Blowjobs

A friend of mine and I once had this great conversation about blowjobs. I don't normally openly talk about sexual things to just anyone, but for some reason our conversation went from people watching, to men, to relationships, to sex and it just seemed like a natural progression of things. It came about through talking about communication, and how much of a turn on it is to have your partner tell you things, talk to you while you're fucking. Talking dirty to each other is more than just foreplay or fantasy play. It's telling your parnter what you love, what you want them to do to give them the most pleasure, and trusting them.

I've been with men who are silent. Don't get me wrong, I've been with both types, Jay and Silent Bob, but I definitely like men like Jay who tell you things while you're doing it to them. For those of you who have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about, rent the movie "Clerks".

But the highlight of our conversation was the topic of blowjobs. And how much we love giving them. There's something about it that is just super fantastic fucking turn-on for me, something I can only imagine a straight man would feel thinking about a woman's pussy. It makes your mouth water and your nipples hard, and you can't wait to feel that hot, soft skin on your lips. We talked about how important it was to have a parnter that told you exactly what to do, how they wanted you to swallow them, whether or not they wanted you to use your hands, to cup their balls, suck them really hard even after they came, and whether or not they liked cumming on your face or in your mouth. We talked about what we liked, too. I'd rather have a man cum in my mouth than blast it all over my face. There's something about having him explode with my lips somewhere on his penis, or me milking him into my open mouth. When I first started learning how to give blowjobs, the throbbing right before orgasm would startle me and I'd seize up. But that's different now, just took some time and a good parnter to tell u what feels best and how to please him.

I've never talked to another woman about blowjobs, sucking cock, swallowing, deep throating, the feeling of almost gagging on a rock hard dick, but not. Yadda, yadda... It was a really refreshing conversation and I was quite surprised that it happened. Sounds so odd, but I found a kindred spirit that afternoon, and looking back I can't help but chuckle.

Underwear and Lingerie

Boy, do I love, love, love shopping for lingerie.

I love seeing what's new, what's on sale, the designs, the fabrics, new colors, all of it. I had to run an errand at the mall, and of course had a stop in Victoria's Secret. This brand has a large portion of my annual lingerie and underwear budget. (Yes I do have a lingerie budget.)

What cracks me up about this store is the employees. There is a token 'VS Girl' look about them, much like the token department store make-up counter girl - 90% of them probably were ex-high school cheerleaders, of average height, all with a similar upbeat, innocent personality and very girly. There is a uniform that extends beyond the black apparel and requisite low-cut blouses. But for the product they sell, the image extends to that fine line between classy woman and porn star tart. Some women just shouldn't have acrylic French manicure nails, or that teased-underneath but smooth on the top 'bump' up-do, the pasted-on-forehead straight cut bangs, and super overdone lip gloss plastic smile. Eeek...

Don't get me wrong, they're all very nice and they all are super customer service oriented, sometimes to a fault. It grates on my nerves a bit being approached by each member of the 'squad' but that doesn't stop me from dropping some hefty coin in this store.

On this particular occasion, my salesperson suggested I get measured again just to check and make sure that I had the right sizing. I had a few different styles of bras in different sizes. and had explained to her that I was in between 2 bra sizes after losing some weight in recent months. So she followed me into the dressing room, closed the door and the first thought that popped into my mind was, 'oh no she's going to measure my breasts!' Not sure she was an ex-cheerleader - not as fluffy and perky, she was more on the demure side which made it easier for me to talk to. I wasn't distracted by bad highlights and heavily lined doe-eyes.

Tape measure in hand, she made some suggestions on sizing - I was surprised that she knew my size even before whipping out the tape measure. I've been fitted at lingerie stores before, and on one occasion, the fitting was rather 'hands-on'. I didn't know what to expect. Was she going to ask me to take off my shirt? The room felt small and I felt my flight instinct kick in ever so slightly. Before I knew it, she had the tape measure around me and verified what she had guessed and validated my assumption. "Yes, you are right in between a 34 and a 36." So was she going to verify my cup size now? Nervous, I found myself babbling on about how things fit and sizing, and I had mentioned one of my favorite VS bras but couldn't remember what it was called. So I lifted my t-shirt and flashed her. Just a quick flash, but then I wondered if I had crossed the line. It didn't seem to phase her at all, in fact she knew what bra I had on right away and it launched a whole new conversation topic on how much I loved that model and had it in multiple colors.

But then she left the room so I could try on my selections and my shopping experience continued on as normal. No awkward moments or uncomfortable silences, no hot and steamy impromptu girl-on-girl action. (sorry folks...maybe in another store, not VS) Of course it did make my mind wander though...

Wandering is good, lingerie shopping is good. And right the checkout, I was tempted with a new fragrance, like a nice bow on a present, my intimate apparel shopping experience was complete. New lingerie, new scent, I couldn't wait to get home and really try them on and break them in....

Mmmm love that part almost as much as I love the hunt....

Hiatus

It has been waaaay too long since I've posted a blog here.

I've been busy.

With what you ask? I can't tell, but it doesn't involve much writing or blogging. My hands have been busy doing other things. I'll let your imagination do the work.

I've been wondering if absence really does make the heart fonder? If you haven't seen the object of your affection for some time, does it increase the longing, the ache and desire for them the very next time you see them? Or is there a tipping point at which the moment passes you by and you've lost your chance? Inquiring minds want to know.

Just One Of Those Days

Today was a fucked up day.

Days are like newborn babies - when they are born into the world, they cry out, demanding reaction, seizing opportunity. They start out precious and beautiful. Depending upon the circumstance, the influences around them, the investment of time and nurture by those in charge of it's countenance, it can continue along it's excellent path, or wander about the road less traveled. Sometimes that road is a good thing, sometimes not. Today, that road was not a good thing. My day birthed into the world, began wonderfully, then circumstances, fate, whatever you call it, coupled with my reaction to it caused it to veer off the path of things pleasant.

So when my phone rang and I heard his voice, deep and melodic, it was easy to leave this world of chaos and not care about righting it anymore. At that moment, all I wanted was to be consumed by him, to be hastily swept up and be forced to surrender. And surrender I did.

I don't even remember unlocking the door or opening it or even getting out of the car and walking up to the house. I close my eyes and all I can remember his his body pinning me against the wall of the entryway, my leg curling around his, my hands grabbing his ass and his neck while he kissed me. I felt his teeth on my neck and his lips grazing my earlobes, fingers intertwined in my long hair. At first he didn't say a word, then between his firey, forceful kisses he brazenly purred into my ear, "I'm going to fuck you now, so hard". At that moment, all my clothing still on my body, I came gently and moaned.

"Fuck" I gasped, and felt my body go a bit limp and the rush of warmth all over me, covering my skin. I felt golden.

He pressed his hips into me and I could feel him, how hard he was already. His hands moved from my neck and my hair down to my breasts, kissing my neck as he squeezed them and pinched my nipples. Sometimes he's gentle, some days he's not. Today was one of those days where he wasn't. At times the zing of pain surprised me, but then I shifted my focus to expect it,
and the resulting pleasure was incredible. I just gave up, gave into pleasure, the pain, all of it.

Biting someone, just sinking your teeth into them a little bit (or a lot, to each his/her own) - don't know what it is about that act, the feeling of biting into someone's flesh whether you draw blood or not. (On this particular occasion, not.) There is a primal allure to it, the pleasure of which is amazingly fulfilling. Teeth, tongues, skin, moaning, purring, all of it so super sensual, unreal but very tantalizing.

Maybe it's just the foodie in me that loves this, wanting to get as close to someone as possible, to try and ingest them in various ways - to experience them in effect - that makes me ruminate about this for hours on end. Delicious thoughts....

The One

He is the one I fantasize about all the time.

Even when I didn't know who he was, only hoped that he existed, he has been the subject and the object of my fantasy.

Everybody has one of these, imaginary or not - your ideal sexual match, the perfect lover, the perfect mate. Made just for you, for your pleasure only.

Such a curious concept, having the perfect mate. One could think about the prospect of finding the perfect personal lover the most elusive and impossible of tasks. I think of this line in the movie "Moonstruck" when Olympia Dukakis' character asks Johnny Cammareri, "Why do men chase women?". Cammareri, played by Danny Aillelo, relates it to the story of about Adam and Eve, saying that when God created Eve he took a rib from Adam, blah, blah, blah. He continues on, postulating that because of this fact, men chase women to get the rib back. Ok, so what's my excuse? Tracing my roots back to Eve, I never lost a rib. So why do I chase men?

Well, I chase men to find The One.

In my chase over the years I've been fooled before, but I like to call those learning experiences. I've learned more about myself in those failures - what I really like, what I've compromised myself on, what I won't tolerate. Those things in my inexperience started out as just casual thoughts that go something like "well it would be nice if..." which is promptly followed by "...but it's alright." Nice nothing, and it's not alright. Days, months, years go by, same rules, same whatever. It's those little things like the sand in your ass when you're making love on the beach that really rubs you the wrong way (hahaha, pun intended) but you never get up and do something about it. Those images of beach fucking never cautioned on the hazards, only promised mind-blowing orgasms and images of an endless sky before your eyes roll back in your head. (Whatever.) And so you play by the rules until you get smart and realize "I didn't sign up for this." Thinking back to the improbablity of finding the perfect lover, that ONE, I think it's highly probable that I will find him like I find a great pair of shoes. Didn't know they existed, that they were so comfortable, that they go with so many clothes in my closet, etc... But, shopping is in essence a hunt in itself, a learning experience. And those learning experiences mysteriously put you on an unchangeable collision course destined to solve this maddening dilemma. So intriguing, even after having gone through one of my most difficult learning experiences, I find it compelling to ante up and play again.

So back to The One. Think I found him. Like that pair of shoes, he already aligns with me. I don't have to alter much to make it work. I know, I know I shouldn't have to alter anything, but believe me there's more to my story that doesn't fit in this conversation. I have a lot of things that needed to be altered in my life before he came along. He is just the exclamation point at the end of the sentence. That "I should've had a V-8" slap on the forehead. D'uh...

What makes me think he's it? Well, for now call it a hunch. A strong one. But I'm betting down and dirty that he is The One. And maybe I might not know for a while, but maybe I will. Maybe when I don't notice the sand at all, only the vivid hues of a sunset sky right before I cum as the ocean crashes against our naked bodies somewhere in the Pacific. Maybe then I'll know.

40-Year Old Pleasure Party Virgin

Pleasure Party: def. an event held in the privacy of one's home in which friends are invited to peruse products of sexual nature, e.g. lotions, lubes, dildos, cockrings, vibrators, whips, etc... This ain't no Tupperware party, baby.

My dearest friend from my college days sent me an invitation to a "Pleasure Party" at her house. Hmmm...pleasure party, I thought. I knew exactly what it entailed and I looked forward to it. I had never gone to one of these things, and have wondered about them - what is sampled, displayed or demonstrated. And how it's done.

All in all it was pretty tame, considering what's really in the catalog. Lots of the things that were shown were standard, and rather practical. The most interesting thing to me was a male masturbator. (No it's not a real guy...) This 'product' looked like a bumpy cylinder shaped mass of squishy silicone, translucent gray and somewhat tacky and gummy. Didn't look like anything provocative, in fact it didn't look like anything at all. Could have been a stress ball thing or a kids toy. Kinda ugly, not at all something that would be appealing to the eye...unless you knew what it was for. The rep demonstrated its use on a rather giant glass dildo, but when I finally got the thing in my hands, I realized how intricate it was. There was a small opening about the size of a straw on one end and when I put my fingers in it, I could feel the texture inside - soft, bumpy, squishy (there was lube in there from the demo in case you were wondering). Like a vagina, I thought. There were ridges & nubbies inside of it all the way through the full length of it. I held it up to the light and inspected it - reminded me of the shape of an earthworm. It was stretchy too, so the texture inside would change depending on the degree to which you contracted or stretched the thing. Also, it was open-ended, so the head of the penis sticks out the other end - hmmm... thought, now there's a different kind of hand job. And blow job....because this thing was stretchy, you could pull it over the head and it would create suction! Pretty freakin' impressive. I could go on, but maybe that's something for another post...someday.

Not going to tell you whether I bought the thing or not, but I will say that I dropped a hundred bucks on edible lubes and shaving products. Can't wait to try those out.

My pleasure party virgin days are over. Aren't you glad? I sure am.

Giving Up

In the realm of sexual pleasure, I've been a slave to my thoughts, rather than my physical desires for most of my life. Like many young people, what I thought was sensual had been formed and based judgements on what society finds acceptable among taboo subjects like sex, not based on anything I had personal experience with.

One of my favorite children's books by Russel Hoban called Bread and Jam for Frances, in which a little bear, Frances expands her epicurian horizons from the familiar jam sandwiches to other foods. There's a line in there where she exclaims to her mother, who's fixing her the requisite jam sandwich 'how do you know what I'll like if you don't even try me?' Such a good rule to live by. Life is about experience and learning what you like by trying it yourself.

Sex had to be with someone I cared about. Sex meant being in a bedroom, dimmed lights or in the dark, missionary style. Blowjobs were messy and dirty and made you gag so they were bad. Anal sex was unsanitary so that was bad too. Porn exploits women. Masturbation wasn't normal. Casual sex was bad because first of all good girls don't do that kind of thing and secondly, you could catch something. Enjoying sex too much was bad. Good girls don't enjoy sex that much. If they do, boyfriend beware...

Somehow notions of sex went from one extreme to the other. From the free love hippie days of my parents generation to the 'just say no' generation to virtually anything pleasurable. So here I am, much farther along in life where I finally realize I should have applied Frances' motto to everything in my life, not just my diet. My sexual appetite is just as important as my normal appetite.

So in recent years I have applied that philosophy, of trying things, opening my mind to possibility. And I'm finding liberation in such exploration.