Nov 222012

I like to cook. Food is a fascinating artistic medium as well as a sensuous pleasure. I enjoy experimenting with taste, texture, and color. Baking is science and I want to experiment with all of the possibilities. Our family has a variety of dietary limitations so I am constantly challenged to find interesting solutions to traditional recipes. Thankfully, since I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, cooking with a partner gets me hot. All of the smelling and tasting and kissing goes right to my cunt. On more than one occasion we have ended up naked on the kitchen floor, rolling around covered in olive oil.

Yesterday I wanted to get a head start on my holiday preparations while the children were still at school by baking pumpkin pies. I also asked Blyss to help me with some sexy photos. Why not combine the two since the kitchen is loaded with erotic potential? This fun and hotness ensued…

 It started with the blender

The immersion blender is so phallic and full of vibration. It’s giving me ideas!

Licking the spatula

Just a taste. I like to lick.

I want to do dirty things with coconut milk

This coconut milk is so creamy. I just want…

Just a taste

The creamy milk covers my tongue and drips down my chest, warm and sweet.

It feels sensuous

It feels so sensuous to have the coconut milk run down my chin and between my breasts. I want more.

Coconut milk dripping off one breast

Coconut milk covers my breast and nipple, lusciously  dripping on my belly.

Milk down the back, ass, and thighs

I need to try out the sensation on my back. My cunt starts opening with the erotic flow of sweet liquid pouring over my ass. I haven’t had this much fun in a while.

Totally turned on

A silken sheen covers my body as I slide in the pooled milk. I long to be fucked.

Beyond turned on

I’m beyond turned on, in that place where I need release so bad. What can I do?

fucking the whisk

I’m embarrassed to be this intimate with a kitchen tool, but this wire whisk has a handle just perfect for fucking.

Wire whisk fucking

I clutch the whisk, driving it deeper toward my g-spot. I can’t believe how good it feels.

Satisfied at last

I am finally sated, covered head to toe in coconut milk and blissfully happy. And I have just enough time to mop the floor and take a shower before the children get home!

(Photos by Blyss Enns)

Sinful Sunday

Oct 102012

Evoë ThorneI think the worst feeling I have ever experienced is knowing that I’m alone in the world and beyond hope. Even when I’ve had people in my life who cared about me, there have been times when I’ve felt trapped in my own mind, unable to form connections or accept love. At times like that, it seems like the more I want someone, the more likely I am to push them away. It’s impossible for me to believe that anyone could want me.

Today is World Mental Health Day. More than 350 million people across the globe are affected by depression and less than 10% get treatment, despite the existence of effective treatment options. An additional 100 million people world-wide suffer from other mental health disorders. Without mental health, there is no health. And mental health is imperative for a healthy sex life.

My experience

I’ve struggled with Bipolar Disorder since my early teens. Suicide attempts and wild behavior colored my formative years. I wasn’t diagnosed until things reached critical mass when I was 21. At that time I was also experiencing intense Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, unable to eat without throwing up or sleep without terrible nightmares.

More recently, after the birth of my last child, I found myself drowning in Post-Partum Depression.

I don’t let these things define who I am or limit how I live my life, but they’ve presented huge obstacles to overcome. In particular, each of these conditions has affected my ability to have the kind of sex I want.


I actually prefer the term Manic Depression because it’s much more clear. People with Bipolar experience mood shifts between wild euphoria and bottomless depression. Mania has often kind of scared me because I feel out of control. I think faster than anyone can keep up with. My sex drive totally kicks in. I feel super turned on all of the time and I crave risky behavior. I want to do crazy things that push my limits. While I’ve never gone this far, it is definitely a time when I feel I could take on the whole football team. I don’t have good boundaries or decision making skills when I’m manic. When I was younger I would often violate relationship agreements in a fit of mania. Since then I’ve learned to be responsible for myself all of the time, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t take advantage of a manic state for some hot sex!

Depression can be extremely hard because it is so insidious.  Depression steals my self-esteem and I don’t even realize it. I just feel ugly, slow, and pathetic. It’s difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Every step is like wading through a swamp of oatmeal. I try harder when I’m depressed, present more, dress up and wear more makeup. I often feel very little desire in this state. Sometimes, though, I can use sex to try to circumnavigate the numbness. What I really want is to be loved and held, but I don’t feel capable of being loved. When we do make contact, it can be very sweet and life-affirming.


When someone lives through a horrific experience, the experience can get put away in the brain as raw data (sights, smells, sounds, etc.) and not as the kind of processed stories we normally have as memories. Later, if something happens to bring that event up again, it literally seems to be happening all over again, right now. It feels real and immediate. This is what Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is about. When people who have PTSD react, it can seem totally irrational, until you look at it in the context of the original trauma.

Because my PTSD has been around childhood abuse and rape, I spent many evenings in my early 20’s starting off feeling sexy in bed and ending up naked hiding in the closet shivering.

Post-Partum Mood Disorder

Post-Partum Mood Disorder is a constellation of mental health disorders brought on by the extreme shift in hormones following the birth of a baby.  Mothers, fathers, and adoptive parents can all experience it. Depression and anxiety are its most common forms.

PPMD is particularly troubling because having a baby is already a stressful and isolating time. I was lucky because when I had my youngest four years ago, I had the support of a poly family. Still, it was a difficult time, during which I gained about 40 pounds, was afraid to be alone with the baby, and feared abandonment constantly. I know that I had sex during this time, but I don’t really remember it. I had body and attachment issues. It was hard to be me, but I wanted to use sex to make sure that people would still love me. It was all I could do to get from moment to moment and day to day. I joined OKCupid for some positive feedback.

What you can do

If you believe that you are suffering from a mental health disorder, or even if you just want to make changes in how you interact in your relationships and improve your sex life, the first thing to do is talk to your doctor or a public health clinic. Get a referral for a therapist and someone who can help you assess if medications might help you. There are many alternatives to medicine, but this is not a bad place to start, especially if you have been living under this cloud for years. It is important to have both pieces: medication and talk therapy. Medication can change the chemical imbalance that’s happening in your body and therapy can help you figure out how to change the patterns in your life that are problematic.

Not all health care providers are created the same. Make sure to find people that you can trust and talk to easily. Don’t be afraid to decide that your provider is not working for you and find another. This person is going to be a vital member of your health team – make it right. Also, own your care. It’s hard to be assertive when you don’t feel strong, but please speak up if you don’t agree with a diagnosis or care plan. Passively agreeing to something you won’t do is just a waste of time. Own your health care!

I have been able to do amazing things by taking Lithium regularly and working hard in therapy. I have been able to minimize the impact of both mania and depression. I’ve worked through debilitating anxiety, learned how to have healthier relationships, and come to feel better about my body. I’ve even been able to work through the PTSD memories so as to see them as a cohesive story and put them away like regular memories. It’s a lot of work, and things are still hard sometimes, but I have hope. I know that these are things I am doing to have the life I want.

What you can do for someone you love

Loving someone who lives with a mental health disorder is challenging.  They may not want your help and you need to respect that. If they do want you to help, do what you can to understand that their actions do not reflect on you. For example, when one of my partners is unhappy, I tend to feel like I’ve done something wrong. I try not to take that on, but instead to address the unhappy feeling in a caring and supportive manner. For someone who’s life is seriously out of control however, you may need to step in. Do some research. Find a doctor and a therapist. Go with your loved one to the appointments.

Find ways to connect with each other. Sex might be a good way to be close. For some people sex transcends the mood disorder. For many, many people though, sex becomes next to impossible. That doesn’t mean that they don’t need love and affection. Don’t give up. Find ways to be close to each other anyway, that are comfortable for both of you. Go for a walk and hold hands. Brush each other’s hair. Cook together.  Read a story aloud. Write them a love letter. When things are hard, write a list of all of the reasons you fell in love. If you really need to find sexual outlet somewhere else, have a frank and honest conversation. Find a way to do it respectfully.

Make sure that you take good care of yourself. You are important too.

Remember that it will get better.


Because it will get better. Somewhere along the way I forgot to count the minutes. Then I forgot that I was barely getting through each day.  Things got better. I get sick and tired of working on my stuff all of the time, but it makes a huge difference. Every day I get stronger.

I don’t generally make a big deal about my mental health issues. When I was young I was told not to let anyone know because I would be stigmatized. I think that’s crap. Everyone has their issues and so few people ever seek help. If just one person reads this and it changes how they think about mental health, I will be happy. Maybe you are that one person. Are you tired of how hard you have to work to make it through the day? What if you could use that energy for other things, things that bring you joy? What if addressing your mental health issues could let you have the kind of sex you want to have? Is it worth it now? Don’t give up hope.

Sep 072012

She was filthy rich and liked to spread it around. He came from the wrong side of the tracks. She liked champagne, he kept whiskey in a hip flask. She loved her short skirts, shorter hair, and silk stockings. He didn’t wear much more than wool trousers and his favorite hat. They were both married to other people, but they spoke the same language – love and Jazz…







Today’s Sinful Sunday is special because it’s a competition with a theme. We took our inspiration from the first line of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, “If music be the food of love, play on.” Click on the icon below to check out the other amazing entries in this Sinful Sunday competition!

Sinful Sunday

Aug 272012
Laughing in the bath

By David Steinberg

My lover is 24 years older than me. That didn’t seem like a problem at first. We felt like teenagers in love together.  He felt like my peer, my equal, my partner in crime. Sure we had different experiences growing up, but that was largely cultural – east coast money vs. west coast hippy. Then we got pregnant and I started to think about how old he would be when our baby was born, went to kindergarten, graduated from high school…

He was 58 when we first got together. We had danced around each other for a few years before that. We have always had a strong sexual connection. I think I let that blind me into ignoring our age difference. In fact, age doesn’t mean anything to me. We are who we are and we fit together fantastically. That’s all that matters.

Except that lately, it matters more. He’s almost 64 – that magical Beatles age – and I will indeed still need him, still feed him when he’s 64. I’m watching him age. There are more lines in his face. He was having erectile problems, but through a radical diet change, these problems have largely self-corrected. I don’t need him to have a hard-on for good sex anyway. He’s running in the morning now too. He’s taking care of himself which I respect so much.

He is 24 years older than me. Considering that men tend to die at a younger age than women, he is very likely to die before me. I guess it’s taken me 5 years to fully realize this fact. This man who is the greatest passion of my life is going to abandon me, not because he wants to but because nature will demand it. I get angry and sad when I think about it.

And then I think, why borrow grief from tomorrow? Why not wring every drop of joy from today? I have so much to learn from him and wild experiences to share with him. I will be devastated to lose him, but the love that we share will always be mine. I plan on making every moment an adventure until one or the other of us stops breathing. Who can say what will happen? If it comes to it, I will take pleasure in caring for him when he can no longer do it himself. He has saved me a hundred times over. Our relationship is characterized by the tenderness we have for each other. Why not celebrate it now and always?

Leaning in for a kiss

By David Steinberg

This coming to terms with mortality is changing how I look at my relationships. Things can change so suddenly, and while I don’t want to put energy towards a negative outcome, this risk of loss has honed my appreciation for the people I care about. No more taking my lovers for granted. Every kiss is precious. Each love is to be cherished. I challenge each of you to contemplate what it would be like to suddenly be without your love(s). Now use that information to create the today you desire. Life doesn’t last forever.

Jul 312012

Photo by David Steinberg

Occasionally I make mistakes. This time I even kind of knew that I was making mistakes. I’m choosing to call it a learning experience, but I am suffering a bit for this knowledge. I feel foolish, but I guess I might as well share what happened just in case I can save someone else from the same mistakes. Like so many interesting stories, it started with anal sex…

A few days ago, Harold and I had a date. We had been without a regular date for several weeks, so we were eager to be as deeply inside each other as possible. We did a lot of talking, catching up and syncing our energies. There was a fair amount of sensual play – snuggling, kissing, caressing, then licking, sucking, and fingering. But we both wanted anal play.

Please keep in mind that this was only our 3rd or 4th time having anal sex where I would be receiving. I tried to figure out how we could fuck each other in the ass at the same time. I had a few ideas, but we couldn’t do what we really wanted. We settled for Harold being penetrated with a toy and then fucking me. Lots of lube and anal play ensued. Then we got to the point where his penis was about to enter my back door.

Anal play

Photo by David Steinberg

We were both very turned on by this time, so I think our judgement was impaired. I did suggest that he wear a condom so we could just strip it off and not worry about clean up, since we were not anywhere near running water. He insisted that he was going to fill my ass with cum. (And here I made my first mistake!) I was so tickled by this idea that I believed him and didn’t insist on the condom.

He slowly entered me and it felt incredible. Before long he was pounding me hard. We fucked for maybe five minutes, and while it was beautiful and pleasurable, neither of us was coming this way. I added clitoral stimulation with a vibrator and came like crazy, but Harold still wasn’t close to an orgasm. So we decided we wanted to switch to penis-in-vagina sex.

I hope you can see where this is going…

Harold pulled out. There was no mess. But I wasn’t going to just let that cock go from my ass to my pussy. Not happening. I needed to clean him off somehow (and remember that we are without indoor plumbing) so I grabbed the first thing I could think of (this would be my second mistake) – some antimicrobial gel. I slathered gel all over Harold’s cock, making sure that it wasn’t irritating his skin and joking about what a bad lube it would make.

Now, I am a very sensitive girl. I can’t use most lubricants. I’ve tried a bunch and then a bunch more. Most lubes are very irritating to my vagina and many of them have a tendency to give me yeast infections. I don’t know what I was thinking when I put that gel on Harold’s penis, other than I desperately wanted to fuck him and I didn’t want to get a bladder or kidney infection by spreading fecal bacteria anywhere near my urethra. Hand sanitizer kills 99.99% of the most common germs that make you sick, right?

I did wait as long as I could for the alcohol to evaporate – perhaps a whole minute before I slid onto his cock. Then we fucked like crazy until we both came. Everything seemed good and wonderful. Until a day or two later.


Photo by David Steinberg

I couldn’t figure out why I had such a bad yeast infection. Normally, as soon as I have any sign of an infection, I use boric acid capsules for a few days and all is right with my body. This time, it’s not helping at all. I start trying every trick I know of and a few I’ve never tried before to get my body back in balance. Finally, today it dawns on me – the hand sanitizer killed everything in my cunt, all of the microbial organisms, even the good bacteria that is supposed to be there. And then we filled my vagina with semen and all of the sugars it’s made up of.

Perfect. What was I thinking? Ah, I wasn’t thinking, but I am now. Harold and I have talked it through and we have a plan for the next time we want to have anal sex. We will use a condom and gloves for any anal penetration. And never, will I ever, get antimicrobial gel anywhere near my pussy. Call it learning the hard way.


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Jul 142012

Washington coast This week the whole family went camping – all four parents and the four children still at home, at the ocean for five days and four nights. It was fabulous. Despite requiring amazing feats of planning and packing, I think our trip was highly successful. We all worked together to make sure that everyone’s needs got met. I believe that this is one of the main advantages to polyamory – sharing goals and responsibilities so that everyone can have more fun.

We definitely focused on the children’s experience, but we also took care of ourselves. One of our priorities for our vacation was to make sure that each couple in our family had a few hours to themselves to do what they wanted. I think it’s important for the grown ups to have adult time alone together to keep relationships strong. With four of us, it meant that no one individual was ever saddled with all of the children by themselves. My perception is that this arrangement built trust and relationships all the way around.

Pleasing myself in the tentFor my “dates” I was interested in making love. Joel and I were sleeping in the tent that we had fucked like crazy in when we were first together, causing an international scandal. I wanted to make sure that the magic was still there inside those green nylon walls. Harold and Melanie took the children hiking so we could have the campsite to ourselves.

The moment they were gone, I was naked and digging out the only sex toy I brought with me – my vibrator. Joel also removed his clothing, watching me get myself off. He had been reading Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Going Down, Oral Sex Stories so he was eager to bury his face between my thighs, bringing me to orgasm again with his tongue and mouth. There is a lot to be said for creative inspiration!

Joel going downHe was good and hard by then, so I guided him in, my feet resting against his shoulders. It felt amazingly intense to have his cock so deep inside me. He rocked against me while the walls of the tent shuddered in the ocean wind. It was so good, his flesh on mine, surrounded by all of the camping smells, snuggled down on the sleeping bags. When Joel asked if he should come, I was ready.

Afterward, we took a long walk on the beach. We were more relaxed than we normally can manage, talking about whatever came to mind and enjoying the sand and sun. I felt closer to Joel than I have in a long time. It was very sweet and lovely.

The following day I spent time alone with Harold. He had some local sights to show me so we drove around for a while. He took me to the best general store ever, which just proves that he knows how to show a grrrl a good time. We talked a lot, and finally ended up parked on the beach with our picnic lunch. There were people in the distance and the occasional car drove by, but it felt as though we had the beach to ourselves. Seagulls surrounded us.

hand job in the carAfter eating lunch, I started feeling Harold up. We were both pretty hot for each other. He took his pants off altogether so I could play with his cock. There’s something particularly sexy about a hand job or blow job when he’s in the driver’s seat. Maybe it’s that I can beat his cock against the steering wheel.

I was wearing a dress because I had hoped that we would find a way to fuck, so I just slid off my panties, hiked up my skirt, and climbed into the backseat. Harold came around the vehicle and managed to find a position where he could go down on me. I did my best to keep my eyes open to look for anyone passing by.

Come oozing outI wanted Harold to put his fingers inside me, but his hands were not very clean and he’d sliced his finger open the night before shucking oysters. Luckily, I carry black latex-free gloves in my purse for just such a possibility! Before long, I was desperate for Harold to fuck me. He knelt in front of me and I braced my feet on the ceiling.

There we were fucking in the backseat of the car, right in plain view of anyone who might happen by. And a car did come toward us. I pointed it out to Harold and he made a point of coming before it did. We are more than a little exhibitionist. We laughed and held each other, his jism dripping out of my cunt onto the leather seat. We had managed to use our risk taking to renew our close bond.

After, we walked down to the waves and both of us peed in the sand. Peeing in nature always makes me feel both wicked and empowered. We finished our date by feeding the gulls and then going for coffee. We returned to camp feeling closer to each other, our partners, and the children.

peeing in the sandI’m pleased that I managed to have good sex with both of my partners while we were camping. Sometimes it’s difficult for sex outside of the norm to be a tool for intimacy, but I think that in both cases the novelty of the experience, combined with a level of relaxation, worked for us. We did a bunch of fabulously fun things with the children – sandcastles, fort building, lighthouse climbing, dodging waves, kite flying, go-karts, going to the movies, hiking, roasting marshmallows, and telling stories. Giving the adults a chance to do what they want is important too, and it makes everything else more fun. This is poly family camping.


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Jun 292012
February 2011, 215 pounds

February 2011, 215 pounds

When I was a teenager a friend of my mom’s got divorced. She promptly lost a bunch of weight and slimmed down to what she called, “hunting weight,” meaning she was ready to go pick up guys. I’ve recently come to understand how losing a great deal of weight can make one feel predatory.

I first started blogging weighing more than I ever have in my life. And then I continued to gain weight. I still felt sexy and attractive, but it was getting harder to get photos out of a photo shoot that I felt comfortable publishing. I reached a point where finding clothes that fit was becoming challenging. I didn’t mind being curvy, but I wanted sexy lingerie. I complained to a friend and she suggested that I just lose weight.

Now, I’m a bit competitive so I thought, why not. If she can lose 50 pounds, so can I. And I have. It’s been a very slow process. It’s taken me over a year, but I have met my weight loss goal of 50 pounds. I didn’t follow any crazy diets, just ate healthily and with moderation. I haven’t deprived myself. I still have wine and chocolate when I feel like it. I haven’t added any exercise, just walking whenever I can.

It’s been a strange journey. I believe that much of my weight had to do with emotional issues. Every time I have burned through an emotional roadblock, I have dropped a few more pounds. Being able to lose the weight like I want has made me feel more in control of my body. Before my friend suggested losing weight, it did not occur to me that I could have any control over what I weighed.

If I’m honest about my body image, I would say that there were some things I liked better about myself when I was heavier. I loved the fullness of my breasts. Now they are flatter. The fullness of my flesh meant that stretch marks and scars showed less. Now there are places where my skin hangs funny because my body hasn’t caught up yet. I dislike how much my belly still sticks out. When I was heavier it kind of blended in. No, actually, I didn’t like my belly before either. After carrying five children, my stomach is never going to be perfectly flat.

Overall, though, I feel fantastic. I like how sleek I feel in dresses and jeans 8 sizes smaller. I like that my breasts are small enough that I can buy bras at the mall. I am so happy that my face is no longer round. I am more at home in this lighter body, more energetic, healthier. I liked myself before, but I am reveling in myself now.

Even while I am celebrating my success, I am noting that things have not really changed on the inside. My experience of myself is the same, with one tiny exception – the boy part of me is happier being lighter. He doesn’t like excessive fleshiness. It doesn’t come up often, but when it does, he feels more at home in my skin. Other than that, my skin likes to be touched at any weight.

April 2012, 165 pounds

April 2012, 165 pounds

I look back and think that I was brave to put up nude photos of myself at my peak weight – except that I have always been proud of myself and my sexuality. Fat is sexy. People are sexy, in all of their myriad ways. So ultimately, my body image didn’t change because I lost weight. My self respect improved because I was able to affect change in my body. I’m proud because I set a goal for myself and achieved it. I’ve hit hunting weight.


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May 242012

CuntThe word cunt is often considered the most obscene word in the English language. It’s one of my favorite words. For me, cunt has all of the connotations of the word home – warmth, depth, possession, safety, and comfort. My cunt is my special place where nice things happen. At least now it is. Early sexual abuse made me feel very conflicted about my body and that persisted for a long time. My sexual journey has been challenging, but finally, my cunt feels like home.

I’m changing all of the time. I am a fluid person of many moods. I’m constantly learning more about myself, and exploring my sexuality is no different. My way of fighting back against the abuse I went through is to own my sexuality totally. There shall be no stone left unturned. If I know that something triggers me, I’m going to work on it until it doesn’t any more.

Actually, my first step in owning myself was just to start believing that I am beautiful, to love my body and believe that I am worthy of love. I explored my body and learned about my own pleasure. Abuse robbed me of my innate sense of connection with my body. I used masturbation to reestablish my right to experience positive loving touch in a sexual way.

Next, I worked on creating an internal safe space for sex. At that time I was often dissociating during sex, overcome by flashbacks of abuse. I had a terrific therapist teach me a technique that let me take back my sex life – I learned to acknowledge the intrusive thoughts, then firmly tell them that while I recognized they were there, I was in the middle of something and I would get back to them. Strangely enough, it works. I do have to go back to those thoughts and look at what needed attention, but it lets me have my space. I still use this method on the rare occasions that something comes up for me. Avoiding flashbacks is empowering because it means that I can relax without fear of being sideswiped. I am in control.

It has also helped to put things into words. Words transform my maelstrom of emotions into experiences with handles. If I can talk about it, it isn’t as scary or painful. Putting sexual abuse into words takes the pain out of the present and puts it in the past. This is something that happened to me, but it was long ago, NOT NOW. I’m not there any more. It’s taken me a while, but now I can let my partners know when a memory surfaces in the middle of sex. Having language to communicate these complicated emotions helps me to feel safer and more intimate .

Maybe the most important thing I’ve practiced around post-abuse sex is saying no. Boundaries have been tragically difficult for me to master. At first I felt like I had to date or have sex with anyone who was interested. I ditched that notion, but I still felt like I had to have sex with someone that I loved, if they demanded it. Over time, I practiced my no’s. I got better at listening to my emotions and my desire, and expressing my wants to my partners. I got good at saying no, I’m not interested in fucking right now, but I’d really like it if you went down on me. This is super important because before I could do that, I frequently felt resentful and taken advantage of. My lack of good boundaries was keeping me in a victim state. Now I tend to feel that all of my sexual acts are a gift shared between us.

I have spent a fair amount of time pushing myself to overcome sexual fears. It’s fine if I just don’t like something, but I’m not going to tolerate artificial limits. It might be easier to sweep things under the rug and just let them be, push the bad feelings away and avoid going there again, but that’s not me. This is how I feel powerful. I bring the painful and shameful things into the light, and I conquer them.

Cunt, backI’ve worked hard in defiance of those who perpetrated the abuse, but I feel like my biggest victory has more to do with letting go than fighting back. Lately, I’ve seem to have forgotten that there was ever a war to be won. I have opened up to my partner and to pleasure. I’ve let myself be receptive in a way that I never have before. I trust – both my partner and myself. He spends as much time buried in my cunt as I want. Yesterday I filled his cupped hand with my come and that seems so precious.

I’m crying as I type this, but I’ve come home to a place that, deep down, I thought was inhospitable. I feel at home in my cunt! I have a home. It’s my place and it feels comfortable. I want to live here in a way that I’ve never known before. This is why I love the word cunt. The rest of the world may perceive cunt as dirty and shameful, like sexual abuse, but I know the mystery. Simply saying cunt out loud makes my mouth form a shape like a cunt, punctuated from cervix to clitoris. I take back the word and the place. Cunt.

(This post was first seen in The Buzz, Good Vibrations Blog on 5/17/12.)


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Apr 212012

Squirting divaAfter months of trying to figure out how to gush like a porn star, I managed to ejaculate! I’m one of those people that can’t stand not being able to do whatever I set my mind to. I’ve heard that not everyone can ejaculate, but I didn’t let months of attempting to squirt unsuccessfully stop me. And now? I totally rocked it!

Female ejaculation is apparently a mysterious thing – at least for people who are still debating whether or not a g-spot exists. No one seems to know what exactly gets ejaculated or from where. Current theory says that there is a gland near the g-spot similar to the prostate that secretes clear fluid. There are some great books and workshops that I’ve seen about the g-spot and female ejaculation, but I have to confess that I’ve relied on internet research for my information. And porn, of course.

It’s so cool to watch women gush. Years ago I had a girlfriend who would soak the fucking bed and I thought it was awesome. Why should cocks have all the fun? Pussies can proudly jizz too. I think that part of my desire to fountain is that no matter how earth-shattering my orgasm is, my partner still peers at me with concern and inquires if I’ve come. Baby, if I spray your face you’re going to KNOW that I came. Female ejaculation is visually and experientially impressive.

Gushing is like fisting – it’s about taking your time and feeling your body. It helps to have a partner who is into spending some time giving you pleasure. It’s also about opening up, relaxing, being in the moment. I tend to be kind of results driven, so it’s not always easy to be in that space, but we finally made it work.

I read that the easiest way to squirt was to stimulate the g-spot until that whole area becomes engorged, then to bear down as the feeling of orgasm approached. It helps to have your partner remove their hand, or toy, or cock. For me, this is difficult because when I am about to come I pull in, as though I am performing an extended kegel. I also tend to orgasm fairly quickly and we found that it took a while of massaging the g-spot to be ready. I had a couple of regular orgasms before I squirted.

I’d also heard that preparing to squirt feels like you need to pee. It wasn’t really like that for me, but I can see where that comes from. I guess that many women stop as soon as they feel like urinating because they don’t want to pee on their partner. I figure that if I am already trying to soak him, it makes little difference, but to be honest, it totally wasn’t like that.

We just took our time. I got over my worries that he would get bored and simply enjoyed the sensations. I started to feel warmer around my g-spot and more sensitive. It felt amazing! I used a vibrator on my clit. After what seemed like a long time, but was probably about 20 minutes (Harold’s wrist was just starting to get sore), I felt a kind of pressure building up. I focused on bearing down with my cunt. It felt totally counter intuitive and I really had to think about it. When I felt like I was going to come I told Harold, he moved his hand back, and I squirted!

Jets!The jet sprayed only a few inches beyond my cunt, not the fountain I had fantasized about, but it was a success! Harold got really excited. It was kind of anti-climactic (literally!) for me. It didn’t feel like an orgasm. In fact, I couldn’t even tell that anything had happened. I wasn’t excited until Harold showed me the big wet spot that I had created. I squirted!

The scientist in me can’t wait to try again. Can I duplicate my results? Will prolonged stimulation of the g-spot result in a more forceful ejaculation? Can I get myself to gush using toys? Can I repeat the experiment and have it feel more like an orgasm? I’m so excited to find out now that I finally squirted!

Mar 192012

My HandI’ve reviewed so many sex toys that I thought perhaps it was time to go back to one of the classics, My Hand. My Hand came with the original package and has grown and evolved with my needs over the years. In some ways it is the ultimate sex toy, the thing that all sex toys attempt to do better.

Versatility is really key with My Hand. Not only can My Hand be utilized to bring pleasure to myself, it can also be used with any of my partners! This amazing piece of equipment can replace a paddle, a vibrator, a dildo, a men’s masturbatory sleeve, a butt plug, and some nipple clamps. My Hand also feels amazing just skimming along the skin’s surface or digging in for deep massage.

I used to use My Hand to get myself off, but over time I’ve come to enjoy vibrators more. If My Hand has a flaw, it’s that I can’t get it to vibrate fast enough. Still, it’s always handy in a pinch. It’s very flexible and easy to position, always the right temperature, and usually just the right size. Regretfully, I am unable to reach my own g-spot with My Hand.

I can reach my girlfriend’s g-spot however. My Hand transmits an amazing amount of sensation. Having My Hand inside of her is one of my favorite things in life. I can also squeeze and tease her nipples with My Hand. My Hand is also quite useful with my men, especially around the cock and balls, where some digital manipulation is well received. My Hand is fantastic at squeezing, rubbing, and pumping. But that’s not all! My Hand also has some probing action – perfect for back-door play. In fact, nothing is better for prostate stimulation than My Hand. Impact play is a natural, of course. You can’t get any more basic than slapping and spanking.

There are times when My Hand does not have a long enough reach. I should point out, while the power supply is phenomenal (no batteries!), the energy is not infinite. My Hand does sometimes get tired and may even cramp. Also, it requires some upkeep. Mainly, nail trimming and moisturizing. My Hand is a snap to clean though – just use soap and warm water. And safer sex is smooth in a non-latex glove. I think My Hand looks suave and stylish in the black ones.

My Hand comes in a variety of colors, most of them perfectly suited to the owner – none of that terrible pink color that many sex toys come in. No sex toy can compete with the portability of My Hand (except perhaps My Tongue). My Hand won’t take up valuable luggage space or invite ridicule from TSA agents.

I just adore how subtle My Hand is. I use it every day in millions of ways, have it right out in plain sight, and no one would ever guess that I just had My Hand in my partner’s ass. It’s that great! I can shake hands at a business meeting and they would only know that I use My Hand to spank my partner if they read my blog. I love mixing it up like that, as though our bodies are just normal when we have sex. It’s so cool.

My HandMy Hand is way more than a sex toy. I use it to flip people off, write, pick my nose, scratch backs, and tie shoes. I’ve never had a dildo that could do all of that. No, My Hand is pretty fucking brilliant. And the best part is the low, low cost. Unless you’ve somehow lost the one you were born with (or managed to be born without one), My Hand is in your grasp right now.

Bottom line: don’t wave goodbye to the vibrator just yet, but give a round of applause to My Hand.

Grade: A-


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