Jan 312011

PoppyJoel and I just got back from a date. We shopped for art supplies so he can paint a giant canvas of poppies for me to hang in the living room. We went out to dinner at a restaurant that is rapidly becoming “our” place, where we sat at the same table we sat at the very first time we were there. We talked about all kinds of things – catching up on all of the things that we somehow miss during the days he’s working, books we’ve both read, philosophical questions, music, etc. By the end of the date, we were both feeling a lot more relaxed, happy, and in love.

On the drive home we talked about some sexy possibilities. By the time we said good bye to the babysitter, sex was seeming like a strong possibility. Yay! I rushed to do my bedtime toiletries and joined my husband in the bed room. We undressed, talking and getting the erotic energy flowing between us. We turned down the sheets and… YUCK!

Our toddler, who is in the midst of toilet training, had pooped in the bed. Nothing stops my desire in it’s tracks like poop. At least pet and baby poop. It’s not at all sexy. Just not my kink. We cleaned it up and used enzymatic spray cleaner on the affected areas, but I’m just not feeling the vibe any more. Sometimes having kids is hard in unexpected ways. Poop is the lust killer.

Jan 302011

Hug a tree!I’m still trying to get used to being overweight.

Today I gave in to my weight anxiety and tried on a supportive tank top. Actually, the tag said it was a tummy toning lace trim cami. It was incredibly hard to squeeze into and I felt restrained, kind of like wearing a garment made of rubber bands. Sadly the tag’s claim to make me “suddenly skinny” did not prove out to be true. After watching this whole process my 13-year-old daughter said, “Yeah, you’d be skinny after struggling to get into the thing for an hour. Do you need help getting out?”

I’m at a point where I need some new clothes and would particularly like to buy some new lingerie – something beyond bras and panties. I’m amazed to find that there are a bunch of good options for plus sized lingerie out there, both online and local stores. Now I just have to get over myself.

The problem is that it feels like giving up to buy plus sized clothes. I don’t actually care what size clothes I wear, as long as I feel comfortable, happy, and sexy in my body. I want to be able to do all the things I want to do in this body. Right now I’m not feeling great in my body. I want to change my weight and how fit I am. In fact I’ve already lost 5 pounds in the last month. Do I really want to buy clothes if I’m going just keep losing weight?

But then, what if I don’t lose more weight right away? Having clothes that I feel fabulous and attractive in will help me to feel positive about my body, which will help me lose weight, right? Clothing might be a superficial focus, but I love lingerie. I especially want to do things for myself that make me feel good right now. I’m going to feel better trying on size ranges that fit than one that don’t.

I remember 12 years ago, or so, when I was shopping in plus sized stores. It felt good to actually have some options, to try on clothes and have them be too big, and to find clothes that fit. Considering that there are so many more options now, the experience should be even better.

I am going to get over my aversion to plus sizes. I do love my body even if it doesn’t feel comfortable right now. I want to be able to express myself through my clothing, no matter what size I am. I am a curvy grrrl and I need some lingerie!

Jan 282011

Pelvic examToday I had the best pelvic exam EVER! I know that sounds like a weird thing to be excited about, but truly, it was so good. Pelvic exams used to be the worst thing. I would avoid them for as long as I could manage to justify it to myself. During them I would disassociate – take my brain off to someplace nicer and leave my body to be poked and prodded. It was horrible and a huge disconnect for a person who is sex and body positive! Healthcare providers should be like lovers – willing to communicate, respectful of boundaries, and eager to please.

Many people find the traditional healthcare system to be frustrating and degrading. I know because I worked in healthcare for 15 years, including trying to teach good customer service technique to hospital staff. And I’ve seen a lot of health care providers in action. Some of them have been very good providers, but they were still limited in their care options by the system. I feel really blessed to now have just the best nurse practitioner, Jennifer Martinson, at Qliance, an organization with a very innovative model for health care.

Today I spent an hour and a half with Jennifer, talking about any and all of my health concerns. I actually feel like I’m working with a knowledgeable and friendly consultant about some issues I’ve run into while living in my body. For example, we decided that the silicone lube I’ve been using lately may be contributing to my urinary tract infections. And that physical therapy might help with how sore my knees get, especially when I’m doing a lot of bouncing (like when I’m on top). I feel listened to and respected, even when I talk about kinky sex and being polyamorous.

I feel like I’m being offered all of my options, like when we discussed testing for sexually transmitted diseases. While I’m not at all concerned about having an STD, my lifestyle is high risk and I haven’t been tested for a couple of years, so it seemed like a good idea. Totally my choice to make.

My care is completely geared toward my needs. With the pap smear, Jennifer was totally great. She showed me everything that she was going to use on me and explained what she was doing. The speculum was seriously cool. It was disposable clear plastic, but it had a rechargeable light pack that plugged into the handle. It lit up the whole speculum so that she could see inside my vagina. I know because she found me a hand mirror and gave me a guided tour. AWESOME! I was immediately on my phone trying to see if I could order my own. I want to do photo shoots of lit-up cunts!

Anyway, it was the best exam ever. Jennifer talked to me the whole time, keeping me engaged. I know that if I had felt the smallest amount of discomfort, she would have been instantly responsive. I didn’t even have to put on a gown. I said that I was more comfortable in my clothes and she was fine with that. I was wearing a skirt, so all I had to do was slip off my underwear.

It’s so amazing to have health care where I am treated with the kind of respect I demand and expect from a sex partner. It’s exactly how it ought to be. I want my health provider to be body positive and know that I am ultimately in charge of my health, physical and emotional. I like being seen as a whole person. I love having a health care provider that I can trust.

Jan 272011

Pink sandalsI set out just to write an honest blog about my sex life. I think I do pretty well at that, but I’m starting to notice that keeping a blog affects my sex life, in both positive and negative ways. How do I keep my sex pure, honest and meaningful without letting the reporting color the event? How did sex get so complicated?

For one thing, the equipment has gotten out of hand. It used to be that all you needed was some naked horny people! Now I’ve outgrown my tool box of sex toys, and I have a shoulder bag in addition to the tool box. And there’s the bag with all of my camera gear. And my purse. And another bag with things that we might need, generally consumables. When Harold and I went away for the weekend we had our suitcases and the trample table too! I need a better system – different containers for different types of toys or my own studio or something.

Then there’s always my partners’ trepidation – are you going to be blogging about this? Although I usually let them read my posts before they go live, it must be a bit unnerving. To be fair, they’re often giving me suggestions about good blog topics. They’ve been fabulously supportive, but it must be difficult knowing that any private moment is potentially blog fodder. If I had more time I might try to use some of these men who are coming out of the woodwork, asking to be used. It sounds like a lot of work.

Wanting photos for each post has also become somewhat restrictive. It’s hard to take photos of an experience without changing the experience. I find myself stopping in the middle of Tall Doc Marten'ssomething really hot to take a photo and hoping that it doesn’t ruin the moment. Worse are the times when I rule out sex altogether because the light is bad. And I suddenly act different when a camera is pointed at me. I may feel totally sexy, but the instant the camera is pointed at me, I’m thinking about how overweight I am. Which, incidentally, does not make for very good photos.

There’s also the phenomenon of trying some sex act just so I can blog about it but I don’t really see a problem with that. That’s just hot and sexy. It’s like playing Truth-or-Dare or using a purity test as a checklist.

I’m doing my best to keep it real. A sense of humor helps a lot. So does keeping my boundaries and only doing what feels right. I cherish my relationships and value the love we have. Ultimately, it’s the love that’s important. I can always fake the photos.

Jan 262011

FeetI’m hoping that I can look back on this moment as the pivotal point at which I became a pornographer. Or erotic artist, depending on your personal preference. I put together a movie of some footage I shot when Harold and I first tried out the trampling table last week. It’s nothing fancy or earth shattering, but I think that it’s sexy. I hope that you do too!

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Jan 252011

Emotionally achyI’m emotionally achy right now. I don’t write about it much, but for the past two years I have been working hard to process a childhood of abuse. Honestly, I’ve spent my whole life working hard to own my body and my sexuality. I’ve fought hard to have the things that I want out of life. I’m proud of that. But I may have finally come up against something I can’t overcome – the end boss of sex abuse, my very damaged self-esteem.

Intellectually, I understand that I was abused. It wasn’t my fault. Even if I participated willingly, it’s still abuse of a child. Even if it sometimes felt good, bodies are programmed to respond in certain ways, and it’s still abuse. I deserved love and attention like every child does and should not have had to trade sex for it. I know that I was conditioned. It was wrong. All of the pain and neglect and manipulation was wrong.

But the truth is that even after years of therapy, I feel stained. I feel like some invisible brand marks me for every predator out there. I feel besmirched, broken. I live in a secret shadow world that only abusers and victims know. I’ve worked over the years to overcome these feelings, to strengthen my positive feelings about myself, to avoid living in that darkness. Most of the time it works. When it doesn’t and I suddenly feel plunged into the darkness again, I feel like the shadow world is the real world and everything else is pretend.

There is a strong tie between my shadow world and my sexuality, like there is is for most people. I’ve used a lot of different BDSM aspects to help heal myself. Currently, bondage is great because it gives me a chance to struggle where I did not have the option to fight back as a child. It feels good. I’ve also been learning to be a top, taking on more Domme energy as I go. But I recently saw how easily I could use shame and guilt as part of power exchange and it fucked me up.

I don’t want to be an abuser. I’m afraid of crossing that line somewhere in this sexual power play. I don’t want to betray trust. At the same time, I realize how desperately I want those games of shame and guilt to be used on me sexually. I am ashamed to realize that I get off on being humiliated. Fuck. I don’t want to be a victim either.

I do want Harold to know me, all of me, completely. I want him to top me, to hurt me, to humiliate me. I want him to see that stained, broken part of me and still love me. Give my pain purpose. Control me so I can let go. I want to give myself to him and not just the nice parts. He should have all of the dirty parts. I am not submissive, I am a wounded sex-slave of a child. I want him to know. And not with his mind or his body, with his whole self.

Shadow sideThe irony is that I already have what I want. Harold wants every bit of me. He may even see this part of me that I hate, but I can’t feel it. We don’t interact in this space – which, actually, is good. This part of me only knows that pain + power = love. He’d have to hurt me for me to know that he loves that part of me. And I don’t want to ever feel like Harold is in an abuser role for me.

It’s such a difficult tangle. I do have a lot of my power, sexual and otherwise, wrapped up in this shadow world. I feel trapped by the self-loathing. Yet I also know that some of the hottest sex of my life has come from this energy. But isn’t that true for everybody? It’s the forbidden and the shameful things that carry so much intense sexual energy. Can I utilize the sexiness of my shame without doing anything that damages my soul? Better yet, can we heal this hurt at my core? I think that what I haven’t been able to do alone, I may do with help.

Jan 242011

Men are horny beastsSo often Harold and I typify gender roles around sex, but for the opposite gender. Last night was like that. I warmed him up with a little foreplay. We switched to 69. I fucked him and I came. I kept going, but just before he was about to come the bed slats started popping out. So I rolled off of him and fell asleep almost instantly, while Harold laid there feeling warm and emotionally satisfied, if a little sad for not having had an orgasm.

I’m not sure where gender stereotypes come from or how true they are. I’ve often written about how I feel like a boy when I’m with Harold, but what does that mean? Is it based in fact? Like how I want to fuck everything when I’m wearing a strap-on. Is that an average response to a hard-on? I know that the stereotype is that men think more about sex than women, but I bet I think more about sex than Harold does. I know I masturbate way more than he does – like 1 to 3 times a week compared to his 1 to 3 times in the past year. Does that make me more like a boy?

Maybe not, because the more sex I’m having, the more interested I am in more sex or in masturbating. Keeping up with two relationships means I’m generally having more sex. And I think more about sex, which turns me on and makes me want more sex. The great thing is, I can orgasm as many times as I want. Now Harold is also keeping up with two relationships, but his capacity for orgasm is limited by biology. Coming by himself by way of masturbation may mean that he won’t be able to come with a partner later. So if the stereotype that men jerk off more than women has any basis in reality, it’s in situations very different than mine. Perhaps in situations where people just aren’t having sex with each other, men beat off more than women.

Men belong in the kitchenMy original example, where I went to sleep after coming and Harold didn’t, I believe has a lot to do with biology. The stereotype is that men just fall asleep after sex. Well, from what I know about the hormones released with orgasm, particularly oxytocin, getting sleepy is to be expected. Oxytocin tends to make everything warm and fuzzy around the edges. It’s the hormone that makes your eyes dilate when you gaze into the eyes of someone you love. Essentially, if you orgasm enough with the same person, oxytocin will make sure that you fall in love. I find it fascinating! So, it’s not that men are insensitive for falling asleep – men are insensitive for not making sure their partner orgasms, so they both will fall asleep.

Which I guess makes me insensitive for not making sure that my partner came. But he didn’t mind, honest! He wouldn’t have probably come anyway. And he had a good time, he was happy with it. What? Why are you looking at me like that?

Jan 212011

Evoe soakingMy trip to the spa was everything that I needed it to be. I go to the Olympus Spa and it’s always a deeply relaxing experience. I feel so shiny after all that soaking, steaming, meditating, scrubbing, purifying, cleansing, and moisturizing! And the best part is being surrounded by naked women.

I really have a breast fetish. There are women of all different races, shapes, ages, and sizes at that spa and I was drawn by the beauty of every breast – from slight pointy protuberance to heavy and pendulous. That’s the thing that I learn every time that I see people naked in a non-sexual context. Everyone is beautiful without their clothes on. And by default that means that I must be beautiful naked!

Spa poolsAt the spa, everyone has their hair up in a cap and their clothes and jewelry off. Without the normal markers to judge a person by, I tend to see more of the person. I can see which women are totally comfortable in their bodies, which women feel shy but basically like their bodies, and which women have an awkward relationship with their bodies. I start to notice the things that are normally hidden by clothing – tattoos and piercings, scars and stretch marks, tan lines – all reveal intimate details about a person. After a while, I stop paying attention to the fact that women are naked at all. It just doesn’t matter.

Spa scrubIt’s good to get extra services at the spa. My favorite is the Korean body scrub. My first reaction is always that I feel like a car in a car wash. For 40 minutes, a Korean woman scrubs my whole body from head to toe. It’s a little rough, but very sensuous. Especially the part with the soft foamy soap all over. It occurred to me that it’s likely that all women crave this kind of touch – totally impersonal, yet caring physical contact that nourish the body and soul without asking for anything in return (except money). I know that I often just want to feel cherished and cared for – loving touch without any motive but my pleasure.

Spa waterfallI also like the moisturizing treatment that can follow the scrub. It’s the height of hedonistic delight. I caught glimpses of the woman on the table next to me, the single large firm breast in my field of vision gleaming with olive oil as a Korean woman poured honey over her skin. My next quick look showed rivulets of milk across a shining ass. Cucumber mask, hot steaming towels– ah, relaxation…

In a funny way, going to the spa is a very solitary experience, even when you go with friends. I find myself opened up in a way that I normally only achieve with sex, but then I am connecting with someone else. If I try to achieve that state of open relaxation the spa feels lonely. Going Salt roominto the steam sauna made me suddenly break down into sobs, like my whole body was crying. But if I dive down into myself and revel in the sheer luscious indulgent fleshly joy of it – or in other words, if I just enjoy being present in my body – it feels more like masturbating and I really enjoy myself.

It is a special treat to go to the spa. The last time I went was eight months ago. It’s hard to balance the guilt of the indulgence against the benefits of going. The are definite physical and mental health benefits. And a lot of naked breasts.

Jan 192011

Trampling tableI find inspiration in many places. Recently it’s been some CBT videos Harold showed me a while ago, some toys I saw online, and the steampunk movement. These things heavily influenced my requests for birthday presents – a trampling table so I could step on Harold’s cock and balls and the prototype of a new kind of ball vise that we will eventually make a steampunk version of. It’s very exciting!

I got to try out the trampling table, but it was so successful that we didn’t get to try out the vise. Yet. But the box… very excellent. I shot video, but I need to edit it down before I post it. I am in love. Harold’s design is fairly simple, but effective. It reminds me of a low altar that I should meditate at. In fact, it may become a low altar, when not in use because I’m not sure what to do with it!

We did discover that a small pillow under Harold’s ass improves usage. It was pretty easy to get his cock and balls through the hole – cock first, then scrotum, then one ball at a time. And Harold under the tablethey stayed until we pulled them back through! Then I stood on the table and worked my magic with my feet. We used lots of lube which really improved Harold’s experience, but made things quite slippery for me. After a while I sat down so I could have full usage of both feet.

It worked very well. Without meaning to, I brought Harold right up to the edge of orgasm. I had other plans, but after thinking about it, I let him come. It seems right to fully bless a new toy. Harold says that it’s the most sensuous CBT he’s ever experienced. He was rather… impressed.

For me it’s the fulfillment of a long time fantasy. I love to use my feet and only my feet to get a guy off. I love the squish of balls under my feet. I get all turned on when my partner is obviously feeling good. It’s a fabulous birthday present! (And I’ll get him in the vise later!)

Jan 182011

Hot out of the ovenSometimes a girl just gets the urge, you know? Sometimes I need to get dirty, heat things up a bit… This morning I felt like baking. I’m kind of obsessive about muffins and cupcakes, so that’s where I started. Since it’s my birthday week I went for cupcakes. But when I looked in my drawer to see what kind of cool muffin papers I had on hand, they were all gone. The only thing I found there was the set of erotic baking pans that Santa brought me. Bukkake cupcakes

So I baked cocks. I ran into a few snags. I was out of vanilla (we’re obviously not very vanilla) so I used maple syrup instead. The penis tins were poorly designed so that all of the batter ran to the tip rather than pooling in the deeper scrotum. Joel solved this by crafting penis props out of clay. And I was baking gluten free, which always cooks a little different.

By the time everything came out of the oven, I was feeling inspired. I mixed up my favorite toffee vanilla frosting and dug around in my baking supplies until I found what I needed. I even ran over to Harold and Melanie’s place Joel deep throatingto find a large enough platter. Then I waited for these beauties to cool.

I frosted everything. The first cock broke in two as soon as I carefully placed it on the platter. I guess the frosting weighed too much. So I rummaged around for a penis pillar and came up with mini marshmallows. One for each cock. In the center I had a plain round cupcake, fully frosted. Each set of balls needed pubic hair, so I tossed on the chocolate sprinkles. The finishing touch was the white gel cum spurting from the tip of each cock onto the expectant cupcake in the middle.

Yes, I made myself bukkake cupcakes for my birthday. It’s in poor taste, to be sure, but awfully tasty. They tasted kind of like cracker jacks. And it’s fun to watch my guys stick cocks in their mouths. Bet you can figure out which one I ate!