know thyself

You know, I started reading about BDSM just a little under a year ago. I was fascinated, scared, and hesitant.While it didn’t take long for the appeal to kick in, one area of BDSM they cover in the books and articles I’ve read didn’t make a lot of sense to me. I call it the “personal growth” factor. The PG factor means that some (? maybe all, I don’t know) find that in this lifestyle they explore and even sometimes heal old issues from their past. They also learn more about themselves – and not just sexually, but in all levels of their lives – through the art and practice of BDSM.
Ever the neophyte, I scoffed a bit at this. It’s just sex, I thought to myself. Seen it, done it, been there, got the t-shirt. Sure, this sex had more props and more mindfuck than the traditional vanilla sex I’d had most of my life, but it’s still just sex.Hmm. Off we go into a new topic; don’t worry, it all ties together in the end. Stick with me on this.
If you asked me what was the scariest moment of my life, I wouldn’t even have to think twice about it. I used to have nightmares for years about it.I was never physically punished as a child. Not spanked, not ever. Never hit. My mom was a good one for raised voices and sarcasm, but that was about it. Grounding. You know the drill. And Mom was definitely the jailer in our little home. Dad never doled out punishment, rarely ever seemed to even get angry, and when he did it was always very quiet. Mom slammed cupboards. Dad would just sit and talk in a scary low kind of voice or go off and be by himself for while.
When I was eighteen, things were Not Good on the home front. It was pretty rare that my parents and I managed to get along for a single day. Lots of extenuating circumstances there; I won’t bore you with the details. But I was saving up to move out; they knew it. I would be out in a matter of weeks. The three of us were in the kitchen one Saturday morning. As usual, it was a nightmare and I wasn’t exactly holding back; my smart mouth always did get me into a lot of trouble. Mom and I were winding each other up and up and up while Dad sat at the kitchen table, silent as usual. Mom was nearly hysterical at me; and I stubbornly wouldn’t give an inch. When she bit, I bit right back. Finally, I said something-or-other that pushed her over the edge and she really let loose with the raised voices (ok, let’s call a spade a spade, it was screaming).
Dad lost it. He yelled out, “That’s it.” He stood up from his chair hard enough to shove it back into the wall, marking it permanently. And he started to come after me, his arm raised. He was going to hit me. I realized this in the slo-mo way that really tense times in your life seem to take on, and screamed and started crying and running. He was yelling as he ran, but I couldn’t tell you what he was saying. Too scared. Thank God for young legs and terror; they carried me down to the downstairs bathroom in just enough time to lock the door before he reached it. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Bawling my eyes out. You gotta remember he’s a big man – much bigger than little 5’3″ me – and he’d never, I mean never come at me in anger before. Luckily by this time, he’d realized how freaked he made me, and after the ten or so minutes it took both of them to open up the door, he was looking very repentant. He never did hit me, and apologised for scaring me so badly, but also gave me major shit for winding up my Mom as I did.
Okay. So. Fast-forward a decade or thereabouts. I’m sitting at my desk a month or so ago, working on another story for the site. Another BDSM-exploration piece of fiction, in fact, when suddenly my brain goes off on its own internal wanderings. I’m picturing the male (Dom) character sitting in a chair, and I’m standing in front of him being my typical smart-ass self. I crank it up a little. Stick out my tongue. Bad little sub. He loses it and starts chasing me through room after room, ending up catching me on the bed, pulling up my short little skirt and yanking my panties down around my knees while I struggle and yell, and starts spanking me.
I get these little scenes popping up in my mind from time to time. 🙂
So I’m sitting at the computer, my fingers kind of hovering over the keys as my mind plays through this scene, when I realize it has uncanny similarities to the most terrifying moment of my life. Wow, I think. What kind of sicko am I? Turned on by the thought of playing out my biggest, scariest thoughts?
Which is, of course, when I remember the PG thing I’ve read about. And I realize while such a scene would excite me terribly (maybe), it might also help to heal the dark gunky shit I’ve carried around ever since that morning with my Dad. In fact, even thinking about this scene, and being aroused by it, has helped to create a sort of grey filter over that terrible nightmarish memory.
If in no other way, thinking about and reading about BDSM has helped – dampening one of my own demons. So I’m a sicko. Who cares. Wanna bet I’ll never have that nightmare again? This is a Good Thing.
I have other stuff to share, other little “wow” moments that have happened in the last little while… I’ll save those for another day.

submission, episode three

Naked, kneeling, wrists bound behind my back, I rub my cheek against him. He is so hard. I catch the slightest whiff of scent – that wonderful scent that all men exude – and I begin to salivate. I can feel the wetness between my open thighs as I turn my head and slide my lips over him.

Naked, kneeling, wrists bound behind my back, I rub my cheek against him. He is so hard. I catch the slightest whiff of scent – that wonderful scent that all men exude – and I begin to salivate. I can feel the wetness between my open thighs as I turn my head and slide my lips over him.
God. Even through the material of his slacks, I can feel the ridges and textures that wait for me. I can feel his cock flex against my lips as I firm them, wrapping them around my teeth so I can massage him through the layers of clothing that separate us.
I whimper; soft, against the back of my throat as I explore him in the only way I can.

Continue reading “submission, episode three”

on being a collector

In my life, I’ve collected a great many things. As a child I collected stickers and friendship beads and marbles and rocks. In my teens, I collected figurines of wizards and dragons, chunks of gems like amethyst and quartz, and romance books. As an adult, I’ve collected Santa Claus(es), candles and candleholders, sex toys, and erotica books. I’ve known people who collect coins, stamps, books, Precious Moments figurines, and more.
But there’s a guy in Iceland who collects penises. No, really.Not pictures of penises, mind you. Or ancient art or pottery which features penises prominently. The guy collects real, honest to God, used-to-hang-with-nads penises from all around Iceland. He’s got 40 penises from the 42 mammals indigenous to Iceland. Some dried, apparently, some in formaldehyde, some on wall plaques like a moose head. He runs the Icelandic Phallogical Museum and considers himself a phallologist.
I read about the guy from a semi-hilarious article on Salon. I’ve always considered myself a penis conniseur, so to speak, but I’ve got nothing on this guy.
If you’re visiting Iceland, for four bucks you can visit the Museum in all its phallic glory. Apparently the guy is even ready for his first human penis – he’s got several people who have agreed to donate their penis after death to the museum.
I no longer feel so odd about my collections. As is nearly always the case with people, there’s always someone a little stranger than you.

way back when

You could say I was always interested in sex. By the time I was fifteen (as yet untouched by man, so to speak), I’d read most of Masters and Johnson’s Sex and Human Loving. My girlfriends and I would talk on the phone for hours about boys, about sex. I’d sneak downstairs to our basement and read my dad’s Penthouse magazines when my parents weren’t home. I could hardly wait to see my first live penis.
And then I met Stephen. Oh, he was so exciting. He was so much older – 21 – and as exotic to me as a Bird of Paradise. He had his own apartment which he shared with his brother. He smoked pot. He listened to such exciting music – some guy named Alice Cooper, another guy named Meatloaf. He worked at a paint store where I had a little part-time job. Most of my friends couldn’t even drive. This guy was a man. I was entranced.
For three months I walked around in a haze of sounds like “Welcome to my Nightmare” and a haze of sensuality that I’d never known before.
I remember going to his apartment for the very first time. I was so nervous I thought my heart would jump out of my chest with its hard knocking. He took me in his arms on the couch and we made out for a while, and then he laid me back on the couch and took my pants off. I remember my thighs were so tightly closed it was difficult for him to even slide a finger between my inner thighs. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him there. I was just so nervous I didn’t know what I wanted. The hard thump-thump-thump of my heart was like background music as he moved my thighs apart so slowly, stroke by stroke, until he was touching me under my panties.
A completely untouched virgin, was I. Until that moment.
I remember him moaning as he touched me. A feast of totally new sensations buffeting my body. And he held me to him as I made little noises and jerked in his arms and finally exploded in orgasm, feeling so light-headed I could barely stay conscious. Such a different sensation, this, so much more powerful than the little orgasms I’d managed when I played with myself. I watched him lick his fingers clean and felt giddy and sleepy; I was a Woman now.He cuddled with me on the couch afterwards and asked me what I’d liked, what I hadn’t liked, and would I like him to try this (his fingers inside me) or this (his tongue), next time we got together. I tried to answer as honestly as possible, and he seemed charmed by my blushes as I fought fifteen years of virginity and demurity in order to answer his questions. He was very patient, very thorough, very understanding.
I learned so much from him about good communication, about good orgasms <grin>, about handjobs with baby oil and so much more. Although there were many bad sides to his personality and our time together, I’ve always been grateful that my introduction to sexuality was so positive and so liberating.
All this has come about, of course, because for some unknown reason he popped into my dreams last night. It got me thinking about him for the first time in ages and ages. I thought I’d pay a little tribute to my very first teacher.
Thanks, Stephen. If you could only see me now. 🙂

sex, misc.

Nothing of great weight or importance here, just a few random notes to share:
1. American Sex Machines: The Hidden History of Sex at the
U.S. Patent Office looks like an interesting read. Of hilarious and yet disturbing interest to me was the section on “rape prevention” patents – many of which involved inserting and wearing an empty “tube” in the vagina…. only the empty “tube” had a sharp spike inside it, guaranteed to maim the rapist for life. Assuming he didn’t notice it inside first, that is.
2. Viagra for women now available as a handy cream. According to the article, it works by “increasing the production of nitric oxide in the clitoris, which in turn increases blood supply”. Sounds an awful lot like the claims of many of the “sex creams” already on the market. Which is to say, you just know that some couples are going to try to get their hands on some even if the woman’s sexual responses are completely normal, just to jack up the experience a bit, as it were.
3. And from the Health files, Can A Man’s Penis Be So Large He Loses Excitability? Interesting question.

to cut or not to cut

Are we going to see more of this as time goes on? Nineteen year old William Stowell is suing the hospital that circumsized him as an infant, claiming that they deprived him of a future of normal, sexual and more pleasurable intercourse.
Interesting quote from the story: “The study, conducted by researcher Kristen O’ Hare, concludes ‘the anatomically complete penis offers a more rewarding experience for the female partner during coitus.’ ”
Maybe I’m in denial or completely unaware of the workings of my own physiology, but how exactly can foreskin make a difference during coitus for the woman? Sure, I understand how it would be better for the man – more sensitive, etc. – but having been with men of both types, I can’t say I noticed a difference during intercourse. Yes, big differences when I touch him, or when I give him head, but not once he was inside me. Perhaps I’m just oblivious.
But I digress.
I find myself in such a mental dilemma over cases like this.
See, I’m 100% behind halting genital mutilation. When I hear the stories about African women still getting clitordectomies today, I’m outraged. Now, to be fair, everything I’ve read on clitordectomies suggest that it would be roughly analagous to cutting off 1/3 to 1/2 of the penis in a male, but still, it would seem awfully hypocritical of me to be against female genital mutilation and yet still be in favour of circumcision. I know this. And it’s not like I’m “all for” circumcision.
Still, I like looking at circumsized cocks. I like touching them. I like feeling them with my hands and lips and tongue. And I love slicking them up with oil and sliding them through my fingers, which in all honesty isn’t as pleasurable for me when the man is uncircumcised. It feels different. Now, by that same token, there are things that are more fun with uncircumcised men – they’re far more sensitive during oral sex, for instance, and regular visitors to my diary know just how much I love to give head, so this is gratifying. But I don’t think my opposition to genital mutilation will ever make me feel a distaste for cirumcised cocks.
In the end, I’m mostly curious as to how this lawsuit (and the others that are sure to follow) will play out. Based on my own sexual partners, I’d say about 80-85% of them were circumcised. That could mean a lot of money in lawsuits for hospitals if more men decided to sue.

when small toys are not enough

Reading a new article on sexy furniture on Cleansheets.com got me to thinking about all those toys you can’t bring home in a shopping bag. Is there really a market out there for furniture specifically designed for sex? Time for me to hit the research trail and find out…
Here’s what I learned: Yes, Virginia, there is a furniture shop designed just for your kinkiest and naughtiest needs. Several of them, in fact. If you have a hankering to furnish your home with truly functional furniture, I found several great places along the way that can help you out. The array was dizzying.
Now, while a lot of the furniture admittedly has a distinct BDSM slant to it, odds are that nearly anyone who loves sex will find at least one or two pieces that appeal. Frankly, looking through these sites made me truly wish for the first time in a loooong time that I lived in a house (with a handy basement I could deck out with some of these luscious items) rather than a small apartment.
Now, I know there are at least some of you asking yourselves: Furniture? For sex? Like what? Oh, let’s see, a candy-coated list that covers everything from spanking benches (oh yum) to kinky headboards with hidden “stocks”. From St. Andrew’s crosses to Medieval Stretching Racks. From something called a Crucifix chair that looked like it had lots of potential to something called the Torture Stand. Cages and tables and stocks, oh my. A veritable cornucopia of sex-crazed furniture (perfect, of course, for sex-crazed lovers).
As drool-inducing as my research was, I’ve got to be realistic, at least until I get a bigger place. While a lot of toys – from the battery-operated kind to the leather-and-metal type – are easily hidden in a closet, it’s much tougher to explain away Crucifix chairs or spanking benches. Hi, Mom, no no, come on in… just let me throw your coat on my Geni-Torture chair (honest to God, there’s a chair called this!) and I’ll make you a coffee and we can visit….Hrm. Somehow I just don’t see this happening.But for those of you with either more room than I or parents who just never visit…

ignorance is not bliss, it’s just ignorant

You know, when I run across something that has a potential to infuriate me and fill me with righteous indignation, I should know better than to read it. I should click a link, do a search, walk away from the computer altogether. But I can’t. Just like anti-porn activists seem to be helplessly drawn to pornography again and again, so am I helpless to stop myself from reading utter drivel and getting all worked up about it.
I was doing a search online about “encylopedia of sex”, researching something I’m working on for the site, when I ran across this essay. Entitled Pornography – What’s the Big Deal?, it’s a look into how pornography is “destroying” families.
A quote: “I saw my husband lose his soul to pornography. I have held other women and listened to them weep as they told me how their husbands also lost their souls to pornography. Pornography kills the soul, steals the heart, and destroys the mind.”
Hmm. Now I can’t seem to help myself from thinking these men finally woke up, realized there was more to life than being a good Ward Cleaver in a passionless marriage with their “keep the pill between the knees – WannabeProverbs, 12:7” wives and went out to get themselves some!
Here’s the pornography theory as this lady sees it. “Pornography is permanently burned into your mind by a curious mixture of hormones that are released when sexually explicit materials are viewed. As a result of this imprinting process, sex for you will now be linked with fear, violence and shame.”Oh, pul-eeze. You want to know why pornography is linked with fear and violence and shame? Because there are so many people out there trying to make us believe that what is a natural physical and physiological reaction – arousal – is a shameful reaction unless it’s with your spouse, preferably in the marriage bed, preferably with all the lights turned off.My personal favourite: “Eventually, the pornography participant becomes an empty shell of a man. Hollow to the core, he wanders through life, seeking only one thing: fulfillment of the lust that has taken hold of him.
I can’t decide whether I like the quote better because of its sheer inanity or because of the implication that only men are “ensnared” by porn. Umm, hello? (raises hand) Porn lover here. No penis necessary.
One of those sentences you NEVER thought you’d hear yourself say. <grin>
No wonder our society is so ambivalent, so messed up, in such a love-hate relationship with sexuality. Talk about conflicting messages.
To help to balance the scale here, I share a wonderful essay called The Language of Sex Positivity. It contains a really, really wonderful comparison of how food and eating are handled in our culture as opposed to sex and sexuality. Reading this after the previous essay should help to ease some of that festering indignation. 🙂

books: lofting by alma marceau

Lofting by Alma Marceau centers on Claire, a woman who is also unawakened. She meets a man online, Andr

There is a world of difference between an inexperienced woman and one who is unawakened to her own sensuality. I can idintify with this latter well; my own awakening has been evolving over the past two years, opening new worlds of texture and sensation I never knew existed.
Lofting by Alma Marceau centers on Claire, a woman who is also unawakened. She meets a man online, Andr

my faith in film restored

I’m frustrated by porn/erotic films in general. It’s like music (or was) – unless you actually buy the tape, there’s no way of telling whether the movie will be any good. And once you’ve bought it, you’re stuck with it. I have a few Candida Royalle and Andrew Blake videos gathering dust on my video shelves due to this lack of ability to “try before you buy”. Thankfully the music problem has been partially solved by Napster and even online stores which carry sound clips from the CD’s. I’m still waiting in vain for a similar solution to buying adult films.
Add a desire to have D&S brought into the mix, and you might as well be looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. I’ve seen some BDSM-ish films at the rental store and did rent one, but it was of such poor quality, low sensuality, and in a different language to boot, that I’ve been hesitant to try again.
I’ve only once been suckered into buying a subscription to online porn sites, and the result (a lot less variety, quality and accessability than had been advertised) has made me wary of trying again. But a few days ago, I took the plunge and gave it another try. Bondage.com had been mentioned in passing from an acquaintance (thanks T.), and I stopped by to take a peek. They have some free content, but most of the goodies (30,000 odd pictures, stories, and free video) are paid members-only. What the hell, I thought. In the name of research, of course.
Well, it was also the promise of free video that pulled me in, I’ll admit it. I’m nothing if not tenacious. 🙂
I was pleasantly surprised. This site is worth the subscription, and has a wonderful area in its video section called Domination TV. Finally, I thought, I’d be able to see if there really is interesting BDSM video in existence or if it’s like the unicorn, a figment of my overactive imagination.
Some of the vid-clips are great, some not so much. But I did find at least one or two clips in my inital foray that set my heart (and that place between my thighs) to pounding. A Dom who loves to use floggers, both for some pain (although not outright beating) and also for sensual stroking. Yumm. There was bondage. There were orders and other little wonderful treats of the mental aspect of D&S. And there were orgasms. Perfect. If I can only find out what film this was taken from, I’ll be one happy little sex-loving goddess.
<grin>