My Whole Sex Life

Have you ever fucked in the car? Ever needed someone so immediately that you couldn’t wait to get home? Ever fumbled at genitals through clothing, mouths locked, bodies tangled, trying to avoid honking the horn? Ever fog up the windows with your heavy breathing? Ever look back at the experience and wonder how you managed to have such a good time in such an awkward space? Yep, this was me just a few days ago. Ah, the joys of spontaneous sex.

I’ve been going through one of those jags where I am turned on all of the time. I masturbate more, which in turn contributes to my over-all level of horniness. Basically, I sweat sex. I go through my day like normal, but everything takes on new erotic potential – like the errand running trip with my partner that ended in an amorous embrace in the driver’s seat of the car, followed by me bending over the kitchen counter with my pants around my ankles while he pounded into me, and then me riding him until he rug-burned his ass on the living room floor.

I like these spontaneous moments. I like how lust just washes over me and sweeps me away. It’s so clean and simple. I feel powerful and strong with the sexual energy flowing through me. Masturbation is an affirmation of my sexuality. Acting on the attraction I feel for my lovers is confirmation of the goodness of life. Bad things may happen, but so do good things. Really, really good things. It invigorates me to know that I can act on my desire any time I want. It makes grocery shopping or pumping gas seem loaded with erotic potential.

It also helps to shake up our routines a bit, sexual and mundane. I can’t believe how strange it felt it have sex without toys. I actually had to use my fingers to get off because I didn’t have a vibrator on me. I used to do it all the time, but it’s been a long while. My clitoris is sore because it took me so long to come.

Sudden sex is a hot concept. Look at the old porn trope of the pizza delivery boy getting lured in by the older woman. People like the fantasy of sex just suddenly happening. We want to be swept away in a tide of lust. Maybe for some people that gives them permission to be sexual – it’s not your fault, you got caught up in the moment. Of course, everyone is still responsible for their actions, but why not let yourself feel your desire?

Life is sexual. I don’t want to divide it all up into arbitrary sexy times and not sexy times. I want to live to the fullest – act when I feel sexual, don’t sweat it when I don’t. I give myself permission to have my feelings. And if those feelings lead me to some spontaneously lustful moment? Well, I’ll try not to set off the car horn.

Just so we’re clear upfront – I’m going to be talking a lot about blood here, and how sexy it is. I don’t get off on hurting people, not really, not much, but blood… Blood is intense. Blood is personal, and beautiful, and full of life. Blood holds the codes to the body. Playing with blood in a sexual context touches all kinds of taboos and primal lusts, which is why, when I felt the need to reclaim Harold, we went for blood play.

I’m blaming my friend C. P. Foster, because of some posts she’s written lately about a scene involving blood. The ideas so tickled my imagination that I’ve been waiting for just the right opportunity to explore blood. Last night Harold and I were in a hotel to work on a project, so it seemed like a fine chance for some edge play.

We’ve played with blood before. Pretty much any time I’m menstruating is an excuse to get messy. It’s “free” blood – no pain required, but plenty of visual potential. I like the way blood looks, all shimmering droplets. I’m a little bit afraid of blood, of how much I like it, afraid of the darkness inside me that revels in blood. I’m afraid of other people’s blood contaminating me with their disease, but not of Harold. I know his body and his habits like I know my own. I know that he will take pain for my pleasure. So we play with blood.

Years ago Harold bought scalpels for all his loved ones. Some people thought it an odd gift for a person who has been known to cut from time to time, but it’s perfect. Another old friend of mine once said, “The pen is mightier than the sword, but I prefer the scalpel.” Precise detailed cutting is so much better in these cases. For precise cuts with minimal pain, disposable scalpel blades are the way to go.

Last night, Harold presented his ass. I very carefully and artistically carved three hearts across both cheeks. Immediately they started to bead and drip. Seeing that just makes me well up with love. His blood, freely given, is so gorgeous. But I wanted more.

I was afraid of getting blood on the sheets, so I took him into the bathroom and had him stand in the shower. I caned him, the supple slender rod spraying drops of blood in all directions. I stared at the spatters of blood on the white walls. I swung again, feeling a fine mist of his blood settle on my face. I felt wild with lust. I caned him until his ass was a mess of blood and welts. I kissed him.

We turned on the shower to wash up. Harold bent me over and started fucking me. It is my time of the month, so my blood was coming out as Harold’s cock pulled back and then blood was spurting onto my lower back as he thrusted in, mixing with water and flowing down around us. The whole bottom of the tub was bloody. It was amazing. Under different circumstances I might have been appalled, but it was simply incredible.

Later, cleaning spots of blood off of the ceiling and the toilet, I imagined crime scene investigations. Blood can tell us so much. This was so little blood comparatively, but we made an impressive mess of it. We are the reason people are afraid to stay in hotels.

I feel like we made an offering. We gave our blood, mixed our blood in the crucible of fucking. Blood is the code of life, sex is the dance of life, and all together we are living. Isn’t it marvelous? Blood, life, sex. I’m still basking in the afterglow.

Is it possible to have too much sex?

My brain and my sex drive say no way, but my body would like to object. I’ve been trying to strike a balance between the two, finding new and more creative ways to gratify my desire for sex, while giving my more delicate bits a rest. I’m a cheerful mess.

The muscles in my thighs and shoulders are sore – the result of some aerobic fucking. My clitoris is hot and throbbing. Masturbation and vibrator use has quite worn it out. Despite my attempts to stop pushing the button, sometimes the need has simply overcome my good intentions. Experiencing a little bit of a stinging sensation last night convinced me to stick with penetration. All the area of my mons is bruised from too much pressure and impact. There is a dull ache in my lower abdomen, presumably from repeated thrusting deep inside my cunt. My breasts feel overly full, nipples relaying an ecstatic thrill with every random graze of touch.

It actually makes me happy to be aware of my body this way. Sometimes my lust builds on itself, with my heightened awareness of my physical responses turning me on even more. For example, driving a distance home after rough sex and being doubly aroused by the seam of my jeans rubbing across my clit reminds me that I am a highly sexual being who needs release. It’s a cycle that winds me up to great peaks of pleasure.

Maintaining a constant (even low grade) level of arousal can be a lot of fun. Harold and I spent about 24 hours before our last date engaging in fantasy, making out, and a tiny bit of heavy petting. We did our best to inflame passion in each other. He offered to go down on me in a parking lot, but I wasn’t that far gone. I prefer my exhibitionism to be consensual for everyone.

The morning of our date I took a long luxurious bath, reading erotica and chatting with Harold over IM. For the first time in ages I got myself off with my fingers. Then I carefully chose my clothing to fit my mood and the fantasy we had been discussing. Everything helped to set the stage for our time together.

When we made it down to the cabin, I had some idea of taking photos, but we were both too excited. My cunt was soaking wet. I was breathless with anticipation. One kiss led to a big open mouth, tongue thrusting make out session. With every step we took, we fell further down the rabbit hole. Like dominos, each action inevitably brought us to the next, elevating our desire to a firery fierceness. We wrung every bit of pleasure out of that afternoon.

Letting the intensity die down a bit after that, I was able to listen to my body complain about being used so hard. I paid attention. I put antibiotic ointment on my clit because it stung like a fingernail scratch. I took cranberry supplements to stave off any chance of bladder infection from so much oral sex. I used a boric acid capsule in my cunt to avoid a yeast infection from penetration, even though Harold used gloves for digital manipulation. I take care of myself.

Our connection didn’t totally die. When we climbed into bed and fell into each other’s arms I felt the lust surge back up again. I wanted this man, wanted to hold him inside me, wanted to thrust into his soul. He was hard almost immediately and I was ready to go without any foreplay. We fucked for a second time that day, lush and lusting. When we were done I used the vibrator to come again.

I’m still going through my day feeling mildly aroused. Despite various pangs, I masturbated in the shower this morning. I am walking a knife’s edge between maintaining physical comfort and fulfilling physical desire. If my mind or emotions ever tell me to stop, I will. Sometimes this much intensity makes me feel uncomfortable. Occasionally, frustration over lack of fulfillment makes me break down.

Is this sex addiction? I don’t think such a thing exists. Can you be addicted to love? Or air? Everyone needs sex. It’s true that some people are prone to obsessive behavior around sex. People tend to make the same mistakes over and over, hoping for a better outcome, but addiction? My behavior during these times doesn’t hurt anyone and isn’t out of control. It’s more like living in a favorite erotic novel.

Too much sex? No, not yet enough for me.

He had always fantasized about what it might be like to be pursued by a dangerous woman. He was thrilled when he finally met a woman who treated him like prey, but it felt a little too real. Why did such a beautiful woman make him feel so scared, as well as turned on? Should he be seduced or run away?

 She let him make the first move, but her hunger quickly took over. They tussled a bit, rolling around. She liked the undercurrents of lust and fear. She was careless and bloodied him in the struggle. His shock and horror as he realized her true nature amused her, but she was done playing with her food. She kissed him.

 Her kiss filled him with warmth and happy feelings. He knew distant panic, but it wasn’t important in his Goddess’s arms. She bent down to drink from his pure strong fountain.

 She cradled him in her arms, feeling his life surge through her body, ecstatic with the taste of his blood. He was so good, she couldn’t resist taking more. And then more.

She felt fierce, possessive, powerful. She clutched him to her breast, savoring his waning warmth and wanting to soothe him as he slipped from this world into the next.

 Men are so quickly spent, she thought, as she laid him to rest.

 (See more competition entries here!)

Aftercare doesn’t always get the attention it deserves. This week’s Sinful Sunday image is of me after a fairly intense power exchange/bondage/spanking/CBT/anal play scene, followed by fucking. When we were done basking in the glow, I went outside to get some fresh air and eat an apple. Harold snapped this candid shot of me getting the aftercare I needed. I like it because It’s just me. I’m not trying to look glamorous or be anything else. Strangely enough, it turns out that being me looks pretty sexy!

To see what other people are doing for Sinful Sunday this week, click below!

You belong on your knees,
head bowed, hands offered up,
give me your prayers.

Beg me, please, please, please.

I want your submission, sublimation,
I will take from you your sin,
your sorrow, your suffering,
and your sex.

Will you give up everything?
I can hold all of you.

Assume that you are here at my feet
to worship me.
Do you want my full breasts,
nipples hardened with lust,
my cunt wet and welcoming?

Have you come to hurt?
Your pain is mine to have
and heal.

Come to me, little one.
I know how to play your body,
draw out hidden emotions,
make a meal out of sensation,
make you scream, and cry, and plead.

Push past your fear,
and revel in your shame.

Gasp under my kiss,
writhe beneath my hand,
spasm at the touch of my tongue,
but don’t come until I say.

Beg me, please, please, please.

Give me your prayers,
head bowed, hands offered up,
you belong on your knees.

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.

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.

Related posts:

• Anal play cautionary tale
• The coffee enema debacle
• Falling over the edge (play)
• All about the anal play
• Foiled by epic fungus

Photo by: http://thenakeddesert.artworkfolio.com/

I meet a lot of fascinating people in my line of work, but even so, sometimes a person really stands out. Meet Xochiquetzal Duti Odinsdottir. She runs a website, sacredprofanity.com, where she talks about kink, magic, sexwork, leather, ordeals, and taboo in ways that make my heart melt. I heard her give a presentation in San Francisco last month and I think she is one of the best presenters I’ve ever seen. Tears streamed down my face while Xochiquetzal Duti spoke truths to my soul. She is a powerful priestess.

Sacred sexuality is deeply important to my own practice, but I had never before considered kink, pain, and power dynamics as potential for sacrifice, both to the divine and to the betterment of the world. Xochiquetzal Duti changed forever the way I view sex by giving me permission to fully actualize the shadow side of my sexuality. I had the opportunity to speak with her in person and have been emailing. I asked her to answer a few questions and here are her answers for all of you…

What do you mean by sacred and profane and how do those concepts shape your sexuality?

I mean those things that we can’t seem to do without, the materials we can’t seem to leave alone, that define us; our identities, our positions within structures, our way of looking at ourselves and where we stand.  Sacred and profane come together in one beautiful word; taboo.  Together those two words mean and describe the space I try to create within my sexuality.  The things that we hold sacred, how can I corrupt them?  Make them profane?  Once I’ve accomplished that, how can I make them holy again?  What has changed about them in their profane state to take away their sacredness?  What change has it caused in me to do that?

Your spirituality is deeply intertwined with your sexuality. Do you believe that to be true for everyone?

I don’t.  I think that we all have the capability to intertwine the two, and that we experience these things, but we lack the terminology to explain what we’re experiencing.  It takes someone willing to delve deeper into those moments of attempted integration; of joining all our disparate parts of self, into Self.  We can all achieve it to some degree, but more importantly, I think we need to work to bring all of our facets in our lives; our views of self as parents, friends, coworkers, etc. need to come together to be a whole person.

What are the benefits of a spiritual sex life?

The biggest benefit to me has been an ability to live an authentic life.  I don’t have to ‘hide’ facets of who I am, I just am and if the person has issues with that, I will do what I can to answer their questions but that doesn’t detract from me being who I am meant to be.  I live fully and completely in the knowledge that all parts of me see the light of day, I lose the shame that we’re expected to have around our desires, it’s very liberating.

You view BDSM as an ordeal practice. Please explain how you use the energy created through consensual sexual pain.

It’s dependent on what areas my brain and my heart lead me to.  At times, the scene is where the energy is directed; if the scene is playing to some abuse that is systemic, then the energy I create does two things, maintains the connection with the top or bottom, and goes toward ending that issue.  For example, doing a heavy abuse scene, domestic or otherwise, will lead me to use energy and intent to feed the idea of ridding the world of those issues, that today I be the only one that suffers this slap to the face and thus save that fate from a child struggling with alcoholic parents.  So much of what I think about and struggle with is how ugly this world has been made by human hands.  So many issues that we created because of our need to hold onto those sacred cows of power and prestige, the need to subjugate another so that we have pedestals to stand on, that we become blind to the suffering of the people we stand on.  I use the energy of consensual sexual pain, to try and do what I can, to end the very issues I deal with on a daily basis; most of them are based in marginalization and lack of recognition of one another’s basic humanity.

What projects you are currently working on and where people can contact you or get more information?

My most current writing projects are two essays in two different anthologies, one for the Morrighan and the other for Odin, both are currently in the gathering the works phase, so I don’t know when they are expected to reach publication.  I have articles that I write for Kink-E-Zine (http://kink-e-zine.com) and on my website, SacredProfanity.com.

The other non-writing project that I am currently investing time and energy into are the Pagans of Color Hospitality Suite for Pantheacon 2013 (and beyond?) and that can be found by this link.

To contact me, feel free to email me at xochiquetzal.duti@sacredprofanity.com and let me know that you found me through Whole Sex Life and I will do my best to respond within 24-48 hours of receiving the email.  I offer divination and ritual creation/counseling but am not a certified counselor so I cannot venture into those areas but I am a really good ear for spiritual talk and rabble-rousing.

 

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• Power of touch
• Susie Bright
• Up until dawn
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Taboos are interesting things. They tend to keep us safe in one way or another by giving us a strong aversion. Most people obey that aversion without thinking, but there are always a few people who poke at the edges – people who are turned on by the shame that they feel at the thought of violating a taboo. The forbidden can be very alluring. For some people, that shame twists all around and becomes obsessive and secretive. For others, they manage to take the energy of the taboo and use it for their own pleasure, without actually violating the taboo.

Let me give you an example: sex with children is strictly forbidden. It causes lifelong harm for a child to be used to gratify a grown-up’s desires. It is flat out WRONG to sexually abuse children and most people wouldn’t even consider it. Yet, some people are able to pretend or role-play being children for sexual gratification. This age play ranges from babies to teenagers. No actual children are harmed, but people find ways of exploring the energy of the taboo.

I’ve been obsessed with power dynamics and role playing for a while. I blame Sinclair Sexsmith. I attended their workshop on queering power dynamics a while ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Power is not an easy thing for me sexually, but I find it really hot. I want it, I long for it with a deep abiding desire, I just don’t know how to get there. Harold and I tried a Teacher/student dynamic for a while. It was exciting at first, then felt kind of gross because Harold couldn’t imagine a nice guy having sex with a student. He got slimy and ridiculous. We gave it up.

I’ve talked to several people who have explored a Mommy or Daddy/boy or girl relationship. At first I thought that I would never be able to do that. I totally get why people would want to use that energy. Parents are firm, yet loving. I know I long for a kind of approval and attachment that one can only get from a parent. I suppose if I dig deeper I can see that every child first expresses sexuality to a parent. If that first expression is handled respectfully then the child is likely to have a healthy sexuality. I get it, but how could I honestly call my lover Daddy? It feels so wrong.

I think it’s important to make a distinction between wanting to role-play an actual parent and using the energy of the archetype of the Mommy or Daddy. Daddy has as much of the leather daddy archetype as you want to use. If I wanted to be Harold’s Mommy, I would not be trying to mimic his mother. Nor would I be treating him like I treat my children. We would be developing a sexual power dynamic that integrates the nurturing qualities of motherhood with the stern discipline of parenting and the hot sexual tension of a dominatrix. I think I can be comfortable in that space. Just enough of the taboo energy lingers, but there is power there.

These are the kinds of thoughts that have been going through my mind. I so much want Harold to Top me in a way that works for us both. I have things that I want to heal and it would be so much easier to sort through the dark places if Harold could hold me and help me break open. I need a firm hand. I need guidance. I need to rebel and be a brat and still be loved. I need the heat generated by desire to help me transform my pain. I don’t know how it will work. I’m not sure that we can both overcome the blocks we have, but…

I’ve asked Harold to be my Daddy.

• Lust for power
• Dear Mr. Henry
• Queering Power Dynamics with Sinclair Sexsmith
• Sex in the shadow
• Pain and sex

Labels get in the way sometimes. I’ve been asking myself if I’m a sadist or a masochist, as though there is a continuum with each term on either end. What I’m coming to understand is that sadism and masochism are separate things. It doesn’t have to be either/or, you can enjoy giving and receiving pain. Or neither. I’m not hung up on the labels, I just want to understand myself and be able to communicate my preferences to others.

I’m not much into pain. I don’t get off on feeling pain, but… sometimes pain is a very nice sensation in the midst of sexual play, like having my nipples pinched when I’m just about to come. The important thing is context – foreplay. I don’t like to be fucked dry and I don’t enjoy being slapped in the face over dinner, but if we work up to it and I’m in the right frame of mind, I would love to be fucked and slapped. Does that make me a masochist?

Maybe if we make a scale of masochism from 0 to 10, with 0 being no fucking way and 10 being I can’t get off without experiencing a lot of pain. Then I think I’m maybe a 2 or a 3.

If we have the same scale for sadism, with 0 being I would never hurt anyone and 10 being I whipped 3 people before breakfast, then I’m probably still a 2 or a 3. I was just starting to believe that maybe I was a bit of a sadist when I tried it out for real.

I was angry yesterday – one of those days where I just hate everyone and everything for no particular reason. I tried talking it out, first with Joel, then with Harold. I was feeling like having some rough sex and so was Harold, so I strung him up in leather cuffs. I tied up his balls and gave him a thorough work over. I started with some squeezing and light taps and steadily increased intensity until he was sagging in his cuffs.

This may seem like sadism on my part, but it’s not. No really. I love doing CBT (cock and ball torture) with Harold because he loves it. It turns me on to see him respond so much to something I am doing to his body. I like kissing him and blowing him for the same reason – he gets off on it. Harold’s obvious enjoyment gets me totally fucking wet. Am I sadistic if he likes it?

But I was feeling pissy. I thought that maybe I could work out some of my anger on Harold. For all that he loves to have his balls abused, he is not into cock torture. I decided that I would inflict a huge amount of pain on him by caning his penis, thereby assuaging my rage. I got his consent, making sure that he understood. He is a dear man and was willing to put himself in my hands for whatever I needed to do.

I was very nervous. That’s probably why I missed on the first stroke. I hit him on the chest. The chest is nowhere near the cock. I was mortified at how un-smooth my moves were. All of my anger kind of dissipated in my embarrassment and concern over the welt that was forming. Still, I gathered my resolve and tried again. This time I hit at the base of his cock, instantly forming a series of purple blood blisters. I was horrified. I actually hurt him!

This is why I say I am not a sadist. Causing pain makes me anxious, not horny. Unless of course, my partner is into pain, and then I’m totally there. I have liked pushing Harold’s boundaries, but only where it turned him on. Yes, I do amazingly painful things to his balls, but is it perceived as pain?

This is what it’s like in my head. I think about this kind of thing a lot, but it’s all just labels. In the end, the only thing that matters is what works for you and your partners. Examining my inner workings can be excruciating… and if I’m not a masochist (or a sadist), why am I torturing myself?

Related posts:

• Lust for power
• Top or bottom?
• Falling over the edge (play)
• All of you
• Pain and sex