This weekend I checked out the Everything To Do With Sex Show with a Bast and some other friends. You gotta love the premise – kind of like a Home and Garden show but for those who love sex!
And who doesn’t, really? 🙂
Interesting items: I was really surprised by the proliferation of Wet, a flavoured lube I recently picked up at a Fantasia party. This stuff was everywhere. And I must admit, it beats the hell out of AstroGlide as a lube. Tasty! Ran across another really, really silky lube called Eros (CAYA sells it here). I couldn’t believe how silky this stuff was. Of course, it should be at $30 a bottle. Ouch!
I also found a leather corset (one of the items on my shopping list). Didn’t pick it up at the show, but I will very soon. It was gorgeous. Black leather, a zip up the front, corset lacing at the back, and garter straps. Yummy. Staying with that theme, I also saw a cat o’ nine tails (I think that’s what it’s called) that also intrigued. I’ve never owned a whip before or any kind of flogger, but this was really interesting – it had fur on the tips. Hell, it would be fun to use even without force!
Picked up a book, to help start my collection of erotic and old erotic photographs. It’s fascinating – a historical look at S&M practices over the last hundred years. Most of the pictures were of spanking or whipping, but there were some good bondage pictures as well. So very strange, to see these proper women in these old photos bending over to be spanked, their bare asses in the air. Excellent photography.
Also saw some boots I really liked, but at $300 a pop, they will have to wait…
Damn, this sex stuff can get expensive!
This is so sad.
I was shocked and dismayed and… well, here, let me give you the scoop. According to The Position:
The most recent sexual survey, Sex in America (1994), by M. Gagnon et al., found that about 40 percent of women in the general population between the ages of 18 to 59 had masturbated within the past year. The survey also found that about one in 10 women reported that they masturbate at least once per week.
Am I reading these numbers wrong? Only forty percent – within the past year? Only one out of ten masturbated once per week?
One would assume from these numbers that the other 60 percent didn’t masturbate at all during the past year?
Oh, that’s so sad!
Women, as a gender, really have to get their shit together, sexually speaking. I couldn’t believe these numbers were from a survey as recent as 1994. It’s not really the masturbation – or lack of it – precisely, that bothers me. It’s what it means. It’s the volumes it says between the lines about how women feel about themselves and their sexuality.
I know it sounds like I’m on a crusade. I’m not, honestly; more of an exploration. It’s just that facts like this continue to shock me. They shouldn’t, not really – after all, I fell in the forty-percent-once-in-a-long-while group not so very long ago. But I, as we’ve discussed before, wasn’t a very healthy girl, sexually speaking. I was wilting, as you might remember. And the thought that sixty percent of the women out there are in the same shape – or worse – it boggles the mind! It makes me want to gather them all up and hug each and every one of them and send them home with their very own silver bullet!Small wonder women are still fighting for equality in the boardrooms, classrooms and other public places in our society. We can’t even get a handle – literally – on something as basic and natural as our own sexuality!
in other news: I had a wonderful midafternoon daydream – a delicious break from work. Something to do with a plastic dropcloth, lots of massage oil and body heat, limbs tangling and sliding against each other, hands sliding and slipping, the sensations all the more intense because you can never stay in just one spot, never sustain the grip you so desperately want and need, like a full-body tease. Moaning and shivering, all tense muscles and incredibly sexy smells…
There’s a story in there, methinks.
Off to bed to plan it out… 🙂
Before I took it back for myself, I allowed others’ opinions of me to color my sexuality. Not everyone’s opinions, certainly. But those closest to me… well, yeah. Biggest case in point: the husband (from whom I am now separated).
It makes me want to shake my head, pound my fists, even cry a little, when I think of how I allowed my sexuality to be buried underneath the color of his thoughts, his opinions, his wants, his needs. How I took his view of me and made it my own – how I became, in essence, the very sexless being he wanted to be married to.
I didn’t understand, you see. I didn’t know how very important my sexuality was. I didn’t know it was like a flower – capable of such beauty, fragrance and softness, but that it could wilt and die when left uncared for. I thought of it (when I allowed myself to think of it at all) as a skill – like riding a bike. Something you learn. And once you learn, even if you don’t ride for years and years, you never really forget how to do it.
I neglected to nurture it, to feed it. And it wilted inside for years.
I suppose many people wouldn’t understand why I think about sex so often, now. Why I read erotica. Why I take long, sensuous bubble baths with candles, wine and soft music… even if I’m alone. I do this, and much more, to nuture my sensual side. To give it the care and attention I neglected to give it all of those years.
Just because someone believes you to be (or even wants you to be) sexless doesn’t mean you have to be. You have a right to your sensuality. I have a right to mine.
I do it to remind myself and to protect myself from the color of other people’s opinions. Seeing him tonight reminded me of that. It would be easy, so easy to fall back into the trap of thinking of myself as a less than sensual person.
But I’m not. I love sensation. I love texture. It’s not just about getting off. It’s about reveling in my senses. And sensuality, the best kind of sensuality, is simply about the most pleasure your senses can stand. I touch my skin tonight, feel the softness of my upper thighs, the velvet tips of my nipples, to remind myself that I will never again allow myself to lose my sensuality, my sexuality. It is as much a part of me as my breath, my speech, my thoughts.
I will tend this flower, in this savage garden, for the rest of my life.
God, I hate games.
Well, now, let me qualify that. I enjoy some games. Ones in which both people know exactly what’s going on. No manipulation, no hiding, no dishonesty. So long as those guidelines apply, I’m all for the fun of games.
Which is precisely why this site, The Art of Seduction, rings a little false with me. Could be that it’s a great way to learn about the opposite sex. It’s possible that many women would even benefit from it in ways similar to getting counselling or reading a self-help book.
I’ve gotta say that some of the “topics” covered bother me.
Case in point: “How to become the woman of his dreams: being his preconceived ideal.” Oh, now that one just SMACKS of honesty, doesn’t it?
Another: “controlling the development of intimacy”. Now, see, this may be far more innocuous than it sounds. Still, it reminds me of those woman-power seminars where you don’t “give out” till you “get what you want”. Don’t get me wrong here – I’m not advocating jumping into bed on the first date.I am, however, against using sex as a manipulative tool, withholding it until he’s jumped through the hoops you intend him to jump through. Come on, ladies, is he a man or a dog?
In the end, I prefer to think of seduction as a pleasurable means to an end – for both partners – rather than a checklist or game that must be played in order to entice an unwilling partner into bed.
But maybe that’s just me. 🙂
Our bodies are all about texture. Women are smooth and soft. We even shave our body hair to make up for nature’s little shortcomings in that department. And men – well, they’re truly wonderful creatures. Such a contrast of smooth and hard, rough and soft.
Chest hair is sexy because it looks so delightfully masculine. Because its crinkly texture feels wonderful against your palms, your lips, your breasts. Because so often it arrows down towards men’s waists, and the exciting things that lie below.I love chest hair for the same reason I love stubble on a man – because it’s a little rough. If I wanted smooth and soft all the time, I’d make love to women instead of men. I find myself continually searching out the areas on a man that are the most textured – their beard, their chest. Not to mention other, more private, areas. 🙂
It also makes an exciting contrast against the smoothness of the back, the neck, and the sensitive tip of a man’s cock. All those textures. Makes me want to bathe in them for hours. Personally, I love what those textures can do against my body. I love waking up the next morning to find small abrasions on my neck and between my breasts, my lips a little sensitive from rubbing against a beard, signs of a delicious evening of lovemaking.Some random thoughts from a randy mind… <grin>
I attended my first-ever Fantasia party yesterday at Bast’s place, what fun! If you’ve never attended one of these before, I highly recommend it. The crowd was rowdy and bawdy (just how I like it), the oils and unguents held exciting possibilities, and the toys were of high quality. If I had one disappointment it was that the selection of toys was not as vast as I’d hoped.
Needless to say, I spent far too much money. But it’s going to a good cause. Me! 🙂
To my delight, one of the toys featured was the Silver Bullet, the very toy I’ve been raving about for some time. I encouraged everyone at the party to buy one. My gospel must spread about this toy!
Some of the more exciting purchases I picked up at the party:
Vibrating lipstick: Yes, this little wonder really looks like a real tube of lipstick. When you remove the lid and turn the base, the “lipstick” extends upward and begins to vibrate! Oh, this one I had to get on principle. A vibrator you can carry in your purse and still be discreet – I’d love to kiss the person who thought of this.Ben Wa balls: It’s time to take my Kegels to the next level. I like the idea of eventually being able to train my body to hold them in for hours at a time. If I can do this, imagine what I’ll be able to do to my lover’s cock?
Sundae Kit: Not just flavoured whipped cream – this stuff comes with sprinkles, too! Oh, the sundaes I will make with this. And if some of the sprinkles don’t manage to stick properly to the whipped cream – well, I guess I’ll just have to root around with my tongue to slurp up the strays. Anything in the name of cleanliness. <grin>
Kama Sutra Oils of Love: Okay, so I couldn’t decide on a flavour and had to pick up the party-pack. Who can choose when they all taste so good! These oils heat up when you breathe on them. Oh, the ideas I have for this stuff…
Kama Sutra Pleasure Cream: Wickedly intense (and edible) mint gel. You wouldn’t believe what it does to your private parts. And yes, I tried it.
A veritable bouquet of goodies to try! It’s like Christmas in October. And that is never a Bad Thing.
When it comes to art, I’m really more of the architecture type than paintings or photography. Give me Notre Dame or the Coliseum over Matisse any day.
When it comes to erotica, I’m really more into the written word than images or video, though I enjoy both in moderation. I prefer to let my mind paint a picture than having it shown to me. The brain, after all, is the most powerful sexual organ. Mine works very well! 🙂
Lately, though, I’ve found myself drawn more and more to erotic photography. Not outright porn, exactly, just erotic, well executed photography. I’ve been known to kill time in nerve’s photography section when I want to look at something beautiful and stimulating as well. Something to make you think, something to please my love of shape and texture.
Just in time, then, for Salon’s latest feature story about Peek, a new book from the Kinsey Institute. It’s a wonderful collection of erotic photography – both historical and current – and if the photo sampling that Salon includes with their story is any indication, these images are superb. Some poignant, some fun, some shocking. I fell in love.
I ran my little mouse right over to Chapters.ca and picked myself up a copy.I’m fascinated particularly by the older photographs. I think I may research this a bit more – perhaps I may start a collection. The thought of having a collection of old erotic photographs really appeals to me.
What fun! A new hobby!
And one that has to do with sex! How unlike me. <grin>
My muse is gone.
Well, to be more accurate, my muse is still there only now, from afar. (Okay, more afar.) I’m sure that, active participant in my life or no, he’ll continue to inspire naughty thoughts for quite some time.
He is so sensual. I don’t know if he even realizes it. The way his eyes moved over me. The curve of his lips when he smiled. His wrists (don’t ask – I have a thing for hands and wrists and arms). His cockiness. His cheekiness. His vulnerability.
Oh, I wanted (and still want, truth be told) to do so many naughty things to that man. Things I’ve barely had the nerve to admit to myself, much less anyone else. Darkly sensual things too, not just the sweetnes and light involved in “romantic” sex. I knew – don’t ask me how, I just knew – that he could inspire me to greater heights (and greater depths) than any lover I’ve ever had. And I so wanted to explore those depths.
Why, then, is he gone? Because hope is a dessert, not a main course. It is sweet and tempting and rich. It can call to your senses and close your eyes in bliss, but eventually you want something more solid. You want the reality of a man’s arms around you, his lips on yours. Two is a much more promising number for a tango, and I want to dance. If he called, I know I’d run and throw myself in his arms and to hell with what’s possible and what’s not. I know the call won’t come, though.
I have to be strong. I’m all I have, in the end, all I can count on to be with me all my days. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living with a weak woman, especially if she’s me.
Yes: I lost my heart. Cardinal sin for future divorceés, I know, but it’s an overrated organ, the heart, yes? The body seems to function quite well without it. (Good thing.)
I’m reminded of a passage from one of my all-time favourite love stories, Love Song For A Raven:
She looked around at the broad beach and the savage perfection of the land. “A pity this is Eden instead of the Ark. Two was a magic number for Noah and getting across water was no problem. But this is Eden and I have a ferry to catch. I bet the captain’s name is Charon.”
You’d have to read the book to understand.
To refocus here, since the diary is supposed to be an exploration of sensuality….
I wonder what the hell he’d planned to do with that riding crop?
Another amazing scientific discovery posted yesterday – scientists have discovered the male G spot!
According to reports, they found the part of the brain that gets excited the most when a man is sexually aroused by what he sees.
Can I play devil’s advocate for a moment?
Of course there’s a part of the brain that gets affected when men are aroused by visual imagery. Coulda told them that myself, and I’m far from being a scientist. It makes sense, doesn’t it? The eyes are attached to the brain. The brain is what sends out all the signals to our bodies – sexual organs included – to do their thing, puff up with blood and arousal, et cetera. I’m pretty sure you’d find an analagous spot in women’s brains – though maybe not affected so much by the visual – that is affected when we’re aroused by outside stimuli.
A g-spot, however, is a different thing (or so I’ve heard…). It’s an actual physical spot in the female sex organs that can be very arousing when stimulated. I’ve never felt this myself, but have spoken personally to enough women to believe it exists.
For male researchers to call this new “brain spot” in men a “g-spot” says one thing to me – these male researchers are jealous. Women have many, many erogenous zones and men, as a rule, don’t have quite so many. As a woman, I’ve got to say that’s not neccessarily a bad thing. I don’t mind focusing my attention in a few places rather than many. And perhaps it is this fact – that men have fewer erogenous zones, and many have only *one* – that has made giving blowjobs such a wonderful thing for me. If they reacted the same way when I put my mouth in dozens of other places, would I have as much fun?
This news, however, will be of immense help to the .001% of women who don’t already know that men are aroused by visual stimuli…
This week I’ve been keeping an eye on a thread in the Sexilicious forums, all about a “To Do” list.
What have you always wanted to try sexually but haven’t yet?
Got me thinking about my own personal to-do list – which is HUGE. Mostly due to lack of opportunity, though there are a few in there that I’m still not sure whether they’d play better in fantasy than in reality… have you thought about YOUR list lately?
fool around in a movie theatre
have sex in the shower
have sex in a stairwell
have sex in an elevator
be tied up
try a threesome
be spanked/spank my partner
be completely dominated (power more so than pain)
try anal sex
… and these are just the ones that come to mind early in the morning.
Which means adding one more item to the To-Do list: think about more items for my to-do list. sigh. A woman’s work is never done…