carly Rae “My belly is hanging over my pants” guy too, so I’m not gearing up to try out for The Voice anytime soon. LOL  Plus, as well as I know this song like he back of my well-manicured hand, I totally know I made up words and shit that night.  Sam Adams Boston Lager, you are such a font of improv creativity!

The table of football-loving wish they were frat boys attempted to call me over to their table after I came down from the mic, but I just kept walking.  If I ignited some fire, I sure as hell wasn’t going to go bring my match to the flame!  And like I said, drunk people annoy me, and I wasn’t up for faking polite and smiley interest.

Oh yes, and there was the 3.5 minutes of Macarena line dancing that Cass left me on my own for, to be self-appointed ring leader to my own troop of drunken hip-shaking dancers, but hey when I’m called to lead, I have to answer!  It’s in my blood, yo.  That’s just how I roll.

This is so unlike my 20’s where such escapades would have led to this very same scene just described with me topless except for my lace demi bra, so at least I can marvel how my 30’s have matured me!

Did I mention this was all on the eve of the Daylight Savings Time switch?  Thank god I had the day free to sleep in without guilt, or I would have been like Linda Blair for sure!

The moral of this story?  I need to get out more, and definitely NOT to this bar!

Coming soon to a blog post near you….

1) My 24 hour experience with online dating sites

2) The continuing “hide and seek” of my libido

3) Just how many partners is “too many”

and the biggie

4) My decision to go back to school to pursue a degree in Sexology!

Relationship In Music – Short Stuff

My relationship with Short Stuff set to music

 

In the very beginning…we had sex to this

And we danced in his living room to this song

When we shared a D/s relationship, this song was how I felt about him

And long after that relationship of ours died, and then a new way of relating emerged, he sent me this song telling me it was how he felt for me

But then the darkness of illumination set in…the hidden became revealed, and light became dark.

And this became my reality with him and his addiction

When I left him, he had the audacity to send me this song

And I sent him this as I continued walking away for good.  Divorced January  2012

The Bad In Each Other

I was just writing a fun blog post on penis size, when I started listening to this Feist song, and it was instantly derailed.  My heart can be so fickle.

Thoughts of my ex-FWB have been on my mind a lot lately, so much so that I have been dreaming as of late dreams that star him in various roles.  That all started when I had recently been thinking of him more due to things going on in my personal life that I had been wishing I could have gone to him for advice or feedback on.  I have to then remind myself why I needed to walk away from that friendship altogether, why it is healthier for me, even if at times a piece of me pangs for that friendship.  Sometimes I can still feel the ghosts of us then walking around where I stand now.  I remember my therapist telling me “I think it’s so unfair how he is with you, how he yo-yos”.  The one simple sentence was the catalyst for me really acknowledging in my own heart how right she was, how unfairly he built my heart up, and tore me down.

If you love someone, confess you are and have always been in love with them, but have no intention of ever allowing that to happen, why bother telling the person in the first place?  Why tell me?  I didn’t need to know.  I had acquiesced to my wondering.  I had accepted not knowing.  You were so cruel to confess your feelings to me.  So selfish and self-serving.  Why didn’t you just leave me alone?  I hate you for doing that to me when you had no intention of loving me.

Oddly enough, I found this song earlier this week, and it stuck with me.  These words, this stanza here, perfectly speaks to the heart of what it felt like in my heart

“Fill me up then pour me out
Therein lies the doubt.
We had the same feelings
At opposite times.”


 

“When a good man and a good woman
Can’t find the good in each other
Then a good man and a good woman
Will bring out the worst in the other
The bad in each other”

Seven Frisky Facts: Beauty Is In The Eye of The Beholder

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Wow, it would seem that the WordPress universe has once again bestowed upon me the gift of some of those super nifty blogger awards! Ok, maybe I shouldn’t say “universe”, as universe refers to something unfathomably large, and both of these awards came from the same blogger out in WP land, but then again, maybe he is unfathomably large (down under, that is), that Joe, I haven’t done any in-person investigation of this, so the jury is still out! HA

Anywho, my fabulous blogging friend Joe, duly dubbed my “Northern Twin” after discovering we have far too many nuances in common, nominated me as “Beautiful Blogger”, and to this I say, awwwwwwwww and spanks you, kind sir! He writes the blog, My Jaded Parts. Go read him, and feel good and dirty!

Like all of these awards, this one comes with its own mini acceptance rule book of sorts, so without further or do….

1) Post a photo of the Beautiful Blogger Award in your blog post: VOILA!
2) Thank the person who nominated me for the award and provide a link to their blog: See above blabbering.
3) Share 7 facts about myself: Um, ok. Facts about what aspect of myself though?

7 Frisky and Fun Facts

  1. When I was 18, I masturbated on an Amtrak train in the bathroom while heading north from NYC to upstate, and was neither quiet nor discreet about it.
  2. I LOVE men and am completely and utterly a very cock-loving oriented woman, however I don’t tend to find myself attracted to many men. I am a fickle woman, what can I say? Finicky moi. However, when I do find myself attracted to someone, it is usually intoxicatingly so.
  3. I went to a goth club in NYC (The Bank) when I was 17. I had been living in NYC for just short of 2 months. I was dancing in the middle of the main dance floor when this guy walked straight across the floor towards me like a shark parting the water, and started dancing with me. He took me by the hand, walked me of to the side, and we proceeded to make out with one another for about an hour, no words passed between us. The music engulfed the club, so it’s not like we would have been able to hear one another anyway. When my friends told me we had to go, he took me over to the bar in the back where it was quieter and where his friends were to give me his number. That was when I heard his voice for the first time. He sounded like Apu from The Simpsons. Fantasy wrecked. I never returned his calls. I actually feel some guilt over this to this day still. That was pretty shitty of me.
  4. When I had my first orgasm, I actually ran into the bathroom to look down between my legs to see if I could see what was moving down there. I was just certain I was going to see something moving.
  5. I lost my virginity to a guy the very same day I met him when I was 14. I was far too curious for my own good, too mature in some ways, and definitely not in others.
  6. I have a pet peeve about seeing men naked except for socks. Please, for the love of all that is god and holy, please do not attempt to be naked while wearing socks. I discovered this pet peeve from the above said virginity-taker.
  7. I had sex with my ex-FWB in my downstairs bathroom that was so fevered and animated that we ended up knocking the towel rack off the wall. This was Christmas Eve 2011. Merry Christmas to me!

I guess I need to nominate some blogs for those super-dee-duper beautiful blogger awardiness now. I think I will just pick random blogs that I enjoy reading now and then and a few of my blogging besties too! Plus, they are not all blogs of a sexual nature either. I am a well-rounded individual, dontcha know!

In no particular order, the nominees are…

  • The Redhead Bedhead – I’m pretty sure we were separated at birth! My bloggin’ bestie from Beantown. Read her now!
  • Break Room Stories – makes you laugh so hard you’ll have fountain sodas shooting out your nose, and also never want to eat out ever again!
  • The Phoenix Exultant – it’s about his life, and he’s damn cool. I also know him in real life! Oooooh
  • His Beloved Submissive – fun to read, and kinky too!
  • Creative Noodling – I just love this chick’s noodle!
  • The Fur Files – Fern made me totally forgive Canada for serving milk in bags. I aspire to be this awesome as consistently as she is!
  • Smut For Smarties – Nuff said! Lady Cheeky, the one, the only! Need I say more? Love her!

Wooohoo! One down, one more award to post later this week!

That Awkward Moment When…

…You wake up holding your mini vibe in your writing hand, fresh from a dream where you were using it as if were a pen or a marker, because you fell asleep with it in your hand, instead of using it like you had intended the night before right before falling sleep.

Obviously I have not been getting enough sleep, or anything else, that is.

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