Toybox: Slippery stuff

My cunt is a sensitive creature, apparently. I realized a few years ago that the reason sex with condoms was often uncomfortable for me was because I was allergic to something in them. I first thought it was the latex, but then realized that it was only SOME latex condoms to which I would have a negative reaction. So, like any enterprising, proud slut, I figured out which types of condoms DIDN'T cause a reaction. And only bought those.

Of course, those ended up being the more expensive and tough-to-find styles, and meant that I ALWAYS had to provide the condom in my encounters. Which can get annoying after a while. And really sucked if, after a particularly rough or lengthy sack session, a partner wasn't done and we wanted to switch condoms, but I didn't have any more.

Or in one particularly memorable instance, where I had two men who both wanted to fuck me... And only one condom to which I wasn't allergic. Weak sauce.

I had similar trouble finding lubes that didn't result in a similar allergic reaction... And yes, of course my first instinct was to go to the doctor and get checked out to make sure it wasn't an STI or anything of the like causing the discomfort. Nope. Clean. Just a fussy cunt. Thanks, body.

So I had just resolved myself to always having to be well-stocked on my upper-echelon condoms. And if I wasn't? Or if a condom or myself needed more lube? Well, that was just too damn bad, wasn't it?

And then came Slippery Stuff. I added it to my Wish List at VibeReview because other reviewers had said it was essentially hypo-allergenic. I figured it couldn't hurt to try a tester, right?

The lovely folks at VibeReview sent me a 4 oz. bottle in my super-sexy package along with several other products. In a habit I picked up from countless trips to the sex store and discussions with Essin 'Em, the first thing I did was put some of the lube on the back of my hand, and taste it.



Slippery Stuff claims to be odorless and tasteless, and while the odorless part isn't quite true (it kind of smells like kid's bubble solution, actually), it really doesn't have much of a taste. Well, it tastes like nothing, is what I mean. I wouldn't drink it with a straw, but it's just a sort of non-flavor. No gross saccharine flavors masking too much glycerin. In fact, Slippery Stuff is totally glycerin-free. And water-based. Which means it's compatible with condoms. Which is awesome.

Because it's a water-based lube, it is a little runny. Be prepared to pour it like water, because it will get all over the place. But that's OK in my book. There are times when adding a little extra mess isn't the worst thing in the world. Slippery Stuff doesn't dry sticky, although it does have a WEIRD stringy property. With a few drops on the back of my hand, each time I tapped a finger into it, I got several strings connecting the finger to my hand. Kind of like when you used to get those obnoxious strings of hot-glue off an otherwise perfectly round blob of glue. (No, I wasn't neurotic as a kid, why do you ask? Why, WHY, dammit?) Even so, it didn't leave my hand (or anywhere else on my body) particularly sticky. Which is much appreciated.

As for its actual lubrication qualities... Well, I should point out that I don't usually need or use lube when I'm alone. I suppose it's my cunt's way of making up to me the allergy - I don't usually need extra lubrication. But in the past, the condoms and lubes I have been allergic to have actually sapped away my natural moisture, leaving me physically uncomfortable... Which is just some sort of cruel joke.

Slippery Stuff didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, I did actually feel wetter, and the lube itself stayed moist much longer when I was actually using it than it did playing with it on my hand. It was silky and smooth and wet and lovely. The only complaint I have is that it made my glass dildo almost too slippery. There are worse things.

I would absolutely recommend this lube for anyone else who's had trouble with lubrication or finding products they aren't allergic to. I was particularly on the look-out for any kind of adverse reaction, and I had none at all. For that alone (even without the other great attributes), I give Slippery Stuff...

5 out of 5 stars

If you'd like your own bottle, or to read more reviews of Slippery Stuff, click here. If you just feel like exploring VibeReview (which I also highly recommend), check them out!

Getting Settled.

Well, things are calming down. I am still without my own computer, but I've moved in with a good friend for the next few weeks until my roommate gets back and we can get our own place. It's amazing what just getting out of my mother's house has done for my mood. I'm living with my friend, her partner, and their adorable toddler. They are laid-back and fabulous, and I love playing with their daughter. And the fact that peek-a-boo is endlessly entertaining to her.

I'm still in limbo when it comes to my career, although I am freelancing, and STILL negotiating my way into a web-editor-ship. I hope. The meetings keep getting rescheduled, which is frustrating, but I'm not willing to give up hope. I am starting to look more seriously at other options, though, although this position is my first choice, so I'm hesitant to let it go.

Holy run-on sentence, Batman!

Anyway. Yes, things are falling into place. Also, thanks to the lovely Essin' Em's help, I'm going to start reviewing for a few companies. So, expect those in the coming weeks. Who knows, maybe I'll even get some of my partners to play with these new toys with me.

And there are new posts in the works, too. I know it's been a while since I've written any smut. I'll be fixing that. There are things I want to explore here, so those are forthcoming. I promise. Thank you to those of you still reading, things are looking up.

HNT: Favorites III

Yes, we're back to the "favorites" theme for HNT. This one has a little bit of a story. (And two photos!)

One of my favorite things to do when I'm home alone - like I am all this week while my roommates and the rest of my university are on spring break - is dance around my apartment. I spice up cooking by turning up the tunes and rocking out. I sing, and dance, well, like no one's watching. To steal a cliche. It's a blast, and makes everything more fun.

Today, I was doing that as I taught myself to make tortilla espanola for lunch - which was messy and overly involved, but turned out OK for a first try. Then for a late dinner, I decided I'd just go easy and grill some chicken. Exciting, I know. I've started my spring break prep (I leave in exactly a week!), which includes digging out clothes that haven't seen the light of day since last fall in Spain. One such thing was my favorite pair of heels. I've had them for years, I've worn out the heel and the lining, but they're still stunningly comfortable and I love them. Unfortunately, the mesh around the toes makes them inappropriate for the bitter cold northeast. Sad. So I busted out the shoes, at first just with the black sweats I was wearing. Then that seemed like a waste. So I slipped on a short dress. Actually, a negligee-type thing I bought with Essin' Em last summer. And then I cranked up the volume, and started bouncing around my apartment in my favorite shoes. I listened to Bear's song (which will be posted tomorrow), and then Flo Rida's rendition of "Right Round" came on. I don't normally listen to rap, but I love the woman's voice on this track, I love the original song, and, well, seeing as how I'll be in Florida next week, I couldn't help but dance.



Sometimes it's fun to get ridiculous. Especially when no one can see you. There's a chance I might have been dancing like I was in a packed club, even though I was in my empty apartment. I'm sure whoever walked by my window thought I was crazy. They were probably right.

Anyway, I came back to my room and realized I didn't have an HNT post scheduled this week. Since I was already in my favorite shoes and a short skirt, the problem seemed to solve itself.



So, the favorites in this HNT? One - the shoes. Two - my legs. For all that I don't believe in shorts, I LOVE the way my legs look, especially from the knee down, in a nice pair of heels. It's one of the few parts of my body I LIKE the curves on. And three - the tattoo. I guess in some ways, this is probably the most revealing part of this week's HNT, since it's a custom tattoo and anyone who knows me knows I have it. But it's my favorite tattoo, I love the story behind it, and I love the placement. For those of you wondering and/or hindered by the grainy photo (sorry, I'm back to my Webcam instead of the digital I had in Spain), it says "Tivoli."



HHNT!

We've got a lot of maybes to muddle through...

I just wrote some giant block of text blathering on about all sorts of bullshit that isn't even marginally related to this blog. I need to keep things reined in. So I suppose I'll do a brief update. I'm still almost too excited to function about my trip to the City this weekend. I'm not even going to enumerate my plans, because I don't want to jinx them. So in other sexuality news:

Bear and I seem to be fine. Back to flirting, talking, interacting like we always have. I'm impressed. I wasn't entirely sure that he'd be comfortable/capable of just letting the sex be just that and nothing particularly more. Of course, we talked about it, like grownups. That might have had some influence. He teased me about leaving him this weekend for the City. And really, I should have invited him, but I need this time away from everyone at school, for my own mental health. I'm rather different when I'm away from all these people and the stresses of school. I'm not sure he'd really recognize me. Maybe someday I'll work him up to it.

As of late, both Essin' Em and Roland Hulme have written about cohabitation. Both, more or less (forgive me for the reductive summary) advocating away from the societal tendency to jump into an apartment with a significant other. In general, I agree with that. I've never even come close to living with a significant other. But, on the other hand, I know for a fact that I HATE living alone. Even when my roommates are gone for a weekend and I'm left home alone, I get antsy, bored, and depressed. I can't decide if this makes me codependent, but I think it probably does. I should concede that while I hate being alone, I absolutely have to have my own space. I could never share a one bedroom apartment with a roommate where we had nowhere to have our own private spaces. Actually, that was part of the problem in Spain, and why I tended to stay with friends so often. But what I'm wondering, in light of Em and Roland's articles: Does this need to be around people make me more likely to jump into a cohabitative situation preemptively? I'd like to say no. I'd like to say that I'm a smart girl and I'd give it some serious thought before I'd move into a shared space, certainly with a significant other (or two).

At the same time, my desire to live with someone has meant in the past that I've ended up with some more than shady roommates. Serious criminal activity has been involved, on one ocassion. So I get worried sometimes that I might not have the foresight to see that I'm getting myself in over my head. I don't really have an answer... Perhaps Em or Roland can offer their opinions... How do those of us who admittedly need to live with people avoid ruining our relationships by doing so? I know cohabitiation is of course an individual choice and preference, and must be taken on a case-by-case basis... I suppose more than anything, I'm just offering another viewpoint. Which is different for me, because I often find myself agreeing with these two.


I leave you with my latest favorite song by my still favorite artist. I'm hoping I'll be interviewing him this weekend, also. I have to figure out how to get into his concert, first. His name is Jay Brannan. And if you haven't heard of him yet, you should. Enjoy.

The internet is for porn, and other random realizations.

This will, admittedly, be a disjointed post. I'm having three different conversations right now, all about similar things, but with different people. So maybe I'll just number the following grafs.

1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.

2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.

3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.

4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.

5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.

6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.

7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?

8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.

HNT: Celebrate!

Two weekends ago was Essin Em's 23rd birthday party. We were to come in costume, as a myth, tall tale or fable. She was looking fine as the White Rabbit, and I managed to create a Megara (yes, from Hercules) costume out of an old pink broomstick skirt.

The night was a fabulous time. There was truth or dare - in which I got to make out with an adorable girl whose number I later got - chocolate body paint - which Em licked off my chest.. yes there are photos, no, you can't see them...hehe - and delicious drinks. There was also a pretty heavy snowstorm that night, so getting home was a bit of an adventure, but things aren't fun without a little adventure.

So here's our first photo of the night, posing shamelessly. I really love this photo, although P has already given me shit for the cut of the dress. But like I told Em, if there was ever a party where it was OK to show up in an outfit that easily showed your underwear, it would be her birthday.

Happy birthday, again, dearest.
And Merry Christmas to those who celebrate.
And Happy Hannukah to those who celebrate.
And Happy Yule to my fellow pagans.
And happymerry wintertime holiday celebration to you and yours.

And, of course, HHNT!

on love and friendship

...and where and when the two intersect.

I should give some background here. I have a (by some standards terrible) habit of dating, fucking, and/or falling in love with my friends. Not all of them, mind you, but friends who I haven't at least kissed are absolutely in the minority. Everyone I've seriously dated or really fallen for has been a friend first. Well, I guess Ex is sort of the exception, as he and I met when we were first starting high school. It did take us almost a semester of pretending we liked each other just as friends, though, before we started dating. P is without question one of my best friends, and I've never been able to separate how much of that is fueled or complicated by the fact that we're in love with each other. Friend is someone I've known for more than half my life, as is Essin' Em, and both M and nonboyfriend I've known for many years just as friends before anything physical ever happened. The women I've slept with (Essin' Em being the exception), I generally haven't known as long, but I'll go ahead and chalk that up to not embracing my queerness anywhere near as early as I embraced the part of me attracted to men.

There is undoubtedly something subconscious about this habit, I think. I'm sure it has something to do with how comfortable I am with my friends, and the fact that when I become friends with someone, I tend to remain so indefinitely... I would usually include the caveat "barring any major transgressions," but more than one of these friends/FwBs and I have had serious falling-outs and continue to speak and, in some cases, have sex. (Obviously, we've worked through our issues, for better or worse.) Not everyone I've had sex with has been an old friend, but almost all of those I've had sex with more than once or twice have been. It's easier to date/fuck friends. You don't have to worry about the awkward getting-to-know-you stage, because it's already out of the way. I'm generally very open about sexuality with my friends (I'm sure you're shocked), so it isn't taboo to essentially take it to the next level.

There are, of course, some downfalls to this tendency. Most people would say that sleeping with your friends has the potential to ruin the friendship, and theorhetically I agree. But by and large I haven't experienced that. That's not to say that I'm somehow superior to these people who "can't manage" that kind of relationship, but maybe it does say something about the nature of my friendships. Maybe I only establish significant friendships with people I could have feelings for. I don't know. Maybe I confuse the more platonic, friend-based love, for romantic, sexual or physical love. That's a very real possibility. And one I've been starting to question. I can't decide if it's a problem or not. My insticts tell me that if I haven't had a moral problem with it thus far (and neither have the friends involved... this isn't a one-sided equation), then I shouldn't start now. But then I wonder if I'm somehow limiting myself, or protecting myself, by only being with these people I know so well and who know me.

Certainly, I'm less likely to get hurt this way. If we already have some substantial trust established, then it's that much easier to be vulnerable with said partner. But is that really what relationships are about? And what's more, are these even truly romantic relationships? Or have these all simply been friends with benefits situations? And is there anything wrong with that?

This is all sparked by a turn of events over the past few weeks. About two weeks ago, I went to northern Spain on a class field trip to ride horses and hike. It was a great time, especially since I so love riding. As I mentioned in my HNT post from that week, I was going without Crush or anyone else to snuggle up with and keep me warm. I was, however, going with Crush's roommate, who we'll from here on out refer to as The Texan. The Texan and I have a few classes together, and have been bonding as of late. We hang out a lot, and (again, as a consequence of my super-openness about sexuality), he recently came out to me as bisexual. I was excited to have a fellow in the program (which might sound weird, but it's nice to know you're not the only one) and then kind of flabergasted when he told me that he's not out to ANYONE ELSE. On a side-note, he's by no means the first person who's come out to me before anyone else... I'd love to say it's because I'm so open or accepting or something, but I don't know. I do take it pretty seriously, though, and when I'm asked to keep the information quiet, I do so. (Again, the advantages of blogging anonymously. Yay!) Anyway... he and I have been spending quite a bit of time together since he came out to me, and he's been a really amazing friend. We've become ridiculously close in a short amount of time.

So the second night of this class trip in northern Spain, the Texan and I went out to a bar together. He poured out his heart to me about his (non-exclusive) boyfriend back home, we talked about it, he started asking me about my love life. So I talked to him about Crush. (Who is, again, The Texan's roommate here in Spain.) Basically, The Texan let me down easy. Telling me Crush does really like hanging out with me, so on and so forth, but that he doesn't think it goes any farther. And I was surprisingly OK with that. I pushed the issue a little farther, though, and asked about if I just wanted to make out with Crush - pointing out that I wasn't looking for a relationship or anything serious. "Oh, well, yeah, that you could totally do!" The Texan responded emphatically. I thought it was relatively funny at the time, and we went on drinking.

Upon further examination, I decided something, though. (And this was, actually, largely facilitated by The Texan.) I don't want to be someone's backup. I don't want to be just good enough. I want to be worth having. I AM worth having. And I'm tired of settling for people who are settling for me. I don't have to.

So that has kind of changed my perception on Crush. He actually hasn't done anything wrong, and I'm not in the least angry with him. I intend to keep hanging out with him and enjoying his company. I just don't expect anything more. And I think that's a good thing.

Then last week, the night before I left for Denmark, The Texan texted me and asked if I'd come out with him for a few drinks. We always have a blast together, and tend to be similarly lush when it comes to consumption of alcohol, so of course I accepted. Granted, it was a Wednesday night, so the bars were less than hopping. But it was actually a fantastic opportunity to really talk. We went bar-hopping, and spent most of the time talking about our various pasts (the advantage of making new friends is that there's never a shortage of stories to tell), and talking a lot about sexuality. I asked him if it was hard being closeted, he answered with suprising honesty. There was more bar hopping.

And then, I couldn't tell you how, we were kissing. Really kissing. His hands on my chin, pulling me to him, my arms around his shoulders. It was the frenzied (admittedly drunken) passionate kind of kiss that I haven't experienced in quite some time. And, to quote Jay Brannan "his kiss matched mine so perfectly..." After leading my by hand to what was our fourth bar of the night, we took a cab home - which he insisted on taking with me to my place even though it would make it twice as expensive for him. I tried to convince him otherwise, and he looked at me like I was crazy for thinking he'd leave without knowing I was home safely. It was unnecessary, but a nice gesture nonetheless. There was a kiss goodbye in the cab, and then we each went our separate ways.

So here's the catch. I felt incredibly guilty the next morning. The details of the end of the evening are a little fuzzy (hence why they weren't more detailed in my recounting) but the things I remember are quite clear. I don't think the kissing arose from anything particularly romantic, and have a sneaking suspicion it was one of those "let's be those obnoxious people in the bar who seem really happy making out with each other." To the best of my recollection, it was a simple friendly makeout session. I've had countless. So I can't quite figure out why this time is making me feel so guilty.

Well, that's not entirely true. I think I feel like I took advantage of him. And while I don't know whose idea it was to start making out, and I know he was obviously not complaining too much, as he was kissing back, I feel like I have all this information about him, and he's trusted me with it, and what do I do? I jump him. (Well, not exactly. But you all know what I mean.)

I need your help here. I've talked to him about the night and we're both avoiding it and I don't want to make it awkward for either of us. (Our conversation wasn't in the least uncomfortable, though.) So, provided that talking to him about it isn't an option... what do I do about this guilt? Is it warranted in the first place?

*lesigh.*

I can has banner?

So. Here I am, at 1:30 am, my roommate is sleeping restlessly about five feet away from me, and I'm not the littlest bit tired. So, in addition to sending rapid-fire emails back with a fellow blogger, I've updated my blogroll, written my O lessthanthree your blog post, and have been contemplating my next post. I'm thinking it'll be about hypocrisy. Regarding relationships and sexuality, specifically. Shocking, I know. But it's been getting to me lately. I'm trying to give it a day so that it isn't just an angry rant directed primarily at my roommate. Somehow, I'm upon midterms again (what genius decided to give TWO midterms AND a final in this program? NOT. COOL.), and am up against a deadline for the magazine here, so I'm a little bit extra-high stressed. So what am I doing? Messing around on blogger.

Anyway, in updating my blogroll and just generally stalking all of you awesome, awesome bloggers, I noticed the particular presence of sweet banners. I started writing this blog as basically an extension of my sex column, but it's become so much more important to me, that I'd like the layout to reflect that, at least to some degree.

And I've been having some shitty body-confidence issues as of late, in no small part due to some unknown bugs that feasted on my body a few nights back, making me feel all... yucky and covered in red spots. So (in addition to more hydrocortisone than any person should ever use) this is what I've decided to do. I'd love to make a banner with some lovely photo of my body as the background for my blog title. Think something along the lines of Jake and Marianne.

Here's the catch... I don't have any kind of photo-editing software on my computer or here in Spain. Also, as a writer and less of a designer, I'm not overly savvy in said programs. (Proficient, sure, but that's about it.) So since you all have been so wonderful, I'm asking for your help. I need a new banner. I'm open to it saying/having just about anything on it... You all read me, you know what I like.

While I don't have cool sex toys to give away like Essin' Em does (dammit), I can offer you my undying appreciation, shameless linkage here on my blog... oh, and pictures. I mean, you gotta have something to work with, right? Just like HNT, they won't exactly give me away, but past and future (and some unpublished) HNT photos are all full-game. Maybe even taking requests?

So all this boils down to: Do you like reading my blog? Do you know how to work some kind of photoediting software? Do you have too much time on your hands? And do you want to see more of me?

Then comment here or send me an email at sashasappho at gmail dot com and let's get this thing going.

Besos y suenos dulces.

I (lessthanthree) your blog.

I'm making a concerted effort to get OUT of the habit of saying I "heart" things by the time I leave Spain, so I've resorted to using lessthanthree. Also, it's a phrase rather dear to me as it's an affectionate greeting between P and I. Depending on how much less than three we write, that's how much we love/miss the other. It's silly, but fun. But I'm digressing.

My dearest Essin' Em was gracious enough to list little ol' me in her I <3 your blog entry, and I figured it's time I return the favor.

First off, the rules:
1. Link to the giver.
2. Nominate up to seven other fabulous blogs and link to them.
3. Leave comments announcing their rise to greatness.
**Note - You may have been given this already, so that means you are a GREAT blogger.

And so here they are, in no particular order.

Essin' Em, I lessthanthree your blog! My dear, where could I even begin? I love that we've known each other basically forever, lost and regained touch so many times, and still we've ended up so close in our identities and intellectualism and lives. You are, absolutely, my inspiration in so many things, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little proud to tout you as one of my real-world friends. I can't wait for more Mexican food and sex chat as soon as I'm back. And maybe some hottubbing, too... Sans awkward friends this time? :)

Amalthea, I lessthanthree your blog! Darling, we've gone over this so many times in comments and emails back and forth, but I absolutely love what kindred spirits we are, even though we've yet to meet in person. (I say yet because I fully plan on remedying that one of these days!) I love how your voice comes through in your writing - I know you think it's scattered, but I just think it's fabulous. I also love reading as you see how blogging can be so beneficial for you and your life and your self-esteem. You most certainly deserve it. (Also, I should let you know that as a child, The Last Unicorn scared me shitless. You have very nearly changed my perception on that.) Also, I'm loving you participating in HNT... gives me more to look forward to. :)

Fat Controller, I lessthanthree your blog! Your words are beautiful, you and Heather are beautiful, and I love being able to be a fly on the wall (well, with a more comfortable seat, I feel like a pampered voeuyer) in reading about your relationship. You are so real, and honest, and talented - more than a few times, your words have had physically affected me. I love that you're just vague enough to leave us wanting more, without once leaving us wanting. You and Heather are another pair of bloggers I hope to meet in person someday.

Roland Hulme, I lessthanthree your blog! I just got done commenting this on your latest post, but truly, I love the intellectualism and wit I get with each entry. I'll admit that I still can't quite wrap my head around your political positions, but that's part of the fun. You're one of the few non-sex bloggers I read regularly (quiet in the peanut gallery, thank you), because I'm so hungry for the snarky, smart commentary I miss so much since coming abroad. Also, the photos of your son are just ridiculously adorable. And I love your comments on my HNT posts, even if I suspect that those are sometimes the only posts I can count on you to read. ;)

Jake of Facts and Friction, I lessthanthree your blog! Of course, it goes without saying that I LOVE your HNT photos, Jake. *sigh.* But you knew that. Aside from the obvious hotness (seriously, dude, those abs? Not even fair...I'm digressing.), I love your not-quite-sarcastic tone. I get the impression you know more than your 19 years let on. And I've told you that your writing reminds me of Friend, which is always a good thing. I get the impression you and I would be good friends - and I always look forward to your emails. I know University keeps you busy, but I do so enjoy hearing about your escapades and conquests. And remember, it should always be a walk of fame.

Merlin, I lessthanthree your blog! Your words are poignant, stunning, and incredibly powerful. I can feel the connection you and Nimue have for one other through your words and both your recounts of your time together. If I ever had any doubt that an affair could be as loving, fulfilling and important as a "traditional relationship" (which is questionable if I've thought that since I started having sex), you have banished every trace. You are both so eloquent and I so admire your writing that I am always genuinely flattered when you comment here. Here's hoping there are more reunions (and reading material for us!) in the near future.

Wilhelmina Wang (of Heartbreak Nymphomania), I lessthanthree your blog! Wilhelmina, you are another kindred spirit in the blogosphere that makes existing here so much more fun and exciting. I love seeing you exploring everything that accompanies blogging, and it's genuinely fascinating to see parallels in your experience abroad and mine. It does help me feel not so alone. Also, I must admit I'm sufficiently jealous of your sexploits of late. Damn living out my top fantasy. I'm always looking forward to the next post. And I should add, I adore that your HNT posts always reveal something more than your body, as well.

*pants* That's a lot of love. Of course, I couldn't include everyone I read regularly, especially considering how many of you I do read on a very regular basis. But do know that each of you has made this whole blogging experience something so much more than, and have added to the addiction that this thing has become. (Don't worry, it's a good thing.) Perhaps it's because I'm away in a strange place, but it really is nice to know there is such good, smart, sex-positive energy floating around in literally every corner of the world.

Besos.

The aftermath.

First off, I must thank everyone for their support following my last entry. I was pretty shaken up and angry when I wrote it, and with your help (and, admittedly, some well-timed social reconciliation with my best friend) I'm able to look at it as a negative experience, but one that won't define me. Roland, I promise not let it ruin my entire Spanish experience, although I suppose it will inform it from this point forward. I also appreciate those who shared their own experiences either through comments or blogs. Once again, you all are a sort of safety net that it's wonderful to know I have.

And now on to the aftermath. Which, for me, is almost always an intellectual thing. (I'm also back in classes and recharging my brain for academia, which hopefully means posts will lean more that direction for the next few months until I shut off my brain again for winter break.) As of late, I have been struggling, mentally and morally (which isn't quite the right word but will have to suffice) with my interest in BDSM. I suppose for the most part they are standard questions. How can I be a rape survivor who enjoys and indeed desires very aggressive, dominating and violent sex? Can I be a feminist and still desire the same? At the same time, how can I advocate for sexual freedom of choice and practice and equality and still hold internal issues that don't allow me to fully accept my own identity? How will I know where my limits really are, and how far am I willing to go to explore those limits? And even, once I find them, how do I interpret them and integrate them into my life, sexual or otherwise?

I was most concerned with the first several, and generally figured that the latter are more experience-based and would eventually be established. As for those first, more theoretical questions? Well, I wasn't so sure how I'd get those answered. In the midst of re-reading Gayle Rubin's call for a radical sexual politics and being assaulted, I think I found the answer.

The difference between "good sex" (as Rubin refers to it, a la right or condonable sex and sexuality) and "bad sex" (obviously, the opposite, or unacceptable, amoral sex) is the question of consent. It has nothing to do with specific behavior or acts being acceptable and others being categorically wrong. It isn't wrong to hit someone if they've consented to being hit (without coercion, of course... all this should be read with a filter of "fully-informed and willful consent"). By the same token, it is wrong to touch someone, even gently, if they haven't given you express consent.

Before people jump on me about the term "express consent," no, I don't think that necessarily means that every time you want to hug a friend, you need to ask if it's all right to do so. Although that might not be such a terrible idea. I know, for example, that my dear Essin' Em has been rightfully called "the queen of consent," and indeed, she does ask before she gives hugs. And consequently, I've never felt that she's invaded my personal space. I can't say the same about others, even those I consider friends. Sometimes you don't want to be touched, don't want to be talked to, don't want to be involved. Rather, what I mean by express consent is that the person must make it clear that they want whatever is being done to them (I'm writing this from the perspective of a sub, but consent goes both ways, of course). Any question about consent needs to be clarified. Beforehand. Or during. It is never, ever an excuse to say "Oh, but I thought you wanted that..."

And as Merlin mentioned this in his comment on my assault entry, consent can also be revoked at any time. I know this is an issue discussed regularly in the BDSM community (and rightly so). I believe several other communities and indeed, most people would do well to give more thought and attention to the idea of consent and its...fluidity. I have spoken with vanilla, straight friends who tell me that they experimented with something new sexually and decided they didn't like it (way to be GGG, though!), but their partner assumed that since they had consented once, he or she automatically had access to this behavior. Uhm, no.

I suppose all of this isn't especially news to anyone, but the idea to me was somewhat novel that consent is what delineates the good from the bad. I'm content with the idea that there is no bad sex, other than that which doesn't involve equal and free consent of all those involved. (The issue of who, precisely, is capable of giving consent is another concern and entry all together.) The idea that it isn't wrong for me to like to be tied up, hit, talked down to and fucked hard with a partner (or partners) who I trust and have consented to being with, is an incredibly freeing sensation. At the same time, it allows me to know that that doesn't by any means that I should have enjoyed those men who were groping me in the street last weekend, although they may have exerted much less force than some partners I've been with. Indeed, in other situations, I've been quite proud to wear bruises as a marker of time well-spent. But that doesn't mean I have to enjoy any and all behavior that resembles that which I do sometimes enjoy in the bedroom (or dungeon, or or or...). And I believe this allows me to, for the most part, reconcile my liberal, pro-equality and sexual freedom and feminist views with my actual life practices.

It's still a work in progress, but I can gladly say that something positive and affirming came out of this negative and discouraging situation.

And I'm already working on HNT ideas. I can finally upload photos from my digital camera. Huzzah.

am I more attractive...

...when I'm not around?

This is partially inspired by Essin' Em's post about her tendency to start having sex with people (including myself) right before they leave for extended periods of time, and partially by the goings-on of the end of the summer and my time thus far here in Spain.

As I've mentioned, I had a fabulous summer. Fantastic friends, a great internship where I got some amazing clips for my portfolio (and a job offer), and a house in an amazingly vibrant part of town that was central to almost all of those amazing friends. Also, my sex life was, well, really good. I was not only getting laid regularly, but it was really good sex. Primarily with one person for the bulk of the summer, although there were a few others before this person and I got together and one after we knew we weren't going to see each other again. (Which, as I've written about, turned out to be exactly what I needed.) So I knew it was going to be a little rough - perhaps more than usual - to adjust to life in a different country where I didn't know ANYONE when I had enjoyed being so comfortable in my environment. And it has been difficult. I'm getting there, but it's slow going.

This is not a post about the fact that I haven't gotten laid since I've been here. That's actually OK. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling some skin hunger and an increasing desire to make out with someone. But this isn't a post about that, because that's about all there is to say about that. Instead, this is about my friends back in the states and a tendency of a certain one or two to flake on me when we're in the same state, but then profess their devotion when I'm gone.

Backstory on the worst culprit: I've known him basically forever, and we've been through a hell of a lot, generally based upon the fact that we can never seem to have feelings for one another at the same time. For quite a while, he wanted me and I didn't want him, then I wanted him and he thought I was a raging bitch (which, admittedly, I can be), and then we - for the most part - got our shit together and liked one another at the same time. We've never dated, due in large part to the fact that he lives a few hours away from where I live only a few months of the year, and he's not especially reliable. At the beginning of the summer, though, on a whim (and when I had the car), I drove the 90 minutes to see him. In the middle of the night. We didn't sleep at all that night, and had sex in all kinds of "unconventional" places. (There WAS something wonderful about wearing 5" heels and being bent over the hood of a car while it was pulled off a side-road in the woods.) And this was when I was still suffering - a word I use fully intentionally - from my inability-to-have-an-orgasm-with-a-partner brokenness. Well, he fixed that. Three times in a row. Needless to say, I couldn't keep standing in those heels because my legs and my entire body had turned to putty in his hands. Then I didn't see him again for the rest of the summer.

Not for lack of trying, though. We stayed in relatively regular contact, and I asked him (he who has a paying job and a car compared to my lack of both) several times to come see me. I invited him for weekends, for sleepless nights, for day trips. There were a few times where he said he was coming down, and then never showed. I accepted that I wasn't going to see him and told him so.

Now that I'm on the other side of the world, he's been in strikingly regular contact with me. Telling me how much he misses me. What he's going to do to me when I get back stateside. Telling me how I've "ruined" his fantasy sex life because he no longer fantasizes about a variety of women, just about me. That he misses me so much it's palpable. We instant messaged a day or two ago, and I gave him my cell phone number here. He promised he'd call. He hasn't. But this morning, I woke up to this message from him on facebook:

No i am not ignoring you, I'm currently over-enveloped by certain business ventures I can't delve into... meow kisses and hugs,
- Your boy

Unprovoked. I hadn't given him shit about not calling me. But I assume he was just checking in. Making sure I wasn't upset with him. And signing it "your boy..." it actually made me smile. And get a little bit of the warm fuzzies.

But here's my question: Why is he doing this now? Now that I'm gone? Why is he making such an effort to stay in contact with me, tell me he misses me, now that I'm away? Because, in reality, our inability to see one another is the same as it's been since the beginning of the summer. It's nothing new.

And he's not the only person doing it. There are another one or two people, as well, he's just the most prevalent right now. So why am I more attractive when I'm not around? Is there something about my physical presence that makes me less intriguing? And shouldn't it technically go the other way around?

*mew.*

A virgin does Thunder.

So, this weekend was Thunder in the Mountains, a kink conference in my dear-old hometown. Essin Em had told me about it a few months ago, mentioning that she was going, and asking if I wanted to go as well, since she knew I'm into the BDSM thing. (Or, at least, I'm getting in to it.) After some negotiation - a key term for the weekend - I managed to get registered, and Em offered to let me stay with her in the hotel room her company was paying for. The convention hotel was about 45 minutes from either of our houses, so it was definitely great to have the room for a night.

The conference is composed of a few essential elements: There are classes by nationally-known presenters on various aspects of kink - I took classes on trust in SM relationships, playing with strangers, how to top when you're a bottom, brutal affection, and beginner's rope bondage. Nothing too terribly intense, but overall each class was enjoyable and highly informative. I had the pleasure of taking classes from the stunning and hilarious Midori, the hottest-woman-I've-seen-in-basically-forever Rita Seagrave, and a series of other fabulous presenters who were funny, compassionate, and knowledgeable.

There was also a vendor fair, chock-full of your kinkier-than-normal sex toys. While I wasn't interested in everything they had to offer, I was unable to resist a few purchases. Perhaps photos of those will go up soon as HNT photos. We'll see. :)

And then there were the play parties. Slash dungeon space. Which sounds way more intimidating than it really was. At least in my head (and this being my first public BDSM experience), a dungeon is this dark, dank place with elaborate torture devices (which may not be a bad thing!) and poor lighting. In actuality, it was a relatively well-lit - almost too well-lit in my opinion - conference room full of scaffolding, tables, benches, and, yes, some crosses to chain people to. There was music playing, which Em and I both agreed didn't quite fit the mood. Although it did serve as decent background music, but to be fair, I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to the music.

At the parties (there were two - one on Friday night, another on Saturday), I got to see some things I'd never seen in person. There was fire-play, which was fascinating to watch, blood-play, which I don't think I could ever do but was still morbidly fascinating, pony-play, which I don't get but totally validate those who enjoy it, and of course, the more standard beatings and tyings-up that accompany BDSM culture. Being so new to the scene, and certainly to the convention - I'm the youngest age they allow in the conference for legal reasons - I looked at the whole thing a little wide-eyed. I was infinitely glad to have Em there, who has been to kink parties before and at least knew what to expect. Not to mention, she's so much more outgoing than I am... I was happy to fall a few steps behind her and let her do most of the talking. I also knew I could ask her any question and she wouldn't look at me like I was stupid for not knowing it.

On a side-note here: Because we spent the weekend basically attached at the hip, people generally assumed we were a couple. While we aren't romantically involved, it was so utterly fabulous not to be automatically considered straight. And while there was one older gentleman who didn't quite understand that we weren't interested in him, everyone else was generally respectful of our assumed identity. Which was just generally a really pleasant experience. Now, back to the play parties.

So, the first day, Em bought a fabulous new flogger, which, of course, she needed to break in. I was happy to volunteer. So, we found an available cross (is that right, Em? Is that what they're called?... it's not like the religious cross, but like a 6-foot-tall wooden X) and tied my hands to the top. I kept on my super-hot 4" patent heels, and not much else. I think my lace underwear stayed on for a few minutes, but soon they, too, were in a pile on the floor. Amazing how my clothes have a tendency to do that. Anyways... After some adjustments to my cuffs since they were cutting off circulation, the beating resumed. The flogger felt lovely - just enough sting as it graced my back and ass. The leather was soft enough not to make me scream, but the force hard enough to make me squirm a little. And then she broke out the broom.

Not an actual broom, mind you, but the EVIL plastic kind. With something like five tiny...bristles?... anyways, that hurt like a fucking BITCH when swung across your ass. I might have gotten in trouble for almost buckling my legs with that one. And it definitely elicited more than a few yelps from me. So, lesson number one in my fabulous weekend of kink: I don't like the sting! I'm all about the thud. Also, apparently at this point, we had an audience, although I was unaware. I was unaware of pretty much everything except what was happening to my body. I should also point out here that Em was a very attentive dom, and repeatedly made sure I was OK, that I knew my safewords, and would run her hands and kisses down my skin after she'd beaten me. (Still doesn't mean I don't have a few marks, hehehe). After the flogging scene, we moved into the women's-only space, where we continued to play with various toys, both the painful and the pleasurable. I'm not exceptionally comfortable going into details here, but I will tell you why.

Our scene ended not when I safeworded (I didn't), but when I was close to coming, and started sobbing. Uncontrollably. Big, wet tears. That I couldn't stop for several minutes. Em wasn't hurting me any more than I wanted her to - in fact, what she was doing felt really good. At the same time, the feeling was really intense, and something more than I've felt, physically, in a while. I was imposing a lot of pressure on myself, and there was a good deal of physical pressure on my body. I think more than anything, it WAS a form of release. And it's entirely possible that I needed a good cry more than I needed an orgasm. Actually, I think that is probably what was going on. So, Em, please don't think you did anything wrong. You didn't. You were wonderful, and I just wasn't in the right headspace. (And, you may be right that maybe I shouldn't play in this context with women.) I think I have a harder time taking a beating from a woman, because I never have. I've taken beatings from men, so it's easier to accept. How fucked up is that?

OK, I know this post is getting really crazy long... so we'll make the second night a new post. Huzzah.

I love this city.

It always seems to go this way, where the last few weeks I live somewhere are the most fun. I guess that's not a coincidence - maybe it's a lack of inibitions, knowing time is limited. Whatever it is, I've had basically the best weekend I've had in a year. And it's only Friday afternoon.

Wednesday, I spent the evening with my beloved Essin Em, who, unfortunately, fractured/sprained her ankle while on a date on Tuesday. Of course, it's her right ankle, so she can't drive, so I went over there to help her out, and bring movies/dinner/run errands and what not. We talked about how much women can suck and what defines a relationship and had the same kind of fabulous deep, funny, authentic conversation I've come to expect and so enjoy when with her. We watched Sex and Breakfast, which was thoroughly disappointing, and I headed out around 11:15.
While en route, a friend who lived in the neighborhood called and insisted I come over to his house. So I did. And I'm not so much at liberty to go in to details, but I had an excellent time, and heard some things I really needed to hear. I'm feeling much better about life.

On Thursday, my friend gave me a ride to the store I used to work at, where they'd asked me to pitch in. I'm beyond broke, so I agreed, and worked the regular 8 hour shift. It's by no means a hard job, and the money is decent (it better be after I've worked for them for five years), so depite a little stress and having to wear my friend's clothes to work (I didn't have a change), everything went smoothly. And P met me for lunch, and graciously paid, since I hadn't gotten the paycheck.
I love how our friendship has evolved. I've known P since we were 14, and while we've always flirted with one another (and at times it's gone far beyond flirting), I'm so incredibly comfortable in his presence. I can't even verbalize how lucky I am to have not one but TWO people in my romantic(ish) life who make me feel so fabulous. (Granted, I'm not currently sleeping with P, but I will always consider him and I semi-romantically involved. It's complicated in the best way possible.)

I got home from work about 6:30 and passed out hard until almost 9. I hadn't slept much the night before and I desperately needed the powernap. My gayboyfriend and I had made tentative plans to go out to the gay bars that night, and so I recruited my favorite roommate, and P's hetero-lifemate (who is also an old and close friend of mine and has a thing for my roommate), G. My gayboyfriend, P and G all got to my house around the same time, and after a debate about who was driving/drinking/paying for those drinks, we headed out in P's car. (P doesn't drink much, ever, but the real challenge was getting him to drive which meant he'd be closing out the bars with us. We suceeded.)
We went first to the somewhat catch-all gay bar, where drinks are reasonably priced and there's a mixed crowd. Thursday nights are usually the biggest night there, but it was actually a little slow. Roomie and her coworkers were at a gay dance club a few blocks, so after a few drinks at the bar, the boys and I walked over there to meet up with her.
Now, this specific club is interesting. It's a huge space, with two (and a half, arguably) dance floors, separated so they're basically in different rooms, and a fabulous patio. It looks run-down from the outside, but the drinks are ridiculously cheap (and it was 2-for-1 night) and they play both house/pop and country. (On separate dancefloors, obviously.) It was more crowded than I've seen it before, and with one more drink and a shot, the boys and I all got on the dancefloor. It was somewhere near midnight.

And we didn't stop dancing until the bouncer literally hussled us out of the bar. I don't usually dance at clubs because I'm self-conscious, but I saw how the boys were letting loose, and decided I could do the same. And anyways, you should SEE me move my hips. I've gotten more than a few compliments on that. (Hell yes, belly dance.) I danced with Roomie and her friends, with P, with G, and with Gayboyfriend. I stepped away to get another drink (or something) and when I came back, P was dancing, which was fabulous enough because he was being shy, but he was dancing WITH A BOY. Who had his hands all over him. And P was loving it.

Now, usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but, well, those of you who know P... it kind of was. You could tell he loved the attention, and I loved seeing him love it. I was dancing with G/no one in particular, and all of a sudden, I was sandwiched between G and a random gay boy. It was funny because even though I knew they weren't interested in me (G is straight but there's nothing there), I felt so wanted and fabulous. Because even if they didn't WANT me, they wanted to dance with me. Which was more than enough.

The rest of the night went largely like that. After a while, P's dance partner came over and started dancing with me, which was also fun. By 1:30, I was drenched in sweat and jealous of all the boys who could take thier shirts off. So I took mine off. Which totally got me attention from a few gay men around me. It was the definition of fabulous. I have never had so much fun at a club.

And here's the real clincher (although the late-night diner food was fabulous, as well)... I was dancing so hard that I didn't want to carry my purse with me. So I set it underneath Roomie's on a stool around the table we sort of had. When they turned the houselights on to try to hurry us all out, I went over to pick it up. And there was no purse. Anywhere. Roomie had hers, but mine was gone. I started freaking out. Random boys who we'd been dancing with noticed my distress and offered to help me look for it. We couldn't find it. I went to talk to the bartender in the room we'd been dancing in, praying that someone turned it in. He hadn't seen it, but told me to check security/at the front. (The club has something like 4 or 5 bars.) I asked the cowboy-hat clad bartender, and he said he hadn't seen it, but told me to wait til people cleared out and we could look for it again. I sat at the bar, trying not to freak out too much. My friends had already been hussled out, and I saw them looking at me through the door, genuine concern on thier faces. A tall, lean man with gentle facial hair and a cowboy hat walked up to me, hands resting behind his back. I thought he might ask to take my number in case they found it. I had pretty much resolved myself that my purse was gone. Credit cards, brand-new I'm-21-now ID, checkbook, phone... everything.
"Is your name Sasha?" I nodded.
"What's your pin say?" The tall cowboy asked me.
I thought he'd asked me for my pin number.
"I'm sorry, what?" I responded.
"What. Do. Your. Pins. Say?"
Suddenly I understood. I call them buttons, and I'd recently put them on the strap of my purse.
"OH! Oh my god!" I literally jumped up. "One says 'Musgrave,' and the other is black and says 'Let's get one thing straight - I'm not.'"
The cowboy pulled my purse out from behind his back. I squealed and hugged him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're AMAZING!"

The bear standing next to him asked to see my Musgrave pin and was relieved to see it was an anti-Musgrave button. (She's a Senator who's sponsored the Federal Amendment to ban gay marriage.) He made a joke about thinking I was in the wrong place. I laughed and hugged him too. My cowboy and the bear escorted me out, and the Roomie, as soon as I came out, pruse in hand, thanked them agian and handed them a $20.

I was just utterly amazed, because nowhere else would that have happened. In most clubs, in any city here in the states or I imagine in the world, my purse would have been history. Instead, someone picked it up, turned it in, and then held it safely and made sure I was who I said I was before they gave it back. That's just incredible to me. And one more reason why I love this community. We're here for each other. It's primarily a men's club, but I not only had the best time I've ever had, they took fabulous care of me. Where else could I find something like that?

I LOVE this city. And it's things like this that make me think this is really where I belong.

nudity.ness.

So, last night was the fateful evening when Essin' Em and I finally got to hang out. We had a really great time. Of course, most of what we talked about was sex. (Shocking, I know.) After perhaps the most thorough sex-store outing I've yet had the pleasure of experiencing, we ended up at our mutual friend's house. (Yes, the boy I'm... whatever...ing.) Who, also, as we learned last night, reads Em's blog regularly, so, if and when he figures out that this is me - welcome! *waves*

Anyways, so we ended up at his house, since he was a mutual friend, and, more aptly, because he had a hot tub and I'm persuasive enough to convince him to let us come over and usurp it. After a few more phone calls (clearly, we weren't coming fast enough... *snicker*), we made our way over to his house, where we were also introduced to a friend of his who's staying with him. The friend seemed nice enough, but the boy (who needs a nickname... any suggestions? Can't use his initial cause it's too common in my life) and Em wasted no time in catching up, and I in inserting myself in their relationship dynamic. Which maybe, really, should have been more difficult.

But we had come for the hot tub, so that's where we headed after a drink (or, in my case, a mouthful and a half of Absynthe). Em and I hadn't brought swimsuits - yes, even though it had been our idea to go hot tubbing - and so we stripped to underwear and bras, and I cursed myself for not wearing cuter underwear. Before we'd sunk into the hot tub, Em pointed out that she was wearing a relatively nice bra that matched an outfit, and she didn't want to get it all chlorine-y. And I wasn't about to let my girl go solo, so I joined her in the toplessness. We didn't hear any complaints. We had several discussions about whose breasts were bigger - hers are by a little bit, but mine are...what did we decide, Em? Perkier? - and how amusing it was that tits float. Which, incidentally, makes them look kind of cool.

Within this new group dynamic we were forging, I emerged as (ready for the shocker, here?) the submissive. Which basically means I got ogled and fondled and complimented a lot and hit a few times. All consensually, of course - legit, with express verbal permission. It was a strange sensation, though, to be the object of attraction for these two people, both of whom I like and respect, and both of whom I think of as more confident than me sexually, and to have them sit across the hot tub from me and tell me I have near-perfect breasts. I think I got, for a moment, what it must feel like to be just one of those stunningly gorgeous people, who everyone in the world thinks is beautiful. I'm not throwing a pity party here in the least, but it was most definitely a new sensation for me to feel quite so sexy and wanted and valuable all at the same time. Yes, every once in a while I get the "hey, you're hot" comments from friends or random people, but this was like I was entirely under their gaze and couldn't move if I wanted to. We eventually moved downstairs to the sauna - yes, we were Zaunaing - where Em and boy sat on the upper bench while I stretched out (still naked, as all of us were) on the lower bench with my feet up next to boy. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the hot air, and as I opened my eyes, Em and boy were both staring at me, something almost like hunger in their eyes. Em looked me up and down and once more and said something to the effect of:
"I hope you don't mind, I'm totally objectifying all of you right now. Damn."
And boy smiled and rubbed his hand over my leg and just said "Yeah."

Thank god the sauna was warm and had flushed my skin already, although I'm sure color still rose to my cheeks regardless. There is something about these two, specifically, that makes me feel really comfortable with my body and myself and my life when I'm around them. And yes, of course the copious amounts of compliments obviously help, but even earlier, I was the first one to get completely naked, which is SO not my style.

Because I can be as sex-positive and kinky and queer as I want but the truth remains that I have some pretty substantial body issues. There are, without question, more parts of my body that I don't like than parts I do. Just for reference, the parts I like: my nose, my eyes when they're green, my tits, my calves, and my tattoos. Everything else, I would change if I could. And I know that's a very negative image to have, but I'm working on being more realistic and accepting of my body... it just takes some time. I've struggled with eating disorders and body image for a long time now. But nights like last night certainly help. Immensely. More than I can put into words.

So thank you to Em, and thank you to boy, for helping me feel a little better about myself, and like maybe I was worth some adoration. I don't know what I'd do without you guys.