Friday Afternoon Delights

I have been delightfully whorish today, and I just have to say, it feels so good to be so expressively sexual again.

I must be making up for lost time.

Two different men.  One afternoon.

This is basically what the first hour of the second one looked like.  Until we would up on the kitchen table.

kissing

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Peek-A-Boo, I See You

The internet is a bizarre place. You think it’s totally anonymous if you want it to be but it never really is.  Do you know there are sites that can tell you who is searching for you by name in Google and such?

I just found out that my ex-FWB Norris is apparently is doing just that.

It’s not like he doesn’t know where I am.  I live in the same place, as does he, and we know where each other works.  Finding each other isn’t something that would be difficult in any sense of the word.  Although, when I told him I was disconnecting from him for my own mental and emotional well-being, I deleted and blocked him from everything: email, messenger, Facebook, anything I had as a means of easy contact.

This was less about him, and more about me.  Neither one of us is the crazy stalker type.  I knew when I said that was it that he wasn’t going to follow me.  It was like I was quitting him like a drug, and I needed to go “cold turkey”.  I needed no way I could backslide into that “relationship” again. That “relationship” being the 17 year long game of emotional roller coastering with him. It can be summed up very easily by Katy Perry’s song “Hot and Cold”  It has been since September of 2012 that we’ve spoken.

Still, there Norris is, looking for me.  I think it’s more “checking up on” me, really.

I admit to being guilty of the same thing with him.  I want to know he’s ok, that he’s happy, that his kids are doing well, and that maybe he finally found someone that he didn’t have to run away from.  Apparently I am not the only one who’s wondering from a distance.  I suppose that’s what loving someone will do to you.

I know that he sent me clients at work, and I know one of them was there purposefully to find out whether I was single or not.  Let’s just say, if you are going to send someone to “spy” for you, make sure they are a little more subtle.    I can piece together P90X, Jeet Kun Do, and “your boyfriend must love you for this” pretty easily thanks.  Also, it’s not so much what spy client asked me, but more what he didn’t ask me that was the deal clincher.

Admittedly again, I’ve wanted to write Norris lately.  It’s not the first time I had the urge, but I’m rallying against it, and reminding myself that my choice to disengage was best no matter how much I may miss him.

In honor of that feeling, here is the song that Norris said always made him think of me.

A Hand In The Bush Is Worth More Than Two Fingers

When I was 18 I had sex with my step brother.  I had just moved to NYC for college, and now that I was “legal”, the opportunity to make something long-flirted around, a reality, was too tempting to pass up.

Even though I had lost my virginity a few years earlier, with two different partners, I really had no real understanding of what good sex was, let alone how to be any “good” at it.  My parents never really talked to me about sex (whose really do), so my sexual education really came from watching soap operas and guessing, watching one porn film and wondering “Why?”, and then filling in the blanks with anything else sexually stereotypical the pre-internet media wanted to share with me.  Like many teenagers, I was just fumbling my way through without the manual.

So here, after just turning 18 two days before, I called up my step brother who lived in Alphabet City at the time, and head over to his place with all sorts of nerves fluttering around in my belly for the long anticipated encounter.

It was horrible.

It was right out of a bad porn film, and I am not free from blame there.  It was a “legs over his shoulders, feet in the air, thrusting like a wayward jackhammer, bad porn girl noises” kind of awful.  No orgasm, not even close…for me at least.  I was so disappointed.  He was 9 years older than me, so I thought I might learn something, but instead as I was getting dressed, I realized I had more questions than answers.  Not wanting to keep feeling as naive and unexperienced, I went for shock value.  As I was buttoning up my shirt, I cocked my head to the side, smiled, and said, “Have you tried fisting?”

Needless to say, I really had no idea what fisting really was.  He was like, “Babe, you are way more hardcore than me”.  So, zing!  I left his apartment not feeling like a totally naieve  nymph.  Still, to this day, I have no clue where I came up with that.  I’m guessing I must have heard it mentioned in some book or movie that had crossed my recent path.

For years, my vision of vaginal fisting was just that: “way hardcore”.  I always envisioned it as something most likely painful, definitely uncomfortable, and not in the least bit pleasurable.  I just imagined some man with a fist up his lover’s pussy, just slamming away.  That was a total visual turn off for me.  And while I love rough sex and sensory play, getting off on pain has never been my thing.

At 27 all my misconceptions about fisting came crashing down in one earth-shattering, g-spot induced, orgasm.

I have always loved being fingered while having my pussy licked.  To be stroked inside, to be penetrated, to revel in the feeling of being filled, has always intensified my pleasure.  Oh, I can come without it, yes, but it just makes the orgasm that much more pleasureable.  It takes it to a whole other level.  It’s the best of both oral and penetrative lovemaking.

I was in a relationship with a lover during that time which was really based on mutually exploring our sexual boundaries.  In the course of talking one evening about things we wanted to try, he brought up fisting.  I had my image in my head, but he assured me it wasn’t what I had been long imagining.  A few weeks later he bought me the book A Hand In The Bush: The Fine Art of Vaginal Fisting, which I admit I only read a short bit from before I consented to trying it with him.  I highly recommend it if you haven’t read it yet.

One night, as he was nestled with his face deep between my thighs he slid a finger inside my pussy, and then a second…still encircling my clit with his tongue, along my hot slit, and I was on fire for him as usual.  He pushed in a third.  He had nice thick fingers.  I loved the way they felt filling me. He stroked me deep inside, traced his passion with each strong finger on my inner walls, and I tightened around him like a glove.  It was like he was making me his instrument, and my sighs and moans were our music.  My thighs were quivering with this intense pleasure that was racing though every inch of my skin. And when he inserted a 4th finger, it was such a insatiable desire flowing through me that I didn’t even realize we had reached that.

It was so primal, so deeply intense.  It was a feeling I had never experienced to that magnitude before. It’s a g-spot orgasm that is like a full-body earthquake that’s an 8.5 on the Richter Scale!   Imagine ladies (or gents) your most intense orgasm, and then multiply that by 100, maybe 1000.  Imagine that, and you might come close to the sensations I was experincing from being filled by his hand.

Photo courtesy COSMOS Magazine

Photo courtesy COSMOS Magazine

We got up to 4 that time before the intensity scared me, and I felt a twinge of pain which I feared was me tearing, but really was the unfortunate nick of a fingernail that wasn’t filed down well enough.  He pulled his hand out slowly, and I would have sworn he was wrist deep inside me.

Rule #1 of good fisting experiences – trim your nails down so no edges can be felt at all!

See, that’s just it.  Fisting isn’t about making a fist and shoving it into your partner’s vagina like a plow. If you Google images of it, that’s all you’ll see; a bunch of hands and forearms stuffed into vaginas, but it really gives a false impression to a seriously delightful experience.

Rule #2 – Slow and steady wins the race!

Be patient and take your time.  It’s slow, it’s sensual, it’s deeply intimate.  If done right, you’re not inserting a fist, but rather slowly making a fist inside your partner’s pussy.  That it what naturally will happen as the fingers  curl the more you progress, once you get past the hardest part, which is the wide part of the man’s hand near the lowest thumb knuckle.  The key to being able to get more fingers in, and inevitably the whole hand,  is that you’re relaxed, and the best way for you for us ladies to be relaxed is to not feel pressured.  Don’t be set on the end goal, enjoy every moment of the ride.

I have to tell you that even in the many times he and I explored this way, his hand was just too wide to fully get past that widened area of his hand.  We were very close one time, very, but then he started licking my asshole that I lost all control, and I came so hard and so fast that it merited a place on the calendar. It has been known since as “BOOML” December 23, 2008.  Otherwise known as “Best Orgasm Of My Life”.  Let it just be said that I am by no means a quiet lover, so I am pretty sure everyone within a 50 mile radius heard me that day too.  Everybody celebrate!  Sorry neighbors.

Rule #3 – No matter how wet you get, use lube!

I get very wet naturally, very, so we didn’t need extra lube (or so we thought), but if you’re going to try this for the first time with a lover, I suggest definitely using a good lube.  And even as juicy as I get, a little extra lube is never a bad thing.  Plus, vaginas are very delicate places, so this will help prevent anything unpleasant like tearing from happening.  Speaking from my first time experience, it really pulled me right off my pleasure high rather quickly.

Photo Courtesy Weheartit.com

Photo Courtesy Weheartit.com

And lastly, Rule #4 – Don’t be afraid to try something new

If I hadn’t have been open to trying this, I would have missed out on a height of sexual ecstasy that I would have not believed was possible.  Be open to pushing your own boundaries, safely that is, you never know what pleasures await you.

Men, I’ll use this moment to say that having a woman stroke your  prostrate with one, or more, fingers can be just as pleasurable for you.  Want to amplify that pleasure?  Have her suck your cock while she does it.  And I promise, it won’t make you gay (haha – Seriously, why are straight men still so fearful of some equal opportunity loving’ here?)  Personally, I find it very sexy to touch a lover this way, but as much as you guys love are asses, you play hard to get with us with your own  Unfair I tell you, unfair!

And it should be noted, it is ok to not enjoy something.  You may try fisting and not have the same experience as me.  It may just not butter your muffins like it does mine, but at least you will know because you gave yourself permission to explore and experience it.

I am still waiting to explore fisting again with a new lover, and hopefully, finally be able to experience the sensation of a whole hand inside me.  It’s not something I would do with every lover and it’s probably not something on every man’s sexual menu, but thanks to that one lover, it is forever on mine.

In The Air Today…Tonight

I spent the better part of my down time at work scouring YouTube for my most favorite scene from the movie Wild Orchid to share with you.  If you’ve seen it, it’s the scene where Carrie Otis is walking through the abandoned hotel in Rio and finds a couple having fervent, unabashed sex up against a wall under cascading water.   I just find that scene incredibly hot.  Ravenous sex up against a wall, and there’s water too?  Hot.  So hot.  “On my mind all day long” kind of hot.

It’s been one of “those” days.  The kind of day when restless desires ride me like the ocean tide to shore.  No matter what the day brings, no matter how interesting or banal the task to draw me from it, my body has other needs that won’t allow themselves forgotten or pushed aside.

I hear it’s quiet want singing beneath my clothes, simmering between my legs, smoldering under each pore of my porcelain skin.

I chased it away as best I could.  I envy men who could take themselves into the privacy of their office bathroom and have their way with themselves to free their minds from such a snare.

Unfortunately, despite my keen searching abilities, I was unable to find this scene, and although there were others from that film, none of them stoke my inner desires quite as much as the one I was hoping to find and share.

However, I reminded myself of this scene from Risky Business, my love of the heightened arousal only sex where one might get caught (even when in reality you really don’t want to be) brings, and my love of the city at night.

Please note, Tom Cruise is and has never been the least bit sexy to me.  It’s the elements of the scene more than the people in it that do it for me; the lighting the both hides and reveals, the setting, the seduction, the innocence that peels away to reveal desire. It’s a small scene of cinematic genius.  I imagine myself and a man of my choosing, and then replace these people with us.  And honestly, who can deny the sensuality of “In The Air Tonight”  by Phil Collins?

Describing Me: Word Porn of The Day

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Although I wouldn’t describe myself as being “in pain” from this, it is an agony only some of us bare inside: a desperation to know and be known by others without the masks we wear. It’s a hunger to be freed.

Well, Now What?: The Making of a Sexual Bucket List

So, as I was noodling around on Facebook this evening I came across this post from a friend which kind of made me bat my eyelashes in disbelief.  The Sexual Bucket List: 50 Things To Do Sexually Before You Die lists 50 things that the author, a fellow woman, believes to be the “must do’s” of the sexual experience, and while it may be a good start, I’m sorry, but this list needs serious revision.  Some of this stuff is just so vanilla that it’s beyond vanilla.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of vanilla sex as you may remember reading (In Praise of Vanilla), but if you’re going to make a sexual “Bucket List”, it had better have some bells and whistles!

First, allow me to go through the author’s sexual bucket list one by one.  I haven’t done all of the things she lists, but it’s kind of surprising what I have vs. what I have not.  Some of the things listed make me think the author had a very difficult time coming up with 50 things to do sexually.  My sexuality isn’t quite so limited in it’s explorations and desires.

  1. Kiss a girl – “I kissed a girl, for the first time, I kissed a girl, and I just might do it again…”
  2. Have anal – Received and given (with fingers and a strap-on for the giving end.  Rest assured, I have no penis. LOL
  3. Have a threesome – Done it (both FFM and MMF)
  4. Engage in group sex – Isn’t this really the same thing?  Ok, so I’ve went up to 4, how’s that for a group?
  5. Have phone sex – Done it.  Phone sex always makes me a little nervous, and I’ve never really been able to figure out why.
  6. Masturbate – Um, seriously?  Does this even need to be on the list?  Isn’t this a no brainer?
  7. Use a vibrator – Again, really?
  8. Use a sex toy on someone else – Just one?
  9. Be tied up – Too many times to count
  10. Tie someone up – Same answer as #8
  11. Have sex in a public space – Always looking for new places! Suggestions?
  12. Be a voyeur and watch others having sex (live, porn does not count) – Where I wasn’t a part of it?  Hmm, I don’t think so.
  13. Sex in a car – More than a few
  14. Sex at a drive-in – Is there another reason to go to a drive in?  Actually, there must be because I have yet to have sex at the drive-in.
  15. Mile-high club – We decided the bathroom was too small, so, no.
  16. Sex with a stranger – I knew him for about 20 minutes, does that count?
  17. One-night stand – More like a “One afternoon stand”
  18. Married sex (the best kind, in my opinion) – Yep, it wasn’t my best, but at the age of 21 you really don’t know what “good sex” really is yet.
  19. Sex on a boat – Nope, can’t say I have…yet
  20. Sex in a body of water – I’ve had sex in a few pools, but never in the ocean.  I really need to rectify that.
  21. Light spanking – I’m sorry, I literally just LOL’d when I read this one again.  Bare handed, hairbrush, paddle, and of all of the above, I prefer a nice firm hand.
  22. Read erotica – Yawn.  I write it.  I wrote my first story in 8th grade, and my English teacher leaned over my desk and said to me, “I don’t think that’s currently what we’re studying”.  True story, bro!
  23. Play strip poker/Monopoly/card game – I lost, or won, not sure who really loses in that game. =)
  24. Sex in the shower – So many showers, so many!
  25. Sex standing up against a wall – Against the wall of the shower and in a movie theater bathroom stall.
  26. Sex with no kissing – Sex MUST include kissing!  I am far too oral to consider sex without lips on lips.
  27. Sex in the pitch black – Again, really? Who the fuck puts this on a sexual bucket list?  
  28. Sex in the broad daylight – Outdoors in the sun!
  29. Making out with no sex long after you’re no longer a virgin – I was just thinking about this today.  I had the most gloriously sexy 2-hour make out session with a man I was long-time friends with, and although we attempted to make a date to finish that energy off in sexual crescendo we never ended up doing so.  
  30. Sex in a tent in the wilderness – On a volcano no less!  Also out in the woods many a time.
  31. Watch porn together – While  yes, I have done this (and with my ex-husband), I don’t find porn sexy.  Ugly people who obviously aren’t even enjoying themselves does nothing for me.  
  32. Watch porn alone – When I was 12 I watched a porn film that I stole from my brother’s secret stash.  It was called something like “The Layout”.  It turned me on, but it was really stupid and cheesy.
  33. Learn to give yourself multiple orgasms – Yes, but I prefer them with partners.
  34. Sex on the beach – On a lifeguard shack on the beach in the Virgin Islands
  35. Blindfolds – Occasionally
  36. Using ice sexually – Ice, chocolate sauce, Nutella, ice cream, pudding, fruit, jam, juice, and even a cucumber.
  37. Sexual role play – I was a bad, bad, girl, and I needed to be punished.  
  38. Whipped cream – Yawn
  39. La Perla lingerie sex – It’s lingerie, really?  It frightens me that this even needs to be listed.
  40. Frederick’s of Hollywood lingerie sex – Same as 39
  41. Sex with someone much older – I used to always date older men, but the degrees of separation varied.  When I was 23 I had sex with a man who was then 45.  I thick 22 years is the greatest difference.
  42. Sex with someone younger (legal!) – Last year I had sex with someone who was 25.  I was 37.
  43. Sex in a foreign country, possibly with a foreigner – I’ve had sex in Canada and the guy was Canadian, does that even count?
  44. A quickie in a skirt – A quick what?  I’m sure I’ve had sex in a skirt before.
  45. A longie in the rain – A “longie”? Again, I laugh out loud.  I’ve kissed in the rain, but never had sex in the rain before.
  46. Sex in the ocean while people swim all around you – Not yet
  47. Feather ticklers – My ex-husband and I used to go to this craft store in the mall across the street from my college apartment in Jersey City, and we would buy all sorts of crazy things just to raise their eyebrows.  We bought a peacock feather and had lots of fun both in, and out, of that store.
  48. Sex while “altered” whether by alcohol or something else – Yes, more than once.
  49. Learn to orgasm in less than five minutes from intercourse alone – Well, I never really timed it.
  50. Silent sex in a full house – For anyone that knows me intimately, they know how much of a challenge this is for me, but yes, I’ve done it.  It wasn’t truly “silent” though, just quieter than the usual go-around.

Now, another friend had started my thoughts kindling on this a few months ago when he asked me if,  given my sexual openness, there was anything left that I had not yet done that I wanted to do.  At the time I really had a hard time coming up with something I felt I had a yearning to try.

polyFor the longest time I had wanted to have a threesome with two men.  I had had numerous threesomes where it was me, a male lover, and another woman, but the MMF threesome eluded me.  I was once lovers with a man and his best friend at the same time, just not in the same bed.  There was one night where we all got friendly together on the living room floor, but eventually one of them bowed out, and left the two of us alone to finish the evening off.  Those men, not so into each other sexually.  In my opinion, and in my ultimate fantasy of this MMF threesome, both men have to at least be sexually “friendly” enough to share a bed together and not freak out if they end up touching.  In short, this would work best with bi men, but at least with men who are bi-sensual.  Of course, I’m kind of greedy, and the whole point of the MMF threesome is to have two men ravishing me.

In July of 2012 I finally did get to have my MMF threesome with two bi-friendly (well hell, they were REALLY friendly, but I can’t claim either one as  out as bisexual), however it was not quite what I had expected.  It was great, don’t get me wrong.  It was incredibly sexy, and in some ways, it fulfilled more than one long-dreamt of fantasy bucket list item (the second being the combination of the 3 of us), but it happened too quickly for me to be completely comfortable with it.  I blame tequila and snap decision making.  The one man and I have been long time lovers.  In the list answers above he was the 45 yr old man I slept with when I was 23.  There’s a whole separate post here that I have been meaning to write, so I’l save the story for later and get back to the idea of what’s left on my bucket list.

So, what’s left?

Without further ado, here is my sexual bucket list.

Portia Blush’s Sexual Bucket List of Must Do’s (Or Must Do Over’s)

  1. I want a “do-over” on the male/male/female threesome.  Definitely.  It probably would not be with the same original two men.
  2. Fisting – I want to finally experience all 5 fingers inside me, a whole hand filling me.  The lover that I explored this with extensively could never get the wide part of his hand inside me, so we only got up to 4.
  3. Sex in a glass elevator – Not sure why, but this has always been a fantasy of mine
  4. Fucking a male lover with a strap on – Ever since I dated a bi guy in college I have had fantasies about it.  I had one lover who I did this with, but it didn’t really work well because I bought a double-ended dildo that was specifically designed to be worn with one end inserted into your pussy that would stimulate your g-spot while you fucked your parter with the larger end, and although they said it would work without a harness, it didn’t, and without the harness it just wouldn’t stay snug up inside me enough to work as intended.  So, standard dildo and harness next time.  I have a stellar leather harness that was custom made for me from JT’s Stockroom. (Oh how I love that store – and they send you tootsie pops with every order!  Sex and Candy, just like the song)
  5. Having a Violet Wand used on me – I have mo idea what it will feel like, or if I’ll even find it as sexy as I think, but it sure looks fucking hot, so I want to at least try it.violetwand

So far, that’s all I have.  I’m sure as I explore even more that something new will find it’s way into my curiosity.  As for now, just perfecting some of the things I’ve already tried sounds like a grand adventure to me.

What’s on your sexual bucket list?

It Had To Be You. No, Seriously!

No, I was not being held captive for the past 4 months in a cave somewhere, or abducted by aliens to a distant planet where anal probing was actually a BAD thing.  No, I was just silenced by my own self doubt.  Self-doubt that crept in after I was told that I was going about getting my writing out there in all the wrong ways, and in short “all the wrong ways” really translated into, “you’ll never be successful doing things the way you’re doing them” and “you’re going about it all wrong”.

I don’t have a degree in writing,  I have a degree in art.  Yet, during my college art education and even beyond, I have been told by professors, friends, and strangers, “You should be a writer”.  The first time I was told that was by my freshmen writing instructor Loraine O’Grady.  She said, “You know, you should really be a writer”, and I was just so insulted.  I was like, “I’m an artist, not a writer.”  I’m not sure why I was insulted, but I was only 17 and still in that, “You can’t tell me what to do” phase.  Artists, rebels; one in the same.

Right now, I am making a long story, longer, so I am going to dial it back and in the words of Inigo Montoya, “Let me e’splain…no, let me sum up.”

I let my blog slide and essentially stopped blogging regularly altogether back in March when I allowed someone else’s pessimism about my choice of writing venue affect how I felt about my writing, and by hat I mean why I created erogenoUS in the first place, and not the actual quality of the writing.

I created erogenoUS when I decided that I was tired of waiting for someone else to give me an opportunity.  Instead, I decided I was going to make my own!  I wanted to write, but most importantly, I  wanted to be read!  I wanted to get my work out there in the quickest way I knew how: social media.  And, the essential ingredient, the intrinsic drive that birthed this blog was that I wanted to write about what I love: sexuality and my personal experience with it in a way that other people could relate to, and in some way hopefully feel less alone in their own experiences of how they view and experience that sexuality.  This is why the “US” in erogenoUS is capitalized, because while these are my personal, true life, experiences, I feel a lot of these core issues are universally relatable on some level, regardless of all the various categories that the world uses to box us into.

At least that is my hope.  Think of me as the beacon in the interwebs calling out to you, “You are not alone!”  erogenoUS is ALL of “US”

But, I allowed  a voice (that was well-meaning at the time) to shake my tree enough to fill me with uncertainty and fear.  I questioned if what I was doing really had any impact, or if it was just a waste of good data storage.shhhhhh

I went silent.

You didn’t!

You started following me on Twitter, “liked” me on Facebook, you read my posts even when it looked like I had abandoned ship.  You, my readers and fans, kept showing me support!  I was wondering how there was still momentum in silence.

And I know I owe that to the following seriously sexy bloggers:

  • Lady Cheeky, who tweeted me as a fave sex blogger every Friday even when I was total AWOL.  Thank you for all of your support of me and my blog, and for not forgetting me even when I was abandoning myself.
  • The Redhead Bedhead for all the re-tweets and for the amazing writing you are doing, your Super Hero Sex Shop Tour, and your commitment to sex geekery at it’s finest!

I want to send out a big THANK YOU to Venice and Ryan @ Fuckblogging.com for making me #9 on your “Quarter 2 2013 Top Ten Sex Blogs”!  Your  review of erogenoUS made my heart jump with happy, and reminded me of just why I write here!  It was the final nudge from the universe that I needed to know my original direction was where I still needed to be embarking on.  You guys ROCK!

noshhSo, ladies and gents, I’m back and here to stay!!!

However right now, I need to go get some much-needed sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Ruth Lied To You: Size Does Matter

drruthWhen I was younger, say around 12 or 13, I loved watching talk shows. Remember Sally Jesse Raphael? Aw, yeah, one of my favorites to watch on those not so exciting after school afternoons. This one particular show Sally had on Dr. Ruth, and I have always remembered her cute, mischievous, wrinkle-adorned face, teaching me and the rest of the audience in t.v. land, in her adorable German accent, while referring to penises, “It’s not the length or the size of the penis that matters, but it’s how you use it!”

I’m sorry, Dr. Ruth, but here I stand (ok, I’m really sitting) at 37 years old to tell you that is utter and complete bullshit. Penis size MATTERS.

Allow me, blogging world, to share with you why size does matter, at least to me. Honestly, any woman who tells you it doesn’t matter is lying to one degree or another. Cock size matters, it’s just not always a negative slant on how or why it does.

Exhibit A: Chia Pet

When I was around the age of 26 I had a male friend that I was really attracted to. He was HUGE; all of 6′ 5″ tall, blonde, and in great shape. Tres Nordic. There’s a fun story here, but I’m going to get to the real meat of the subject for now: his meat. *smiles* Yes, his cock was by far the largest and most impressive in length and girth that I have yet to come across, no pun intended.

Now, I am a huge fan of fellatio as some of you may have read here on my blog. I absolutely love giving head, and I know I am damn good at it, as confirmed by many a lover. (thank you alt.sex pages, for all those tips back in 1999) However, my favorite pastime was seriously thwarted when I chiapetwas in bed with him. This was the first and only time this has a) happened to me and b) that I slept with this guy. I’m no porn star deep throat, but I can relax my mouth enough to take the fullness of a man’s cock in, with this exception. I was licking and sucking away, my mouth increasingly filling with the swell of him, until finally I sat up on my knees, looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’m sorry, I just can’t do this, it’s not humanly possible”.

Hence, this man has forever been named “Chia Pet” in my lexicon of lovers because he just kept growing, and growing, and growing! Cha-cha-cha-CHIA!

The unfortunate side effect of men with huge penises is that I think they tend to rely on their cock size alone to get them by as far as bedroom skills are concerned, and while I do like a longer and thicker penis on my lovers, if you don’t know how to use it, you might as well just stop before you get started with me.

Relying on your size alone is not going to help you pass the test. That’s like thinking that reading Cliff’s Notes will provide you the wealth of actually reading the book itself! Make sure you know how to fence if your going to bring that sword to my bed! Touche!

There is a lot a skilled tongue can make up for, but you just can’t replace a man who has rhythm and finesse when it comes to pleasuring you with his man meat. Yep, I said “man meat” LOL

 

Exhibit B: The Tall and The Short Of It

I had been dating this rather tall, large-framed, man from Canada. We’ll call him “Big C” for this example. He was kind of bordering on fat, save for his stature.

We had been sexual partners for several months, and I almost married him due to an early midlife crisis. Thank God for the sudden awakening of common sense! (It was like thun-dah, light-ning…) Anyhoo, when I say tall think 6’4″! That is a LOT of man, but although one would imagine his body parts would be similarly proportioned, alas, they were not.

Now, he wasn’t what I would consider small by any means, just on the lower end of the median of cock sizes, and his girth was less thick. He wasn’t a pencil dick, but his cock wasn’t burly like the rest of him. He fit in my mouth well, he felt good to ride, everything seemed ok. That was until the shortest of all my lovers came back into the picture.

I was really just waiting for the right time to disengage from “Big C”. I was coming out of my pre-mid-life crisis, waking up to my inner “Danger Will Robinson, Danger!” alarm, and needed to get that guy out of my life, STAT. He was a serious train wreck, and I did not want to be riding that train when it collided with life head on! I would love to pretend this relationship never happened, but alas, it did. Of course, I’d love to pretend the relationship with “Short Stuff” didn’t happen either, but lets just say I have learned a lot in recent years, School of Hard Knocks style.

What was the point again? Oh, yes, cock size….

So, previously to this relationship with Big C, I had been lovers with Short Stuff, and the stars and moons aligned such that we were all at this same camp out one summer. Short Stuff is the shortest man I have ever been lovers with. Shorter than all 5’8″ of me, SS was only 5’6″ tall. He once told me that “tall women were worth the climb”, and he was so right.

I ended up sneaking off with Short Stuff for a morning tenting rendezvous (read as sexy time in a tent), unbeknownst to Big C. The moment I climbed on top of him and slid my pussy down over his awaiting cock, I knew. I knew exactly what I had been missing! He was long, but not overly so, and thick. I reveled in the feel of his cock filling me so fully, it was like a hand in a fine silk glove. The way his rock-hard shaft pressed out against my juicy walls, and how if I slid all the way down him his tip nestled snug against my cervix was nothing short of pure unadulterated HEAVEN! I couldn’t get enough of how he felt inside me. I was ravenous for the feeling I had been unaware I had been missing for all these months! And although one might imagine he would have been more average in size, his cock was the beast of inches that his stature lacked.

cucumbersI learned two things from this tawdry sexcapade: A) Size DOES matter, at least to me. It just feels so much better to be so utterly and completely filled, and B) We are all the same height while lying down *smiles*

So, know this my male counterparts in readership land, size does indeed matter to us women, no matter how much we either are programmed to not believe so, or lead you to believe through our own omission. Your cock size matters to us whether it’s too big for us to swallow, too small for us to really get off on, or whatever it may be for us each individually. Just like you have your preferences for our breast size, or for the tightness, or lack thereof, of our vaginas, your cock size matters to us too. This is my own personal experience. As always, your mileage may vary.

 

Reminders of An August Afternoon: Love, Marriage, Infidelity and Justification

This amazing blogger friend of mine, Fern, posted this that really touched me, first in a way that hit a tender spot and was uncomfortable to read, and second in a way that I then remembered how closely I could relate to.

This movie, Take This Waltz, well, the clip here sums my, and many others, experiences up in a few short beautifully composed moments of film.  I recently saw this on the instant download list on my cable channel for new movies, and I passed it by when I read the synopsis because it just wasn’t a place I wanted to go emotionally.  I was so done with polyamory, and those men in my life for whom I was not their only lover.  I just was done with this storyline because I had lived it, and more than once.

I was forgetting when I was the person who wanted more, who wanted someone else.  I can justify my own desires and actions away with the various things that were going on in my life at that time, how I’d been and was being treated by the person I was married to at that time, or that somehow “it’s so not the same”, but it would all be a lie.  An excuse.

It was exactly the same.

I was married to a man for just over a year, separated just under the wire short of 12 months.  There’s a lot of back story there, but that doesn’t matter as much as this one story in particular.

In the summer of 2011, one August morning, I was yahoo messaging with my friend Norris (you all might know him from my posts here as ex-FWB).  He told me how his son had said how it would be cool to get to hang with me and my daughter again sometime.  I didn’t take this at face value, as Norris was fond of asking excuses about seeing me.  If he wanted to see me, he would make a reason for it, it was never because he simply wanted to.  I know this because he had confessed it to me before.  So, I read into this, and knowing how the kids hadn’t seen one another since they were like 9 or 10 years old, this just reeked of total fabricated excuse.  Hr just wanted to see me, and I wanted to see him.

I was nervous about this because of the feelings it excited in me.  I wanted to squash down the desire to see him, the happiness that he was reaching out to me, and the eager anticipation with which I looked forward to it as it eventually grew closer once I finally agreed to an afternoon together.  I wanted to make excuses to get out of it at first because of the awkwardness that I knew would be there.  My husband would be there.  They had never met one another.

It was a late August afternoon, and we were going to spend it at the pool that is in my community.  It was not very hot, but we were going to eek out the very last bit of summer that was left, and enjoy that last pool day even if the water was super cold.  This would be fun for the kids, and good for us, with lots of personal space.

They were late and my husband who was very fond of naps (and pretty much a slow-moving, low-energy dude), decided to leave the pool and go back to our house for one.  The Norris and his son arrived after much delay.  It was late afternoon and the pool was mostly in the shade now, and fairly quiet, with only a few scattered people still resting on lawn chairs in what remained of the sun.

My daughter was in the water and beckoned the son in.  This left the two of us, Norris and I, to sit at a poolside table underneath the shade of the umbrella to talk alone.  I had gotten out of the pool only minutes before they walked in, and I was shaking.  I thought this was due to the fact that the water was now fairly frigid, and although the air was warm, there was a breeze that was constant, and the air across my goose-bumpled skin was causing me to shiver.   Then moment came when I realized that this should have passed by now, as although I was bikini clad, I was wrapped up in a large towel and should have been warmed.  I then not only became nervous at being in the same space together again after so long, but anxious at the realization that my trembling was now more nerves than chill.    Norris sat across from me, a safe distance between us.

We talked.  Nothing said was pointed or floated on any sexy innuendo, but there it was; desire.  Not the kind of desire, at least for me, that would have me holding myself back from wanting more right then, in that moment, restrained merely by circumstance, but more so desire that was the kind that is omnipresent between two people who are like souls.

That desire, that uncomfortable remembering of our past, was sitting there like a third wheel between my towel-clad shivering body, and his over-sized polo shirt and wrinkled chinos.  I notice these details because this is unlike him, Norris was always well dressed, and wrinkled clothing that was too big for him was never to be seen on him, ever.  I worry that I look fat in my bikini as I allow myself to unfurl the towel now that my shivering has dissipated.  I relax my body into the back of he chair, cross my legs, and keep worrying he thinks I look fat.

After not too long, my husband walks through the pool gate, and begins his slow walk towards us.  Norris asks if this is him, and I confirm it.  And then the awkward grows.

I introduce them for the first time, hands are shaked, and pleasantries exchanged.  My husband says something like, “So, Portia tells me you’ve known one another for a long time”, and the conversation continues.  I remember not feeling sure how to act. As much as I was angry at my husband for many things then, I was still very much in love with him.  And as much as I was married and in love, I was more deeply in love with Norris.

(I almost erased “more deeply”, but that would have been a big lie, and since I am not one for lying, I left it)

I didn’t want to not be myself with my husband, didn’t want to hold back my usual affections, but I also didn’t want to be overly affectionate in front of Norris towards him either.  It’s a strange feeling when you’re trying to balance the emotions of two people, well ok, three.  One, I didn’t want my husband to think I was acting strange. Two, I didn’t want Norris to feel…I don’t know what…hurt?  Uncomfortable?  I suppose whatever the feelings he had when we had lunch one day, many years before this, when remarked at the pictures of my then ex-boyfriend and I in Hawaii still framed and on the wall in the dining room with us, after I had tried to remind myself to take them down because I knew Norris would notice.

I felt like I was walking on a high wire above the ring, trying desperately to find the balance that would keep this whole event pleasant and sociable.

It was around 5 o’clock by this time and I decided that perhaps we should all go back to he house so I could start on dinner.  I had invited them to stay for burgers and such a last BBQ ha-rah of the fading summer.  The kids climb out of the pool, and we all meander back to the house.

The real mind blower came when I was in the kitchen making the salad, and Norris and Husband and both kids, were both out in the back yard at the picnic table just jabbering away together famously.  My husband was getting more time to talk to the person I wanted to be talking to and spending time with.

The night was fun.  Dinner was great, conversations flowed effortlessly, dessert was had and martial arts movies introduced.  At one point Norris was sitting on the sofa and I sat down next to him, nt close, but close enough, and he shot off that thing like he was shot froma cannon!  He offered my husband the seat.  It was a large sofa, and there was more than enough room for all of us on it comfortably.

Goodbyes were made around 8:30 ish.

But after….

After the door closed, my daughter whisked me upstairs and told me “You made the wrong choice.  That was the guy you should have married!”, and this just messed with me because that was the guy I wanted to marry, but he never asked.

The husband, well, later that night he asked me if Norris and I had ever slept together, and I blushed like a school girl embarrassed by the surprise questioning, and said “Yes, but that was a long time ago”.  He told me he could tell the minute he walked inside the pool gate and saw us.  He said he could tell just from the way we were sitting, how we were with one another.  I was unsure how he could tell that from two people not even sitting beside one another, with a whole table separating them for safety.   I don’t know what he saw.  Maybe he made that up, maybe he really saw something I was unaware of.   He said two people can’t be sitting together like we were when you’ve never been intimate with each other before.  I don’t know.  I didn’t see what he saw.  I only felt what I was feeling.  I’m not sure what the tell-tale sign was.  I wouldn’t have thought, looking at us, that we were anything more than friends.

The next two weeks were pure emotional upheaval.  I was getting my period and blamed my irrational thoughts on that emotional unraveling that sometimes comes with that time of the month.  I told myself to take a deep breath and relax, but all I could think about was Norris.  He was all I thought about, all I wanted to think about.

My husband, who I knew really didn’t love me (and that’s not a made up feeling to help me excuse my own, it just was…he was pining for his ex-wife…for the life he screwed up), was just not paying attention because it was evident that something was stirring madly inside me.  I played the song that Norris had once told me made him think of me, over and over and over again on YouTube.  I sang it in the shower, while cooking dinner.  I was preoccupied.  I was running around the track at he Y fueled by a desperate fire inside me that would not let me go, that incessantly tossed my heart about, a fragile paper heart, floating on the heat of something that was once in a way, could’ve been, but never could be now.

And he had turned me away anyway a year earlier.  Norris told me he loved me, always had loved me but could never bring himself to tell me, and then after he finally told me, told me all the reasons why we could never be.  What was I thinking?

I was going mad.

I needed to be alone to talk myself off this emotional ledge.

I was guilty of the very thing I hated my husband for.  I made every excuse to justify how what I was feeling, thinking, wanting, yearning for was somehow different from what I hated my husband for feeling towards his ex-wife, and although yes, there are circumstances and back story here that you would probably agree that I was MORE than justified too in my thoughts, but even in the light of all that murky dark, we would both be wrong because it was all in secret, all kept neatly hidden.

I was now no different.

When I did have the chance to act though, one year earlier (and only a month before my wedding date), when he called me one night and wanted to whisk me away for a quickie, I said no.  I didn’t want to either, I wanted to say hell yes, yes yes, but I didn’t.  At least I have that integrity of my heart.

We are not as perfect as we would like to imagine.  Our lives are not all cut and dry, clean and neat, like we would like to pretend.  Our real emotions our deepest thoughts and most secret yearnings are no different, or any less unscathed than those of our neighbors.  We can judge.  We can sit back and say what someone has is better, or more perfect, but it never is.

I knew my husband and his previous wife long before he became my one-year husband.  On the outside looking in, I thought what they shared was perfect, and how that was the kind of love I wanted.  I was never more wrong in al my life. 13 years after meeting them I knew it was the FARTHEST thing from what I ever wanted in a relationship.

I’m ready to watch that movie now.   I also don’t want to go there again.

So you know, my divorce had nothing to do with the events of this August afternoon, or any day after involving Norris, or my feelings for him.  That story can come another day.

I don’t miss my ex-husband for a minute, but I miss Norris every day.