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. =)

Adventures in Sexting and Why I Love The Art of the Flirt

It all started with some flirty sexting one morning on my commute to work, and ended with me in the men’s private bathroom at work fingering myself.

Flirting makes me feel so alive.  It’s an instant high that spreads through my whole body starting with a smile on my face, a flush of warmth across my skin, and moves downward to crescendo into full blown juiciness between my legs (if done well).  I’d say it’s like a drug, but of course it is, it’s dopamine, baby.   It’s the (for the most part) kind of high I get from running, which is kind of funny, because as I was Googling around I found this article that basically discusses this same parallel.

I love it even more when it’s done with someone who understands the fine art of seduction, and who enjoys the art of subtly.  I love the mental “cat and mouse” game.  Teasing, chasing, and getting caught are so much fun.  And when he tells me how hard I make him with our flirtatious interludes, I can’t hep but feel intensely satisfied at the thought.  Thinking of that always makes me smile like the Cheshire Cat.

So one morning this week as I was commuting to work (don’t worry, I wasn’t driving at the time), some random flirty text messages transported me from the hum drum of the usual routine, and into a dopamine-induced fantasy land of arousal that literally had my head dizzy with want.

sextingThey started with that playful subtly that I love, little innuendoes that tease, and eventually worked their way into full-blown sexting at it’s finest.  I could feel my pussy literally dripping tight with desire at the thought of his face buried deep between my thighs covered in my juices, imagining his tongue lapping at my clit as he slid 2…3…4…fingers deep inside my hungry cunt.  And that was just the beginning, just the opening tease to make my body ache with need for his cock to be sliding into me like a hot knife through butter.   It was a wonder I had even made it into the building at work without walking straight into a wall in the haze he had me in.

When I finally made it in and settled, I was downstairs in a common room we all share for lunches.  Two other women were there also engaged with their phones, but definitely not having an experience like I was.  I could feel my skin flush with lust, and as much as I can hide my inner world, there is only so long  and so well one can hide a ravenous primal hunger.   I became aware that I was making impish faces and involuntary light moans.  I was sitting with my legs crossed so I could rub my clit between my thighs without anyone noticing, a trick I learned when I was 14 while reading the book The Joy of Sex, and I just knew the dizzying cloud of my arousal was now too much to go unnoticed.

I told him it was a good thing he was so far away because if he were here, I would not be able to control myself.  My willpower was at zero, and I would have NEEDED to touch him.  Nothing was truer.

I know, you’re thinking what would be so wrong with that?  And while I am single, he is not.  And no, he’s not polyamorous (which I am actually quite thankful for because honestly I’ve had my share of that for this lifetime, thank you).  I suppose if I was his girlfriend I would probably want to strangle the shit out of me (and him) if I knew we were having such a lascivious sexting romp, but then really, nothing is really happening.  It’s all just talk.  No one is acting on anything close to this, however, in those moments if he had been in the same room with me, my desire was so rampant that it would have been near impossible to control.  So, luckily I wasn’t actually in that position because I don’t want to be a shitty human. willpower

Fictional moral dilemmas aside…at least I could give myself the release my body was begging for.

With my lustful desires now being impossible to adequately hide, I took myself upstairs and into the one place I knew was quiet and no one would bother me: the men’s private bathroom.  It’s tucked away in a part of the building that no one seems to bother to go to, which makes it the perfect spot to feel comfortable enough to touch myself without fear of being interrupted.  I’m a very vocal lover, even when solo, so there was no way I could take myself all the way over the edge, but at least I could rub some of this torrid desire out of myself so I could at least attempt at being focussed on work and not distracted by all the lurid thoughts I was having about what I wanted to be doing with him.

I slipped into the bathroom, locked the door behind me, pulled my pants down around my hips, and slid my fingers inside my warm, wet, slit.  I stroked my clit with the lightest of fingertips to tease myself.  I couldn’t resist sending him a photo of my fingers covered in my juices.  He told me he thought that was fucking hot and that he wanted to lick them clean.  That just made me wetter.  I was almost going to post the photo here, but decided it was more erotic to me to keep that just between the two of us.

I teased myself some more, sliding fingers up inside my pussy to caress my g-spot and free myself from the desperate need to be filled by his cock.  I knew I couldn’t keep going for much longer because if I had cum, there would have been no being quiet about it, so I fixed my clothing, splashed some cool water on my face, and did my best attempt at going back to my room to focus on the day.  I can tell you it was definitely not free of distractions, as I found myself lulled into daydreams of him bending me over, holding me down, and burying his cock deep inside my ass.

It made for a most interesting day to say the least.  Admittedly, those same thoughts have been distracting me ever since.

It’s All Or Nothing

Lately my libido has been confusing me. I normally think I have a fairly high libido, as far as female libidos go comparison-wise, but it seems to be playing hide n’ seek with me recently. I spend much more time seeking it than I would care too. It used to be reliably omnipresent. I know these things ebb and flow, but my libido’s recent “no-show” is messing with my head (the little tiny pink one, that is).

See, the confusing thing is that I’m actually quite horny, but when I go to release those wonderful pent-up emotions via a little night time diddle before sleep, I can’t seem to find a fantasy that I can stick with, let alone one that really sets me aflame. This leads to me sort of diddling aimlessly, like paddling downstream with only one oar, and not really knowing where you’re going, i.e. extremely frustrating and not very much fun.

This leads me to missing my ex-FWB, but the sex with him really wasn’t all that great (despite the fact that my desire for him is insatiable, so I end up having to make stuff up. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t awful by any means, it just wasn’t good. It seems like a painful dichotomy to have so much sexual desire for someone you know isn’t the greatest in bed, but I guess that’s love for you. You know, I never once had an orgasm with him, faked more than my fair share, but I still loved being with him. This confuses me to this day, but I digress.

You see, I have a penchant to only really enjoy fantasizing about men that I have been with before, or may be with some day. I was never down for imagining myself with celebrities, or strangers. It isn’t what gets me off. Reality is far more exciting, or at least embellishing the reality at hand, more so than something that has no possibility of happening. To this extent, I have had extensive sexual imaginings about a gentleman in my running group, and I really have no clue if it ever would get anywhere near to happening in reality, but it sure is fun to create the vision of in my head! I guess I get off on the possibility of it. I like to imagine what his cock looks like, what it tastes like, what it would be like to ride him, what his lips would feel like, and generally what he’d be like in bed. Sometimes I feel mildly guilty or dare I say shameful for fantasizing such lucid sexual escapades with someone I literally brush shoulders with on such rare occasion, never speak to, and have weekly Words With Friends games with. LOL

You know, I am kind of picky, and it isn’t every day (or even every month) that I look at a man and feel real sexual chemistry, but this guy kissed me on the cheek at our holiday party, and I knew right then what I’d prefer to be doing with him…on top of a nearby table. Points south said “Oh, yesssssssss” This does not happen very often.

What on earth was I talking about? Wow, talk about major sexual ADD, Bat Man….panties

Fantasizing and reality….yeah, that’s it.

So, of the “usual suspects” in my sexual fantasy play book, I just can’t seem to pick one I’m happy with lately. In addition to being heavily turned on by the possibilities that reality in fantasy holds, I also like emotional connection.

Since I am not feeling the desire to connect with any of these men in reality, this is having an adverse affect on my fantasy life. I just don’t feel emotionally comfortable screwing even my own “Holodeck” images of them.

Lately, the ex-boyfriend from 7 years ago seems to be making an appearance in my fantasies. He’s the “Go To” fantasy guy lately because we had such fantastic real-life sexual chemistry, and I guess he’s far enough back in my past that I can only remember what he did to hurt me/piss me off, and I am not actively feeling it. I like to imagine us fucking in the shower because he looked so fucking amazing naked and wet, and we did spend quite a lot of naughty time in bathrooms together, be it our own, or friends’ bathrooms. *smiles* Plus, and I suppose this is such a girl thing to say, I absolutely cum over how the slope of his back looked; the delicious and sinuous curve of his spine from the rise of his shoulders to the dip right above the curve of his ass makes me wet just remembering how it looked glistening underneath the cascade of water from the shower head above. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm. Yes, have some.

Still, in our final days he took the word “asshole” to a whole new level, so this eventually works it’s way into my head and kills my clit buzz.

So, no ex-FWB, no runing guy, and no ex from 7 years ago working out in my fantasies.

I just need to meet someone new. I need a little romance, and the invigorating “tet te tet” of flirting that ensues in the beginning chase. Of course, for me to really want this that has to be a brain flexing its muscles behind the brawn, otherwise it’s a no go.

To quote Huey Lewis, “I want a new drug. One that won’t make me sick”

In other news….these are my latest “me” splurge.  New panties make everything better.


Love In An Elevator

So, I am working on this article for one of the sites I write for, and I keep procrastinating.  I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the subject matter in the moment, and so I keep letting myself get easily distracted.  I was in the middle of reading something for research purposes, and suddenly started thinking back to this morning.  The lovely, and might I add, saucy Fern DeVilliers at The Fur Files posted a link to an article over on Smut For Smarties (Hey, Cheeky!) on different arousal types, and so I got all involved in taking the questionnaire on just that subject, which will be used to aid in research on women’s sexuality by Dr. Petra Zebroff.

Question #18 asks the respondent to describe a real sexual fantasy (I love the irony there) in the past 4 weeks to increase arousal/orgasm.  It said you could use as little or as much detail as you felt comfortable.  Seeing as my particular fantasy is all about the details, I erred on the latter.  For me to not use exquisite details when recounting this vision of mine would have felt empty and half-hearted; two things which my fantasy world is definitely not.

And thus, all attempts to focus on doing what I should’ve been doing were not only successfully thwarted, but now I was in the throes of full-blown arousal at it’s finest.

In order to type out my fantasy in vivid, full-color detail, I had to bring it to life inside of me.  It’s the breath blown across the sparks from stick and flint smoldering, or the spark of genius in the eye of an artist as they take to their canvas, and are suddenly transported into another realm as they flesh out their inner vision on the canvas before them.  I, as such, was instantly transported into my own private world of sex and sensuality.  These two attributes are inherently inextricably married, for me, in terms of sexual fantasy.

Admittedly, my response is not as well-composed as I would usually write if I were writing for you here, or for publication elsewhere, but retouching it now seems false to me, so I will leave it exactly as I entered it into their provided text box.  The timing is also a bit sped up for conciseness in replying purposes only.  In my head, these events are not quite so 1, 2, 3.  In fantasy, I get to be the director; composing each angle and view, each moment that deserves more lingering focus lingering, the pace of the scene, and every minute detail down to costume and mood.  Everything is deliberate.  I get off on the details.  In this fantasy, I get off on the insatiable hunger of raw, unrelenting, masculine prowess, and most of the men I imagine are those who wield their masculinity with an ownership of themselves that cannot be denied or dismissed.  (Good lord, I hope season 6 of Mad Men starts soon! LOL)   When I want to relinquish my control, I want it to be with someone I see as an Alpha; well matched against my own feminine energies of equal strength.

I give you this window into my fantasy life.



Being in a glass elevator several stories up in mid ascent with a man (think Don Draper from Mad Men). We’re dressed in business attire.  He stops the elevator between floors, turns and presses my back against the  glass wall of the elevator.  His bulging erection rubbing against me with intent. He kisses me deeply, and allows his hand to slide down my body, and begins massaging my pubic mound through my black pencil skirt.  He holds me against the wall so I cannot break away, letting me know I’m his and he plans to take me.  Using the weight of his body he holds mine in place, and uses both his hands to hike up my skirt around my hips, then dives with the fingers of one hand down the front of my panties and slips them between my lips to feel the warm juices that have grown between them.  He lifts his finger to his lips to taste me, with intense eye contact throughout.  He unbuckles his belt with that same hand, and frees his rampant cock, which he then allows to slide between my legs, rubbing against the thin fabric crotch of my panties.  Kisses me like a wolf with his hunted prey, captured.  He yanks my panties down around my ankles, and lifts my body somewhat to rest on the small bar across the see-through wall.  We know people can see us but do not care.   We’re in our own world up there.  He thrusts his awaiting invader between my legs, and deep inside me.  I wrap my knees against the sides of his body.  He takes me, and we both come fiercely and quickly.  Too much heat between us to hold out against the edge of our climax.  He stays in me, eyes locked with mine, until he feels himself begin to soften.  He lowers me down gently, still keeping me where he wants me, he gives me one last soul-probing kiss, before he relinquishes me some modicum of space to adjust myself, as he tucks himself back in to his trousers. He presses the elevator button and we resume our ascent.  As we depart on the same floor and go our separate ways, I stoop quickly to retrieve my delicate black panties that lay satisfied on the elevator floor


When you take yourself to your edge, what do you see?  On more than one night, this is what I sail to the crest of mine on.

Flying Solo: Myths About Masturbation and Women

This summer I was on a road trip with two male friends.  We were an interesting mix, the three of us.  While I have known both of these men for relatively the same amount of time, each I have known at different depths and ways of relating.  The older of the two, Emrys, I have known for 15 years.  I was 22 turning 23 when we met, and he was 45.  We have been lovers on and off to varying degrees for all of this time.  The younger of the two, C, was around 10 years old at that same time, and is now around age 25.  I was lovers with his father for a very brief time.  Emrys is C’s father’s longtime friend.  It is this connection that led to us all knowing one another.

You can see how this would make for an interesting mix, let alone an interesting car ride.

So, as road trips often go, the conversations were many and varied, not to mention, interesting to boot.  Somehow, the conversation turned to the subject of women and masturbation.  Emrys had mentioned how he had seen videos of women masturbating, and how women get off so much more differently from men when flying solo.  Not sure what videos he watched, or where, but suffice it to say that he said that the women were very obviously not just playing with themselves, but really making love to themselves.  This was evident in the way they touched themselves, and how they took their time and didn’t rush the process towards the inevitable goal of orgasm.  This, he said, seemed to be a stark contrast to the way men masturbate.

I had to stop him there because this was such a stereotype, and I myself disproved it on most nights where I was sleeping alone.  Yes, it’s a myth that we are always these languid lovers of ourselves when masturbating.  Sometimes, we just want a quickie with ourselves too!

Yes, not all of us ladies are taking the long, drawn out approach to romancing our vulva!  Sometimes, we just want to get in and get out.  Sometimes we need “take out”, and not the full four course meal.  Occasionally this is about time, but also it’s just sometimes what we desire.  Basically men, what I am saying here is we’re not the loftier side of lovemaking when it comes to getting down with ourselves.  While some of us would like you to think we are, in reality, we’re just like you.

I like to masturbate before bed.  Right now I’m single, so I don’t share my bed with a partner on a regular nightly basis.  So, after the usual bedtime routine of teeth brushing and facial moisturizers, I climb in between my nice cool Egyptian cotton sheets, and settle in for slumber.  Crisp cool sheets feel so incredibly good on warm skin.  This is a great time for some self-lovin’ because I’m all nice and clean, naked, warm, and relaxed.  Basically, it’s a recipe for great sex all around, solo or not.  I tend to always masturbate at night because it’s when I have the most free time.  If I masturbate during the day, which I occasionally do, it’s because I’m incredibly horny, and have alone time, or rather, a combination of both.

I kind of envy you men because it seems like it’s so much easier for you to get off during the day with enough privacy.  We women need to remove far more clothing to do so, and be someplace the familiar buzz of our favorite toy can’t easily be heard.  Well, that’s me at least.  I like my battery operated fun. Coming by fingers alone takes me much longer than daytime quickies in the office bathroom might allow for.  I also envy men, and other women,  that don’t need anything more than their hand to make themselves come, because my vibrator is my best friend when it comes to solo sex.  The first time I came with just the touch and strum of my fingers on my clit, and inside of my vagina, I literally called a friend in celebration!  It was midnight too.  That’s what happens when you’re horny and stuck without battery operated toys for a week.  Honestly, battery operated toys make me a lazy lover to myself, but damn, it still feels good and gets the job done in less time.  Partner sex is where I want to spend my hours, and it never requires the use of batteries. 

On some nights I like to take my time, but honestly, on most nights I want to just do it, be done, and get some sleep.  Yes, that means I want pleasure, to have an orgasm, and then to go to sleep.  On some nights when I can’t sleep, but may not have had the urge to diddle my girly bits, and I’ll end up using masturbation as a natural sleep aid.   This can either work wonders where I fall asleep instantly afterwards, or it can actually end up making me more awake than I was before I started.  I hate when I end up being more awake, but I have found now that if I repeat the process, I will fall asleep. This is just taking all of the mystery out of the self-lovin’ for you guys, isn’t it? Sorry!

Some nights the pleasure is just so delicious that I don’t want it to end, and so I will slow down and keep myself from falling over the edge too soon.  I love this because it just builds the pleasure to that much greater a height, so that when I do eventually come it’s with earth-shattering intensity.  Even then, still not the best orgasm ever.  Orgasms with partners still always seem more intense than the most profoundly pleasurable solo-gasm, to me.

I always fantasize about someone I know, and almost always someone I have already been intimate with, though what I imagine between us may or may not have ever happened.  I like to imagine threesomes with men, each of whom I have been lovers separately with, but never have together.  Nor will that threesome ever really be possible in real life, but oh, it is deliriously erotic to conjure fantasies of, despite this.  I suppose this is why we call them fantasies.  I also have some exhibitionist fantasies as well.  However, some fantasies that I imagine are really true moments that I shared with lovers; I recall and recount every salacious detail in my mind’s eye, and relive their desirous intricacies in full color mental detail.

And if I feel like it’s taking me a little too long to reach my edge, or I’m stuck on the plateau I sometimes get where I just can’t seem to feel like I’m ever going to come, then I have fantasies to combat that too.  I have certain fantasies that will instantly seem to change my inner road block, and bring me to orgasm fairly immediately.  Like you’re heard people say before, orgasm really is 90% in your head.

So there you have it men; myths, busted!