The Garden

Hiatus

2009-01-25T12:41:00.003-05:00

So after a long time of not posting, I've decided to take a sabbatical. I've been largely celibate since my adventures at Floating World, with a few exceptions. And I kind of like it. It gives me a sense of peace I haven't felt in a long time, and I intend to enjoy this. I still play plenty, and sometimes I have sex with a friend, but nothing outrageous. However if I ever fuck a cowboy, or sleep with a mountie for his hat, I'll let you know. But I think this space is going to go quiet for a while. If I change my mind, I'll let you know, but for now, I think I'm just gonna get on my horse, and quietly ride off into the sunset. Maybe I'll be back someday. But, maybe I won't.

Kink it out!

2008-12-23T16:45:00.001-05:00

For all of you Fetlife users, they are holding a giveaway on they're website. You should check it out.

Geekdom

2008-11-28T21:53:00.009-05:00

Lately I've really been into this webcomic, called Megatokyo. It's about two gamer/anime geeks that end up getting drunk and going to Japan, maxing out their credit cards in the process. It's about them living and working and trying to earn enough money to get home again. I'm rather fond if it anyway, and thought I'd pass it along. Enjoy!

Oh, and Aimee and I are very excited about Diablo 3, we can't find a release date for it, maybe it's still in production, but we are thrilled. I also bought a duel Super Nintendo/NES console today, because I love my old-school games. I should see if I can find my old Nintendo gun, I have Duck Hunt and that game is the shiz.

MY BANANA!

2008-10-08T19:45:00.005-04:00

As you can probably tell by now, I don't feel particularly obligated to to this blog, but I feel bad when I don't post for months at a time. Frankly I'll be amazed if my stats go up after I post this. I just got in from a walk, and I feel the overwhelming need to go and take a shower, because I am a sweaty dirty girl, and not in the good way. But here I am, posting, wondering if my stories are still fresh in my memory. I guess I should start with the banana.

It was saturday night at tesfest, and I was told to go to the main dungeon at 10:20 with a banana. I had no idea what was going to happen, or why it was going to happen. I just went. This had been set up earlier in the day, and several people got me several different bananas. But I chose the one that I wanted to be mine, and a key detail here is that Brian was with me when I chose said banana.

So I get to the dungeon, and I'm wandering around, and I bump into Marilyn and several other CV people, and Marilyn keeps trying to take my banana away from me. After a few more minutes, Brian comes over to us. "Brian," I say. "Tell them to stop trying to take away my banana, it's mine, you were with me when I chose it." Ignoring me, he told me the rules of the game. "All you have to do is keep the banana from getting away from you. If you lose the banana, there will be terrible consequences," he had said. "Oh," I managed to say before five people pounced on me. Ripping off my overalls and bikini top, they lifted me up off the floor, four people holding up my legs, and Brian holding the rest of me up by my hair (I was not a happy camper). "You gonna give us the banana?" Someone said. "No! My banana!" I screamed back as they carried me to the far side of the room.

I was told later that I topped the dungeon that night, and frankly, I believe it. I screamed and yelled and berated them. And slowly as they struck me and bit me, I began to form a plan in my mind. The plan was simple: Get my clothes, and get to the hotel room, even if it means streaking the entire hotel. A deadbolt would hold them off for a while. I hung tight onto my banana, at one point placing a firm complaint and disallowed biting for the rest of the scene (biting makes me violently angry). I had a goal in mind, but getting away from everyone with the banana proved to be more difficult that I had hoped. Because Dov showed up, and with Dov comes rope, and he and another member of my beat down started tying me up. It's hard getting the leverage you need to get someone off of you when you have at least 4 other people hitting you.

Mind you, people are still trying to convince me to give them the banana, and I'm still screaming "No! My banana!"

Well, at one point another banana makes it's way onto the scene (pun not originally intended, but it is now that I think about it). "Are you sure you have the right banana? Maybe this banana is the right banana," Brian said. "But this is my banana, you were with me when I chose it, Aaron gave it to me, remember?" I replied. "But how do you know that's the real banana? Maybe you have it wrong, maybe this banana is your banana," He said. He confused me for a minute, so I did the only thing I could think of; I took the banana. I now had two bananas instead of one. Well I'll tell you this; it's alot easier holding onto one of them then 2 of them. People kept merrily hitting me until one of them remembered that I sang. "Hey, we should have music, sing something," Marilyn said. I floundered for a moment, and then I figured I had nothing to lose; I launched head long into Mimi's aria "Mi Chiamano Mimi" from Puccini's opera 'La Boheme'. I got about half way through it before someone hit me and I lost my breath and gave up. But my singing had attracted alot of attention from people including the Baroness herself.

"Why don't you give give me one of your bananas?" She asked, "I'll keep it safe". Just then someone hit me, causing me to drop the second banana, and a cry of victory arose from my tops. The Baroness took the banana and I guess she must've wandered off. Although someone mentioned she was going to the pool area for the pool party.

"Come on, give up your banana, you must be exhausted by now," Brian crooned. "No," I said stubbornly. "My banana." At one point my captors let up their guard, because I managed to break free. I was tied up in a sitting position with my legs bent and the rope reached around my hips. I couldn't really move very effectively, but I did make it about five feet by scooching myself along, not unlike a dog dragging it's patoot on the carpet.

I almost managed to pass a friend of mine who was playing before I was dragged back to the spot. Still holding the banana, which by now was bruised and squishy in my hands. The lot of them pushed me onto my back again and starting beating on me. A couple that I'm friends with showed up, and the boy in that couple is German. Well, I'm German by half, so I called out to him "Come on, we're both German, help me out here. Ich bin ein Berliner!" I called out, laughing at my joke. "Yes!" Everyone crowed back. "You are a donut!" "Exactly!" I laughed.

I don't quite know when the beating shifted, but everyone started punching me to the theme of the Imperial March, from the original Star Wars movies. And I had trouble drawing breath, I started to panic and hyperventilate. I began crying hysterically, screaming that I couldn't breath. After they let up, I continued to cry harsh tears.

When I finally calmed down I wandered, and actually threw out my banana, thinking that the scene was over. Foolish me. Scenes are apparently never over at events; at least not for me. Eventually Brian cornered me and slammed me into a wall, holding a knife to my throat. "Where's your banana?" He asked, dead serious. "I threw it out, I thought the scene was over," I replied, suddenly unsure of myself. "Well you have to go to the Baroness and get the other one," he said. "I can't," I said, suddenly feeling as small as a field mouse. "What do you mean you can't?" He asked. "I just can't," I said stubbornly, feeling the subtle onset of an anxiety attack. "Is this an anxiety thing? Or for some other reason?" He asked. "Anxiety," I said quietly. "Okay, then I'll go with you," he said. And I got up and put my clothes on, and we tromped over to the pool area together. We waited for her to show up, and when she did, we requested our banana back.

Brian left me with her to collect our wayward fruit, and left back for the dungeon. I stood there nervously while she collected the fruit, and then she and her cohorts went into the bathroom. They cut the banana into pieces and wrote a note, which I still have tucked away in my bedroom mirror (I keep meaning to put it in my scrap book). I retrieved our now maimed fruit, and returned to the dungeon. Apparently that was the end of the scene, because Brian really didn't know what to do with it, so I found someone who wanted it, and left it at that.

The next day people kept giving me bananas. I stuck them in my back right pocket, after all, who needs the hankie code when you can flag fruit? I didn't eat much that weekend because of my nerves, but whenever I was overcome with hunger, I could just reach into my back pocket and pull out a banana.

Rush

2008-08-25T11:44:00.001-04:00

Author's Note: This post is about waterboarding, something that's been something of a news item lately. I demo-bottomed doing this at Floating World to a good friend of mine whom I trust (you may have read about it in the Star Ledger). We both talked about it a great deal in advance and he answered all of my questions to my satisfaction before I consented to doing this. So there you have it; we both consented.

----------

Fear and terror are two completely different things. I learned that that day. Fear is hot, fear, to me, is getting fucked while there's a rope tied around my throat, or being told that if I don't do what I'm told, when I'm told, that my top is going to rip out a toenail with a pair of pliers. Fear is hot, and a little intimidating, and uncertain. But terror, for me, is believing in every fiber of my being that I am going to die, in that really horrible this-is-not-a-drill kind of way.

The people that are debating whether or not waterboarding is torture or not have clearly never been waterboarded. It's torture. Pure and simple. I was convinced that I was going to die. I'm told that it's done to create the illusion of drowning, I disagree. There is no illusion; I was drowning and nothing can convince me otherwise. I recognize that what I did was very tame compared to whats going on in some parts of the world. But what I did was enough to get me thinking. Because right now, I am of the opinion that the illusion lies only within in the theory of waterboarding, and only in the theory. In reality, there is no illusion. You are drowning.

The demo started with Ward, my friend who was teaching the class, talking about different things and answering some questions. Much to the amusement of the audience, I took a sip of water from the bottle that was about to be used on me. Four people were restraining me, one of whom was my friend Marilyn. Then he pushed the wash cloth into my mouth, but I started gagging so he took it out and got it wet before pushing it back in, only not so deep. It took me a minute to get acclimated to it.

At first as he started sprinkling water on me I started to laugh, those sibilant notes that are so synonymous with me and play. Moisture formed in the back of my throat but most of the water went up my nose. I tried to inhale and found only water, like I had accidentally inhaled while swimming under water in a pool. I tried to push against the people holding me down, but found I couldn't move, which made me panic even more. I'm told that my eyes were darting around rapidly under my eyelids. It felt like water had flooded my throat, and I couldn't get a breath in. Before starting Ward had told them to let me go immediately when he gave the signal. He waved his hand and I was released. I rose up from the table so that I was leaning on my elbows while he pulled out the wash cloth. I coughed and gasped for air. I was angry and terror-stricken. Ward went on to say that it was intended to create the illusion of drowning. "Fuck you, I was drowning," I exclaimed, feeling upset and exposed.

After the class ended and people filed away I felt the full force of the chemicals that had been produced hit me; raw adrenaline and endorphins rushed into my system. I hugged Ward tight, frightened and wide-eyed. We went to a diner, but both of us barely ate. I felt physically ill, and I was upset and felt exposed and vulnerable. When we got back to the room I took a hot shower in the dark which helped a little bit and then I went and crawled back into bed and clung close.

Getting over that rush of chemicals took me a long time; every time I seemed to make some progress I would just crash back into feeling miserable all over again. I did finally manage to eat something that night, some of my famous mac & cheese and one of the brownies I had baked for the weekend. But it took me a few days to get over the full effects of what had been released into my system as a result.

I don't know if this is something that I would do again. I'm certainly not angry or upset with Ward or any of the people who were restraining me. I consented to doing that, and I own that fact. But the effects out lasted everything else, and I find the effects to be really rather disagreeable. And if I'm slammed from chemicals which make me feel horrible one or two days later, then is it really worth it for a scene that only lasts, at the very most, and this is really really pushing it, 15 seconds? Probably not.

Sigh. I don't know what else to say here. Except that I had an experience that no one I know, to my knowledge, has ever had. And I wish that I could tell someone who has a bigger voice than I do in the world what that felt like. On the tame level that I experienced that, it was easily one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I can't imagine what those men are facing in places where these practices are occurring on a far more intense and overwhelming level. But I write a sex blog, sporadically at that, and it's very unlikely that anyone will hear my quiet little voice, telling the story about the time I got waterboarded.

Floating World

2008-08-18T15:49:00.003-04:00

UPDATES ARE COMING!

But right now I am floored from event crash.

Highlights you say? But of course!

Getting hypnotized for the first time: It was awesome, and I almost fell asleep afterwards. I forgot the number 7!
Getting water-boarded for the first time: Still processing that one
Interrogation scene: It's not as hot as people make it sound, it's mean and dirty and cruel. I did it for the first time yesterday, and I'll say it, I would totally do that again.
Beat down: I was screaming, literally screaming at the top of my lungs and crying hysterically, I don't know why I wanted to stop playing, I totally could have kept going. I was no where near my limit. My ass is a really nice shade of purple though.
Seeing friends I haven't seen in a while and catching up with everyone.
Spending lots of time with the person that I went to the event with.

I'm home now, about to put my hair up in a towel since I'm fresh from my shower, and I'm gonna go veg out on the sofa. Ciao!

Friends of Jefferon Legal Defense Fund

2008-08-05T14:11:00.001-04:00

An important member of the sex-positive community
urgently needs our help.

Jefferson—blogger, educator, and friend to so many of us—is at this moment fighting a court battle with his ex-wife, who is seeking full custody of their three children.

Jefferson's love for his children has been well-documented on his blog One Life, Take Two for years. His ex-wife has stated in court that he is a "great" father who loves his children.

However, among her claims is that his
bisexuality makes him an unfit parent.

Jefferson needs our help now. As a writer, his resources are limited. The costs of fighting this case are mounting quickly—and will certainly run into the tens of thousands of dollars.

As of today, there is an urgent and immediate need for at least $20,000 to cover costs associated with attorney fees and those of the law guardian who has been appointed to represent the children.

If he is unable to pay these fees by August 11, he will be forced to relinquish custody of his children.

This case is of concern to anyone whose sexuality does not fit the standard mold—because it could happen to you. This case is of concern to all writers, because Jefferson’s blog is being used as evidence against him—and that could have repercussions for our First Amendment rights.

Here’s how to help:

Make an ANONYMOUS, TAX-DEDUCTIBLE contribution to Jefferson’s legal defense by visiting the Sexual Freedom Defense and Education Fund at:

www.sfldef.org

There you will find out how to donate to Jefferson’s Defense Fund via PayPal or if you prefer, check or money order.

Please note that you MUST mention that your donation is to be used for the JEFFERSON LEGAL DEFENSE FUND.

In the coming days, www.onelifetaketwo.com will be relaunched with information about Jefferson's ongoing case. Be sure to visit his blog for updates. In the meantime, you can contact Jefferson directly at friendsofjefferson@gmail.com.

Thanks very much for your time and concern.

Feel free to copy this and post it to your blog or LJ or any email lists. Or link here.

Happy birthday!

2008-08-01T00:04:00.002-04:00

My blog is one year old today. And I recently turned 1 year older. It's been a blast and I've met all kinds of wonderful people and had all kinds of wonderful experiences, and now I'm going to get some sleep, g'night everybody!

Would you? Will you? Just remember.

2008-07-28T21:25:00.003-04:00

Author's note: This post has been knocking around in my head for a while; I've been looking for a job for a while now, and not having much luck. This post is a result of going on interviews and looking for something while covering up the bruises and scars under my work-type clothes and hoping for the best.

If I showed up in your office for a job interview, would it scare you to know that I had bruises under my clothes? Would it scare you that I had gotten set on fire the day before? Cut with a knife? Electrocuted?

Would it repulse you to know that I came into your office with bruises behind my ears from pressure points? That mere hours ago I was slammed up against a wall with a hand on my throat being called a tramp and a whore? That I had been tied up and spit on? That I cried like a little girl while I got fucked? That I had never been more wet?

Would you give me a job knowing that afterwork, after I've filed papers and answered phones and designed art work for your company, I'm going to get on a subway train, and go to a friends house, and do it all over again?

And if you gave me that job, aside from my being qualified and capable, would it also be because of what you know about me, would you do it because you felt sorry for me? Because you envied me on some level? Because it makes you hot? Do you think I will let you call me into your office and allow you to do things to me you're embarrassed to admit to fantasizing about?

Well then, I'd have to tell you that I'm a lady, that I won't let you bend me over your desk while you lift up my skirt and spank me, I won't let you try to intimidate me either, or call me a whore or a little slut. I am very professional, and while my bruises come with me to work, my life style does not.

But what I want to know is that if you give me a job, knowing what you know about me, would you sit at your desk, fantasizing about doing those tantalizing things to do to me? Or maybe you dream about me doing them to you, binding you to your chair and wrapping duct tape about your mouth, pissing on you and call you a whore and baggage, and slapping you across the face? Or maybe, just maybe, you won't judge me, or feel sorry for me, maybe, just maybe, I'll intrigue you. And you'll do a little homework while your sitting at home on your computer in the dead of night, and you'll go to a class at an organization, or you'll go to a party where people do exactly what I do, publically and openly with one another. And maybe you find that you like watching, you like partaking in these gloriously painful acts. But now what?

Will you still judge me? Will you feel sorry for me? Will I turn you on? Or will I frighten or intimidate you? Knowing what you know, would you fire me? Or would you let me keep my job, never venturing outside of your comfort zone, watching me come into work day by day, week by week, until they fade into years? Curious about what causes me to move more slowly some mondays than others?

I don't know what you will do, that's something you have to figure out for yourself. Just remember when you're thinking about how I got those scars on my breasts, those shiny scars that look suspiciously like burns, remember that I still have to pay my rent, and put food on the table and clothes on my back. Remember that I am a good person who is never late to work, and is good at what she does. Remember that my masochism is a part of what I am, and that that fact does not completely define who I am; that I am so much more than just a person who likes to be hurt.

And if it's something that you cannot or will not accept, then please remember that you always have the power to grow, to become a bigger and better person. But also remember that no one can do that but you.

Kinklets trip cancelled

2008-07-15T14:18:00.001-04:00

This made me sad. . . .

Due to some unforeseen circumstances, Monet and I have to cancel the trip to Six Flags Hurricane Harbor for this Saturday, July 19. We apologize for any inconvenience. We are planning an alternative trip for this month, and put the information out there as soon as we know what's what. Thanks again, and sorry for the inconvenience.

TESFest Recap

2008-07-09T20:25:00.003-04:00

Aaaah!!!!! This is the part where I scream alot and rip my hair out because I am at home. People are encouraging me to write about TESFest, so here is my little recap before I go wander off and take a walk.

I got fucked by a knife for the first time and had a screaming orgasm that lasted for about two minutes.
I had a massive take-down scene that involved a banana. I sang an aria from 'La Boheme' during this scene.
I topped myself on Sunday with a TENS unit on my thighs. And the TENS unit came home with me on loan. I also had a massive orgasm when the TENS was on my thighs and spent the next four hours having spontaneous involuntary orgasms.
I demo bottomed in Boymeat's electricity and it was great fun and the audience was awesome!
I got to spend time with my really good friend Liz who I almost never get to see.
I had a really bad freak-out Sunday night, and spent the rest of the evening hanging out with Liz. We went to the Little's story hour, and then we went to the TNG swim.
I met Liz's leather family, and got choked out and almost went under by one of her family members about five minutes after meeting him. We played later on that night.
I got my period!!!!! Not that there's anything particularly sexy about that, I just think it's funny I got my period at a BDSM event.

So that's it for now, I'm sure that there's more I could write about and I will later on. I'm also probably going to Floating World this summer, I'm working on the details, but here's hoping!

I know where I'm going. . .

2008-07-08T12:45:00.001-04:00

I'm back from TES Fest, had a grand ol' time and lots of play and time spent with friends, but I'll write about it later, because this is coming up real soon, and people should come, below is the information:

Hey TNG-ers!!! For our next trip we are planning a trip to Six Flags Hurricane Harbor on on Saturday, July 19th for TNG-ers and their guests! And we would love it if ya'll could join us! Monet and I will be taking the bus from Port Authority Bus Terminal, it leaves from Gate 324 at 9:30 in the morning, and leaves the park at 9:30 at night. The total package for bus fair and admittance to Hurricane Harbor is $50.00, you can buy food for yourself at the park, or bring a meal with you. You are also welcome to drive out if you have a car and meet us there. We will be standing at the gate with our TNG sign. We will be meeting at 9am, and the bus, again, departs at 9:30am. We are looking forward to seeing all a ya'll there, and we hope you can join us!!!!

Vacation

2008-07-02T10:12:00.002-04:00

I am leaving tomorrow for the City to spend a night with a friend of mine, and we are driving out the next day to TES Fest together. It's my vacation for the year, so this blog will be (intentionally) quiet over the 4th of July weekend, and for several days afterwards as I collect myself and deal with my event crash. I'll be lying low this weekend under the guise of my real name, but if you figure out who I am, don't be afraid to wander over and say 'hi'. Well I'm off to get dressed and get my yearly pedicure. Have a happy July 4th for those of you who celebrate, otherwise have a grand old time doing whatever y'all are up to this weekend. Ciao!

10,000

2008-06-26T21:31:00.002-04:00

I got 10,000 hits!

The Comprehensive Folsom Street East Post!

2008-06-23T20:22:00.005-04:00

Folsom is one of my favorite days of the year. It's like a second Christmas. It's the one leather event where I feel completely comfortable walking about in my bra on my own. I helped whore out Kinklets, and Boymeat single-tailed me behind the TES table. And pinched and punched and bit me, and we made out between rounds in a way that I haven't made out with anyone in a long time. It was really really nice. Yeah, I can't stress how much I love Folsom.

I saw tons of people I don't normally get to see, and I even ran into Jefferson and a friend of his. Lolita took our picture, but I can't post it here, 'cause it's got our faces in it. But in it, I am wearing my lucky purple Folsom bra (and part of my nipple is popping out), I wore it to Folsom last year and I got beat up, and I wore it again this year, and the same thing happened. So it's my lucky Folsom bra. You may have seen me walking about in it, I had a Kinklets flyer tucked in between my tits.

My friend and I firmed up our plans, because she is being uber-wonderful and giving me a ride to TES Fest. And then I bounced around for a while. It started raining at one point, and I stood out in my bra, because I didn't want my shirt to get wet, since I still had the train ride and the walk home ahead of me.

Terra was poking fun of me at one point, and I gave the best come-back I have had in a long time. "Up your nose with a rubber hose!" And then I burst out laughing and leaned back to smack Jefferson on the knee. "I just made a 'Welcome Back Kotter' insult, I am completely on top of my game today," I exclaimed. "You go girl," he said back with a smile. Not many people get those references, but when they do, I swoon. 'Cause I'm a geek like that. (Nevermind that my sociology teacher back in college asked who a famous Puerto Rican Jew was, and without really thinking I responded with 'Juan Epstein'. Only one person got the joke).

I saw two people that I know in my vanilla life, one of them I said hello to out of pure shock, and the other one I ducked behind someone when I saw him. He was dressed in full leathers with the exception of his shirt, which was for a fetish event. Every time I see him now, I'm going to picture him in his leather cap. I saw both of them within 15 minutes of each other, and nearly had a coronary right there on the street.

When I was walking back to the TES table at one point, I ran across a guy in a blue latex wresters suit flexing his pec muscles. I told him I used to be able to do that, and he turned to me and said "well can you do this?" and started rolling his stomach muscles. "Honey, I belly dance, of course I can do that!" I replied, and did it in kind and even put in a little bit of hip, and then I added a few Ohmis and a couple figure eight shimmies (it has a Middle Eastern name that I don't know how to spell), and some Turkish flat steps, and his boyfriend and this chick were laughing while we did this, and then I excused myself to skip off and talk to the Gay Men's Chorus about joining. So I now have something to think about and work on.

I left a little bit after it had started raining. I had gone on the Kinklet's trip to the aquarium on Saturday, and spent the night in the City, so I was pretty exhausted by the time that evening rolled around. I got on the train, and crashed. I read my book and listened to music and became really really anti-social. I was starving by the time my train rolled into the station, so I was going to go to the market and get some food (ironically an Eden's gourmet market opened up in the next town over where I catch the train), so I went in there, and got some food. I tuned into my music and schlepped on home to a shower and a nice warm meal.

Folsom totally rocked this year.

This is how it started

2008-06-17T21:24:00.002-04:00

And then snowballed.

I was 5 years old. I didn't have very many friends growing up, in fact I was pretty much a loner up until high school. I had one or two friends, but I didn't meet them until the first or second grade. Anyway, in my elementary school when I first started there wasn't a cafeteria, that was installed later on, when I was about 8 or 9. So we had these portables where the food was served. They were placed with their backs to the fence about five or six feet away in the school yard. I remember going back behind the portables and playing by myself. Secretly I wanted someone to come back there, one of the bigger kids and do something horrible to me. I didn't know what, and they weren't particularly sexual thoughts, but I thrilled at them all the same.

I desperately wanted someone to do something horrible to me behind those portables, and in a way, I'm still waiting for the older kid to come and do those horrible things to my Little self behind those make-shift buildings.

There's a little more to the story, like how I thrilled at being the robber when we played 'cops and robbers' in the wintertime (which is when we played it). I loved getting caught being forced to relinquish control, pretending to get shot and then "dying" in a snow bank. And then when I was 14 and Jaqueline Carey came out with her Kushiel books (my first intro to S&M) and me thinking about how hot it was. The puzzle pieces slowly clicked into place about my masochism that summer. The rest came later, the following summer when I was 15 and got tied up for the first time. So that's my little story, a quick little post, just because I can.

Tesfest

2008-06-10T18:46:00.004-04:00

I will be at TESFest this summer, going under the mysterious guise of my real name. But if I happen to meet you there, or recognize your blog name on your little tag thingie, you might just get to find out who the mysterious woman behind all of the sex and veils really is. So yeah, if your going, I'll be seeing ya'll there!

Pumpkin

2008-06-08T19:12:00.000-04:00

The world was silent.

It was as though the City had gone to sleep, and the only ones awake in the night were Adit and myself. I laid in his bed, which seemed impossibly high up off the ground. My nerves sang in a chorus as tension rippled through my body.

Our conversations and desires had brought us to this night, to the decision to do this with each other. Our leanings towards giving our friendship a twist, but staying friends all the same, something we both felt was important. And then, after a couple weeks of talking and texting, I found myself back in his bed. Still a friend and an equal, somewhere in that time, I had become the little girl to his daddy.

So there I laid in his bed, nervous and scared, the darkness was almost oppressive, like it was keeping it's own council on what it was about to lay witness to. Adit caressed my face and shoulder and breasts, laying himself down next to me and wrapping one arm around me. "Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?" He asked. "Because I want to play a special game with you, but remember, this is a secret, you can never tell anyone that we're playing this game. Do you understand?" I nodded mutely in the dark as he slipped his hand down into the silky folds between my thighs and began kneading my clit.

The tension mounted in my chest before it began to break up inside of me like waves on a beach. I buried my face against his chest. "Now Pumpkin," he said. "I want you to touch your special place, show Daddy what you like." I tentatively reached my hand down and grazed my fingertips against my clit. "There's a good girl," he said softly in the dark before his hand replaced my own.

He began rubbing his fingers against my clit, making me gasp and moan. "Daddy," I said softly. "It feels funny." "I know it does, it's supposed to, and if you do this enough, it will feel good all over, don't you want that sweety?" He asked. "Yes Daddy," I said softly. His fingers flicked over my clit, drawing me closer and closer to the edge. "Oh, oh Daddy," I breathed softly into his chest. "Yes, come for me, come for your Daddy little girl," he breathed into my hair.

As the tension rose within me, something in me began to give way, and I slipped into Little space. I came, gasping and moaning against his hand, holding him against my sex as my hips bucked against his hand. When I finished, Adit stroked my hair and told me what a good girl I was before climbing up to kneel between my thighs. I watched him roll on a condom in the dark, while he spoke. "Now it's time for Daddy to feel good, don't you want that? For Daddy to feel good?" "Yes Daddy," I said softly. He pressed up inside of me and began thrusting into me. "Now remember, you can never tell anyone that you play these special games with Daddy, do you understand?" He asked in the darkness. A ball of wariness had settled into my stomach. "Yes Daddy," I said softly. "Such a good little girl," he breathed as he began to move faster. After a few moments of silence, he came long and hard.

He pulled out and laid down next to me. "Daddy, do other daddies play these games with their little girls?" I had asked, gazing up at the dark ceiling. "Some daddies play these games with their little girls, but only because they are special, and you must never tell anyone that we play these games because some little girls don't play these games with their daddies, and you don't want them to be sad, do you?" Adit had asked me. "No Daddy, I don't want that," I said softly.

After a few moments, I lifted my head and looked over at him. "Adit, is there something wrong with us for doing this?" I asked seriously. "No Eden, there isn't. I've spent alot of time studying sexuality, and what we did is good and beautiful. We're both consenting adults, neither of us have any interest in doing anything like that with a family member, especially an actual child. That's disgusting. This is role playing, it's different, it's okay to do this because it's not real, do you understand?" I nodded quietly, then realized he couldn't see me. "I'm nodding," I told him.

The next day I kissed Adit, and left for the City where I met up with Terra. I told her what had happened the previous night, and as I did, I began freaking out. "How did you handle this?!" I had asked desperately.

"Oh I spent a good weekend just lying in Conor's bed, I didn't really eat, just laid there. He took it just as hard as I did, he did it for me, not realizing that he would actually like it," she explained. "You're only in part 1 of your freak out though, and you'll feel like this for a good long time. And then it will come easily to you, and that will fuck with you also." "You mean there's more?" I moaned, munching on my chicken. "Yup. Pretty soon you'll be calling him 'daddy' in public without a second thought. 'Candy Land' will never be the same again. And if he's anything like my daddy, he'll make you show where you like to be touched on your teddy bear," she said matter-of-factly. "But I've had my teddy bear since I was a babe-in-arms, I can't do that!" I squealed. "I had mine since I was 4, and I did it," she said. "He's even saying that I'm gonna have to wear white underwear for him at some point, I can't do that," I said indignantly. "Next thing you know I'm gonna be wearing ruffled socks and licking one of those huge lolli-pops. This is too surreal Terra, I can't be doing this. And what makes it worse is that I liked it. I really liked it."

"You've been talking about this for a year and a half, and you finally got what you wanted. You know you're gonna do it again, don't you?" She had asked. "Yeah, I know I'm gonna do it again. And what's really gonna mess with me is that I'm gonna keep on liking it. And then the day will come when I'll be used to it. And that, well, I'll deal with that when the time comes. One step at a time, right?"

I continued to freak out over the next couple days, hiding in my nest and watching horror movies to distract me from dealing with the emotions churning inside of me until I found myself asking myself what was wrong with me. Why did I want this, why did I like it. I pushed my back up against the wall, murmuring 'no no no' over and over again. Feeling scared and alone, I texted Adit who called me several minutes later. I was upset and began yelling at him for being so calm in the face of this. I was angry that he seemed oblivious as to why I was upset. The poor dear deserves better than me sometimes, but most of the time I'm pretty good. He asked me calmly not to yell at him, and to explain to him what was wrong.

"We're role-playing incest!" I had wailed. "Incest is wrong and dirty and disgusting, what is wrong with me?! I shouldn't like this, I can't like this, I'm not a sick person! I'm sane and healthy, I'm not like those disgusting perverts who hang out in play grounds watching children! I have normal healthy desires, what is wrong with me?!" "Nothing is wrong, it's role playing, those are the key words, it's not real. Do you really think that I would be interested in my daughter? Or any child or family member for that matter?" Adit asked, his logical tone cutting into my panic. "No, of course not," I said crossly. "And I don't think you're interested in doing these things with any one in your family either," he said. "No, I'm not," I said quietly. "We aren't sick people, we are sane and healthy consenting adults role playing this. But it doesn't make us worser people for doing it, and if it really bothers you then we can stop, and we never have to do it again. I know you're frightened by this, it's okay to be, but there's nothing wrong with us for doing this, alright?" He asked. "I just feel awful, because I want to do this again, like, I really want to do this again, but I feel like there's something wrong with me. And I'm having a really hard time owning that," I said, my voice sounded strung out to me from all the anxiety. "There's nothing wrong with you Eden, it's okay to want this. You're safe with me, I'm not gonna let you fall, it's okay," he said. He joked with me a little bit, and I laughed, and we got off the phone a few minutes later with his insistences that I call him no matter what if I had any further problems.

I felt a little better after the phone call, but my emotions still sat in the pit of my stomach, and I worried and wondered about what my next step would be. I'm still not sure what that step is, but I do know I'm seeing Adit soon. I'm wearing my overalls and a t-shirt. I'm learning how to own my new found fetish, it's not easy. It's really fucking hard, actually. But in it's own strange way, it works for me.

Rage

2008-06-04T21:33:00.000-04:00

I came to the leather scene when I was 18, two weeks after my 18th birthday, I wandered into my first TES meeting, and never really wandered out. I had the crappy abusive relationship that all guppy subs seem to have to have before they get to the good stuff in the scene. I met people and made friends. I'm very lucky to have met the people I have, to have had the opportunity to make friends within my community. Of course, when I first came to TES, I had no idea that TNG existed. In fact it would be about two years before I was taken to a meeting, where I met Terra, my leather sister and best friend. Ironically the meeting I first went to was run by one of the founders of the TNG movement, but that's another story.

This story, I'm sorry to say, is steeped in rage.

I often tell people that my best friend when dealing with the community is the buddy system. And people laugh, I even laugh, but the truth is I utilize the buddy system because I don't feel safe in my own community. I don't feel that I can go to a party, or any other kind of kinky event alone because I get hit on constantly and obviously by creepy men who have no concept of personal space or finesse. Men who get all up in my junk because at 21, I still look like a 16 year old girl. And you know what? It sucks. It sucks that I don't feel like I can go out and enjoy my own community and feel safe. And I am outraged by this.

I'm not the same girl I was when I came to the scene, in the time that I've been here, I've learned how to stand up for myself. I've evolved into a heavy bottom, and I'm smart about it. I have rules, very strict rules that govern who I play with and how I play with them. I don't deviate from my rules. I had a scene that went bad a while back. I'm not blaming anyone, it's just that I had medical staples in my chest, and we couldn't find the staple remover, so we wound up having to remove them using pliers. It was one of the most painful things I've ever experienced in a scene. I've learned that the most painful things that happen to me during a scene are never intentional. And one of these aforementioned creepy men, who shall remain nameless showed up and was watching this like it was some hot amazing scene. And I looked at him, already in an intense amount of pain and said loudly and firmly that he needed to go away because I couldn't deal with him.

Or at the Pirate Party a while back, I did my first single tail scene. I was whacked out of my gourd on endorphins and adrenaline and feeling more than a little bit fragile. My top had gone to get some water for us, and this man saw me sitting there topless and staring off into space. He came over and actually had the audacity to touch me, I don't even remember what he wanted, all I registered was a threat. I said as loudly as I could "Get your hands off of me!" He backed away quickly, and I was grateful when my top came back.

I'm tired of these men who really need to stop using the same tired old 'Wanna look at my toy bag?' line. I'm tired of having to literally hug the wall on my way to the ladies after a scene, because chances are I'm still naked and probably more than a little bit spacey. It's like those construction workers who constantly hit on women on the streets, catcalling and yelling sexual comments at these women. They never seem to change their tact, they seem to think that eventually it will work in their favor. It's the same thing in the scene, the same sad, pathetic, terrifying approach is used time after time on whoever their target is. You think they'd get the clue.

I've told Terra that I want to teach a Miss Manners class, and she continues to remind me that I will in all likelihood get up there and revert to my Jersey girl nature and spaz out and start ranting for an hour and a half solid at these people about why they can't get anyone to play with them. Us Jersey girls play dirty sometimes, Aimee speculates that it's something in the air that comes to us by way of Refinery Row and the Pulaski Skyway. Personally I've always said that it's something in the water.

But the point is is that this has to stop, I desperately want to be able to go to a party on my own, or maybe meet people there and get there early and not feel obligated to stand outside in the dark street because I would rather take my chances getting mugged than having to deal with people who never learned the concept of personal space.

It seems to me that these behaviors are so common that they are accepted and tolerated by the rest of the scene. Now, I know that my paltry three and a half years doesn't come close to some of my friends' time spent in the scene, so I might be missing some really big piece of the puzzle here, but why is this tolerated? Why are these people just accepted and ignored?

There seems to be a new strain of classes about how to get people to play with you. It seems odd to me that we need classes on common sense things. I think it's idiotic that people need to pay some small fee to be told to act how they would in a vanilla situation. I just want to understand this. I want to work towards a better community for everyone. I can't be the only one who wants this, but sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who wonders why this is, and tries to figure out how it can be changed.

I don't know, I've only been here for so long. And my so long is really very limited. Maybe I don't know something everyone else does. But if we all know the same things, then why isn't anything being done to change it? My goal here is not to offend, it's to learn, to understand why things are the way they are. It's to help stop people from being hurt, to bring people into our folds instead of turning them away. There are so many wonderful people in our folds. There are wonderful people from age 18 up through 110 and beyond. Truly lovely people who are worth your time and energy and love and trust. They are people who can teach you things, and learn from you as well. I know they can be found, because I found them, they are my friends. But I also know that I had to drag myself through countless leering stares and bad pick-up lines. I had my bad relationship with an abusive man, who I later discovered had a pattern to go with it. I know that I wasn't the only one.

I want things to change so that people can come to our community and see that everyone is worth their time and energy and affections, and that they don't have to sift through the predators and creeps to find the diamonds in the rough. Everyone should be a diamond. There's no reason why it should be a mix of coal and gems. No reason at all.

So why tolerate the predators?

Kinklets TNG

2008-05-13T23:11:00.002-04:00

So a couple friends of mine are doing out-reach to TNG-aged people (i.e. people between the ages of 18-35) in the New York City area, as a way of helping to build a stronger BDSM community. You know, a sort of 'we are the future' type thing. They're doing this as a way to bring together all of the TNG aged people in an attempt to bond through vanilla activities. And anyone over the age of 35 can attend as long as they are being brought as a guest by someone of TNG age. Go check out their blog.

Here is the information that they have been sending around every where, you may have seen it:

Hey TNG-ers!!!

Monet and I are TNG-ers and we are planning a trip to the Bronx Zoo on Saturday, May 24th for TNG-ers and their guests! And we would love it if ya'll could join us! We will be meeting at Columbus Circle (west side entrance to Central Park) by the fountain, and taking the #2 train up to the Bronx Zoo. It costs $15 per person for admittance to the zoo, and bring money for food and transportation, or you can bring a bagged lunch!

We will be standing by the fountain, I will be wearing my leather pride shirt, and Monet will be wearing something similar! We will also have a sign with us, so just look for the TNG sign!! We will be meeting at 11:00am, and leaving for the zoo at 12 noon. We are looking forward to seeing all a ya'll there, and we hope you can join us!!!!

HAH!

2008-05-10T12:32:00.004-04:00

I am finally satisfied with how my blog finally looks. It is really hard to find a nice, simple, garden themed template. But I finally did it. And now I can finally stop obsessing over the damned thing. I'm also going to get back to blogging, the last couple of months were crazy because I was busy finishing up school. But now I'm a college graduate (go me!), so I can breath a little easier now and work on the back entries of smut I want to write for ya'll. But right now I'm going to go outside and work on my actual garden. I'm growing tomatoes this summer! And that makes me happy.

The Precious

2008-05-09T20:38:00.006-04:00

At 4 in the morning, I decided to call it a night. My friend Brian's play party had melted into debates about the existence of instinct from a biological perspective. Which is a really intense conversation to have at 4 in the morning. Marilyn and I climbed into Brian's bed, and curled in on him, wrapping our bodies to his own. Marilyn looked across at me in the dark, and I looked back at her as she began to lick at Brian's nipples, and I followed suit. His moans filled the room as my hand trailed down his chest and pushed aside the waistband on his underwear.

I gripped his cock in my hand and began stroking him, his moans intensifying. I began shedding clothes at some point, my hoodie followed by my shirt until I finally threw off my pants. Brian removed his underwear and my head dissapeared under the covers while he and Marilyn kissed. I licked and sucked at his hard cock while rocking my hand against his perineum. Marilyn joined me a moment later and took over. I came up for air and once again took up my post at his nipples, kissing him intermittently.

We each took our turn in the middle, and when I found myself in the hot seat, Brian and Marilyn went to work on my nipples while Brian fingered my clit, making me gasp and moan. I brought my hands up to grip the headboard as I came.

Marylin took her place in the middle, and Brian got her off while I nibbled on her nipples. Then we pushed Brian onto his back, and Marilyn settled between his thighs while I settled myself over his face. We struggled to sync ourselves up, and when we slid into that sweet spot, I sighed with contentment, Brian moaning and licking beneath me.

"Do we have a condom?" Someone asked. "Shit, I'm out," Brian said in the dark. "I didn't think I'd be getting laid tonight, so I didn't think to get more. Ummm, someone go find one." "I'll go and find one, and by that I mean I'll go look in my bag," Marilyn said, pulling on her skirt and rushing out of the room. Brian and I sat in silence for a few minutes and Marilyn came back in. "I don't have any, should I go ask if someone has one?" She asked. "Yeah, go ask," Brian said, and she left the room again. After a few more minutes she came back in. "I got one, but it's a magnum," she said. "Doesn't matter," I said intensely, aware of the stupidity of my logic as I said it. "It's a condom, we can make it work, we're kinky, we make things work all the time."

"Brian, I don't want to get fucked tonight, you can fuck Eden," Marilyn said. "Then can I go down on you while I'm getting fucked? I haven't had pussy since my birthday, and that was in July." "But I've never done that with a girl, besides, I don't see how it would work," she said. "It's just like with a guy, except I'm a girl. And if you lie on your back in front of me, I can go down on you while Brian fucks me from behind, mmkay?" I said, getting up on all fours. "Oh, okay," she said, settling herself in front of me as Brian rolled on our one precious condom.

I buried my face between her thighs and began licking and sucking while Brian fucked me from behind, slapping my ass and riding my hips. Eventually Marilyn decided she had had enough, and I rolled onto my back while Brian continued fucking me. I gasped and moaned as he fucked me, my muscles contracting around his cock as he thrust up into me. Brian came a few moments later, and collapsed onto the bed next to us.

Eventually we fell asleep in a piled up heap, and slept well into the next morning. It was a lovely party, to say the least.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

2008-05-04T19:56:00.002-04:00

Some of you may have noticed my. . . . discontent with how my blog looks, I'm working on it, and I'm hoping once I get this image loaded I will finally be satisfied with how it looks. In the meantime, I will be keeping up with the smut as I have much to share with ya'll. So thanks and enjoy!

Breath

2008-05-01T20:28:00.003-04:00

It was so quiet. In the very early hours of the morning, when neither of us had found sleep. His party had tapered off into nothing. The world was silent as he slammed me up against a wall. Pushing my pants down over my hips and pulling my shirt off over my head. He grabbed my hair and drove me back against the wall several times, hard.

He pushed me down across his bed. Wrenching me into position with a hand in my hair. He tied my wrists to his headboard, a few moments passed before I felt something hot and liquid land on my bare skin. The wax kissed my breasts and belly as he moved the candle along my body. After a while, I ventured to open my eyes, and I gazed up into his face, the flame lighting his features. I found myself getting lost in his eyes, the intensity of his concentration running like an electric current throughout my body.

Soon he put aside the candle, and kissed me, gently, exploring. His hand ran along my torso, rolling my nipples between his finger tips. His hand slowly, tentatively ran down to the dark thatch of hair between my thighs, pressing up against my clit. His fingers danced, and my breathe quickened. He drew his hand away and took up the knife.

He began to slowly, methodically cut away at the wax from my body. I laid there, gazing up at him; it was as though I was witnessing the rapture. I was aware of the intense silence. As though the world were holding it's breath. When he was satisfied, he untied me, and we laid there, and snuggled up close and talked to one another. In time I gathered myself together and went to find a place to sleep among the bodies in his living room.

Sometime in the hours of the morning, while we slept, the world began to breath again.

FGM

2008-04-11T21:26:00.001-04:00

Sorry I haven't been posting, things have been kinda nuts lately. But I'm alive, and giving you this little story to sink your teeth into. Enjoy!

I was in my sociology class a while back, and we were talking about FGM, or Female Genital Mutilation. This is a practice done in some third world African and Middle Eastern countries, and as I understand it, it involves removing the clitoris and labia, and then the genitals are stitched shut leaving only a small opening for urine and menstral blood to pass through, and scar tissue is encouraged to form. This often results in a number of nasty effects. When the girl gets married, the opening is widened to accomodate her husband, and it is widened even further when she gives birth. After she delivers the child, the vagina is stitched shut again, causing more scar tissue to form. Many women die from this, or live very painful and debilitating lives because of it.

So anyway, we were discussing this practice in my sociology class, and one of the students piped up, even had a valley girl tone in her voice, no joke. "Umm, they do that in America too, in like, the BDSM community, yeah, like, women do that for their masters to show their devotion and submission to them." I whipped around and looked at this girl and then whipped back. It took all of my self control not to bitch her out right then and there. Everything I had not to rip her throat out for uttering such stupid and ignorant words.

Now, I understand that the leather community isn't the right group to head the equal-rights-for-alternative-lifestyles movement. The world really isn't ready for us, but we are not that bad. Now, I've heard some horror stories, like the one about some idiot woman pouring hot oil, like, hot cooking oil that was being heated on a stovetop and pouring it on some poor unsuspecting man. People like that are stupid and ignorant and they are the ones who give the scene a bad name. But never have I heard of anyone in the scene, here or anywhere else, chopping away at a woman's genitals like it was a steak. Never ever ever. Now, maybe I'm ignorant, my experiences in the scene are certainly limited to the few years I've been here and the small number of people I've become friends with in that time. I know people who have been in the scene for a lot longer than I have, and they are good kind people who would only hurt a fly if it said 'please', but they would never ever do something so horrible to someone.

So yeah, I was completely caught off guard by this statement, and all I could do was raise my hand and recite a little fact from a medical journal I had read. "Umm, yeah, the last documented case of genital mutilation performed by a doctor was in 1958 on a 5 year old, it was a clitorectomy. Since then any procedure relating to the removal of any part of a healthy woman's genitals has not been performed by anyone with a sane head on their shoulders." I hated that I couldn't rip her to shreds, hated that I had to protect my anonymity.

I called up Terra later on, totally dumbstruck by this girl's idiocy. "Are there kinky people that do this? No one has ever proposed cutting my snatch off in all the time I've been doing this. So I need to know, are there people that do this? Because they need to be stopped. They need to be stopped right now Terra. I'll buy the bus tickets, we'll find these people and slap them." She was just as flabbergasted as I was, neither of us could figure out where this little fact had come from. We finally just let it go into the ether, helpless to change the flow of bad information, lest we pay of the price of exposing ourselves. It really is a pity though.

Replace my face

2008-03-21T21:56:00.005-04:00

I am a geek. And as a result, I absolutely love that video game series "Resident Evil". Well, one lazy afternoon my mother was lying on the couch with me while I was playing. She asked me about the game. I made some comment about the zombies eatting my character's face. She then said (in reference to the health items) "oh, so you take that to replace your face."

School, as of late, has been eatting my face. The stress of it all has pushed me to the limit. On Tuesday I have my final panel review that will determine whether or not I will graduate. This, my dear readers, is why I haven't been posting. I've been busy having my face eaten by the mindless zombie that is my portfolio review. My thanks to those of you who have checked back in my absence to see if I have updated. To show my appreciation, here is a George Michael music video. I totally love this song.

George Michael

Faith

One year and a song

2008-03-12T16:42:00.009-04:00

It was a year ago today that I showed up at Jefferson's house, desperate to wash the bad feel of a bad break up off of my skin. Jefferson not only helped me cleanse myself, but overtime he grew to be a dear friend. I've made other friends through him, and had experiences that I probably wouldn't have had if it weren't for him. I'm grateful for the things that he has given me, the opportunities and favors offered and given, but much more importantly I'm happy to have had his company and friendship over the last year, so thank you, it's been a hoot and a holler, and I'm looking forward to seeing what the future has in store for us.

Now, I am feeling particularly generous right now seeing as I actually managed to give myself my first orgasm this year all by my lonesome!! I actually had more than one; I lost track around 15. And I was listening to Ingrid Michaelson's song "Far Away" (which put me in such a good mood) while I was doing this when I looked down at my body. And I looked up and said out loud to myself "You know on rare occasions I don't like that I'm female. But I wouldn't give it up for anything; I love being a chick. 'Sides twat's are a hoot."

And then I threw my head back and howled with laughter. Yes my friends, life is good.

Mac & Cheese

2008-03-08T14:30:00.008-05:00

It's raining. The rain makes me hornier than a goat. I feel like baaah-ing.

In lieu of smut, I'm going to share a recipe with you that I took from Fanny Farmer, and modified it. Because food and sex are very closely linked with me, and I'm not quite prepared to give away my modified version of chicken marsala, my primo recipe. So anyway, you can put in any kind of cheese and veggies you like, but I'm a pretty straight forward kind of person, and I will give you the foundation here that I work off of, depending on my mood or who I'm cooking for.

Mac & Cheese - serves 4:

9 ounces of macaroni

3/4 cup grated cheese

1/2 cup Italian flavored bread crumbs

2 cups cheese sauce (below)

The Sauce (Makes 2 cups):

2 cups of milk

4 tablespoons of flour

4 tablespoons of butter

salt and pepper

And about 1/2 a block of cheddar cheese. Miss Farmer reccomends 1/2 cup, but it's very bland in my opinion, so I tend to get a little happy with the cheese grater. I'm sure you can over do it on the cheese, but I've yet to reach that point. Lately I've been putting in up to 3/4s of a block, but I wouldn't do anymore than that.

I generally tend to put in enough to make the sauce a nice orange. Like Garfield, a nice Garfield orange. Okay, maybe a little lighter than Garfield, because more cheese gets added later.

Making the sauce: Melt the butter in a sauce pan and add in the flour, when the butter has melted add the milk and stir it constantly while it thickens. Add the cheese. Stir this until the cheese melts and it's to your liking. Add salt and pepper to taste. It's important to keep an eye on the sauce because you don't want the milk or butter to burn.

I like to start the pasta while I'm making the sauce to make things more time efficient. So boil the pasta however long the box says, I think it's about ten minutes, and then drain it and put it into a 1 1/2 quart buttered casserole dish. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

Pour the sauce over the top and work it in with a fork or a spoon. Put more grated cheese on top of this, I'm usually pretty generous with my cheese usage, but it's pretty hard to screw up mac and cheese, so do what feels right to you. Then add about 1/2 cup of bread crumbs on top. I like to use the Italian flavored ones, gives it a nice zing.

Bake uncovered for 30 minutes until the top is a nice golden brown and it's bubbling. Let it cool and then you're good to go.

Satisfaction

2008-03-08T10:13:00.005-05:00

My web class finally paid off because my e-mail is up and running again, so my blog is no longer under construction. So yay for that!

The Lonely Goatherd

2008-03-03T20:25:00.005-05:00

The Sound of Music - Rogers and Hammerstein, 1965

This has been one of my favorite movies since I was about 4 years old. And everytime I see this scene, I always laugh my head off. But maybe that's because I insist on singing it with my own interpretation on the voices. I even yodel. How sexy is that?

Sonogram

2008-02-28T21:11:00.008-05:00

Last spring I found a rather large lump in one of my breasts. I wasn't deeply concerned about it until it was with me for a month and showed no sign of leaving. Aimee and Terra urged me to go see a doctor, and finally I bit the bullet and made the appointment.

My doctor said that there was 'palpable mass' in my right breast, and wanted me to go for more tests. My usually calm demeanor wavered in the face of something deeper. The reality that something malignant might be growing inside my body disturbed me. But I took her prescription, and made a rather awkward phone call to my insurance company, nervously explaining what was wrong, hating that I had to spell the problem out for a stranger in a cubicle somewhere.

I made my appointment with the sonogram and ultrasound people in a medical office in my town and nervously waited for the appointment.

I had a date with Jefferson that week, this was during the early stages of our friendship, when we were still getting to know one another. And I was wary of expressing anything less that absolute surety and confidence in myself. I didn't want to let on that something could be wrong, so I kept my silence until he started fondling my breasts. The longer this went on, the more uncomfortable I started to feel. I asked if we could stop fucking, and if I could have a glass of water. He left the room, none the wiser.

I started to cry, and I found I couldn't stop. All I could do was sit there, trying to hold in my fears, to stem the flow of tears. Jefferson came back into the room. "What's wrong," he asked, immediately concerned. I shook my head and started crying even harder. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, pulling me back onto the bed. He held me while I cried, patiently waiting until my sobs subsided. "I found a lump in my right breast, and it might be nothing, but it might be something," I said into his chest. "Oh I'm sorry," he said. "It's okay, you didn't know, I don't blame people for not knowing things," I said. "I'm getting a sonogram on Thursday, so I guess I'll find out then."

The next couple days passed easily enough. I fell into my bad habit of googling images of medical problems. I looked for breast sonograms, attempting to build a solid foundation of information, not I was successful.

I went to my appointment that Thursday, nervous and uncertain of what was to come. I undressed in the little changing room, locking away my purse and clothes and pulling on the gown. Walking down the hall, the linoleum was cold against my bare feet and I felt over-exposed and vulnerable.

I walked into the exam room and the technician, a short Mongolian woman, told me to lay back on the table. She felt my breast, looking for the lump, and then squeezed a dollop of jelly onto my boob and rubbed the sonogram reader against it. It was a cold. A strange feeling, foreign and uncomfortable. I looked at her screen, and asked about the black thing I saw at the bottom of the screen. "That's one of your lungs," she replied. I couldn't really tell what I was looking at, only that it bothered me.

Eventually the doctor came in and took over, conferring with the technician. He had a thick German accent and cold blue eyes set in a stern and powerful face. He was a man I would have found terribly attractive if the circumstances had been different. Instead I hated him. I hated that he was so rude and so cold to me. He asked me if he could palpate my breast. I was hesitant, but consented, knowing it was for the best. I had never had a male doctor examine any remotely personal part of me since the age of 5. I hated him for it. I was deeply humiliated without knowing why. He talked some more with the technician about barely discernable shapes on the screen before turning back to me. In his thick accent he told me that it was probably just a swollen gland, and that it should go away anytime between a few days to a few weeks, and just to keep an eye on it.

He left quickly, and the technician handed me some paper towels to clean myself off with. I went back to the room and collected my belongings, dressing in my own clothes, I paid the copay and left, glad to be rid of the place. The lump eventually went away. And life went on.

School

2008-02-28T12:00:00.005-05:00

Sorry I've been absent, I'm in the last semester of school and trying to pull off my final project with the rest of my full course load. I'll be back to trucking on with my smut in just a little while more, so just bear with me while I try to get things done so I can graduate on time.

Thanks!

H&M joins the fight against AIDS

2008-02-06T17:50:00.002-05:00

H&M is a big clothing store chain, I know we have them here in the Northeast, and they are located throughout Europe, I'm not sure if they are in the rest of the country though. Anyway, they got a bunch of designers in to create t-shirts to help fund AIDS research and to spread awareness and hopefully make people stop and reconsider their actions.

So I was walking by their store today when I noticed what was going on. I thought this was huge, because I am a big advocate for spreading knowledge and information about AIDS and it's prevention, as well as research for a cure, vaccine, etc. I was so excited by this that I stretched my bank account a bit and bought two t-shirts. I even took pictures, honestly, I'm amazed it took someone this long to put such common sense on a t-shirt. They aren't that flattering, but this is something that I feel really strongly about, so what do I care?

And yes, those are my hoochy shorts. Like I said, the shirts aren't that flattering, very 'no frills', but they're comfy and I like them and that's really all that matters, isn't it? They were the only ones there that were this straight forward, and I like that they do that.

And now I'm gonna go find dinner now, 'cause I'm starving. But yeah, there you have it.

Unscripted

2008-01-29T20:03:00.002-05:00

Jefferson had his cock firmly seated in my ass while he nibbled on my toes. I had one arm wrapped around my thigh and I worked my clit while Jefferson pressed one hand into my pussy, pressing up against my g-spot. For all that I was bent backwards like a pretzel and he was practically on tip-toes as he fucked my ass, it felt amazing. After a few more minutes of futile efforts, I gave up on the idea of coming and gazed up at Jefferson.

"Do you have a foot fetish?" I asked. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that," he said, sucking on one of my toes. "When did you pick it up?" I asked innocently, a smile playing around my lips. "I'm not really sure," he said as I wrapped my feet around his face and drew them down to press against his nipples. "I love using my feet when I have sex," I thought about this for a moment. "Usually it's because my arms are tied down. But I've found that they add a nice dimension." I offered him my big toe, and ignored the pain that registered in the nerve damaged part of my foot, turned on by his attention to my feet. Never before had my own foot fetish extended to include my own feet. I could feel the walls of my vagina grow hot and my eyes closed.

"I think it's hot that you have a foot fetish," I said, smiling as I opened my eyes. "I think it's hot that you think it's hot," he said. I love indulging myself and my friends in our shared fetishes, and goodness knows I love me some cute feet. After a while my hips began to hurt and I asked if we could take a break.

Jefferson settled his face between my thighs, his tongue played over my clit, teasing my sweet spot. When I came, I held his face to the junction between my thighs, groaning and riding his face.

He pushed me onto my back and straddled my chest, pressing his cock down into my mouth. He fucked my face while I ran my hands up and down his back. He pulled out and began jerking off. I laid underneath him, oblivious as ever. After a couple minutes it dawned on me what he was planning on doing.

"Don't even think about coming on my face," I said. He gasped and looked down at me, "What? This isn't the time to talk to me." "I said don't even think about coming on my face," I repeated. "Oh," he said. And before either of us could move, he shot his load all over one side of my face and into my hair (on my way to the elevator after I left, I got out my phone to check my messages when I discovered that a few drops had landed on my phone as well).

We sat there in shock for a moment before throwing our heads back and laughing long and hard. After a few minutes of flat out hysterics we bundled off to the shower where I washed my hair and body. When I finished washing up I turned to him. "Did you plan for that to happen?" I asked. "Now honey, you know as well as I do that you can't script comedy like that," he said with a grin.

---

It's a new lay-out, figured it was time for something a little more special. I'm still trying to decide if I like the colors, but I love the image I created. Soo yeah, enjoy!

Shame

2008-01-22T20:03:00.002-05:00

One of the last times I had sex with Simon was in the basement of his ex-girlfriends house. We were all going to some event the following day together, and her family put us together in their very livable basement.

This was during a time when I didn't want to see my body, I was ashamed of it; detested it. I've told this story before; I showered in the dark, wore conservative clothing, and avoided letting people see me naked or partially clothed. By this point I had stopped masturbating, I had gotten some kind of block that stopped me from having orgasms, and whenever I tried I ended up crying in frustration at my bodies refusal to do what it had once done so well and so easily.

I had gone behind a partition that they had to put on my pajamas when Simon came around the corner, he came over and put his hands on my hips, and said something to me, running his hands up under my belly, I pulled away before his fingertips touched my breasts, and he turned away. Muttering about how he didn't need this. I pulled my shirt on over my head, breathing deeply, I tried to pull myself together.

I walked around the partition into the main area where the sofa bed was set up for us. I settled onto the far corner, trying to take up as little room as possible. Desperately trying to avoid contact with him.

"Come here," Simon said, his voice sounded dead. I got up and shyly approached him, I felt skittish on my feet. I knelt on the carpeted floor outside of arms length in front of him. "What are you doing?" He asked. "This isn't like you Eden, I've never met anyone before who was so strong, so liberated in everything like you are. You used to laugh so easily, get excited by all the little things that made you so happy. But I don't see any of that anymore, all I see is someone timid and afraid."

While he spoke, all I could do was think about the day that this had all started, about how desperately I wished I could have gone back and relived that day.

My breath was frozen in my chest, and my hands were clenched tight into the fabric of my pajama bottoms. "Maybe I'm just afraid, can't I be afraid?" I had asked, my voice small and tight. In that moment I wished I had wings, that they would just break out of my back and allow me to fly away into the night.

"I don't know who did this to you, but whoever it was, they don't know you. Don't let some stranger damage your ability to let your light shine," he said. He sank to his knees in front of me and slowly drew my shirt off over my head. My face was turned to the side, with my chin resting against my shoulder. He ran his fingertips up my bare arm and across my shoulder. His hand traced my clavicle and let it run down to my breasts, pressing my nipple together between his thumb and forefinger, it turned me on and made me feel ashamed at the same time. He kissed me gently and tugged me towards the bed, I climbed under the blankets, putting my shirt on the arm of the couch next to me.

He turned off the lights and put on a movie. He climbed into the bed next to me, and I mentally pulled away, desperately trying to protect myself. I remember thinking that that would have been the perfect time to become a nun. Just to pack up my bags and ship on out to Tibet, devote my life to Buddha. He slipped his hand down past the waistband of my pants, his fingertips reaching for my clit. I gasped as he found it, and then I bit my lip; a ball of dread had settled into my stomach. I tried to find my happy place as Simon rolled the condom on and laid on top of me. I was keenly aware of his chest against my breasts, his penis against my labia as he pressed down inside of me.

I don't know why I let him do it, by that time it had been weeks since I had come, perhaps part of me wanted to know if I could even have sex at this point. I could feel my foot hurting, from far away, I had injured my foot a week earlier badly enough to need a cane to get around, and I was still healing. I could make small distances on my own, but anything farther and I needed help.

When Simon finished, I got up and took my cane. I leaned heavily on it as I walked to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was reminded of the faery tale idea of the maiden, the mother, and the crone. I felt more like the crone than the maiden in that moment.

I started to cry, feeling like a lost little child. I cried as I sat down on the toilet to pee, I cleaned myself off and then dried my eyes and blew my nose and went back out into the main room. I pulled on my shirt in the dark, and got into bed. I laid there on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring into nothing until I finally fell asleep.

It would be a few more weeks before I began to have orgasms again, but they never came with the ease that they once did. Each one I had to work for, and in the beginning, I was reliant on other people, because I couldn't manage it on my own. It would be another three and a half months before I could do it on my own, and when I finally managed it, I wept.

Tidbit

2008-01-17T21:36:00.002-05:00

I always laugh at myself when I remember this. It happened a couple years ago, in August. I was playing with Boymeat when he asked me if I came from pain. Problem was I was so high on my own endorphins, all I could do was stare at him stupidly and mentally run through my world geography, desperately trying to locate the country 'Pain'. I kept thinking 'No, my family has western European roots, I don't come from Pain at all.'

I was about to ask him what he meant, tell him that I my roots weren't terribly exotic when it dawned on me what he had asked. "It hasn't happened yet," I replied with a quiet smile, and laid my head back in my arms while he continued working over my backside with a cane.

Bob

2008-01-14T19:11:00.002-05:00

I dated this guy once for about a month, let's call him Bob. Before I met Jefferson, I had had a grand total of 5 people whom I had bedded. I started associating with the bunny from this video. That bunny and I were real close.

But back to the point. The relationship lasted about a month, we probably would have killed each other if we had let it go any further, but he and I had sex, as couples are wont to do. In his parents basement, that's what cracked me up the most about it. It was so high school. But what really kept me going was that he drove this truck. He worked for his fathers company, so he had this work truck. I wanted to have sex in that truck like you would not believe, and he wouldn't do it. I know it sounds stupid, but really, I just want to have sex in peoples' cars. I never got to do it in high school, never wanted too. Now as an adult, I can't shake the idea.

Back to the point twice removed.

Bob was bad in bed. He gave me one orgasm the entire time we were together. By the time I came, I had earned that orgasm fair and square. It's not to say that Bob was a virgin, but he was inexperienced enough to think that all women are built alike, and all women are capable of g-spot orgasms. I am no such woman. I am difficult to get off, and the first couple times I sleep with someone, I don't expect to cum. I understand that that is not going to happen easily. But I appreciate it when people try.

Anyway. Bob was so sweet and desperate to get me off; but he didn't want to invest in the effort of figuring it out. He just want my orgasm to magically happen. So he would fuck me, and when he was finished, he would look at me and ask me if I came. I would either tell him I hadn't and reassure him that it was alright, or I would tell him that I did. It got to the point where I started faking it. However, the problem with faking your orgasms is that more like than not your going home and putting your hand between your legs or plugging in the ol' hitachi and having yourself a fabulous albeit lonely time.

The one time he managed to get me off I had to coach him. So I'm lying there, going somewhere with this guy's hand between my legs, playing over my clit, and then he stops, not like teasing, he just stops, like he's done, like I've cum. So I shove my crotch against his hand and he keeps going. This went on and on and on, and finally I came, and in the middle of my orgasm? You guessed it. He stopped. I wanted to smack him.

Finally I stopped trying to save his ego, I had given him all that I had, I went down on him, giving him my Jersey Girl Special, I even titty-fucked him, and I'm a b-cup, I don't have a whole helluva lot to titty-fuck with to begin with. But I reached a point where I just didn't care, I started getting myself off openly and often in front of him, while we fucked, I'd finger myself, I'd cum of my own volition. After a relationship where I constantly had to ask permission to cum, I found the idea novel that I could cum and cum and cum in front of someone and they couldn't do anything about it lest I stop fucking them.

I carried more than my share of the weight in that basement, as it were. I'm like a camel, I really don't mind carrying large burdens, whatever their nature, but when he went to friends of ours and COMPLAINED that I wasn't giving enough in bed, I kinda snapped. For a solid half hour I ranted and raved to Aimee that he was just not worth it, for someone who was so into the idea of getting me off, he wasn't into TRYING to get me off.

We broke up a week later.

I completely forgot that I had had sex with him until I was sitting in the bathroom, peeing at one of Jefferson's orgies when it dawned on me that he was number 4 in the line-up men I had slept with. Funny how these things happen, eh?

Simply Marvelous

2008-01-12T20:42:00.002-05:00

It's time to take a break from analyzing everything and write some smut! So, without further ado. . .

This was such a satisfying date, I'm trying to think of where to start.

Duh Eden. Start at the beginning. My idiocy astounds me sometimes.

I got to Jefferson's at about 3pm. Showed up at his door in my work clothes; I was fresh from my first day as an intern and was feeling particularly good about it as Jefferson undressed me, and then undressed himself. We wandered back into his bedroom where we fucked, and fucked and fucked. And then he went down on me.

Going down on me is significant because before I met Jefferson, no one ever bothered to do it with the intent of getting me off, with one exception that I generally try to forget about. So he's going down on me, and I'm slowly creeping towards my orgasm, and then he goes and changes tactics on me. And I made this noise, words like 'grunt' and 'moan' don't seem to define the sound that I made. I made a sound that came from our tree dwelling ancestors, and when I came, it was incredible.

Eventually we wandered off to poke around craigslist for something interesting, we spent the next couple hours wondering if anyone would respond to our ad while we poked fun at each other. I introduced him to the Ultimate Orgy of Ultimate Destiny (click on the armadillo), via the Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny. He introduced me to the Museum of Creationism, where someone spent like 25 million dollars of their own money and put DINOSAURS in the Garden of Eden where they lived without incident with the other creatures and humans. Jefferson wondered what they did with dinosaurs, I suggested that they were used to plow fields, he thought Ben Hur would have been great if velociraptors had been attached to the chariots instead of horses. Personally I'm still trying to figure out how Eve managed to get tempted by the snake with a t-rex lumbering around.

When it became clear that nothing was going to formulate from our ad, I began to eye Jefferson's coffee table. "Can we fuck on your coffee table?" I had asked. I feel the need to explain to you that I have been wanting to fuck on his coffee table almost as long as I have known him. He said that if I cleaned it off, we could fuck on it. I set to my activity with a fervor, clearing off the surface while Jefferson got the condoms and lube. I laid back on the table and placed my calves on his shoulders, oh I'm forgetting one of the best parts! I went down on him, I'd been wanting to do that for a while now too. Then I tweaked one of his nipples in my teeth before lying back on the coffee table. He slipped inside of me, it felt good to have his cock pound my pussy while I was pushed back into the hard surface of the table. It creaked and groaned in protest to our actions. Then I turned around, got on my knees while he fucked me from behind. This was a good idea for about two minutes before I had to stop, the table just hurt my knees too much. We decided that it was a work in progress.

Eventually we wandered back to his bedroom where we watched a movie, I can't remember the name of it, ask Jefferson, and then we fell asleep.

The next morning we smiled and pulled each other close, kissing and fondling like a couple of teenagers. Jefferson got on top and once again my ankles where put up around his ears while he pressed down into me. And something happened, something amazing! I almost came from straight fucking. I know, I've said it before, but wow, I felt that orgasm and it was close, but then someone moved, maybe it was me, maybe it was him, and it went away. But let me tell you; it was incredible while it lasted.

And then he fucked me in the ass, and it was amazing. Now my ass is a delicate flower, and I have alot of trouble taking it up the ass, but this felt absolutely AMAZING. If Jefferson had been the one to take my ass virginity, I so totally would have volunteered to be the spokes model for the month of ass virgins back in November. It's been days and I'm still thinking about it.

Then we went and got cleaned up and he went down on me and I came again, and it was all kinds of fabulous. In time I packed my things together and headed for the subway, on my way to pick up the Thai food I ordered and catch my bus home to Jersey. All the while floating in the dream space of the newly discovered possibilities that my body decided to offer me.

Disgust

2008-01-06T13:54:00.002-05:00

I received this in an e-mail recently, in a dummy account I keep for kinky mailing lists and things like that. Keep in mind I never heard from this person before this showed up in my inbox. He was a complete stranger until he was brought to my attention. I copied and pasted it, it is completely unedited, down to the caps:

MY NAME IS THE PAIN DOCTOR.MY MAIN SPECIALTY IS INFLICTING PAIN BY GIVING CRUEL AND UNUSUAL CORPORAL PUNISHMENTS...MY TECHNIQUES AND METHODS ARE QUESTIONABLE BY SOME,BUT PROVED TO BE VERY PAINFUL AND EFFECTIVE...I AM VERY STRICT AND DO NOT TOLERATE MISBEHAVE DISOBEDIENT SLAVES...YOU MUST OBEY TO EACH AND EVERY ORDER - NO QUESTIONS ASKED OR YOU WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES = AGONY ORDEAL... I DO NOT GIVE ANY "WARM UP" AND GO DIRECTLY TO DO WHAT I DO BEST:TRAINING DISOBEDIENT AND DISRESPECTFUL SLAVES.YOU WILL NEVER KNOW WHAT REAL PAIN IS - UNTIL YOU HAVE MET THE PAIN EXPERT... I HAVE MY OWN TORTURE TECHNIQUES, AND WHO EVER FELT IT,COMPLAINT THAT THEY ARE TOO EXTREME,TOO SEVERE...THE WORDS:MERCY,TOO SEVERE,I NEED A WARM UP,I CAN'T TAKE IT AND SO - DO NOT EXIST IN MY VOCABULARY... I WILL TORTURE YOU AND MAKE YOU SCREAM,BEG FOR MERCY,BEG FOR ME TO STOP AND CRY,CRY,AND CRY...I WILL START THE TRAINING BY SECURELY TYING YOU UP IN UNCOMFORTABLE POSITIONS AND END THE "SESSION"BY PUTTING SALT AND ALCOHOL ON YOUR COLORFUL MARKS, WELTS AND BRUISES... YOU WILL NEED TO USE A VERY SOFT PILLOW TO SIT DOWN... IT IS UNNECESSARY TO MENTION THAT YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO TOUCH AND RUB IT WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.... REMEMBER : YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU NEED TO BE SEVERELY PUNISHED,TRAINED AND DISCIPLINED - YOU MUST NOT ENJOY IT.YOU ARE HERE TO SUFFER,TO FEEL UNCOMFORT,EXTREME PAIN AND AGONY,TO SCREAM, TO CRY, AND BEG FOR MERCY...AND I WILL NOT FEEL SORRY FOR YOU !!!I HAVE MORE THAN 15 YEARS OF EXPERIENCE AS WELL AS ALL THE TOOLS NEEDED FOR ATTITUTE CORRECTIONS.
THE PAIN DOCTOR

Now, I don't think I need to tell you how angry and upset this made me. Why on earth would anyone say these things to me? I reported him to the mailing list, saying that he was threatening me, and was probably threatening others as well. Unfortunately I don't have the e-mail that I sent him in response. But I basically responded by telling him that he was threatening me, and basically telling me that he wanted to assault and abuse me and that he was a shameful predatory woman hater and it was people like him who gave the scene a bad reputation. And I then I shamed him several times.

This is not the way to get my attention. No, I'm sorry, that's wrong, this is a very very good way to get my attention. But the problem with getting my attention in this regard is that I will come down on your head like a safe dropped from a window several stories up, and the end result generally isn't that pretty.

I asked Terra if she thought I was overreacting, but I felt absolutely flabbergasted that anyone would write this to anyone else, let alone a complete stranger. I sat there agape, like a fish when I first read it, the second and third time proved to change little in my behavior. When I read the e-mail to her over the phone, she too was perplexed and concerned by this e-mail. We had no idea what to make of it, we still don't, for that matter. We just know that it's offensive and rude and unacceptable.

I don't know why so many people in the scene think that just because they're kinky and identify with a certain role means that the rules of respect and common decency go out the window. I am much more likely to play with someone who says hi to me, and asks me how I am, and engages me in a conversation before asking me to play. And if I choose to decline, then to simply respect that. But these strangers touch me, and call me 'girl' and tell me how much they want to spank me. These people creep me out, which is why when I go out, I use the buddy system, and periodically throughout the night, my buddy changes, because I find someone to play with, or someone to hang out with while my buddy goes off and plays. However it's sad to me that I have to instate a buddy system, something I shouldn't have to use at the age of 21.

I've been trying to find the words to write about predators and the generally harmless albeit creepy people in the scene, because sadly, they are there, many people I know have had their share of encounters with them, myself included. Maymay recently wrote a very well written post about meeting people in kinky environments, and I'm glad that he wrote that post. He touched on some stuff that I've been mulling over for a while now, and between that and the rather rude e-mail I received above put some things into perspective for me.

When I am confronted with new people in the scene who ask me about how to meet people, I'm always kinda floored. My experience isn't that vast, sure, I've had some wild scenes with some great people, but my circle of friends is pretty small. I try to tell people to please be patient, and not to allow themselves to fall prey to the people who will harm them, like Exhibit A above. I tell them to use the same measuring stick that they would anyone they might meet in the vanilla world. Because the vanilla things do matter when it comes to any kind of relationship with anyone. Kinky stuff is fun, but you need a foundation made up of more than your shared love of canes and spankings for any kind of prolonged relationship.

This behavioral pattern of men, both submissive and dominant, coming up to women, and I can only assume men too, and asking if they can rub our feet or show us their toy bag without even introducing themselves to us is offensive and rude. This isn't to say that there aren't dangerous women in the scene, there are, but in my experience they tend not to be as obvious about their intentions.

It's no different to me than the men on the street who catcall at women as they walk by. They just assume that eventually one of them will take them up on their offer, but honest to goodness, if the first ten didn't show any interest, what makes them think anyone else will?

And this notion of people wanting to prove how dominant they are that they throw the basic rules of social interaction out the window is unacceptable. We no longer live in a medieval society where women are dictated by the wills of their husbands and fathers; the feminist movement happened, we burned our bras and redesigned the maxi pad and demanded the oppertunity to prove ourselves in fields outside of nursing and clerical work. And you know what? We did it too. We got out of the kitchen and we stopped making pies.

And then I go and get up this morning and mosey on downstairs to check my e-mail and I find myself reading this little gem. I'm offended that anyone would write that to anyone else, and I keep coming back to it, keep wanting to write back again. I swear, I want to do a Miss Manner's course on etiquette because quite frankly it's shameful that anyone would consider this a suitable way to introduce oneself. Absolutely shameful.

I'm sure people will roll their eyes and tell me to drop it, that it's not worth my time or energy, that there will always be people like this, and that's probably true, but just because it's true doesn't mean that it's acceptable.

Impact

2008-01-06T07:49:00.002-05:00

I was in a book store recently, browsing the shelves before I had to saunter off to work a few blocks away. I wandered in between the aisles, through the bargain books, on into fiction, down through biology and up into history. Eventually I found myself in the section on sexuality. My eyes skimmed over the titles, I wasn't terribly interested in the books. Mostly revised versions of the 'Kama Sutra', and other books on positions. I've given up on elaborate positions, getting off is already hard enough with having to worry about my aching knees or the muscles burning in my back from the strain.

My eye was caught by a book, and I picked it up, and read the back of it. 'Working Sex: Sex Workers Write About a Changing Industry', was the title. And as I began to read it, I fell inside of it. Because it was exactly what I had been looking for for the longest time. Now, I'm not a sex worker, I can't offer you views on that because I have no experience in that arena, but what struck me about this book was the actual stories, not the money that exchanged hands, but the men and women who had these experiences. I feel like we never hear from sex workers because they get pushed down so often, but I think that their voices need to be heard.

I often think of one of Eve Ensler's monologues from 'The Vagina Monologues' titled 'I was twelve. My mother slapped me,' when I think of sex. Because in her intro she says that when she interviewed women about their periods, their stories began to show similarities and patterns in their experiences.

I believe that the same thing applies to sex.

I believe this because when we start to tell our stories, similarities begin to shine through. Love, hate, need, passion, fear, desperation, happiness, joy, elation, fun, healing, and so much more. When we begin to talk about our experiences, we weave together a cloth full of stories that have many different feelings and meanings attached to them.

When I began blogging, I wanted to write about my stories and experiences, I had thoughts and opinions that I wanted to share with the world. But it was never really my intent to write erotica. I wanted to get past the smut, because I honestly believe that sex impacts our lives. I took a guy's virginity last year, how do you think that effected him? How did it effect me? I also fisted a girl for the first time, her first time getting successfully fisted, what about that?

After Jefferson got back from Camp last year, I showed up on his door step with my strap-on, and that night he straddled me, pressing my dildo up into his ass. And we cried and I held him and told him that I had him, that I would never let him fall, and he kept saying over and over again 'I know, I know' while we wept. I think about that sometimes, about the fact that the night that we did that, I did not get turned on, not like I usually do. What transpired between us went so much deeper than sex. Lying there, staring up at him, I felt submissive in a way I hadn't felt in a long time. Deep down inside of my soul something vibrated, and it broke and reformed. Something inside of me had changed, had healed.

So I'm sure you can understand why it frustrates me when I hear people talking about how sex is evil and wrong. How can something be evil and wrong when it has effected so many lives so deeply, for better or for worse? I have friendships with people that I met at orgies, these are people that I talk about music and movies and relationships and everything else with. Back in March I e-mailed Jefferson about an afternoon of casual sex and we've been friends ever since. Sex brings people together, after all it takes two to tango, three can be company, and the more the merrier.

Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for the people of this world who have chosen to be celibate for one reason or another. I was celibate for 13 months once, and I applaude the people who have done it successfully. But it's not for me, I can't imagine it's for most people. No, my issue lies with the people who try to erase their sex drives, and encourage other people to do the same, the people who tell boys their penis' will fall off if they masturbate, or the circumcision of girls in Africa, or the people who try to 'reprogram' gay men and lesbian women to fit into their concept of what people should really be, instead of what they actually are, which is human.

I feel like some people have lost sight of the bigger picture, so I'm writing this in attempt to make the bigger picture a little bit clearer. To try to erase some of the tarnish that sex has somehow accumulated over the years, and let's face it, those are some pretty substantial years. The people that I've talked to about sex have told me some of the most incredible stories, and I'm so pleased that they entrusted me to be one of the keepers of their tales. When they tell me these stories I hear wistful longing and unfinished business in their voices, I hear regret and pain, and joy, I hear people giggling like they were children again, on rare occasions I've witnessed tears, goodness knows I'm shedding them now, as I write this.

I will probably never understand why some people have such close minded views on sex. I can't help but wonder who hurt them so badly that they decided it was acceptable to destroy one of the pillars of healthy human development. I can only hope that they can find it in themselves to let go and try to heal, to try to see that they are safe and sound now.

Because in an era when we are confronted with AIDS and a host of other STDs, many treatable, others not, with teen pregnancies and botched abortions, where men, women, and children and members of the LGBT community face horrible indecencies, you'd think that more people would be willing to open their eyes and see the full magnitude of what is happening.

It seems like everyone is preaching abstinence, but human beings on a base physical level are wired to want to have sex; it's biological destiny. I would think that knowing what we know now, we would make more of an effort to inform people about birth control and the importance of using protection when having sexual relations. We need to stop trying to be perfect images of control, no man is a god, and no woman is a goddess, we are all human beings, no better and no worse than anyone else. Human beings cannot afford to let hubris win over common sense. The more people know about sex, the better off the whole human race will be.

I honestly don't know how to conclude this post, because if I'm not saying it, then somebody else is. There is no real way to end something like this, it will keep going on, long after I press the 'publish' button below my little window here. So I'm just going to leave it at that and hope that maybe some good will come of this.

Secrets

2007-12-30T19:12:00.002-05:00

I live a life of secrets. All of my friends know that I'm kinky, that I have a sex blog, that I do X, Y, and Z, and that I enjoy it immensely. They know this because I met them through either Jefferson or through the scene. Ulimately, many of us are keeping the same secrets, from our families, employers, school mates and teachers, the list could, potentially, go on and on.

For those of us keeping these secrets, it's a nessecity, we stand to lose our families, our jobs, and our standing in society. So we take on scene names, and write our smut under alias' to protect our identities. Kind of like bizarre super heros, someone should give us capes and we should start wearing our underwear on the outside of our clothes.

I was recently cleaning up in my bedroom, clearing out my closet (which looked like a bomb had gone off in it), and moving my summer clothes from my secondary dresser onto shelves in the closet. I threw out lots of shoes and old boxes. When I was digging through my dresser, I uncovered the box my Hitachi came in, and my first strap-on. I had relegated the one I have now to an antique minitature steamer trunk underneath my bed. I froze when I saw my strap-on, I had bargained for it in a Chelsea sex shop and got paid what I wanted to pay for it. It was ghetto fabulous while it lasted.

I sat there, staring at it, knowing it was time to throw it out, not quite sure how to accomplish it without getting caught. So I went downstairs and got a garbage bag, and came back upstairs. I threw out some old boxes and put my old strap on in the bottom of the bag. I went through my closet, clearing out old shoe boxes, breaking them down and putting them in the trash bag. I cursed loudly when the bag began to tear, so I ran downstairs and got two more, for the sake of covering all my bases, and placed the now shredding bag inside of the other two. It held. I filled another bag with shoes and old purses that I never wore before, and probably won't wear anytime in the future, no matter how much I try to convince myself I will.

I cleared my other sex toys with the exception of my Hitachi (which has a permanent home in my primary dresser) and my one pathetic porno into the small trunk with my strap-on. I hid it behind my much larger steamer trunk which holds my costumes for role playing and my fine bedding. I'm supposed to be getting a new computer that I'm going to stock full of my blog stories and scene pictures and plenty of other debaucherous things in addition to my less carnal daily files and programs, and then I'll proceed to password protect the hell out of it. Hence the cleaning, in preperation for the desk that will go in it's place.

I live a life of secrets, like so many of my friends. Sometimes secrets are nessecary, they allow us to keep our jobs, our families, sometimes they are the glue that holds our lives together. My mother discovered my blog a while back, I had gotten lazy and forgotten to clear the history, a mistake I can't afford to make again. I could very easily end up on the street, and I am in no position to handle a situation like that.

I have lived like this since I was 18 and went to my first TES meeting. I love my family, I don't want to hurt them. I made a stupid joke about SM once to my mother and she freaked out. That's when I knew for sure that no one in my family could ever know. Terra and I have a plan to get an apartment together with another friend of ours at the end of next year, I have one more year to live my life under lock and key. If our plan works out, then I'll have one more year of passwords and stories and secrets.

I will live my life of secrets because I have too, many of us do, it is a simple fact of life. But I do look forward to the day when my home life doesn't force me to lie and make up stories about what I'm doing and where I'm going and why I have bruises on my chest. Silence is golden for a reason, but damn, when the day comes, yelling is gonna be fun.

One More Sleep 'til Christmas!

2007-12-25T14:00:00.001-05:00

(Muppet Christmas Carol)

Happy holidays to all'a'y'all from The Garden!!

Family ties

2007-12-17T10:16:00.002-05:00

Terra and I met over a year ago at a TES tng meeting. I forget what the topic was, but I was telling someone about a series of books by Anne Bishop they might like when she stood up from the other end of the table, and proclaimed, loudly: "OH MY GOD! ANNE BISHOP'S BLACK JEWEL TRILOGY ARE THE BEST BOOKS EVER WRITTEN!!!" We've been best friends and leather sisters ever since.

She and I have seen each other through countless crisis and drama, we run to each other when we have a bad scene, or a bad day, taking comfort in one another's presence. We tell each other jokes and make fun of each other endlessly. We are almost always laughing when we are together. People often ask us if we're girlfriends, and we shake our heads no. If Terra and I ever had sex it would be beyond incest and would just destroy our friendship.

When it came to light that she would be an orphan for thanksgiving this year, I invited her to thanksgiving dinner with my family. So we all piled into the station wagon and drove off to my cousins house in Conn.

We faced little traffic, and along the way, Terra told me about her family tree, after informing me that I would be attending her family reunion with her, and that by the way, I would have to learn the electric and the cha-cha slide before we went down south.

We got there about noon, and I was starving, I kept eye balling the stuffing and the turkey, and I was consistently shooed out of the kitchen by my various family members. Terra and I started talking about inconsequential things, waiting for dinner to be served. Finally we all got out plates and lined up at the buffet to serve ourselves. Terra and I laughed over the fact that we had been relegated to the 'kiddie table' where we ate in stone cold silence until my aunt, ever the instigator, asked the question that turned my dinner into a stone in my belly.

"So, how did you two meet?" She asked. My entire family went dead quiet, and I was aware of everyone staring at me. I looked at Terra, and Terra stared at her plate. I was tempted to kick her under the table. "We met at a dinner party through a friend of ours, we were reading the same book, and just started talking about it," I said, amazed that I had managed to keep the note of uncertainty out of my voice.

The conversation went right back to politics, as if the question had never been asked, and we breathed a silent sigh of relief.

After we had been released from the the table, we put on a movie, and started talking. "Great," I laughed. "My family thinks I'm a lesbian, it's partially true too, so no one will spaz if I ever get the girlfriend I've been trying to find and bring her to Christmas dinner or something." Terra laughed. "I want a video recording of that dinner when it happens."

We turned our attention to the movie, 'Dreamgirls', and talked intermittently about music stolen from black artists, relationships, dreams, and caught each other up on other things that we can't discuss in front of my family at dinner or in the car on the drive up.

When it was time to go, we all said goodbye to my family to begin the drive home. Only it was dark and we couldn't find our way back to the road. The thing about where my family is in Conn. is that its so isolated there are no street lamps to light the way, so you can't read the few street signs that there are when you need to get your bearings. We drove around the woods for about an hour before we finally got directions and made our way back to the main road that would ultimately take us to the high way.

On the drive home, Terra and I giggled and wrote notes to each other on our cell phones about the days events. When we got to the house, we just brushed our teeth and fell into bed, tomorrow, after all, was another day.

Lessons

2007-12-14T20:50:00.002-05:00

I feel the need to give everything a disclaimer. But I'm thinking this will be my last one, with a few special exceptions. But this is all based on my experiences and on what other people have told me from their own experiences. Everyone is different, and I am but one voice in a chorus of many. That said; enjoy!

---

Pain is significant and beautiful. It exists for a very good, honest reason. It exists to tell us that something is very wrong, and/or needs attention. We feel it when we stub our toes, when we get a finger caught in the door, when we have cramps, when our hearts get broken, and for women, child birth. So with all of the billions of nerve endings that cover our bodies, it is no surprise that we experience uncomfortable feelings now and again.

As a masochist I have developed an intimate relationship with pain that continues to grow as my experiences increase and broaden. In my book there are two kinds of pain; erotic pain and bad pain. Both are pretty self explanatory; one gets me off, and the other hurts like fuck. When I dislocated my shoulder last year someone asked me if I enjoyed it, told me it must have been heaven for me. To which I replied "No dumbass, my arm was out of the socket for almost three hours, it hurt like hell and sex was the last thing on my mind."

The erotic pain I experience is by and large controlled by people who I trust and who know what they're doing. They are my friends and I trust them to take care of me when I am in such a vulnerable position. Although I have been known to get whacked by something or walk into something by accident and I'll giggle and get a nice little endorphin rush and then go on my merry way.

There are different ways of handling pain, I can't begin to tell you all of them. Everyone is different, and people have different reactions to pain. Personally when I'm in a scene I'm either really quiet, really loud, laughing hysterically, or some combination of the three.

Recently I was at Jefferson's, and we were fooling around as we are wont to do, and I found myself on top. I'm about ten pounds lighter than he is, we even fit the same size clothes, so I can hold my own against him pretty well.

I was straddling his belly and had his arms locked against his sides. I talked to him while I ran my fingers through the hair on his belly and chest. I pressed my thumbs against his nipples, and then tweaked them a little bit and he jumped. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret," I began slowly. "When you are dealing with pain, breathing helps a great deal. Alot of people find that pain amplifies if they stop breathing while they are playing. But if you can remember to breath through the pain, it won't hurt as much. See?" I pinched his nipples between thumb and forefingers, rubbing his nipples gently between my fingertips. He nodded mutely, gazing up at me and breathing deeply.

I was surprised to find myself enjoying the tentative control that Jefferson gave me. I stopped when he asked me to, I have no desire to abuse the trust that he gives me. But never before was I interested in getting on top and being the one in control with anyone; I'm happy to just be along for the ride. But I found myself enjoying this strange foreign top space, however brief my experience.

I doubt I'll be climbing back on top anytime soon, being the one in control has always been a bit of a mental strain for me. But that delicate thrumming in my clit was the same one that I get when I top in a strap-on scene, and that gives me quite a bit to think about.

Simpley gorgeous

2007-12-05T05:49:00.000-05:00

My drawing teacher, who we've called Sexy since our first class with him, looks like Dane Cook. Even more so now that he cut his hair and grew a beard. He's tall, and on the first day of class he wore tight jeans and a t-shirt with a rip in it. And I gaped when I saw him, my mouth literally hung open as I stared at him. Later all of the girls in that class would admit to doing more than their share of ogling at our teacher over the course of that long ago semester.

One morning we were drawing portraits of the person next to us. I was sketching my friend Lila when he came over to give me a few pointers. I don't recall a word he said, but I remember staring at him, and breathing in his smell of tobacco and coffee, smells that seem to have turned women on since forever.

The tension in my body was unbearable. I wanted this man, pure and simple. Before I realized what I was doing, I started to lean forward as if I was going to kiss him. I stopped myself, physically stopped myself and leaned back and gripped the table in front of me to ensure I wouldn't try to do anything stupid. I tried to listen to him until he moved on to another person. I started laughing, a little hysterically, and Lila looked at me suspiciously. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She demanded, a questioning look on her face.

"I almost kissed Sexy," I said in hushed tones. She stared at me for a moment and then shook her head. "Personally I'm gonna wait until after I finish this class before I try to stick my tongue down his throat. That man is so hot," she exclaimed quietly while I picked up my pencil and resume sketching her.

Leather

2007-12-02T09:19:00.002-05:00

I woke up this morning and was surprised to find it snowing. I yawned and gathered my hair up onto my head before waddling into my office to turn on my computer. I went to the bathroom while it loaded, and in my waking state, I thought about how today would be the perfect day to play, and fantasized what about what that would entail. After I finished peeing and cleaned myself up, I went back to my computer and settled down to check my e-mail and various other sites that I like to keep up on.

Suddenly, out of no where, I was overcome by this intense desire to just smell leather. That had never happened to me out of the blue like that before. I mean, feet, totally, piss, sure, leather? Never happened like this. Now I love the smell and feel of leather, always have. It's always had a kind of subtle presence in my life, and apparently in it's absense, I found myself missing it.

I thought about this while I proceeded to tear the house apart, cursing myself for getting rid of my old leather jacket, nevermind that that coat was way past it's expiration date when I came into posession of it. I wore it for three seasons before passing it on into the cosmos.

Finally, after about 20 minutes of searching, I remembered my chaps. My beautiful black rawhide leather chaps from when I used to horseback ride. I dug into the endless piles of junk in my basement before unearthing them. I unwrapped them and buried my face into the folds of leather, breathing deeply. The smell was still there, faint, but present, and I felt a jolt between my legs that made my knees weak while I moaned, deep in my throat. An earthy gutteral sound that came from my soul.

I gave up drinking coffee about five years ago, I used to make it strong enough to make even the heaviest caffine addicts cringe. This was just as effective as those morning cups of coffee.

Untitled

2007-11-29T16:17:00.002-05:00

I got Jeffersons at about 9 in the morning, I walked there from the subway in a daze. By then I had already been in shock for two days, and several times I had stomp the desire to scream as I walked down the street. Just stop and scream until there was nothing left of me.

I had gotten to his place before he got back from dropping off his kids. I stripped down to my underwear, and went into the bathroom to tend to my ministrations. I came back into the living room, and settled on the couch, and began reading my book. Periodically I would lean my head back against the couch cushions. I couldn't breath, I couldn't think, I was just overwhelmed.

I was rocking back and forth trying to calm myself. When Jefferson opened the door, I stopped, desperately trying to hide my panic. "Hey, how are you doing?" He asked, closing the door behind him. "I'm good," I croaked. "How are you?"

"I'm alright, you don't look so good though, you sure you're okay?" He asked, taking off his shoes. "My ex is dead," I said bluntly. I've never been good at being subtle. "Oh my god," he snapped to attention, sweeping into the kitchen to deposit his coffee cup on the counter, and coming back into the living room, he placed his book on the table and took off his coat. He came over and settled down next to me on the couch. He wrapped his arms around me. I numbly relayed the information.

"I got a phone call from a friend of mine on Tuesday, she and I share him as an ex. Apparently his mother had e-mailed her, telling her that he had died in a boating accident. The boat had capsized and caught him underneath, and he drowned. They didn't find his body until the next day. This happened about a month ago." I snuggled closer to him, taking comfort in his presence. "This was the bad ex," I murmured into his neck.

"I feel horrible," I moaned. "I want so desperately to be able to say good things about him. I want to tell loving stories of tender moments. But I would be lying if I did that, and I don't lie. This man raped me, he took away my right to consent, to safe words, to respect. I want so badly to say good things about him, but I can't do that. And I feel horrible. A man is dead, and I have nothing good to say about him. And what's worse is that I'm relieved. I am relieved that this man will never be able to hurt anyone else again."

"You're not a horrible person. You're honest, if you said anything different it would be a lie. Sure things started out alright in the beginning, but that changed. It's okay to feel the way you are feeling. And you're right, he will never be able to hurt you or anyone else again. You shouldn't feel as if you have eulogize him, it's okay to feel what you are feeling," Jefferson soothed.

"I am a deeply religious woman," I went on. "And part of what I believe in is karmic debt. That we have to pay for our sins, not to the people that we hurt, but to the universe. That's why I never sought revenge, never tried to do anything about what he did. Because I believed that the universe would take care of me. I know that I'm not the only person that he hurt, that man had a consistent pattern of abuse. But death? Was his debt really that great? How many people did he owe? How many people weighted the scale? And why?"

We sat there in silence for a long time, snuggled up on the couch. I groped desperately for a topic. "I got an internship," I said with an abrupt change of subject. I could feel Jefferson attempting to make the same mental leap I had just made. "Yeah," I acknowledged his confusion. "I'm good at changing the topic." "That's great, where's it at?" He asked. I told him about it, and after a few minutes we lapsed back into silence.

"Am I a horrible person?" I asked quietly, tears choking me. "No baby, you're not a horrible person at all," he said softly.

We sat there in silence for a few more moments, and I leaned my head back to look at him. He kissed me gently on the mouth, our tongues exploring one anothers mouths. I tugged ineffectively at his shirt. "Let's level the playing field," I said, attempting to get back onto solid ground. He pulled me into the bedroom, stripping off his clothes before wrapping his arms around me while he kissed me. He fumbled with my bra and managed to get it off after a moment. He took a step back and bent over to examine my panties. "Well Hello Kitty," he said, commenting on my pink 'hello kitty' underwear before slipping them off onto the floor.

We cuddled under the blanket, holding each other tightly, murmuring to one another for a while. I slowly switched gears, pushing the conflicting emotions aside, and allowing myself to enjoy Jefferson's company and our morning together.

After a while Jefferson started to idlly play with one of my breasts. "You can be such a tease, you know that?" I muttered. "Yeah?" He breathed. "Tell me about that." His touches became feather light and I squirmed as his hand played over my breasts, looping around my nipples and travelling down to carress my inner thighs before settling to gently knead my clit with his fingertips. I gasped as he drew my arm up above my head, and caught my foot under his leg.

I gasped and moaned, working myself towards my orgasm. My breathing hitched and I came quietly, jerking a little against his hand. He started to massage my labia, pressing his hand up inside of me. He began rubbing his whole hand against my vagina, and I could feel his hand pressing up against the bone. It hurt, but it felt good too.

He pulled his hand out and grabbed my ankle and pulled it over so that he was positioned between my legs. He pulled out a condom and we fucked quietly for a while until he rolled off of me and cuddled up next to me. We napped, curled up against each other. I must have fallen asleep at some point, but not for long.

After a while I leaned down and took his cock in my mouth. I pressed my fingers into his perineum and he moaned. I leaned back. "I wanna finger your ass while I'm going down on you, is that alright?" I asked quietly. He nodded, and we put some lube on my hand and I wiped it over two of my fingers. I gently played with his ass, slipping one finger in, taking my time. Eventually I slid another finger into his ass. He was incredibly tight, and I couldn't move my fingers very easily, but I managed. I slurped his cock into my mouth and sucked on him, my other hand alternated between playing with his balls and perineum. "God this is hot," I said. "I am fucking you so hard when I'm done down here."

I moved my hand back and forth in his ass gently. I quietly monitered his face, checking in on him from time to time. Eventually he asked me to stop, and I pulled my hand out, but kept going down on him for a few minutes more.

Eventually I stopped and leaned forward, kissing him on the mouth. "You have that 'i wanna fuck' look on your face," he said. I smiled widely and leaned over to his nightstand. Taking out a condom, I put it on him and mounted him. Some didn't feel quite right with it, but I started moving anyway. After a few minutes, I realized what was wrong. "Say something," I breathed. He was silent for a few moments, and I wondered if he had heard me. "Talk to me, if you talk to me this will get a whole lot better for both of us," I explained quietly.

So he talked.

He began slowly, weaving a quiet tale. Driving out to the woods, going for a hike. Making me strip down naked and walk out ahead of him, barefoot. How he would beat me with his walking stick if I were to slow down. Periodically making me stop so that I would suck his cock while it was so deep in my throat I couldn't breath.

My cunt tightened like a vice and I had a lake between my thighs as I rode him. I fucked him deep and long and hard. I fucked him in a way I hadn't fucked anyone in a very long time, with my whole body. My breasts were pressed flat against his chest, and all I was aware of was his cock sheathed between my thighs, his stubble against my cheek, and the sound of his voice.

He told me how he would fuck me, while I laid in the dirt, until he came, and then he would pee on me and make me get up and keep walking. How when people came along he would make me hide in a sticker bush and wait until they were gone, to keep quiet about my cuts and stratches.

It went on and on and I did not want it to stop. I wanted more. Hell, I'm turned on just thinking about it. When I stopped, I rolled onto my back and he rolled on top of me, putting his cock in my pussy he began fucking me. We breathed heavily into eachothers necks while we fucked. Eventually he gasped out that he was going to come. "Okay baby, come," I murmured, and he quaked. After he came, I smiled and smoothed his hair.

We snuggled up afterwards. Holding each other close for a few minutes until we roused ourselves enough to for him to eat some lunch and for us to get dressed and head on out together; me off to my bus, him off to get his kids.

It was a good date, for reasons beyond the obvious. It was good because for the first time since I got the news about my ex, I was able to say what I needed to say. I had spent two days trying to find the words I needed, and I finally found them. Jefferson wasn't the first person to tell me what he did, but it was the first time I finally heard what was being said to me.

As for my ex, all I can say is that I loved him until I couldn't. I wish I could say more than that, but I can't. I hope I can be forgiven for that.

Sorry

2007-11-27T21:48:00.001-05:00

Sorry I haven't been around much, I've been busy trying to get an internship and taking care of a few loose ends. But I am working on a doozey of a post, so please bear with me.

In the meantime, here, listen to this:

This song does things to me.

Song title: Manowar - Master of the Winds

AMV: Haibane Renmei - created by Abe Yoshitoshi

My List

2007-11-14T20:19:00.003-05:00

I keep a list of things that I want to do in my sex and play life that I have never done before:

-Pain orgasm

-G-spot orgasm

-Incest scene - with a consenting someone my age or older who isn't an actual familial relation; but I didn't need to tell you that, did I?

-Double Penetration

-Sex in the back seat of someones car

I have been obsessed with the last one on that list since I graduated high school. No joke. Maybe it's a Jersey Girl thing, but I can't shake the itch. I have the option of nice comfy beds, and I want to haul myself into the back of a car. But I gotta admit, there's just something about the feeling of upholstry on my bare ass and the awkward struggle of getting the condom on and slipping inside of me that's just so high school.

For my birthday Jefferson and I were going to go to the nude beach and then find a parking lot to have sex in. He was going to indulge my fantasy in the back of his car. But we got rained out and had to go back to the City. So I never got to do it.

Back before I took a break from dating, I was seeing this guy. He had a car. I almost fucked him in his car. But he had been trying to get into my pants since the beginning of 'Black Snake Moan' that evening (that reminds me, I also want to be chained to radiator, do a total mindfuck scene, let's add that to the list too) and I was feeling taken advantage of. He insisted on paying for food and stuff, even though he knew I wasn't looking for anything serious, and then expected me to put out.I would have paid for myself had he let me. The whole thing made me very uncomfortable, and I got out of there as fast I could.

So I never got to fuck in a car.

I gave head once in a car in this one spot near my town, but everyone gives head in their car up there. It's like a requirement or something. Come to think of it, I also gave head on an express train to Dover NJ once. Go figure.

But I never fucked anyone in a car. So I sit, grumbling about the cold, because that means that I have to wait even longer to try and pull this off.

One of these days I'll do it. One of these days I'll scratch the itch.

Until then I have all my other delightful indoor activities to work on accomplishing. Some people knit in the winter, I try to get cherries taken.

Pookie

2007-11-10T20:39:00.002-05:00

Authors note: I am going to tell the events of Friday night as I remember them. All acts written here-in were completely consensual for both parties involved. This is tale of how I lost a cherry. Enjoy!

The orgy-goers and myself drove out to Brooklyn from Manhattan. I hung out with Jefferson, and periodically wandered off, fondling Wendy and some other friends that were there as well. I settled into a chair, and began talking with Boymeat and a friend of his, we laughed and joked until he declared that he was going to beat me.

We wandered into one of the back rooms, and I stripped off my clothes, we began making out, and he grabbed and pulled at my nipples. I moaned into his neck, pressing myself against him. He pushed me back onto the bed, murmuring to me before burying his face between my thighs. I gave myself up to it, moaning as his tongue washed my clit. He rose to his feet, and said something, I don't know what, all I knew was that I wanted to get into get into his pants. I buried my face in his crotch until he moaned. After a while he buttoned his pants, and we talked about what we wanted to do, and decided to go with the single tail.

We wandered around, looking for a space to do it in. We found ourselves in the main room, and up in one corner was a platform that you could climb up into. We climbed up, and I knelt on the couch while he began working over my back. I can't describe to you what a single tail feels like, I just can't, what I can tell you is that I liked it. I liked it alot. I did not always feel this way about single tails, I never knew until last night whether or not I liked them. Well, I certainly reached my conclusion, didn't I?

Boymeat was whipping my back and I panted and moaned and hugged the wall. He would stop periodically to check up on me, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, murmuring into my ear. At some point my head snapped forward and I whacked my chin into the wall and we started laughing. At one such interlude he made me stand up with my back against the wall.

We started talking, I don't remember exactly how it came to this, but he said "I wanna cut you, but if I do that then I won't be able to use the whip again until I clean it. But who else am I going to single tail tonight?" "Oh, I'm not sure if I can do that," I said quietly. "Oh, I know you can do it," he said. "Turn around." So I turned around and he laid into my back. I gasped and cursed quietly, my nails dug into the wall until I felt him at my back. "Have you named the wall yet?" He had asked, toying with the hair at the nape of my neck. "Pookie," I breathed, and he started laughing.

Soon after we moved downstairs in search of a space where he could properly swing his whip in a way that he wanted. After some searching, we settled into a large hall, and I hugged the wall while the whip bit into my back. I cursed and gasped but took it. I don't know how much time passed before he came up behind me. "You're bleeding," he said, tapping his finger against my back and rubbing two of his fingers together. He counted the cuts. "You've got 6 cuts here," he said.

He led me back into the main sitting area and cuddled up with me on one of the sofas. I sat there, grinning widely and eventually I started laughing and slapping my thigh, everything seemed incredibly funny. "Do you want to thank me?" He asked, gazing steadily at me. I nodded mutely as he unbuttoned his pants. I buried my face back in his crotch for the second time that night.

Later on that night, when we arrived back at Jefferson's, Desire, Jefferson, and myself all went wearily into the building. When we got into his apartment, Jefferson tugged me into his bed; giving me a t-shirt to wear so that I wouldn't get blood on his sheets.

It took me a long time to find a position that I was comfortable enough to fall asleep in, but when I finally did fall asleep, I slept with a smile on my face.

Yeah, it was an awesome night.

The hitachi and the hair

2007-11-04T20:36:00.002-05:00

Or: The fable Aesop forgot to mention.

I don't like being told to get myself off in front of people. It makes me nervous in the worst way. It makes me nervous because somewhere along the line I stopped being able to get myself off without props. Which is why I bought a hitachi. Periodically I bring it out, plug it in, and go to town. Some people swear by the attachments, but I find them to just frustrate me further. But still, I have alot of trouble getting myself off, it just doesn't always happen for me.

You see a back in January I was out and I mentioned the way that I like to play in a passing conversation, and the person I was talking to gave me this look. And that look stopped me short. I became very self concious, I began showering in the dark, I did not want to have sex with anyone, and I stopped being able to get myself off. It probably didn't help that I no longer wanted to try. It bothered me that I would be percieved in a negative way. After all, who is anyone to tell me how and with whom to play, least of all someone who barely knows me. It angered me, but it also hit a very sensitive nerve. And because of that my sex drive shut down. I became another woman who was unable to have an orgasm, and that had never happened to me before. I hated that it had happened to me. I grew ashamed of my breasts and the flat stomach that I had once been so proud of. My thighs were disgusting to me. So I started dressing conservatively and ignored my body to the best of my ability.

But then valentines day came around, and I detest valentines day, I detest it with an incredible passion. It would be another day that I would be completely alone. I never understood why no one adopted the Greek tradition of a mass orgies for valentines day. I would love to have meaningless sex on valentines day. Lots and lots of it. But, in the absense of a mass orgy, I bought a hitachi.

I had a lovely valentines day, thank you very much.

I'm sure it will come as a surprise to some of you that even that stopped working for me for a while. It too joined the myriad of sex toys collecting dust in my bottom dresser drawer.

But then one night, on the verge of my period and the absense of a date, I decided to have a go at myself. Why not? In the preceding months I had regained my comfort with my body, and began rejoicing in the pleasure that others could give me, even if I could not count myself among their numbers. So I plugged in my hitachi, but no matter how hard I tried, I could only ride the edge, never quite slipping into that sweet release. This frustrated me to no end.

So I tried straddling it. Two pillows later and a great deal of patience, I managed to get myself off. Again and again and again, and I rode it out like a cowgirl on the back of a bull, my breasts bouncing up and down and my hair, my incredible hair that has always made me feel so sexy, bounced heavily on my shoulders, and I felt like walking sex, or rather cumming sex, as it were. I felt gloriously wonderously lush. I love cumming when I'm on top, but usually it's not feasible with another person, not with the way I'm known to cum. But damn. When you feel incredibly sexy while you are loving yourself, there is nothing quite like it.

Moral of the story? Honestly I can't think of a moral for this story.

Thought

2007-10-29T13:41:00.001-04:00

I had a thought: If I put my ear up to a woman's ~~cunt~~ (oh hell) clam, will I hear the ocean?

Hands

2007-10-29T12:00:00.002-04:00

I recently saw a photograph of a man holding a woman, and I was struck by the sight of his hands. He had beautiful hands, hands that I would call, for lack of a better word; masculine. They were hands that I wanted to hold, even though I probably never will. And I would go away from the picture, work on school work, check into various things, but I would always find myself being drawn back to the photo with the mans hands. I know men with similar hands, gorgeous, strong, masculine hands, and I can't help but feel lucky.

Hands are important. They are one of our primary senses, way to feel and explore the tangible world around us. They are how we do, well, everything; we cook and clean with them, we write and build and study with them, we use them when we eat, when we use the bathroom, when we bath, while we are doing just about anything productive (or unproductive) we use our hands. So I have taught myself use hands as a way to measure people. I gaze at their hands, quietly weighing them, making notes of callouses and scars, discolorations and other marks. I take in the strength that hands have; strong hands are very sexy to me; I find large palms and long thick fingers are very attractive on men. Although I don't think I've ever come across a pair of hands I didn't like.

In high school I loved looking at my chemistry teacher's hands, long tapered fingers with pale white nails beautiful broad palms. I love playing with Jefferson's hands, they are gorgeous to me; I love studying the soft underside of his fingers, tracing the lines on his palms, brushing my fingertips against his nails, feeling his strong bones flex in his hands. I find it strangely soothing and comforting to do this. There is also a man who attends Jefferson's orgies, I'm not sure if he has a blog name, but one night he picked me up and carried me back to the bedroom, and I swooned; I almost never get picked up or carried anywhere. Hands are important; they are also used to hold various forms of cargo, be it human or otherwise, even if you don't go anywhere.

A little over a year ago I went over to Boymeat's place help him clean his apartment, and one thing lead to another, and he asked me if I trusted him. I looked at him quietly for a long moment, and I looked at his hands, turning them over to gaze at the backs of his hands and his palms, he said it was the strangest thing, almost clinical, that no one had ever done that before, but he let me satisfy my odd curiousity and in return I gave him my trust. I went home that night with bruised-black thighs and a cane mark on my leg so bad that my eyes teared and my mind blanked momentarily every time something brushed against it; it was awesome.

Or a few weeks ago when Jefferson beat me up and I got scared and grabbed his hand, and would not let go until I managed to pull him down on top of me. That's another really really good thing hands are good for; holding other people's hands.

I'm sure I'm rambling at this point, and you're sick of reading this, or maybe you're wondering what I think of women's hands, honestly, I look at other things when I'm attracted to a woman, like her build, I find big girls sexy, and smaller hands are important to me on women because every so often I get it into my head that I can handle being fisted. But I digress.

I find hands, and arms for that matter, incredibly sexy. They hold us at night when we sleep, they give hugs and hold our children, they cook meals and write books and help people evolve and grow. They carry out the work that we formulate in our minds. And that's important, and as I struggle to find the words to draw this entry to a conclusion, I look down at my hands, typing my words on the keyboard, attempting to convey a message that I don't quite have words for. And think on the honesty of the work that they've done over the years; tending horses, working with children, feeding and changing and playing with my nephew, taking care of my baby cousins, quilting and embroidering, cooking and cleaning. And I can't help but smile.

On a completely unrelated note. . .

2007-10-28T21:28:00.002-04:00

This really has nothing to do with anything, but I'm on my moontime, and don't feel I need any other excuse than that, sooo yeah. . .

I have had 2 Elvis sightings lately. I think he works or lives near my school, because I see him periodically when I'm walking to school or to the bank (which is right around the corner from my school). Elvis hasn't changed much; big sunglasses, black shirt, jeans, boots, kinda fat, thick black hair. You know; Elvis. And I both times I really wanted to say something to him, but I resisted, and afterwards I would always call Aimee or Terra to speculate. My mother is convinced he works for the Newark airport, delivering baggage to airplanes.

And here I was all these years thinking he was dead.

Panties

2007-10-24T13:41:00.002-04:00

I got to the street fair at about 1 o'clock. I was running on the rumor that my friend Terra would be there, volunteering at the TES table. So I wandered down through the myriad of people, looking at the signs hanging from tables until I found the one I was looking for. Terra was there with some other people. She squealed and ran around to the table to jump on me. We walked up and down the street, and periodically I made out with people and got punched in the chest.

The day was unbearably hot. I went dressed in a slutty blue cotton shirt and a long green skirt. I wore a purple lace bra and pink gingham panties with cherries hanging off the front.

So I spent the day communing with friends I hadn't seen in ages. At one point Terra and another woman hiked up my skirt, exposing my panties and neither would let me put my skirt down. Terra wanted someone to take my cherries, just walk up to me, snip them off my panties, and walk away. Finally I took a stand and pulled my skirt down. The day was spent hanging out in the shade of the TES booth, hanging out at the boot blacking area, and flirting and laughing with a multitude of people. I got flogged at one point, and eventually went onto find myself licking the sweat off of my tops chest and belly.

All in all, it was an awesome day.

But the day had it's drawbacks. I sweated and moistened my panties. Needless to say I was incredibly uncomfortable by the time I left the fair. When I got to Penn Station to catch my train I found myself with a few minutes to run into the bathroom and remove my underwear. So I slipped into a stall and removed the offending garment, sticking it into my purse. I still remember how liberated I felt to be free of those disgusting, fluid soaked panties.

So I went and got on my train, and opened my bag to pull out my book for the trip home, without zipping my bag up all the way; not noticing that my underwear was right on top. I sat there, waiting for the train to pull out of the station and whisk me away home, when a much older man (I figured him to be in his 70s) went to sit in the seat next to me where my bag was sitting. I looked up at him from my book and he stood there, looking back at me suggestively. I turned back to my book, ignoring the man, oblivious to the fact that my underwear was sitting there for all the world to see. It was then that I happened to notice that my underwear was showing out of the corner of my eye. And instead of making excuses for myself, instead of putting it away, I continued to ignore the very obvious presence of my panties sitting there. And the man, after a very long time, walked away. I heaved a sigh and tucked my panties away deeper into my bag and stuck my nose back into the pages of my book.

Pure and simple

2007-10-18T14:36:00.002-04:00

I lost my virginity at 15 to the most submissive man I have ever met. It was during the pre-college art program at SVA. He and I had had this tension between us for about a week. He was the first man I had ever found truly attractive, with long dark hair, and dark mysterious eyes. I still wonder about him sometimes, wonder if he found what he was looking for in life. I barely knew him, but it was easy to fool around with him because I knew that my heart wouldn't be broken when he left.

We were staying the college dorms SVA used during the school year (it was summertime). The rooms were little more than shoe boxes, some rooms had bath tubs, others didn't. The building had once been a grand hotel in the 1920s, then it was a whore house in the 50s and 60s, and then SVA finally bought it to use as its dorms in the 1970s.

We laid on his bed in his shoe box of a room; I held him to my chest. It was raining lightly outside, and I mentioned something about having sex while it was raining. He quietly got up, got a condom, and turned out the lights, we went down on each other for a few minutes and then he rolled on the rubber and slid up inside me. I thought it would hurt, but oddly, it didn't. I remember laughing as I rode him in the darkened room while the rain fell outside. Neither of us came. I didn't experience the pain that many women feel in their first time, there was no blood. The simplicity of it made it easier for me to sleep alone that night.

Afterwards we lay in his bed for a long time holding each other and talking for what seemed like hours. Eventually friends of ours came and knocked on the door, collecting us for dinner.

No means no

2007-10-15T13:03:00.002-04:00

I never classified the assault placed on me as 'rape' until about a year ago. It's such a loaded ugly word. Rape. I find it hard to believe that I would be raped. After all, I go out of my way to move worms off the sidewalk into the grass, I talk to homeless people on the street, and I enjoy spending time with the elderly. Why would anyone want to rape me? I'm a good person who did nothing to deserve it. So I disregarded my now ex-boyfriend/dominant's assault on my ass as rape until I relayed the story to a friend of mine who replied: "Dude, that's rape."

I often asked myself "Well, I'm submissive, and I was submissive to him, so even though he disregarded the fact that I said no but didn't press the matter because I was afraid of him, it's still not rape, because that was my role." Right? Wrong. I said no, but him being larger and stronger than myself forced my face into the pillows while he forced himself into my ass. My being submissive does not equate me being less than human, and therefore denied certain inalienable rights. This was the unfortunate event that made it clear to me that he did not get that memo.

My opinion was not asked during the course of that relationship, I had no rights or privledges. I was not even awarded the common courtesy of asking to consent to blanket consent, something I never would have done given the choice. None of the fetishes that I enjoy today flourished then, even though I did them on a regular basis.

I'm not one to write in anger, but after keeping my silence for almost two years, I feel that I'm allowed to write about my anger towards what was done to me. I strive to be strong, to take what happens to me in stride, but even the best of us get stopped in our tracks, completely floored by certain events or circumstances. Some people grieve, some people get angry.

I got angry. But my anger came later, much later, when there was nothing left to gain from it. It never occurred to me to grieve for myself.

It was months before I worked up the courage to leave him, and it didn't happen right after what I have come to term as The Incident. It was four months after that that I finally broke free. I never reported him to the authorities. The physical evidence of what was done to me has been washed away.

I, for the most part, have healed. I enjoy power exchanges today, I greatly enjoy service and, since that relationship, I have never encountered the problems that I did then. I have fetishes that I did not have then, and I allow myself to play with some people with a certain amount of abandon. I'm in service now, and very very happy with what we are doing. I am also due to graduate in March. In short, I'm a person who is being given a second chance. I'm furious at the man who did that to me, but I don't allow my anger to bleed over into the other parts of my life, because my life is too good right now to let that man take it all away from me again.

I do, however, get angry at the people who get all uppity about topics like rape. We did not invite it. We are not accountable for what happened to us. How can we be? By it's very definition it's impossible. How can anyone say those things when from 1992-1995 20,000 to 70,000 women a year were being taken to 6 DIFFERENT RAPE CAMPS in Bosnia as a systematic tactic of war. That every 15 minutes a woman in South Africa will be raped, and that those are the only ones that are reported. This is to say nothing of that fact that every 2 and 1/2 minutes someone is being sexually assaulted in the US. Don't tell me that I asked for it to happen when I laid there underneath that terrifying sweaty man and begged to die. And if you tell it to my face, then be prepared to tell it to those women in Bosnia, Yugoslavia, and Croatia. Be prepared to tell it to all the women, and yes, men who were victims of horrible hate crimes and terrible circumstances.

Seeing the right people, wearing conservative clothes, all of those things do not protect us from being raped. I am no virgin by any means, I know that there are naked pictures of me floating around out in the world, I know that there is one 'home video' out there starring me and an old ex. Yes; I fuck and play with different people, but that does not automatically mean that my right as a human being to say 'no' should be taken away because I'm a woman who is comfortable in her skin.

Virgins are just as likely to get raped as whores are. No matter what our sexual status, we are still daughters and sons, mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters, and friends and somewhere along the line, that concept that the offended belonged to someone went missing. And my heart bleeds, not just for myself, but for every one who was forced into a situation against their will. Because the wounds are not always reparable, and scars can be ugly.

Almost two years later, and I still get tears in my eyes at how furious I am at what was done to me. I have nothing but admiration at the people who have the courage to write about their experiences. I am in awe at what College Callgirl wrote, and her courage should be commended for putting herself out there like that. I also felt very much in agreement with Calico's righteous anger. Living in fear, powerlessness and pain is a horrible thing, but to blame ourselves, to let these crimes against us go unspoken is just not cool. Those of us who are survivors of sexual assault and/or rape did nothing to deserve it, we are not worthless. It doesn't matter who raped us; boyfriends, girlfriends, acquaintances, clients, employers, random strangers, doesn't change the fact that they violated us and made us feel small in that terrible way that makes you feel like you are going to vanish and no one will notice.

Rape and assault are rape and assault, no matter what the circumstances, and we cannot make excuses for those people any more. It's just not acceptable. I don't know how else to put it. Rape, assault, abuse, they are just not acceptable. Don't tell us that it didn't happen, that we 'imagined' it, because to me that just perpetuates the myth that rape and assault are okay. And it's not. It's just not acceptable. No means no.

Mind vs. Body and the ever present Edge

2007-10-11T16:07:00.002-04:00

I have a strange relationship with face slapping.

Simon learned that if he cuffed me lightly on the cheek, I would start to bottom out.

Jefferson learned that if he slapped me full across the face I tried to fight back.

It's generally an activity that I like to avoid. My reactions are completely unpredictable. So why, all of a sudden, do I just want to be slapped heavily across the face? I guess because I find it hot. And, at the same time, violating and more than a little humiliating.

It's one of those things. Like if I'm told to do something or say something that I have trouble with, especially during sex, my mind will grow wary and I'll start to question why you are making me do this, whereas my cunt will tighten like a vice and I'll practically see stars I'm so turned on. And what I hate the most about it is that my physical response is so obvious. I want to be this prim lady-like creature who is perfect in every way, when in truth I shave my legs, I get PMS, and I usually say the wrong things in social situations.

So I try to put on my poker face, because I want the pleasure I derive from being humiliated to be ignored, but at same time I can't help but hope that I'll be called on it. In those moments I am all too aware of my nose scrunching, or my eyes closing for a moment in recognition of the flood between my legs. A reaction I often hope that will pass unnoticed, and when it does, I can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

I hate myself for loving this so much.

I love myself for loving this so much.

I used to hate being humiliated. I found it degrading, hell, I still find it degrading. I am inclined to whack people who try, and most I will stop before they get too far. I can count the number of people who are allowed to do this to me on one hand. Humiliation is an edge for me, and it's not one I am inclined to venture too closely to very often. But when I do, I love it.

It takes a certain finesse to do it properly, get up in my face, pull my hair back, and in that quiet, intense, aggressive, dominant tone of voice that I have to come look for in so many of my scenes, I am verbally run through. And then it becomes a sort of kinky ping pong. Beat me up, call me a pig, cane me purple, tell me if I'm not a good girl for daddy I'll be raped, punch my chest, slap me across the face, kick my cunt, threaten to leave me tied up and naked on the neighbors doormat. Lather, rinse, repeat. You get the idea.

So why the sudden desire for dancing on this edge of mine?

Pure and simple need. Yes. I need to play at least once every 2 months, it helps keep me balanced. It's one of the few things I am willing to admit to being completely selfish in. I play for others, certainly, I want to make the fantasies of whomever I am with come true. But primarily, I play for myself. I play for the endorphin rush, I play for the fact that I can see my gods in that headspace, and that I can laugh and talk the talk of the innocent. I play because it makes me feel beautiful and sexy and whole. I play because it turns me on both physically and mentally. I play because I like it. I am submissive and masochist, hear me roar.

But the question lingers, why the edge?

Well, sometimes I just need to know that I can. I like having my limits pushed, I like going to newer and greater heights in my play. And the last time I had a limit pushed was when I helped demo in Boymeat's electricity class back in January. I still have the mark, and it was awesome. I'm one of those people who finds having her limits pushed both frightening and incrediblly funny and interesting.

For me play is like life; it's a grand adventure to be had. And with a few minor exceptions (death and permanent maiming, for instance), I wanna try it all. So I'll be slapped across the face, and made to endure various cruelties and undergo all sorts of interesting and different experiences, and some will be edges, and others won't. But all in all it'll be just awesome, because that's what life is, an awesome amazing gift that should be protected and cherished and honored.

Dominatrix

2007-10-09T19:38:00.002-04:00

Does anyone remember the 'Spice Girls'? Or is it just me? Okay, well, whenever I think of dominatrixes I think of Posh Spice. There is a scene in 'Spice World' where she is wearing a silver dress and she points her finger at the camera and meows.

It is an image that is forever burned into my brain.

It was the image that came to mind as I climbed seven flights of stairs in my stockinged feet for a job interview at a small leather studio in Midtown Manhatten for a pro-domme position. In a desperate attempt to get money, I had applied for a job that I did not (and do not) feel I was/am tempermentally suited for. I have no desire to beat anyone up, I can't picture myself standing over some naked person calling them a 'dirty pig'. It's just not in my nature. Besides, I am perfectly content to continue being the dirty pig. But that does not change the fact that I need money to get through the next few months.

So I put on my respectable skirt and low heels and a borrowed shirt from Aimee, and I went and flirted and cajoled my way into the studio owner's heart. I was perfectly prepared to take this job after 45 minutes of laughing and talking. He showed me around the studio, and when it came time to leave, I told him I would call him the next week and let him know about the job.

The next day I went to the doctor and discovered that I had several problems with my foot, one of them being altered bone growth. Two of the bones in my foot grow closer together than they should. It's not a big deal, I just can't wear heels all the time, which is what this job requires. After all, a proper pro-domme cannot wear her slippers in a session no matter how much she wants or needs to.

And thus, my career as a dominatrix ended before it even started. Ah well, back to the drawing board.

The Gräfenberg Spot

2007-09-28T19:42:00.002-04:00

Or, how Eden discovered her g-spot.

Author's note: I included the diagram because there is much debate in the scientific community about the g-spot and it's existence. But those of us who've gotten a woman off from her g-spot or can have g-spot orgasms know better.

~~~

Since Aimee began raving to me about her g-spot orgasms several years ago, I started to get curious what that would be like. You see, my g-spot, I am convinced, is nomadic. It was long debated among partners of mine whether or not I actually had one. After all, I do not cum from intercourse, and I rarely moan. In short, I did not believe I had a g-spot. As far as I was concerned, it was a club that I was excluded from.

Then, about a year ago, I got very into the idea of finding my g-spot, only I had no idea how to do that. I bought a hitachi, and an extension for it. The extension now collects dust in my dresser drawer, the only thing it succeeded in doing was make me have to pee really really badly. I gave up on it, and went on to have monumental clitoral orgasms. I had found my niche. Or so it seemed.

The first time I met Jefferson, he went to find my g-spot. And I ultimately had to pee. My body simply was not having anything to do with it, it hurt and I found the pressure on my bladder irritating. This developed into a pattern, someone would finger me, and I would ultimately end up in the bathroom trying to ease my tightened muscles enough to relieve myself. Eventually, I gave up on trying to find my g-spot. I had found it in plenty of women, I knew what to look for, I just didn't think I had it in myself.

Then something happened, Jefferson and I were fucking one afternoon, and I had shifted my hips so that they were tilted upwards, and I felt something, something that made me moooaan. I gasped for air, and my face flushed, but after a few thrusts, something shifted, and it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Among our sexual explorations of one another, one such afternoon resulted in the discovery that we could get at my g-spot through my ass. Jefferson went down on me while fingering my ass; I roared like a lioness when I came.

We were slowly unfolding the petals of this most elusive of flowers.

A while later, the morning of a sleep over, he slipped his fingers into my folds, and I'll be damned if I didn't gasp, my face flushed and my hair felt electric. It was like my g-spot had grown overnight, like undeveloped real estate that suddenly had immense value. In that moment my snatch was the anatomical equivalent of the Chrysler Building. It didn't last for long, it was too much for me. But damn, it was amazing.

I vented my frustrations to Aimee, who said it was okay, these things take time to wear down, after all, Rome was not built in a day. And the first orgasm of one kind or another is always hard the first time when someone else is doing it. Not that I've had a g-spot orgasm.

Then an amazing thing happened. I discovered that if I curled myself into almost fetal position so that my back was curved forward and my chin was against my chest, and I lifted my pelvis it gave me the best access to my g-spot I had ever had. Jefferson began to fuck me in earnest at my moans. I wanted to open my eyes, to look at him like I like to sometimes, but my eyes were locked shut. My cunt was engulfed in the most incredible fire, I would have let it consume me in an instant. I did not want this to stop. Ever.

My back began to burn, but I didn't care, I wanted this so badly, and I had finally found what I had been looking for. We fucked like this for I don't how long, and then pain shot up my shoulder and I had to stop, to relax my muscles and ease the nerve in my shoulder that gives me grief sometimes.

I laid back against the pillows, gasping for breath and gazing into his blue eyes.

"Did you almost cum?" He asked, gazing down at me as he gently fucked me.

"Yeah, I almost did," I said, a small smile dancing on my lips.

Bagpipes

2007-09-20T15:06:00.003-04:00

I don't normally watch porn, I find it depressing. I would rather be having sex then watching other people. But occasionally my desire for something different, that and the lack of warm available bodies, drives me to plunk something X-rated in my DVD player every so often.

One of these so oftens happened last week, stressed out from school, I put my choice of pornographic poison into the player and began to do my thing. Several orgasms later I came up for air, and in my daze I started to listening to the music, something I never do when it comes to porn, and I heard the strangest thing: Bagpipes.

The soundtrack was bagpipe music. I guess that's what I get for spending $4 on porn, but still, bagpipes?

I turned it off. After that I am so over porn. Warm available bodies are much more interesting anyway.

Missing in action

2007-09-19T13:25:00.001-04:00

Sorry I haven't been posting; I've been busy with school and I've been sick, but I'll be heating up with the smut soon enough! Just bear with me a little bit longer.

Boot scene

2007-09-05T09:30:00.002-04:00

We had plotted a boot scene for saturday night. It had been a while since we'd done one, and were eager for the experience. Jefferson and I settled into a quiet corner, and began making out. He removed my bra, and my breasts hung free and loose in the cool air of the dungeon. He fondled my them and toyed with my nipples. I got onto my knees and he caressed my face, quieting my racing mind. I nuzzled his crotch through his jeans, and after a few moments, he pulled it out, and I went down on him, frenzied by the smell of boy and the heat of his cock against my tongue. I slid down onto the hard floor and removed one of his shoes and sock. I breathed in the smell of his foot, the texture of his sole against my cheek causing a jolt of pleasure between my thighs.

I licked his foot, cleaning off the accumulated sweat from the day. He reached under the chair he was sitting in, where I was lying and unbuttoned my pants. He slid off my jeans and reached his hand under my pink panties and fingered me. I arched up against him, moaning around his big toe. I removed his other shoe and sock, careful not to let his foot touch the dirty floor. He pulled at one of my breasts with his foot, causing me to moan. I was well into hog heaven. He wrapped his feet around my face, pressing down, and I gasped inwardly. I did not want this to stop.

Finally I pulled back and began to put his socks on his feet, I put on the first boot and began lacing it up, I gazed up at Jefferson, and he gazed back down at me, periodically brushing his hand against my cheek. I would stop occasionally, pressing my lips against the cool leather, allowing my tongue to momentarily wash over the boot. By the time I finished the first one, my hands were shaking.

I began on the second boot, putting his foot in and lacing it up, I gazed up at him as my hands worked, stopping periodically to check my work, and make sure everything was properly lined up. When the second boot was laced, I leaned down, kissing and licking the side of his boot, the smell of leather was intoxicating, the bitter taste was like a drug to me. When I got to the top of the boot, I began pulling his pant leg down with my teeth, it didn't occur to me to use my hands. We kissed and then he said something to me, I'm not sure what, but I responded with "Why don't you get down here and make me?"

He pushed me back onto the ground, straddling my chest, and he spat on my face. I tried to wipe it off, but he cuffed me on the cheek, arresting the progress of my hand. I tried to catch him off guard by whacking him in the head, but he caught my ankle, licked his thumb, and stuck it up my ass.

He looked up. "The cross is free," he said. "You wanna use it?" I asked. He nodded, and we went over to it. He tied me to the cross and starting flogging me, I kept saying 'ow' over and over until I started to sound like a dying cat. Periodically I would laugh, at one point I started singing 'sexy back', and that's when we knew it was just over. He tried to put my panties in my mouth without success just to shut me up. The scene petered out not long after, but damn, it was nice. I love me a good boot scene.

The Why

2007-09-03T09:18:00.002-04:00

A friend recently said something to me in regards to playing; why do it? This got me thinking about why I play, or why anyone plays, for that matter. Does it go beyond sex? Is this how some people de-stress, or reach greater states of conciousness? Certainly it's been proven that when we get hurt, the brain releases endorphins which dull the pain, and endorphins resemble opiates in their chemical structure, that certainly helps get rid of stress. We hear about things like bottom space, top space, little space, puppy and pony space, the list goes on and on. While we may not achieve enlightenment in these head spaces, we are certainly percieving the world around us very differently than we normally would.

Is SM an inherently sexual act? Yes and no. Certainly there are people who get turned on by giving and receiving pain, goodness knows it makes me wetter than the ocean, but do I always want to have sex when I play? No, most of the time I just want to lie there after a scene and be talked too; be told that I'm a pretty girl and did a very good job in taking what I was told to. Of course there are people who love to have sex after they play, and that is just awesome too. Sometimes, I want to fuck, I love getting fucked after a nice boot scene or a foot scene, I can't get enough. But in most cases, like after being flogged or single tailed, in a scene where I am actually getting hurt for an extended period of time, I don't want to fuck, it just becomes too much for me to handle.

I know many people who have play partners where the play is perfectly fun and hot without being sexual. One of my play pals, when he and I get together to hash it out, he's not interested in my breasts or my cooch, it's all about the pain, and I laugh my ass off as we wrestle on the floor. He and I do not have a sexual component to our relationship.

Certainly a distinction has been made between play and sex. While I am a fairly easy girl to get into bed, many people would have a hell of a time trying to get me onto some play table in a dungeon. I'm slutty, not stupid.

For me there is certainly the aspect that it is sexual, I am known for stubbing my toe or whacking my elbow by accident and getting turned on. I enjoy pain. But I also play with the intensity that I do to prove to myself that I can, and I push myself to be able to take more. That I can handle a certain intensity of pain without freaking out or trying to back out of the scene is important to me. I am always pushing myself to be a better person than I am, in scene and out. I would love to be mass of scars, each set telling a different story, to know in my mind that I did those things and I did them well, with grace and dignity, or at the very least with a sense of humor and laughter.

Of course, I see myself looking over my scars when I am in my 70s or 80s when I think about this. Gazing at my wrinkled body in a mirror, remembering the entire journey of my life up til then. But today I am a young woman with tight skin who still has a few years left on her odeometer, and as much as I hate to admit it, I am vain, and I worry that having a mass of scars on my back will make people turn away from me; view me as less desirable because of it. I tend to have a higher rate of infection than most people and I have to accept the fact that there is a large chance I won't heal as cleanly.

So why do it if I am so concerned about becoming less attractive? The only answer I can give is that I won't be less attractive. I will still have a body that looks like it was pulled from a painting, but even more importantly I will still be the same person inside. Our desires may shape who we are to a certain degree, but at the end of the day, every one is just a regular human being like everyone else. So I guess it doesn't really matter why we do what we do, we enjoy it, for whatever reason, we like to do it, otherwise we wouldn't bother doing it at all.

Don't you love rambling discourses that eventually lead you up to a point that should have taken you two minutes to get to in the first place?

Untitled

2007-09-01T08:02:00.002-04:00

Friday night after Jefferson's g and p-spot class at Floating World, we met up with Jocasta and Zelda. They wanted to suspend me and one of the people we were with. Jefferson copied Jocasta's moves with the rope, he listened to their guiding words, and I drifted in and out of awareness. People came over and said hi, I smiled, kissing a friend on the cheek. Then I began to drift into space, meditating on what was to come. I had never been suspended before, and time seemed to slow down and then stop as the rope was wound around my naked limbs and torso.

Zelda and Jocasta checked his work throughout the construction of the harness. When it was completed I was lead over to one of the smaller suspension frames, I slipped in and out of space, aware of some things and not aware of others. Finally after standing on one leg for an indeterminate period of time, I was hoisted off the ground, and I started laughing.

It was amazing, like flying. Time ceased to flow. I laid there, being gently pushed back and forth by someone, I don't remember who. After that, I drifted like a man lost at sea, only far more comforting. Someone asked me if I wanted my photo taken, I vaguely remember nodding. I felt at peace, I wasn't worried about anything. I am usually loud when I play, but after my initial laughter, I was silent. Someone hit me, but as far as I know, after a few strikes, they stopped, or maybe I just stopped being aware of it. Jefferson tells me that he touched and caressed me, but I don't remember that either. I opened and closed my eyes. It didn't matter though, I wasn't seeing what everyone else saw, the ceiling of some warehouse, I saw something else that I don't know how to describe. I swear, I came close to a heaven that I could believe in while I hung there. And when I closed my eyes for the last time in that harness, I was somewhere else.

I had transcended.

Thoughts from the bottom

2007-08-30T19:56:00.002-04:00

I'll write about my weekend this weekend, it was my first ever BDSM con, it was nice, that has several posts of it's own coming up. Lots of fun stuff happened.

This here is my own ramblings, and I'm just gonna come out with my little disclaimer here, this isn't meant to ruffle any feathers. I know plenty of people who are content with a light spanking, and that is awesome! They are some of my dearest friends, and there is nothing wrong with being happy with just that, the same goes for tops, there is nothing wrong with not being interested in cutting someones back open with a single tail, and hobbling their feet with a cane, thats totally awesome too. Personally I consider myself to be a fairly heavy bottom, so I'll be writing more along where I'm at in terms of that.

I consider myself to be a pretty heavy player, I like to get worked and challenged on a fairly regular basis, it keeps me sharp and on my toes. I appreciate that, and I can appreciate someone who can dish it out and know exactly what they are doing. I don't mess around with my SM, I have rules that I never deviate from when it comes to my play. The first and foremost rule being if I don't know you, I won't play with you. Period. End of story. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 dollars. It's that simple.

So what do we do if we can't get the dream cane scene? Where do we find the daddy or mommy or whatever who will take control? Where are the stun guns and piss play? I cannot tell you that. If I could, I would have found these things a long time ago and (for the most part) hung up my bratty princess crown.

So how do we handle this internal push for our dream scene? How do we control our desires for this? Some people are lucky enough to have a friend who tops that they know and trust and can go to and ask for a scene, that is certainly one way of dealing with it. Others find other ways to occupy their time and minds. I like to quilt and bake, personally. I go for long walks and sing, whatever I feel like, jazz, opera, whatever, sometimes I sing along to 'Ultimate Dance Party' and shake my ass in my living room. It's okay to cry and get frustrated, goodness knows I have. I get angry, I WANT someone to pull my hair and call me a fucking pig and make me do whatever it is I've been told to do, even though in any other case I would've just shrugged and gone off to do it.

On the otherside of that same coin, last August I had a breakdown one afternoon. You see, I had gone from a relationship where the play had plateaued, I wasn't feeling challenged, to a relationship where I was being introduced to much heavier players who were interested in say, caning the tops of my thighs and tying my hair to my feet, and, pfft, I dunno, flogging me until their arm got tired from whacking me so hard. I reached a point where I literally did not know how far I was prepared to go. A year later, I still don't. I haven't reached my limit for pain yet. I consider it a point of pride that I called a safeword once, and it only because I felt it was an unsafe scene for me to be in. The equipment was shoddy. I entertain dark fears that I will end up in a hospital because I let it go too far. But that is why I am so picky about my tops, so very very picky. They generally know to call the scene when I don't.

It doesn't help that I've been known to pull out books to read while I'm being beaten because I get bored. Yes, I get bored sometimes. I'm not interested in stopping pulling my shit, I guess I'm just afraid that I'll misread someone one day, and wind up waaay in over my head. And then what? Will I be told that I did it to myself and be made to clean up my own mess, will I be able to get up at all? I have no idea.

These are real concerns of mine as a bottom, not as a sub, as a bottom, trying to find that balance. Balance, what an amazing word, it evokes so much. But it is so important to find that balance. If I sit around bitching that I'm never gonna get my dream scene, well then, I'm doing it to myself at a certain point, now aren't I? But if I don't know what I'm about when I go out to play, then I am setting myself up for a real downfall that could have potentially serious consequences. I dunno, these are just my thoughts, meandering as they are. Maybe I'll have answers to my questions one day, maybe I won't. Whose to say what the future holds in store for any of us?

School

2007-08-30T18:36:00.002-04:00

Sorry I've been posting random tidbits, I have lots of fun stuff to post about, like my first suspension scene, and *gasp* Jefferson finally found my g-spot and managed to keep it in one place, and the nose thing. And a whole lot of other stuff in like, the last week. Problem is is that I'm ripping my hair out trying to get all of my projects updated and edited in time for portfolio review the week after next for school, I'll try to post this weekend, just bear with me for a little bit longer, and you'll be pleasently surprised.

Hickey

2007-08-29T10:24:00.002-04:00

I'm giggling as I write this. But I'm still a little high from my weekend, I played, I played more than I had sex, and I really don't mind that. But I'll write about that later. I keep giggling because I'm remembering Luke. Luke was my gay-husband in high school. He would play the piano, and I would sing. Show tunes, jazz, opera, whatever. His mother loved me, and I loved her. I also loved their fridge, they were a Jewish family and kept Kosher. I got very good at not only keeping Kosher when I was at their house, I managed to clear out their fridge in the course of an afternoon, and managed to keep true to Kosher law. Luke and I divorced at the beginning of my junior year of high school, but when we were together, it was magic.

He also gave me my first hickey. I will never forget this. You see, the boy LOVED to pluck my eye brows, and I let him, even though it hurt like a bitch. Well, after one such afternoon lying on his bed while he pulled hairs out of me, he managed to extricate the little tidbit that my 15 year old self had never had a hickey (what a hysterical word, it's such a high school thing to get in my mind, a hickey, I haven't had one since high school, come to think of it).

"Oh my goodness," he had gushed, "I'm giving you your first hickey!" "Ooookaaaay," I said slowly. He pushed me onto my side and pulled my hair back away from my throat. He clamped onto me like a sucker fish that latches onto sharks for the long-trip ahead. Damn, that felt good, with his teeth and his tongue on my sensitive flesh, the then unfamiliar heat spread over my thighs. When he lifted his head, I was gasping, my face flushed.

"Wow," he said afterwards. "I didn't like that, you make weird noises when you get turned on, and I don't like your smell." "Thanks Luke, you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself," I said glumly. So I don't want to start anything, but boys, please take note, compliment a girl on how pretty she is, and tell her she smells pretty, like lilacs or rain. We appreciate it. And if you play your cards right, you'll appreciate the effort you put into it too.

Floating World

2007-08-22T19:37:00.002-04:00

I will be at Floating World this weekend, going to classes and having all sorts of fun. I am even helping out Jefferson with his g-spot class. Otherwise I'm just gonna go have fun and see where the weekend takes me.

Observation

2007-08-19T11:34:00.002-04:00

My friend Aimee's husband calls her, and all of her female friends (myself included), a clam. As in bearded clam. She yells at him whenever he does this.

I spent the evening with her and her husband and he proceeded to call us this with no reservations whatsoever. The next morning I got out of the shower, and looked down at my freshly shaved pussy, and in my tired state, I thought to myself: 'wow, it really does look like a clam.'

For Reals

2007-08-14T07:41:00.002-04:00

I'm just going to start at the beginning, for lack of a better place to start.

I got to there around 1 in the afternoon, I fixed lunch for Jefferson and Anna, and we settled in to talk, we fooled around for a little bit before the 2PM guest was due to arrive.

Now, here's the thing about Mr. 2PM, he's a virgin, or at least he was when he got to the apartment. He had never seen a woman naked before in reality, never had a blow job, nada. I will call him For Reals. Because he kept saying it, over and over again. It became the joke of the day, even people who weren't there thought it was hysterical.

Anna Smash, the woman visiting Jefferson for a few days, and I were lying naked on his bed. Jefferson had just gone to answer the door. She and I reached for each other and began kissing. We broke our kiss as our 2 o'clock came in the door and stopped in his tracks, staring at us. He kept saying 'Whoa, oh god, for reals?' Over and over, like a mantra. Jefferson invited him to sit down, and told him to do whatever he was comfortable doing. For Reals began undressing, down to his socks.

Jefferson kissed me, putting his hand between my legs, Anna took one of my breasts in her mouth, I was very into the attention I was receiving. At one point Jefferson broke our kiss and kissed Anna, I looked over at For Reals, sitting naked in the chair, watching all of this."Room for one more," I said, smiling docily. He came over, and Anna settled him in between her legs. Jefferson settled between mine. I came loud and hard, roaring with a ferocity I had never known was in me. For Reals sat back, and looked at Jefferson. "You da man," he said to him as I twitched with the aftershocks of my orgasm.

Jefferson switched over to Anna, and I beckoned For Reals over. "Should I strap up now?" He asked eagerly, and I shook my head, telling him to relax. I took him in my mouth, he was large, we later learned that he was afraid that he would be inadequate, only ever having had porn to compare to. I knew that I couldn't take all of him in, but I could give him a decent run never the less. "Oh god, whoa, yeah, oh god," he murmured. I thought it was sweet. He put a hand between my legs, commenting on how wet I was. From anyone else I would have thought it as just a one of those sexual things people say, from him, I knew he said it was out of awe and wonder.

I settled his face in between my legs, guiding him in the difficult rhythms of my body. I didn't come, but that was alright, that wasn't why I was there. I told him I had to use the loo, and told him to get a condom. I slipped out of the room.

Apparently while I was gone Jefferson handed him a 'trojan magnum' condom. "Here, you look like you could fit one of these," he had said. I heard laughter, and I came back in, watching For Reals figuring out how to put on his first condom. I asked him to take off his socks and lie down, and to try and relax. I went to work, settling into a calm supporting state. But a bit into it, something shifted on me, and I felt the after effects of my fisting from the night before. I had to stop, and this is where he climbed on Anna, and Jefferson climbed on me.

Eventually he and I stopped, I settled into the chair with a glass of water while Jefferson took photos and videos of them fucking. For Reals was unsteady at first, unsure of himself. I told him to listen to his body's rythms, that they would guide him. Sure enough, he found it, and they went at it for a good long time. None of us have any idea how many times Anna came.

Throughout all of this, For Reals was sweating like a pig in hog heaven. We had to strip the bed and dry out the mattress before putting fresh sheets on. When we had finished and poor Anna was broken, we laid around and talked. After a while, he left. The three of us showered and vegged out for a while, and then eventually Jefferson laid Anna on top of me, and began fucking her. After a while; we got flogged.

Then we moved into the living room, and eventually Alma showed up. We all talked and goofed off. Then another very gorgeous person showed up, and I will call him Toby. I had eyed Toby at my first orgy at Jefferson's, but we had never connected. Tonight, we connected, we joked together. We made out and fondled eachother. Then we set the trend, and he picked me up and carried me into Jefferson's bedroom. He laid me down on the bed, and we rolled on a condom, and fucked. It was nice, Toby was very good at what he was doing.

Then we took a break, and Alma, intent on learning about women, had a go at my lady parts, and later on I had a go at hers, with an ice cube.

Later on another person who I had eyed at a previous party showed up. It took a while for things to get going between us, and when they did, we had 20 minutes to go before I had to leave. Well, we went, and it was awesome, he fucked me just the way I like to be fucked.

Memorial Day

2007-08-08T07:29:00.002-04:00

Her name was Anna. She's a cute brunette, also a sex blogger, in town visiting Jefferson. She and I took a bath together, and I washed her. Then we had sex.

At one point I had several fingers in her, and I was rubbing her clit. Before I knew what was going on, four of my fingers were in past the knuckle, and she didn't seem to be having any problem with it. Jefferson supplied the lube and rubbed it on my hand, then I brought my thumb in and carefully wrapped my fingers down into a fist, worrying about her cervix as my nails scraped her insides. But eventually, I managed to get my entire fist into her.

I had never fisted anyone before, she had never been fisted successfully before. Two cherries popped.

After she came we all jokingly compared hand sizes, and I suggested to her that she have a go at me. This proved harder for me, as fisting always has. I was fine and dandy in the beginning, I laughed and joked. But this did not last for long.

As Anna got more and more of her hand inside of me, my breathing became labored. I stopped breathing a few times, and Jefferson had to remind me to breath, he coached me, encouraging me to inhale and exhale. Periodically he would check and see how much we had in. Finally, when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, we had almost her entire hand up inside of me, down to the part where the hand narrows into the wrist. She slowly pulled out, and we looked at her hand, and I lay there for a long moment, unable to move.

I had trouble walking to the bathroom afterwards, but I managed, and feeling more than a little tender, crawled back onto Jefferson's bed, and he and I fucked for a bit before I had to leave to go home.

Memorial day had never been more memorable.

Lost in thought

2007-08-06T09:12:00.004-04:00

In those quiet moments, perhaps when I'm sitting on the bus, or waiting for others to finish a test in one of my classes, my mind begins to wander. I think about hands, grabbing my hair and wrenching my head back. The other hand reaching up to pinch a nipple, already painful in it's erection. And a voice, rasping in my ear, ordering me to strip. Slowly I undress, unsteady on my feet, and the minute I step out of my pants, and my breasts are hanging free against my chest, this strange, unknown dark-haired man whose haunted my fantasies since I was 15 is pressing down against me. Slamming his hands into my chest and then his hands trail down and grab my breasts, pulling me to the floor.

He kisses me deeply. I no longer try see his face, it never does any good. His hand trails down to my pussy, rubbing against my clit before moving on to pull at my labia and press his fingers savagely inside of me. And then he throws me onto my hands and knees and presses down into me with his cock, furiously thrusting as he pulls my head back and begins whispering in my ear. My skin flushes, as he makes me call out obscene things. My cervix tightens desperately against him as he does this, and I hate him for making me be anything less than dignified.

And then I'll start and break out of my fantasy, and I'll be aware that I have to get off the bus in two stops, or that my teacher has resumed the class, and I'll hurry home or to the bathroom to seek my own release.

---I'll post something real soon, I promise.

Asses etc.

2007-08-04T09:41:00.002-04:00

Simon, my then boyfriend, had wanted to do me in the ass for long time. It was an act that I had resisted for a long time after a bad experience some time previous. It was, and remains, one of the few sexual acts that I have conflict with.

Simon did his best to comfort me, and eventually I consented to the act, but on one condition: What he got to do to me, I got to do to him. And that I got to go first.

We planned for this to happen one weekend in August, when he and I, and a bunch of other people we knew were driving down to Washington DC for the weekend for a TNG (a leather group for younger people in the scene) event at a leather club down there, hosted by their own TNG group.

We drove down in a car with two other people, among them my friend Cora, along the way she and I flashed truck drivers, pressing our breasts up against the cool glass and getting them to blow their horns.

The hours leading up to our plan were fairly tame, Cora and I did a fight scene which didn't really go anywhere, and eventually Simon and I found our way back to another. "I want to fist you," he said bluntly. I nodded consent and followed him passively upstairs to a quiet corner where I laid back in a sling, and put my feet up on the chains.

He slowly began pressing fingers into me, gently but firmly rocking his hand against my cunt. He got four fingers in, and when he went to press his thumb into my cervix, I gasped in pain and screwed my eyes shut. He pulled back, and took his time. His thumb found it's way to my clit, and he began rubbing his fingers against me. I jolted with the pleasure and pressed myself down against him.

"I'm going to come," I gasped, and then I threw my head back, and I screamed, loud and long. I could hear my voice echoing throughout the warehouse as I pressed and arched and rode out the waves until I laid in the sling, stupid with pleasure.

Simon withdrew his hand and rolled on a condom, and pressed down into me, seeking his own pleasure which came a few minutes later. He pulled out and pulled off the condom and came on my belly. After a while we cleaned up and sheepishly walked towards the stairs. When we entered the main room, Cora, in her infinite energy burst into applause and I smiled ruefully.

We ate dinner and it became closer to Simon's moment. Another friend of ours loaned us her strap-on (similar to the one I would buy later on, after Simon and I parted ways), and she settled me into the harness, and Simon and I found a comfortable spot. I rolled a latex glove onto my right hand, since I didn't want to hurt him with my fingernails.

I began rocking into his ass the same way he had tried to work his way into my pussy several hours earlier, finally when he was ready, I pressed down into his ass and began rocking back and forth. I gasped, my thighs warmed and heat flooded my face. It was amaaaazing! I had never felt anything like it, and I pressed down into his ass, as intent on my own pleasure as I was on his. I can only imagine how much better it is with a bio-cock. I did not want this to stop, and I moaned as I sawed into him. I was vaguely aware of people murmuring about this, and I would later be approached to be told how hot it was to watch what we were doing. I was lost in the sensations, the both of us moaning. Simon's head hung down against his chest, and my head was thrown back, lips parted and eyes closed.

After a long while, Simon called it quits, and I pulled out of his ass. Neither of us came, but doing this had left me feeling fortified; I no longer had to be on the receiving end when it came to cock. Now I had choices.

Starting fresh

2007-08-01T17:33:00.002-04:00

How do I begin this? I've never done anything like this before, write about my sex life? Never had I dreamed of doing anything like this in such a public forum. But here I am. Doing things I never dreamed of.

After getting out of a difficult relationship, I decided to take time off from dating. I knew that I didn't want a relationship, but I didn't want to be celibate either. So one night I plucked up the courage to write the author of a blog that I had been reading for several months. This is what I wrote:

I’m sure you get this a lot, and I suppose this is kinda coming out of left field, but you only live once, right? I came across your blog a couple of months ago, and I noticed a trend: You have hot sex. And I would like to have hot sex, for once. I’m in the city on an almost daily basis, so if you are interested, drop me a line.

Take care,

Eden

Jefferson and I exchanged e-mails over the course of a week, he requested photos and asked about fantasies I had, and I responded in kind.

The day came for me to go and meet him. I took care in dressing myself, not sure what one wore to something like this. When I got to his building, I rode the elevator up to his floor, and after a few moments, found his apartment. I stood there, terrified, my hand literally frozen in the air. I almost turned around and walked away. But I didn't, I gathered what little courage I could muster, and knocked on the door. I heard sounds behind the door, and after a moment, the deadbolt slid back and the door was opened to reveal a blonde man a few inches taller than myself. I was drawn inside, he took my bag and sweatshirt, and drew me into a kiss. He slowly undressed me, drawing off my shirt and bra, pulling off my pants and panties until I stood there nude.

He continued kissing me, running his hands over my breasts, and down my belly, slipping between my thighs. I hadn't realized how much I wanted this until I felt my own heat and moisture against his fingers; I was soaking wet. Completely and utterly drenched.

"Get on your knees," he said. "I want you to suck my dick."

I sank to my knees, and settled myself on the cool wood floor. He pulled it out of his pants, and I gazed at him for a moment. "Are you clean?" I asked tentatively. "Yes, I am," he said. And I set to work.

I was nervous, but I am also a Jersey girl, and we have a tradition to uphold. I took as much of him in my mouth as I could, and lapped at him with the tip and flat of my tongue, moving my head back and forth. After a while, he pulled me off of him and took my hair in his hand. I dropped to my hands and knees and let him lead me back through his apartment to his bedroom. I got the impression of a brightly colored rug before I was brought to kneel in front of a chair. I heard him undress behind me, and then saw him settle nude into the chair in front of me. I resumed my ministrations. I was lost in the silence of his apartment, I had no sense of time or the world around me.

After a while, he told me to get up on his bed, and I obeyed, laying back among the pillows. "I never cum from this," I told him. "Doesn't matter, I just want your taste," he replied. He settled between my thighs, tonguing my clit. I forced myself to relax as I began to chase my orgasm. I shuddered as I came, rolling my hips as ectasy swept over me.

"No one's ever done that before," I said, suddenly feeling less nervous.

"Well I'm pleased to join such select company," he said, coming up to kneel in front of me. He took a condom out of a drawer, and rolled it on, and pressed himself down inside of me.

"You have a remarkably tight pussy Eden," he said.

"So I've been told," I replied quietly. We fucked for a long time, we were both quiet. Then he leaned back and slapped me, shocked by the blow, I tried to pull away. After a moment, he slapped me again, and I repeated my actions. "Eden, stop that!" He ordered. "You could hurt yourself." Then he slapped me again, and I stayed still, though my nostrils flared.

"You're a bit of a brat, aren't you?" He asked me.

"So I've been told," I replied through clenched teeth.

"Shhh, no more slaps, we'll just fuck for now," he said softly, kissing me.

We continued to fuck until he came. I smiled into his shoulder; I am always pleased when the people I bed cum.

Afterwards, we laid there, talking for a bit, and began fucking again after a little while. He caned me for a bit, and then sent me off to shower.

I left his apartment that afternoon with marks on my backside and an invitation to return soon. It was awesome, and marked the beginning of a very new and interesting path for me.

Since meeting Jefferson, I've met a number of wonderful and interesting people, some of whom I've slept with, some of whom I've played with, and some of whom I've only spoken with. But all-in-all, it's been awesome.

This journal chronicles my new path for myself, wherever it may take me.