Apr 242015

Bra marksI’m getting nervous about breast reduction surgery. It’s coming up soon. This feels major – a decision bigger than getting married but less momentous than having a child. I had my tonsils removed when I was a kid, but this is my breasts. I am excited and a bit uncertain.

I’ve wanted breast reduction since I was 16. For years I’ve struggled with back and shoulder pain, seeking out a wide variety of healing modalities. I can’t sleep on my stomach or stretch fully without putting my back out. It hurts to run, even with great support. The worst thing is that I just keep getting bigger, even without gaining weight.

Breasts are awesome – all kinds of breasts. I think my breasts are beautiful, and yet when I imagine them smaller I feel incredibly happy. I could go braless. The permanent divots on my shoulders could smooth out. No more rashes under my boobs every summer, no getting stabbed in the armpit by out of control underwires. I could buy sexy little lace bras at Victoria Secret instead of them looking me up and down and sniffing, “We don’t carry anything your size.” (Which is currently 34I, in case you were wondering.)

FlattenedMy reasons for surgery are emotional as well. There is something about being fuller figured that makes some men feel like they can treat you like an object. I would like to choose the times that I present as sexy rather than being objectified over anatomy I can’t control. Imagine if penises were hard and protruding all the time and people you didn’t like saw that as in invitation.

I haven’t been feeling comfortable in my body for a long time. My clothes don’t fit right. As a genderqueer individual I don’t feel a strong pull toward either gender pole, except for the times when I want to play around with stereotypes. I often feel incredibly dysphoric over my breasts. Even when I bind myself severely, they show. I long to feel more neutral in my body.

FloatingThis is a step in my transition to being more fully myself. Everyone has the right to have their appearance reflect how they see themselves, but the road can be rough. Although my process is not as dramatic as full gender transitioning, I am still discovering that the emotional journey of reshaping my body and identity is just as intense. Who will I be after this? How will I be perceived?

I have no idea what size I will end up after surgery. I’ll be happy with anything smaller. I hope a B or C-cup. I’ve been fantasizing about my new shape, breasts that will disappear under a button-down shirt or look great in a push-up bra.

SacrificeI will have scars. That part bothers me. I like scars on other people because they tell a story of where they have been. I like my stretch marks for the same reason, but I am scared of what these scars will look like on me. Will I look in the mirror and feel mutilated? Will I still be comfortable being naked? I am losing part of my body. That feels strange. The idea of a doctor under my skin feels strange, but I will do it anyway.

I’m a bit sad to say goodbye to who I am right now. I took out my nipple piercings. I gave away all of my bras except the one I’m wearing right now. It gave me pause and I shed a couple of tears, but I am embracing this change. It made me think of a line from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which we just saw in New York, “…to be free, one must give up a little part of oneself.”

Mar 222015


An older man in high heels and jeans stood before me in line at the grocery store. His dangly earrings flashed against his greying beard in the harsh light as he fished around in his purse for his wallet. He wasn’t trying to be a woman, but he very obviously was comfortable blurring gender presentation in this small rural town. Attitudes are changing. People are starting to accept that gender is a spectrum, not a binary.

I grew up among lesbians when there were only two ways to be: femme or butch. I embraced femme presentation for a long time because I hated the way that butch lesbians just didn’t seem to care about themselves at all. It would be years before I saw the “dapper” style. I wanted to accessorize, wear clothes I felt sexy in, but then I started feeling uncomfortable in my femme gender role. I looked at being butch, but I wasn’t a lesbian and I just wasn’t a masculine woman. I have come to realize that I am both masculine and feminine and I don’t have to choose between them.

When my grandmother and her sisters were growing up people had fewer choices about who they could be and it was hard to change. They were mothers and wives, a secretary, a model, a sex worker. All of them were trapped in lives dictated by those choices and the society they lived in.

My grandma was always some of my best support, but also kind of judgmental too. she wanted me to do the right things, look the right way, know the things I needed to know to be a good woman. I feel that my grandmother found safety by following convention. I believe that I can only feel secure if I follow my own heart and let myself be as big as I can be. I refuse to be trapped in my life in any way. I am choosing my own happiness.

I do not feel like a boy OR a girl most of the time. I consider myself gender queer or gender fluid. Androgynous may be the word that makes the most sense to some people, but that implies a lack of gender. I am encompassing all genders! My gender is wherever I happen to be at the time. My gender is Evoë. My gender is pirate.

I know many people who have transitioned – gone from one gender polarity to another. Right now I do not feel a strong pull toward male or female, but if I do in the future I would consider making that transition. Right now I am becoming more me. Making choices based on what will truly bring happiness and satisfaction to my life strips away the irrelevant, leaving me living my truth. I am becoming more me every day.

I am not rejecting my body (because I love it!), but I am doing what I need to do to feel right in my body. I am exercising and lifting weights. I will have breast reduction surgery in a few weeks. This feels like a big step. I’ve always hated having huge breasts. It hasn’t ever felt right. My cup size is the only thing that makes me feel dysphoric on a regular basis. I feel burdened by my breasts. I don’t want to give up having breasts altogether, but I want small breasts that I can hide or put in sexy little bras depending on my mood. I need my body to reflect how I see myself.

Mostly, I don’t present as any particular gender. I pick clothes that make me happy, a huge mix of things. I hardly wear jewelry at all any more. My hair is buzzed except for a long curly bit in front. I always wanted to be bleached blonde, and I love it! I paint my toenails because I think my toes are ugly. When I feel a lot like a guy, I wear eyeliner and a jock strap. I adore bow ties. Big stompy boots go with everything. I have a lot of fun with presentation because the only person I’m trying to please is me.

Slowly, I am becoming. I am shaping my life to reflect my inner world.

That thought makes me cry because it feels so powerful. And then I laugh because it is simply marvelous. It is freeing to live according to my own compass. I do not care what anyone thinks of me, although judging by the fabulous gentleman in heels at the grocery store, people don’t really care the way my grandmother would have. I like to think that she would still support me. Her love meant the world to me, but ultimately, loving myself means more.

Oct 192014


In my fantasy you show up at my hotel room, sweeping me off my feet with your suave and dapper style, but it’s Daddy’s hand on my backside that makes me melt. I can’t stop kissing you. I want you in my mouth. Oh Kyle, we only have a few hours. Whatever will we do?

At the hotel door

First kiss

Taste you
Under your boot
Spank me Daddy
Tongues and teeth
Grind like this
Take me now
On my knees for you
In your mouth
Your chest

Sweet in your arms


(Special thanks to Kyle from Butchtastic for helping me to shoot this fantasy sequence! Stay tuned to see what happens when a couple of gender queered sex-positive bloggers get wild. There’s lots of kissing, talking, giggling, and strap-on wars…)

Sinful Sunday

Sep 252014

Sweet and RoughBook: Sweet & Rough:Sixteen Stories of Queer Smut
Editor: Sinclair Sexsmith
Publisher: Maverick Press
$7.99 digital book; epub, pdf, mobi (available now!)
$24.95 hardcover book (Nov 2014)

Sinclair Sexsmith is one of my favorite erotic writers, whose stories combine all of the things that are important to me: power and gender dynamics, intimacy, consent, kink, multidimensional characters, and believable plots. If anything, Sweet & Rough: Sixteen Stories of Queer Smut takes erotica to a new level for me, because it’s easier for me to identify with than most smut that I read.

As much as I enjoyed reading the book, it was even more of a pleasure to get to ask Mr. Sexsmith a few questions about the book…

All of your stories are written in first person and you are almost always packing. How important is having a cock to your masculinity?

Sinclair Sexsmith“It’s not that having a cock is important to my masculinity so much as it is important to my sexuality and sexual expression. For whatever reason, I’m very cock-centric, and much of my erotic play centers around penetration and reception. You might even say I have a penetration or a cock fetish. Interesting, coming from a dyke, huh? It’s a curious contradiction, to me, and one that has taken me a lot of deconstructing and reconstructing to make sense of.

Of course, masculinity is also important to my sexuality and sexual expression, so it isn’t that the masculinity doesn’t go hand-in-hand. But my cock isn’t so much about my masculine presentation as it is about playing with a lover’s body in ways that incorporate power, penetration, and energy. Since those are some of my most significant fetishes and kinks, and since strap-on cocks are a really excellent tool to play with all three of those, I tend to have an incredibly cock-centric sex life. Probably 9 times out of 10 that I have sex, I’m strapped on.”

I noticed that in pretty much all of these stories you integrate reading non-verbal cues as part of receiving consent. As a writer, how difficult is it to balance fantasy and enthusiastic consent?

“It’s so complicated! I am often in conflict with my role as a sexuality and BDSM educator and my role as someone who crafts dirty fantasy stories with the purpose of turning someone on and exploring erotic realms. Non-verbal cues are incredibly hard to teach about and talk about, because they are so easily misinterpreted. But what I love about writing is that you can show a character’s inner story and inner world really clearly, so you can show the conflict they feel about whether or not they got consent, or the very clear consent they are thinking even if their body language is the only cue.

The issue of consent and whether consent and ethics are clearly depicted in erotica is something I think about a lot, and try to play with consciously in my work. As I’ve been evolving as a writer and creator, I don’t think it’s as black and white as I previously thought it was, and I’m interested in exploring more of the nuance. (I refuse to add anything about “shades of grey.”)”

I can see many aspects of these stories that reflect what I know of you as a sexual person: gender play, power dynamics, sacred intimacy, and kink. What does it mean to you to write queer smut?

“Yes, absolutely—this book is really revealing, the closest thing to a diary that I’ve released. It’s been interesting how much vulnerability has come up, now that it is making the rounds and people are talking about the content! What does it mean to write queer smut … hmmm. I started because I have always been a writer, and because I was obsessing over reading “lesbian erotica” but most of it didn’t have the bite, the edge, that I was seeking. And, I started because I wanted to write as a way to explore my own fantasies and my own inner erotic world, in order to write myself into a better sex life. I gotta say: That worked. Incredibly well. Articulating my own fantasies and erotics made me more bold, more daring, and more able to go after what I wanted. So for me, writing queer smut means staying in touch with my erotic self, cultivating my own erotic desires, and prioritizing them in a variety of ways. When my erotic self dries up, there are so many consequences, and when I am deeply in touch, I am more creative and capable, and better able to act from places of love, strength, abundance, and vulnerability, rather than fear or scarcity. Writing erotica has been such an important way for me to come into my own power, kink, sexuality, desires, and deeper fuller self.”

Sinclair is right, this book is very intimate and revealing. This collection of stories is certainly extremely hot, but what I like best is the raw honesty at the heart of each story. It was easy for me to imagine myself in each character, to use each story as a starting point for my own fantasies. Perhaps the biggest compliment I can give this book is that, after reading, I am imagining where I would let Mr. Sexsmith take me!

Aug 252014

Love the tuxedoWhen I look in the mirror I am usually pretty happy with what I see. I like my body, my hair, my face – but sometimes I get frustrated when what I see doesn’t fit with how I feel inside. I like being female, but there are times when I feel very male. I struggle with how to present myself as a male. How do I express who I am as a man?

I recently fulfilled a long time fantasy to dress as the man I see myself as and it was really pretty much a perfect evening. I had so much fun! My friends got married and held a masquerade ball. (Congrats guys!) The invitations said, “dress to impress” and I immediately thought about wearing a tuxedo. I’ve always wanted to wear a tux. It seems the epitome of men’s fashion, suave and debonair. What could be sexier?

I fetishize tuxedos to such an extent that just picking up the tux gave me a high like participating in a BDSM scene for a couple of hours. I went to the Tuxedo Club in Kirkland and they were amazing. I had a lot of anxiety going in because I worried that it wouldn’t be right. I was there for over an hour while they explained each piece. I love the details – cufflinks, spats, pocket watches and such. They worked with me to make sure that I had exactly what I wanted in a tuxedo. I left feeling exhilarated.

DW and EvoeI wanted the perfect date for this wedding reception, so I invited DW. I got dressed at his house and he was full of useful information, like tips on how to better use a compression vest to bind my breasts. (“Pull together and you’ve got cleavage, pull up and out toward the armpits and you’ve got pecs.”) I am so grateful to DW for all of his graceful instruction and sense of humor. He also looks damn hot in a tux.

We had fun at the party. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years, and a few of them didn’t recognize me! I felt amazing: strong, sexy, grounded. DW and I got increasingly friskier, groping each other surreptitiously while everyone focused on the bride and groom cutting the cake. It felt good when his fingers brushed against my clit, but I kept wishing that I had decided to pack so he could feel my cock.

DW and Evoe kissingWe left while the night was still young. We stopped at a grocery store because DW insisted on getting me food I could eat, something that earns him a hundred gold stars in my book. Walking through the store in a tux made the experience real. I was not just going to a costume party, I was in public. It was awesome. I want to own a tux so I can put it on to run to the grocery store. (After 5:00 p.m. of course, as DW pointed out.)

Once we had taken off the tuxedos and I had eaten, we retired to the bedroom. DW has a perfect way about him. I feel comfortable and I trust him, which makes it possible (just barely) for me to submit to him. He brings me right up to the point where I would have to stop. I find myself sitting in uncomfortable places that I would not normally tolerate with anyone else. And then I feel amazing afterward. This man has incredible skill.

Pre masquerade He called me “boy” the entire time. I dropped to my knees in front of him. He urged me to take his cock deeper and deeper into my throat, slapping my face when I didn’t try hard enough. I gagged and tears ran down my face, but I eventually found my rhythm.

He wrapped his fingers in my hair and dragged me to the bed. He bent me over the edge and bit my back while I squirmed in protest. He was gone briefly then came back with what I think was a belt. He used it to encourage me to use proper responses to his attentions. It sounded like this: “SMACK. (breath, breath, moan…) Yes Daddy! SMACK. (sucked in breath, exhale) Yes Daddy!” Between the belt and his hand I started to get the hang of it.

Our play got gentler after that. I did more cock sucking. We snuggled. I orgasmed. He is a fabulous kisser. He wove incredible fantasies for me. He rolled me over and fucked me hard, like I had been wanting in a desperate kind of way. I also wanted him to come all over me, so he straddled my hips. We took turns with lube and his cock. He talked dirty to me (cuz I’m a dirty boy). I played with his nipples and really felt like a boy. I could feel my cock and I wanted him to sit on it. I wanted to fuck him with my cock while he spilled on my chest. It was toe-curling, back-arching, super-hot fucking.

Morning strollI had so much fun. I’m still on that high a couple of days later. It’s interesting to me that none of the (sometimes crippling) anxiety I feel in social situations plagued me at the reception. Perhaps it is the power of the tuxedo. Maybe I feel more confident as a boy. Could be that DW puts me at ease. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.

I’ve felt great all weekend. I put on the tux again to take some photos with Harold, this time with me on top. Those images turn me on so much. Like crazy horny. I’ve never had that experience with photos of myself before! I don’t even know what to make of it. Renting a tux has been more than a costume for a party, more than cross-dressing, and more than a fetish. It’s been a dream come true.

Nov 112012

Eroticism is that emotion laden pause right after an intense kiss. You know, that moment when you pull back a few inches and savor the sexual tension stretching between you, lust coursing through every line of your bodies, energy humming in the air. It’s my very favorite moment. I adore experiencing it myself and it’s the hottest thing I can imagine watching.

I love watching two men kiss, seeing them be vulnerable with each other. It’s so sexy and intimate. This photo makes me so happy because it’s two guys I care about just parting after a deep kiss. (I’ll be in my bunk)


Right after a kiss

Nov 032012

Sexy BoiI’ve been playing out little videos in my mind for weeks, imagining what might happen when my girlfriend, Blyss, has her boi, Holt, come to visit from out of town. I’ve never met him before, but I hear about him all the time. Blyss even shows me sexy pictures of him. We’ve said hi to each other over Skype. I think I’ll like him. I certainly am enjoying the fantasies of Harold and I having sex with them – maybe even Joel too.

I know the new boi likes cock-and-ball torture as much as Harold, so I’m drooling over the idea of having a cock in each hand and two sets of balls to squeeze. I’m visualizing the positions I will put them in, where I will place myself and Blyss. There is a heck of a lot you can do with four people who are all willing to be intimate together! It’s like a very grown up version of playing with dolls. I hope I get a chance to teach Blyss what I know about CBT. I hope I get to make the bois fuck each other in the ass. I want to dress them up in lingerie. I want to Top them all!

I have amused myself with these thoughts while I have driven the children around or while I did the laundry. It’s these kinds of happy thoughts that make life worth living. It doesn’t matter that it might never happen. That’s not the point of a fantasy. My fantasies prime my sexual pump, get me going. I think that there is power in imagining what you would like to have happen in a sexual context, but you have to be careful to stay flexible.

The map is not the territory. What I mean to say is, a fantasy is a good representation of sex potential, but actually being there having the experience is very different. There are things that will happen that you can’t anticipate. Chiefly, if you are having sex with other people, they will also have their own boundaries and expectations. I also find that sex works much better if I have a set of fantasy ideas, rather than a set script. That allows me to follow the energy of what feels right in the moment. My fantasies are mostly a good jumping off place to talk about what I might want t have happen.

I don’t even know if we will have an opportunity to get naked together. I hope so, but I know how things go sometimes. It’s important to me to develop something of a relationship with someone before I jump into fucking. Holt may be my girlfriend’s boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean that we will necessarily hit it off. Either way, I have some great wanking material happening in my head. And that may be the best use of a fantasy.

Aug 282012

My BlyssI love my life. I am so happy to be non-monogamous. My life is so full of love and amazing people. No, it’s not always like this. Sometimes I feel jealous or frustrated. At times it’s difficult to get my needs met because resources like time and money are scarce. But right now I am floating in a nice happy poly ocean of love.

My girlfriend has joined our family enclave. She has her own space, but she’s hanging out in the house a bunch. This is so good for me. I can’t even say – I’m ecstatic to have all of my people gathered together. Evidently this is what I do. I create family. And Blyss is fitting right in to our crazy family life.

She has her own adventures. She goes off and does her own thing for periods of time. I am totally happy to have her follow her pleasure, but when she is gone my heart reaches for her like my hand reaches for chocolate, only to discover that the secret stash is depleted. Then she comes back and things are all rainbows and sparkles again. She has a way of making me feel good about myself.

This last time she returned chock full of New Relationship Energy (NRE). It’s adorable. She found herself a beautiful boi and is twitter-pated. Sadly, he lives 15 hours away – but he may come visit us in a few months. I hear about him a lot. I don’t mind. It’s very sweet. They are at the sharing naughty photos stage of their relationship so I get sexted a bit. In fact, I got naked pics while I was chatting with the other soccer mommies! All the joy flows all over everything.

Blyss is asking my advice about Topping. It’s forcing me to realize that I AM actually a Top. Without a thought, I can dish out suggestions for Domination. It’s even let us have a discussion about what power dynamics might look like between the two of us. I’m looking forward to making it a reality. I’m also enjoying Blyss’s fantasies about her new boi – that we might “double date” when he visits so I can teach her some CBT technique. I think it sounds hot!

My BlyssI think with two husbands, it really helps to have some feminine influence in my life. She’s not afraid to apply a loving 2×4 when I need it. Blyss even helped me sort out an argument with Harold this week. Harold’s wife, Melanie is often helpful in these ways, but we have a different dynamic, more of a partnership. And that is working very well right now too.

Three romantic relationships that are fairly serious, plus a metamour who is a co-parent,plus four children at home is a lot of people’s needs to keep in mind. So far, we’re doing it. I have almost as much sex as I could want. The oxytocin high is getting me through my days. Occasionally I struggle with a hard bit, but mostly I wonder how anyone gets by in a monogamous relationship. I am so lucky in love. I love my life.

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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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!