Wednesday, March 31, 2010

E lust #10

HNT Courtesy of Babe Lincoln

Welcome to e[lust] - The 10th edition! Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #11? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Negotiation - Not Nearly As Awkward As Having a Breakdown in Public - All the worries about getting to know a new person (“Am I dressed ok? Are they gonna like my stories about my grandma?”) get exaggerated when you’re talking about sex and desire...

Dollar Store Domme - He definitely can't elude the dollops of toothpaste I dab onto his nipples. It takes a delicious second before he feels the cool burn penetrate his flesh. By that time I'm already up and selecting a plastic spatula from the credenza.

The Best of Both Worlds or Lost in Limbo? - Whether intentional or unthinking, bisexual denial is a frustrating thing for bisexual, pansexual or ‘fluid’ people to have to deal with.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Navigating Genderqueer in Suburbia - But pray tell how do the rest of us navigate it? How the hell am I supposed to know if you identify as male or just like dressing like one?

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

The Daddy Issue: Sexualizing Abuse - I needed to walk through this fear, and turn it into pleasure. I needed to prove to myself that he hadn’t broken me. That he hadn’t changed who I was to become. That I was not affected by what he did. That he didn’t abuse me.

See also: Pleasurists #69 and #70 for all your sex toy review needs.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Writing

15 minute phone sex
...And Orgasms On Demand
A Neighbor In Need #7
Afternoon Delight!
Desperation & Dominance
Evening Home, Part 3
First Asleep Loses
Happy ending
I Got....
I am a keeper of secrets
I Got Fucked
I am Coming for You: A Letter to Scin
Late Night Satisfaction
Lolita's Mother
Making M Squirt
Sir ~ intro
The Hatter
The Flash Fiction Friday FAQ!
We fucked, they applauded
Where there is a libido, there is a way
Wicked Wednesday: Idyll

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

20 Reasons Why Sex Is Good
Defining Sex
Hurt me, Pet
I Was Raped
Playing Dumb
Red Flags of an Abusive Partner, Part 2
Restrictions and Satisfaction
Someone Else's Shoes
Sex Isn't Everything
The Art of Sensual Touching-Caressing for You and Your Partner
The STI You Haven't Heard of: Molluscum contagiosum
The Suit
Vibrant Woman or Live Masturbation Sleeve
What I Don't Need

Kink & Fetish

A Little Girl's Need for Submission
Are You Done Yet?
A Reformatory Punishment
BDSM Advice Series: Floggers
Determined to bind
His Slut
I Really Wasn't In The Mood
Pain and Healing
Questions From DH About These Things We Do
Sub Drop: Fact or Fiction?
Tiiu Ashcraft - Fetish Artist and Beauty
The Eroticism of Tattoos
The Competition
Wanting to want

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

A History of Violence
Asshat of the Day Award
Awesome Mentoring Work and Upcoming Apprenticeship

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Where have all the boys gone?

What kind of sex blogger doesn't have sex? Well.... apparently this sex blogger. The sex in my life has been tapering down in frequency for the past 6 months or so, and with the ending of yet another fuck buddy relationship, I'm faced with the idea that I have no idea when the next time I have sex will be. This idea both freaks me out and frustrates me.

I've mentioned before both the fact that I sincerely hate the search and screening of a new sex partner process, and I have the highest sex drive of anyone I've ever met. (I'm sure they're are more people out there like me, but I've never met anyone, and I sure has hell have never slept with anyone that even came close). These two facts leave me in a perpetual dilemma, constantly wanting sex partners, but never wanting to have to find them.

Maybe I'm naive. Maybe I believed fr a little to long in the stereotype that men always want it and it's the girl's job to regulate how much sex the uncontrollable boy gets. In the end, it all results in my constant surprise at how hard it is to find reliable sex partners. It's not hard to find someone to fuck once. Give me 10 minutes on craigslist and I can have plans with at least 5 or 6 different men, but that's not what I'm looking for. 1. I never meet up with someone for sex without emailing back and forth and at least 1 g chat conversation. I have a pretty good judge of character, and if you can get past that phase of the process, you're generally a decent person. 2. I'm not looking for a one time thing.

With the amount of sex I want to have, I would be racking up numbers like crazy to keep myself satisfied, and while I don't have a problem with large numbers, the increase in exposure and risks of all kinds (craigslist killer anyone?) isn't something I want. So why is it so hard to find men who want to meet habitually? I make it clear I am NOT looking for a relationship. I don't stay over, I bring my own protection and toys, and if I do say so myself, I'm pretty good in bed, so I don't get it. I would think guys would be as happy as I am to not have to keep looking for lots of sex partners, but lately that hasn't been the case.

Who knows, maybe I just pick bad people, or maybe noncommittal people just pick me, but whatever it is, I'm sick of it. Is it really that hard to find a guy (or girl, but honestly, with as hard as it is to find a guy, and how many more of them (straight men) there are, I've sort of given up on finding a girl, or a few guys) that wants to have sex a few times a week and have someone to call when they just want their brains fucked out? Apparently it is. Who knew?

I'm sure this should lead me to some larger conclusions about life and stereotypes and sex drives and feminist or something but honestly, at the moment I'm just annoyed I'm not getting laid.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

The eroticism of Tattoos...

I know, I know, I've been a horrible blogger. I haven't written anything in like 2 weeks. I suck. I could give you my excuses: depression, a grad school app crisis, and a hateful computer that's been locking up when I try to open more then one internet tab at a time... but the fact is, it doesn't really matter does it? You don't come here for stories of my life, unless those stories take place while I'm naked. What it all boils down to is I've been absent, and I'm sorry. I give each permission, if you ever meet me to spank me or something in punishment.

So in the weeks since I've written here, I haven't gotten laid at all. Out of my three local, semi consistent sex partners, one disappeared off the face of the earth, one moved 2 hours away, and the other and I haven't had a chance to get together for mainly scheduling conflicts. It's been about a month now, and honestly, I'm about ready to fuck the couch, but anyways, moving on.

I did manage to do one thing that made me feel amazing. I got a new tattoo. It brings the count up to 7, and it is by far the largest I've ever gotten. I went with my friend N. I was explaining to her how much I loved the feeling of getting a new tattoo, but while I was on the table, shaking from being in the uncomfortable position that long and gripping the table in pain, she asked if I wanted to change my answer.

No, never. I like pain, I like being a sub, but I have major trust issues, so I don't do it often. Body modification is completely trust worthy pain. A tattoo artist or piercer is someone who will cause you pain, but always stop when you tell them, always check on you to make sure you're ok, and will never do more then you asked/paid for. All the things a good dom does. I realize I could probably find a pro dom who would do all those things for me as well, but, like I said, I have trust issues, and I don't think I would be able to let go with a dom like I can at a tattoo parlor.

As the needle touches my skin, I feel a change right then. I can feel the blood rushing to that part of my body, feel the rest of my skin cool in comparison, feel the cutting, stinging pain, feel the warmth of the tattooer's gloved hand sliding over my skin, wiping off ink and blood. This time, for the first time, it was so big, the endorphin rush of pain hit before I was done. About an hour and a half into it, I felt the high hit. My skin felt electric, but at the same time, the pain was dulled. I rolled on to my side so he could get a better angle, and my eyelids drooped. I felt warm and safe and happy. I know that N was talking to me, but I couldn't tell you a word she said. I laid there, my head on my arm, with a stupid half grin as I just let the calm wash over me. My head was finally, blissfully, peacefully quiet.

Finally, 2 hours after we've started, the tattooer (who, by the by, is ADORABLE, I might want to marry him a little) looks up and tells me I'm done. I hold my pants up to my ass as he sprays my legs with water and rubs up and down the newly raw skin with his gloved fingers. The cold of the water shocks my system awake, while his hands calm me down again. I get up and look in the mirror. I hadn't really planned on getting a tattoo, and I definitely hadn't planned on one this large, but the second I see it, it's love at first sight; as it has been every time I've gotten one. The combination of raw, pink skin with dark, bold ink is one of my favorite things, and I wish they could always look as they do right after they are done.

For awhile after, I feel high. I love everyone and everything. I want to crawl in the lap of the cute boy waiting for his friends to get off work. I want to kiss everyone there. I want someone's skin on mine, I want physical affection, something I never let myself crave. But, as all things do, the feeling fades. Suddenly I'm exhausted. I want to crawl into bed, warm and safe, and I'm cranky that I'm not.

For a few days, I'm raw and sore. Every step I take jars my skin, making me ache. But I wash the new ink lovingly, running my fingers along the still raised words. The raw skin jumps and stings under my touch, but I love that feeling. But soon the flaky, itchy stage starts, and then, the ink is set, and it's just part of my body again, not special, not electric, just skin. But the memory sticks for a while, the high feeling, the feeling of the needle and hands on my skin, and that's enough. But soon the memory will start to fade as well. I'll struggle to recall the details, the exact mix of sexuality, sensuality, pain, and bliss that I've never replicated anywhere else will become a intangible concept in my mind instead of an exact feeling. And when finally the high is just a blur in my mind, that's when I get the itch for my next one.