Sexy is as sexy does

My vagina is a super model. I think might have the Naomi Campbell of clitorises. My pussy will throw a cell phone at you if you piss it off. My cunt won't get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day. My snatch was in a George Michael video.

I saw Tony Comstock's request for women for his new project and I thought to myself, "Why the hell not?" I thought it would be good for me. Like every other woman out there, sometimes I think I'm hot shit and sometimes I feel like a walking bean bag. I know when I'm looking sexy, I know when I'm feeling sexy, but one thing I could never know is what it is like to be a man looking at me. I'll never be able to look at myself with that "male gaze." Seeing myself in the mirror is not the same as seeing myself through the eyes of someone who wants to tear my clothes off and shove their dick into one or more of my orifices.

Yeah, I'm seeing it now.

For my current freelance project, I've been spending a lot of time absorbed in what we, as consumers, are taught to see as sexy. And yeah, it's true Gisele Bündchen in lingerie is sexy. But you know what else is sexy? Confidence. It's not just my opinion either, there's a highly paid group of marketing people who can back me up on that one. Knowing you're sexy is sexy. Knowing someone else thinks you're sexy is sexy. Not giving a fuck if someone doesn't think you're sexy is even sexier.

There's the kind of sex appeal that sells medium priced bras in malls and then there's, you know, reality. Perfection isn't sexy. Perfection is kind of disturbing.

I'm too lazy to strive for perfection, whatever that would be. I would love it if there was about 15 pounds less of me and I could magic wand away the bingo arms. I would not say no to a tiny, little boob lift if it was cheap, scar proof, pain free and guaranteed. Whatever perfect is, I'm not it.

But I am fucking hot. 

Most of the time.

I think.

Usually.

No, yeah. I'm hot.

Feats of strength

The new playmate is taller than me. By a lot and that's saying something. I'm 5'10" and it's not often I meet guys I have to stand on tip-toe to kiss. Height doesn't really mean anything to me. I could care less how tall you are (it all evens out when you're lying down) but when I come across a guy who's a lot taller than me, that girly part inside me that rarely come out wants to close my eyes, lean my head against his chest and listen to his heart beat. The other, bigger part of me wants to bring him down to his knees and shove his face in my pussy.

I knelt on the bed with my arms wrapped around his ass, clasping my hands to my elbows, holding his cock in my throat. Then I felt him pull me up for a kiss, and up and up until he was lifting me up off the bed, my arms wrapped around his neck. I'm not exactly a waif and it took me a minute to realize what was happening. "This is cool," I thought. "Maybe, if I wrap my legs around him we can do some advanced, porn star move with minimal injury to either of us." But I was on my back and his tongue was in my twat before that could be attempted. Maybe next time. One thing I've never been afraid of during sex is making a jackass out of myself.

He prepped me well with his four fingers grinding in me, making those sloshing, sucking wet noises that are so good and so fucking obscene. He's got big hands so the thumb wasn't going to make it this time. We decided to plan a "nothing but fisting" night.

Lucky for me his cock is proportionate to his height. He fucks fast and deep and hard and it's one of those no-nonsense fucks that is borderline painful. You know, the ones that make me bite down on his shoulder, or shove my fingers in my mouth because I just have to suck on something. The ones that make me mutter, "Oh God, oh Jesus" over and over in a voice I don't recognize. The kind where I'm slobbering and almost crying and I'm not sure if I can take anymore, but he better not fucking stop.

He laughs when he comes, which is fantastic.

We laid there, side by side panting. He gasped, "That's what I'm talking about!" I nodded in agreement. That's how it's fucking done. I think we might have high-fived.

Jefferson Update

Questions?

Toy Review: Pleasure Tops

I think I'm going to have to play with this one a little more. I thought it was cute, it looks like some abstract desk toy you'd find at Kid Robot. It's super quiet, which I love. The control is easy, the vibration is strong. It's waterproof and made of soft silicone so it's squeezable.

But…

I didn't quite get The Pleasure Top at first. I first tried it on my back, holding it inside me. That little spout hits just in the right place so I pressed it in further. I could feel the vibe of the shaft just inside my cunt. So I pressed it it more, or at least I tried to.

I've been looking for a dual insertable plus clit stimulating vibe I really liked and I thought this would be it, but it's just not insertable enough. The soft rubber on my clit felt fantastic, but I kept wanting to shove the thing deeper inside me, but it just wouldn't go! It's such a fucking tease!

But then I thought of it more like a mini-version of The Cone, a toy I can ride on, hands free. I have a great sofa, by the way. It's leather, heavy duty and the arms are just the right height for being bent over and fucked from behind or in this case, riding the little Pleasure Top.

Much, much better. So straddling the arm of my sofa, I rocked back and forth, anchored on the little cone, pressing my clit against that little stump. Look, Ma! No hands.

You might have to play around with this one for a while and it's not going to have the length of a Rabbit or something like that, but it's awfully cute and packs a nice punch and unlike The Cone, it will not take up a huge amount of real estate in your bottom drawer.

Letters from camp_last day

The last day. I spent most of that morning obsessively trying to get The New York Times on my iPhone and watching Lehman Brothers stock drop to less than 50 cents a share in between packing. As fabulous as the weekend was, I was ready to come home. Sissy Stephanie was kind enough to give me a ride back to the city, in fact right to my door despite it being completely out of the way. I had this cool, kind of gothy, black Hello Kitty parasol I never use, so I gave it to her as a thank you. With the close of the car door I was back to Brooklyn, to fully clothed pedestrians, easily shocked friends, narrow minded co-workers and judgemental relatives.

Ah, it was good to be home...

You see, the good thing about camp, for me, is also the bad thing about camp. The total immersion experience is as freeing to me as it is, at times, oppressive. I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed, overexposed and my libido had taken a mysterious nose dive after day two. And at some point when all of the kinky stuff becomes normal, it becomes... normal. It stops being, well, kinky. The excitement, the nervousness, the thrill of walking down a sidewalk naked, gets a little less thrilling if everyone is doing it and no one particularly cares.

I get wary when things get too comfortable. If I'm nodding off while Nina Hartley is sucking cock right in front of me, something is horribly, horribly wrong.

In this continually, highly charged sexual atmosphere, it was a relief to sit fully-clothed on a bench, drink coffee and chat about international public health policy issues with someone who was also fully clothed.

You know, sometimes constantly talking, thinking, writing about sex gets a bit, well unsexy for me. I am not a professional sex writer, researcher, advocate or worker. It's not part of my job, it's not my career. This blog is pretty much just a hobby for me. A way to get my thoughts out and hone my writing skills and as soon as I get bored with it, I'll quit. To me, all this is still a little... you know, naughty and I like it that way! I still kind of want those hockey-moms out there to be shocked and appalled by my behavior. I like being the "adventurous" one in my group of friends. I like having the occasional dirty secret. I love the walk of shame!

And to this day, every time I have sex, deep inside me there is the small voice of 17 year old boy high-fiving myself, saying, "Dude, I totally got some!" I still can't type "pussy" or "cock" without hesitating for a half-a-second. It's probably why I'm so horrible at writing fictional smut. I keep wanting to write "vagina" and "penis" and I hate, hate, hate the word "panties". 

From now on I'm saying "underpants". You know why? It's hilarious.

Anyway, my point is, as much as I love getting laid, there's something pretty great about wanting to get laid. It's the wait, the potential for sex, the tension of the tease, that is so freaking hot (I should add, as long as you know you're not going to be waiting all that long). If I know it's going to be good, I can wait. I don't always want Korean deli, open 24 hours, all you can eat, steam tray sex. These days I want "only in season for a week" sex, I want white truffle sex. I want fucking fugu sex!

Tease me. Save it for the big day. I don't need to see you naked right away. I'd rather imagine it, hope for it, wait for that moment when I'm unbuttoning your shirt and slipping my fingers inside to feel for myself.

I went on this great date a while ago. We were on the same page from day one, so I was a little surprised when the date ended with a little making out on the sidewalk, him walking back to work and me walking to the subway. I thought it was a done deal: pay the bill, back to my place, fuck... done and done.

But, when we finally separated, our hands lingering together a bit longer than necessary and we both looked back at each other as we walked away... damn it was sweet. I licked my lips and strutted down the sidewalk with that cocky half-grin on my face, feeling those lacy boy-shorts, already wet, get wetter and wetter. I went home alone and fucked myself stupid thinking about all the things he was going to do to me when we finally did get together.

And the wait? It was worth it.

I never, ever, for one moment want to forget how fan-fucking-tastic sex is. I never want it to become ordinary or hum drum or everyday. I never want getting tied up and flogged and fucked by multiple people to become normal. I want always to have that flutter of anticipation, that twinge of anxiety, that ache of wanting, that will we/won't we tension. Even if I, by some miracle, find myself with a boyfriend or a husband or some other significant-fucking-other and we're screwing and beating each other senseless every morning, noon and night, I'll still want to wait for it. I'll always want to be surprised. I'll always want to feel a tiny, little bit uncomfortable

I'll still want to imagine what's underneath.

To-Do list / item no.4

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Letters from camp_day three

Okay. I completely forgot to mention one of the more fabulous things that happened Friday night after dinner. I was walking back to my cabin when I get stopped by the cutest girl ever. She had this sweet little body and this cute, boyish haircut that I'm a total sucker for. Well, she starts chatting me up. I'll repeat. She starts chatting me up. She's asking me what I'm into, what I like, girls / boys, whatever. I tell her I'm mostly straight while staring like a tool at her tits in this tiny gold bikini top. We part ways having decided that at some point that weekend, I would be tied to a tree, blindfolded, ears plugged, and fucked by various people including herself with a strap-on (this would be FireGirl, by the way). We parted ways and I walked back to my cabin a little dazed. It was like a stranger came up to me on the street and said, "You seem cool. Here have this winning lottery ticket." Unfortunately, due to some over-exuberance in the dungeon, we weren't able to make it happen, but she more than made up for it. But, back to day three:

For some reason the dining hall was always so damn hot, so I decided to take my Froot Loops outside where I ran into my partner from the Erotic Energy and had a lovely chat. 

After breakfast was the "special class". This was Buried Alive. Great, so now I have one more thing to add to my to-do list. You pluck a few cherries out and a few more grow in their place. I was surprised that there weren't as many people there. Maybe I'm more square than I thought, but to me watching a woman get pounced on by 5 or 6 people, head hooded, arms and legs bound and dumped in a box in the ground is not something I would see on an average day. Learning how much dirt to shovel on the lid before it's too heavy to lift off, is a tidbit of information I think would be pretty interesting to know. Come on! How often do you get to be buried alive? I'll say one thing, that dirt falling on the lid is a lot louder than I expected.

After two hours in the pool trying to escape the humidity, I became the replacement support person for a young woman at the Energy Pull. I then bravely went to dinner wearing nothing above the navel but a pair of black and silver striped pasties (and still sweated like a pig in there. I was basically naked and I was still sweating).

After dinner was a single-tail scene with Zelda. It was outdoors, under the stars. There was a delicious breeze. I gripped the bars of the basketball net as she took her time warming me up from flogger to flogger, from thuddy to a little stingier, until the single-tail. It was hot. Really, really hot. I felt kinda bad-assed. I think a lot of what I dig about BDSM is the bad-assedness factor. 

Since we were right by the barn, I dipped in to get some water and oh, yeah! English Lucky Paul's Fucking Machines were happening in there. After some after chat with Zelda, I zipped back into the barn where I became very good friends with a Kitchen Aid. 

I did a quick run through the Sex-O-Rama and felt my libido fall along with my energy. The rest of the night was spent chatting with on the cabin porch, drinking Maker's Marks and watching the spiders.