"... with your eyes..."
What do you mean?
"It's just.. you stare at me. Like through me. It's really intense."
Oh, I'm sorry.
"No, I love it."
And with those few words my mind is sent racing back to the night before. How she was mad at me for taking too long getting ready. And how glad I was to see you at dinner. Wearing a hat pulled down over your still-long hair and cocked over one eye so I could just catch a glimpse of that rich brown with the fire behind it as you looked me up and down walking in the door. I said I was dressed up for the holiday, you knew better. You knew it was for you. The dark jeans, flared at the bottom and hugging my ass at the top, my favorite purple and grey high heels, the brand new silver halter top with a neckline cut down to there. You give me a half smile from beneath your hat and I forget everyone else in the crowded restaurant.
Until you look away and I remember we're out with friends and that means we have to be discreet. Because you say so. Still, as I slide into the corner seat on the booth, you quickly take the spot next to me. You fumble with your jacket and look at me and I smile, of course I'll take it. Our friends order drinks. You don't because you don't drink and I don't because I don't have anything that says I'm of age. So we order dinner and it takes a while but the waiter is quick with our drinks. We all laugh and my fears that this group would be awkward dissolve as everyone settles in for dinner. There are a few moments where I let my hand drop to the booth and brush your knee, knowing you can't help but flinch. You swat my hand away.
I go back to flirting with the person across the table.You notice. Especially when I reach across and say "oh, for that you owe me some of that mojito!" and there's no protest as we linger just a split second too long for comfort.
She's not mad at me anymore and asks me to join her for a cigarette. I don't realize we're going outside so I don't grab my coat and when I ask you to pass me mine, you hand me yours. There's another splitsecond moment where your hands touch mine and you flash me just the hint of a smile and I'm sure my cheeks flush. I slip my arms through the sleeves and pull the sides tight around me, happy to be enveloped in your warmth and the scent of you while we are out in the open.
Flash forward two hours and we're sitting on a couch, closer than we need to be, since the group has thinned to just five of us. But still, now in this more relaxed place, while the rest of us are drinking - and you're sipping the sparkling cider we got you - your hand goes to the small of my back just to remind me you're there. As if I could forget.
We play cards and we all laugh at the half-and-more naked men pictured there. Then suddenly, there are three minutes left. We all have champagne and someone suggests we go each say what we have planned. He says he's going to focus on his music. He says he's going to get all A's. She says she's going to get into business school. I say I'm going to finally get that job at the magazine. We come to you and you say you're going to stop dating crazy people and find someone who makes you happy. We all pause for just a moment. Then we cheer and I yell hell yeah! and you smile and... take a sip of my champagne. Which makes us cheer louder. And you smile broader. You seem happy and that makes me even happier.
Then it's 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1!!!
We all yell and clink out glasses and I look to you and wonder if you're...
before I can finish thinking it, you pull me in and kiss me and I'm shocked realizing you just did that and there were people standing right next to us. And then I can't stop smiling. You look pleased with yourself.
You're driving me back to your house which is beautiful and not really your space but I love when we have it to ourselves because you're different when it's just us. You start kissing me in the kitchen and I throw my arms around your neck and the only thing I can focus on is your lips on mine, your hands around my waist, cradling my face, taking my hands and leading me upstairs.
The next several hours are a blur, but at the same time crystal clear. I don't remember who undressed whom first, but I remember you approaching me, kissing me hard and pinning me to your bed. I remember kissing back fervently, needing you because I'd been out of your arms, your bed, your life, for too long. I remember you leaning over me, pinning my hands above my head and smiling as I pretend I want to get away. And burying your face in my neck and licking the sweat just starting to form on my collarbone, my chest, my hips. I remember your gasps and every sound you made when I bit down hard like I know you like. I don't remember what you were doing when I dug my nails into your back, but I remember the flash of heat, passion, in your eyes when I did so.
And maybe that's why you remember my eyes. I couldn't take them off you. Intense? I suppose. I remember moments when all I could do was look at you, really see you, and everything I know about you, everything you know about me, everything we have been and everything we will be, was all there in your eyes. I can't describe it well enough or even start to do it justice but know that those moments are my most vivid memories of any from my somewhat recent past. They aren't fading with time.
And, truth be told, I'm counting the days until I see you again. Your smile. Your eyes. Your bed. You.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Sugasm #120
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #121? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
The Ache of Desire Unsatisfied
“J groaned in my ear, and I nearly pulled down his zipper then and there.”
Unexpected
“Tingles of electricity were set coursing up and down that side of my body.”
Part(y)ing shots
“I placed both my hands on the tiled wall in front of me, clammy and cold, holding myself up.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
The “Best way to make him felt hot”
Editor’s Choice
Who Is A Sex Worker?
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
"Are you ready to have your pussy rocked?"
Actually, no.
Thanks, but no thanks.
I appreciate the sentiment, but something about that phrase just turns me off. Let's see. Things you can rock:
A baby.
A concert.
A pair of jeans.
A mohawk.
My world.
But my pussy? Not so much.
This is the imagined conversation that took place when a man said this to me last night. He was a funny guy, and the spitting image of Jack Black. In fact, as we were leaving the party together, he asked if I remembered his name. I smiled nervously and said "...jack... black?" He chuckled. It was OK, though, because he didn't remember my name, either. Ah, college.
Anyways. After straightening out the name situation, we headed back to my place for conversation. And cuddling. Which quickly devolved into making out. Which was surprisingly pleasant. His kiss was soft, with just enough tongue and the tendency to nibble on my bottom lip and pull me closer to him. I could have spent the rest of the night like that, but he obviously had other plans. Which was OK with me.
Until he busted out that line. I had made it clear to him from the beginning that even if he spent the night in my bed, we wouldn't be having sex. (By which I mean intercourse; I just hate that word because it's so...uncomfortable and staunch.) So when he tells me he wants to rock my pussy, he's slipping his hands in my underwear. I give him the benefit of the doubt. He's a good kisser, maybe other skills will line up accordingly, cheesy sayings notwithstanding.
Or not.
Is there some school where someone tells straight boys that all women love having fingers repeatedly jabbed in their cunt?
Sure, sometimes it's great to be rough and aggressive, and I'll be the first to say so. But when you're just starting out, boys, dear god, please work me up to it. Rubbing, stroking, licking, sucking... All of these are excellent ways to make sure that when you do put your fingers inside me, I'm whimpering from pleasure and not pain.
However, under no circumstances do I ever want you to shove three fingers inside me without warning. You'd be pretty pissed if I furiously started jerking your dick with dry hands, rings and all. Yeah. Not a pleasant feeling. So spare me.
I by no means intend to imply that all men do this. But I now have this very vivid correlation between being "rocked" and a terribly uncomfortable feeling, where when I whimper and say "too hard" and grab your arm, ready to show you what would work better, you get miffed and give up all together. Weak sauce.
oh! (don't) rock me Amadeus!
Thanks, but no thanks.
I appreciate the sentiment, but something about that phrase just turns me off. Let's see. Things you can rock:
A baby.
A concert.
A pair of jeans.
A mohawk.
My world.
But my pussy? Not so much.
This is the imagined conversation that took place when a man said this to me last night. He was a funny guy, and the spitting image of Jack Black. In fact, as we were leaving the party together, he asked if I remembered his name. I smiled nervously and said "...jack... black?" He chuckled. It was OK, though, because he didn't remember my name, either. Ah, college.
Anyways. After straightening out the name situation, we headed back to my place for conversation. And cuddling. Which quickly devolved into making out. Which was surprisingly pleasant. His kiss was soft, with just enough tongue and the tendency to nibble on my bottom lip and pull me closer to him. I could have spent the rest of the night like that, but he obviously had other plans. Which was OK with me.
Until he busted out that line. I had made it clear to him from the beginning that even if he spent the night in my bed, we wouldn't be having sex. (By which I mean intercourse; I just hate that word because it's so...uncomfortable and staunch.) So when he tells me he wants to rock my pussy, he's slipping his hands in my underwear. I give him the benefit of the doubt. He's a good kisser, maybe other skills will line up accordingly, cheesy sayings notwithstanding.
Or not.
Is there some school where someone tells straight boys that all women love having fingers repeatedly jabbed in their cunt?
Sure, sometimes it's great to be rough and aggressive, and I'll be the first to say so. But when you're just starting out, boys, dear god, please work me up to it. Rubbing, stroking, licking, sucking... All of these are excellent ways to make sure that when you do put your fingers inside me, I'm whimpering from pleasure and not pain.
However, under no circumstances do I ever want you to shove three fingers inside me without warning. You'd be pretty pissed if I furiously started jerking your dick with dry hands, rings and all. Yeah. Not a pleasant feeling. So spare me.
I by no means intend to imply that all men do this. But I now have this very vivid correlation between being "rocked" and a terribly uncomfortable feeling, where when I whimper and say "too hard" and grab your arm, ready to show you what would work better, you get miffed and give up all together. Weak sauce.
oh! (don't) rock me Amadeus!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
kickin' it...third-grade style
I feel very silly. Every time you speak to me, my heart jumps and my mouth dries up, leaving me completely incapable of words. I remember entirely too much of what you've said to me in our few brief conversations. And it's so obvious to so many other people in the room, but I'm not sure you notice, because I don't know how you feel about me. You make me feel like I used to in third grade, when you have your first crush and you don't know whether to run away or run after them because you can't quite tell what these feelings you're having will do to you.
But god, do I know how I feel about you. You appear in my dreams and I wake up smiling, no matter what we were just doing in my head. In my imagination, we've already been together long enough that we're comfortable with each other and can sit together doing nothing, my legs stretched out over yours as you diligently read what we've been assigned and I read my magazine. And sitting like this, my apartment isn't so cold anymore, because you're there with me to make it so much more homey.
Then there are other nights where we're out on the town and you catch me looking at you over the top of my wine glass, and you smile at me with that grin you make such a habit of using. And I can't do anything but giggle and it's amazing how feminine you make me feel. I'll put the wine glass down and we'll go back to talking about society and how we're both going to take it on and change the world and I love how smart you are and how we fire ideas off of one another.
Of course then those nights end with you and I in my bed, wrapped up in each other, and me at your hips, your stomach, your chest, worshipping the curves not many people know you have. I see us together, walking hand in hand, lying side by side, kissing you as we fall asleep, me on your chest with my arm tightly around your waist, your fingers wrapped in my hair.
Then again, none of this ever happens, because I'm still too timid to ask you to join me for that glass of wine. You, in all your intelligence, and confidence, and everything I wish I could be. I feel like you know that I'm not there yet, not at your level, and you'd be right. I'm trying to get there, but I fear you will be long gone by the time I could keep up with you. So I will continue to smile when you look my way and hope we "accidentally" run into one another at events. Then maybe someday I'll find out if you even like girls like me. Because I sure as hell know that I like girls like you.
But god, do I know how I feel about you. You appear in my dreams and I wake up smiling, no matter what we were just doing in my head. In my imagination, we've already been together long enough that we're comfortable with each other and can sit together doing nothing, my legs stretched out over yours as you diligently read what we've been assigned and I read my magazine. And sitting like this, my apartment isn't so cold anymore, because you're there with me to make it so much more homey.
Then there are other nights where we're out on the town and you catch me looking at you over the top of my wine glass, and you smile at me with that grin you make such a habit of using. And I can't do anything but giggle and it's amazing how feminine you make me feel. I'll put the wine glass down and we'll go back to talking about society and how we're both going to take it on and change the world and I love how smart you are and how we fire ideas off of one another.
Of course then those nights end with you and I in my bed, wrapped up in each other, and me at your hips, your stomach, your chest, worshipping the curves not many people know you have. I see us together, walking hand in hand, lying side by side, kissing you as we fall asleep, me on your chest with my arm tightly around your waist, your fingers wrapped in my hair.
Then again, none of this ever happens, because I'm still too timid to ask you to join me for that glass of wine. You, in all your intelligence, and confidence, and everything I wish I could be. I feel like you know that I'm not there yet, not at your level, and you'd be right. I'm trying to get there, but I fear you will be long gone by the time I could keep up with you. So I will continue to smile when you look my way and hope we "accidentally" run into one another at events. Then maybe someday I'll find out if you even like girls like me. Because I sure as hell know that I like girls like you.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
The Reunion (Part II)
Perfect body, perfect smile
Your touch renders me servile
I love the way you speak to me
So sweet yet obscene...
I'm addicted and
You'd agree
I crave you endlessly
And I feel useful on my knees
I take comfort at your feet...
I never take my eyes off you as I do what I'm told. Your eyes scan down my body as I peel off my tank top and hastily unbutton the dark jeans hugging my hips. I step out of them and am left standing in front of you, simple black bra lifting my tits to create the closest I can come to subtle cleavage, and my favorite lace underwear hugging my now exposed hips, where I know your hands and mouth will be not soon enough. And the heels. There's no way I could meet your kiss without the support of some kind of stiletto and standing there they bring out the tone in my calves and accentuate the femininity. My soft curves stand in sharp contrast to your defined lines along your shoulders, pecs, abs and arms. I can't get enough of the strength you exude every time I look your direction.
You look at me, still standing in my bra and underwear, and I don't wait for you to tell me to get rid of those, too. The appearance I spent so long preparing has been reduced to a pile next to me and I am entirely exposed. Except for the heels. We both know they're better left on.
I look at you, waiting for your next move, and like you read my thoughts you are upon me, your teeth once again on my neck, and I'm suddenly very aware that I'll be wearing my hair down for the next week so no one asks question. After eliciting a few more sighs and whimpers from me, you shove me back and down on the bed and take to your luggage. I had wondered why you'd brought so much. Sure, it's obvious now, but that doesn't even start to cover it. You reach in and pull out from the very top of the bag - almost like you packed it knowing what you were doing - a broad, long strip of black fabric. You climb onto the bed and then onto me, pinning my hands as you kiss me again. You stare down at me and I look back at you hard, knowing I'll be deprived of the sight of you for however long you keep me that way. I notice your eyes are darker than they usually are, and I'm already shaking in anticipation.
You tie the blindfold tight around the back of my head, already tangled in my hair. You ask if you can trust me to behave myself momentarily and I smile. You know you can for this moment, and then that's it. In case you forget, as soon as I feel your body leave the bed, I sit up and playfully start to remove the blindfold. Before I can untie the knot, the weight of your body is on me again and you have stolen my hands above my head and I feel a cord tightening around my wrists as you bring them together. It's not rough, but it's not smooth, either, and you keep tightening it until I clench my hands, begging you not to go any tighter. You must tie some kind of knot, because I feel the loose ends smack against my forearms as you throw my hands down above my head.
Unable to see you and now, unable to feel you with my palms, you must know by now how badly I'm aching for you. You must know because you take your time, and I can feel you standing over me, beside me. I can feel you staring at me as I lie on the bed with nothing covering me but the ropes at my wrists. Minutes pass like hours which are probably only seconds, but the wait is killing me and I'm starting to breathe heavier just waiting for you to touch me.
Then I choke on my own breath as you bite down - hard - on my nipples and it's everything I can do not to scream and I try to bring my hands to pull you off me and of course, it's no good. You've done your job well.
Just as suddenly, you have moved motionlessly to my hip bones, and as you bite harder and harder, I can't help but buck towards you and I'm so glad you haven't silenced me yet, because I have to start begging.
"Please, oh dear god, please fuck me!"
You chuckle and tell me you thought I'd hold out longer. You're disappointed.
I whimper, because I know I shouldn't have spoken. Now you're going to take it out on me. At least, I can hope you are.
I don't feel you on the bed anymore and I crane my head to try to hear what you're doing. It's some kind of rustling, and I can't make out the sound but that moment I feel you climb back on the bed and then you're on me again, one of your bare legs between mine. You lower your body on to mine and I sense a calmness in you as I feel your breath on my shoulder, my neck, my cheek. You kiss me. Slow, long, deep. I smile and exhale slowly as you pull your lips from mine and bring them next to my ear.
"You ready to do as I say?" you ask me, half-crooning, half-growling.
"Oh, yes sir."
"That's more like it."
Your touch renders me servile
I love the way you speak to me
So sweet yet obscene...
I'm addicted and
You'd agree
I crave you endlessly
And I feel useful on my knees
I take comfort at your feet...
I never take my eyes off you as I do what I'm told. Your eyes scan down my body as I peel off my tank top and hastily unbutton the dark jeans hugging my hips. I step out of them and am left standing in front of you, simple black bra lifting my tits to create the closest I can come to subtle cleavage, and my favorite lace underwear hugging my now exposed hips, where I know your hands and mouth will be not soon enough. And the heels. There's no way I could meet your kiss without the support of some kind of stiletto and standing there they bring out the tone in my calves and accentuate the femininity. My soft curves stand in sharp contrast to your defined lines along your shoulders, pecs, abs and arms. I can't get enough of the strength you exude every time I look your direction.
You look at me, still standing in my bra and underwear, and I don't wait for you to tell me to get rid of those, too. The appearance I spent so long preparing has been reduced to a pile next to me and I am entirely exposed. Except for the heels. We both know they're better left on.
I look at you, waiting for your next move, and like you read my thoughts you are upon me, your teeth once again on my neck, and I'm suddenly very aware that I'll be wearing my hair down for the next week so no one asks question. After eliciting a few more sighs and whimpers from me, you shove me back and down on the bed and take to your luggage. I had wondered why you'd brought so much. Sure, it's obvious now, but that doesn't even start to cover it. You reach in and pull out from the very top of the bag - almost like you packed it knowing what you were doing - a broad, long strip of black fabric. You climb onto the bed and then onto me, pinning my hands as you kiss me again. You stare down at me and I look back at you hard, knowing I'll be deprived of the sight of you for however long you keep me that way. I notice your eyes are darker than they usually are, and I'm already shaking in anticipation.
You tie the blindfold tight around the back of my head, already tangled in my hair. You ask if you can trust me to behave myself momentarily and I smile. You know you can for this moment, and then that's it. In case you forget, as soon as I feel your body leave the bed, I sit up and playfully start to remove the blindfold. Before I can untie the knot, the weight of your body is on me again and you have stolen my hands above my head and I feel a cord tightening around my wrists as you bring them together. It's not rough, but it's not smooth, either, and you keep tightening it until I clench my hands, begging you not to go any tighter. You must tie some kind of knot, because I feel the loose ends smack against my forearms as you throw my hands down above my head.
Unable to see you and now, unable to feel you with my palms, you must know by now how badly I'm aching for you. You must know because you take your time, and I can feel you standing over me, beside me. I can feel you staring at me as I lie on the bed with nothing covering me but the ropes at my wrists. Minutes pass like hours which are probably only seconds, but the wait is killing me and I'm starting to breathe heavier just waiting for you to touch me.
Then I choke on my own breath as you bite down - hard - on my nipples and it's everything I can do not to scream and I try to bring my hands to pull you off me and of course, it's no good. You've done your job well.
Just as suddenly, you have moved motionlessly to my hip bones, and as you bite harder and harder, I can't help but buck towards you and I'm so glad you haven't silenced me yet, because I have to start begging.
"Please, oh dear god, please fuck me!"
You chuckle and tell me you thought I'd hold out longer. You're disappointed.
I whimper, because I know I shouldn't have spoken. Now you're going to take it out on me. At least, I can hope you are.
I don't feel you on the bed anymore and I crane my head to try to hear what you're doing. It's some kind of rustling, and I can't make out the sound but that moment I feel you climb back on the bed and then you're on me again, one of your bare legs between mine. You lower your body on to mine and I sense a calmness in you as I feel your breath on my shoulder, my neck, my cheek. You kiss me. Slow, long, deep. I smile and exhale slowly as you pull your lips from mine and bring them next to my ear.
"You ready to do as I say?" you ask me, half-crooning, half-growling.
"Oh, yes sir."
"That's more like it."
the mysterious disappearing orgasm
This is what I'm suffering from. Let me just say up front - it sucks.
I used to be one of those lucky girls who could have several orgasms in relatively quick succession... Certainly within any single romp. I never had much trouble getting off and while it sometimes it took a little effort, anytime I wanted to, I could have a few orgasms. And they were good. Often they were of the leg-quaking, breath-taking variety. Needless to say, I enjoyed them. And they were a regular occurrence, not only on my lonely nights at home, but when I was with a partner, as well.
Apparently, those are a thing of the past. I haven't had an orgasm that I didn't give myself since... September.
Now, to be fair, I didn't have any partners from September - December, but between December and January, when I was back home, I had no particular shortage of partners. Some of them I had been with previously, some of them I hadn't. They were all men, and I was attracted to all of them. There was random drunken-hookup (but still consensual) sex, best friend-with-benefits romantic new year's all-night-long sex, everything-but-sex sex, and old-flame-spontaneous-hookup sex. And somehow, amid all that sex (in a strikingly short time period, really), I never got off. That's not to say I didn't have a good time, because I certainly did.
And I'm not even an especially orgasm-centric sex person, but it seems weird that it never once happened. Especially because in the period previous, I hadn't had any trouble.
I was dating a boy, who, in the end, was entirely wrong for me. Borderline abuse and way-beyond-borderline alcoholic, we got in wicked fights that usually ended with both of us in tears, and often one of us sleeping on the couch. He was controlling, condescending, and just all around mean to me. I stayed with him as long as I did mostly because he was just THAT hard to get rid of, and the sex was pretty damn good. (Which is funny, because now when I look back on it, that was by no means the best sex I've had.) Anyways... the point is, I had no trouble getting off with this total jackass who was nothing that I wanted other than a pretty pair of blue eyes and a nice set of abs. He could get me off, I could get in the mindset and get myself off... whatever I wanted, I could make happen.
Now, I'm sure the obvious answer would be that the other people weren't trying. That's just not true. I don't remember once feeling neglected in that area in the least, and more than once actually had to ask them to stop when I realized it just wasn't going to happen. They took direction well, I was excited about being with them, they were good at what they were doing... so what gives?
Where did my orgasm go? And before you ask, yes, I can still get myself there. It just doesn't happen with other people. I don't get it. I assume it must be psychological, but I can't figure out where it's coming from. I didn't feel any kind of shame or regret about hooking up with these men. Like I said, I enjoyed it. I don't think I'm defective - I can still get plenty turned on (I went to a drag queen/king show tonight... good lord, you should have seen some of the Kings there. hot DA-YM.).
So what the hell is going on? Any ideas would be endlessly appreciated. Cause it's frustrating.
I just wanna know where my orgasms went.
OK. I'm done whining for the moment.
P.S. I promise there will be a continuation to the story coming in the next week.
I used to be one of those lucky girls who could have several orgasms in relatively quick succession... Certainly within any single romp. I never had much trouble getting off and while it sometimes it took a little effort, anytime I wanted to, I could have a few orgasms. And they were good. Often they were of the leg-quaking, breath-taking variety. Needless to say, I enjoyed them. And they were a regular occurrence, not only on my lonely nights at home, but when I was with a partner, as well.
Apparently, those are a thing of the past. I haven't had an orgasm that I didn't give myself since... September.
Now, to be fair, I didn't have any partners from September - December, but between December and January, when I was back home, I had no particular shortage of partners. Some of them I had been with previously, some of them I hadn't. They were all men, and I was attracted to all of them. There was random drunken-hookup (but still consensual) sex, best friend-with-benefits romantic new year's all-night-long sex, everything-but-sex sex, and old-flame-spontaneous-hookup sex. And somehow, amid all that sex (in a strikingly short time period, really), I never got off. That's not to say I didn't have a good time, because I certainly did.
And I'm not even an especially orgasm-centric sex person, but it seems weird that it never once happened. Especially because in the period previous, I hadn't had any trouble.
I was dating a boy, who, in the end, was entirely wrong for me. Borderline abuse and way-beyond-borderline alcoholic, we got in wicked fights that usually ended with both of us in tears, and often one of us sleeping on the couch. He was controlling, condescending, and just all around mean to me. I stayed with him as long as I did mostly because he was just THAT hard to get rid of, and the sex was pretty damn good. (Which is funny, because now when I look back on it, that was by no means the best sex I've had.) Anyways... the point is, I had no trouble getting off with this total jackass who was nothing that I wanted other than a pretty pair of blue eyes and a nice set of abs. He could get me off, I could get in the mindset and get myself off... whatever I wanted, I could make happen.
Now, I'm sure the obvious answer would be that the other people weren't trying. That's just not true. I don't remember once feeling neglected in that area in the least, and more than once actually had to ask them to stop when I realized it just wasn't going to happen. They took direction well, I was excited about being with them, they were good at what they were doing... so what gives?
Where did my orgasm go? And before you ask, yes, I can still get myself there. It just doesn't happen with other people. I don't get it. I assume it must be psychological, but I can't figure out where it's coming from. I didn't feel any kind of shame or regret about hooking up with these men. Like I said, I enjoyed it. I don't think I'm defective - I can still get plenty turned on (I went to a drag queen/king show tonight... good lord, you should have seen some of the Kings there. hot DA-YM.).
So what the hell is going on? Any ideas would be endlessly appreciated. Cause it's frustrating.
I just wanna know where my orgasms went.
OK. I'm done whining for the moment.
P.S. I promise there will be a continuation to the story coming in the next week.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Reunion (Part I)
I can see you walking in and can't ignore that look in your eye. So far beyond mischief; I know you've long ago undressed me with your eyes and your mind is already racing with the things you plan to do to me. I stand to greet you and my feet make the floorboards creak as I hurry to the door to be closer to you. You don't bother waiting until I'm closer than arm's reach before I feel your hands tighten around my biceps, almost too tight as you pull me in to you. Your tongue forces its way past my lips and searches for a partner. It finds one in mine, and the soft, damp warmth of your mouth is dangerously inviting.
Moments ago my feet left the ground as you brought me, hard, against the wall, your tongue now leading your whole body pushing into me. Your kiss becomes more frantic as you introduce your teeth to my lips, my lip ring, my neck, my collarbone, that soft spot between the two and I can't help but cry out. You stop momentarily to look at me, straight, hard, boring through me and your smirk betrays your thoughts. But before I can reciprocate you have me turned around, my face flushed and warm, pressed relentlessly against the cold wall.
You are everywhere at once. You hold my hands above me against the wall with one of your own, dwarfing my delicately manicured fingers with your rough, short fingernails and the strong palms attached to them. Your free hand makes its way behind my head, sweeps the hair off my neck and suddenly your teeth have set me to fire and ice, chills running down my spine until they are warmed at its base. You grasp at the strap of my tank top, hissing something in my ear about being in your way. I mutter unintelligibly and you press your body harder against mine against the wall.
Your hand reaches around me and takes a handful of my breast, scratching, squeezing, pinching my nipple until I squirm and whimper for you to stop. You grant me no such solace. Instead you abruptly turn me around and effortlessly rid me of the top half of my tank top, letting the lacy top fall around my stomach. Your mouth is on mine again, and again come the fire and chills making my knees weaker by the second. Finally, I can't take it anymore and wring my hands free from yours to throw them around your neck, clutching desperately at your shirt, needing your skin on mine.
Our lips break briefly as your shirt passes over your head and between us and next to the still-open door. I kick it shut as I come back to bite your bottom lip. My nails start to dig into your shoulder blades, and I can just make out a sigh as you shudder and wrap your arms around me, tight. You lift me up to fully meet your six-foot-plus frame, and I eagerly wrap my legs around your waist. You slam me against the wall once more, and your hands move to cup my ass for support and then some.
I barely feel you move until you throw me on the bed, so hard I almost bounce off. As I regain my composure you look at me, and the remnants of the outfit you know I spent days preparing. The perfectly coiffed hair now tousled by your rough hands, the just-enough-not-too-much makeup not hiding the color in my cheeks and my excitement, the strategically planned outfit twisted sideways and halfway down my body. "You're beautiful, you know," you say in the first coherent comment either of us have made since we set foot inside the door. "Now, take off the rest of those clothes. I don't want anything else in my way."
...to be continued...
Moments ago my feet left the ground as you brought me, hard, against the wall, your tongue now leading your whole body pushing into me. Your kiss becomes more frantic as you introduce your teeth to my lips, my lip ring, my neck, my collarbone, that soft spot between the two and I can't help but cry out. You stop momentarily to look at me, straight, hard, boring through me and your smirk betrays your thoughts. But before I can reciprocate you have me turned around, my face flushed and warm, pressed relentlessly against the cold wall.
You are everywhere at once. You hold my hands above me against the wall with one of your own, dwarfing my delicately manicured fingers with your rough, short fingernails and the strong palms attached to them. Your free hand makes its way behind my head, sweeps the hair off my neck and suddenly your teeth have set me to fire and ice, chills running down my spine until they are warmed at its base. You grasp at the strap of my tank top, hissing something in my ear about being in your way. I mutter unintelligibly and you press your body harder against mine against the wall.
Your hand reaches around me and takes a handful of my breast, scratching, squeezing, pinching my nipple until I squirm and whimper for you to stop. You grant me no such solace. Instead you abruptly turn me around and effortlessly rid me of the top half of my tank top, letting the lacy top fall around my stomach. Your mouth is on mine again, and again come the fire and chills making my knees weaker by the second. Finally, I can't take it anymore and wring my hands free from yours to throw them around your neck, clutching desperately at your shirt, needing your skin on mine.
Our lips break briefly as your shirt passes over your head and between us and next to the still-open door. I kick it shut as I come back to bite your bottom lip. My nails start to dig into your shoulder blades, and I can just make out a sigh as you shudder and wrap your arms around me, tight. You lift me up to fully meet your six-foot-plus frame, and I eagerly wrap my legs around your waist. You slam me against the wall once more, and your hands move to cup my ass for support and then some.
I barely feel you move until you throw me on the bed, so hard I almost bounce off. As I regain my composure you look at me, and the remnants of the outfit you know I spent days preparing. The perfectly coiffed hair now tousled by your rough hands, the just-enough-not-too-much makeup not hiding the color in my cheeks and my excitement, the strategically planned outfit twisted sideways and halfway down my body. "You're beautiful, you know," you say in the first coherent comment either of us have made since we set foot inside the door. "Now, take off the rest of those clothes. I don't want anything else in my way."
...to be continued...
The lowdown on the get down (Dec. 07)
While my girlfriend and I were talking about ways to spice up our sex life, she mentioned she'd be interested in a threesome. I'm definitely up for it, but we're both a little confused on the details of how to have sex with each other and another girl. Any tips?
The key to a good threesome is the key to a great relationship: communication. You and your girl already seem comfortable talking to one another, so you've got your foot in the door. Sometimes the trickiest of arranging a menage a trois is finding that third person who's as comfortable with the two of you as you are with each other. Once you've secured a third partner, you have to set up the rules of engagement before you get down to playing the game.
Talk with everyone about what they are and are not OK with doing. Be open - this is no time to hold back. Lay everyone's expectations on the table, to make sure you're all on the same page. As a group, you might decide that intercourse is reserved for you and your girlfriend, but oral, manual or anal sex is OK for everyone involved; or you might deem everything fair play. Whatever you decide, it needs to be something that everyone is completely comfortable with.
That's not to say the experience won't be a little awkward or bumpy - just like losing your virginity. But now, as then, you'll improve with practice. Go in with an open mind, a good sense of humor, and a full box of condoms.
My roommate and I have a lot in common. We like similar music, art and girls. I'm out [of the closet] to my family and friends, but she's only just starting the coming out process. How can I get her to see me as more than just a roommate?
Despite what the Grimm brothers would have us believe, there is no magic spell to make someone fall for you. Life would be too easy if that were the case. There are, however, things you can do to try to get her to realize you're more than just a great roommate.
Of course, you first need to clarify your intentions. If you're looking for a serious relationship, then your approach will likely require a good deal more time and effort than a simple seduction (if such a thing existed). Either way, you'll want to highlight the things you both have in common. The more of a connection she feels with you, the more likely she'll realize how you feel. Once you've established that connection, it's up to you to personalize you tactics in ways you think would attract her. One note of caution: Roommate sex is always convenient, but if the relationship goes awry, you can be left with an uncomfortable, awkward living situation.
Also keep in mind that if she isn't oped about her sexuality yet, she may have some reservations about what you two do outside the apartment. Of course, you also have the advantage in being roommates, since that gives you plenty of alone time to turn into - you guessed it - sexytime.
The key to a good threesome is the key to a great relationship: communication. You and your girl already seem comfortable talking to one another, so you've got your foot in the door. Sometimes the trickiest of arranging a menage a trois is finding that third person who's as comfortable with the two of you as you are with each other. Once you've secured a third partner, you have to set up the rules of engagement before you get down to playing the game.
Talk with everyone about what they are and are not OK with doing. Be open - this is no time to hold back. Lay everyone's expectations on the table, to make sure you're all on the same page. As a group, you might decide that intercourse is reserved for you and your girlfriend, but oral, manual or anal sex is OK for everyone involved; or you might deem everything fair play. Whatever you decide, it needs to be something that everyone is completely comfortable with.
That's not to say the experience won't be a little awkward or bumpy - just like losing your virginity. But now, as then, you'll improve with practice. Go in with an open mind, a good sense of humor, and a full box of condoms.
My roommate and I have a lot in common. We like similar music, art and girls. I'm out [of the closet] to my family and friends, but she's only just starting the coming out process. How can I get her to see me as more than just a roommate?
Despite what the Grimm brothers would have us believe, there is no magic spell to make someone fall for you. Life would be too easy if that were the case. There are, however, things you can do to try to get her to realize you're more than just a great roommate.
Of course, you first need to clarify your intentions. If you're looking for a serious relationship, then your approach will likely require a good deal more time and effort than a simple seduction (if such a thing existed). Either way, you'll want to highlight the things you both have in common. The more of a connection she feels with you, the more likely she'll realize how you feel. Once you've established that connection, it's up to you to personalize you tactics in ways you think would attract her. One note of caution: Roommate sex is always convenient, but if the relationship goes awry, you can be left with an uncomfortable, awkward living situation.
Also keep in mind that if she isn't oped about her sexuality yet, she may have some reservations about what you two do outside the apartment. Of course, you also have the advantage in being roommates, since that gives you plenty of alone time to turn into - you guessed it - sexytime.
The lowdown on the get down (Nov. 07)
My friends and I got into a debate the other night about what some of the most feasible dirty sex acts were. We ended up disagreeing on what, exactly, the definition or a "Dirty Sanchez" is. Can you help us out?
Well, dear reader, I'm not sure what kind of parties you and your friends are having, but clearly, I need to start attending. Anyway, on to the task at hand. There actually seems to be a significant amount of confusion over the details of what constitutes a Dirty Sanchez. All agree, however, that it has a hideously uncomfortable name.
Even our friends at urbandictionary.com express some disagreement over the subject. There do seem to be some recurring themes, however. While readers can't quite decide about the exact mode, reader S.D.S. summarized it best - "it doesn't matter how you do it. It's a fecal moustache."
The Dirty Sanchez (whose name actually originates from a notoriously vile Mexican soccer player) invovles, essentially, some kind of anal penetration and the smearing of the fecal matter that accompanies that on the partner's upper lip. Of course, you're welcome to get creative about what, precisely, does the penetrating; the most common are a penis or a finger.
So there's your definition. Now as to your conclusion that this is one of the most feasible dirty sex acts, I don't know that I'd agree with you, but I'm not one to judge.
I recognized a similarity to my own sexual habits in last month's question about exhibitionism. But my kink is a little different. I find I have the best orgasms when I'm in public - by myself. Any suggestions for a guy like me?
You're right, you are in a different situation than last month's reader. Either you don't have a partner to get down with, or your hand just happens to be the best partner you've encountered. You could adopt any of the solutions I prescribed last month, but I have a feeling you're not going to settle for that. So, consider these next options, but do proceed with caution, and bear in mind that not everyone enjoys exhibitionism as much as you do.
My guess is you get off on the thought of being caught red-handed, so anywhere that you aren't supposed to be doing what you're doing will give you a rush. Start out somewhere a little less public, like your dorm room shower. I promise you won't be the first. If you're comfortable with it, you can always try getting your rocks off in a public restroom - no, not the Senator Craig way - in a solo show. The key here is to be creative without being terribly overt. Movie theaters are dark and if you can find an unoccupied back corner, you may have it made. Just remember to be courteous and bring a tissue.
Well, dear reader, I'm not sure what kind of parties you and your friends are having, but clearly, I need to start attending. Anyway, on to the task at hand. There actually seems to be a significant amount of confusion over the details of what constitutes a Dirty Sanchez. All agree, however, that it has a hideously uncomfortable name.
Even our friends at urbandictionary.com express some disagreement over the subject. There do seem to be some recurring themes, however. While readers can't quite decide about the exact mode, reader S.D.S. summarized it best - "it doesn't matter how you do it. It's a fecal moustache."
The Dirty Sanchez (whose name actually originates from a notoriously vile Mexican soccer player) invovles, essentially, some kind of anal penetration and the smearing of the fecal matter that accompanies that on the partner's upper lip. Of course, you're welcome to get creative about what, precisely, does the penetrating; the most common are a penis or a finger.
So there's your definition. Now as to your conclusion that this is one of the most feasible dirty sex acts, I don't know that I'd agree with you, but I'm not one to judge.
I recognized a similarity to my own sexual habits in last month's question about exhibitionism. But my kink is a little different. I find I have the best orgasms when I'm in public - by myself. Any suggestions for a guy like me?
You're right, you are in a different situation than last month's reader. Either you don't have a partner to get down with, or your hand just happens to be the best partner you've encountered. You could adopt any of the solutions I prescribed last month, but I have a feeling you're not going to settle for that. So, consider these next options, but do proceed with caution, and bear in mind that not everyone enjoys exhibitionism as much as you do.
My guess is you get off on the thought of being caught red-handed, so anywhere that you aren't supposed to be doing what you're doing will give you a rush. Start out somewhere a little less public, like your dorm room shower. I promise you won't be the first. If you're comfortable with it, you can always try getting your rocks off in a public restroom - no, not the Senator Craig way - in a solo show. The key here is to be creative without being terribly overt. Movie theaters are dark and if you can find an unoccupied back corner, you may have it made. Just remember to be courteous and bring a tissue.
The lowdown on the get down (Oct. 07)
This summer my girlfriend and I were hooking up when my parents unexpectedly walked into the room - everyone's worst nightmare, right? Well, here's the thing...it kind of turned me on. How can I take it further without subjecting my parents to any more peep shows?
Don't worry, there are many ways you can satisfy your exhibitionist tendencies without risking the embarrassment of your situation with your parents or the hassle of a public indecency ticket.
You could start by placing a mirror where you can see yourself in action. Watching yourself in a mirror can give you the sense that you're a third person sneaking a peek. You can also leave the blinds up when you and your girl are going at it. I might discourage this if you live on the ground floor, or if your window looks directly into your neighbor's kitchen - you don't want to be that close with the neighbors.
Ask your girlfriend if she might let you "accidentally" watch her undress. Even the most mundane things are more intriguing when we aren't supposed to see them. Why do you think celebrity tabloids are so successful? Speaking of celebrities, you could always go the route of countless A-listers and make your very own sex tape. Of course, you have to make completely sure everyone involved is OK with being recorded, and you might want to plan on taping over your video before heading home for the holidays. After all, mom and dad have seen enough already.
My boyfriend has this weird fetish. He says he can only have an orgasm if he's humping something - my breasts, a pillow, etc. The problem is that I'm not ready to have sex with him. What should I do?
You've actually already started to answer your own question, but I'll be happy to lend a few words of advice.
If your boyfriend can only get off by humping something - which may or may not really be the case - you could always let him do just that. If him rubbing himself between your breasts sounds like something you might enjoy, then give it a shot. If not, there are numerous other options including oral sex, mutual masturbation (don't let him forget that you want to have a good time, too), and dry humping. And never underestimate the value of a good sex toy to spice things up.
I might also suggest you avoid characterizing his fetish as "weird." I've heard much more bizarre stories and it tends to make people defensive when something as personal as their sex lives are criticized. In the end, it's up to you to experiment and find out what you're comfortable with. You might end up trying something you discover you enjoy. Then again, you might decide this is a deal breaker and you're ready to move on to the next, more vanilla guy, and leave this one to his pillows.
Don't worry, there are many ways you can satisfy your exhibitionist tendencies without risking the embarrassment of your situation with your parents or the hassle of a public indecency ticket.
You could start by placing a mirror where you can see yourself in action. Watching yourself in a mirror can give you the sense that you're a third person sneaking a peek. You can also leave the blinds up when you and your girl are going at it. I might discourage this if you live on the ground floor, or if your window looks directly into your neighbor's kitchen - you don't want to be that close with the neighbors.
Ask your girlfriend if she might let you "accidentally" watch her undress. Even the most mundane things are more intriguing when we aren't supposed to see them. Why do you think celebrity tabloids are so successful? Speaking of celebrities, you could always go the route of countless A-listers and make your very own sex tape. Of course, you have to make completely sure everyone involved is OK with being recorded, and you might want to plan on taping over your video before heading home for the holidays. After all, mom and dad have seen enough already.
My boyfriend has this weird fetish. He says he can only have an orgasm if he's humping something - my breasts, a pillow, etc. The problem is that I'm not ready to have sex with him. What should I do?
You've actually already started to answer your own question, but I'll be happy to lend a few words of advice.
If your boyfriend can only get off by humping something - which may or may not really be the case - you could always let him do just that. If him rubbing himself between your breasts sounds like something you might enjoy, then give it a shot. If not, there are numerous other options including oral sex, mutual masturbation (don't let him forget that you want to have a good time, too), and dry humping. And never underestimate the value of a good sex toy to spice things up.
I might also suggest you avoid characterizing his fetish as "weird." I've heard much more bizarre stories and it tends to make people defensive when something as personal as their sex lives are criticized. In the end, it's up to you to experiment and find out what you're comfortable with. You might end up trying something you discover you enjoy. Then again, you might decide this is a deal breaker and you're ready to move on to the next, more vanilla guy, and leave this one to his pillows.
Hello, world!
I am Sasha Sappho. While I'm no stranger to spilling secrets on the interweb, this is my first official blog. So go easy on me.
No, I'm totally kidding. I welcome your thoughts, critiques, anything you want to throw at me; I can handle it.
Some days I fancy myself a writer. Other days I play with being a student of sexuality. Yes, a student of it. I hope this blog will become a harmonious combination of the two, and serve as my testing ground for just about anything that comes out of my head. I also write a sex column for a campus magazine - I'll be posting those entries here as well and I welcome new questions that I can (at least try to) answer. I'm by no means a professional, so take me only as seriously as you want to.
I realize this introduction has been a little all over the place, but I'm just so excited to start posting content that I can't focus on what I'm doing now. First come the columns. Enjoy!
- Sasha
No, I'm totally kidding. I welcome your thoughts, critiques, anything you want to throw at me; I can handle it.
Some days I fancy myself a writer. Other days I play with being a student of sexuality. Yes, a student of it. I hope this blog will become a harmonious combination of the two, and serve as my testing ground for just about anything that comes out of my head. I also write a sex column for a campus magazine - I'll be posting those entries here as well and I welcome new questions that I can (at least try to) answer. I'm by no means a professional, so take me only as seriously as you want to.
I realize this introduction has been a little all over the place, but I'm just so excited to start posting content that I can't focus on what I'm doing now. First come the columns. Enjoy!
- Sasha
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