My Whole Sex Life

I’m in agony. Well, no, not really – but I am pretty uncomfortable. There’s a burning sensation around my urethra, just below my clitoris and above my vaginal opening. I’ve been experiencing this discomfort for about 5 or 6 weeks. I’ve gone through two courses of antibiotic, which of course means that I’ve had to battle vaginal yeast infections. I went to pee in a cup a couple of days ago because I still felt the burning, but this time, there were no white blood cells, no infection.

I did some internet research on urethral pain with no Urinary Tract Infection (UTI). I found a lot of women with this problem with varying diagnoses. They talk about how difficult it is to have sex when everything in the vaginal area feels bad. They discuss all of the tests they’ve had and things they’ve tried, but it makes it sound like they will be in pain forever. I started to panic. I can’t feel like this for the rest of my life!

The physical sensations are bad enough. I have managed to keep having sex, but it isn’t as nice as it usually is. How could it be? And often, I just don’t feel sexy. The worst part, however, is emotional. This particular feeling at my urethra triggers flashbacks of childhood abuse. It makes me feel really yucky. I absolutely cannot cope with these feelings every day for the rest of my life. I’m doing pretty well a day at a time, but I will lose it if we can’t resolve the pain. How do women cope with this?

I went to see my doctor. She rocks. We talked for a while about different things that could cause this pain. Sexual transmitted diseases are a possibility. My last tests were fairly recent and everything was clean. I haven’t had any new partners. It does remind me that it might be good to check in with my partners and their partners about current safer sex practices. We haven’t had that conversation in a while and it can’t hurt. My doctor mentioned that I could have a micro-tear or something that I keep reopening with sex. That would suck. It’s possible that something I’m doing during sex is causing repeated injury. I hate this thought. I love my sex life. And I’m pretty careful – I use good lube, I pee after sex, and I use good hygiene. I find myself offering up little prayers like, “Please don’t let it be fisting.”

My doctor did a visual, vaginal, and pelvic examination. My kidneys seem fine. Everything checked out, except that my urethra burns. Ultimately, we decided to wait and see if the urine culture revealed an infection after all. She gave me a prescription for a medication that numbs the urethra. I can only use it for a few days at a time. It turns my urine a bright neon orange, makes it unwise to wear my contact lenses, and upsets my stomach, but I think it’s worth it. Love is not supposed to burn.

I’m trying to keep my freak-out under control. My doctor is working with me to discover the cause of the pain so we can treat it. It’s possible that things will resolve themselves. I’m going to keep trying to have the best sex life I can manage, including not having sex when it feels bad. I’ll keep getting through a day at a time until I feel better. There will be a time when I am not constantly aware of my privates in a negative way. My urethra just has to get better!

As though my libido were a light switch, my body was toggled on. I spent days in heat, every glance loaded with lust, every brush of flesh or fabric against my skin a direct line to my cunt, and always ready to fuck. I have some restraint. Normal life carries on. Family obligations must be met. Work needs doing. The trick is to bank the heat without letting it consume everything. Then, when the time is right, let it all flare up.

It’s not an easy thing for me, letting go. It doesn’t feel safe to be wildly sexual. What if I lose control and make terrible choices? I’m already a sexual person, but letting the heat of my lust make my choices is so taboo. I want the freedom of wanton desire, if I can do it safely. What if I just let go…

It’s morning. I stumble into my office wearing only a tank top and panties. Harold stands up to hug me. The hug becomes a passionate kiss. My hands caress his cock through his jeans. He gets hard. We continue to kiss as his hands roam from my breasts to my pussy. He rubs my clit and slides a finger or two inside me. I come, but it’s not enough. I bend over his desk chair and he frees his cock from the jeans zipper. We fuck, him pounding into me. We stop after a few minutes. I don’t want him to orgasm yet.

I shower, letting the water flow over me. I soap up, feeling the slipperiness across my arms, breasts, belly, and legs. When I am all clean, I switch the spray to the hardest setting and direct it to my nipples. That’s good, but I need more. I move the water to my pubic hair. The jet hits my clit and I jump. Within minutes, I’ve come again.

I’m getting dressed and I ask Harold whether I should wear pants or a skirt. I point out that if I wear a skirt, he could have easy access to my cunt. He says that if I wear a skirt, it better be short and I’d better not wear underwear. I put on the skirt, but I wear underwear too. We go about our day, teasing each other and enjoying the sensual pleasures. We kiss often. He makes another comment about my panties. I take them off on the spot and shove them in his pocket.

Harold and I cook. Although we have different tasks, we manage to intersect frequently. His hands dart under my skirt. I’m so turned on. Everything I do feels sexy. I feel loved and owned. It’s so slutty to wear this skirt without underwear. I feel dirty in the best possible way. It’s all good. I love Harold’s hands all over me.

We’re in bed. I know Harold is tired. I don’t want to bother him, but I am full of longing. I say something to him and he is instantly at my side. We are attracted like two magnets. We click together. He is all over me. His hands cover my neck and I arch my chest into him. I am so his. I love his nails down my back, fingertips on my collarbone, pressing my body into the bed. It’s not about orgasms, it’s all about sensation and desire. I’ve never wanted him so much. We make love in the darkness. Eventually, we fuck and we come.

The next day is much the same. We have hours together, in which we repeatedly come up to the edge and retreat again. He reads erotica to me as I lie on his chest, naked and turned on. The words come alive. He spanks me, makes me beg for each firm strike. We kiss long and slow. I get lost in that kiss. Harold rigs a harness to hold a dildo inside me, then puts a finger in my asshole and a vibrator against my clit until the orgasm explodes out of me. I return the favor, making him come with two fingers on his prostate. We spend the day pleasuring each other.

The next day I am less on fire. We make love in a sweet and lazy way in the shower. The intensity is gone. In it’s place is love and a sense of well being. I still feel sexy, but the heat is spent. It’s all warm and cozy, not flaming. We’ve ridden out the conflagration. I have what I’ve wanted. I’m learning to let go and let my lust drive. There’s a lot of joy in being in heat!

Book: “Women in Lust”
Editor: Rachel Kramer Bussel
Publisher: Cleis Press, October 2011

Lust. It’s one of those four-letter words that trips off the tongue. When I say it out loud, it makes my lips want to curve into a smile. Lust is more than simple arousal; it is the force that makes us not just turned on, but craving a certain person (or people).”
– Rachel Kramer Bussel

Exploring lust has been a bit of a theme for me recently, and this book has been the drumbeat for the soundtrack. I read these erotic stories one or two at a time, letting myself get carried away by the desires of the women depicted. Not all of the stories got me hot, but many of them inspired masturbatory fantasies. I had Harold read one of my favorites, “The Hard Way”, by Justine Elyot, aloud to me while we lay naked, me on top of him, during one of our dates. It makes me wet to hear the the sizzling hot words in my lover’s voice.

There were other stand outs for me: “Strapped” by K D Grace really spoke to me because it starts with a woman trying to pass in a gay bar and ends up with her fucking with two gay men. I adore that she’s packing and ready to take the guy who picks her up in the back alley. Hot, hot, hot! Also “Naughty Thoughts” by Portia Da Costa, the first story in the book. It is a beautiful tale of a woman revealing to her lover that she likes to be spanked and of him fulfilling her desires. “Hot for Teacher” by Rachel Kramer Bussel also caught my attention, telling of a middle aged woman going back to school and crushing on her professor. He gives her the attention she’s been craving. I love her unapologetic sluttiness. The sweetest story was “Bite Me” by Lucy Hughes, featuring two college students figuring out how to share a kink.

Many of these erotic stories are worthy of notice. I was impressed with the overall quality of the writing, and I will certainly be reading more erotica from Cleis Press. I’m thrilled to see so much diversity in the stories – younger women’s lust and older women’s lust, leading to straight, gay and kinky sex, and in all cases to hot sex.

Here’s an excerpt from another fabulous story in Women in Lust, “Smoke” by Elizabeth Coldwell:

There’s something I need to know before this goes any further. “When I arrived here, you were sitting with three girls.” I picture them in my mind, young and pert, attractive in a wholesome, farmer-folk way, like the barman inside. “If you’re in the mood for a fuck, what was wrong with them?”

Gijs shrugs. “They don’t do it for me. I like someone older, someone who knows what she wants.” He leans closer. “Tell me, Barbara, what do you want?”

I want what I’ve wanted since my first sip of beer, since the music started to rouse me on some primitive level: to be filled with hot, hard cock. More than that, I want to try something I would only dare in a foreign country, where I know there’s absolutely no chance of bumping into someone I know who wouldn’t approve, or understand.

“You and Peter. At the same time. And we’ve got to be quick, because I’ve left my beer sitting on the bar. How about it?” As my words hang in the air, I can’t believe I’ve been so bold. Playing for such high stakes has never really appealed to me before.

Peter spins his empty bottle on the table. Is he deciding whether to go for it or not? A quick glance between the two men, then they nod.

Gijs extends a hand to me. “Come on.”

Order Women in Lust from:

Amazon

Kindle edition (ebook)

Barnes & Noble

Nook (ebook)

Powells

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IndieBound (search for your local indie bookstore)

Cleis Press

On this American holiday of Thanksgiving I am contemplating the many things I am grateful for. I am so blessed, especially with all of the love in my life. I never expected to have five children, two partners, and a metamour. I have a fantastic sex life. This morning I came twice in the first two hours I was awake! I have a job that I adore. I get to meet all kinds of fascinating people and create art.

That drive to create gets me in a lot of trouble. This morning, in an effort to teach myself Adobe Premiere Pro, I created a silly little video to share about the things I am grateful for. Enjoy your day!

Amor by Fun Factory has to be one of the cutest sex toys I’ve ever seen. I had heard that it was a good dildo to use for anal sex and I wanted to try it out. Still, when Babeland agreed to send me an Amor to review, I wasn’t expecting this rainbow delight. (Yes, it’s rainbow colored! Squee!) Like a good boyfriend or girlfriend, Amor delivers on both looks and function.

I know it’s shallow, but I care what my cock looks like. Amor is perfect for public scenes. It’s not the biggest cock on the block, at about 5.5 inches – but it’s just right for the job. The thickness is perfect. I love the smooth finish of the body-safe silicone. I appreciate that Amor’s stylized design implies penis without the exaggerated details of realistic dildos. Shlongs with veins creep me out. Amor’s form is classy. But all of this pales in comparison to the rainbow stripes. Oh, the pride, the happiness, the hope! It makes me feel like a rock star to have Amor in my red leather harness.

This dildo fits perfectly in my RodeoHs too. It’s just the right size and the flared base sits nicely against my pelvis. It’s possibly not quite long enough for some anal sex positions. We did have a little difficulty getting it in. Amor is great for vaginal use. The slight curve means that the head of the cock rubs against my g-spot. I’ve found it useful to masturbate with in conjunction with a vibe on my clit.

Amor is just an overall good tool, without all of the crap some sex toy companies try to add in. It’s replaced my old red and black dildo in my everyday tool kit. Yep, Amor is now my dildo of choice.

Bottom line: Rainbow!

Grade: A-

There are fantasies that I keep very close – deep dark things that turn me on like crazy, but I’m ashamed to share. I’m scared that if I open up to my lovers I will be rejected. Maybe I’m too dirty, too perverted. These fantasies lurk on the edges of my consciousness. I’m too ashamed of my desires to pull them into the light and look at them.

Also, I’m afraid of delving too deeply into these fantasies. What if I lose control? What if I’m completely swept away by lust? I fear betraying myself and the people I love. Well, and, I’m afraid that if I do look too closely, these fantasies will lose their power to turn me on beyond reason.

So I just get flashes and feelings: his hand on my throat – me on my knees – humiliation – his breath against my ear as he tells me how special I am – enduring pain to prove my devotion – being on display – rope – his hands knotted in my hair – my eyes downcast…

These are difficult fantasies for a grrrl who considers herself a feminist and a Top. Can I respect myself and expect respect from others if I admit that I crave being possessed, objectified, and cherished? Is it bad that I want to give myself to my partner in this way?

I don’t give myself easily. I fight back. But I want to touch that core shame that I carry around. I can heal the destructive aspects of shame through sex. I want my partners to know me, totally – even the prickly or uncomfortable parts. Even the parts too dirty to see the light of day. I don’t feel like I can be truly loved until they do.

I think Harold and I are finally reaching an understanding around my fantasies. We met for lunch. In the middle of the crowded restaurant, we talked about what a scene might look like. I began to fill with heat. My panties got wet. My heart pounded in my chest. We gazed intently into each other’s eyes as he gripped my wrist in his hand. For a few moments he held me entirely. I was his. We both knew it and it turned us on. With the promise of more to come, we are both highly aroused.

I feel reassured. Maybe I can have what I want. Perhaps my fantasies are not too extreme. I just need to keep trying to articulate what it is I want. I’m so open about most of my sexuality. I can teach, I can ask for all kinds of things in the bedroom, I can share intimate details about my sex life on the internet – but wanting to submit makes me feel hurt and hostile. I know that I fetishize humiliation and shame because of the abuse I went through as a child. I wish that Harold would just take me and I wouldn’t have to try to explain. That he would just get it. I’ve been trying to help him get it.

But I also want control. I want our love making to be right, whatever we do. Ultimately, I want sex to be a conversation. I want to talk about everything. I want each of us to be communicating. For my part, I’m working on letting go of the shame that gets in the way, and keeping the shame that feels hot and sexy. It’s confusing, but I’m getting it. I’m owning my deep dark fantasies a little at a time.

I step forward, he steps back. We sway to the music, our hips pressed against each other. His eyes are closed. Our lips brush. His body spins away from me and back again. I show him what I want him to do with subtle cues from my body. He’s following my lead.

Joel and I go on a date every week. It’s our investment in our relationship, the time when we can catch up about everything going on in our lives, a chance to strengthen our connection and enjoy each other. We tend to be fairly traditional. Usually we go out to dinner. Sometimes we catch a movie. Sometimes we have sex. We always relax and have a good time, but occasionally I just have to mix it up a bit. Last night we went blues dancing.

The Center for Sex Positive Culture in Seattle was offering blues dancing after their monthly poly potluck. We opted for spending more family time at home rather than attend the potluck, but we were in for the dancing. It sounded like a great idea – a chance to go dancing among other people who understand that even though we’re together, we may be open to other people. Poly blues dancing seemed like an inexpensive, yet fun date.

It can be hard to get out of the house. I tend to feel ambivalent about going out. I’m tired at the end of the day. I get involved with projects at home, but I do love to go out. I like to get dressed up. Last night I was feeling kind of butch so it was a tank top, pinstripe pants, and combat boots. Then we had a 45 minute drive. It let us talk and sync up.

We arrived just in time for the beginner’s lesson on how to blues dance. Five couples circled up on the dance floor. We practiced stepping from side to side in a standard high-school shuffle. We danced forward and back. We were asked to find a partner. Easy enough since everyone had arrived as couples. Then we were told to figure out who was the lead and who was the follow. I appreciate that there was not an immediate gender assumption about who would lead.

There was a bit of a scuffle between Joel and me. I always want to lead when I dance. Joel didn’t feel comfortable leading because he’s very new to this kind of dancing. Yet there is the tradition of men leading. We realized that everyone was waiting for us to figure out our power dynamics and quickly settled on me leading. I placed my right hand on his shoulder blade and my left hand up “as though I was holding a beverage.” We practiced our shuffle.

Then our instructor told the follows to thank the leads and move to the right. Wait a minute, what? I greeted my new female partner and smirked at Joel in the arms of another man. We were certainly mixing things up. I learned a lot from the people I danced with. Each of them had good advice for how to be an effective lead. Joel also got a bunch of advice. While I felt a bit awkward at first, being a lead was turning out to be fun.

Blues dancing is sex-on-a-stick. I adore blues and watching people dance was hot. It felt good to dance too. You have to be in your body to blues dance. I could feel myself relax and open up to Joel. I loved leading him around the floor, firmly in control, yet letting the sexy flow.

The vibe followed us off the floor as well. Joel started rubbing my back and planting little kisses all over. The fantastic thing about being at the Center was that I could invite Joel into the back room, where we got naked. Joel kept telling me that I was the lead. It made me feel very much in control, which made me feel safe and turned me on. I’m such a top!

The blues music oozed through the walls. We kissed, slowly and passionately, our hands roaming all over each other’s skin. We floated in that place of pure sensuality. Eventually, I rolled him over and climbed on top of his face so he could lick my clit. I returned the favor by going down on him. Then I couldn’t stand it, I just wanted him. I told him to get on his knees. I rested my feet on his shoulders and he fucked me, cock plunging deep into me.

Afterward, we lay still, listening to the blues and softly talking. It’s such a luxury to be together like that. It’s a space that isn’t always easy for us to get to with all that we have going on in our lives. I love him so much and I feel so blessed to have him.

A chill in the air and a desire to use the bathroom got us back in our clothes. We danced to one more song then we made our way to the car. Exhausted and blissed out, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open on the drive home. Joel took care of everything and let me tumble directly into bed. I dreamed of him following my lead.

In a spasm of self-indulgence, I spent yesterday morning curled up in bed, drinking coffee and watching porn. QueerPorn.TV turned one year old and offered a day of free porn in celebration. I was excited to have the opportunity to view some of the video clips, as I have been a fan of queer indie porn. I don’t watch very much porn, so it was an interesting chance to examine some of my nearly unconscious reactions to explicit videos.

I really like QueerPorn.TV. Their videos feature people who look like real people and cover a broad range of gender and sexuality. In many of the videos, there’s a palpable connection between the talent. It got me thinking about why I like to watch porn. It’s not to get off, although I end up feeling vaguely turned on. I mostly enjoy seeing people naked and engaged in sex because I love sex. Porn is celebratory for me. At it’s best, porn showcases the diverse sexual beauty and perversity of humans. People are having sex – YAY!

There’s also a fantasy element for me. Can I imagine myself in the scene? That’s good. If I get ideas for stuff I’d like to try, also good. Especially if it caters to my particular fetish. I’ve gotten many great ideas watching cock and ball torture clips. It turns me on to think about doing those things myself.

One of the things that surprised me when I was watching videos was that I started feeling kind of embarrassed for some of the stars. I looked at that right away, because I post naked pictures of myself on the internet all the time. But it’s not nudity that I react to. I love seeing people naked and it doesn’t seem shameful at all. No, what I finally realized was that I felt like I was intruding on a private, intimate moment between the two of them. Interesting to note that while I am an exhibitionist, I am not a voyeur. The porn was so good that I felt like I was intruding.

Now, I’ve been asking for more porn that showed real people, having real sex, with authentic orgasms, and actual connection between the stars. This is what I think is sexy. So the trick, in my mind, is to tell a story that shows all that and still invites the viewer to participate.

Of course, I’m feeling inspired to make more of my own porn. I was also watching camera angles and lighting and such. I think that we can duplicate that level of production values with the equipment we have now. I just need to recruit actors and come up with locations and plot ideas. I’m going to get right on that. After I watch more porn!

David Steinberg 2011

I’m pondering the different meanings of the word “rut.” On the one hand it’s wild animal sex – a condition of being in heat, mounting and fucking each other – which is wild, primal, steamy, and awesome. On the other hand, a rut is a furrow in the ground made by repeated passage over the same territory – wearing a a familiar path. That can be good, in terms of sex, to know someone well enough to have a path to follow. It’s the final meaning of rut that worries me though – an established mode of procedure, usually dull and unpromising. I’m afraid of falling into a rut.

I don’t ever want to have a set way of making love. I want to follow the energy of our connection to the logical conclusion. I don’t want to stop fantasizing about the next time we’ll be together. It’s just that, lately, all of my fantasies go by the wayside once I’m in his arms.

We know each other so well. I know just how to touch him to make his breath come quicker. He knows how to lick and suck me so I writhe and groan. We kiss. We press our bodies together. Our eyes meet. We know exactly how to hurt each other in all the right ways. And despite my wicked plans to torture and delight each other further, we end up fucking in the the best positions for us because it feels so incredibly good.

We’re following the path worn by our desire and knowledge of ourselves. It’s a choice to pursue our bliss directly. More in the groove than a rut. I’m not very good at prolonging the payoff. I’m an instant gratification girl. Sure, I can see how we could enjoy ourselves for the next 3 hours, but I also know that we could both come in the next 5 minutes. What’s the right decision? In the moment I will almost always opt for orgasm now. Who knows what will happen later? And honestly, I’m a grrrl. I can come now and later.

This came up for me yesterday, making love with Harold. I had emotional stuff up that I didn’t want to deal with, so I unconsciously rushed into sex. Then, even though we both kind of wanted to explore other things, we followed all of the familiar routes of making love because it was comfortable and safe. It can be very comforting to be able to make love seamlessly. I value that sense of ease and solace. I’m just aware that comfort can easily slide into habit. Habit can equal fixed and unchanging. For me, that’s death.

David Steinberg 2011

I use sex to push my boundaries. It helps me to know more about myself. Through lovemaking, I learn about my own emotions, my partner, and the dynamic we create together. If I follow the same template every time, I stop having to think. In a way, I stop consciously giving and getting consent. Comfort and safety are very important, but I want to fully be present, every time.

Thankfully, I have a deep fear of being stuck in a rut. I don’t ever want our lovemaking to become rote. I don’t want to do something because we always do that. I don’t want to take the easy way every time. I think we’re okay. We are highly imaginative and there is nothing wrong with our sex drive. We still have fantasies left unexplored, kinks not yet delved into, toys waiting to be discovered, power dynamics to be experienced. There’s still a lot of wild animal in our rut. And very little of the stuck.

One morning, while getting ready for school, my 14-year-old daughter suddenly looked at me and said, “I don’t want to be a girl.”

I was a bit surprised because she hasn’t ever expressed any dissatisfaction with being female before, but I’ve done some research on gender, and I felt confident that I could support her. In fact, I was kind of excited to put some of my knowledge into practice. I watched her brush her long hair in the mirror and asked, “Do you feel like a boy?”

She smoothed out her ruffled skirt and replied, “No, I don’t want to be a boy. I just don’t want to be a girl.”

Now, at this point, I probably should have asked her what it meant to her to be a girl, but I was getting carried away in my head. I was so proud that my child was questioning gender. I had to show support, “That’s okay Sweetheart. You can be gender queer. You can pick your own pronouns. We’ll call you whatever you want.” In my head I’m already imagining how all four of her parents will be working hard to make sure she (or ze, or whatever) feels seen and loved. I hugged her, “We’ll support you no matter what.”

My daughter looked at me a little funny, but nodded, “I know Mom.”

We went on with our morning routine and she continued to chat with me. What came out over time is that she doesn’t feel like she fits in with a lot of the other girls at school. We home schooled through middle school and now she is in high school. She’s not used to girls who only want to talk about boys, who wear make up, and giggle a lot. She doesn’t want to act like that just to fit in and she doesn’t know what she has in common with most of them. She doesn’t know what it means to be a girl if this is what it  looks like.

Oh. Oh! I finally got it. That’s what she meant by not wanting to be a girl. That’s different. That’s a different parental conversation altogether. I was kind of jumping the gun.

Still, it can’t be all bad to let her know that we love her no matter how she identifies. It’s really hard to be a teenager. I need to make sure that I listen to what she’s actually saying, but I don’t think I can tell her too often that her family accepts her for who she is. We think she’s wonderful and amazing.