Hairpulling

There I am hanging with a pal when the subject of snuggling comes up.

Do I want to snuggle?

Hells yes!

Of course, I’m trying to behave myself so I grab a suitably large pillow, plunk it down in his lap, and start snuggling on the couch.

Ah!

This is nice.

My friend starts to randomly touch me and it’s kinda nice.

I giggle when he touches my lower back.

It tickles!

It then becomes apparent that he’s trying to help with my problem by providing me with a PG level snuggle.

I instantly escalated it to PG-13.

I say to him, “If you really want to do me a favor, pull my hair.”

He grabs fistfuls and pulls.

Ah!

I can’t tell you how much I LOVE to have my hairpulled.

It’s definitely a THING for me.

My favorite hairpulling memory involved me, a Swede, and some concurrent deep kissing.

This rivaled it not because there was kissing but because there was SO MUCH HAIRPULLING I thought I’d lost my mind.

Imagine 15 minutes of hairpulling.

It was AWESOME!

I gotta say, I sure love it when a friend comes through for me.

Giving up sex

So here’s The Deal.

I’m giving up sex for 3 months.

That means three months of no sex, not even a teeny little bit.

Not even the kind that doesn’t “count.”

This means I have to be celibate until January 7, 2018.

Now, there is one exception to this rule:

The Swede.

IF The Swede comes to visit, then my vow of abstinence goes on hiatus.

I rationalize it like this – The Swede happens to be the one HEALTHY friendship I have and therefore shouldn’t be included in my vow of abstinence, which is supposed to weed out the dirty boys and rebels.

I told Tejas about my vow and he just laughed and laughed.

Then he thought about how much bitching he will have to listen to and he STOPPED LAUGHING.

Personally, I think the biggest challenge for me isn’t going to be giving up sex.

No.

It’s going to be giving up the sexting and flirting that goes with it.

Because for me, flirting leads to sexting leads to sex IRL.

So we’re gonna have none of that.

Do you think I will survive?

Lousy F*ck

This post is for all the guys out there.

There’s something you need to hear and I’m gonna be the one to say it:

Aftercare.

It’s a thing.

And it’s an important thing.

You don’t just slip your clothes back on and beat a hasty retreat out of the bedroom.

No.

Part of the commitment to sex involves a minimal commitment to AFTERCARE.

Meaning you and your partner make pillow talk for at least 10 or 15 minutes post coitus.

When you leap up and wash, get dressed, and leave, it feels like an abrupt and rude ending to what might have otherwise been a fun evening.

So, I’m curious. . . what will it take to make you give a shit about being respectful and connected post coitus?

I’ll give you a tip.

It doesn’t matter how good a lover you are, IF YOU DO THIS THEN THE LOVEMAKING SUCKS.

A smooth transition from the bed to the kiss goodbye ensures that the entire event will be viewed in a positive light.

If you tell us we have a lazy eye. . .

If you put on your clothes IMMEDIATELY. . .

If you fail to provide ADEQUATE AFTERCARE you will be remembered as a LOUSY FUCK and we will PURGE YOU FROM OUR PHONE AND OUR MEMORIES.

That is all.

What I hope men think about when they’re having sex with me

Sometimes I wonder if the inside of a man’s brain sounds like the lonely buzz of a fluorescent light bulb.

In reality I suspect their brain cells are working like pistons, constantly firing.

Given that I have my own internal dialogue during sex, I can’t help but wonder:

What would theirs be?

I’m sure it must be more sophisticated than just “boobs, Boobs, BOOBS!”

Sex is one of life’s simpler moments. In the presence of my naked body, I hope a man’s mind becomes pretty stimulated and his mind takes off. Here are the thoughts I HOPE a man could have when he’s in bed with me.

  1. Damn! I forgot to shower. Not that I mind a whiff of musky body odor during sex. I just like the idea of a man who wants to prep for me.
  2. My god, these are perfect! Hopefully the best breasts are the ones that have recently been exposed for his enjoyment.
  3. I should remember this for later. Taking a mental picture of me for later. For.. you know… solo activity.
  4. “Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd …” I was once told that men sing this song in their heads to hold off the Big O so that they can last longer for their partners. I like a man who wants to extend the play.
  5. Play it cool. I want a man to think he’s totally in charge, even when he’s not.
  6. I wonder if she’d be cool if I tried ______? Every guy has his own bag of tricks and I want to be shown his.
  7. Where did she learn THAT?! I have my own moves and would like to think that I manage to blow his mind once or twice.
  8. So, um, was that an orgasm? When men orgasm, you know it. It’s a show. So I can understand their confusion when, after I orgasm, I just keep going like I’m the Duracell bunny. He doesn’t know if he should keep going? Wrap things up? WHAT TO DO?!
  9. THAT. JUST. HAPPENED. Men may not show it afterward but they’re pretty excited. Nothing else matters at this time. He has me in his arms and his brain is stewing in a bath of feel-good hormones.

Perverted and inappropriate

I am once again taking off and going to RENO for a weekend.

No, it has nothing to do with Burning Man.

I’m going to visit my sister.

And she’s taking me to the Spa at the Peppermill for massages!

Woot!

However, she requested MALE massage therapists for us.

She says they give better deep tissue massages than a woman therapist.

This gives me pause.

First of all, I’m not too fond of DEEP TISSUE massages.

They tend to make me cry and BEG for mercy.

Second, I’m not too thrilled to have a man working on me.

It’s not that I object to a man massaging me.

It’s just that I do watch a lot of massage parlor porn.

Throwing a man into the mixture makes me tense up and think about sex.

A lot.

Because I’m perverted and inappropriate like that.

Can’t I just have a female therapist and enjoy a nice Swedish massage. . .

. . .then go to Sweden and give a nice sexy massage to The Swede.

I wouldn’t mind if he massaged me.

On the inside 😉

Sex toy purge

I have a ton of sex toys.

Most of it is pretty tame stuff.

Stuff I’m okay admitting to on my blog – vibrators, dildos, magic wands, condoms, lubrication, blindfolds, etc.

However, there are a few things in my collection – such as a harness and nipple clamps – that should anything happen to me, my sister is UNDER STRICT INSTUCTIONS TO GET TO MY ROOM AND REMOVE THEM.

They’re all in a black bag on the top shelf on my center bookcase.

Basically, my mom and dad don’t know what a pervert I am and I want to keep it that way, especially when I get to the greater beyond.

My sister is mentally strong and capable of looking at these things, realize that I did in fact use them on other people (or myself) and THROW THAT SHIT AWAY.

I suspect, given my sister’s constitution, that she would actually just toss the entire bag into the garbage, sight unseen.

Because she’s SMART LIKE THAT.

Who needs to look at an enema bulb anyway?

Or a lube shooter?

Or, God forbid, a riding crop?

Oh wow, did I just say that out loud?

There’s no such thing as surprise anal

Now.

I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking “tell me she is NOT going there.”

Why yes.

Yes, I am.

I once sat in on a cocksucking class.

It was called Blowjobs 102 and it was held in a pole dancing studio.

The instructor was telling us about anal sex.

She said two things that stick in my mind.

The first thing she said is that in anal sex (unlike in regular sex), the penetrator stays still while the penetratee does all the moving.

Imagine a visual to go with this.

Ok.

Then she said “There is no such thing as surprise anal!”

I know she’d like to think this.

Take it from a woman who has shoved her finger up a guy’s ass – it’s best to not surprise anyone this way.

But I have to say, much to her dismay, THERE IS.

It’s even got a name.

It’s called “WRONG HOLE!” and it’s usually shouted strenuously.

Now I can understand younger men having this problem.

I certainly bellowed WRONG HOLE! more than I care to admit when I was younger and playing with young men.

But it STILL happens even with men in their 40s and 50s.

I think they get excited, start poking around DOWN THERE, feel something give and just ASSUME it’s a pussy.

Well, I’m here to say NOT SO.

Take your time.

Find the right hole.

Because there IS such a thing as SURPRISE ANAL and it ain’t pretty.

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Overshare

“Have you ever heard from a guy ‘Good Lord, I think your oversharing about sex is a bit of a turn off.’ Ever hear that?”

I got the text from a friend Monday morning.

“No,” I replied.

“Now you have,” he responded.

Hmmmmm.

Let me preface this by saying I’ve hurt my neck and I’m in chronic pain so dealing with criticism right now is NOT my highest priority.

How does one respond to this feedback?

Apparently, he’s under the impression that there is a chain of men who I am sleeping with and they’re okay being part of that “chain.”

Well, there IS a “chain” and the men ARE “okay.”

Or at least they’re not complaining.

The truth is, men aren’t lining up outside my door to get in a relationship with me.

I’m as capable of monogamy as the next person, it’s just not the hand I’m being dealt now.

And I can fight it and be celibate, or I can embrace it and go with the flow.

And so I’m embracing it.

It doesn’t mean I’m not looking for something long term.

And I just find it a little ironic that if I was a man, no one would have a problem with my activities.

No one.

Men are expected to play the field.

But a woman?

Isn’t she supposed to protect the sanctity of her womanhood?

I do occasionally wonder, however if EVERYTHING needs to go on this blog.

Occasionally I do participate in the OVERSHARE.

So maybe I need to dial that back a bit.

But I’m not feeling guilty or ashamed of who I am and what I choose to do with my life.

I’m trying to find something that fits JUST RIGHT.

And I haven’t found it yet.

‘Nuf said.

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I’m gonna come

“But she made the most exquisite noises during lovemaking. . . “ a friend was telling me as he described the things he loved about his ex girlfriend.

First I giggled.

Then I groaned.

I am not a noisemaker.

No.

I am actually relatively quiet.

A sigh here. A little moan there. But nothing too ostentatious.

My lovers can testify to this.

The marked exception is when I feel the BIG O coming on.

Then I’m full of comments and directions.

I am also well noted for liking to say my lover’s name out loud, over and over again.

But I do usually pause before saying any name and question myself, “Is this the right name? Yes? Then proceed.”

So far, I have managed to always say the right name.

At Burning Man, this can be a problem, however.

I know people by their playa names and somehow screaming out “Synergy” or “Panther” during sex seems very comical.

The other day, I was fooling around with someone.

We’ll call him Wiseguy.

And the last thing I could do was scream THAT out.

So I stopped ALL THE ACTION.

And I said, “Wait! I don’t even know your name!”

Sort of ironic, here we are engaging in casual sex and I can’t proceed without a name.

“It’s Ethan,” he told me.

“Oh, ok,” I replied.

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna come.”

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I went to Burning Man and all I got was this FUCKING BABY!*

DO NOT GO TO BURNING MAN WHEN YOU ARE OVULATING AND EXPECT TO SEE ART.

No.

Instead of seeing art, you will spend an inordinate amount of time on your back trying uselessly to impregnate yourself.

I say “USELESSLY” because we all know how important it is to use condoms when one is engaging in CASUAL SEX without any other form of birth control.

I am not on birth control for one reason: it takes the THREAT OF AN 18 YEAR COMMITMENT to make me INSIST on using condoms.

I RARELY fudge it.

But fudge it I do sometimes.

Which is why I can say with a little shock and dismay. . .

. . .I’m late.

Way late.

The WHOLE reason I am writing this post is because I AM SURE THAT IF I POST IT, I WILL NOT BE PREGNANT.

It’s the whole Murphy’s Law thing and me, again.

If I write it, it won’t come to fruition.

If I don’t write it, it will.

THE LAST FUCKING THING I WANT IN THIS UNIVERSE is to be a 43 year old pregnant woman.

Or, God forbid, to have gotten pregnant at Burning Man.

I went to Burning Man and all I got was this FUCKING BABY!*

‘Nuff said.

 

*I’m DEFINITELY NOT PREGNANT.  Still no period, though. Perimenopause SUCKS the BIG ONE!

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