Evoë’s Blog

Feb 242014
 
Evoë Thorne

Evoë Thorne, Sex Maven

This is my personal blog, with all of my kinks and silliness. Just my whole sex life, open and honest. Other people enjoy other things, and any sex act practiced by consenting adult is a-okay.

I’m here because I love sex. I really LOVE sex. I love to do it and I love to talk about it! I find it fascinating how different and how the same people’s sex lives are. What I adore is the beautiful intensity of connection between people, however they get there.

As a writer, artist, educator, activist, parent, partner, and friend, my goal is to open people up to feeling empowered in (and by) their sexuality. I dream of eliminating the fear that seems to permeate sexual culture.

I want to change the world. One orgasm at a time if I have to. Can I count on yours?

Evoë Thorne

Feb 222015
 

Reflected in the windowHappiness is being in the middle of a naked snuggle pile. I could see us reflected in the glass ceiling of the solarium: Harold and Woody both curled around me, our legs entwined, hands still roaming each other’s bodies. We made a beautiful tableau. After more orgasms than I can remember, I was feeling diffuse and abundant love. They were taking advantage of the lull in the action to geek out together over cool higher math.

My body was saturated with sensation. I was hyper aware of every touch, the unique scent of their skin, the warmth of our bodies together, the blues songs that filled the room and became part of the fabric of our existence, the taste of ginger beer spicy on my tongue and in their kisses, and the sunlight blessing us all. I could close my eyes and feel myself sustained by their strength, nourished by their love, safe in their arms. Not only do these men bring me great pleasure, they also make me relax and live in the moment.

Those moments were pretty incredible. I adored having all the extra stimulation. Being able to make out while someone goes down on me or having a cock in each hand is satisfying. It’s surprisingly challenging to give two hand jobs at once, especially since they each prefer a different style and rhythm. They had the audacity to suggest that I was doing it wrong, but I think it was just an excuse to spend time going down on each other.

It was hot to watch them, two mostly straight guys who have come into their own sexual power in their 60’s. They were passionate with each other. They performed fellatio with a hunger, like they’ve spent their whole lives thinking about what they would do if they ever got a chance. It obviously felt good. When receiving, they each groaned with head thrown back and body arched. I felt a momentary twinge of jealousy to be excluded from this ardent display, but watching them was so primal that I felt connected anyway.

The three of us are so full of love for each other. We respect each other and we feel comfortable being vulnerable. Each of us could ask for the things that we specifically enjoy and wanted. It was okay to laugh and cry and discuss Euler’s identity. I’ve been fucking geeks for most of my life and never realized how sexy logarithms could be, but it certainly worked for Harold and Woody.

Reflected in the windowIt’s amazing how many different ways in which three people can combine. It takes a little bit more work than two people, but we are creative. The advantage to making love with older men is that they take their time. We can have sex for hours and it focuses more on my pleasure. The disadvantage of older men is that I have yet to make them both hard enough at the same time for double penetration or other such hijinks, but I think we’ll get there eventually.

It was a lovely afternoon, from eating sushi with our fingers and catching up to a wild tangle of mouths and limbs – from sensual overload to furious fucking ­– from soaking in the hot tub to dinner and a movie with the family – from Euler to Richard Feynman to Gregory Chaitin. Threesomes have a certain caché, but the time we’ve spent together isn’t like that. We aren’t just there to fuck. We are friends. I have incredible sex with each of them separately. Together we create a function of complex variables that has an amazing integral.

Feb 212015
 

The secret to life I hold the secret to life. I am a sensualist waiting for the whisper of my lover’s lips along my sensitive hollows. I am a maenad dancing under the full moon, firelight bathing my naked wine-drenched body. I am a bon vivant indulging my palate in lush culinary delights. I am a bodhisattva, seeking passionate wisdom through emotional magnitude, from profound compassion to empowering rage. I am an intellectual filling my mind with an endless stream of knowledge. I am a dynamo working incredibly hard at the task at hand. The secret to life.

The secret to life as I know it, is to fill your being with experience, to live to the fullest. Living is a practice. Every day is a fresh canvas, allowing us to explore ourselves, others, the world around us with all of the depth and intensity we can muster. Each new dawn presents us with unlimited possibilities, each dusk brings a velvet looking glass in which we can reflect upon our dreams and adventures. The sweetness of life should be savored. The sorrows of life should flow through you like a river, carving the channels of your soul deeper, sweeping away the sediment and showing you where to go next.

Find your joy. Change is constant, so do the things that make your life worth living, right now. Use all the colors in your crayon box. The world is painted in every imaginable hue. Saturate yourself. Mix shades. Strip down. Throw out the box.

The secret to lifeBelieve in something bigger than yourself. I don’t care if you give glory to God or understand the universe, as long as it frees you to feel your fully powerful self. The secret of life is to take up all of your space. You are a uniquely quirky individual. Be as big as you can be. Anything else is a waste of your time.

Be present in the moment. Now deserves all of your attention. Work through the pain of the past so you can move through the present unhindered. Make reasonable plans for the future, but focus on the tasks at hand. Play hard. Pet the cat. Prepare fabulous food.

The secret of life is not to try to avoid anxiety, but to thrive while being alive to every fear that casts a shadow on our souls. The secret to life is that mistakes are necessary. That’s how we grow, how we know what doesn’t work. Each of us is striving to be our most perfect selves but we are, none of us, perfect. Not on this plane of existence. We are all grasping, groping, exploring, learning, yearning to understand. You are good enough just as you are. All humans are. The secret to life is forgiveness.

Love as much as possible. Start with yourself, but open your heart to your beloved. You will get hurt, but not because you are undeserving of love. If you love yourself first, you will know whether to unflinchingly forgive or whether to walk away and try again. When you love be blatantly blissful until it no longer causes a stir. Let yourself be changed by love. In this way, you honor your connection to all the people on the planet

The secret to lifeDo what you can to help others because giving heals us. Smile at a stranger, hug your kids, leave nature better than you found it. Listen, recycle, donate. Laugh aloud. Make time. Pay it forward. Showing compassion lets your light shine on someone else’s darkness and haven’t you felt despair before? You make a difference simply by being.

Plainly, the secret to life is to experience, to grow, to feel as much as you can with what you have. But this is merely my truth. All of this insight I can impart to you, and you still won’t know the secret to life unless you seek answers within yourself. I am a poet lost in the silence of my own words ­– a key without a lock, a bee without a hive, a priest without a prayer. Your own secret to life is yours to unravel.

Feb 152015
 

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Photo courtesy of Rebels Notes

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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Yes, Squirting is Real (And it’s not pee.)

These men make me SO angry

Still Kinky After All These Years

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

When It Rains
You want me to read what?

 

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

How to Make Time for Kinky Fuckery
Submissive Power Is Hot Stuff
Topping from the Bottom
Daddy
Property Milestone
Dead Heat
Submissive power and the storms of life
I Talk A Lot, But Not About That
I Just Want To Be Me
What I Get Out Of Locking A Man in Chastity
BDSM and pick-up artists

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Socks and Sex
Marsala? The Color of My Panties? Who Knew?

Erotic Fiction

Short Strokes: Molasses Makes Me Horny
12 Step Homeopathic Remedy for Scorned Lovers
Alice’s Wonderland
Feel His Breath On Me
Out For A Walk
Playing in the Band
Braille
Coming Pretty
The Fall
Erotica After Hours
Dancing in the Dark

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Make Love to Me
I Used to Fake Orgasms. This is Why I Stopped

Poetry

Brigitta – A Lusty Limerick

Erotic Non-Fiction

With a very sharp knife
black bra and g-string
Debut
Meeting Slave Olive for a Cash Point Meet
LachrymoseWhen Two Doms Play…Fuck Tender!

 

 

 

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Feb 152015
 

All or nothingWe finally reached a point where I lay limp in his arms, my feet tangled in the sheets, our bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat. My tears and snot lubricated the skin between his shoulder and my cheek. Emptied of grief, I finally found myself floating in a place of comfort. It had taken all night to get there, but now, finally, 40 minutes before his alarm would go off, I felt the love and connection I had been struggling all night to find.

I fought him. All of my frustration and helpless rage needed out. I opened my mouth and all of the hateful bitter things trapped inside spilled from my lips. I didn’t want him to take it on, but of course he did, stepping into each of my desperate claims and wearing it around like an ill-fitting garment. Maybe that helped me, seeing how ridiculous he looked in my fears. But he would say, “This isn’t me. What are you talking about?” and his voice would be loaded with hurt as we lay in bed, surrounded by darkness, “You don’t even see me!”

And I would cry harder because I wasn’t talking about him, I was talking about my emotions, telling him about the things I need to work through because they are poisoning me. I wanted him to reassure me, to tell me that it was okay to feel, and to be my ally in finding solutions. I would tell him, “Of course I see you. I know you. You are my heart.” and I would writhe against him in agitation, “Please, I need help!”

I felt like I was drowning. Over and over, I would cry, “I just want you to hear me!” like I was begging for a life preserver. The middle of the night is never the best time to try to have relationship discussions, but we didn’t have other time. Exhausted and hopeless, I wanted to give up.

He got angry. On opposite sides of the bed, like continents separated by an ocean, we lobbed bombs at each other in futile attempt to make peace. I had no defenses, being open to him made me an easy target. Every word he said hurt, but nothing as bad as his final abandonment would, when in cold tones he explained that we were over.

It’s always all or nothing here. We give everything or we walk away alone. I wasn’t ready to lose what we have built. I made the same sacrifice I always make, silently wishing that he would apologize first sometimes.

All or nothingUnder the oppressive weight of my sadness, I needed his touch. I longed to be held, cherished, protected from this anguish. He came round to my side, slid under the heavy covers, and pulled my body on top of his. We would both calm with our bodies this close. I let go. I let go of my problems, my anxiety, the desperate emotions I can’t seem to resolve. I made a decision to believe him when he said that I was building walls against him. I lowered my defenses. I was vulnerable to him.

In his arms, I released my pent up emotions in a torrent. His anger dissolved under the onslaught of my tears and the absolution that what I was feeling is not about now, not his fault. I cried until I was empty, even dumping the vague feeling that I had betrayed myself. All that mattered was somehow finding each other before the night ended.

In those moments of stillness I experienced a strange high. I would feel strongly connected to him, but also euphoric, drifty, and hollow – a bit like a balloon on his string. Emptied of all thought and emotion, I found a pure meditative state where we held each other in peace until the alarm went off.

 

 

 

Sinful Sunday

Feb 082015
 

CuppingJust when I think that the new relationship energy must be over – that maybe we’ve exhausted our passion, or built up too much resentment for intimacy to feel good – sex is suddenly better than ever. The past month has brought a sea change in my relationship with Harold, perhaps born of many hours working through old pain in our relationship, but more likely simply paying more attention to some health issues.

It’s amazing how different our relationship is when my thyroid levels are back in balance and Harold gets enough sleep and takes vitamins. He says that vitamins give him the ability to act on the fact that he wants me all the time. Amazing! I can’t wait to see what happens when we both start exercising on a regular basis.

Our connection has always been sexual, but now we can’t get enough of each other – it’s been five times a week, sometimes twice a day. We are suddenly able to experience each other in ways that we’ve wanted but been unable to quite achieve. Harold topped me for a whole session, sending me into spasms of delight. I put needles through his balls, deeply satisfying his adventurous spirit. We played around with cupping while listening to old vinyl on the record player, bonding through a shared love of the blues. We’ve been seriously kinky and had so much fun!

My new favorite thing is being tied up and spanked while I’m on top of the Magic Wand. I don’t come quickly, but the ride is intense. Also, I’m enjoying being fucked from behind with a butt plug in, so it feels like I’m being fucked in both holes. Coming like that is beyond description. I’ve never felt so close to Harold as in those moments of pure pulsing pleasure.

NeedleWe are more romantic right now too. All of that oxytocin surging through us is making us all mushy. We’ve been doing sweet little things to help each other, getting small presents that would bring joy, and leaving love notes. I feel like he is understanding me in ways that were out of reach before. We are both stretching, trying hard to be big enough for this fire that is our passion.

Not everything is roses. I can see how important it is for us to take care of our bodies and our psyches so we can keep having unbelievable sex. We still have moments nearly every day where we feel some twinge of pain or frustration, but now we have the golden nectar of love and sexual connection buoying our souls. For that balm, I will brave a few thorns.

Jan 312015
 

Going downI wake up to him going down on me. My body responds before I am really awake – legs wrapping around him, back arched, hands making fists against the sheets. In the tent under the blankets the scent of his skin surrounds me. The darkness is soft and warm. I focus on the feel of his tongue passing over my clit. When did I get so wet?

I need this man like water in the desert. I’ve been so horny lately, so stressed. In the very early morning he comes to me like a river. He flows over my body. His tongue says, “Be hot for me Baby. Go ahead and burn. I will ease your fever.”

I let go. Sleepily, blissfully, I melt into him. The whole huge complexity of the world narrows to one point. Love. I can forget about everything else for a while. My burdens will wait. I exhale and release all my tension. I’m floating, but his body anchors me. This is the safest I have felt in days.

Heat builds under his mouth. I realize that I am making loud moaning noises and I try to be quieter, but it doesn’t matter. I am pressing myself against him as hard as possible. He pins my wrist to the bed with one hand and captures my soul. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but this small decisive action tells me that he owns me. I give him everything of me. It’s all his.

Making loveHe is still licking my clit with quick intense motions that make me twitch. Now his other hand roams up to my nipples. He gently pinches and my sounds get louder. I want everything all at once. I want to be right here forever. I want to come. “Harder,” I tell him.

He tweaks my nipples in earnest and my body stiffens as pleasure lances through me. Oh my god. I am gasping with each small jolt of pain. I am overwhelmed with love and flooded with lust for this man. I want more!

I love the weight of him on top of me. It feels secure, like a seatbelt. His is my shield against despair. I writhe under him, swollen with desire, blazing with need. He kisses me deeply and it is like diving into a lake on a summer’s day. His face is moist with my juices. I thrust my impatient tongue between his lips. His mouth is firm on mine. I invite him in.

I feel like a volcano heading for eruption, all lava and pressure. The feel of him inside me, pressing against my g-spot is nearly enough to make me explode. He hands me the vibrator.

That moment just before orgasm is the best – the slow build to powerful peak, poised at the edge of incredible intensity, striving both to slow the inevitable and speed the climax. I find it compelling and excruciating all at once. I think I live there.

He fills me. I am rocked by his motions. Suddenly, like seeing a waterfall approaching, I know I’m going to come. I get swept over the edge, and I am tightening around him in powerful waves. A flood of emotion Connectedovercomes me and then evaporates. I am awash in love. Sweaty, steamy love.

We snuggle in stillness for a few moments. Maybe this is the best part. I feel grounded, connected in a way that has been elusive lately. There are no words here, no need to talk, just us. In the early morning, in the warm quiet dark, we lie in each others arms and we whisper, “Let’s try that again in a few hours.”

Jan 242015
 

KnifeCourtship works in different ways for different folks. Harold and I took our time, flirting heavily and making out at parties for years, but when we finally decided to go to bed together it was serious. The first time was exploratory. I naively asked why we would need four hours to make love. The second time was wild and raw. We were animals together, no words, just rutting and frolicking. But the third time was magic – in the forest, in the moonlight, with a very sharp knife.

The moon hung low, radiant and swollen with desire, embraced in the naked limbs of the trees. My blood raced as I contemplated my plans for the evening. In the warm air, I felt the moon calling me like a siren to come swim, the water’s fine. And it was. Bathed in moonlight, Harold and I stood at the crossroads.

I took his hands, noticing his tidy nails, strong slender fingers, and finely furred forearms. The sleeves of his red button-down shirt were rolled up to the elbow. I’d asked him to wear something old. I didn’t know then that he’d chosen a shirt that had been his father’s, dark red for passion and blood. I looked at him for a long moment, feeling the power of possibility.

“Do you trust me?” I breathed into his ear.

He didn’t even hesitate, although he had no idea what to expect, “I trust you completely. I give myself to you.” Maybe he had some idea of what to expect. He knew me.

I laughed softly, “It might be dangerous.”

I filled my lungs and slowly exhaled, grounding some of my nerves, but I still felt dizzy with desire. I wanted to do this right. I pulled a silver knife from my pocket and let him see it. The razor-sharp blade was about as long as my hand, the hilt wrapped in red leather. It glinted in the moon’s fierce light.

“Is this ok?” I asked him softly. Taking his nod for consent, I cut a long strip from the bottom of his shirt and blindfolded him with it. The simple act carried an aura of rightness, yet I felt awkward. Unsure of where to put the knife, I momentarily held it between my teeth like a pirate.

Ignoring the slight tremor in my hands, I proceeded as though I knew what I was doing. I slid my blade into the gap in the front of the shirt and sliced through the thread holding onto each button. I slipped around him, letting my breasts brush against his arm and my breath caress the back of his neck. I thrust into the fabric, divesting him of his protective layers with a flick of my wrist. We both knew I was removing more than a simple shirt.

He stood before me, bare to his soul. The moon wrapped the gift of his vulnerability in glowing shadow-light. Needing to feel his skin, I shed my own clothes. My nipples hardened against his chest. He was breathing faster than normal when I pressed my lips to his, and although it took him half a second to respond, his embrace was ardent. I hoped that, like me, he felt the danger and the magic of the moment. His body was taut with expectation.

“I have you, “ I told him, touching his chest softly, “I can hurt you and I can heal you.”

I pulled the dull edge of my knife gently across his back, knowing that the weight of the blade would still feel intense in this state of arousal. I made pass after pass, never really breaking his skin, creating a web of lines across his back. He stayed relaxed under my hand, but I could feel that he was achingly present, waiting for the next stroke.

I paused, knife extended. I wanted him so hard. Everything about him turned me on. I had not known that sharing trust like this would be so hot. His utter faith laid me open. I pulled the cloth from his eyes. With a steady hand and an indrawn breath, I let the keen edge penetrate his flesh. I exhaled. Small dots of blood beaded along the lines I had drawn, forming a heart that glistened in the serious moonlight.

It was a night of surrender and bonds were formed. I know we must have had amazing sex, but I don’t remember the specifics. Isn’t that funny? It was an incredible night, and all of the many nights since then haven’t changed the fact that at the core of our relationship, Harold and I, we are still standing in the woods, under that moon, with a very sharp knife.