Photo courtesy of It Girl Rag Doll
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~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~
~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~
~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~
I’m fucking you, whether you’re wet or not.
Snippets of bambi
Sir Knows Best
A Taste of Rub & Tug
Feels Like the 6th Time
Call of the Wild
Falling Violently in Lust with Suzanne
Submitting to His Will
You don’t hit me hard enough spanking
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
Swingers club, group sex & a queue of men
Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish
Writing about Writing
A week without sex – too busy, too stressed, too sad to even get myself off in the shower. A serious lack that I feel in my bones, but at the end of the day I am sticky with sweat and bone tired. I am touched-out and depleted after caring for kids, dogs, chickens, gardens, house and home. I love these things, but my cup is empty. As a brilliant woman once said, I need a little a little sugar in my bowl.
The air presses against my skin like damp socks in hiking boots. I chafe against the weather and a sudden change in plans that threatens to prevent me from running away with Harold for a few hours. I need to unwind. I need to be the center of someone’s full attention for longer than a sentence. I long to be stroked and kissed and free of need. Our eyes meet over the head of our loquacious child and I know that he feels it too. We both pray for a release.
And we get it. Our planets align after all. We are quick to be out the door and into the forest. I feel lighter already. The atmosphere is different under the trees. With each step, I make an effort to let go of my stress. I picture myself as a tree shedding leaves, old dried up cares that no longer nourish me. It starts to rain.
I need to experience the rain with my whole body. Off go all of the clothes. We lie side by side, naked, as big warm drops fall. Finally my walls come down and I start to cry. His fingertips trace a pattern on my stomach, but he lets me have my space. I know he is with me. The rain washes everything away.
My mind drifts, blessedly free of the need to perform, while Harold’s hands caress my body. This is what I’ve needed – to be able to let go and have my love hold the space for a few moments. I come back to myself and lay on top of him, my skin hungry for more contact. My back is caressed by the light rain. I look into Harold’s eyes and see the whole world.
It still takes me a while to get to a place where I want to go further, despite a strong desire for intercourse. I’m on my period and I don’t really want him to go down on me, even though sometimes I love the messiness of it. Today is different, but we get me off anyway, with the canopy of green leaves above and his kisses on my breasts and his fingers inside me and the rain coming down.
Harold breaks the tension in my body like the rain broke the oppressive humidity. I come in twinges and spasms before letting the huge waves pass through my body. We both ride that wave as far as it goes.
Finally, I am wanting to give to him. His cock feels good in my mouth. I like the pressure on the roof of my mouth, the friction of movement, my tongue tracing the ridge of the head. This is where I feel closest to the divine. I could do this for hours but I start to ache for a different kind of fullness.
He enters me and I am riveted by his eyes. I often close my eyes in throes of passion, the experience being largely internal, but not now. I need to see him. I feel so raw. I am penetrated, pinned by cock and gaze, and it permeates some place inside me that has been unable to feel loved. I caress his face and he doesn’t look away. It feels almost unbearably honest to fuck this way. There is no place to hide.
It’s getting harder for him to meet my eyes as he get close to coming. His face contorts, eyes squeeze shut. For an instant I feel everything – the pulse of my cunt welcoming his cock and ready to take his jism, the trees and the forest around us, the sky and the rain kissing my skin, and the entire universe out there – and then my awareness collapses back to Harold’s hoarse cries as he thrusts into me. There is only this moment. I want it to go on forever.
We can’t get closer than this (but every time I think that, we find a way to get closer). My heart is wide open. I am so in love. Suddenly we are laughing and reality reinstates itself. We are covered in tears, sweat, menstrual blood, cum, and glorious rain. There are mosquitos. It’s getting dark and cold and we need to go home.
The changes sweeping the United States regarding gay rights make me ecstatically happy. I still start to cry joyous tears, knowing that my gay friends and loved ones deserve to have the same rights as everyone else – because it doesn’t matter who you love, it only matters that you love. I am not gay, but I know that defending human rights benefits all of humanity. I feel blessed to live in such times.
I also feel the weight of history. The Stonewall Riots happened before I was born. I am overwhelmed by grief and gratitude for all of the people who were unafraid to be themselves in the face of adversity and condemnation. It’s been a long hard road and we aren’t there yet.
There are still many things that need to change. I have the solution, but no one wants to hear it… We need to eliminate all of the boxes we put ourselves into. That would make it easier to treat everyone with respect. It’s not a new idea, living in a society based on dignity for every individual, regardless of the countless ways we choose to express ourselves. This is what I advocate for: stop classifying yourself and just BE.
To be clear, I am deeply thankful to the many people who fought for me to have the ability to classify myself however I want. As writer Octavia Butler said, “People have the right to call themselves whatever they like. That doesn’t bother me. It’s other people doing the calling that bothers me.” What I am looking at now is the next step, the goal we set ourselves after gay marriage is legalized across the nation.
This is what we do: we let go. We let go of our closely protected identities. We work toward a society where everyone is embraced with dignity. We are all the same. We are all different. We are all one people. Remember the many paths we walked to get here, honor the souls of those who died for change, then let go of the things that box you in.
I know this is not an easy task. We all have a natural instinct to belong. We explore who we are by defining ourselves – gender, race, age, orientation, religion, medical condition, family status, wealth, privilege, profession, sexual interests, hobbies, style of dress… these all give us a handle by which to know ourselves. These categories fix an identity for each of us by which we think we know ourselves and by which others can believe they know how to relate to us.
Like most people, I have struggled with my own identity. At 20 I was whole-heartedly in love with a woman and ready to start a family. Neither of us was gay, but we loved each other. If we had managed to live together, we would have been perceived as gay. We might have joined the lesbian community to have the support we needed and been happy as long as we didn’t also date men. Obviously, you can’t date men and still be a lesbian. My girlfriend couldn’t stand the thought of being perceived as a lesbian and we parted ways. Even now, with my two husbands and five children, I think of the path my life could have taken. No matter who I am with, I am still the same person, still attracted to people of all genders.
Just in the sexual arena, I see examples of how limiting identity can be – lesbians who are shunned when they decide to date men, trans people whose orientation changes when they finally transition, gay men who simply adore breasts but have no way to act on that interest, and people who desperately want to explore a sexual fetish but can’t ask their partner for fear of being rejected as a freak. If we treated all people with dignity, we could minimize the pain associated with each of these situations. People are unique. We can’t assume that we know who someone is because we can read the label on their box.
Breaking the boxes has another benefit – personal growth. When you stop saying that you can’t, anything is possible. One of my favorite games is to prove Harold wrong every time he says he doesn’t like something. Limits are largely artificial. Identity might help make the world more manageable for a while, but often gives us information about what we shouldn’t be as much as what we are.
It’s not wrong to choose an identity. We identify out of fear or pride, out of love or hate, out of strength or weakness. It’s important to know who we are and the history of those who came before us. I want to honor the work that made it possible for me to be open about who I am and recognize that there are many places in the world where human rights are not granted to all people. Yet I am asking that those of you who are ready, take the next step in the evolution of humanity.
The world is not ready to embrace universal dignity yet. This is obvious. But that shouldn’t let that stop us from adopting it. The people who are ready are often distracted by our differences, our in-groups, our need to defend our niche against a hateful world. We have had a few role models, but they tend to die young. I’m not asking for martyrs, just people willing to break the boxes and live openly as themselves. People ready to stop agonizing over where they fit in and start figuring out how they can help. People willing to let dignity lead their lives. Will you join me?