Recently I finished reading Sexual Fluidity: Understanding Women’s Love and Desires by Lisa Diamond. In it, she posits the theory that women’s sexual orientation tends to be less fixed than men’s, and that often women find themselves falling in love with other women (or men, if they identify as lesbian) at various points in their lives. Nicentbatcardta There can be many reasons for this; some of the women considered themselves bisexual from the get-go, others found themselves in circumstances where they developed a close relationship with a person different from the gender they were usually attracted to, still others fell in love because of who the person was, not what they were. The conclusion is that for women, relationships are complicated (well, duh).

As a straight woman who spent the better part of her adult life alone, I spent many years wishing that I was sexually attracted to women. While it’s true that the grass is always greener, it seemed like being able to have more options is always a good thing when it comes to sex (not to mention that it highly increases opportunities for fun and pleasure in many different configurations). And at least one of the factors Diamond discusses in the book is already present for me: I have incredible, intimate, beautiful, deep friendships with many of my women friends. It seems like it would be simple to make that leap from friendship to something more erotic.

Sadly, it doesn’t seem to work that way for me. I’ve had more than one situation where I was sexually attracted to women friends, but when I tried to act on it, there was no erotic charge. I describe it as two magnets pushing away from each other. It just doesn’t seem to work for me, much as I would like it to. Diamond talks about male sexual orientation being more hard-wired, that men seem to not have this fluidity in their sexuality (or perhaps it’s just suppressed by our society’s general discomfort with intimacy between men).

Because, of course, lesbian relationships are meaningless if they don't turn straight guys on.

Because, of course, lesbian sex is meaningless if it doesn’t conform to heterosexual male beauty standards.

I do think, though, as a concept, sexual fluidity among women is one that can gain some serious traction. Every day I talk to women around the country who are frustrated with their lack of prospects in the dating world. I have many beautiful, successful friends and acquaintances who are left asking “what’s wrong with me that I can’t meet someone?” Mostly it seems to be a supply and demand problem: huge supply of eligible women making a large demand on a small supply of eligible men. Couple that with the fact that with online dating, women in their 40s and 50s are now competing with women in their 20s and 30s for the same pool of men, and it starts looking sad.

I especially think the idea of having women as partners is an appealing one for older women who have gone through menopause and have found their sex drive disappears. Of course this doesn’t happen to every woman – many women find their sex drives going up when the specter of pregnancy is out of the picture – but for those who have little to no interest in sex, why not open things up a bit more? It seems like many women would have better luck at finding someone who was a good companion, shared their interests, was emotionally supportive and had many of the qualities they were looking for in a partner if they were going for women. This especially makes sense when women get much, much older: personally, I don’t want to be competing with 9 other women for 1 man in a nursing home. This concept was popular in the late 1800s in the form of Boston Marriages, where single women living in the city would share a home and resources because they couldn’t afford to live on their own. Some of them were likely lesbians, but I’m guessing that many of them were doing it for other reasons.

I guess the old paradigms die hard. Earlier this year, my boyfriend and I talked about getting married so I could get on his health insurance (a very good reason to marry, in my book). Inevitably when I mentioned this to my women friends, their eyes would light up at the thought of us having a big, romantic wedding. It’s entirely possible that it will go down that way, but both of us have already done that, and are looking at things from a more practical standpoint. For many years, marriage was a business contract, but we have moved very far from that idea. Women now spend all their time dreaming about a big wedding, while neglecting to put much thought into the marriage that will come after it. domain information . Sadly, a fancy wedding rarely guarantees a happily ever after outcome….

Having a relationship for a woman would, I imagine, look like failure for many. The practicalities of partnership often take a back seat to romance in the mind of many. I can understand why this might be – after all, we are spoon-fed stories about Prince Charming from the time we are young. travel tool But perhaps it’s time to be more realistic. There’s a whole lot of Cinderellas out there who are waiting for the dude with the glass slipper to show up, and they may end up waiting a very long time….

God as thou

I spent this past weekend doing a Body Electric workshop called Celebrating the Body Erotic. I had been curious about their teachings since I read Reclaiming Eros: Sacred Whores and Healers a few years back, and at one point contemplated traveling to the bay area to study with them. A friend told me they were going to be doing some workshops in Austin, and I managed to get in. I wanted to go both to know myself better and also to add some skills to my repertoire for my own work. I was not disappointed on either count. I am still in the process of integrating the information I gained into both my mind and body, and have no doubt this will continue for a while. I don’t remember all of my dreams, but their direction seems to have changed a bit, and they feel like my subconscious mind is making adjustments based on my wishes and desires for how I want to be in the world.

I cannot say much about the actual things we did, or the life stories and courageousness of the other participants (many of whom had traveled a great distance to participate) but the one thing that resonated for me during many of the exercises was the concept of God as Thou. I have thought about this a lot over the past few years. It is something Ken Wilber talks about in his book Integral Spirituality. He said that we often discuss God in the first person (I am great and powerful!) and third person (that dude in the sky is great and powerful!) but we rarely look at God in the second person (the person who stands before me is great and powerful!). The word Namaste, on the lips of many in yoga classes around the country, touches on it (I bow to the God in you), but how often do we forget it when we walk out the door and are forced to encounter those who are doing their best to survive in this world and oftentimes not doing it gracefully? Do we offer the same level of respect to the mother of a screaming child, store clerk or homeless person as we do our peers? Sadly, the answer is often no.

I think this lack of respect falls harder women in our society, especially as they age. It used to be that elders were valued for their wisdom and knowledge, but these days, it’s all about youth and innocence (or youth and sluttiness, but that’s an entirely different story). It is true

When you move to the right side of the photo, you become invisible.

When you move to the right side of the photo, you become invisible.

that many women are worshipped (more or less) for their beauty, but that is only if they conform to acceptable beauty standards. On the shadow side, women’s bodies are scrutinized mercilessly, and I often see public conversations about the merit of their minds and talents deteriorate into a criticism of their appearance. There is no worse insult to a strong, powerful woman than calling her fat or old, especially when it’s done in the public media. If a woman isn’t in the tiny zone of homogenous beauty, it is much easier to discredit and ignore her, or attack her if her voice demands attention.

This emphasis on appearance weighs heavily on public figures, but it can be much greater for those who have never been considered beautiful. We are often our own worst critics, and it’s easy to internalize the message of unworthiness based on dissatisfaction with our looks. Many times we can and do accomplish amazing things with our families, our work, our art and our activism, but these talents can be underscored by a sense of unhappiness that surrounds our physical appearance. Hiaspicoctile . 20 years ago in her book “The Beauty Myth,” Naomi Wolf discusses how the backlash against feminism has been to imprison us in our own bodies, a prison from which we never escape. Said prison can become more desperate as we age, leaving us feeling trapped, bitter, ignored and dissatisfied.

Religions that are grounded in the intellect often talk about the need to transcend the body, and Christianity has made shame and guilt around having a body one of its central tenets, especially for women (see: the story of Adam and Eve). In days past, gurus, monks and hermits (usually men) would dedicate years of their lives to mastering their bodies, ignoring and denying bodily functions, and especially pleasure, as sinful or distracting from the goal of becoming more spiritually evolved. places of visit . These days, though, it’s nearly impossible to find a cave where you can go sit and get away from the world. And while some would say that the soul doesn’t exist, life on earth is experienced in the body. So how do we make our bodies feel safe, welcoming, inviting? How do we treat them as a temple instead of a prison?

This past weekend, this was accomplished by honoring others’ bodies, regardless of where they were on their journeys, what horrible things had been done to them in the past or what scars and wrinkles they had acquired. There is so much power in realizing that we are not alone; we are not the only ones who have felt ashamed, embarrassed, hurt by the way we’ve viewed our own bodies, or the way said bodies have been treated by others. It’s a huge switch in the dominant paradigm of isolation and guilt, and watching the change on women’s faces over the weekend as they were able to relax more into their bodies was amazing. The message was clear: you have a body and you live in said body. Your body is valid, beautiful and worthy of feeling pleasure. Enjoying your body is a right, not a privilege and it need not be reserved for those who look a particular way. Each and every one of you deserves pleasure.

What might the world look like if we approached self-love from a physical level first of all? What if women were taught from an early age that pleasure was their birthright, and that what’s important is how we feel, not how we look? What if we did away with the guilt, shame and fear around having a body, and learned to love and accept said bodies, whether we chose to share them with no one at all, one person, or many? What if those choices we made were truly honored, and our boundaries respected?

What if, indeed.

Burners and Boundaries

I wrote the following this morning in response to a discussion about rape culture amongst my Burner friends in California. This is something I have had a chance to contemplate, deeply, over the past 10 or so years. I think it is an elegant, simple solution to dealing with predators and bullies. I hope you find it useful.


It is no secret that our  members tend to hate rules and boundaries. With that in mind, I would like to make a very modest proposal.

If we want to continue having an environment of permissiveness, fun and wacky, crazy, raunchy, silly social activity, there MUST be a baseline of acceptable behavior. I propose that assaulting people sexually, physically or psychologically, stealing and vandalism are grounds for being ejected from large group activities (people are, of course, free to continue friendships with individuals on their own in small, intimate settings, if that is what they choose).
That leaves things very wide open for all sorts of activities, behaviors and craziness – it allows for most things. But the behaviors named above, while widely practiced in our world, are not considered acceptable, ethical behavior in any society or group anywhere. I do not think it is too much to ask to be able to go to an event or gathering or party and not have to feel in danger because of the presence of another member of the community. I think it is reasonable to ask that a firm boundary be put in place on these things. Without it, all other boundaries, big or small, are invalid. It is simply not possible to have an anything goes environment, and to continue to pretend it does will only result in further deterioration of the social fabric of the group and individuals getting hurt.
Now, of course, there are many in the group who like to test, push, expand and demolish boundaries. I think it is fantastic that we have created a place where people can do these things, and I want to see this continue. And here I am going to propose something radical and unheard-of. It is subtle, but it makes a huge difference in how we interact with each other, and could go a very long way to keeping people from being hurt, intentionally or unintentionally.
It is fine to play on the edge with your own boundaries. But if you want the freedom to do this in a way that involves other people, it is YOUR responsibility to make sure that  others actually WANT their boundaries pushed. We tend to say that it is the responsibility of the person who doesn’t like or enjoy the activity to remove themselves from the situation (see: blame the victim), but I disagree with that. You want the freedom? You take the responsibility for what you do. And it is a very simple, tiny thing to stop and check in with the other person or people.
By adopting this guideline, three things happen: first off, people who want to push the boundaries of others can continue to do so. Second, they get to play with people who want their boundaries pushed. And third, and most importantly, it gives those who don’t want to play the chance to say no, possibly avoiding a situation where the individual opting out could be damaged by their unwilling participation. All of us are raised with almost no instruction about how to set our boundaries, negotiate getting what we want and – most importantly – saying NO. When people get their boundaries crossed because someone else pushed them, we then put all the onus on the person who was injured for not setting firm boundaries in a way that we find acceptable (see: blame the victim again).
This is not about what people are doing. It is about the non-consensual nature of what they are doing. I will tell you, from my own personal experience, when others selfishly and narcissistically set out to provide others with an experience they don’t want, there is no way to predict what the consequences of such actions might be. I’d like to give you a quote from one of the women who psychologically raped me 9 years ago:

“I would like to propose (what seems to be) an unpopular opinion.  There is nothing at all wrong with making people feel uncomfortable.  In fact, I think it is impossible to *make* anybody feel anything at all.

I propose that comfort breeds complacency, stagnancy and other nouns which cause my heart of hearts make a noise that sounds like “Blech!”  Pushing buttons is fine.  Boundaries cannot be breached if they are not tested.  Boundary crossing is bound to happen.  Continuing to cross a boundary after someone has asked you to stop can range from impolite to jail-worthy.  But suggesting that boundaries ought not be crossed at all is unreasonable.”

Apparently what the people being made to feel uncomfortable wanted or needed didn’t factor into the equation. At all. I know for a fact that these people were not bothered in the slightest that I was physically ill for a year because of their radical self-expression; after all I “didn’t take personal responsibility for myself” and remove myself from the situation. This attitude was defended, glorified and excused so many times that I ended up leaving the group, permanently. I know this is an extreme example, but I see people doing crap like this in ways large and small, and those who dare to speak up are shamed, mocked and attacked for not being hardcore enough. Put up or shut up is not a good way to run a community, and smacks greatly of the claim of censorship that people use to justify exercising their freedom at all costs, regardless of the effect it might have on others. If people want to play on the edge that’s fine, but we need to make sure that there is room in the spectrum for those who seek a different experience that might be considered more traditional, quiet, introverted, etc.

My boyfriend is often fond of saying that we claim we want to live in a free society, but what we really want is to live in a narcissistic society where we can do whatever the fuck we want and there are no consequences for our actions. I have seen a lot of that sort of behavior in the nearly 20 years I’ve been involved with Burner culture. At its mildest, it can be merely annoying, but at its most extreme, it can destroy someone’s life. It certainly isn’t practiced by everyone – I do believe that most burners are good people who want to connect, belong and take care of their fellow freaks – but our continued tolerance for the bad apples simply cannot continue.

I know I have just opened a huge can of worms, but as a friend said, it’s like the Berlin Wall of rape culture is currently coming down in our society. It is time to address this stuff head on in our own circles, especially since we tend to think of ourselves as cultural pioneers who are forming new ways of relating to each other. I have conversations about this stuff all the time with my women friends, but I also know none of it will change until men start standing up and speaking out as well. This group is filled with men I love, admire and respect, men who are thoughtful, respectful and protective of their friends. If you are one of those men, please add your voice and thoughts to this conversation.


(This piece was performed at the December 2012 Bedpost Confessions. My boyfriend was working in a fairly public role at the time, and he attended the show in drag. I love that man….)


Oftentimes my man will tell his fellow geek friends stories about our sex life, and they will get quiet and stare at him open-mouthed. They will say shit like, “Dude, you’re living in a porn film. Teach me how to do what you do.” But it’s not really anything that he does. It’s more about the perspective inside his head and how he treats me. Apparently they think there’s some software that will get a woman to have super hot sex with you if you just have the reg key.

Guys, let me give you a piece of your own advice: Read the Fucking Manual. Oh, wait – you can’t find the manual? Well here, let me help you out. I’ve decided to write down what it is I appreciate about him that makes me give him everything that he wants in bed. Hopefully, this will give you a few bread crumbs about how you might get the sort of erotic relationship you want. Well, here it is: Womansplaining: The Manual.

Introduction: Light My Fire.


The time to hesitate is through, no time to wallow in the mire.

My man and I met on Craigslist Casual Encounters. He was one of dozens who responded to my ad. I wasn’t expecting much – I’ve spent hours reading inarticulate, badly written porn scripts, oh, I mean, emails, and deleting dick pictures from guys who can’t follow instructions. I have had dozens of conversations with guys who stopped communicating the second they saw my picture and realized that Angelina Jolie was not going to be showing up at their house and having sex with them at midnight on a Friday. I have had guys meet me and tell me bald-faced, bullshit lies to get out of having to tell me that they aren’t attracted to me. On rare occasion, I’ve had some mediocre sex. But this time, it was different. This guy turned me on from the get-go, and hasn’t stopped since. I have been ecstatically, orgasmically surprised by how this man has exceeded all my expectations. Not only is a fantastic lover, he’s a genuinely kind person. Hooking up with him was kinda like getting a royal flush on the dollar slots at the airport on my way out of Reno.

You must be thinking that this guy is some sort of cross between Steve Jobs, Stephen Hawking and George Clooney, but that’s not the case. He’s not drop-dead gorgeous. He’s not rich. He doesn’t have flawless social skills. He doesn’t drive a sports car, have a huge cock or ripped abs. These are the things that men think matter to women, and that without them they don’t stand a chance. In all honesty, these things don’t carry much weight with women who aren’t shallow, and they will do nothing to compensate if they are attached to a man who treats women like dirt. Status symbols are the sort of things that may attract a woman in the short-term, but they will not keep her. These days, you gotta work for it.

So, what is it that does turn me on about this guy?

Chapter One: R-E-S-P-E-C-T


R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me!

My man respects me as a person. He understands that I have hopes, dreams, fears, likes, dislikes, and a million galaxies worth of thoughts inside my head. He respects my intelligence, my drive, my creativity, my ambitions, and my accomplishments. He treats me like I’m his equal, and I reciprocate. He understands that my life and where I’m going is every bit as important to me as his is to him. In other words, he pays attention to the person I am when we’re not having sex. He gets that what makes me good in bed is much, much more than what I look like.

This is a huge contrast to how many men behave, especially when they are trying to have casual sex. In their minds, women should exist only during that space of time when they’re fucking them, and that during that time it’s a woman’s sole purpose to be hot, wet, ready and obsessed about having anal sex, followed by cum all over her face. It’s as if nothing else about her life matters – they have no interest in the fact that she might have had a bad day at work, or that she’s fighting with her best friend (unless, of course, said best friend can come over for a threesome). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat across a table from a guy who talks about nothing but himself – all he wants is a hot chick to serve as his groupie. Newsflash: women do not exist solely as sex objects. Sometimes we like to be treated like sex objects, but we like that sort of shit with men who respect us as people and are role-playing that we are dirty little sluts. Guys who actually feel that way about women are called misogynists, and they tend to scare the shit out of me. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to fuck one.

Look, I don’t need love in order to have sex with someone. But if you’re not giving me love, you sure as hell need to be giving me respect. I know this statement probably places me in the territory that many men seem to despise – feminist – but hey, that’s what a lot of women are these days. Most of us make our own money, pay our own bills, have our own careers and exist in the world of men. We would like to be treated as human beings who participate fully in society. And honestly? Sex between equals is much more interesting than fucking someone who thinks you’re nothing more than their plaything.

Chapter Two: The Pleasure Principle

janet jackson

And oh my meters running so I’ve really got to go, it’s the pleasure principle oh oh, oh hoo

A lot of guys love pussy. My Man loves women. He totally gets off on getting me off. He loves making me come with his cock and his hands. When I told him that I only get off from penetration and not oral sex, he spent the better part of six months trying to figure out how to get me to come with his tongue on my clit…and he succeeded. The look of astonishment on his face when I have an orgasm is a beautiful thing to behold – he has so much reverence for the unlimited capacity for female orgasm. It’s kinda like a little kid unwrapping presents on Christmas morning – he loves every last one of them. I have never in my life felt so worshiped. And trust me, after he makes me come several times, you can be damn sure that he gets his. If I could, I’d spend all day every day enjoying the exquisite sensation of feeling his cock slide in and out of me, hitting my g-spot over and over. When we’re having sex, my pussy is the center of the universe, and he’s more than happy to orbit my sun.

So many guys seem to be rolling along with their own sexual agenda and expect women to be nothing more than a prop to fulfill their fantasies. Last year, I dated a guy briefly who showed up on our third date with a very large butt plug that he wanted me to wear all night. He didn’t even bother to ask if I liked anal sex, or if I was interested in having it with him. As you can guess, there was no fourth date.

At this point, a lot of guys are probably asking themselves why it’s important to put a woman’s pleasure first. According to a recent study, only 11% of women reported getting off in a first-time hookup. In another study, 64% of women got off in their last sexual encounters, compared to 91% of men. That’s pretty damn sad, and follows the mainstream model of what sex is: put penis in vagina and thrust until man reaches climax. Female pleasure doesn’t even enter into that equation. What would the world look like if we put women’s pleasure first? I’ll tell you what my world looks like these days: after having multiple orgasms for 30-60 minutes and giggling incessantly, I am a happy woman. A VERY happy woman. My friends always comment on my positive attitude, my glowing skin and my shit-eating grin. This is a far cry from the angry, bitchy woman I was a few years ago when married to a man who had sex with me once a month, if I was lucky. If a guy can make me come over and over, I’m going to happily indulge his fantasies, play every role he wishes and feed his fetishes…then serve him breakfast in bed. And while having frequent, orgasmic sex won’t solve all of your relationship issues, it will make a lot of the small stuff seem unimportant.

Chapter Three: Foxy Lady

jimi hendrix

Move over, Rover, and let Jimi take over….

My man is constantly telling me that he thinks I’m beautiful. He tells me that I’m so sexy that it stuns him, and that my ass would look great in a potato sack. His emails and text messages always refer to me as a hot girl. He complements my breasts, my eyes, my tattoos, the curve of my waist, my feet. He tells me that I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever slept with. Every time I get dressed to go out, without fail, his eyes light up when he sees me, and he tells me that I look in-fucking-credible. He has told me repeatedly that I am perfect just the way I am, and that I never need to lose weight to look better.

Look, it’s no secret that men are visual creatures. It’s also no secret that most women in the United States have huge body image problems. We magnify our flaws, and are generally unhappy with our bodies. We are constantly bombarded with images of what beauty should be, criticized for not being pretty, skinny or young enough. Every day, everywhere we go, we are reduced to nothing more than our appearance. A friend of mine recently told me that her husband’s ex-girlfriend would break dates with him because she had gained 3 pounds and didn’t want to be seen naked. After getting it out in the world all day, it really sucks to have that negative burden added to by our lovers.

I don’t get that from this guy. I can confidently spread my legs and beg him to fuck me. I’m not worrying about it because earlier in the day he told me that he thought my thighs were too fat. I find it easy to be naked around him and I’m comfortable in my own skin because I know he thinks that skin is beautiful.

Chapter Four: Walk the Line


Because you’re mine, I walk the line.

My man respects my boundaries. I specifically said in my Casual Encounters ad that I needed time to get to know someone before we jumped into bed together. He had no problem obliging me, and chatted with me online for several hours before we met. When I sent him a nude of myself with my back to the camera, his response was, “Oh my god. I so want to fuck you,” and then he went back to non-sexual conversation. He also made it perfectly clear that while he definitely wanted to sleep with me, if I said no, he would respect that decision. Our first meeting in person, we sat across from each other at the restaurant, and enjoyed a conversation about dozens of subjects, none of which had to do with his cock in my pussy. When I finally told him that I wanted to sleep with him, he said, okay, paid the bill…and then took me home and fucked me vigorously for over an hour until my head was spinning. And this has continued. In every encounter we have had, I know that I always have a choice to say no, and am confident that my no will be heard. I know that he will always honor my choice, no matter how hot or how crazy things are in the moment. As a result, things routinely get very hot, and very crazy.

Our liaison is a kinky one. It turns me on to give up control, to be ordered around, tied up and whipped. I know many men wish for that sort of arrangement and dream of having a woman do their bidding in bed. If a man wants this, he absolutely must create trust. I think a lot of men don’t realize how vulnerable a woman makes herself when she takes a man into her body. That vulnerability increases tenfold if she’s tied up and immobilized – it would be very easy to beat and torture a woman who was in that position. If a woman doesn’t think that you will respect her limits, she’s not gonna be your sex slave. In my travels, I’ve run across many, many misogynistic guys who call themselves sexual dominants who seem to think that translates to, “I can do whatever the fuck I want because you’re a doormat, um, I mean, a submissive.” I may be many things, but a doormat isn’t one of them. I love exploring the edges of erotic experience and sensation, but if it doesn’t feel safe, it ain’t gonna be fun for either one of us. Everything in a successful sexual relationship comes down to choice v. force, from the first flirtation to penetrative sex. An honorable man always stays on the side of choice.

Chapter Five: Just a Little Tease

lou reed

She’s a femme fatale (and, apparently, so is Lou).

My man doesn’t always give me what I want when I want it. When we first met, we worked completely different schedules, and often saw each other for an hour during lunch. We were both horny and wanted to fuck, like, five minutes ago. Still, he acted like he had all the time in the world, dragging his fingers excruciatingly slowly down the inside of my thigh, bringing his fingers to rest lightly on my labia without giving me the penetration he knew I craved above all. Even though he doesn’t have to work to get me aroused, he seduces me and teases me every goddamn time, and is rewarded by an even higher level of wanton desire and openness. This strategy has paid off for him hugely. He has never had to badger or pressure me to get me to do anything in bed. It took me three months of asking to get some anal sex, and five months to get the hard spanking I wanted.

Several years back, I appeared in a production of the Vagina Monologues. There is one part where the M.C. asks all the women, “If your vagina could speak, what would it say, two words.” The scream, in unison: “SLOW DOWN!” This is useful at every step of seduction and sex, and is a major key to female sexuality.

So many guys I’ve fucked in the past have had their eyes on the prize, and want to shove it in as fast as they can, after a few minutes of kissing, maybe an ear nibble or two, a quick grope of the breast and a bit of finger banging if I’m lucky. They’ve got the condom on while I’m still dry and not even remotely turned on, either physically or mentally. I can totally understand why men want to get there so fast – it feels amazingly good. But I promise, if you take your time, hold back and let her come to you, make her want it, you can’t go wrong.

Chapter Six: Do You Feel Like I Do?

peter frampton

Must have been a dream, I don’t believe where I’ve been.

And lastly, this man not afraid of emotions, either mine or his. We have cuddle calls instead of booty calls. Snuggling is just as important as sucking. There are times when we’re fucking, and things are nasty and dirty and slutty, and there are times when we can’t stop staring into each others’ eyes, kissing over and over, and being sweet and tender.

I have many single girlfriends who talk to me about their experiences of dating in the 21st century. I hear over and over again about guys who hold back, shut down and seem scared to death when presented with an opportunity to have amazing sex, deep love, and solid partnership. These guys are often scared of losing control, of being swept away in the feelings they are taught to suppress, the feelings that are province of women, the openness and vulnerability that makes other men call them weak sissies. When he and I met, he was in the process of extracting himself from a very painful 15-year marriage, and had a badly broken heart. There was no commitment between us – I made it clear I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend right then. But instead of shutting down and trying to protect himself, his response was “fuck yeah, give me more.” The sex was just so compelling and powerful that he could not walk away.

I love love love when we have raunchy sex. There is nothing in the world that makes me happier than having my feet and hands tied above my head, giving him complete and total access to my pussy. But woman cannot live by smut alone. And you know what? If you are having hours of mind-blowing, earth-shaking, multi-orgasmic, wake-the-neighbors, sweating, moaning, melt-the-bed hot fucking sex…it’s probably going to get intimate.

Conclusion: The Mystery Dance

elvis costello

She thought that I knew, and I thought that she knew, so both of us were willing, but we didn’t know how to do it.

I’m guessing that a lot of men out there will scoff at my suggestions, say that they’re doing just fine and that my advice only works when ball-busting women are looking for weak pussy guys to fuck. But it’s obvious that many men aren’t getting laid. Whether it’s Craigslist, OKCupid, FetLife or even Facebook, there are thousands and thousands of men who are seeking casual sex without giving anything in return. (An aside, here, guys: if you really just want to get fucked by a hot chick five minutes after meeting her, there is only one way to do it: pay her. Seriously, save yourself a lot of trouble and go hire an escort.)

On the other hand, I have talked to many women who are open to having a sexual relationship but feel frustrated by the shitty treatment they receive. Unfortunately, this is a gray area that both women and men are unsure how to navigate. But there has to be something in between anonymous sex and full-blown commitment. It’s pretty simple: if you’re having sex with someone more than once, you’re having a relationship with them. It may not be the sort of relationship that is intended to lead to marriage and kids, but it’s a relationship nonetheless. Personally, I think it takes more integrity, honesty and communication skills to be fuck buddies than it does to have a girlfriend, and that this sort of intimacy is precisely what many people are trying to avoid.

Maybe, though, my man is onto something here. Perhaps subterfuge, head games and making women feel insecure is not the best way to get laid. Maybe treating women kindly and with respect will result in super-hot sex. Might be worth giving it a shot. Honestly, though, it really doesn’t matter to me. If the way you’re doing it is making you happy and getting results, by all means, please continue. In the meanwhile, I’ll be showing up at my guy’s office after hours with dinner for him, and then fucking his brains out in the back seat of his car.

Get off my lawn!

I recently went on a campout with about 100 people in the woods of Northern California. Our group has been going to this particular spot for about 12 years. My friends are extremely eccentric, and many of the folks do a lot of experimentation with sex and drugs. Things have calmed down quite a bit from where they were when we first started, but things often get crazy. We have spent a lot of time establishing rules around what is permissible and what is not. We like to keep things open, and there is a high degree of tolerance, but it is not an anything-goes environment (though it would certainly look like one from the outside).

A couple of years back, the campground changed its policy and made the venue 18 and up, but years ago we had campouts where kids were included. Because there were children present in a place with adult activities, we created spaces where said activities could occur but they would not in front of the children. This system has worked well. One of the hard and fast rules has been around the lawn (the central gathering spot). “See you on the lawn” is a standard sign-off in conversations prior to a campout. We do yoga, have classes and game shows, and read, talk, knit, nap and relax on the lawn. It is the equivalent of a family game room or living room.

Even though children no longer come camping with us, we have maintained that the lawn is a sex-free environment. I have described it thusly: it’s okay to have sex in your living room. It’s okay to have sex in your living room with other people, if everyone is having sex. It’s not okay to have sex in your living room if there are people sitting around reading books and having conversations.

You kids get off my lawn!

You kids get off my lawn!

This rule has been broken on multiple occasions, and this weekend was no exception. Saturday afternoon I was attending one of many workshops (ironically, a workshop about sex), and three people started fucking. I was sitting about 5′ away from this action, and considered telling them to stop, but ended up not doing so. Some folks were watching, others moved away. People were unsure what to do – was this acceptable behavior? There were many people there who had never been to one of our events and they genuinely didn’t know how to respond.

Sunday, the same individuals started having sex on the lawn again. This time, a few people were uncomfortable enough to approach one of the organizers, who told the fornicators that they needed to stop. They discontinued, and moved to a table next to the kitchen where dinner was being prepared (another very public area where, to my knowledge, no one had had sex before).

Discussions raged about this transgression for the rest of the campout. The gossip ranged from admiration to incredulity to slut-shaming to disgust to anger. One friend who had attended our event only once before had brought a couple of newbies along, and they wondered how this sort of thing was usually handled, and was it really okay? I told her that what usually happened was that people would sit around feeling uncomfortable about it, no one would say anything, and then when we got back to town people would start whining and complaining about it on email…which is exactly what has happened. I’m curious to see how/if this will be resolved, but I suspect that it will be happening again next year.

So, oh yeah, I was going to talk about boundaries. After watching this scenario go down a few times, I had several thoughts about ’em.

  • We are socialized to have particular customs around boundaries, and when we are presented with a situation where the boundaries and rules change, we often don’t know how to respond.
  • Boundaries tend to be very fluid. There are some things that may be acceptable with certain people in certain places and at certain times, but not at other times. And it’s hard to remember that each of us has a very individual set of boundaries that differ greatly from person to person. (To be honest, some people know that others have boundaries different from their own and just don’t give a fuck.)
  • I have often observed that people who have more stringent, conservative boundaries internally shame themselves or wonder what is wrong with them because they don’t have much interest in participating in non-monogamous or kinky sex. There is absolutely nothing wrong with living and loving in a more traditional way, and in my perfect sex-positive universe, we each get to have our own, satisfying sex life regardless of where we fall on the vanilla/kinky spectrum or the non-/monogamous spectrum.
  • Worse than feeling bad about having more conservative boundaries than others is that people don’t speak up when they are uncomfortable because they don’t want to appear as a spoilsport or buzzkill to others’ fun. This makes one person’s boundaries more acceptable than others, and it ain’t right.
  • People feel that they can’t speak up because they are “not in charge.” This sort of parental approach to boundaries – that Mom or Dad needs to handle it – leaves people feeling disempowered and looking like victims. On the other end of that spectrum, it seems like sometimes people push/break boundaries just because they are told that a boundary is there. To me, this is letting the inner teenager take over and it’s extremely obnoxious.
  • American culture is so steeped in individualism that oftentimes people think they have the right to do whatever they damn well please, even when it is at the expense of others. This is an attitude I find selfish, self-absorbed and self-centered, and it can and has harmed others. (Note: I don’t classify this particular situation as harmful, but this attitude espoused by others can be.)
  • One of the people who was having sex on the lawn was a long-standing member of our group who has been warned in the past, and definitely knows the rules (I suspect the involvement of new participants to our event was deliberate). This particular person is a very beautiful, sexy woman; had she been a man, she would have been kicked out of our group years ago. There are definitely double standards for men and women when it comes to sex, and the ones that benefit women are just as bad.
  • When you see people breaking boundaries, it gives others permission to do so. One woman told me that she and her girlfriends had a couple of different men put their hands on them without asking. The only way it’s possible to have an environment of experimentation and permissiveness is to have boundaries be respected. (Of course, not everyone knows what their boundaries are, or that they must assert them, but that’s a whole different story.)

I have no idea how this particular situation will turn out; personally, I think that it’s gone past the place where a slap on the wrist will suffice and someone needs to draw a firm line in the sand. Alas, it’s not my event and since I’m not an organizer, it’s not my call to make. My good friend Mrs. B has succinctly put words to a long-standing problem I’ve seen in my group and other alternative groups: what happens when you have a group of highly tolerant people, and there are those who repeatedly break the social contract and there are no consequences for such actions? I think this is another thing that harks back to our younger selves: so many of us were rejected by our peers in school that exclusion of anyone for anything reminds us of the pain we felt when we were rejected, and so we show no one the door. (This is from that most excellent of documents, Five Geek Social Fallacies. If you are part of an alternative community, you should print it out, read it, then chew it up and swallow it so it becomes part of the very fiber of your body.) In the end, it bites us in the ass because we allow people and practices to flourish for way too long in a disruptive fashion.

The Pleasure Principle

The past couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about pleasure. It’s been on my mind – quite literally. It must be good for me – and the world – to experience orgasm for 30-60 minutes at a time. I can’t help but think that this forges new neural pathways in my brain. It’s certainly improved my outlook on life; this morning, I told a colleague of my boss’s that I was feeling fantastic in response to his standard, “how are you?” pleasantry. He said he thought I was the only person he would encounter today who might say that. Too bad more folks don’t feel that way.

I’ve also been trying to analyze, wrap my head around the powerful sexual connection I have with my new boy. Is it mere chemistry? The way our bodies fit together? Is it stamina or skill? Desire? Or is there something more spiritual to our connection? We have yet to figure it out; all I know is that it feels amazing, better than any dick I’ve ever had inside of me. It has continued to improve, every time we have been together. I hope this bodes well for our future trysts, and that it doesn’t fade away a few months down the road. I can’t help but compare to past lovers, but I know that I will do everything in my power to appreciate and nurture the times when we’re lucky enough to be together.

This week, I’ve been reading Sacred Pleasure: Sex, Myth and the Politics of the Body by Riane Eisler, author of The Chalice and the Blade (truly one of the best books ever). She is looking at how sex went from being sacred, with pleasure (along with the role of women) a central concept, to a culture where sex is equated with pain and domination. So far I’ve been enjoying it, though I have to question where those of us who enjoy consensual BDSM fit in (I haven’t gotten to that part yet). While the subjugation of women is at the heart of much of the current debate around birth control and women, there is also a deep distrust/hatred of sex for pleasure, and pleasure itself.

Miss Jordan if you're nasty.

Miss Jordan if you’re nasty.

I wonder why we are so fearful about it. I can see how it would be a threat to the capitalistic, Protestant-work-ethic mindset – I know my boy doesn’t have much interest in going back to work after we finish one of our lunch-hour trysts – but what is the point of wanting others to have a miserable existence where sex is only used for procreation? Perhaps it’s about denying that connection often comes from physical sharing. It’s hard to hate, or even think of someone as other, when you’ve been vulnerable with them, or seen their vulnerability. Divided we fall….

Animals crave touch and affection: as I write this, my cat is climbing all over me, trying to push her head under my hand so I will pet her (or maybe she just wants me to feed her?). It is our natural state of being. I’m huge on washing or dyeing people’s hair, or shaving men’s faces – social grooming is something we used to do with each other, though these days it’s a solitary activity. (I do draw the line at picking/eating lice from people’s hair.) 😉 We never lose the desire to be held and cuddled, even when we’re told as adults that we shouldn’t want it. There’s nothing like the feeling of safety that comes from being in the arms of someone you trust. Hugs are a lovely exercise in simultaneously giving and receiving.  Why is this considered a bad thing?

One of the reasons love, sex and relationships is my avocation is that I want more pleasure in the world. I want to help other people figure out what makes them happy in the bedroom, and learn how to ask for it so that they can get what they want/need. I don’t know how or why sex has gotten so complicated…it’s an intersection of so many social, cultural, economic, religious, biological, evolutionary and gender issues, among others. It’s endlessly fascinating to me – I could literally spend all day talking to people about this stuff. But it’s obviously so necessary – above all, people want to feel accepted, to know that they aren’t freaks, that their desires, kinks and fetishes are normal. Seems so simple, but it is in very short supply in my corner of the world. Much easier to guilt people, demand that they suppress their desires and perpetuate models of relationship and sexuality that are unsatisfying, restricting and limiting.

Many religious practices believe the key to enlightenment is transcending or denying the body. Yet we are here, in bodies, and we can’t really escape them. Seems much better to work with them, embrace them (and other bodies!), care for them, and enjoy them. And apparently, that is a radical concept.

A very merry un-anniversary

Sunday, April 1, would have been my sixth wedding anniversary. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all the jokes about how stupid it is to get married on April Fool’s Day, but trust me, it wouldn’t have mattered what day we had gotten married. It was doomed. I was having doubts before the wedding, and even considered calling it off, but I didn’t. This regret is one that I revisited plenty in the year after we split up.

During our Tuesday night tryst, I tell the new boy about the upcoming anniversary, and he offers to come over and help me celebrate my un-anniversary. After I accept, he tells me that he tells my ex-husband must have been the stupidest man in the world not to want to have sex with me, but that my ex’s loss is the new boy’s gain. He certainly knows how to say the right things, though I think he’s just being his sweet self, and is not consciously trying to manipulate me into liking him (as if he needed to do that). I love that he is not afraid to express his desire for me, either verbally or physically. So many men second-guess themselves when it comes to sex, but I don’t feel a lot of hesitation coming from him. Apparently he finds our coupling as compelling as I do.

Sunday morning finds me driving back from Houston when he calls. He has been camping with some friends the night before, and is on his way home as well. I tell him how much I am looking forward to having a long afternoon with him, and that I will have a hard time concentrating on my drive. He laughs, tells me to be careful and that he is looking forward to seeing me in a bit.

I get home, put on a short skirt and a tank top and begin to wait impatiently for his arrival. When he shows up, he is limping – apparently he has overdone it on the jet ski the day before, and is paying the price. I tell him I’m making him take a bath with Epsom salts later on. We sit on the couch and catch each other up on our weekends. Before long I am climbing on his lap, straddling him and kissing him passionately (we seem to end up in this position every time he comes over). He cups my ass in his hands and started teasing me with his fingers, getting them close but never quite giving me what I want. I start shifting around, pushing against him, wiggling and trying to get him to finger-fuck me. He tells me in his deep voice how much he enjoyed teasing me. I try to grab at his hair, which is too short for me to get my hands into and tell him that he has to stop and take me to bed immediately, that if he fucks me now he can tease me later. He agrees to this plan, and we go in the bedroom and strip off our clothes.

I tell him to lie back on the bed since he is in a lot of pain, that I will do all the work. He puts on a condom and I climb on top of him and start to ride. Again, I am amazed at how good it feels to have him inside of me, and I start to cum over and over. While I’m no stranger to multiple orgasms, he seems to hit all the right places, and I’m so wet I wonder if the condom has broken. He is delighted by my pleasure, and tells me I can cum on his cock as many times as I like, and that he’s glad he’s wearing a condom because he would only last 30 seconds if we were skin to skin. I lose any sense of self-control, and continue to moan and writhe above him. He tells me he has mastered the art of having orgasms without ejaculating, and he’s probably had about four or five. Finally, he can no longer hold back his ejaculation, and he comes with a roar. I collapse onto him, panting and kissing him over and over. I realize that I’m very, very thirsty, and drink deeply from the glass of water I have left next to the bed.

I curl up next to him and put my arms around him, absentmindedly stroking him wherever my hands fall. This is the first time in the month we’ve started seeing each other when we’ve had the luxury of lying in bed, talking and touching. We’re still at the stage where flirtation and sexual sparring on email eclipses small talk about our day-to-day lives or more philosophical conversations.  I’m attracted to his mind as well as his body, and it’s nice to have a chance to find out more about what’s going on in his head.

I’ve been wanting to talk to him about some boundaries issues since I’ve been seeing more men than just him. Some guys get extremely turned on by the idea of the woman they’re sleeping with being with other men and want all the details, while others do not. I’ve been talking to him a bit about my other adventures, and he seems fairly neutral. At this point, though, I’m developing more of a conscience about him, and want to make sure I’m not hurting his feelings. I wouldn’t necessarily stop seeing others because he specifically asked me to, but I would be willing to make that choice. I ask him how he feels about me sleeping with other men.

It turns out that he is not in the least insecure, and tells me that as long as it’s consensual, I’m free to do what I want. It neither turns him on nor off to think about me with someone else, but it doesn’t threaten him either. He has utter confidence in himself sexually, and with good reason: he’s a damn fine lover. Here I am trying to be considerate of his feelings, give him a bit of say over what I do, and he just puts it all back on me, and makes it completely my choice. That is an incredible amount of freedom to have; I know so many people who would be envious.

While some people  say they are polyamorous to the core, and others feel drawn to monogamy, I don’t have any preference one way or the other. I managed to remain faithful to my ex under pretty dismal circumstances, but I also enjoyed having the option of being able to sleep with others later in our relationship. But now I find myself in very different circumstances: while I could easily take advantage of my freedom, I have no interest in doing so. The sex I’m having with this man is so good that it seems like everything else would pale in comparison.  At first I thought I would need to have sex with other people because he leaves me horny as hell every time I see him (I’m not pleased about the fact that I won’t see him for another 14 hours as I write this), but I don’t think somebody else would be able to scratch that itch. If everyone in monogamous relationships was having super-hot sex, I’m guessing that far fewer people would cheat. Not sure if this the passion will fade after we’ve been seeing each other a while, or if things will continue to evolve on the upward path of ecstasy, but I’m just going to lie back, relax and enjoy the ride.

After lying around for a few hours, we realize that we’re hungry, and hit a new Vietnamese restaurant for dinner. It’s romantic to be out in public together, and we’re all over each other. It’s been years since I’ve made out with someone in a restaurant. Later we return to the house, get naked and enjoy round 2. Again, it feels amazing, and I can’t stop having orgasms. Since he’s still feeling sore, I run him the promised bath. Around 1 a.m., my eyes start to close, and he takes his leave. I can’t wait to see him on our regular Tuesday night again.

I don’t have much to compare it against, but this one definitely qualifies as the best un-anniversary ever….

Being an adult sucks

Warning: unfounded assumptions follow….

One of the benefits of getting older and wiser is knowing that sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t always the same as doing the thing I want to do.

Oh, am I learning that lesson the hard way this week.

Things have been fantastic with my Craigslist hookup guy. The sex, which started out great, keeps getting better. We are well-matched in libido and skill. I’ve never felt so sexually validated in my life. He “gets” me in bed. It’s such a gift to be an overweight, middle-aged woman and have your lover tell you he finds you incredibly sexy and beautiful, and to have him demonstrate it with his eyes, lips, tongue, fingers and cock. Not only do I not have to hide parts of my sexuality, he embraces them and says yes, give me more. Our erotic connection is powerful, and strong, playful and passionate. I know that when we first get together with someone, so much of what we see and feel is our own projections, but I don’t think this is all in my head; he too is drawn by the siren song our bodies make when they come together. I know he’s had a lot of sex with a lot of women in his life, but I also believe he got a bit more than what he bargained for when he answered my ad.

But while things are great in bed, out of bed there are cracks in the facade of his life, stuff that doesn’t add up. A few weeks ago, I discovered evidence that pointed to him being married, and confronted him about that. Now, like having the safe sex talk, it’s important for me to establish someone’s relationship status when I meet them. I didn’t do my due diligence in this regard with this guy – he had me too hot and bothered, I went too fast and forgot to ask questions first. Totally my fault. There are tons of guys out there who want to cheat for a variety of reasons, and I’m not down with it. I have a lot of compassion for them, as I was in a celibate marriage myself and know how much it sucks, but I don’t want to sleep with a cheater. My primary impetus comes from respect for the other woman; most women will be hurt if their husbands have sex with other women, even when it’s oftentimes their own actions that lead their husbands to seek sex outside the marriage. When a woman refuses to have sex with her husband, I don’t know what she expects. But I digress. (Cheating – it’s complicated.)

Dude, you are so busted.

Dude, you are so busted.

When I confronted him, he instantly told me that they were separated and in the process of getting divorced. After chatting with him a bit online, I was satisfied that he was telling me the truth about this relationship. His situation sounds eerily similar to the reasons I ultimately left my marriage: his wife wasn’t moving forward in her own life, and he has been enabling her in staying stuck. What I believe now, though, is that she is still living with him. And that is a bit too entangled for my tastes (not to mention the fact that she sounds crazy and I don’t want that crazy directed in my direction…or his).

It wasn’t too difficult to figure out. He is acting like a man who has something to hide. He has consistently flaked on me about coming over after work, and has always had a last-minute excuse for not getting together on the weekends. There are few things in the world that are more upsetting to me than falling asleep and waking up in the middle of the night, expecting someone to be in bed with me, and having them not be there.  I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t like him breaking promises to me. It’s rude and it’s disrespectful, and I’m not going to continue doing it.

And so I’m going to tell him goodbye. He needs to clean up his previous relationship and move on physically before I will consider being with him. I cannot and will not risk the safety of my body – or my heart – for sex, no matter how amazing it might be. He has started to get under my skin, and I want to be able to spend hours in bed with him, talking and kissing and touching. Pleasure is a powerful, addictive drug that can destroy me, but its influence is also positive. My friend Jeanne, who was also separating from her husband last year, says she can see how things have shifted for me since I got involved with this man. I’m more relaxed, flirtatious, soft and open. I tend to spend a lot of time obsessing about the evolution of the human race and feeling cynical about our prospects; these concerns are starting to recede in my mind. Everyone comments on how good I look. Apparently freshly fucked is a style that works well for me.

The unknown is always the killer. The idea that I may never again feel his lips on mine saddens and terrifies me. It would be so easy to continue to sneak around, keep our Tuesday night and Friday afternoon trysts, and hope that we fly under the radar. But his life is just too messy right now. I have worked too hard to achieve this much self-love and respect. I can’t allow myself to open myself up and make myself vulnerable to someone who lies to me. I don’t blame him a bit; it’s quite likely that if I had known what was really going on, I would have said no. But it can’t work this way.

Still, I’m so glad I have had this experience. Even while I feel my heart ripping apart, I am grateful for what we have shared. I feel more hopeful than I have in a very long time. I have hope that there can and will be more sublime sex out there, that connection and passion and pleasure is within the realm of possibility. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life looking for something as good again, forever comparing each new experience and having each one come up short, or maybe I’ll meet someone who rocks my world even harder. Maybe this will be the end, and I’ve had the joy of get to hear his beautiful, deep voice crying out as he climaxes for the last time. Or maybe he’ll free himself from his marriage and make his way back into my bed, without the subterfuge and lies.

(Postscript: she really wasn’t living with him. And we kept seeing each other. More to be revealed….)

Me, myself and I

Over the years, I’ve gotten really good at getting myself off. I went through a period when I first moved to Austin, where I decided to be celibate, but I kept on with the masturbating. I got into some pretty powerful sexual spaces all by my lonesome, and am an expert on how my body works.

I know that many women have g-spots, but I must say that mine’s pretty spectacular. You can feel it from the outside of my body. It’s a ridge that runs downward, over my pubic mound, toward my clit. By stimulating it from the inside and the outside, I can give myself amazing, strong orgasms. I would even venture to brag that I’m the best lover I’ve ever had, though I’d much rather be getting off with someone else.

It’s a beautiful spring day, overcast and a bit rainy, mid 70s. Everything is alive and growing, trees and plants in bloom, somewhat like my libido. SXSW has finally ended, and I have my houses back to myself again. I was supposed to have a rendezvous with a lover, but he isn’t feeling well. Just because he’s unavailable doesn’t make me any less horny.

I walk back into the bedroom, and smile to myself. The dull, late-afternoon light falls on the bed. I’m very aware of my body, and the erotic current that is humming through it. I begin to take off my clothes.

I lie down, and grab my pyrex glass dildo from the nightstand. It’s a beauty, smooth and curved, with an egg-shaped head that hits my g-spot perfectly. It was my housewarming present to myself when I bought the house. It was an expensive sex toy, but breaking it down, the cost per orgasm is really quite reasonable.

I lube it up, spread my legs, and begin teasing myself with it. Slowly, I put it inside. I’m so hungry for penetration; I can’t get enough of it.  There’s a noticeable thud when the head hits my g-spot. I grasp the shaft, and begin moving it in and out, angled slightly upward, rubbing the head on my g-spot. salesforce service cloud . With the other hand, I begin rubbing over my g-spot from the outside of my body, making a circular motion. I can feel the tension start to build as my pelvic muscles start to tighten.

There is one particular spot where the orgasm looms, and it seems to move around, withdrawing deeper into my body, closer to my cervix, moving from side to side. I stroke myself both inside and out, faster and harder, trying to tickle that spot enough so that I can finally come.

X marks the spot - follow the map.

X marks the spot – follow the map.

My wrists begin to hurt; between typing and masturbation, my arms are pretty fried. I begin moaning as my pelvic area becomes tenser and tenser. i still can’t reach just the right spot. My arms hurt, but ain’t no way I can stop myself from chasing down that orgasm. My pace increases, I continue to go faster and harder until finally, I reach the top. Instead of being able to let the orgasm go and go, the spasm is so intense that my body stops, clenches but won’t keep going. No multiple orgasm for me today, but if I’m only going to have one, it’s a pretty good one….

I stop, breathing hard. I’m blissed out, lying back on the bed, exhausted and smiling. If I was still a smoker, I’d definitely have a cigarette after that.

The world is beautiful, but it’s also a bleak, harsh place. We’d all be much happier if we pursued pleasure on a daily basis, made it a priority. Spreading self-induced dopamine, oxytocin and endorphins through the brains of the populus will make us nicer, happier, more tolerant and willing to talk to each other. It’s sad that the old, white guys who run this country are so scared of the female capacity for orgasm. I honestly believe it has the capacity to change the world….

Riding in cars with boys

It’s Tuesday night around 9 and I’ve gotten lost four times in North Austin. As a general rule, I try not to go further north than MLK, but the new boy has gotten under my skin like a whole summer’s worth of chiggers, and I have to scratch that itch. Hell, I’d even drive to Georgetown to see him. Fortunately, his office is within city limits. Unfortunately, he works nights, so our time together is very limited. We’ve taken to meeting up on his lunch hour to hook up, and Tuesday is our night. I cannot seem to get enough of having him inside of me, and my inability to remember the way to his office is only adding to my anticipation and frustration.

I finally manage to locate the right street, and drive past deserted office buildings. When I pull in, I call to let him know I’m here. I go and stand against the back of his car, leaning back, smiling to myself, looking at the stars, lost in my fantasies about having his hands on me once again. It’s been four days since we’ve seen each other, and that’s about 3.5 days too long to be apart at this early stage in our courting.

He comes out with a glass of cold ice water for me; I know that I’ll be very thirsty by the time we’re done. He hugs me and gives me a kiss, and tells me the office cleaning people are gone, so if I’d like to come in and get bent over and fucked on the conference table, we could do that. I smile at the thought, look up at him and ask him what he wants. He opts for the car. I can’t blame him…it’s fun to act like teenagers. I climb into the front seat next to him, and we start driving. When he casually puts his hand on my knee, my body shudders a bit.

We drive behind the deserted warehouse that has become our spot, and check to see if there is anyone behind the next building over. We didn’t realize people were there last week; if they saw or heard us, they must have gotten quite a show to go along with their Lone Stars and bad Mexican schwag. Tonight, though, we’re all alone.

If this car's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'.

If this car’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’.

We smoke a cigarette, and he leans over and starts kissing me. It’s a bit awkward with the console between the seats; heavy petting in cars must have been much easier when there were seats that went straight across. My knees flop open (ooops, forgot my aspirin tonight), and his hand travels down my back and around the curve of my hip to rest on my knee. He pushes my dress up my leg. I slouch down in the seat a bit and throw my right leg up on the dashboard. He pulls away, and looks at me. I’m wearing a black and white striped dress with cleavage for days, and a pair of gold cowboy boots with very pointed toes that showed up  earlier in the week in a big box full of shoes from a girlfriend in California. I love getting dressed up for him, and will do anything to turn him on and make him want me more.

“You have an amazing ass,” he says, as he continues to stroke my leg. “And beautiful breasts. And an incredible pussy.” With this, his fingers begin to caress my labia through my underwear. I begin wiggling, trying to get him to move his fingers so they are touching my skin. My panties are tight, though, and it’s impossible for him to push them aside, though he doesn’t seem in any hurry to do so. I marvel at his self-control; I have none. I feel like I’m going to explode if he doesn’t get down to business soon.

Normally when I meet him, I wear thong underwear, which he loves. I had been wearing a brand-new pair earlier in the day, but they proved to be too small, and I changed into a pair of little white boy shorts that ride up on my ass cheeks. I like the way they look on me, and hope he does too. I tell him what I’ve done.

“Perfect,” he says. “Bootie shorts are my second favorite after thongs.” He begins kissing me again, and I grab his hand and guide it under the top of my shorts. His fingers graze over my clitoris gently, and I push my pelvis up, trying to get him to stick his fingers inside of me. As usual, I’m drenched.

“Mmmm, you’re so wet,” he says. “I’m pretty sure that’s all your fault,” I tell him, gasping a bit. He laughs. “Okay, I’ll take the blame.” We continue this way for a few more minutes, our kisses becoming more frantic. Finally I tell him we need to climb in the back seat. We pull apart, and I walk around the corner to empty my bladder. My PC muscles are contracted tightly, and it takes a minute to relax my body enough to piss. On the way back to the car, I pull off my dress and throw it in the front seat. I walk around the side of the car wearing nothing but my gold boots and white underwear.

He’s finished moving the seats forward – we have quite a bit of room in the back of his small SUV – and he’s sitting in the back seat, taking off his shoes, socks and pants. I open the door, and turn around so he can get a better view of the little white shorts riding up into the crack of my ass.

“Goddamn,” he says. “Okay, those are a tie for first place with the thongs. But then again, I think your ass would look great in a potato sack.” My cellulite is quite appreciative of the compliment. I hop into the back seat with him, throw my arms around his neck and begin nibbling on his earlobe. His cock is starting to get erect, and I grab at it through his underwear. After a few strokes, he removes his underwear to give me better access. I kneel sideways on the seat, lean forward to take his cock into my mouth, and begin sucking. He starts moaning. A couple of days earlier, he has emailed me to tell me how good my blowjobs were, and I intend to do him proud. His cock is a bit smaller than what this size queen is used to, but it’s more than adequate, and I love that it’s easy for me to take the whole thing in my mouth. The more turned on he gets, the hornier I become. Finally, I stop, and look at him pleadingly.

“Will you please put on a condom and fuck me,” I beg. “I need it really bad.”

“I think we can arrange that,” he says, and reaches for the condom he has coveniently set on the console within easy reach. He puts it on, and sits back. I pull off my underwear, but leave the gold cowboy boots on, and ask him to move more toward the center of the car. Once he does, I straddle him, and lower myself onto his cock.

Because I’m so wet, no lube is necessary, and it’s easy for him to slide into me. As I start riding him, the energy in the car changes, it feels more solemn and raucous at the same time. It’s electric – he’s put the plug into my socket, and my nervous system lights up like a stadium. I can’t believe how good it feels to have him inside me, how responsive I am to his every thrust. I put my arms around his neck, and start bouncing and grinding on him. Within a minute, I feel the first of many orgasms begin – I can come practically the entire time he’s inside of me. I put my arms around his neck, and he buries his face in my breasts. I ask him to move forward a bit so I can get a better angle. Somehow, I can’t possibly be close enough, or have him deep enough. I kiss him over and over. His arms wrap around my waist to pull me toward him. Our moans fill the car, and float out of the open sunroof. The temperature begins to rise. At one point, he stops, and begins talking to me about a sexual fantasy he has, but he has yet to climax, so I kiss him to shut him up and start grinding again, moving my hips back and forth. Speed, friction, moans and urgency increase until he finally climaxes. As I hold him tightly, panting, I feel like I want to cry. I’m filled with peace, and my heart is expanding. The chatter in my brain has calmed, and is marinating in a lovely cocktail of dopamine, oxytocin and endorphins. Years ago I lost count of how many men I’ve slept with, but this is the good stuff, what people write songs and poems about. Breathlessly, he repeats, “oh my god” several times. I must agree; it’s pretty fucking divine. Not sure if it’s chemistry or skill, but damn, do we work well together.

He looks at me, and asks if I thought that was even better, more connected than the first time we had sex in the back seat of his car. I concur – the sex has improved every time we’ve fucked. I wonder what it might be like when we’ve been sleeping together for six months or a year, and know each other better. We talk about our plans for the weekend. I tell him I think I’m falling for him, hard, and he smiles and kisses me. I’m glad he approves; wild horses couldn’t peel me off his dick right now.

While I could have gone for rounds 2, 3, 4 and 5, his lunch hour is unfortunately over, and we get dressed for drive back to his office. I throw my panties in the front seat, knowing that sometime in the next couple of days, he will drape them over his cock and masturbte into them until every inch of them is coated in cum.

We arrive at his office, get out of the car, and he kisses me goodnight. I look at him, and realize he has put his shirt on inside out. I point it out, and start jumping up and down with my fists in the air. “Yes! I made you orgasm stupid!” I say triumphantly. He doesn’t seem overly concerned.

Reluctantly, I say good bye and let him go back into his building. I hop in my car to drive home. I’m sleepy and smiling, and this time I don’t get lost. And while I can’t prove it, I’m pretty sure that my gold cowboy boots are shining just a little bit brighter….