Toybox - Door jam cuffs

Attention fellow penny-pinching kinksters: If you (like a certain blogger) are proudly kinky and sexy, but can't afford to outfit an entire dungeon, you NEED to get these door jam cuffs from Babeland.



The concept is simple, really: A pair of separate soft, comfortable velcro cuffs are attached to flat nylon straps with a perpendicular plastic tube at the end. Using the cuffs is just as straight-forward: Hang the plastic tubes on the opposite side of your door, with the straps running over the door itself, cuffs facing you. Then close said door.

And then, lo and behold, you have instant cuffs with which to tie your lover standing against your door. And perhaps it's just me, but I really, really love the sight of my boy stretched out in front of me, all exposed and vulnerable and delicious... Speaking of...

Anyway - not only are the door jam cuffs SUPER easy to use, they're actually really quite strong.

I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting the velcro cuffs to support my weight, or my boy's pulling against them - which has already claimed parts of my bedframe... To my surprise, though, when my boy strapped me in to the cuffs, pinned me against the door and pulled both my legs around his waist, the cuffs didn't budge. Even on my antique door frame, the cuffs solidly held me, even as I wrapped my hands around the straps for support. And, yknow, I'm not a tiny person.

And when you're all tuckered out, the cuffs are easily tossed into the bedside drawer or toybox, without any damage to furniture or doorframes. (Which is especially good news for kinksters who rent and can't put holes in the walls.)

Combined with my under-the-bed restraint system, my room is becoming quite the unassuming dungeon. And if the bruises and scratch-marks are any indication, it's only going to get better.

Rating: Five out of five stars!

So, yes. Go get these cuffs! And the only way to make them better is to get them from Babeland, the sex-positive, women-inclusive online and store who so graciously gave me the cuffs to review! Babeland, the boy and I owe you. Big time.

i AM that girl

Last night found the boy and I tangled in the sheets, panting and writhing against the muggy summer heat and licking the sweat from each other's bodies, stopping only to rearrange, and sometimes to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Laughing at the absurdity of the two of us being there, together, at our uncanny similarities and our fundamental differences.

I fell back onto the pillows he'd piled up behind me, my face flushed and his glistening. As I caught my breath, he layed down next to me, stroking my hair and wiping beads of sweat from my forehead. He smiled at me and I managed one of those exhausted, mind-melted smiles that only happen after your body has been completely, deliciously ravished.

We babbled incoherently for some time, going over the details of our exorbitantly fantastic sex life. Then he kissed my forehead and brought his eyes down to mine.

"I'm going to say something really sexy," he told me.

"OK. What is it?" I asked.

....

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fucking STARVING. Thank god!" I replied as I threw my legs around to the edge of the bed.

And then we climbed out of bed and raided my kitchen. n

So yes, I'm that girl. The one who loves sex, especially when it's kinky, and isn't afraid to say it. I'm that girl who likes to kick your ass at video games, and talk smack even when she's losing terribly. I'm that girl who hangs out with the boys.

And I'm that girl who's afraid of scary movies, and loves snuggling, and wants you to notice when she gets made up or buys a new dress.

But I'm not the girl who wants grand proclamations of unending love. I'm that girl who is maybe a little too blunt for her own good, but manages to hang on to her friends anyway. I'm the girl who wants a comfortable relationship, where she can simply be with you, rather than having to conform to someone else's definition of happiness. I am that girl who wants to have a home full of love and positivity and puppy kisses.

And, for maybe the first time, I finally AM that girl.

The need.

It was efficiency sex. The kind you can only have when it's been too long and both of you know it. When the pleasantries are almost nothing but, since it's almost intolerable to keep your hands to yourself through drinks and conversation and the obligatory nighttime rituals. When neither of you can be bothered by worrying about how you feel about each other, and no one needs to say much of anything.

When every word you say only barely hides the innuendo behind it, because how could you possibly need to talk about anything when the only thing you can focus on is the need itself? The kind where when you finally start touching, there's an electric charge that doesn't disconnect, and just keeps running through your two bodies, feeding off itself to grow stronger.

Where a finger stroke is all it takes to completely void your mind of anything but the pulsating need to be filled. And a hand is brought to your neck, not bothering with a gentle caress but grasping on, hard, to bring your lips to the waiting pair, only momentarily shielding the tongue and teeth that now have you locked together.

And fabric rips, because you can't be bothered with buttons and zippers and propriety when your skin is this hungry. So nails find fresh, warm flesh, and lungs breathe in stolen air when they remember to function. You couldn't be untangled or properly identify which parts of what you're feeling are your own if you tried, but that doesn't matter for even a split second.

And you almost wince as you finally find the satiation you've been looking for - warm and hard and even better than you remembered. You feel more and more full, drop your hips lower into the sheets to raise them higher and feel it deeper...

So your knees are brought to your chin and your ankles are locked behind his neck before he even finishes sitting up. He leans down to you and his teeth find your bottom lip and pull and you breathe him in and for a moment make this stunning eye contact that bores into you somehow even deeper than he is, with you folded underneath him. You've lost agency of yourself to your desire and can't stop your hips from finding their rhythym with his. He pulls his head up as you thrust harder, and you swear you can feel it in your abdomen, but god is it fucking good. And so you raise your hips faster, and he matches your rhythym with increasing intensity.

Your nails dig into his thighs, and then you drag one hand up his body, shoving two fingers in his mouth. His teeth hold you tight as his tongue licks up and down and circles your fingers and you draw your hand out of his mouth still glistening with his spit. And without hesitation, your hand reaches between your legs, still clenched against his chest. He looks down at you as he fucks you harder and you rub yourself with your fingers, wet from him. His hand finds your neck, and he keeps staring into you as he tightens his grip. Your pulsing becomes more frenetic, raising your ass off his folded legs and slamming back into him harder and faster.

It starts there, as the muscles in your body tighten as the heat spreads from your pelvis to your thighs and abdomen, to your calves and your tits and your chest tightens as does his grip around your neck. Gasping and still holding eye contact, you can feel him slamming into you, harder and harder, filling what you both so desperately need. Finally, the heat spreads to your mouth, and you can't keep your eyes focused on this world as your toes curl and your entire body tightens itself around him, feeling him expand inside you, and everything just becomes heat and you don't know what you're saying but every part of your body is screaming at the same time, releasing everything it's been holding on to in one moment that rips through your body and tears into him, both of you lost to the need.

And everything you had been holding is gone, and neither of you can do anything but collapse onto one another, still unable to tell whose body belongs to whom. For just a minute, you lie there, quivering and afraid to touch but unable to disconnect. As your breathing slows to find its sync with his, you manage to look over at his face, shining with sweat but his eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed. You manage a chuckle.

"Yeah, I missed you, too."

I need your help!

My dear readers,

I have a favor to ask you. I've written a few times about my new boy. Things are going really well. He treats me well, the sex is fantastic, and most importantly, I really, really like who I am when I'm with him. I'm proud to introduce him to my friends, I love going out on real dates with him, just like I love staying home with him.

So, as I mentioned, the sex is awesome. He's interested in poly relationships (we're still expressly non-monogamous, though neither of us is sleeping with anyone else), and he's finding that he's kinkier than he thought he was. (All it takes is a good, kinky girl to bring it out, hehehe.) Generally, he tops me, because he's bigger and the man and I'm a sub.

But he's asked me if I'll try domming him. Usually I would say no, not my thing, but I really trust him and I actually feel comfortable trying new things with him. He's already changed my mind on a few things I didn't think I enjoyed, so why not keep it going, right?

And here's where I need your help, my dear, sweet, kinky readers.

I need advice on domming my boy. I'm generally not a top, so I don't have much experience, but I am willing to give it a try. Are there any tips for getting into a Dom mindset, the same way you can get into sub-space? I think being able to check my inhibitions will be crucial, because I'm always worried that I'll look stupid. (Hence my not talking during sex for fear of sounding like a bad porno.) He and I will obviously have the discussion before-hand about safew0rds, hard limits, etc., and I know what kind of sensation he prefers (he's stingy, I'm thuddy).

So. How do I get in the right state of mind to top my boy? It's a gender role reversal (for the bedroom, at least. Our actual relationship generally does buck gender stereotypes), as well as a reversal of the usual sexual hierarchy we have. Also, he's larger than I am - taller, heavier and stronger - so how do I work around that?

I need your help, dear readers! And in return, I promise to give you super-hot details after the fact. Maybe even pictures. We'll see how he feels about that. Then again, I can be pretty persuasive...

The New Normal

"Ecstasy's a pill, and not a stolen kiss.
Character is vinegar without the piss
And pounding heart's not for love or art, but a beauregard's
And plastic knives will save your lives when they break apart

It's the new normal,
The new normal
The old way was OK
But this year's a new day...

And genius lost its meaning, it got kicked around
and slapped on fresh-faced artists
with that brand new sound..."

-The New Normal, by Mister Mann

Ironically enough, this is an artist The Optimist turned me on to. He's a Canadian singer-songwriter, and while his lyrics are rather depressing, I actually think the message is one of hope.

Or maybe that's just how I'm perceiving it.

Regardless, my new normal isn't what I would have thought it to be. It doesn't include certain people who I took to be fixtures in my life, and it does include those who I never would have guessed would mean so much to me.

And I'm OK with that. Because actually? I'm happy. I really am. And it's a strange sensation. I still second-guess myself when I say something stupid to the boy, automatically assuming he's going to knock me down a notch for it. Instead, he tends to laugh and say something equally ridiculous. Or he just leans over and kisses me. Tells me I'm adorable.

And it isn't patronizing, which is fascinating. The dynamic between us is something unique for me. I am so exceedingly comfortable being myself - my full-on, crazy, nerdy self - and that doesn't for a moment compromise how wanted I feel. In fact, I feel more consistently wanted and worthwhile than I have in a long, long time.

So I guess Friend was right about one thing - apparently my I-can't-be-a-girlfriend complex WAS utter bullshit. Of course, it took someone ELSE to show me that. But that's OK. Because the person who's showing me that is doing it so genuinely, and so compassionately, and so well that I'm actually not able to second-guess him.

I believe that he wants to see me. I enjoy being a part of his life, his family, his routine. I believe him when he kisses me and I feel it in my toes. I believe him when he says he wants to come to shows, parties, dates with me. Because he does.

And I certainly believe him when he pins me to the wall, his body pressed into mine as his teeth close down on my neck. I believe him as he strips off my clothes and throws me onto the bed, tying my hands above my head, his eyes all fire and passion and stormy seas.

So then I believe him as he traces his tongue down my body, lingering at my breasts and hip bones. And then I lose track of everything as his tongue finds what it's searching for, his fingers pumping in and out of me and curling inside me as his tongue traces and licks and laps at my clit. As he moans into me, my hips rise to meet his mouth and I can't stop moving. And he keeps going and I keep moving, and faster and faster and oh fuck oh god yes please don't stop fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

And then I'm shaking and he's smiling as he kisses his way back up my body.

And I do believe him, maybe most of all, as he lies down next to me and wraps his arms around my body, gently kisses my neck and pulls me tighter as we fall asleep together.

And just in case I find myself doubting, I am reassured when, in the morning, he's still there.

HNT: Southwestern

That's right, I'm back, folks! I'm committed this time, I swear.

Also, don't tell anyone, but I'm actually in a relationship. A surprisingly healthy one. I'm not sure how it happened, but I'm trying to just enjoy it.

One of the things I'd forgotten about having a regular partner is that you sometimes end up with their clothes. And for me, when I'm dating men, I always hope I'll look appropriately adorable in their shirts.

Which I promptly steal. Or, in this case, my boy "forgets" to ask for his shirt back when I go home.

So then, to make up for my theft, I figured it's only fair that I at least share the way the shirt looks on me. So this is the photo I snapped when I got home and snuggled into my boy's shirt on a night when he wasn't staying with me.

Of course, I sent him this photo first, but I don't think he'll mind my sharing it with you lovely folks.



HHNT!

I wonder...

I wonder if it's possible, that after all my insistence that I am not now nor will I ever be so-called girlfriend material, while I was so busy telling myself and everyone that I wasn't capable of treating anyone well or being good for someone... that I was actually, in fact, gearing up to become a decent girlfriend?

I'm ahead of myself a bit, of course, in that the GF word is still terrifying to me as the BF word is to him. But the signs are there. And it should terrify me much more than it does. I should be concerned that the kind things he says to me unprompted are just lines. I shouldn't believe him when he tells me how much he enjoys being with me. It shouldn't phase me that he wants me to meet his parents properly.

And I shouldn't be so satiated with the amazing sex I'm having with him, and only him.

Of course, officially, everything is still entirely non-monogamous, and I wouldn't change that. I like having the freedom to do what I like. But the chemistry between he and I is absolutely absurd. When we both turn it on, it's like a carnal incarnation of lust. There is no reason, or pain, or world outside the two of us. We are all that exists and we simply must have more of each other.

I wake up bruised and bitten, and he wakes up with scratches that have broken the skin down his back and chest and thighs. I always apologize when I see them in the morning, and he always just smirks and tells me he likes them. And then he kisses me softly and pulls me back into his arms.

And I am happy. I am exceedingly happy. I'm trying so desperately not to over-analyze, and instead just to focus on how much better he makes my life, right now. With no expectations, but also with no limits.

At the moment, my life is good. I am content. I feel loved and appreciated. And I still have a fantastic sex life.

Is this what being in a relationship is like? Because if it is, then I don't know why the fuck I was so terrified.

What I do and do not owe

I don't owe you an apology. Not only because I didn't do anything wrong, but because I'm not sorry for being angry. I had a right to be. I was justified in my anger and frustration and disappointment and I refuse to believe that you had any moral ground to make me feel guilty about that.

Because I know that there are always excuses. So do you. And you know, likely better than anyone, how much the excuses aren't the problem. You know, for a fact, that I don't mind waiting. I don't mind being second. Other things take precedence and that is right and good. They very much should.

But, given that knowledge, you must also intrinsically have some notion of how difficult this is for me. You MUST. I'm simply not able to believe that after spending this many years in one another's lives, so varied and intimate but almost always there, that you really can't imagine how hard this is for me. You KNOW how much this hurts me. And you know how bad it must have been, for me to choose this difficulty over that pain.

So if you know, then I'm left only to conclude that it doesn't affect you. And perhaps it shouldn't. I wouldn't be so presumptuous - except I would - to presume that you meant the words you said to me so many times. But that's beside the point, really. Because the point, really, is that you honestly don't care now.

You're a smart man. You always have been. Knowledge has never been your issue. So clearly, you know. But the caring? Well, that's a different skill, I guess.

And truly, I can't hold you responsible for a skill-set you simply don't have. Just like I can't do science, maybe you just can't do love. Or honesty.

That's OK. I wish you the best. I do. And the honest truth is, I miss the things you brought to my life. Not all of them. I don't miss the anxiety over whether or not you were going to show, or the frustration with never knowing how you actually felt. (Problem solved, incidentally.)

But I will miss the way you made me laugh. I will miss the intelligence you brought out in me. I will miss running hypothetical theorems about social theory with you. I will miss laughing at your ridiculously uncanny vocal character impressions. And how silly you were. Especially after sex. You were always good at making me happy.

At least, on those rare occasions when we were actually together.

So you should know that all this? Ultimately, it makes me sad. Because I think we were good for each other in more ways than you realized. It makes me sad that you probably won't realize what you lost, so I won't even have the opportunity to point out that you have, indeed, lost it.

HNT: My own space

No apologies this time. I'm getting better - I am! Just a tiny little explanation.

As I've mentioned (I think?), I just moved into my own place downtown. It's the first time I've lived completely financially independent for an extended period of time, and I love it! I love the feeling that comes with having a space that's really, truly yours. I like to take advantage of that fact whenever possible... Like walking around my apartment wearing very little. (OK, not when my roommate and her boyfriend are home, although there have been some fun times with immediate post-coital roommate chit-chat.)

But on mornings like today, when I've got the house to myself, it's kind of fun to prance around the house not wearing much. Making breakfast seems way more exotic if you're doing it without clothes on. And really, who likes clothes anyway?

Not me, apparently.


I do, however, love those underwear. They're one of my favorite pairs, for no particular reason other than they're comfortable, and I think they're cut nicely. Any input?

HHNT!

HNT: Housewarming

I feel like all I do here these days is apologize for my absence, so hopefully you lovely readers will allow me to make it up to you. I've spent the past two weeks moving into my own place, getting settled, and getting the energy right in my place. I think I've pretty much got it - thanks in no small part to a few friends of mine who have helped me... ahem.. shall we say christen my new bedroom?

There are many, many stories in the works about those sleepless nights.

For now, though, I hope you'll be willing to settle for an HNT in my new space. I have this fabulous vintage dresser with a vanity mirror on top, and it's rather perfectly positioned for sneaking peeks when I find myself, say, bent over the footboard of my bed. Hypothetically, of course.


HHNT!

Hello Seattle

Play this:


Read this:

I was buzzing with anticipation the entire flight. Did this flight used to be two and half hours long? I swear it used to be shorter. It shouldn’t take me this long to get to you. Not after so much time. I guess, if you really think about it, it took me months – no, years – to get to you. So you can’t hold it against me that I’m so excited I can’t sit still. The poor woman next to me? Yeah, she might be holding it against me.

But I can’t manage to make myself think of anyone, or anything, but you. And I’m a terrible mess of excitement and nerves and desire and fear. And that fear kicks in more when our meeting doesn’t happen exactly like I thought it would. It was silly of me, of course, to want something so cinematic, but that’s what happens when I’m left with only my memories for four months. I get a little crazy.

The fear damn near takes over when you mention that the couch is available. My heart drops to the ground floor of your swanky apartment building. But before I can gather my thoughts, you point out that your bed is available, too.

And the way you say it, I remember that you’re just trying to be careful with me, not presumptuous. Of course, when it comes right down to it, you probably aren’t presumptuous enough if you compare it to the thoughts running through my head. So we pass some more pleasantries, and finally find ourselves in your bed. And that’s when it starts.

The next four days are a blur – a medley of your hands and your lips and your legs and your smile and the intensity you exude. I catch myself in disbelief every time you take my arm as we steel ourselves against the damp cold. And that cold isn’t anywhere near as pervasive as I remember it being. In fact, this city, which I was so ready to escape from, looks completely different when I’m looking at it standing next to you. Maybe it’s because you bring out the best in me and don’t allow me to fall into my pessimistic cycles… As if I could around you.

I can hardly recall the details of how we spent our time. But I know that I learned so much more about you. And I learned that you’re human. Which sounds silly, I’m sure, but it was important for me to be reminded of that. The funny thing is that realization, that fall of the idol, for lack of a better term, didn’t make me want you any less. In fact, it reinforced everything I thought about you.

And the balance we achieve when we’re together is incredible. I’m less neurotic, and you seem less hesitant. I love seeing your life, and pretending, even for those few days, that I’m a regular part of it. I love watching you play while I sit curled up on your giant chair with a glass of wine. You’re majestic, you know.

Somewhere between your arms around me as we fall asleep – and I love the tiny noises you make in your sleep – and the look on your face when I finally convince you to open your eyes, and you stretch your gorgeous body just to wrap it around mine again, I know. Somewhere between your kisses in the elevator, and picking out cheap wine at Trader Joe’s, I know. Or maybe it was somewhere between the waterfront and looking for your name on the tiles of the marketplace, I know. I may never be able to put my finger on the exact moment, but by the time I’m forced to get on a plane and leave you – with tears running down my face as I listen to the music you added to my playlist – I know.

I know that this – that you – are something incredible. I know that this will be different. I know that you are what I want – what I need – in my life. And I know, strangely enough, that neither of us are going anywhere.

The return of the HNT

I haven't forgotten about Half Nekkid Thursdays... I promise! I just haven't been feeling particularly sexy lately, so I haven't been overly prone to getting half nekkid.

But that changed last night. I had a particularly awesome night with Friend - It was more date-y than our time together usually is. We went to the theatre, had several real conversations, then came home and were very silly. And then, as sometimes happens between he and I, the sillyness turned into sexyness. It's one of my favorite things about our relationship.

And he seemed more excited to see me than usual. Of course, it might have been the dress...

Coming back

I've been away for a long time. From this blog, but also from myself. I've been trying to balance the person I'm becoming with the person I was, with the person I want to be. And that's been hard.

But this morning, I feel like my old self again.

I remembered what it was like to wake up in the morning next to someone, memories of the night before still fresh in your mind. I remembered what it felt like to feel insatiable - that writhing, grasping, gasping mixture of pain and pleasure and desire and sweat all mixing to produce such a potent and poignant high that you can't focus on anything but the hands and mouth and skin roaming freely over your body.

And the fingers intertwined in dark hair, pulling my head back to bring exposed teeth to bite down on my neck, harder, harder, dear god please harder. And the growling, scratching, pulling as my hips move of their own accord toward what they clearly want and need fuck me please fuck I need you.

And the blue eyes staring into mine staring back - hungry, starving, for the escape of release. Or the open hand, brought to my neck and up towards my chin, just enough pressure to leave me gasping and dripping. And then back to a mouth on mine, biting, pulling at my lip, then slowly moving down past my collarbone, following my breath to my breasts, as a hand moves down to my hips, still pulsing methodically. So then the tongue follows and I have nothing left to fight with as the world closes in around me and we are all that exists. Until I finally can't take it anymore and you look up at me, smirking and content, and my head is spinning and my breath has left my body and all I can feel is you.

Or the sounds made as my hips move, circular, forward and back, up and down, my breathing in time, your sighs and moans and hands and body underneath me getting me higher and harder. The fingers pinching, scratching, taking a handful of my breast as another set finds its way to my pelvis, and my motions become more urgent. And then the hand on my face, pulling me down to your face as you whisper "bite me. scratch me. harder!" and then my hips move faster as our breathing gets harder and your hands on my hips gripping tighter until we finally collapse, exhausted and glistening and panting and very, very happy.

"Holy shit. We've gotten much better at that," I say.