slip-sliding away

For the first time in quite a while, I ran across something of interest at Salon. It’s tough, I know, to come up with something fascinating every single day about sex. Some days there’s just nothing new to say.
But I digress. This article is about lube. The fun of lube, the importance of lube. It recommends using it every time you have sex. I have to admit, even with my love of lubes, that this would never have occurred to me – for the same reasons it didn’t occur to most people in the article – because I have no problems getting wet, generally speaking, with a lover. Still, the article has encouraged me to give it a try. Anything that can make the experience more fun, I’m all for.
Lubes are fun though. They’re fun for playing with my toys, and they’re wonderful for slicking up your favourite cock. Just for play. I love the sensation of a hard, hot, oiled-up cock between my fingers. Yum. And though I haven’t tried it yet, I imagine they’d be… erm… helpful when it comes to anal sex. ๐Ÿ™‚
My favourites:

    Eros – a silicon-based lube that is one of the silkiest things I’ve ever felt. I haven’t tasted it (yet) so I can’t say if it would be any good for combining oral sex with your other activities, but in terms of a smooth slide, this thing is one of the best.
    Wet – not bad for taste (comes in flavors like Strawberry and Mango). Cute little bottle. The lube itself is pretty average, though I do find it lasts a little longer than Astroglide before becoming sticky.
    Kama Sutra Love Oils – Yum. With lots of flavors to choose from, these oils also come with an added bonus – they warm up when you apply them to your lover’s skin and then blow on them. Not so great for actually providing a lot of lube if you need it, but these are tasty and fun for play.

All this lube-osity has got me to thinking; I have yet to try slicking up completely with a partner and sliding away on a shower curtain, would you use a lube for this or just plain old massage oil? I’m thinking the massage oil might be more fun, but you never know…

i don’t know nothing ’bout birthin’ no babies, Miz Scarlett

Contraception. Maybe it’s because it’s such an awful, long, ugly word. Or maybe it’s because it can bring the whole gamut of human reality into play – life, death, sickness, health. Whatever the reason, people hate to think about contraception. They hate to deal with it. They hate discussing it. And all this hate and fear and discomfort often leads to avoidance, taking risks, and generally doing the ostrich thing. Trouble is, if you stick your head in the sand the worst that can happen is you get a mouthful of sand. Yum.
I know, I know, I’m likely preaching to the choir here. But reading an article on Nerve about having unsafe sex got me to thinking, and as usual when I think I tend to expound. Bear with me.
Here’s the biggest problem, as I see it. There are lots of handy contraceptive options out there in terms of preventing babies – the pill, Depo Provera, Norplant, the much-discussed Morning After Pill. This pretty much means keeping babies out of the picture is almost as easy as brushing your teeth. But really, to keep all those nasty microbes away that can give you lesions or kill you, there’s only one way to do it.
You know where I’m going with this. Come along for the ride.
Condoms. And despite the industry’s best efforts in providing us with choice – lambskin, colored, flavoured, glow-in-the-dark, thin, ultra-thin, sensi-thin, ribbed, female-only (don’t even get me STARTED on that one) – the end result is pretty much the same. Men, please step into this pair of rubber boots before sliding inside me. NO, honest, it will feel exactly the same! Trust me!
Truth is, I hate condoms too. It’s not just men. It feels better without for me too. Plus it just makes it so much easier to hop back and forth between fucking and sucking a man – because even in this safe-sex day and age, I just can’t handle giving a blowjob with a condom on. If you read my diary regularly, you know this. It’s akin to bringing home a steak from the grocery store, cooking it, and trying to eat it with the plastic wrap still intact. Eww.So… what to do, what to do. I think they need to come up with a “virtual” condom – one that just makes your pores or whatever impervious to those nasty little beasties. Sort of like a high-powered very localized antibotic shot. Only – no needles, please. People would be more likely to use it – hell, it would revolutionize the entire contraceptive industry! And then you wouldn’t have to go through the awkward questions, the awkward suggestions, the awkward unwrapping and donning of the roll-on rubber boot. Or maybe a spray-on condom would work. Flavoured, or no-scent-at-all. Waterproof, of course. (grin)
I mean, let’s face it. It’s like riding a horse. Bareback is best. With high leather boots and a riding crop. But I digress. ๐Ÿ™‚

submission

Most of the people who know me in life assume that if I were to get “into” (their emphasis, not mine) BDSM that I would be a dominant. It’s a reasonable enough thesis – I tend to be fairly (ahem) assertive in my day-to-day life. I’ve been at least an equal if not the stronger person in each of my major relationships throughout my life – with my parents (stronger), with my friends (generally equal), with my husband (stronger).
This is not to say I’m the Incredible Hulk here, in case I was setting up unrealistic visions in your mind. I’m not speaking physically. But emotionally, I’ve always been the stronger one. The one who knew how to make decisions, and quickly; the one who hated to ask for support even when I needed it most. I’m a pretty independent little cuss. And generally I’ve never been hesitant to take the lead in sex.
I think that’s why submission appeals to me so strongly. Not as a 24-hour, lifestyle thing – oh, how my friends would laugh at that picture – but with a strong lover, one who doesn’t immediately translate a desire for submission to be a sign of a “weak and needy” woman (isn’t that every man’s fear?), I think that a power exchange of this kind could be wildly arousing.
All this is in my mind since I’m working on a new story about a woman’s first introduction to submission. I’ve got the storyline pretty well plotted, but I’m having a hard time getting into his head, trying to figure out what he’s thinking, where he’s going with all this. This one will take a while to write, but hopefully it will be one of my best. I really do like the premise.
Or perhaps it’s just that I haven’t practiced enough in my own life to write it well. Don’t they always say to write what you know? ๐Ÿ™‚

hearts and flowers or clits and dicks?

First off, let me say I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day. I haven’t just hated it when I was single – though I am now, and that always brings and extra edge of bitterness to the whole affair – but I hated it when I was married too. Because the whole holiday just raises unrealistic expectations. The stores fill high and wide with pink satin, red velvet, roses and chocolates (just the thing – because we know NO women worry about their weight right?) and lingerie. But men (at least the men I’ve known) hate buying this stuff, hate the pressure of having to make a big deal out of this day, hate having to be romantic and thoughtful when they’d really rather be parked on the couch with a beer and the remote control.
Whew. Thought I’d managed to escape the bitter divorceé attitude. Bitter, who me?
I try studiously to avoid shopping from about the middle of January until closer to the end of February for this exact reason. When I was in my early twenties, I always threatened to have an Anti-Valentine party on Valentine’s Day… invite over some single friends, burn some valentine cards, listen to heavy metal (which today they call alternative), watch horror movies, chop up some roses into tiny little pieces, that sort of idea. Violent little thing, aren’t I?
At any rate, now that I’ve brought my browsing and shopping online, I’m finding it harder to avoid the damn holiday. My favourite sexy stores are filling up with extra goodies (guess this is their busy time) and having Valentine’s Day specials. Blech. Still, at least it’s sex-related rather than romantic, so it’s slightly more bearable. Damned if I don’t run across things I’d like anyway.
Like the Hitachi. Women have been raving about this thing seemingly forever. It’s got some definite advantages – strong vibration, and it plugs in. After a year and a half of using battery-powered vibes (and spending a damn fortune in batteries to boot) this seems appealing.Second, the suede whip seems sensual and just naughty enough. Pain and pleasure, isn’t that how the story goes? And let’s not forget about the remote panty, star of my very first erotic story, The Gift.
Maybe I’ll just have to buy one of these for myself for Valentine’s Day. Start a whole new twist to the Anti-Valentine’s Day Party… by having orgasm after orgasm without any need for roses, chocolates, or even a man for that matter!
I’ve really got to work on this bitterness. ๐Ÿ™‚

the time clock and peelers

First, at long last, a quickie on my trip with Bast to the peeler bar last weekend. It was her first time ever. I think she was a little disappointed by the action, overall. Most of the girls, while relatively pretty, just sort of swayed back and forth, walked around, took off some clothes. Pretty boring stuff. Made me think that these women are doing the slow-and-sensual thing because they think that’s what men want.
Bullshit. That’s what women want. With their lovers. In real life, I think men and women both prefer a little bit more raunch.
There were a couple of dancers who were excellent – energetic, athletic, and really got into their show, working the audience. Bravo to them, say I. The men really loved them too. Makes me wonder why more of the dancers don’t adopt that style. Too much work, I suppose.
Truthfully, I think if Bast and I got shaped up and toned up, we could make routines that would blow these girls off the stage. We’re already a) highly sexual women and b) kick-ass dancers, far better than these dreamy, doped-out mannequins. I doubt she’d ever do it, but if I get the shape I’m aiming for, I’d try it. Once. See what it was like. Why not?
On to the time clock thing. I’ve been reading Woman: An Intimate Geography by Natalie Angier. Came across a startling fact during my lunchtime reading. Little teeny baby girls, just 20 weeks old in the womb, have 6 to 7 million eggs in their ovaries. They lose about 4 million of these during maturation, and have only a few million by the time they’re born. More are lost during childhood, and only about 450 eggs (at most) are earmarked for ovulation.
Only 450. Yes, I know, do the math and that sounds about right. But that number seemed so small. It means every woman on the planet has only – at most – 450 chances in her entire life to get pregnant. And by the time that woman reaches my age – nearly 30 – she probably only has about 250 or so.
I’ve never been in a big hurry to have babies, but this number really bothered me. I sat in the restaurant at lunch and my biological clock started with a tick, tick, tick. Made me want to run out and get pregnant, today, hurry, there’s almost no time left! Not that I could anyway – that’s kind of the point of the Depo Provera shots I’ve been taking – but still. Eventually this little flurry left me, and I’m pretty much back to my “not in a big hurry – if at all” mood. But it was startling. I never expected that kind of reaction out of myself.
Motherhood? Who, me?

just browsing

I’ve been officially working too many hours to formulate any great ideas or opinions on anything sexual. Very tired little Vikki. So, I’m subjecting you to yet another hodgepodge of miscellaneous bits that I’ve run across in the past couple of days.
First, though, I wanted to mention I got a letter of complaint from one of my visitors over my Vagina Monologues review. She stated – and very correctly, too – that I went a little heavy-handed on the anti-feminism and “dyke” metaphors. This is very true. I had reasons for using the terminology I did (not the least of which is my own ambivalence about the term “feminist”) but she’s also right. Hard to state on this site that I’m a sex-positive site and then use the bashing I did. This site is also about exploration, though, so that means you all get to watch in a kind of driving-by-a-car-accident kind of way while I work through these things mentally. I’m going to do a rewrite soon, and see if I can’t work through my feelings on this a little better, and without the bashing.
Around the web, I was delighted to see that at least part of Heartless’ Holey Haven is back up and running. This was always a favourite little humour site of mine (check out the Stupid Penis Tricks for a laugh) and I was delighted to see that Michelle even gave me a nod on her links page. Nod and a wink right back.
From those links, traveled to a blog written by a Lifestyle sub, which was interesting reading. While I’m curious about exploring my submissive side more, I can’t imagine being a lifestyle sub myself, but it seems to work for a great many people. She mentioned an interesting crop on her site that I had to go check out.
I’ve never been to J.T.’s Stockroom before, but it looks like a nice store. Lots of fun things I’d never seen before, and some scary ones too. In the fun category was the crop mentioned above. This looks like it has distinct possibilities. <grin>
And at some point, I should get around to telling you about last weekend’s trip with Bast and her boyfriend (gotta come up with a pseudonym for him if he’s going to keep popping up in here) to a peeler bar – Bast’s first visit. We had a blast. Will give more details later.
Till then, smooches. ๐Ÿ™‚

fun with fingers

I’ve mentioned before how much I love fingers and hands. I love the feel of them inside and out, and while I enjoy cunnilingus there are just some heights I reach through being touched that I never quite seem to reach with a tongue.
At last, I’m not alone. Read a great article in the Good Vibes online magazine about Female Genital Massage that backs up a lot of what I’ve been saying all along about hands and fingers. Gives a few tips, though nothing much new here. Basically it’s just a little reminder that touch is one of the most valuable and sensuous things we do, that it can bring a lot of pleasure in and of itself, and that it should not only been seen as an appetizer before the main course.
As well, using his hands makes it easier for my lover to do something else I love a man to do when he’s giving me pleasure: watch me. When he’s got his face buried between my thighs or is sliding into me from behind, it’s pretty hard to watch the facial expressions. But touching me can (depending on the position) allow him full view of the feelings he’s producing in me. And I think faces are a hugely important part of sex. I love to watch my lover’s face tighten and relax, tighten and relax as he steamrolls closer and closer to orgasm. I also love it when my lovers do the same to me. There’s something intensely sexy about being touched and watched at the same time. It makes them a closer participant in my pleasure. At least in my opinion. ๐Ÿ™‚
Plus, hands are just sexy. I love looking at a man’s hands. Hairy or just peppered with a sprinkling, long fingers, short blunt fingers, rough or smooth, I love them all. After the eyes, it’s one of the first things I notice on a man. Because I know at the end of those arms there lies a great deal of potential pleasure.
One of the ladies in the article said her lover liked to spend hours – hours, mind you – just touching her pussy with their hands. God. Where can I find a guy like that? Most of the men I’ve dated have been only too eager to move on to the licking and the fucking. Not that I don’t love those acts, too. But still. Hours. God.
In other news, ran across a most hilarious story online about a man whose penis tasted like chocolate. It’s a fun read. Check it out.

quick bites

I’ve been trying to decide where to go this year. I know I’m taking a trip, but was trying to decide between London, Rome, San Francisco, or the Grand Canyon. Finding out about a huge web conference in San Francisco decided me: I’m going to the City by the Bay, baby! I could not be more excited about this if I tried.
Headline: Taiwan men to pull jumbo jet with penises. I’m not kidding. Here’s the story for those who want to know. My first thought: ow. My second thought: WHY?
Just when I thought Australians just made more sense than those of us growing up in a North American culture, I find out that Australia’s censorship laws include this caveat: they allow pictures of genitals to be published in broad-circulation publications so long as they are “discreet” and do not include “genital emphasis”.Let me translate this for you. This means that they can show labia and the clitoris and vaginas so long as they’re not… overt (and how many non-overt vaginas have YOU seen lately?). Which means most porn mags showing women’s genitals in the land Down Under (whole new meaning there, huh?) are digitally modified to make them smaller and generally less messy and more perfect.
The result? Thousands of young girls flocking to surgeons to have their genitals mutilated – erm, sorry, I meant modified – to look like these digitally enhanced, perfect pussies. The full story is available here.
And I thought that North America’s obsession with perfect silicone breasts was scary. Fair dinkum!

why is violence worse than sex?

If you live in North America or at least have access to the mainstays of American culture – television and movies – you will have likely noticed at one point or another that movies with high degrees of violence in them but little sex are much more likely to get a PG-13 rating; movies with more sex and less violence almost always seem to get a rating of R. The hypocrisy screams at me, but there’s little I can do about it.
And don’t even get me started on the hypocrisy of showing full-body nudes of women in sensual or even violent positions (think The General’s Daughter) while never EVER showing the same level of nudity on a man. In a love scene between a gorgeous starlet and her costar, consider yourself lucky if you get to see his naked chest while she’s spread and bouncing and completely on display.
Grump. But I digress.
Read about a company in Utah called CleanFlicks. In order to cater to the very Mormon population in the area, they’re renting and/or selling “cleaned-up” versions of new and popular movies. They edit out “sex, nudity, violence and profanity” before letting the product leave their shelves. This way all the Mormons in the area can watch popular films – for the first time ever, I guess.
What I found hilarious was browsing their list of films. One of the films they offer is The Matrix. Now, close your eyes for a moment and try to imagine this film with the violence edited out. I’m not in any way condoning violence here, nor am I saying that violence is what made that movie great. But, will the movie make much sense if you take out all the scenes with violence? How are they going to explain how Neo and Trinity manage to get Morpheus out of the military building? For that matter, the entire last half-hour of the film is pretty damn violent. It’s going to seem awfully strange to go from the scene where Neo talks to the Oracle and jump to the final scene of the movie where he flies up into the air… (Yes, I am an avowed Matrix devotee. Shh. Don’t tell anyone.)
Funnier still is CleanFlicks’ list of films they will not edit under any circumstances. Pretty Woman, The Story of Us, Eyes Wide Shut, Basic Instinct, Show Girls. There are others but these really tickled me. Obviously because of the overall sexual messages? And yet The Matrix and even Event Horizon are available (and Event Horizon has to be one of the bloodiest and most disturbing films I’ve ever seen – come ON people the entire premise is about Hell – I guess that theme is biblically acceptable).Guess violence is easier to edit out than sex. Or maybe it’s just that themes of violence, even in the strict Mormon communities, are more acceptable than themes of sex. Even when the sex is consensual and loving and natural.
Does anyone else other than me think this is ridiculous?

cunnilingus thinking

A great feature at Nerve.com caught my eye this morning, called Gimme Shelter. It’s one man’s personal essay about cunnilingus – why he loves it. Thought-provoking and hugely fascinating read. Frankly, I love to read stories like this – partly because it always helps to ease my mind about men’s feelings on the subject, and partly because it’s an illuminating glimpse into how men think about sex. Men surprise me sometimes, and delightfully so.If you’re like me and enjoy reading about men’s feelings on this intimate and pleasure-giving act, I’ve got a couple more links to share with you:
:: Snacking (Salon)
:: The Cunnilingus FAQ (Everything.com)
If you know of other opinion articles on cunnilingus (not so much how-to’s, per se), drop me a line.
Changing the subject: just when you think you’re all over it, that you’re a 29 year old woman who’s finally beaten down the demons of your early twenties, something always comes along to smack you upside the face and prove that you are still in thrall to the bad habits and choices about men that plagued your early years. I’ve waxed poetic here often enough about the fact that women don’t love men who treat them like crap (you’ll have to scroll down a bit, the entry is called the problem with men) and I, in particular, am so over that little problem. Then I stop by Salon for my daily dose, skim through Falling for the bad boy and realize that there are some uncomfortable parallels to my own life.
Heh. An illumination I could have done without.