Did you know that today is National Coming Out Day? Whether you're lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or a straight ally, be proud of who you are and your support for LGBT equality!
www.hrc.org
You already know I'm out as a bisexual.What don't you know?
I'm a professor-phile. It's the confidence, the skill and education. Competence is sexy.
My first two years of College were particularly lovely because I had massive crushes on select teachers.
The first was the epitome of the focused, serious professor. He'd whisper from just behind me as he'd reach over and correct my drawings. I know for a fact that he's unintentionally sexy because after I gathered the courage to joke about it once, he looked mortified and ran off. He's apparently super christian, married and must have a ton of kids. Haha, every girl loved him. I think there's a fanclub dedicated to him in the bowels of algonquin.
The teacher I had the next year was a woman. At first I was bummed not to have the former prof. She was gorgeous. Like an elf, an elf with a temper. She told us stories of how she'd worked as a tattoo artist at a young age.
So you can imagine how shocked I was to see her at a fetish event. I got a high five from her in the washroom because I curb stomped some twit who thought I was going to give him a lap dance on stage for a t-shirt. Also I made out with a succulent blonde on stage and stole the show from the burlesque dancers. Funny how I have no issue with a room of perverts videotaping el lolita and I getting heavy, but the idea of making a move on this prof froze me.
Actually this isn't the first time I've run into a teacher in a hilarious setting. I was once browsing for a vibrator when I bumped into a middle school councillor of mine. We joked around and stuck a suction cup dong to a cupboard. We laughed at at the dwoinging sound it made when we smacked the door.
There was one prof I really had it bad for. I'd seen his work around the city last summer. None of it really moved me, except for one diptych. So unlike the others, it featured dreamscape creatures, dark masses with white grinning teeth. The piece really disturbs and ensnares me.
First day of class I ran in late, and threw myself down in a chair. He prattled on, and I drew him. Young, too young to teach. With a shock of messy hair, and very cute, hip clothes. We joked around, he mentioned that I missed his introduction. so he pulled up his personal art site. Projected at the front of the room he typed in the url. before he was done I shot up and boomed "You're that artist!?" He flushed. I flushed, the entire room felt awkward for us.
I told him that I followed his work. Omitting that I'd gone to a rather bizarre graffiti party the previous summer in hopes of meeting him. Undeterred by the room's silence, I gushed "... is your best work on display. But that's a print isn't it? Where the original, has it been bought?"
His orderly facade had dissipated. His voice dropped low "It's hanging in my bedroom." Dual-ly not-ed
Skipping home that day, I called up Efram, and told him I wanted to seduce my professor. Urged on by Efram I invited him to lunch, which he declined politely. So I walked with him after class. Next time we stopped at a kiosk for coffee. Another student came up and said hi, the prof looked at him, then nervously at my faintly smug face.
Another day we were locked into an intense conversation at the campus observatory. Both leaned over the sketchbook littered table towards each other. I was prying past his professional facade, and he enjoyed resisting. I'd girlishly ask him for advice, then challenge him when he made excuses or held his tongue. He was surprisingly mild mannered. He played it safe, and kept away from creating incendiary work. "But the piece of yours that caught me eye, what is it about?"
"Oh nothing, I was up late and couldn't sleep. It was just a dream."
"That's it? It's aberrant from the rest of your collection. It's not just asymmetrical vector patterns. You're communicating a feeling, a story. Tell me, what did you feel?"
He leaned in even further, his eyes glancing covertly side to side. "Mouths are a universal symbol understood by our subconscious. Mouths represent hunger. The way he said hunger sent shivers down my spine. My curiosity compelling me further "What do you hunger for?" the question drawn out of me. My lips slightly parted, I wanted to kiss him, but so much more then that I wanted to hear his answer. That was the only honest moment we had together. For that moment his job didn't matter, his girlfriend probably didn't either. But moments are fleeting, though no less beautiful for it.
He flushed, and nervously, endearingly looked away towards the room full of students. "Oh nothing, it was a social commentary." He concluded lamely. "We all hunger for something."
The look he'd given me inspired a great many flights of fancy int he following months. I imagined being pressed into the painting hung above his bed and he railed me from behind. Or maybe I'd have to pin him against it with my nails as I forcibly blew him. Maybe if the heaven's shined down on me, I could arrange to have drinks at his place, and bring Efram.
So while he taught the class the plethora of inane techniques for jumping through hoops, I'd try to imagine the look of incredulousness that would cross his face momentarily as he and Efram locked eyes while they speared me like a spit roast. After that I found I couldn't sit through his classes without getting uncomfortably wet. I'd show up late and try to sneak in, but when his eyes found me they betrayed the tiniest bit more then they should have.
Sometimes I wouldn't sleep the night before, I'd work myself up thinking about what I should say. Then I'd try to burn off energy by committing my thoughts to painting.
When I went in to class, I was bleary eyed, and gave off a slightly vulnerable quiet air. But I'd still get wet, no matter how I tried to treat him as I ought to have been. I stopped going to class and nearly failed the course because of it.
For the end of semester test, I showed up on the last day. On the condition that we passed, he'd give us a print of his. I'd practically begged him all semester for a print of the painting I loved. Handing in the exam, an attached a message that read "I'd like to see the original painting."
When he gave me a print, it wasn't of the painting I'd once gazed at so thoughtfully. Instead is was a piece of corporate garbage.
It's up in my room, and I hate looking at it. It's so indicative of the side of himself he gave me.
In retrospect what would have happened if I'd just pushed him a little harder? He wasn't willing to bench his career on an enamoured student. At the time, though not exceptionally subtle, I never made the first move.
Before him I rather loved literary erotica focusing on forbidden s/M professor/student relationships. But now I can't read them without seeing his adorably shy face flicker into sudden seriousness; when his passion breaks through his laissez-faire professionalism. And when the words read "The professor grabbed her and threw her over the desk raining down spanks to punctuate the lesson." I see him and I engaged in debate, he grabs me, and throws me over the desk winds up his arm waits. waits. then lets it drop, apologizes for his impropriety and scuttles off back to his doubtlessly sexually-uninventive girlfriend.
HAHA! We can't win them all. I look back at that story and smile. He's off chasing his dreams as an artist. And that thought deeply warms my heart.
On a semi-related note: Alan Rickman especially turns my crank. He has since I was too young to know what my crank was. It's the posture, and the voice. Rasputin, Snape and Mesmer are fascinating characters, though oddly I love him best as the dead husband in Truly, Madly, Deeply. That one time, when Johnny Depp cut his throat in Sweeny Todd, I got hard. That's right, stiff.
This explains why I loudly drop lewd comments when walking past the charming old gentleman who works as a tour guide for the haunted walk of Ottawa. Look out for him, he's the hottest geriatric you'll ever encounter.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Thanks for giving it
Pausing to sip some wine, while cooking thanksgiving dinner, hands slip around my waist. Drifting past the sweep of hair pulled into a bun, his stubble and hot breath graze my ear. He gropes my breasts through the purple polka dotted 50's frock to slide under a floral apron and press between my thighs.
I'm bent over the mattress, puling the sheets into order, pink panties flashing up at the door way. I hear him enter and flash a startled look. "You always turn around when I walk past, like you're expecting a spank." And I do, and he doesn't let me down, so I continue to expect spanks every time he walks past.
While cross referencing recipes online, the sun beams through the window right on me. He peaks in on me from the hallway, I peak back. "You're such a flirt, you know that?" "Between the sun, and the oven, it's getting hot in here." "You should take off that dress."
I turn away, and slowly pull the apron sash away from my waist. He sees the edge of the buttons being undone. I let the shoulders drop. lower. "You have a gorgeous back" The dress drops from my frame and gets tossed to the side.
The coy facade buckles and I sprint, giggling into to his arms.
"It's too bad we're back on condoms, I'm ready to fuck you right now."
"That's absurd, I can't be ready so quickly."
He laughs "I can get you wet in 17 seconds."
Consequently I retort, "Go ahead."
He confidently appraises me; wasting precious seconds. He deftly scoops me up and when our tongues slide together I become instantly aroused. We lock eyes, mine are defiant.
He reaches up and grabs hold of my neck leaning me into the wall. "That's cheating." I moan. He trails a hand down my chest, stomach and down into my crotch. My panties are damp.
Less then 17 seconds, we both know he's won. He pulls back.
"It's not cheating," he says as he strolls away.
Then smirking over his shoulder at the flushed woman against the wall, and adds "It's knowing your opponent."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've been giving a lot of thought to the recent events. Simply regaling you with my sultry tales of seduction wasn't why I started this blog. The hope is to inform, inspire, and reflect on what has been learned.
People who read this blog and then get to know me always have some rather odd misgivings about me. Trust me, you won't hear me wail "I'm so misunderstood!" Self identifying as a slut is, to me, a feminist statement. It shows strength of conviction and a lack of shame. That said I always burn red when someone mentions they've read my blog. I write these thinking no one I meet would ever happen upon the site.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
People assume I'm after hot sex with stunners (sometimes I am, tee hee!). But more then that I'm attracted to someone's ideas, and their capacity to challenge my convictions. When people have seen my site it's is sometimes admitted (which I appreciate), or sometimes coyly concealed. But when someone I have not as of yet confided in, assumes I'm a nympho, it's glaringly obvious they've only heard part of the story.
When I mentioned that I'd had a bad weekend because I broke up with a girlfriend because her emotions seemed to get out of hand. A reader identified himself by replying "That's because you're only in it for the sex right?"
I was taken aback as quite the opposite is true. What I feel for this woman is far more then physical attraction. If anything I was more attracted to her disposition, interests and philosophy, then her body.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What do you like about so and so?"
I list our common interests, and what I admire about them.
Very often I answer this question with one or more of the following:
-They are a poet! They therefore must have emotional depth.
-They are a geek/dork/weirdo/of questionable mental stability. Therefore there must be something that makes them special and sets them apart from the mundane drones of this world.
-They carry an obsession for a bizarre hobby. They therefore are passionate.
-They create beautiful music. They therefore are soulful.
-They are a scientist. They therefore posses a superior intelligence.
-They look or act unconventionally. (dreads, suspenders, clashing colours. Have a habit of climbing trees or dancing in public) They therefore are interesting.
-They are philosophers. They therefore are enlightened.
-They are into the Fetish scene. They therefore must be sexually compatible with me.
-They dress or act androgynously. They therefore exist outside of the gender binary and must be accepting and open minded.
-They are polyamorous. They therefore understand how I expect to be treated.
As you can see, liking someone for these reasons is possibly as shallow as liking them purely for their looks. I make assumptions about people's personalities based on their interests. It has been said that I often try to validate my physical attraction to someone by inventing reasons to like them. This argues that I am in fact still shallow. Perhaps it's true, I develop crushes before truly understanding someone. It's embarrassing to be a slave to these girlish whims of mine.
(For the next bit, the "He" is to avoid writing (s)he, they etc.)
"He's an open minded hippie, who challenges the status quo. His poetry brought a tear to my eye." These are pretty shallow thoughts. What I'm really saying is He's hot in the weird semi-unnatractive way that I like.
But we all hold different values. Perhaps I value inane qualities in people just like everyone else. Some people like each other for reasons like; they dress well, own a nice car etc... Only I get fluttery when I hear the words cross-dress, progressive metal, quantum physics and cogito ergo sum.
It's not what we have in common that I like. It's what we disagree on, because therein lies the conversation.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shared interests and admirable qualities aside, a truly striking moment is one in which I realize we have so much to learn from each other.
I want to make him laugh and ask him questions. I want to play with him, because of two reasons.
1. He's ugly-sexy. This is the kind of person that isn't immediately attractive. If anything they have odd features. But what makes them sexy is their spark, or spirit (or personality, duh!). I have never once fallen for anyone who was classically beautiful, it's the strange ones I'm drawn to. If someone is beautiful inside, then you associate their features with their personality, and the body becomes beautiful.
2. I perceive him to have depth. The peculiarities of his mind intrigue and enchant. Also he's bizarre enough himself to observe the qualities that truly make me unique and wonderful.
When I am interested in someone what I want out of knowing this person is not sex. Sex is one of many ways of further understanding and pleasuring this person.
To convey how I feel about my lovers (and friends) my outlook on life must be delved into a bit. It seems that we are born into the universe, which is for the most part little more then rocks, heat and empty space. We are not given an evident purpose. So life consists of milling around and doing things to continue living.
What makes life interesting are the lives all around us. Meeting another person is kind of like meeting an alien. To have the chance to get to know another person "very well" seems profound to me.
Discovery is the most logical pursuit, and that one of the more important things worth discovering is other people.
I want to discover fascinating, strange and beautiful people.
For me, polyamory is just another way of saying every person in my life is an adventure and a mystery. Sometimes there is mutual attraction that is acted on. Having sex is an extension of play and discovery. In the best of situations I feel as if I am showing a great deal of trust and emotional receptiveness. I don't delineate friends and lovers nearly as much as anyone would expect.
I don't have sex to get off.
I have sex out of curiosity and benevolence. I want a multifaceted, growing person to surrender to my touch. In their moment of vulnerability, I want to give them pleasure. This is a form of intimacy to me. I want to look into his eyes as he cums and touch the tiniest piece of a beautiful mystery.
I'm bent over the mattress, puling the sheets into order, pink panties flashing up at the door way. I hear him enter and flash a startled look. "You always turn around when I walk past, like you're expecting a spank." And I do, and he doesn't let me down, so I continue to expect spanks every time he walks past.
While cross referencing recipes online, the sun beams through the window right on me. He peaks in on me from the hallway, I peak back. "You're such a flirt, you know that?" "Between the sun, and the oven, it's getting hot in here." "You should take off that dress."
I turn away, and slowly pull the apron sash away from my waist. He sees the edge of the buttons being undone. I let the shoulders drop. lower. "You have a gorgeous back" The dress drops from my frame and gets tossed to the side.
The coy facade buckles and I sprint, giggling into to his arms.
"It's too bad we're back on condoms, I'm ready to fuck you right now."
"That's absurd, I can't be ready so quickly."
He laughs "I can get you wet in 17 seconds."
Consequently I retort, "Go ahead."
He confidently appraises me; wasting precious seconds. He deftly scoops me up and when our tongues slide together I become instantly aroused. We lock eyes, mine are defiant.
He reaches up and grabs hold of my neck leaning me into the wall. "That's cheating." I moan. He trails a hand down my chest, stomach and down into my crotch. My panties are damp.
Less then 17 seconds, we both know he's won. He pulls back.
"It's not cheating," he says as he strolls away.
Then smirking over his shoulder at the flushed woman against the wall, and adds "It's knowing your opponent."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've been giving a lot of thought to the recent events. Simply regaling you with my sultry tales of seduction wasn't why I started this blog. The hope is to inform, inspire, and reflect on what has been learned.
People who read this blog and then get to know me always have some rather odd misgivings about me. Trust me, you won't hear me wail "I'm so misunderstood!" Self identifying as a slut is, to me, a feminist statement. It shows strength of conviction and a lack of shame. That said I always burn red when someone mentions they've read my blog. I write these thinking no one I meet would ever happen upon the site.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
People assume I'm after hot sex with stunners (sometimes I am, tee hee!). But more then that I'm attracted to someone's ideas, and their capacity to challenge my convictions. When people have seen my site it's is sometimes admitted (which I appreciate), or sometimes coyly concealed. But when someone I have not as of yet confided in, assumes I'm a nympho, it's glaringly obvious they've only heard part of the story.
When I mentioned that I'd had a bad weekend because I broke up with a girlfriend because her emotions seemed to get out of hand. A reader identified himself by replying "That's because you're only in it for the sex right?"
I was taken aback as quite the opposite is true. What I feel for this woman is far more then physical attraction. If anything I was more attracted to her disposition, interests and philosophy, then her body.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What do you like about so and so?"
I list our common interests, and what I admire about them.
Very often I answer this question with one or more of the following:
-They are a poet! They therefore must have emotional depth.
-They are a geek/dork/weirdo/of questionable mental stability. Therefore there must be something that makes them special and sets them apart from the mundane drones of this world.
-They carry an obsession for a bizarre hobby. They therefore are passionate.
-They create beautiful music. They therefore are soulful.
-They are a scientist. They therefore posses a superior intelligence.
-They look or act unconventionally. (dreads, suspenders, clashing colours. Have a habit of climbing trees or dancing in public) They therefore are interesting.
-They are philosophers. They therefore are enlightened.
-They are into the Fetish scene. They therefore must be sexually compatible with me.
-They dress or act androgynously. They therefore exist outside of the gender binary and must be accepting and open minded.
-They are polyamorous. They therefore understand how I expect to be treated.
As you can see, liking someone for these reasons is possibly as shallow as liking them purely for their looks. I make assumptions about people's personalities based on their interests. It has been said that I often try to validate my physical attraction to someone by inventing reasons to like them. This argues that I am in fact still shallow. Perhaps it's true, I develop crushes before truly understanding someone. It's embarrassing to be a slave to these girlish whims of mine.
(For the next bit, the "He" is to avoid writing (s)he, they etc.)
"He's an open minded hippie, who challenges the status quo. His poetry brought a tear to my eye." These are pretty shallow thoughts. What I'm really saying is He's hot in the weird semi-unnatractive way that I like.
But we all hold different values. Perhaps I value inane qualities in people just like everyone else. Some people like each other for reasons like; they dress well, own a nice car etc... Only I get fluttery when I hear the words cross-dress, progressive metal, quantum physics and cogito ergo sum.
It's not what we have in common that I like. It's what we disagree on, because therein lies the conversation.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shared interests and admirable qualities aside, a truly striking moment is one in which I realize we have so much to learn from each other.
I want to make him laugh and ask him questions. I want to play with him, because of two reasons.
1. He's ugly-sexy. This is the kind of person that isn't immediately attractive. If anything they have odd features. But what makes them sexy is their spark, or spirit (or personality, duh!). I have never once fallen for anyone who was classically beautiful, it's the strange ones I'm drawn to. If someone is beautiful inside, then you associate their features with their personality, and the body becomes beautiful.
2. I perceive him to have depth. The peculiarities of his mind intrigue and enchant. Also he's bizarre enough himself to observe the qualities that truly make me unique and wonderful.
When I am interested in someone what I want out of knowing this person is not sex. Sex is one of many ways of further understanding and pleasuring this person.
To convey how I feel about my lovers (and friends) my outlook on life must be delved into a bit. It seems that we are born into the universe, which is for the most part little more then rocks, heat and empty space. We are not given an evident purpose. So life consists of milling around and doing things to continue living.
What makes life interesting are the lives all around us. Meeting another person is kind of like meeting an alien. To have the chance to get to know another person "very well" seems profound to me.
Discovery is the most logical pursuit, and that one of the more important things worth discovering is other people.
I want to discover fascinating, strange and beautiful people.
For me, polyamory is just another way of saying every person in my life is an adventure and a mystery. Sometimes there is mutual attraction that is acted on. Having sex is an extension of play and discovery. In the best of situations I feel as if I am showing a great deal of trust and emotional receptiveness. I don't delineate friends and lovers nearly as much as anyone would expect.
I don't have sex to get off.
I have sex out of curiosity and benevolence. I want a multifaceted, growing person to surrender to my touch. In their moment of vulnerability, I want to give them pleasure. This is a form of intimacy to me. I want to look into his eyes as he cums and touch the tiniest piece of a beautiful mystery.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
I've been very naughty
...and not updated in a while.
This is just to let you know that I will be updating again soon.
There are some tales to be told.
But before sharing these illicit stories, they must be played out in thier entirety.
Things to look forward to:
How I enacted to butter churner.
How a threesome is like riding a bicycle.
How not to bite off a clit.
xxx
This is just to let you know that I will be updating again soon.
There are some tales to be told.
But before sharing these illicit stories, they must be played out in thier entirety.
Things to look forward to:
How I enacted to butter churner.
How a threesome is like riding a bicycle.
How not to bite off a clit.
xxx
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Unfurled
Fold Into Me
The tiniest origami crane I'd ever seen. It sits in a tiny german whittled dollhouse cupboard. A peculiar artist and I became acquainted in an art store a year ago. We bumped into each other at the art festivals these past few weeks. I got an even more peculiar request from him one day, when he asked me to model in nothing but body paint on his gay men's swim team parade float.He had no idea of my body painting experience. I guess people just get that vibe from me that I'm the perfect candidate for public nude modelling?
His fabulous gay collective welcomed me into their clique. I gave cross dressing tips, and one even squealed when I took off my top. I let this man touch my boob, he was intrigued and gingerly groped my breast before recoiling in disbelief. We had a good laugh over this. The Origami master and I have always been sweet on each other. For some reason I felt no compulsion to kiss him. That didn't stop us from having a very steamy shower. He's tall and very muscled, he models for art students. It was a spectacle to watch him cum, so much energy rushing through him. It seemed peculiar to me that he felt less exposed in a leopard print short dress then in a speedo and body paint during pride. He's quite comfortable with both his ambiguous gender and sexuality. But he's too shy to stand on a truck :)
The parade was a fast paced blur. There is a power in accepting your body, and there is a power when you have a water gun. I have long idolized Tank Girl for her audacity and gusto. I felt a lot like her up on the float. Ba-Bam! I stole the show. That said, my charismatic companions were incredible, with elaborate costume and paint jobs. I look forward to seeing them again at the swim meets!
At The End Of The Rainbow
In the spirit of Pride I spent a great deal of time with a whimsical and hyperactive woman. Thinking of our meeting the day before at the dyke march I managed to walk right into her after the parade. We were both painted completely blue for unrelated reasons. I suspect this is proof of synchronicity.
It was remarkable how easily we slipped into each other's stories and arms.She taught me all 18 parts of the vagina with oral demonstration. Pulled me into the shower with her while dressed. Serenaded me with "I want to hold your hand" on acoustic guitar by the canal. We whispered secrets at the whispering wall at parliament. We stole away into a circus tent on Parliament hill, and wondered how many other couples have had sex there. Wiki informs me that it has 3 million visitors a year. Odds are pretty good that we're not the first or the last.
She's the world's best worst dancer, and I dig her dyke helmet hair. It'll be so much fun to see her at the next Metal Mayhem Madness (fetish meet) Oh, apparently we're both fetishists, and many many months ago I mentioned polyamory to her. She later googled it and found what she was missing. Hilariously this groomed her to handle my lifestyle or multiple loves, and partners.
Principles Of Pain
On a further unbelievable note, I spent the night before meting her, spanking her ex at a two day fetish event. The odds are flabbergast me. I've developed a taste for spanking men. I'm comfortable with sub space. Referring to the headspace of being submissive to a dominant who inflicts pain. There's power in submission. I must be strong and brave to let someone have control. It can be scary just as you go under. the blindfold slips over your eyes and you're distinctly aware of all the eyes on your naked bound body. Then the tails of the whips slither around your neck and thighs. then the spanks come, rapid and light, building in pressure. You're glad for the blindfold because your embarrassment is all consuming. But no one laughs, and the spanks turn into floggings. The music thumps. pain in time to the beat of a Rammstien song. Arms braced against the cross, and ass arched out begging for more. A quick lash sends you jumping to your tip toes where you stay straining your legs. A dizziness wraps around you like the cat-o-ninetails. Trust blossoms between the sub and dom. The pain falls on the bass notes, and stops just after it hurts enough to squirm.
You wonder how long you've been at it, but you're not going to say stop, or complain if it stops. Those leathery licks could punish your flesh as long as it was intact. When it ends, you're on your knees before this dominant and your blindfold is removed. You blinkingly step into the sun. There's more to see than can ever be seen. More to do than can ever be done.
Being Dominant has another kind of high. Great care spiced with precise deviousness. As you gradually quicken the figure eights your flogger skates through, their red little ass gyrates and dances. When spanking you cup your hand to drive deeper and tickle the prostate of your gagged and bound man slave. He's a cocky and mucked bastard, teasing you for not hitting hard enough. You give it to him, and then a little more. He flinches as you trace your fingernails under his arms and down his back. Increasing the pain, and dabbling pleasureful caresses to keep him on his toes. Knowing that this strong, willful creature is submitting to you and groaning for you to lace his back with ribbons is the greatest turn on. tickling up the back of his thighs he looses his composure altogether. Thrusting and bobbing on the cross when you sweep your hair across his scorched skin. Mmm!I hope to apprentice a dominatrix in the near future.
Many of the professional dominants I've spoken to warn me away from a career int he field. "Don't make something you love into a job, because it sucks the fn out of it." If I listened to that advice, I wouldn't be a freelance artist. Though there are legalities to tip toe around, and the whole prospect of getting paid to kick ass is very far away. I've got so much training to do before that point. It's an expensive hobby to collect instruments of torture, and to become an expert in safety. There's a smug sense of satisfaction that I can't lose the taste of. I've found that not all dooms are stoic and loud. The submissive I played with found my giggling (alarming?) exciting. I was likened to Harley Quin, the batman villain. If we're going to talk about villains, I'm proficient at seducing like poison ivy, but once I start smacking booties the ludicrousness overcomes me and devilish laughs erupt.
Sitting on a Golden Bough
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
and
F-U-C-K-I-N-G
and
L-O-V-I-N-G
Seeing Efram again is a dream! I was nervous for the first day or so, it wasn't until I was able to explore Belleville on my own while he worked. I made friends at the comic book shop and vintage clothing store. Bogenville is much more fun then I'd expected. His charms quickly soften my heart and things pick up where they were left off. He aptly remarked that it's as if we're on pause when we don't see each other. I've been trying to try out some of my new s/M tricks on him, to no avail. He refuses to be spanked :(
I don't want this site to turn into an Efram shrine. Domesticity suits me frighteningly well. Especially with obtuse threats of spanks if the house isn't clean enough or the food lacklustre. But I will say that in bed, he's been shocked to see how much pain I'm demanding.
Eating my pussy today I kept asking him to go harder. He swears he tasted blood. My clit felt like it was being chewed off. I loved every second of it.It's been really nice to be fucked senseless lately. It helps inspire my art as well. During sex, I feel like an autistic tripping on shrooms. I'm running on instinct an my eyes glaze over with fantastical landscapes and masterpieces pervade my thoughts like moans.
We talk about polyamory and sex. It's unabashedly clear to me that he is Eros, and I am Psyche. A friend mentioned that to keep a soulful intelligent woman's attention one must offset her with passion, appreciation of beauty, and lust.
Efram complains that women act bipolar when in fact they are only developing feelings for him. He doesn't think he's a heartbreaker, because he tells them in the beginning that he won't date them or be exclusive. It doesn't negate the fact that after a time they feel for him, and he dumps them for becoming possessive and clingy. So yes, they are making informed decisions about having sex with him once they begin to fall. But at the same time how can he keep a clean conscience at the emotional havoc he causes so many women. This is compounded by that fact that he (29), is doing this now to a nearly virginal 19 year old girl.
Yes, I'm not much older then this last one. But I came to the conclusion of polyamory on my own and have the maturity to relate to him outside of the confines of a "relationship."
On the other hand, I approach intimate encounters with apprehension. I limit myself because I feel I must justify any act of lust with some inane admiration. I'll find a reason to like someone, to soothe my conscience when I just want to bang them. I cloud a very simple situation by searching out reasons to connect with or love a person because they are sexy.
The upside and sometimes downside to this is that I fall in love very quickly. When I do discover a love interest, it deepens rapidly. I'm not afraid to share those feelings. Though it's not the recipe for disaster that one might expect. I'm not prone to obsessive love, and I've already hashed out my issues with co-dependancy. I love honestly, and freely. Sometimes I pressure myself to separate sex and love or to live in the illusion that they are inseparable.
I'm perfectly happy with my situation, and challenges. This moment is exceptionally flawless.
The tiniest origami crane I'd ever seen. It sits in a tiny german whittled dollhouse cupboard. A peculiar artist and I became acquainted in an art store a year ago. We bumped into each other at the art festivals these past few weeks. I got an even more peculiar request from him one day, when he asked me to model in nothing but body paint on his gay men's swim team parade float.He had no idea of my body painting experience. I guess people just get that vibe from me that I'm the perfect candidate for public nude modelling?
His fabulous gay collective welcomed me into their clique. I gave cross dressing tips, and one even squealed when I took off my top. I let this man touch my boob, he was intrigued and gingerly groped my breast before recoiling in disbelief. We had a good laugh over this. The Origami master and I have always been sweet on each other. For some reason I felt no compulsion to kiss him. That didn't stop us from having a very steamy shower. He's tall and very muscled, he models for art students. It was a spectacle to watch him cum, so much energy rushing through him. It seemed peculiar to me that he felt less exposed in a leopard print short dress then in a speedo and body paint during pride. He's quite comfortable with both his ambiguous gender and sexuality. But he's too shy to stand on a truck :)
The parade was a fast paced blur. There is a power in accepting your body, and there is a power when you have a water gun. I have long idolized Tank Girl for her audacity and gusto. I felt a lot like her up on the float. Ba-Bam! I stole the show. That said, my charismatic companions were incredible, with elaborate costume and paint jobs. I look forward to seeing them again at the swim meets!
At The End Of The Rainbow
In the spirit of Pride I spent a great deal of time with a whimsical and hyperactive woman. Thinking of our meeting the day before at the dyke march I managed to walk right into her after the parade. We were both painted completely blue for unrelated reasons. I suspect this is proof of synchronicity.
It was remarkable how easily we slipped into each other's stories and arms.She taught me all 18 parts of the vagina with oral demonstration. Pulled me into the shower with her while dressed. Serenaded me with "I want to hold your hand" on acoustic guitar by the canal. We whispered secrets at the whispering wall at parliament. We stole away into a circus tent on Parliament hill, and wondered how many other couples have had sex there. Wiki informs me that it has 3 million visitors a year. Odds are pretty good that we're not the first or the last.
She's the world's best worst dancer, and I dig her dyke helmet hair. It'll be so much fun to see her at the next Metal Mayhem Madness (fetish meet) Oh, apparently we're both fetishists, and many many months ago I mentioned polyamory to her. She later googled it and found what she was missing. Hilariously this groomed her to handle my lifestyle or multiple loves, and partners.
Principles Of Pain
On a further unbelievable note, I spent the night before meting her, spanking her ex at a two day fetish event. The odds are flabbergast me. I've developed a taste for spanking men. I'm comfortable with sub space. Referring to the headspace of being submissive to a dominant who inflicts pain. There's power in submission. I must be strong and brave to let someone have control. It can be scary just as you go under. the blindfold slips over your eyes and you're distinctly aware of all the eyes on your naked bound body. Then the tails of the whips slither around your neck and thighs. then the spanks come, rapid and light, building in pressure. You're glad for the blindfold because your embarrassment is all consuming. But no one laughs, and the spanks turn into floggings. The music thumps. pain in time to the beat of a Rammstien song. Arms braced against the cross, and ass arched out begging for more. A quick lash sends you jumping to your tip toes where you stay straining your legs. A dizziness wraps around you like the cat-o-ninetails. Trust blossoms between the sub and dom. The pain falls on the bass notes, and stops just after it hurts enough to squirm.
You wonder how long you've been at it, but you're not going to say stop, or complain if it stops. Those leathery licks could punish your flesh as long as it was intact. When it ends, you're on your knees before this dominant and your blindfold is removed. You blinkingly step into the sun. There's more to see than can ever be seen. More to do than can ever be done.
Being Dominant has another kind of high. Great care spiced with precise deviousness. As you gradually quicken the figure eights your flogger skates through, their red little ass gyrates and dances. When spanking you cup your hand to drive deeper and tickle the prostate of your gagged and bound man slave. He's a cocky and mucked bastard, teasing you for not hitting hard enough. You give it to him, and then a little more. He flinches as you trace your fingernails under his arms and down his back. Increasing the pain, and dabbling pleasureful caresses to keep him on his toes. Knowing that this strong, willful creature is submitting to you and groaning for you to lace his back with ribbons is the greatest turn on. tickling up the back of his thighs he looses his composure altogether. Thrusting and bobbing on the cross when you sweep your hair across his scorched skin. Mmm!I hope to apprentice a dominatrix in the near future.
Many of the professional dominants I've spoken to warn me away from a career int he field. "Don't make something you love into a job, because it sucks the fn out of it." If I listened to that advice, I wouldn't be a freelance artist. Though there are legalities to tip toe around, and the whole prospect of getting paid to kick ass is very far away. I've got so much training to do before that point. It's an expensive hobby to collect instruments of torture, and to become an expert in safety. There's a smug sense of satisfaction that I can't lose the taste of. I've found that not all dooms are stoic and loud. The submissive I played with found my giggling (alarming?) exciting. I was likened to Harley Quin, the batman villain. If we're going to talk about villains, I'm proficient at seducing like poison ivy, but once I start smacking booties the ludicrousness overcomes me and devilish laughs erupt.
Sitting on a Golden Bough
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
and
F-U-C-K-I-N-G
and
L-O-V-I-N-G
Seeing Efram again is a dream! I was nervous for the first day or so, it wasn't until I was able to explore Belleville on my own while he worked. I made friends at the comic book shop and vintage clothing store. Bogenville is much more fun then I'd expected. His charms quickly soften my heart and things pick up where they were left off. He aptly remarked that it's as if we're on pause when we don't see each other. I've been trying to try out some of my new s/M tricks on him, to no avail. He refuses to be spanked :(
I don't want this site to turn into an Efram shrine. Domesticity suits me frighteningly well. Especially with obtuse threats of spanks if the house isn't clean enough or the food lacklustre. But I will say that in bed, he's been shocked to see how much pain I'm demanding.
Eating my pussy today I kept asking him to go harder. He swears he tasted blood. My clit felt like it was being chewed off. I loved every second of it.It's been really nice to be fucked senseless lately. It helps inspire my art as well. During sex, I feel like an autistic tripping on shrooms. I'm running on instinct an my eyes glaze over with fantastical landscapes and masterpieces pervade my thoughts like moans.
We talk about polyamory and sex. It's unabashedly clear to me that he is Eros, and I am Psyche. A friend mentioned that to keep a soulful intelligent woman's attention one must offset her with passion, appreciation of beauty, and lust.
Efram complains that women act bipolar when in fact they are only developing feelings for him. He doesn't think he's a heartbreaker, because he tells them in the beginning that he won't date them or be exclusive. It doesn't negate the fact that after a time they feel for him, and he dumps them for becoming possessive and clingy. So yes, they are making informed decisions about having sex with him once they begin to fall. But at the same time how can he keep a clean conscience at the emotional havoc he causes so many women. This is compounded by that fact that he (29), is doing this now to a nearly virginal 19 year old girl.
Yes, I'm not much older then this last one. But I came to the conclusion of polyamory on my own and have the maturity to relate to him outside of the confines of a "relationship."
On the other hand, I approach intimate encounters with apprehension. I limit myself because I feel I must justify any act of lust with some inane admiration. I'll find a reason to like someone, to soothe my conscience when I just want to bang them. I cloud a very simple situation by searching out reasons to connect with or love a person because they are sexy.
The upside and sometimes downside to this is that I fall in love very quickly. When I do discover a love interest, it deepens rapidly. I'm not afraid to share those feelings. Though it's not the recipe for disaster that one might expect. I'm not prone to obsessive love, and I've already hashed out my issues with co-dependancy. I love honestly, and freely. Sometimes I pressure myself to separate sex and love or to live in the illusion that they are inseparable.
I'm perfectly happy with my situation, and challenges. This moment is exceptionally flawless.
Monday, August 15, 2011
The silver sun has set
We were almost, and I mean so fucking close...to a very hot threesome. It's the girl who always backs out. God It was heavy, just chatting on the bus. She felt like I understood parts of her, that the boy beside her never could. And he dug that I was clever and dominant enough to pose a challenge.
My only mistake is that I looked to her for verification when he invited me to go with them. FAIL. I knew she was submissive, I knew she's the girl who says no but means yes. So I didn't get off at their stop.
Frankly, I'm not so broken up by it. They were young and I cannot teach them what I know in a night. The funny part is that they'll swear that they only need the other. But they'll both think of me while they fuck.
Our three way flirt was tasty. Compared to the other night, when I was nothing but nerve ends and gasps, tonight I was collected and suave. It reminds me of how fun threesomes were. The ideal third to a couple is playfully entertaining, romantic enough to cherish the couple's intimacy, and yet not so involved that they pose a threat.
The woman wants to her intellect and soul to be seen despite her looks. The man wants a girl saucy and sharp in ways his adorable girlfriend can't be.
Naturally that's who I am. Though, in company of either gender I'll fall into character as the seductive cutie, or the thoughtful woman king. Tonight the only men I gave a shit about were the DJ and the old friend that danced with me.
There's nothing like wearing boxers under a sexy translucent dress. Anyone who watches my curves twist in the crowd will see boxers and converse underneath.
That's the half butch, half pixie recipe that can dish as much as she can take; and I've yet to meet my match.
The full moon is passed and I feel like the several kinds of BOSS that I am.
-xxx
My only mistake is that I looked to her for verification when he invited me to go with them. FAIL. I knew she was submissive, I knew she's the girl who says no but means yes. So I didn't get off at their stop.
Frankly, I'm not so broken up by it. They were young and I cannot teach them what I know in a night. The funny part is that they'll swear that they only need the other. But they'll both think of me while they fuck.
Our three way flirt was tasty. Compared to the other night, when I was nothing but nerve ends and gasps, tonight I was collected and suave. It reminds me of how fun threesomes were. The ideal third to a couple is playfully entertaining, romantic enough to cherish the couple's intimacy, and yet not so involved that they pose a threat.
The woman wants to her intellect and soul to be seen despite her looks. The man wants a girl saucy and sharp in ways his adorable girlfriend can't be.
Naturally that's who I am. Though, in company of either gender I'll fall into character as the seductive cutie, or the thoughtful woman king. Tonight the only men I gave a shit about were the DJ and the old friend that danced with me.
There's nothing like wearing boxers under a sexy translucent dress. Anyone who watches my curves twist in the crowd will see boxers and converse underneath.
That's the half butch, half pixie recipe that can dish as much as she can take; and I've yet to meet my match.
The full moon is passed and I feel like the several kinds of BOSS that I am.
-xxx
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Full moon
Does it change the way you think and act?
Maybe it's the placebo effect, but I feel it.
Lunacy, is derived from Lune
It's widely believed that people get excited on a full moon.
There a lot of theories as to why this is.
The pull of gravity.
An imbalance of ions.
Light sensing eyes inside our brains.
Werewolves.
My guess is that if women sync up to the moon, then there are a lot of extra pheromones wafting around.
If half the city goes into heat, the other half will notice.
Sounds plausible doesn't it?
----------------
I feel like that now.
I feel like I can't take it any longer.
but I did.
Was it to prove a point?
Who do I mean to prove it to?
A poet tonight said something like " I think you're sooo...sexy, because you're beautiful inside and out.
The fact that I melted in the audience is an indicator.
What I want is understanding.
A man on the bus home struck up a conversation.
So I asked him what was on my mind:
"What do people want?"
"Acceptance, he answered"
Can we gain wisdom by not caving to this demand of ours?
That's what I want to know.
Maybe this celibacy is more than sorting out the people I think understand me, and are 'worth my affection.'
Maybe I want to know if I'll learn something from it.
Or maybe I'm hoping for confirmation where there is no reason or benefit from it.
There's got to be a reason behind it.
One more week, that's not a lot. And I'll have the chance, not to only have wild amazing sex, but to engage in meaningful intimacy.
Because if I had gone home with any of those men tonight, I would just berate them with weird questions like
"What are your dreams?" and
"What's the most beautiful thing you've ever felt?"
Because that's my pillow talk.
It's not for the slight of heart ;)
(I'm still drunk off tequila and I hope that pun makes as much sense as it seems to.)
xoxo
signing out
->the girl who gave you her card instead of her heart.
Ps. I wanted to say something like this to a poet tonight:
"I know why I can't think of anything to say around you. It's because your beauty steals the words out of my mouth." but instead, I mumbled "I'll upload those caricatures of you, the ones where you have big ears and a tiny neck. My number is on this card too" ...and I promptly ran off into the night. SLICK!
Sometimes just feeling those butterflies is worth never finding out if it would amount to anything.
And leaving that boy in his hotel room feels like a little like lugging my dignity all the hour and a half home, but completely awesome at the same time. Huge thanks go out to the friend who knows the look that says "Despite my arguments, convince me not to go back in."
BLAM! Psyche strikes again! Now that the regret has been sloughed off, I feel good. Not prideful, but happy all the same.
Maybe it's the placebo effect, but I feel it.
Lunacy, is derived from Lune
It's widely believed that people get excited on a full moon.
There a lot of theories as to why this is.
The pull of gravity.
An imbalance of ions.
Light sensing eyes inside our brains.
Werewolves.
My guess is that if women sync up to the moon, then there are a lot of extra pheromones wafting around.
If half the city goes into heat, the other half will notice.
Sounds plausible doesn't it?
----------------
I feel like that now.
I feel like I can't take it any longer.
but I did.
Was it to prove a point?
Who do I mean to prove it to?
A poet tonight said something like " I think you're sooo...sexy, because you're beautiful inside and out.
The fact that I melted in the audience is an indicator.
What I want is understanding.
A man on the bus home struck up a conversation.
So I asked him what was on my mind:
"What do people want?"
"Acceptance, he answered"
Can we gain wisdom by not caving to this demand of ours?
That's what I want to know.
Maybe this celibacy is more than sorting out the people I think understand me, and are 'worth my affection.'
Maybe I want to know if I'll learn something from it.
Or maybe I'm hoping for confirmation where there is no reason or benefit from it.
There's got to be a reason behind it.
One more week, that's not a lot. And I'll have the chance, not to only have wild amazing sex, but to engage in meaningful intimacy.
Because if I had gone home with any of those men tonight, I would just berate them with weird questions like
"What are your dreams?" and
"What's the most beautiful thing you've ever felt?"
Because that's my pillow talk.
It's not for the slight of heart ;)
(I'm still drunk off tequila and I hope that pun makes as much sense as it seems to.)
xoxo
signing out
->the girl who gave you her card instead of her heart.
Ps. I wanted to say something like this to a poet tonight:
"I know why I can't think of anything to say around you. It's because your beauty steals the words out of my mouth." but instead, I mumbled "I'll upload those caricatures of you, the ones where you have big ears and a tiny neck. My number is on this card too" ...and I promptly ran off into the night. SLICK!
Sometimes just feeling those butterflies is worth never finding out if it would amount to anything.
And leaving that boy in his hotel room feels like a little like lugging my dignity all the hour and a half home, but completely awesome at the same time. Huge thanks go out to the friend who knows the look that says "Despite my arguments, convince me not to go back in."
BLAM! Psyche strikes again! Now that the regret has been sloughed off, I feel good. Not prideful, but happy all the same.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
It's hard when you come so close
When I was about 16, there was a show on teletoon called 16. Just now I walked into the living room while my brother was watching a rerun. Caitlin is the bubbly blonde, boy obsessed girl I was often compared with. Though never have been a painter before, she is surrounded by terrible paintings when she wakes up.
Her friend reminds her that the art show is over.
And then she stepped out of the TV screen, into my living room and hit me on the forehead "You proved you can live without boys, now you can like them again, and go back to being yourself."
This had me laughing because in some small way I identify. Maybe not such a small one.
Recently as you may have read, I've been working hard, and keeping my pants on. In the past week I've come close to breaking my personal challenge. But somehow fate intervenes, I toss a coin and keep plans with a friend. The after party I'm at is too good to pass up for a handsome, interesting man. You see when this all began, I wasn't planning to abstain. I was raising my standards.
Since that choice, I've had the hottest, most fascinating, most mature men come my way. Really. Fine. Men.
Hell, even a few girls (which leaves me breathless and blushing, by that I mean bumbling.)
There are another two weeks to go before I get to see Efram the Unicorn. He is a man I am nebulously in love with. I told him I'd kept celibate since I last saw him (a month or so). My declaration came out with just too little haughty imperiousness to mask my chagrin.
I mean, yes, I was happy to not have caved into semi-akward, lust filled, meaningless sex.
But for a moment; imagine a dashing Parisian with the curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. When he holds the door he says "Aprez-vouse mademesoille" in just the way you've seen in the movies. When you mention this he laughs at your adorkability. You met through a friend a few months ago, and both skipped out on your plans to sit by rideau river and drink wine to discuss philosophy and culture. You've had many laughter filled dinner dates topped by endless snogging (which improved after I slowed down and he sped up). You find him charming, and kind hearted; despite from his lack crazy stories (which you attribute to his having been raised in a military boarding school.)
This man has you pinned to a night swept lawn and your pulse is racing, and you both know it's his last night in the country.
You worry about pedestrians catching you; only feet away from the American embassy. You wonder when the cheese from your poutine is going to hassle you. And you wonder if there's something you'd rather be doing.
There's most definitely a good reason to head home. You just can't think of it.
So you say your goodbyes and hope it will come to you.
Santé, J'adore, Salut
Still sounds better then Wham, Bam, Goodbye.
But there's the taste of man in your mouth.
(not ejaculate you pervs ;)
And now the craving comes back. Out at a festival, the men stop and stare as you paint an oil drum with blue auto paint, wearing only a bikini . Is it the robot you're building, or the blatant mist of pheromones emanating from you?
Like a pack of dogs they circle, quite literally. Normally you'd be at least somewhat aloof, but the attention isn't so bad.
All night, you're followed by men. Most of them interesting to some degree. Some even can hold a conversation about your favourite topics; quantum physics (only the basics), the beauty of the universe, robots, vikings, the hilarious dance moves associated with them....
One of them has got a spirit that won't let you go. He asks you to paint a lightening bolt on his face, and steals you away from boring conversations to go skinny dipping for the first time in your life. He doesn't make lame passes at you. He talks to you. He's really funny, and clever.
He's an awful lot like Efram.
Dear God.
I don't know if I can handle two of them.
So when I'm offered a bed by a well traveled, handsome, hilarious, documentarist; I agree.
He can kiss, and we share some fundamental free spirited philosophy on love. That's just us making sure that when we wake up the other won't turn it into something it's not or adversely drop it like it's hot.
I feel relieved when he says he has no condoms because he just got back from Cambodia. The pressure is off.
When he cums on me I use him as a slip and slide. Uncontrollable giggling. It just felt so nice. He probably felt like he'd frosted an eleven year old. ew
A strange arab man, takes me as his sculpting apprentice. He's lived so many lives, and has so many stories. He puts the moves on me with the practised skill of a swordsman. It's hard to evade. I'm guilty to admit I dropped my guard and snogged a man entirely too old for me. He mentioned something about being able to make me orgasm from several points on my body, nipples, stomach, feet, elbow. Yeah, elbow. For that reason, and a few others I declined, and hope to dodge those conversations in the future.
One of my best friend's plays a prog gypsy metal show. What can I say, the music gets me hot. Belly dancing and screaming like a viking is exhilarating. Drifting through the crowd I attract attention. A lot of men have their eyes on me. A few girls even, but I get so easily flustered around women. A funny musician invites me to stay at his place. Not sure what he means by that, I opt out the last second to hit an after party with a friend like a teddy bear. I whisper to my friend "Psyche won this round." I'm no Yoko Ono, and I'm not that kind of groupie.
At this after party I meet a man who hits all my androgyny cues, and yet has the strength and coolitude to hold me while we make out drunk in the street while the sun rises. When Teddy bear tells me he's taking off (a reproachful look in his eye) I'm torn. Finally, a man with whom I feel I can have that unattached wild sex with, and a new good friend who can't help but feel jealous. I ask them for a coin. Pretty boy hands one over, the coin passing through his armour like facade of chill.Teddy is an honest man, so incredulity drips off his face. I'm being melodramatic here, I love the suspense.
Teddy get's tails, It's my favourite, so it's analogous to a friend.
I flip. It's tails.
I still hope genderless rocker calls me, but I'm sure he won't.
So Psyche bakes in Teddy's oven of a room, sexually frustrated and without sleep. That said, I'm really glad I got to chill and chat with Cuddly.
So you can see where I was at when Efram and I spoke on the phone and I told him I'd kept my pants on, or at least close by.
Had we not spoken that night, it's likely I would have gone off with Mr.Cambodia documentary who dances like a rooster.
When Efram told me he had not slept with anyone else. My face nearly fell off. He's probably the biggest slut I know. He sleeps with every pretty girl he meets. I never felt it was wrong, though I do feel sorry for the girls who crash at his feet when their feelings aren't returned. His standards have risen? Is that possible? Even Belleville has got to have some women who meet these new standards. At least one or two. If he can do it, then I can.
I'm not monogamous, I never will be. But I can stick to my standards. Not that any of these men are below them. But I've ascertained that I want sex that involves my heart. And if that means waiting another TWO WEEKS before I see Efram, then..
fuck
Her friend reminds her that the art show is over.
And then she stepped out of the TV screen, into my living room and hit me on the forehead "You proved you can live without boys, now you can like them again, and go back to being yourself."
This had me laughing because in some small way I identify. Maybe not such a small one.
Recently as you may have read, I've been working hard, and keeping my pants on. In the past week I've come close to breaking my personal challenge. But somehow fate intervenes, I toss a coin and keep plans with a friend. The after party I'm at is too good to pass up for a handsome, interesting man. You see when this all began, I wasn't planning to abstain. I was raising my standards.
Since that choice, I've had the hottest, most fascinating, most mature men come my way. Really. Fine. Men.
Hell, even a few girls (which leaves me breathless and blushing, by that I mean bumbling.)
There are another two weeks to go before I get to see Efram the Unicorn. He is a man I am nebulously in love with. I told him I'd kept celibate since I last saw him (a month or so). My declaration came out with just too little haughty imperiousness to mask my chagrin.
I mean, yes, I was happy to not have caved into semi-akward, lust filled, meaningless sex.
But for a moment; imagine a dashing Parisian with the curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. When he holds the door he says "Aprez-vouse mademesoille" in just the way you've seen in the movies. When you mention this he laughs at your adorkability. You met through a friend a few months ago, and both skipped out on your plans to sit by rideau river and drink wine to discuss philosophy and culture. You've had many laughter filled dinner dates topped by endless snogging (which improved after I slowed down and he sped up). You find him charming, and kind hearted; despite from his lack crazy stories (which you attribute to his having been raised in a military boarding school.)
This man has you pinned to a night swept lawn and your pulse is racing, and you both know it's his last night in the country.
You worry about pedestrians catching you; only feet away from the American embassy. You wonder when the cheese from your poutine is going to hassle you. And you wonder if there's something you'd rather be doing.
There's most definitely a good reason to head home. You just can't think of it.
So you say your goodbyes and hope it will come to you.
Santé, J'adore, Salut
Still sounds better then Wham, Bam, Goodbye.
But there's the taste of man in your mouth.
(not ejaculate you pervs ;)
And now the craving comes back. Out at a festival, the men stop and stare as you paint an oil drum with blue auto paint, wearing only a bikini . Is it the robot you're building, or the blatant mist of pheromones emanating from you?
Like a pack of dogs they circle, quite literally. Normally you'd be at least somewhat aloof, but the attention isn't so bad.
All night, you're followed by men. Most of them interesting to some degree. Some even can hold a conversation about your favourite topics; quantum physics (only the basics), the beauty of the universe, robots, vikings, the hilarious dance moves associated with them....
One of them has got a spirit that won't let you go. He asks you to paint a lightening bolt on his face, and steals you away from boring conversations to go skinny dipping for the first time in your life. He doesn't make lame passes at you. He talks to you. He's really funny, and clever.
He's an awful lot like Efram.
Dear God.
I don't know if I can handle two of them.
So when I'm offered a bed by a well traveled, handsome, hilarious, documentarist; I agree.
He can kiss, and we share some fundamental free spirited philosophy on love. That's just us making sure that when we wake up the other won't turn it into something it's not or adversely drop it like it's hot.
I feel relieved when he says he has no condoms because he just got back from Cambodia. The pressure is off.
When he cums on me I use him as a slip and slide. Uncontrollable giggling. It just felt so nice. He probably felt like he'd frosted an eleven year old. ew
A strange arab man, takes me as his sculpting apprentice. He's lived so many lives, and has so many stories. He puts the moves on me with the practised skill of a swordsman. It's hard to evade. I'm guilty to admit I dropped my guard and snogged a man entirely too old for me. He mentioned something about being able to make me orgasm from several points on my body, nipples, stomach, feet, elbow. Yeah, elbow. For that reason, and a few others I declined, and hope to dodge those conversations in the future.
One of my best friend's plays a prog gypsy metal show. What can I say, the music gets me hot. Belly dancing and screaming like a viking is exhilarating. Drifting through the crowd I attract attention. A lot of men have their eyes on me. A few girls even, but I get so easily flustered around women. A funny musician invites me to stay at his place. Not sure what he means by that, I opt out the last second to hit an after party with a friend like a teddy bear. I whisper to my friend "Psyche won this round." I'm no Yoko Ono, and I'm not that kind of groupie.
At this after party I meet a man who hits all my androgyny cues, and yet has the strength and coolitude to hold me while we make out drunk in the street while the sun rises. When Teddy bear tells me he's taking off (a reproachful look in his eye) I'm torn. Finally, a man with whom I feel I can have that unattached wild sex with, and a new good friend who can't help but feel jealous. I ask them for a coin. Pretty boy hands one over, the coin passing through his armour like facade of chill.Teddy is an honest man, so incredulity drips off his face. I'm being melodramatic here, I love the suspense.
Teddy get's tails, It's my favourite, so it's analogous to a friend.
I flip. It's tails.
I still hope genderless rocker calls me, but I'm sure he won't.
So Psyche bakes in Teddy's oven of a room, sexually frustrated and without sleep. That said, I'm really glad I got to chill and chat with Cuddly.
So you can see where I was at when Efram and I spoke on the phone and I told him I'd kept my pants on, or at least close by.
Had we not spoken that night, it's likely I would have gone off with Mr.Cambodia documentary who dances like a rooster.
When Efram told me he had not slept with anyone else. My face nearly fell off. He's probably the biggest slut I know. He sleeps with every pretty girl he meets. I never felt it was wrong, though I do feel sorry for the girls who crash at his feet when their feelings aren't returned. His standards have risen? Is that possible? Even Belleville has got to have some women who meet these new standards. At least one or two. If he can do it, then I can.
I'm not monogamous, I never will be. But I can stick to my standards. Not that any of these men are below them. But I've ascertained that I want sex that involves my heart. And if that means waiting another TWO WEEKS before I see Efram, then..
fuck
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Abstinent or Obstinate?
This self proclaimed slut is going through a ..phase.
I've ascertained that it's not monogamy that's keeping me out of the sack. No, there is no one person who could change my ingrained nature. To understand why I've been off the prowl and away from the pretties, I've had to look much further then the obvious. Even with the focus I've given my studies, there's nothing really in the way of a good romp or two if I desired them.
I blame it on the fact that I'm in love with someone, but I believe he and I don't really think that would stop me.
Is it possible, to be a SLUT, but not be interested in seeking sex!? It's not that I don't still have my urges, somehow I feel as if I should wait until the opportunity comes along to gain what I truly seek from sex. And that's a lot more then sex.
In an attempt to understand the balance of passion and intellect, I've turned to a very old greek myth; Eros and Psyche. Though many would describe me as an impassioned young woman, I relate best with Psyche's character. The young woman who represents the soulful and intellectual side of sex. I've shacked up with beautiful young things that get me wet, and even stir my deepest compassion. However if they cannot match me intellectually I feel as a crucial part of me is invisible to them. Someone who is clever and yet sweet enough to appreciate the girl in their arms is, shall we say, a delicacy.
When I told my lover that he was likely going to be the only man in my life for a while, he remarked that he turned me from a 'slutty lesbian into a straight girlfriend.'
I resent that remark.
But even still, I cannot bring myself to go through the ridiculous mechanics of chasing another skirt. And when men make advances I feel sheepish and unprecedentedly offer a PLATONIC friendship. Recently I've grown tired of the charade of attraction. Yes, you're a pretty girl, of course I want to kiss you. Yes you're a man, of course you want to kiss me. It gets boring, the girls just want me to hold them and spoon feed them self worth. And the men just want to own me as a prize and fill me with their saintly knowledge (among other things) of a favoured Tv show re-run or mechanic equipment.
So when the use of the word slut became a topic with my lover today, I proudly remarked that I was a slut. And that it is used with a bad connotation only by people who don't like sex. And I wondered, with my lover so far away, and with no interesting prospects worth my while, can I still be a slut?
Absolutely. Because sluttiness is not a measure of how many people you've slept with (for I surely would be disqualified). Sluttiness is a quality instilled by belief, by a perspective and a sense of impropriety.
Am I any less bisexual for not sleeping with women lately? Absolutely not! Therefore I can't be any less slutty. The standard has been raised. I ask for a passionate physical connection, as well as a passionate intellectual connection. Though this is something enjoyable it is not exactly sought after. You see, I am in love with a man, but that's not what's keeping me out of bed. It's my love for the world that has me too preoccupied for meaningless dalliances.
Psyche was a frigid nerd, and Eros was a mindless horndog.
It's the space between them that holds my interest ;)
I've ascertained that it's not monogamy that's keeping me out of the sack. No, there is no one person who could change my ingrained nature. To understand why I've been off the prowl and away from the pretties, I've had to look much further then the obvious. Even with the focus I've given my studies, there's nothing really in the way of a good romp or two if I desired them.
I blame it on the fact that I'm in love with someone, but I believe he and I don't really think that would stop me.
Is it possible, to be a SLUT, but not be interested in seeking sex!? It's not that I don't still have my urges, somehow I feel as if I should wait until the opportunity comes along to gain what I truly seek from sex. And that's a lot more then sex.
In an attempt to understand the balance of passion and intellect, I've turned to a very old greek myth; Eros and Psyche. Though many would describe me as an impassioned young woman, I relate best with Psyche's character. The young woman who represents the soulful and intellectual side of sex. I've shacked up with beautiful young things that get me wet, and even stir my deepest compassion. However if they cannot match me intellectually I feel as a crucial part of me is invisible to them. Someone who is clever and yet sweet enough to appreciate the girl in their arms is, shall we say, a delicacy.
When I told my lover that he was likely going to be the only man in my life for a while, he remarked that he turned me from a 'slutty lesbian into a straight girlfriend.'
I resent that remark.
But even still, I cannot bring myself to go through the ridiculous mechanics of chasing another skirt. And when men make advances I feel sheepish and unprecedentedly offer a PLATONIC friendship. Recently I've grown tired of the charade of attraction. Yes, you're a pretty girl, of course I want to kiss you. Yes you're a man, of course you want to kiss me. It gets boring, the girls just want me to hold them and spoon feed them self worth. And the men just want to own me as a prize and fill me with their saintly knowledge (among other things) of a favoured Tv show re-run or mechanic equipment.
So when the use of the word slut became a topic with my lover today, I proudly remarked that I was a slut. And that it is used with a bad connotation only by people who don't like sex. And I wondered, with my lover so far away, and with no interesting prospects worth my while, can I still be a slut?
Absolutely. Because sluttiness is not a measure of how many people you've slept with (for I surely would be disqualified). Sluttiness is a quality instilled by belief, by a perspective and a sense of impropriety.
Am I any less bisexual for not sleeping with women lately? Absolutely not! Therefore I can't be any less slutty. The standard has been raised. I ask for a passionate physical connection, as well as a passionate intellectual connection. Though this is something enjoyable it is not exactly sought after. You see, I am in love with a man, but that's not what's keeping me out of bed. It's my love for the world that has me too preoccupied for meaningless dalliances.
Psyche was a frigid nerd, and Eros was a mindless horndog.
It's the space between them that holds my interest ;)
Saturday, June 18, 2011
53 people have read about my sex life this week
Save my soul
There is no way I have told 53 different people about my personal site.
Perhaps you are a good friend who was confided in.
Perhaps you had a small girl confess a drunken secret.
Perhaps the url was a thank you for breaking the rules on her behalf.
Perhaps the address was revealed through clenched teeth as you smacked her bottom at a fetish event.
Perhaps you'll find out tonight when she slips through the crowds at the spring sex show.
Perhaps you found the link on her artist profile because she can be a dumb cunt and forgot to take it down.
No worries, a minute later it was removed, after possibly everyone I know has read every intimate detail of my bedroom.
So I asked myself; if I was so conscious of my privacy why was this blog ever started?
The social constructs that surround sex are preposterous. Truly. How can people hate sex so much and continue to breed?
Every person has many facets of themselves. IE. I love liddle kiddies and I want to hug them and luv them and inspire them to chase their dreams through fields of flowers. I also like to fuck people I care about. Shocking isn't it?
The very fact that this site can be construed by a potential employer as a negative is why the world needs my honesty.
Consequently, the link is back on my artist profile. People can look me up, check out my artwork, and even see my tits.
If I am treated differently by you, know that that is your failing and not mine. This site does not make me morally deficient.
Now you know that I habitually ruin my lover's linens by squirting.
You can still look me in the eye, and you can hire me for ARTWORK (only!!) based on my hard work and talent.
You can trust me with your kids, and to be polite and interesting over dinner.
Now I'm off to the sex show!!! Huzzah! I'm HOURS late, and I missed the seminar on gender bending. I wanted to dress like a prince, and open doors and stuff. BACK DOORS. OF MEN.
My site has been viewed 1076 times.
There is a special place in heaven reserved for me for that kind of social taboo deconstruction
There is no way I have told 53 different people about my personal site.
Perhaps you are a good friend who was confided in.
Perhaps you had a small girl confess a drunken secret.
Perhaps the url was a thank you for breaking the rules on her behalf.
Perhaps the address was revealed through clenched teeth as you smacked her bottom at a fetish event.
Perhaps you'll find out tonight when she slips through the crowds at the spring sex show.
Perhaps you found the link on her artist profile because she can be a dumb cunt and forgot to take it down.
No worries, a minute later it was removed, after possibly everyone I know has read every intimate detail of my bedroom.
So I asked myself; if I was so conscious of my privacy why was this blog ever started?
The social constructs that surround sex are preposterous. Truly. How can people hate sex so much and continue to breed?
Every person has many facets of themselves. IE. I love liddle kiddies and I want to hug them and luv them and inspire them to chase their dreams through fields of flowers. I also like to fuck people I care about. Shocking isn't it?
The very fact that this site can be construed by a potential employer as a negative is why the world needs my honesty.
Consequently, the link is back on my artist profile. People can look me up, check out my artwork, and even see my tits.
If I am treated differently by you, know that that is your failing and not mine. This site does not make me morally deficient.
Now you know that I habitually ruin my lover's linens by squirting.
You can still look me in the eye, and you can hire me for ARTWORK (only!!) based on my hard work and talent.
You can trust me with your kids, and to be polite and interesting over dinner.
Now I'm off to the sex show!!! Huzzah! I'm HOURS late, and I missed the seminar on gender bending. I wanted to dress like a prince, and open doors and stuff. BACK DOORS. OF MEN.
My site has been viewed 1076 times.
There is a special place in heaven reserved for me for that kind of social taboo deconstruction
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
(verb) my (noun)
MMM4 was a blast! I was asked to model my friend's body painting. I also brought my artwork to showcase. So many freaky new friends were made. I won ANOTHER fake orgasm contest, which is strange considering I never fake it. A sexy painted redhead gave her impression of the big O. Then I slid up to the microphone and crooned "Baby, you look so fine in that apron. Men in heels get me so hot. Turn around and bake some cupcakes. Now bend over and put them in the oven. Dear god! *pants* Fuck yes! Bake it for me baby! Put it in the Oven! NOW! Gaaah!"
Bwahaha! And the crowd of hardcore metal kinksters roars!
That was the second contest I won that night. The first time I was headed past the stage to the play room upstairs (to be kerspanked!). Overhearing Mistress Liz demand that the sexy Dominatrix beside her have her boots worshipped I rose the the challenge. Or rather crawled. Bowing and scraping to give her boots kisses, hoping to win her and the crowd's approval. Competition appeared, a goth girl with a fierce thirst for victory. Little did she know that this sub is a switch, and I fought her back. The Dominatrix stoically announced that I won and handed me a giant black vibrator. I was also given a year's membership to the club.
Later, having a beer, a gentleman explained to me that The Club, was in fact a swinger's club. Which mean I had to bring a partner. Also the club is a place where people have sex. I sort of figured, but I really though it meant free entry to raving industrial parties that I could get paddled at.
So now that I needed a partner, and I had an excess of dildoage. I solved both problems in one go. Turning to my friend, who is rather virginal, I gave her my extra toy and ask that she join with me. Now when we go out, we'll have each other's backs. I'll keep the creepers off her while she learns. And she can keep me from making drunken promises.
When Mathew Hennebury, friend and body painter picked me up. I ducked into his SUV and was impressed to see Mistress Liz sitting up front. This foxy older woman was porting a mohawk, a military jacket, fishnets, knee high boots, piercings galore. Within 5 minutes we were laughing about my St.Patrick's day orgy. "And I'm yelling "that's amazing!" as she squirts on my face!" Not 10 minutes later, Mistress Liz is telling me about the duality of the universe and how it reflects in s/M. I'm hoping that when I have more free time, she'll let me apprentice her while she works as a professional Dominatrix. Gee whiz! I'm going to kick so much ass!
All in all it was an excellent night. I ended up turning down all the strapping young suitors. Which is a new phase I'm going through. Most of the time I tell myself I should try having casual sex with new people. But I almost never do. And when it does happen it's within the safe confines of friendship or an implied romantic relationship. Lately, I've been approached by all sorts of beautiful, fascinating men. But I find that I'm lackluster in bed when I don't have an emotional tie. My heart gets into bed with me. Package deal, even though I try to separate them. I've come to realize all over again that sex is about intimacy for me. Physical gratification comes second. Why fight my nature?
Well, it means very little sex, when the one's I'm romantic with are far away. Luckily I have my new vibe to keep me company. Since I have a habit of naming vibes after spaceships they are as follows The Enterprise, The Tardis and now introducing--
THE DEATH STAR!
It has a whip at the hilt :D
Industrial kink singers club in Ottawa
http://www.theclubottawa.ca/events.asp
For more photos of the night, this is the body painter's site
http://www.wellfedartist.ca/WFANewsite/Pages/wholeframe.htm
As a side note. Someone raised the idea that perhaps having sex with the people you love clouds the relationship. What an unconventional notion. Instead of making love to the people you care about very deeply, to instead keep the love pure, and fuck random hotties that cross your path. It seems a little upside down to me. I believe that sex is expressing intimacy and trust, so to say that I don't want to have sex with someone I love means there's a disconnect. But I have loved, and still do, lovers with whom sex either died, or had to be cut off because the situation wasn't working. So obviously love can exist outside of sex.
Can I handle not having sex with someone I'm in love with? Absolutely. If I need to prove to them that my feelings transcend sex, I'll take the bullet. Part of me wonders if perhaps I lack experience. Which has me thinking I should really get over my love/sex inhibition and just fuck people for fun.
Meh, no worries. I've got a fleet of spaceships to explore with until I find a companion who's game for an adventure.
Your (noun) makes me so (adj.)
I want to (verb) your (adj) (noun)
I write comics about how you play with my (adj) (noun) <--Best compliment in bed.
One more comic. I should clean this up, but the point is that it was messy sex. Blood everywhere. In the house and on the patio. I was so embarrassed. But that's part of life. Pubes in your mouth, bleeding, farting, that squelchy sound you make when you get rammed. Haha! Isn't sex beautiful?
xxx
Ariadne
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Hippie musician boys with long hair are a secret weakness of mine.
Eyeaaaahh, about that time I asked you to dump your girlfriend over the phone and run away with me... I was really, really intoxicated. But you know...
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Best Fucking Awards
I challenge you to give or receive a BJ to this song:
I will make a cake for anyone who can prove they did this.
Microwave vs. The Oven
Oral to Penetration
Today in class some friends called me over with "You'll like this conversation." The discussion was about how he never wants blow jobs because he much prefers fucking. I was once given this analogy: Microwave vs. the Oven. Sometimes you want a pizza pocket, sometimes you want a steaming baked pizza. I suggested that perhaps his girlfriend isn't very good at them.
When I was a fledgling dyke, I tried a few times to go down on my first girlfriend. She never let me practice because she said i went down like a boy. She meant this as an insult. Getting no positive feedback, I lost interest. This meant that our sex life was limited to finger fucking. Which became a mastered art of ours, but left me wanting more.
Eventually I was able to coax her into letting a strap on enter the bedroom. Nothing like the real thing, and doesn't even vibrate but does allow for a power trip. After a very long time She was finally open to the idea of trying out my favourite vibrator. That night she came about 7 times.
I
told
you
so
I had showed up on our second date with it in my purse and announced "now we can actually have sex." She laughed, and said we already had. Apparently mutual masturbation passes for sex with some lesbians. I don't mean to sound bitter. Sex is what you make it.
This reminds me that I mean to give out awards to my partners.
Best at @#$%! in Bed Awards
Everyone is good at something.
It's true. While one person may rock your clit, another might be great at massages.
Award for both viginities.
Also for DP with a vibe
My first boyfriend was the only one I've ever trusted enough to really explore anal with. Oddly that only happened after we broke up and had to stick together till the end of the apartment lease. At that point we had very little to lose, so why not. The abandon we finally found with each other was almost enough to stick around for. Almost. But after 5 years of monogamy and heterosexuality, I was ready to grow.
Award for nonconsensual non-monogamy fail
Is it cheating is you're not technically dating either of them?
There was a short amount of time where I was still seeing my ex, while I was dating a new female lover. Though they never met, they both felt threatened by the other. Not long after I moved out he and I stopped seeing each other. I admitted that would continue to keep loving him, but I needed to explore the world as a free woman.
It was too difficult for him to maintain relations with me once I wasn't just his. And we stopped seeing each other. There have been a few times over the last year or so that we've hooked up. Mostly we had very little to say to each other and hoped that sex would loosen the tension.
I began to suspect he wasn't doing much to move on, and I was only providing incentive. I have not seen him for many months, and if I were to, I would not be the same person who once loved him.
Award for best clit fingering
Also for prettiest O face
My first girlfriend gave me my favourite kind of orgasms. Manual stimulation of the clit with her fingers. Also she liked to have others play with us. I took to that like a duck to water. She and I tried some light s/M. I loved dominating her at first.
This became emotionally draining and I found she became too reliant on me in other aspects of our relationship. I wasn't ready to be in a relationship with someone so emotionally dependent on me. Also gets the award for lovliest orgasm face, she looked like the Madonna by Edvard Munch. Almost sacrilegious in her surrender. Dark, beautiful and unstable.
The painting is said to capture abandonment to ecstasy. The border some copies have is swimming with sperm, racing towards a fetus. This is a painting of the moment of orgasm, and conception. Having been dubbed the Madonna (holy mother) this image is blasphemy.
Award for mastering the female ejaculation
Also for best drag show
My second boyfriend found my G spot. He would go down on me and pound my Gspot for as long as I wanted. What a trooper. He was the first to get me to squirt. Remember to bring a towel. He was into gender play, and would dress as a woman sometimes. I loved doing his make up and dressing him up.
It wasn't a sexual turn on for me as much as it was for him. Though I liked mushing his moobs into a bra. Pretty boys with boobs and lace combine the best of both worlds. He was also submissive, and in the end also too emotionally dependent for my taste.
There was a brief period between my first girlfriend and second boyfriend where I was dating the two of them. They were okay with this at first, but jealousy, insecurity and neediness tore them up. Before the collapse of both relationships there were some mind blowing threesomes. Valentines day was perfect. I skated down the canal each holding my hand.
Award for first consensual polyamory fail.
Don't believe monogamous people when they say they'll accept you for who you are
As time passed, I was unable to cope with two tumultuous relationships. I found that my girlfriend was increasingly manipulative and needy. While my boyfriend quietly assumed second place on my list of priorities. There came a point where I realized that I was being unfair to him, and also to myself. So I put myself at the top of the list and tried to downgrade my relationship with her to fuck buddy status. This was disastrous. I always make this mistake with my exes.
But maybe the mistake is in committing to a relationship in the first place. Don't assume this means I'm jaded. I will always hope to love this easily. I've just realized that the friendship ought to be paramount. A relationship implies different expectations. And more often then not monogamy or hierarchal status. Those are both systems of control. Lovers do not need status, they are all different and feelings for one ought not affect feelings for another.
Award for making me doubt my bisexuality
If you only date women and men who identify as women are you bisexual or gay?
Since then I kept a semi successful fuck buddy relationship with the second boyfriend. It was comfortable and convenient. I'I entertained myself with short lived lesbian flings. When he announced he'd be transitioning into a woman, I began to doubt my bisexuality. My few boring flings with men were marked by a distinct lack of sexual zest. Men were far too easy to rope in, and because they provided no challenge I started telling them I was a lesbian. It was easier to deflect their attentions by claiming to be gay. I even started dressing a little more butch. plaid shirts, boots. A bowler hat. I still make a habit of showing how hairy my legs were to shoo them away.
Award for worst one night stand
Yargh, you can call me the Captain.
Last St.Patricks day I went home with a classy looking man from the irish pub. He was at that time the oldest person I'd slept with. I'd guess 26. He was actually Irish, but he wasn't actually named Brian. As he informed me later, while I was consoling him while he cried. During sex. Because he was doing it to get back at his girlfriend. "It's okay Brian" "I'm not Brian" " Who are you then?" "You can call me the Captain. Shall we continue?" " You suck Captain."
I slept on his couch until the busses started to run again at 6am, and I bolted, leaving behind my health card by accident. Well, I guess he knows I was honest about my name. I was tempted to leave some red hair wrapped around his girlfriend straightening iron.
That's not the Captain. The picture is unrelated. It's just some guy I harassed at Sexapalooza. He had no idea I was going to do this either, I caught him checking me out so I threw him in a counter and whooped him.
Award for best one night stand
Also for best use of rubber ducks
I had one successful one night stand with a man. And I met him, in all places, in Toronto the week of the Pride parade. He was demoing vibrating rubber ducks in a sex shop. I got a massage and his number.
For a man who works at a sex shop I was disappointed by the utter lack of toys. But he made up for it with a shocking display of energy. He jumped at the chance to dominate me when I mentioned my interest. He spanked my ass as hard as I wished and pulled my hair. When he drilled me from behind and pushed my face into the pillows I was laughing pretty hard. The endorphins from being spanked give me the giggles. He called me filthy names, which excited me. I was shocked when he smacked my face. At first I just stared at him. It was a light slap, but it left me flabbergasted. He immediately apologized, and offered to stop.
No, do it again. What a feeling. I didn't let him go to hard or too often. Just a few smacks interspersed to grab my attention. Did it ever. I went wild in a way I hadn't been able to with my previous partners. Despite his best efforts I wasn't relaxed enough to get off with him.
He was sweet, and paid for my taxi since I insisted on getting back to my ex girlfriend. We still keep in contact. I'd like to see him again. When I got back to where we were staying she was afire with jealousy. She passionately finished me off to remind me of why I like women. I still have the sticker posted in my room that says "I just got Ducked."
Award for funniest breakup (when we weren't dating)
Also for dancing so well I ‘forgot’ to notice how dumb she was
I started spending time with this pretty little thing that sucked on my face for hours at the gay dance club. I should've known when I was fucking her in the bathroom stall that it wouldn't lead to conversation as stimulating. She and I had a fling that lasted a few weeks. I loved her reckless energy, unfortunately she wasn't very clever. And she was too eager to find acceptance. She kept buying me gifts, which admittedly where very thoughtful and sweet. When I tried to make it clear that I we weren't dating her eyes would glaze over. With a sigh I thanked her for her gift of antique pins. "You really know my style. You have impeccable taste."
Here it comes, this is what she said that made me dump her on the spot.
"Yeah, I'm really observative that way."
Pause.
And she didn't even notice what she'd said wrong.
"They're very nice, but I don't give my friends these kinds of gifts."
Pause.
She didn't clue in.
I broke it down for her on the street corner. She didn't cry. I think she put it together later.
Award for most awkward breakup (when we weren't dating).
Also for softest skin
We looked somewhat similar, and we shared our first name. I've since put a moratorium on dating women who either look like me or have my name. There was no major disaster or success in our story. She wasn't boring or dull, too immature, or too stupid. She was clever, ambitious, independent, supportive, fun, and artsy. Too much like me to date.
Though I wouldn't mind hooking up again if it was spontaneous. But I will never make plans with her,and that probably why I ended it. I decided this as she was cumming in my mouth. I took a few minutes to draw her sprawled on the best satiated. We both knew what it meant when we looked at the finished piece and it was lack luster. Then tried to leave gracefully. No such luck.
Through our combined idiocy we ended up in the lobby of her building locked out of her apartment, and I was the only one wearing pants. Being of similar size and shape I gave her my pants while I hid under the stairs beside a moose head mounted on a plaque that had been taken down.
During the time she tried to get a hold of her landlord, I contemplated throwing the hideous decor through her front window to let her in and making a pants-less escape. Instead I waited for her. Standing half naked in her front yard I boosted her through her front window. After changing into my clothes I left awkwardly only to return a few minutes later to ask her to lend me bus tickets.
Picture unrelated. This is from Sexapalooza. I like being pants-less in public.
Award for furthest cum shot
I am 5"2 and lying on the bed, while he stood at the edge. He pulled out of my mouth and came down the length of my body. ALL OF IT. That was some serious propulsion. Next time I'm going to see if he can hit the ceiling. I want a slow motion capture camera to catch the mad hang time. I'm talking about Efram here, he warned me ahead of time. Though he said 5 meters. So obviously I called him out on it. But I was impressed nonetheless.
Currently Efram is the winner of the Award for best fuck ever.
Though that's a title he'll have to defend rigorously.
I will make a cake for anyone who can prove they did this.
Microwave vs. The Oven
Oral to Penetration
Today in class some friends called me over with "You'll like this conversation." The discussion was about how he never wants blow jobs because he much prefers fucking. I was once given this analogy: Microwave vs. the Oven. Sometimes you want a pizza pocket, sometimes you want a steaming baked pizza. I suggested that perhaps his girlfriend isn't very good at them.
When I was a fledgling dyke, I tried a few times to go down on my first girlfriend. She never let me practice because she said i went down like a boy. She meant this as an insult. Getting no positive feedback, I lost interest. This meant that our sex life was limited to finger fucking. Which became a mastered art of ours, but left me wanting more.
Eventually I was able to coax her into letting a strap on enter the bedroom. Nothing like the real thing, and doesn't even vibrate but does allow for a power trip. After a very long time She was finally open to the idea of trying out my favourite vibrator. That night she came about 7 times.
I
told
you
so
I had showed up on our second date with it in my purse and announced "now we can actually have sex." She laughed, and said we already had. Apparently mutual masturbation passes for sex with some lesbians. I don't mean to sound bitter. Sex is what you make it.
This reminds me that I mean to give out awards to my partners.
Best at @#$%! in Bed Awards
Everyone is good at something.
It's true. While one person may rock your clit, another might be great at massages.
Award for both viginities.
Also for DP with a vibe
My first boyfriend was the only one I've ever trusted enough to really explore anal with. Oddly that only happened after we broke up and had to stick together till the end of the apartment lease. At that point we had very little to lose, so why not. The abandon we finally found with each other was almost enough to stick around for. Almost. But after 5 years of monogamy and heterosexuality, I was ready to grow.
Award for nonconsensual non-monogamy fail
Is it cheating is you're not technically dating either of them?
There was a short amount of time where I was still seeing my ex, while I was dating a new female lover. Though they never met, they both felt threatened by the other. Not long after I moved out he and I stopped seeing each other. I admitted that would continue to keep loving him, but I needed to explore the world as a free woman.
It was too difficult for him to maintain relations with me once I wasn't just his. And we stopped seeing each other. There have been a few times over the last year or so that we've hooked up. Mostly we had very little to say to each other and hoped that sex would loosen the tension.
I began to suspect he wasn't doing much to move on, and I was only providing incentive. I have not seen him for many months, and if I were to, I would not be the same person who once loved him.
Award for best clit fingering
Also for prettiest O face
My first girlfriend gave me my favourite kind of orgasms. Manual stimulation of the clit with her fingers. Also she liked to have others play with us. I took to that like a duck to water. She and I tried some light s/M. I loved dominating her at first.
This became emotionally draining and I found she became too reliant on me in other aspects of our relationship. I wasn't ready to be in a relationship with someone so emotionally dependent on me. Also gets the award for lovliest orgasm face, she looked like the Madonna by Edvard Munch. Almost sacrilegious in her surrender. Dark, beautiful and unstable.
The painting is said to capture abandonment to ecstasy. The border some copies have is swimming with sperm, racing towards a fetus. This is a painting of the moment of orgasm, and conception. Having been dubbed the Madonna (holy mother) this image is blasphemy.
Award for mastering the female ejaculation
Also for best drag show
My second boyfriend found my G spot. He would go down on me and pound my Gspot for as long as I wanted. What a trooper. He was the first to get me to squirt. Remember to bring a towel. He was into gender play, and would dress as a woman sometimes. I loved doing his make up and dressing him up.
It wasn't a sexual turn on for me as much as it was for him. Though I liked mushing his moobs into a bra. Pretty boys with boobs and lace combine the best of both worlds. He was also submissive, and in the end also too emotionally dependent for my taste.
There was a brief period between my first girlfriend and second boyfriend where I was dating the two of them. They were okay with this at first, but jealousy, insecurity and neediness tore them up. Before the collapse of both relationships there were some mind blowing threesomes. Valentines day was perfect. I skated down the canal each holding my hand.
Award for first consensual polyamory fail.
Don't believe monogamous people when they say they'll accept you for who you are
As time passed, I was unable to cope with two tumultuous relationships. I found that my girlfriend was increasingly manipulative and needy. While my boyfriend quietly assumed second place on my list of priorities. There came a point where I realized that I was being unfair to him, and also to myself. So I put myself at the top of the list and tried to downgrade my relationship with her to fuck buddy status. This was disastrous. I always make this mistake with my exes.
But maybe the mistake is in committing to a relationship in the first place. Don't assume this means I'm jaded. I will always hope to love this easily. I've just realized that the friendship ought to be paramount. A relationship implies different expectations. And more often then not monogamy or hierarchal status. Those are both systems of control. Lovers do not need status, they are all different and feelings for one ought not affect feelings for another.
Award for making me doubt my bisexuality
If you only date women and men who identify as women are you bisexual or gay?
Since then I kept a semi successful fuck buddy relationship with the second boyfriend. It was comfortable and convenient. I'I entertained myself with short lived lesbian flings. When he announced he'd be transitioning into a woman, I began to doubt my bisexuality. My few boring flings with men were marked by a distinct lack of sexual zest. Men were far too easy to rope in, and because they provided no challenge I started telling them I was a lesbian. It was easier to deflect their attentions by claiming to be gay. I even started dressing a little more butch. plaid shirts, boots. A bowler hat. I still make a habit of showing how hairy my legs were to shoo them away.
Award for worst one night stand
Yargh, you can call me the Captain.
Last St.Patricks day I went home with a classy looking man from the irish pub. He was at that time the oldest person I'd slept with. I'd guess 26. He was actually Irish, but he wasn't actually named Brian. As he informed me later, while I was consoling him while he cried. During sex. Because he was doing it to get back at his girlfriend. "It's okay Brian" "I'm not Brian" " Who are you then?" "You can call me the Captain. Shall we continue?" " You suck Captain."
I slept on his couch until the busses started to run again at 6am, and I bolted, leaving behind my health card by accident. Well, I guess he knows I was honest about my name. I was tempted to leave some red hair wrapped around his girlfriend straightening iron.
That's not the Captain. The picture is unrelated. It's just some guy I harassed at Sexapalooza. He had no idea I was going to do this either, I caught him checking me out so I threw him in a counter and whooped him.
Award for best one night stand
Also for best use of rubber ducks
I had one successful one night stand with a man. And I met him, in all places, in Toronto the week of the Pride parade. He was demoing vibrating rubber ducks in a sex shop. I got a massage and his number.
For a man who works at a sex shop I was disappointed by the utter lack of toys. But he made up for it with a shocking display of energy. He jumped at the chance to dominate me when I mentioned my interest. He spanked my ass as hard as I wished and pulled my hair. When he drilled me from behind and pushed my face into the pillows I was laughing pretty hard. The endorphins from being spanked give me the giggles. He called me filthy names, which excited me. I was shocked when he smacked my face. At first I just stared at him. It was a light slap, but it left me flabbergasted. He immediately apologized, and offered to stop.
No, do it again. What a feeling. I didn't let him go to hard or too often. Just a few smacks interspersed to grab my attention. Did it ever. I went wild in a way I hadn't been able to with my previous partners. Despite his best efforts I wasn't relaxed enough to get off with him.
He was sweet, and paid for my taxi since I insisted on getting back to my ex girlfriend. We still keep in contact. I'd like to see him again. When I got back to where we were staying she was afire with jealousy. She passionately finished me off to remind me of why I like women. I still have the sticker posted in my room that says "I just got Ducked."
Award for funniest breakup (when we weren't dating)
Also for dancing so well I ‘forgot’ to notice how dumb she was
I started spending time with this pretty little thing that sucked on my face for hours at the gay dance club. I should've known when I was fucking her in the bathroom stall that it wouldn't lead to conversation as stimulating. She and I had a fling that lasted a few weeks. I loved her reckless energy, unfortunately she wasn't very clever. And she was too eager to find acceptance. She kept buying me gifts, which admittedly where very thoughtful and sweet. When I tried to make it clear that I we weren't dating her eyes would glaze over. With a sigh I thanked her for her gift of antique pins. "You really know my style. You have impeccable taste."
Here it comes, this is what she said that made me dump her on the spot.
"Yeah, I'm really observative that way."
Pause.
And she didn't even notice what she'd said wrong.
"They're very nice, but I don't give my friends these kinds of gifts."
Pause.
She didn't clue in.
I broke it down for her on the street corner. She didn't cry. I think she put it together later.
Award for most awkward breakup (when we weren't dating).
Also for softest skin
We looked somewhat similar, and we shared our first name. I've since put a moratorium on dating women who either look like me or have my name. There was no major disaster or success in our story. She wasn't boring or dull, too immature, or too stupid. She was clever, ambitious, independent, supportive, fun, and artsy. Too much like me to date.
Though I wouldn't mind hooking up again if it was spontaneous. But I will never make plans with her,and that probably why I ended it. I decided this as she was cumming in my mouth. I took a few minutes to draw her sprawled on the best satiated. We both knew what it meant when we looked at the finished piece and it was lack luster. Then tried to leave gracefully. No such luck.
Through our combined idiocy we ended up in the lobby of her building locked out of her apartment, and I was the only one wearing pants. Being of similar size and shape I gave her my pants while I hid under the stairs beside a moose head mounted on a plaque that had been taken down.
During the time she tried to get a hold of her landlord, I contemplated throwing the hideous decor through her front window to let her in and making a pants-less escape. Instead I waited for her. Standing half naked in her front yard I boosted her through her front window. After changing into my clothes I left awkwardly only to return a few minutes later to ask her to lend me bus tickets.
Picture unrelated. This is from Sexapalooza. I like being pants-less in public.
Award for furthest cum shot
I am 5"2 and lying on the bed, while he stood at the edge. He pulled out of my mouth and came down the length of my body. ALL OF IT. That was some serious propulsion. Next time I'm going to see if he can hit the ceiling. I want a slow motion capture camera to catch the mad hang time. I'm talking about Efram here, he warned me ahead of time. Though he said 5 meters. So obviously I called him out on it. But I was impressed nonetheless.
Currently Efram is the winner of the Award for best fuck ever.
Though that's a title he'll have to defend rigorously.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Tales From The Crypt
I am among the tiny fraction of people in existence who has had this experience.
To the Tune of David Bowie's China girl. Those petite asian girls with freckles do it to me every time. Faces meant to be kissed.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Emergency Eject Button
Back from my latest trip to Bogenville. What a fun time, I learned so much about death, sex, trains, Efram, and myself. I decided that instead of doing strips about all the sexy memories, I ought to keep it down to earth.
This is one of the more horrifying and hilarious moments.
And now my tits are on the net Can I take this time to point out that I have an excellent sense of outfit coordination? That apron matches my aureoles smashingly. Unless I decide to find employment making a line of skin tone flattering aprons for exhibitionists I am hence forth unable to get a proper job. How my heart aches for the professionalism of a suit and tie. Maybe a top hat, and a cane, a little dance number. I could swing it after all.
These are my soon to be famous crepes. I've been improving.
Granola oatmeal recipe:
350F
2c oatmeal
1/2c flax seeds
1/2c almonds
1/2c sesame seeds
1/4c sunflower seeds
1/4c pumpkin seeds
1tbsp cinnamon
1 orange zested
mix together
then in a separate bowl mix
2tbsp egg white
1tbsp honey
1bsp canola oil
1tsp vanilla
mix both bowls together, and bake on a cookie sheet for 10-12 min, stirring every 5 min.
I then put a coat of shredded coconut and cranberries and broiled for 1 min to sear the coconut.
serve with fresh cut fruit. Serve with either yogurt or whip cream or as cereal (vanilla soy milk is tasty).
The apron fetish most likely stems from being a stylish submissive at heart. Cooking topless for friends sets me aflutter. I know my the bandmates of my bud's appreciate my impromptu cooking, though wonder why I have my own apron with me at all times. This is because my first boyfriend took me by surprise as I was bent over naked, cleaning the tub. Maybe it was the fumes of the cleaning agents, but I loved it. Did you spill on the floor? I don't mind bending over in a short skirt to wipe it up. Bounce and I are well acquainted.
Cleaning is not inherently sexual, otherwise my room would be far tidier. But rather the act of giving, and serving is what I find sexy. In small doses mind you. Cooking with friends drinking wine is the best way to spend an evening.
Things brings me to sushi. Nyotaimori, is a subdivision of food play. The act of eating sushi that has been laid on a naked body is an alluring prospect to me. Not only have I trained my endorphins to react to sushi, the potential of submissiveness is unending. First, I LOVE making sushi (in aprons!) then I become a canvas for the artful rolls. Then I must breathe shallowly and keep myself from talking so as not to shake off the main course.
Im not sure how I feel about this kind of passive objectification. Normally I feed off of attention, lots of it. This scene could go either way; the plate could be ignored, or the be praised for her great mastery of sushi and discipline.
I wonder if there are films about nyotaimori reminiscent to Secretary? The film follows Maggie Gyllenhaal, an awkward cutter, who finds herself working for a very kinky, somewhat frightening paralegal; E.Edward Grey - played by James Spader. You should all watch with someone you'd like test the s/m waters withl! See if you notice the subtle riding hood/fairytale homages?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28W3d3brIf0&feature=related
No spoilers here, just a small taste of the fantasy of really working for your boss.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Nude bodies on poles and slabs
I am concocting a supreme gourmet oatmeal; coconut, apricots, cranberries, sesame seeds, sunflower seeds, flax, cinnamon, and pumpkin seeds abound. After baking, to be topped with strawberries, bananas, nutella and whip cream.
Playing house to compensate for the slow bleed of innocence from the last two days.
The similarity between the morgue and the strip club is that in both cases, I try to relate and personify what everyone else sees as an object.
The corpse, of an old woman who had lived with an amputated leg, wore remnants of a manicure.
The stripper I spent hours talking to, kept hers short because she likes to work on trucks. She said to Efram "Your friend is nice, but don't ever let her be a dancer."
So I'll wear a frilly apron and make breakfast at 8pm. Glancing at the pile of hair extensions she left in the apartment. I think back to how I snuck on stage after they'd closed. Scuffing the slick tiles with my winter boots, wondering how these girls glide across it on their knees. It can seem so glamorous, but from here I can see the coke machine's reflection, the soccer game, and the cracks in the plaster where the pole disappears into the ceiling.
I pretended (And for a moment-) I was interested in becoming a stripper. I asked the women how they felt about their jobs, and if they had advice to offer. After hearing what they had to say, and their attitudes, I changed my mind. I don't have what it takes, whatever that is. Discipline, savoir faire, the ability to detach from my emotions. The women seemed to like the money, but not the job itself. Statistically there must be tons of private dancers who love the job. And I am absolutely a supporter of the right to earn money through sex work.
"Look at him like a wallet, or your car insurance payment, your groceries. That's how you get it done."
This made me cringe. I really enjoy pleasing my customers when I work in cafes or restaurants or in retail. Seeing the client as a sale always makes me hate my job. But when I'm open, honest, and really believe that I'm lucky to meet new people, the same tasks are infinitely more rewarding.
"If you really want to get into erotic dancing, listen up. This is the best advice you're ever going to hear. It applies to any career. Don't do drugs, or drink. This is a job, be sober. It's easy to get sucked into addiction in this field. Put $100 a night into an envelope, when you reach $1000 tuck it away. You have to be able to rely on yourself when you're unexpectedly out of work."
This was from the oldest dancer there. Massive implant, very classy choreography. Like a lounge singer.
One girl was hammered. She screamed "I just need a cock in my ass" to no one in particular. I suspect she was high on something. Very exuberant, so her dance was attention grabbing. I thought I was overtly sexual, maybe a bit salacious at times.
People laugh when I tell them I'm naive. I've got nothing on Sweet Nicky. Sweet is something of a misnomer.
On the opposite side of the spectrum is Jackie; she likes working on her truck. Explores her artistic side through wood burning. She kick boxes and is engaged to her high school sweetheart. She doesn't hustle. And didn't seem to mind ignoring her patrons to chat with me for a few hours. A relatively normal girl, around my age, who is genuinely friendly. And has a fun stage performance. If I was a stripper, I'd be like her. A REAL PERSON. I'm sure I'd have something of a stage persona a little more confidant, enough attitude and presence to demand respect. Not girls gone wild, high, and screaming for more dick.
The other older woman there was cranky. It was her last day on the job. She was engaged. Her fiance bought a house, she wouldn't have to work anymore. She also had insurmountably massive breasts. I got the impression that committing to the business meant succumbing to the pressures of 'ideal beauty.' A sweet girl, Katie, was morose at the start of her night. I hope I was able to cheer her up a bit by lending her a sympathetic ear. She had to dump her boyfriend within the week because he was leaving on a tour with a fellow dancer. They'd stop in clubs all over rural quebec and do shows. "You have to keep moving if you want to make money." She came home with Efram's roommate. Under normal lighting her makeup was austere. Washing her face with baby wipes in the bathroom she confessed that occasionally she doesn't shower for up to four days and smells like man hands. I wasn't sure if this was a joke. I got a picture of Efram in her extensions. Her chin length hair is very sweet, and emphasizes how doe eyed she is. I'd have much rather drawn her like that then when she gave me a pro-bono lap dance at the club. (which was all kinds of sexy regardless of her clinical instructions on how to emulate the dance.) At our house she dressed me in one of her extra outfits. Hygiene is of the utmost importance, and is not overlooked. She kept each outfit washed in separate bags. Dressed as a true erotic dancer I gave Efram a little dance. I'm glad to have retained some of what Katie demonstrated. I was at the time; flushed and suppressing immoderate giggles.
She gave me a guised look of terror when I suggested I make us all crepes in the next morning. She didn't stick around long, though her new friend and I visited her the next day to return the outfit she'd leant me. We talked about the best sites to stream movies online from while she took a smoke break in the snowy February night pants-less. Just as I left I handed her the URL to this site. I hope the ladies see this.
And to them;
Thank you very much. You've granted me a lot of insight, though barely enough to satiate my curiosity. I would like to try stripping one day. I'm naked enough at friend's houses just chilling around. Though it's been a while since I've made a spectacle of myself. At least a month since my public flogging at Sexapalooza.
If I was a stripper I'd love showing off too much to stop and force myself to dance for anyone repulsive. And if I was a prostitute, I'd fall in love with the good inside every client. I've never been good at doing what I don't want to ;) And a delicate yet exposed heart is one of my best features.
I should just strip for pretty women. I wonder if that's a lucrative market?
Friday, February 18, 2011
"A slut is a person of any gender who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you.
I've begun this blog because there are things I want to share (mostly artwork) that I'd like my parents to not find.
I'm not worried about potential clients learning my secrets. As an artist I stand behind my work.
No risk, No reward.
How can I take risks with art? Being incendiary. Vulnerability. Exposure.
I've challenged myself to be brazen.
I am a polyamorous bisexual woman. I have the freedom to explore what this life has to offer.
The idea for this site was from an old man running a second hand book shop. He wore a tweed jacket, and had little reading specs. When he proposed it, I laughed. "You should use these sex positive drawings and write a comic about it."
This is what was in my sketchbook the day I walked in to buy some used comics
Why not?
I'm sure there are people who will benefit from the perspective this site will grant them. (which is mine)
This may evolve into a tell all diary. Something I'll look back on in years and be able to see my progress.
Moe often then not, my work deals with my main passions in life; music, poetry, sex, love, friendship. There's no reason for me to exclude any of these major facets due to propriety.
For my first post; a very rough comic of my Valentines day.
Threesomes have become an annual V-Day tradition. This time, I wasn't dating either of them. Thank god.
Oh I will have some stories for this blog :)
A while back I started a comic about an s/M cafe. I finished one page and tossed the idea. At the time I had a piece of shit laptop and photoshop was not worth the effort. I have the means to go ahead with the project. Though until I submerge myself into the subculture I may refrain. Perhaps short personal experiences would be more accurate then trying to fabricate a hardcore slave lifestyle.
Let me tell you a little about the best fuck I've ever had.
I met him after sleeping with his sister.
I ask her to marry me every chance I get. Sadly she's straight. Luckily so is her brother. On New Years she brought me to his birthday party. I'd met him once before. After which he told his sister that he planned to split me like a log. His words. I found him presumptuous and cocky. I spent the night coaxing reluctant girls onto the dance floor and chiding him on his terrible DJ-ing. Around 7 am, in a diner, he asked me what it was like to be a benign and semi-functional schizophrenic. It wasn't until much later that he told me I was beautiful. My mother approves of him.
The next day he told me over text that he wants to be a medical pilot in Malaysia. But why such a dangerous job? "No risk, No reward." So many hours later he challenges me to jump on his bus and follow him to his city. I had just finished this piece and vowed to take risks with my art. To avoid hypocrisy, I'll have to do so in life. What could I say? He had my shirt, and if I had to go to some hick town to get it back, so be it.
He said to me " It frightens me, the ease with which you pull me in."
I drew this of him after one of the best bangs of my life. Finally someone who can keep up with me. I'd never known the she-demon I had inside. Here, I thought I was boring in bed, turns out it was just who I was screwing.
Smile like you've got a secret.
I dumped my transvestite fuck buddy/ex-bf after returning from the sexventure. He, er, she, er... just wasn't going to cut it anymore. It was more or less mutual. (I still miss squirting on his makeup.)
I love to be choked, spanked, tied up, scratched, spanked some more, smacked in the face just a little. At da club, they call me Choke-A-Bitch. Like Wayne Brady. When I'm drunk and girls grind their asses into me, I reach around and hold their necks to pull them closer. Apparently some think I'm going in for the kill. One girl mouthed the words "help me." Hence the nickname.
xxx
-Shameless
PS. Wait till I tell you about Sexapalooza! Remind me to tell the story of the vibrator named The Enterprise. And the one about my friend's chronic nipple infection due to chocolate pudding. Maybe I should post a picture of my favourite outfit to cook crepes in? There's the scoop on what my first polyamorous relationship was like, for the month it lasted. There's the story of The Captain I met on St.Patricks day. I guess I'm big on holidays. One birthday, I had my first foursome. His girlfriend still hates me for not sleeping with him?? And the first webcam sex experience one Christmas morning.
I'm leaving for hickville in a few days during the school break to meet Efram (The WunderBoner). There will be lots of stories for me to dish once I get back. He says he has a life changing surprise for me. The clue is this: "What do we all take for granted, Can you ever say you've seen it?" My guesses are: peace, love, sight, music, a pulse-- If I get to watch a live surgery, my heart is his.
Just kidding, I'll always be poly, but he can have a slice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)