Feb 282011
 

Hand in the pantiesThere’s something about being alone in Harold’s office that makes me want to masturbate. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe just having a few minutes by myself makes me feel self-indulgent. Maybe being in Harold’s space reminds me of our intimate amorous moments together. Maybe tools, computers, and big windows make me horny. I don’t know, but whatever it is totally got to me today.

Harold and Melanie are away for a few days, relaxing and spending some much needed time together. I walked over through the snow this morning to take care of their animals. I cleaned up puddles of pee from the old dog, fed the poor starving cats, visited with the dogs, then stepped into the office to check on the bird. Since the bird was fine, I sat in Harold’s chair and looked out the window.

I looked down and right in front of me were some pliers and a set of vice grips. Libido jerks into gear. (I feel like such a boi!) I can’t help thinking about what the tools would feel like on my nipples. There’s no one else around. Desire kicks up a notch. I’m wearing a low-cut shirt and bra so I can just pull my breasts out. I feel like such a deviant. Are other people like this? I’m really revved up now. I have to try the tools.

The tools are interesting, but not at all satisfying. I undo my jeans and slip my hand under my panties. I like being here with my fingers circling my clit. I feel safe and sexy. I think of Harold sitting here working. I text him, “I’m masturbating at your desk. Want pictures?” His response is enthusiastic, if brief, so I snap a few pictures with my phone.

By now I’m close to coming. I let my mind sink into that state where I simply feel sensation. Harold’s presence in the room is warm ambiance, non-intrusive. I breathe hard, my mouth fallen open, my eyes squeezed shut. The center of my world is now my clitoris. All energy rushes toward that center. I rock forward, all the muscles in my groin contract, and I’m coming. It feels like waves of golden light.

I sit back and stare out of the window at the snow for a few moments, not thinking about anything.

ComingThis has only been for my own benefit, but it feels like I ought to leave something. Like a gift in exchange for the hospitality of Harold’s office. Or a token of the love that I feel. Or just a message that says – I was here, and I came.

So I put a folder on Harold’s pristine computer desktop. It’s called, I Love You! When he opens it, he’ll find pictures of me throughout today’s masturbatory adventure. And that’s kind of nice too. I think it shows that I appreciate Harold even when he’s gone. That I’m happy that he and Melanie can get away for a while and I’ve got everything on the home front well in hand (including myself).

Of course, there’s a fine line between playful partner and scary stalker.

Feb 262011
 

Pine balls in the snowI’m sometimes taken by a mad desire. A sexual compulsion will overcome me and I will need to try something new and wild. I’ll yearn to break out of the box and take a few lustful risks just to see what comes. That happened to me today. I just let it happen, and it was good.

It started with Harold and me naked in bed. He was balanced over me, running his cock and balls across my cunt. I was grabbing at him, wanting to squeeze his balls, needing to pull him closer to me. Feeling his balls press against my vagina, I thought, I just want to fuck his balls. I want his balls inside me.

I mentioned this to Harold and he didn’t even blink. He scrambled to tie his balls in such a way that I could get them into my cunt. It didn’t work the first way we tried – with him on top – so we rolled around and I sat on him. With a little lube and a lot of foreplay, we managed to get Harold’s whole scrotum inside me, with his cock between us. It felt weird, and good, but the bit of stocking he used to tie himself chafed me a bit.

I decided to just sit there and use a vibrator on my clit. As I got closer to orgasm, my vaginal walls squeezed his balls. I began to rock back and forth a bit which had the effect of kind of Vulva of woodbeating Harold off, especially because I think the vibrator happened to hit his frenulum, the sensitive spot just under the head, on the underside of the penis. However it was, we both managed to explode into orgasm at the same time, my orgasm spurring his – each contraction of mine squeezing his testicles and pumping out the ejaculate.

It was really amazing for all it it was also kind of strange. I suppose that if I got embarrassed about sex this is the kind of thing that I would not confess to anyone. But that’s silly. It felt really good. We enjoyed it and basked in our love for each other with a kind of wonder that we had successfully pulled off something totally random and off the wall. Like our love and our relationship, our sex is always changing and evolving. We follow our instincts. We’re willing to take risks. The real risk is in never breaking out of the box at all.

Feb 242011
 

Breast envyI’ve been pondering an interesting hypothetical – would I consider getting breast surgery?

The background here is that I’ve always kind of wanted to get breast reduction. I started needing a bra at age nine. I was in a D cup at the start of high school. It made for some uncomfortable situations. I think my breasts have just continued to get larger at the rate of about a cup size per child. After 5 kids, I now wear a 36G. I love my breasts, but I dream of fitting in off-the-rack bikinis and ditching the constant back pain. I want medium-sized perky breasts.

Years ago I went in for a consultation for reduction and was told that I had to lose weight first. Well fuck, I’d lose a bunch of weight if you made my breasts smaller. So now, I’m on week three of my diet and slowly but steadily losing weight. Somewhere in the back of my mind I keep replaying a recent conversation with a friend who lost a bunch of weight. She warned me that I would also lose weight in my breasts and they would sag quite a bit. I guess she briefly considered surgery, but knows that it’s not for her. “Besides,” she said, “you wouldn’t want to give up nipple sensitivity!”

Um… Yeah, actually I think I would. Maybe I really am that vain. I’ve wanted breast surgery for 20 years. My nipples are plenty sensitive, but I would give that up. I have a clitoris don’t I? An opportunity to design my own breasts? I would absolutely consider surgery. I have breast envy.

I’ve talked to several people who have had surgery – both augmentation and reduction – and every single one of them was thrilled with the result. It changed their life to feel like their body finally fit them. I think that’s the key. Being comfortable and feeling attractive in your body.

I mentioned these thoughts to Harold and was surprised by the strength of his reaction. Mr. Refuses to Top Me said that he forbid me from having breast surgery! As if he had a say. But we talked about it. He says that if I get down to 145 pounds, I can have the procedure. That’s 20 pound lighter than my target weight. Maybe he thinks it’s impossible or that I won’t feel like I need surgery if I get down to that weight. Maybe it’s a delaying tactic. He obviously feels strongly and that’s important to me. Evoë's breasts

It’s true that any kind of surgery scares me. I don’t want to be cut into. My breasts are part of my identity and it’s hard to imagine what life would be like if they were different. I’d have to get all new lingerie, but that’s going to be true anyway. And maybe everything will just end up perfect without any fuss. Do I want to be an artificially constructed person? Can I handle scars?

It comes down to being in a position right now to dream myself into being. I love my self as I am and I feel powerful enough to create what I want for myself. I will use whatever tools I can find to help on this journey. Surgery is certainly an option I would consider when and if I get to that point. Because having a body I feel right in matters.

Feb 232011
 

Seven Gates of HellI really like the way that Joel and I are recreating our sexual relationship. We’ve always had a strong sexual connection, but it’s been challenging over the past couple of years. We’ve both been going through some major personal changes and we had to figure out how to shift from a two parent family to a four parent family. It’s all good, but change is still difficult. I’m proud of us for doing the hard work and staying together. And the sex is pretty awesome.

Originally, our primary connection was through Joel being dominant. Then that started to feel like a violation to me and we struggled to find a new dynamic. A couple of nights ago, I realized that we’ve succeeded in achieving a different kind of sexual relationship. Joel asked me to try putting the “Seven Gates of Hell” on him again. It really hasn’t worked. Maybe I’m just not getting it right, but I think it’s lame. In any event, I gave up and giggled uncontrollably for several minutes. Then I got out some lube and started giving Joel a hand-job.

I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve given Joel a hand-job, but I’m pretty sure it was never like this. I kept Joel right on the edge of orgasm for a long time – right to the brink, stop, start over again slowly. And he let me. In the past he would have gotten frustrated, flipped me over, and fucked me. But he let me guide him through waves of pleasure! I’m not even sure that he knew I was doing it on purpose.

I kept asking him if he wanted to orgasm like that. I know, not really fair when you have a guy in that position. I like that we kept talking the whole time I was doing this. I think it was his way of not coming too quickly because his cock is super sensitive. After a while, he asked if he could go down on me and then fuck me. Fuck yeah!

He licked my clit with that efficiency of a couple that has been together for years, building in intensity until I came. The instant I orgasmed he was plunging his cock into me and pumping away. I think that the extra stimulation earlier helped because we fucked for longer than usual. And for once, when Joel came he didn’t deafen me by screaming in my ear or try to break my nose with his forehead. Ah, heaven.

Evoë's assChanging sexual patterns in an established relationship is not easy. I’m grateful that Joel has trusted me enough to give me some space to figure out what I really want. I’m thankful for his patience and understanding that it’s not him that I’m rejecting. In fact, I’m not rejecting any part of our relationship. I’m learning that Joel is even more trustworthy than I had given him credit for and together we are exploring new ways of being together. I believe that we will probably go back to more of a D/s relationship at some point, but with a greater understanding of each other.

Ultimately, what matters to me is the love. That we have in abundance.

Feb 212011
 

PomegranateI hate how everything can be okay on the outside while I’m going crazy on the inside. I have years of hurt and anger that just well up from time to time. It’s not fair. I work so hard to sort through my emotions, to keep my relationships clean, to be a person I can respect. Between one moment and the next I’m suddenly flooded. How can I expect you to know?

When this happens, I want to scream and cry. The emotions are too much to handle. I could punch walls and kick people. I hurt so fucking much! I can’t do any of those things. I’m too controlled. Or rather, I assume that everyone around me can tell that I’m breaking apart, but you can’t. I start to read into the actions of everyone around me, trying in some twisted way to validate my feelings. What I really want is out.

I feel like I’m bursting, coming out of my skin. I’m desperate for a relief I can’t seem to find. I want my partners to comfort me. How could you let me be so alone? You urge me to take the drugs that have been prescribed for this agitation. I swallow your pills, but it doesn’t help. I’m still wrapped in grief. Still isolated by my agony. We’re dieting so there’s no comfort there – no chocolate, no wine, no losing myself in the pleasures of food.

Where else can I find escape? I write, but it’s like writing in the sand as the tide comes in. The idea is gone before I finish the sentence. No one will read it anyway. What else is there? In the past I have sometimes felt that my blood calls to me. I have scars from where I’ve placed a blade to my flesh. The outer pain soothes the inner demons. It’s a focus for when I feel too much and yet have become too numb. I’ve grown away from this practice. I love myself.

So then. What’s to be done? What shall I do to stem my quiet implosion, short of death and destruction? I think the answer is sex. Doesn’t it always come down to sex? I want to fuck. I need hard, fierce, wild sex. I don’t want to think any more. I need to be in my body. I need to feel someone else, be physically reminded that I’m not alone in this pain. I need to be handled roughly, but with love. Tie me up, flog me, kiss me from head to toe. Give me a safe kind of pain. Make me scream. Make me come until I can’t stand. Fuck me hard! I’m actually fucking begging… please, please…

I wasn’t taught how to be angry. I was taught to be a nice girl. I learned to please everyone by putting my own emotions away. I learned to look perfect, to be the best, to, to avoid conflict. It’s difficult to put all of that aside and be a person. I am whole. I am worthy.

But I am also breaking apart. I need you to help me. I am still your partner, still your equal, still your friend. Don’t let your fear deny me what I need. I believe in you. Come meet me in the underworld. Dance with me. I promise I won’t let go.

Feb 202011
 

EvoëPop music often works to expand public consciousness of sex, but this week I’m more aware of it than usual. And I have two teen-agers who keep me informed of everything shocking. Just looking at Billboard’s top 10 for the week is interesting (and I’m not really into pop songs).

For example, coming in at #6 on the Billboard charts is Enrique Iglesias singing “Tonight (I’m Lovin’ You).” But there is a much better version called “Tonight (I’m Fuckin’ You),” with great lyrics like, “You know my motivation/ Given my reputation/Please excuse me I don’t mean to be rude/ But tonight I’m fucking you.” My daughters love it. If someone came on to me like that, I’d probably deck him, but it is very bold for a pop song.

My favorite is #8, Rihanna singing “S & M.” There’s bondage, and whips, and blow-up dolls, and ball gags. And over 13 million views on YouTube! Seriously. Watch the video.

I like the statement that it makes about the media. I like her attitude. Mostly, I’m impressed at how the world of kink looks so trendy. S & M for everyone! If there is enough exposure in popular culture it won’t be so taboo, and that’s a good thing.

Last on my list of the noteworthy is Lady Gaga who debuted at #1 with her song, “Born This Way.” Now, many people have noticed that this song bears more than a passing resemblance to Madonna’s 80′s hit, “Express Yourself,” except that it’s not nearly as good. I like the song for exactly one reason. She mentions transgendered people. 14.5 million people have listened to this song on YouTube in the past week. There isn’t even a video yet, just the song. And then there are the radio stations and iTunes and everything else. Every person in America will hear the word transgender. It’s a start.

I’ve never really thought of pop songs as useful before, but I’m beginning to see how powerful a tool it can be to start subjugating, um, I mean educating the masses. These messages seep into the young minds and the collective subconscious. The next generation is already more open-minded about homosexuality.

Don’t be a drag, just be a queen! Take that America.

Feb 182011
 

I'm on to youI don’t want to get stuck in place.

I’ve been longing for the time when sex was new. It’s not that I feel stagnant, I’m trying new things all of the time. I’m pretty happy with my sex life now. It’s more remembering what it felt like to be a young adult. Each encounter was loaded with anticipation for the next. Every act was weighted with the urgency of desire. The forbidden, the unknown, the promise of sexual satisfaction all drove me to explore new highs. And lows.

I was a big fish in a little pond, trying out all of the wild things my friends only dreamed of. I enjoyed their looks of shock and admiration, but understood that their regard was edged with condemnation. Liking sex made me a slut and not one of them. So why would I miss that?

drinkin' an' smokin'It was part of the experience. Learning about sex and people always came with a price. The sting of the cut tended to make the pleasure sharper. But I wasn’t thinking about that yet. I was simply free.

I went to bed with whomever I wanted, when I wanted. I explored every possible sexual configuration – in fact my first consensual sexual experience was with two men and two women. I spent long lost weekends in a sensual daze. I seduced my roommate’s girlfriends because I was so sure that I could do it better than him. I occasionally stumbled out of my bedroom to find an orgy in the living room and who could go back to sleep after that? I fell in love over and over again, and died a little inside when I inevitably betrayed or was betrayed by the people I loved.

Good friends stay over nightI worked hard to figure things out. I learned about myself and that self awareness helped me to make better choices. This is part of growing up, right? But there’s a kind of hardness that develops, a protective shell, as a result of living through pain. I think, I’ll never do that again! And I reject the whole experience. I flinch away from echoes of old hurts. I avoid complications. I worry about what people might think. I forget how to take joy in simple pleasures.

And that’s where I’m at – missing a time when I felt wild and unfettered by experience. Remembering sexual experiences fueled by adrenaline. A phase of my life where a purity test was my to-do list and every person I met was a potential partner. I admire the girl that I was – raw, gritty, fresh, and hopeful – ready to take on the world.

Party girl ready to go clubbingI’ve held on to that as much as I could. My attitude is much the same, but my life is very settled now. I’ve chosen to take most of the adrenaline out of my sex life. While that feels a lot safer and more settled, it makes even the wildest of the things I do feel normal. It is normal, but sometimes I want the thrill.

I’m working toward a balance. How can I have excitement, yet minimize risk? How do I maintain and protect my family and relationships while pursuing pleasure? Can I protect myself without closing myself to love? Can I find that freedom again without sacrificing what I’ve worked hard to build?

The wild girl inside says it’s possible.

Feb 162011
 

I’m about to embarrass myself here.

Peeing in the woodsI’ve discovered that I really like to pee outdoors. I don’t do it very often or in front of other people, but I’ve been exploring the limits of what I can do like every little boy in the world. How far can I make the stream go? Can I make designs? Ooooh! Look how cool it is when there’s steam coming off of it! I’m a scientist, I want to know.

This isn’t going to make sense to some of you. That’s okay. I believe that men and women have very different experiences around urination. Until the past year, I hated peeing in the woods because I would inevitably pee in my shoes and generally dribble all over. This is because I would pull my pants and underwear down around my ankles and try to lean back and squat down at the same time, preferably with my butt aimed downslope. And I would pee right onto my clothes and shoes because they were effectively bound in front of me and my urethra points in that direction. No one ever told me there was a better way!

Then last May Harold and I went on a 6 hour hike. I was left with no other choice. So I took off my shorts and panties and just squatted. It worked perfectly. No dribbles. Just like a guy. (Well, sorta.) Suddenly, I understand dresses. Dresses let women pee as easily as men do in pants. Now I probably pee outside about once a week, but I’m usually already naked.

What does this have to do with sex? Well, not much. There was that one time that I peed in Harold’s mouth because he urged me to (long story), but I’m not into golden showers or anything. It’s just that I’m experiencing an awareness of my body that is new. I’ve pretty much ignored urination for most of my life. Now peeing feels cleaner, more natural, and more integrated as a part of me. It’s changed my self image from a fumbling girl to a fully functioning grrrl. I have this cool thing that I can do. And I’m talking about it because adults don’t. And maybe we should.

And you know what else? I kinda like picking my nose too.

Feb 142011
 

Today is Valentine’s Day and love is everywhere. It’s kind of depressing. I believe in love, but after all the marketing, being in love seems just as valid as being Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. We don’t normally observe Valentine’s since we celebrate our love every day. This year we’ve made an exception on your behalf. We have a present for you!

May today, and every day, be full of love for you.

(Oh, and no plushies were actually harmed in the making of this video. I, however, may be scarred for life!)

Feb 122011
 

Coffee and crittersIt’s morning and I’m awake, but still sleepy, snuggled under the covers with coffee cup in hand. My face hovers over the cup, drinking in the balm of the restoritive brew. I’ve been working on my laptop, but I’m stuck. I hear the car pull into to the drive and a moment later he walks in with our baby. They’ve been at their other house with the other momma. I brighten at their arrival, work frustrations melt away.

They cuddle up next to me, my baby cradled in my arms, my man’s body curling to meet mine. I feel protected, cozy, and safe. I breath in the scent of my daughter’s hair – that unique fragarance that says that she is mine, that goes straight to my heart and reminds me that I would die for this child. But she is a wild girl and can not be contained. My precious hoyden runs off to have adventures with a tiger and a duck, leaving me alone for a moment with my love.

SoapI rub my face into his neck, pressing my body against his. His arms hug me closer. He smells like his soap. He’s had a shower, which surprises me. He always showers before our date and before his date with his wife, but is often too busy the rest of the week. This feels like a special occasion. It feels like foreplay. When did the smell of soap on his skin become foreplay? Ah, when that scent has been a precursor to sex every week for years. Funny how such things become sexy. Soap and warm skin and I’m full of love and desire.

It’s a nice morning, basking in olfaction.

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