Look Who’s Talking Now…
I find one of my favourite things about sex is the calm after the storm.
The moment when the two (or three, or four, or fourteen) of you are just lying around, feeling relaxed and giddy and yes, dare we say it, even stupid.
Maybe you’re feeling giggly, maybe you’re feeling exhausted and sweaty, maybe even energized, but it’s a great moment.
It’s the moment in which memories are shared, in-jokes are born, and the play-by-play is enacted, at least sometimes.
If you’ve been together for awhile, it’s the time when the teasing begins. That’s when you start making fun of one another’s orgasm faces, or noises made, or the things one or the other of you said during sex: “You wanted me to ride you like a wild… what was it? Rutabaga? What the hell was that about?”
It’s a moment of shared closeness, of real intimacy, and it’s really a great time.
The trick is, especially if you don’t live at home, not to fall asleep during this time. Nothing spoils a nice cooldown like waking up to find the folks coming up the stairs and the two of you, naked as the day you were born.
Admittedly, the folks have likely seen at least one of you in the nude before, but there’s generally been a bit of time between then and now… and they’re usually not too thrilled about finding you sharing that beautifully naked body with someone else.
Fathers in particular aren’t too thrilled about finding some hideous perverted beast despoiling their precious baby girls, regardless of how old, tame, or well-liked you are, that tends to be the father-daughter thought process.
But that’s a separate tangent. There’s something incredibly special about laughing with someone while the two of you are naked together after having shared some hot, sweaty, monkey lovin’ or some love making. I think a couple that can laugh about the lovin’ they just shared has a pretty special bond.
After all, it’s a pretty goony process, really. I’m not saying it doesn’t feel good or that I don’t enjoy it… but think of all the noises and faces and stupidities that go on during sex. I mean, really… the goofy things we yell out, or even the way we sound when we’re having sex? Can you imagine taking all of that seriously outside of the bedroom?
“Hi Frank, it’s Bill here. Yeah, I have that proposal you asked for on my desk right now, and I just wanted to say, “Ride me like a cowboy, big momma!””
“Your total for today ma’am is … oh God! Oh, yes! Yes, right there! Fuck, yeah, that’s right! Five dollars and sixteen cents! Yes!”
On second thought, I think I need to hear more people working cash registers like that. Grocery shopping would be an awful lot more entertaining.
I’m trying to talk about the shared closeness that you can experience after a sexual encounter and how special that is, but I keep finding myself drifting off and making fun of various aspects of it instead. So, since I can’t stay on track, here are a few more ridiculous moments during the act of lovin’:
The orgasm face.
I mean, as sexy as it is to see someone else enjoying themselves, especially if it’s because of something you’re doing, it’s still a pretty ridiculous expression on one’s face. I live in fear of anyone taking a picture of me when I come, ‘cause goodness knows it’s going to be one of the worst pictures imaginable.
The pussy fart.
Argh. One of the worst moments in sex, aside from someone’s limb falling off, if I can say that and not have it be exaggeration (though it is, I know). The awful thing is that, as a woman, you can often feel it building up, but by the time you do, there’s no avoiding it. It’s not like you can do anything about it at that point, you just have to get through it, and really, there’s no dignified way of doing it. Oh yeah, and if you didn’t use condoms? Mess central.
And speaking of mess…
The wet spot.
Battles have been waged and lost over who has to sleep in the wet spot. Women will argue that it’s usually because of the men’s … contribution to sex that the wet spot exists, so he should sleep in it. Men will argue that the women helped to create it, so she should have to sleep in it. Sometimes the wet spot is entirely the woman’s contribution, in which case I say, “Rock on, lady!” In either case, it’s just one of those things that movies and books don’t prepare you for, dammit.
As I’ve been saying, sex is beautiful and there are a lot of shared intimacies involved. The tender moments afterwards, while you’re snuggling, picking loose hairs off of one another and making fun of the various phrases and noises each of you made during the event are just some of them. Fighting over who slept in the wet spot last time or who screamed the loudest are a few others. But the important thing is that you both connected and became closer as a couple.
Or something like that.
I'd better try this one again later.
posted by Jen on 4:14 AM
Sitting in Trees With Boys
I love kissing. I think it’s safe to say that it’s pretty much my favourite kind of sexual activity. The closeness of two bodies, two people nervous and anticipating, the quick or slow brush of someone else’s lips against yours, two breaths mingling… yum. How can that be anything but marvellous?
Yet it can be. Call me a whore – hell, call me a drunken whore – but I’ve kissed a fair number of people, and I’ve developed a list of likes and dislikes when it comes to my favourite act. For fun, I’ll start with the dislikes:
Bad breath and smoker’s breath.
Now, I can handle bad breath once in awhile. I mean, not everyone plans out when they’re going to kiss or get kissed, so sometimes you’re left with Coke breath (my problem), or pizza breath and there’s not much you can do about it, and gum doesn’t always help.
But the occasional “oops, I ate an onion seasoned with garlic and washed it down with warm Coke” breath is worlds apart from the “rotting carcass of an animal whose last meal was an onion seasoned with pickled garlic somehow crawled in my mouth and finished decomposing here” breath I encountered with one ex-boyfriend of mine. Ouaf! It was terrible. If brushing your teeth and gargling with mouthwash doesn’t improve your breath, go straight to your doctor or dentist, do not pass Go!, do not collect any more kisses.
When it comes to smoker’s breath… well, where to begin? I’m a non-smoker. I don’t like the taste of cigarettes on someone else. When people tell you it’s just like licking an ash tray? Well, I haven’t done that, but I’ve smelled one after it’s been washed. Neither is a pleasant thing to do, in my opinion. But, for someone else who’s a smoker, it mightn’t be so bad.
Guys who do not use their tongue.
This covers guys who keep it in their mouths and don’t bring it out to play, guys who stick it in your mouth and leave it there, or guys who just stick it straight out and never take it back.
When it comes to using your tongue, be creative! Tease your partner’s lips, run it lightly across their teeth, use it to hunt out their tongue and engage it in battle, but gentle; we’re not playing with swords or trying to choke each other.
If you can’t keep your tongue moving when your hands are busy doing something else, get it the hell
out of my mouth. I’m not aroused by the presence of this flaccid bit of your body lying limply in my mouth; I’m aroused by it playing with mine.
On that note, full extensions, people! I’m not saying I need for you to tell me I don’t have any tonsils, but don’t be afraid to give more than the tip of your tongue. If there’s too much tongue in my mouth, I can back off; if there’s not enough… well, you’re just teasing, and that has its place, but not the whole time.
Finally, a tongue is not a dick; you can do a lot more than just stick it out and expect me to work around it, or keep it hidden and never let me see it. I’m not going to be too interested by just bobbing up and down on your tongue, or having to dodge it; every once in awhile it’s nice to change things up by mixing the tongue kissing with little pecks or nibbles. Don’t be afraid to try different things… just don’t be slobbering all over my chin.
Roaming hands and rushing fingers.
The worst kiss I ever had involves Mr. Man immediately sticking his tongue down my throat and grabbing my breast. Sure, if we’d been going out for awhile, I mightn’t have minded, but that was his ideas of a good first kiss. Oh, and he was a smoker. I was not impressed.
I think for first kisses in particular, unless your date (male or female) is humping your leg, hands should likely stay in safe places; shoulders, waist, hips, arms, sides of the face, back of the head. Those are all sexy places to be touched when sharing a kiss; having someone palming your crotch or feeling up your breast has its place, and unless the first kiss lasts three hours, I don’t think that’s the best time for it.
Now that I’ve ensured that no guy who reads this will ever kiss me again, for fear of a negative evaluation, I’m going to move on to some likes. Not every kiss in my life has sucked… just the ones that did really stood out.
Guys who know how to mix up the tongue kissing and the soft pecks, nibbles, and kisses elsewhere. I love to have someone kiss my neck, and I love to nibble someone’s ears. You can get a lot of teasing in without ever stripping off clothing.
Confidence. This is so important. The sexiest first kiss I ever got was also super-brief. The guy pulled me forward slightly, leaned down and kissed me twice, then said goodnight. Shivers for days, let me tell you.
The feel of a tongue filling my mouth, playing with mine. This isn’t something that’s great for really long periods of time, but for a minute or so, especially when someone’s playing with mine? Damn, that’s good.
Teasing. Teasing is always good. Facing someone and bringing your open mouth close enough to brush theirs, they lean close, you back off, they whimper… very sexy.
Just plain making out, no roaming hands or rushing fingers or anything else. Especially if the person you’re making out with is new to you, or you’ve already slept with him or her; there’s so much anticipation and sexual tension and good frustration that it’s a hell of a lot of fun to do once in a while.
Kissing is a big deal to me. It’s how I judge whether or not I want to go any further with the person at hand. I always figure, if a guy’s a poor kisser, how’s he going to be at doing anything else in the bedroom?
So I’m off then; time to try out the next batch of applicants to the Boudoir.
posted by Jen on 3:36 AM
For the first time… yes!
My first time sucked.
Absolutely, no questions asked, no doubt about it, sucked.
I’m fairly certain I’m not the only person who can say this about their first time, either.
Many guys I’ve spoken to were incapable of lasting for any length of time once the penetration started, and hey, that’s pretty normal – it’s a new, totally different sensation from anything else (so I’ve been told), and it’s overwhelming – in a good way.
My first time, on the other side of the scale, I felt nothing. Sure, I could tell there was something different inside of me – I felt a little stretched or filled, which was a new sensation, different from fingers or a tampon – but otherwise, there were no nerve endings jumping up to yell hi.
Needless to say, I didn’t come that day – or for several months afterwards, even when the sex itself felt good. Hell, I’ll say it; I’ve had better than just good – even when the sex felt great, fantastic, and incredible, I didn’t come… back then.
But that’s a frustrating thing to remember (in glorious, sweaty, naked, panting Technicolour detail), particularly when one is engaged in a Master of Your Domain bet, so back on track.
There’s always a lot of debate (at least in my head) back and forth on the best circumstances in which to lose your virginity. I think we can all agree that under the watchful eyes of your parents is probably one of the worst. But a lot of people are inclined to say that your first time should be with someone special, and even though I can’t say that was necessarily my case, I’m inclined to agree. I think.
I’ve been someone’s first before, and while the circumstances themselves may not have been particularly special, the relationship itself was, so I’m fairly certain he was okay with how it all happened. Even though my first time wasn’t necessarily very special, I don’t regret it, either. But I know of people who do regret their first times: in cases where the decision was taken out of his hands; where it was a bet on the girl’s part that she could seduce the guy; or where it just wasn’t the right time or person – where lust, alcohol, drugs, or pleading took over and said “okay,” or “mphrgm,” which isn’t the clearest or most decisive “no.”
But what of the people who decide, “Enough is enough, I’ve been a virgin too damn long and I’m tired of it”? Many of them find a willing partner, someone they may care for, but not love, or someone who simply is acceptable (i.e., not coyote ugly), and they go to town… or car, couch, floor, bed, wherever seems best. Is this a wrong way to go about it?
What about situations where the virgin in question (VIQ) cares strongly for the non-VIQ, but the other merely cares for the VIQ, or sees the situation as purely sexual? Is it wrong for the non-VIQ to go ahead with the procedure (as it were), in those circumstances?
I’m at a total loss to come up with an answer to either of those questions beyond: it’s up to the VIQ to decide for him- or herself. Are they genuinely tired of being a virgin and have found someone they feel will teach them well? Do they want their first time to be special, or are they content with what they have? No one can really decide for them… unless the non-VIQ says no, which is a decision of sorts being made for them, I guess.
I was asked once, a few years ago, to initiate a VIQ into the world of sex. I turned him down, for several reasons, but chief among them because, at that time, I wasn’t particularly interested in playing teacher, and I really wasn’t looking to have sex with anyone at that point in my life. Some time later he told me he’d found someone to introduce him to the pleasures of the flesh, and I was happy for him; hopefully he found someone that he cared for to sleep with. I don’t regret having turned him down, and hopefully he understands why I did.
So, for a VIQ who’s looking for some pleasures of the flesh, I just have a few words of advice, whether it’s worth anything to you or not: find someone you trust and respect, and hopefully care for on some level. I think even if a first time isn’t the flowers and violins that romance novels and movies show, it should still be fun and maybe a bit special. Some random person off the street isn’t as likely to make you laugh and feel comfortable in the bedroom as a friend or partner would.
Otherwise, make sure you’re ready and not just horny. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference – and believe me; I know what I’m saying on that one, if nothing else.
posted by Jen on 12:15 AM
Mastering My Domain
Sometime before or during puberty, most of us figure out that touching our bits and pieces feels good.
According to what I’ve read and the anecdotal evidence I’ve gathered through various conversations with friends, most guys figure this out… sometime in the womb.
They then discover orgasms sometime before they become teenagers, then have a heart attack the first time they produce ejaculate – sperm, come, jizz, spooge, whatever you want to call it.
For women, which I most assuredly am, it is somewhat different. Okay, remarkably different.
I can only speak about my own experience, because it’s only my history I know authoritatively, but I was much older than the majority of my male friends when I first began masturbating – at least, successfully. Now that I am, how do you say, practiced? skilled? at it, I have willingly given it up. And all for a stupid bet.
Yes, a few friends of mine and I have gone Seinfeld
-- we are mastering our domains by denying ourselves orgasms. Why are we being so stupid (a question I’ve heard asked over and over the last few days)? For bragging rights at this point, since although we’ve all begun, none of us have really put forth our agreed on terms. At least, not yet.
But I’ve learned something from practicing restraint – at least, physical restraint – these last few days. This may not come as much of a shock to people, but the times I bring myself to orgasm aren’t always solely due to horniness. It seems to be a habit of sorts that I’ve fallen into: I’m horny, I’ll get myself off; I’m bored, I’ll get myself off; I have the house to myself now, I won’t later, I’ll get myself off; I don’t want to work on this paper, I’ll get myself off.
I can’t believe that I’m the only person that sometimes treats masturbating this same way. There are a number of people that regularly get off before they go to bed, and I highly recommend it as a sleep aid, but how much of that is due to habit, and how much of it is due to actual levels of horniness?
I fantasize constantly; I find it’s a great way to pass the time on the bus, while standing in line at the bank, while in the middle of a dentist appointment… it’s a fantastic way to fill time and come up with great ideas for the next time you’re naked and boogying with someone. But generally my fantasizing doesn’t lead to masturbating; usually it’s the other way around, unless I’ve been reading a particularly good romance novel… in which case we’re back to the fantasizing again.
How is all of this tying together? Well, if you take the physical release away from your body, especially if you’re used to getting that release, you find yourself fantasizing about everyone attractive you see… or at least, I do. School has become a lot more interesting lately, what with getting to guy watch on my way from one class to another, or from school to work. It’s made the walking from school to work a lot more fun, regardless of the dropping temperature.
Of course, fantasizing about everyone you see isn’t always a good thing. It’s certainly causing minor amounts of havoc with my brain and hormones and everything in between, but so far, it’s under control. See, I have this determination to win this bet, so I’m keeping myself together. Mind, I’m saying that after five days; talk to me again in two or three weeks, and you may get a different story entirely.
In the meantime, I’m working on developing new habits. I’m not giving up the fantasizing; I plan to have a few wild times once this whole bet is over and I’ve won. For now, I’m … umm… writing papers for school, going to work, and chatting with my friends. Except for those times we talk about sex, it’s helping to get my mind off the bet. The problem is, since I’m mostly talking to my friends who are in on the bet… there’s a lot of talk of sex. It’s a tough cycle.
So, if you’re wandering around downtown and you see a couple of handsome guys hanging out with a short blonde girl, and the whole lot of them are looking mighty twitchy, go easy on them. One of them just might be about to snap… but it’s not going to be me.
posted by Jen on 4:11 AM
Relationships are funny. You meet a new person, you hit it off, and you get to know him or her, he or she becomes incredibly important to you… then, sometimes, the bloom falls off the rose.
So then you’re stuck. Maybe you let it last a little while, trying to see if things will improve, if this is just a rough patch. But sometimes it doesn’t, and all of a sudden someone who meant everything to you … becomes someone you want to smother in the middle of the night with a pillow. Their voice makes you want to drive ice picks into your brain, and the idea of them touching you simply causes your skin to crawl. Or maybe that’s just me dating the wrong people.
So you break up. You say the usual things: “It’s not you, it’s me”; “I’ve met someone else”; “I just need to focus on myself/my job/washing my hair right now”; “I think we should see other people”; “I can’t be in a relationship right now”… and my personal favourite, “I think we should just be friends.”
The “Let’s be friends”? It’s bullshit. Complete, total, utter, absolute bull-shit
. Mind you, for some people, it works. I know of one couple that stayed friends after they broke up; however, they were still sleeping together, and she was still in love with him, and now that’s he moved on to another girlfriend, they’re no longer friends. But for some people, staying friends after breaking up works. These people are aliens.
Once someone begins the break up talk, it’s basically impossible to derail. I mean, what do you say to: “I think we should see other people”? “No”? I guess, “I already am” would be a bit of a surprise, but maybe a welcome one – after all, if you’re dumping someone, do you care if they’re already seeing someone? Actually, that’s a dumb question… unless it’s the reason you’re breaking up with them in the first place.
Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is that once someone initiates The Talk, it can’t be stopped; at least, not in my experience. Unless, of course, you’re the one beginning the talk; then it seems as if there’s nothing you can say to stop this snivelling, whining, desperate person clinging to your hands, begging you to change your mind… or maybe that’s just me, dating the wrong guys.
In a break up, there is basically one person left feeling more than the other, unless it’s a mutual event: something like, “You ran over my cat, we both know this should end.” But generally, one person is left with a bruised heart, while the other either still cares but has to pretend not to, or is busy leaving death threats on your answering machine to convince you they want you no longer. It’s a rough situation in which to be, regardless of which end of the stick you have.
So what do you do? Well, there’s the stereotypical approach for either gender: as a man, if you’ve been dumped, you go out to the bar with your friends, drink a few beers, malign the “bitch’s” character, drink a few more beers, then leave a drunken message on her answering machine begging her to take you back, then when she doesn’t respond in two seconds, calling her a trampy slutwhore and hanging up. The stereotypical female approach to being dumped is to gather together all of your girlfriends, watch sappy chick flicks on the VCR whilst consuming everything chocolate, salty, and/or vaguely edible in the house and crying your eyes out, then declaring that you’re an incredibly beautiful, sexy, intelligent woman and he never appreciated you anyway.
After some time passes, unless one of you has left the city or died, you’ll invariably run into one another in person. When Fate and Luck are really pissing on you, this is when you will look your worst, and they will look absolutely fahbulous, and accompanied by their new boyfriend or girlfriend. If Fate and Luck are on your side, these roles will be reversed, and you can walk away feeling great.
But if you do run into an ex-, and there is no avoiding him or her, rest assured that regardless of what happened, you are better for not being with him or her. Look back on your time with your ex- as time spent learning about yourself and being better for it; even if all you learned was, “I’ll never date another asshole like him or bitch like her again.”
posted by Jen on 11:49 PM
In other words...
When one is going through a long dry spell, one quickly begins to experiment. This helps to alleviate the possibility -- some might say the inevitability – of repetition leading to boredom. Green Day puts it rather succinctly: “When masturbation’s lost its fun, you’re fuckin’ losing.”
It seems funny to think that bringing yourself such utter pleasure can actually become boring, but it’s true. Well, boring isn’t exactly the right word -- I can’t honestly say that being on the edge of a screaming orgasm is when I’m yawning and wondering if anything good is on television – but repetitious seems to describe it aptly.
So, experimentation is the next step. In surreptitious locations, with foreign objects, new reading material, phone sex… these are all great, tried, tested and true forms of spicing up something otherwise relatively simple.
But today’s focus is something a bit different, something that usually requires a partner… unless any of the ‘psychiatrist’ computer programmes (such as Eliza
or Dr. Sbaitso
) respond in a way that turns your crank, it’s usually best to have another person for cybersex.
Okay, okay, I’ll wait for you to put down the tomatoes and listen. Just hear me out, okay?
I know the sleazy reputation that cybersex has, and yes, to some extent I agree. It can be somewhat icky and all that, but to some people, so is using a sex toy, or putting assorted household objects up your ass in order to heighten your state of nirvana when you’re getting off… so think over what I’m going to say about it before you click away. Thanks.
Anyhow, one of the best ways I’ve found to have cybersex is either with someone you’re already sleeping with in person (which begs the question – why the dry spell?), or someone you’re unlikely to ever see in person. This lessens the chance that you’ll feel embarrassed when/if you see them in person, and it helps lower your inhibitions when the two of you disrobe – cyberly speaking, that is.
Conversely, it can work well with someone you do see in person, so long as the two of you have a clear understanding of where you want your on- and off-line relationships to begin and end. I leave those distinctions up to you.
A few supplies to have on hand (so to speak) for a cybersex experience:
• Sturdy lock on your door: you don’t want parents, roommates, or the meter guy wandering in at an inopportune moment (unless you’re filming a porn film, which begs the question – why the dry spell?);
• Lubricant: whatever parts you possess, it’s always a nice thing to have close by;
• A towel: sitting on a leather or wooden computer chair can get awfully uncomfortable if your naked behind sticks to it;
• More towels: for cleaning up whatever needs cleaning up – dust, spilled drinks, lubricant, bodily fluids, motor oil, etc.;
• A stable computer and Internet connection: you don’t want your system going up and down more than you are, or worse, going down completely at a crucial moment (for modem users, I recommend turning off call-waiting if you know in advance in what mischief you’ll be partaking);
• Dextrous one-handed typing skills;
• Whatever other toys you and your typing partner decide you might need to enhance the experience.
When it comes to the event itself, there are two main ways it can go. Scheherazade
-style, where one of you narrates a story to the other; or call-and-response style, where you each describe what you’d be doing if you were there in person.
I find Scheherazade-style good for the first few times you’re playing with a new partner, or if you’re new to or awkward with cybering in general. This can be a back-and-forth experience in a way – “I’ll show you mine next time if you show me yours tonight.” It’s also great if one of you is feeling particularly inspired or creative, and the other isn’t – this gives you, the reader, two free hands, unless you stop to type an “ooh” or an “ahh” once in awhile.
With call-and-response cyber, this is a good way to simulate sex a bit more realistically (if such a word can be used in that sense). “I remove your shirt and rub up against your strong, hairy, man chest” could get the response “my strong, hairy man meat quivers in anticipation,” in which case, I respond, “I understand your dry spell now,” and disconnect. Quickly. There’s cyber sex, and them there’s cheesy porno/70s romance novel. If I wanted the latter, I’d go read it on my own.
Anyhow, that’s just me and my preferences. Maybe that would get your “moist pearl” of a girl part “dewy with anticipation” or your “purple missile of love standing at attention,” in which case, I wish you both happy typing.
In the meantime, I have my candles lit, my mood music a-playin’, and my status set to invisible. It’s time for me to … go to bed, ‘cause no one’s online. Ah well… being stuck in a rut like this isn’t exactly a total hardship.
Oh yeah, my final bit of advice for this week: stop if your wrists hurt. That applies both to the typing, and the self-lovin’.
posted by Jen on 2:16 AM
Fit to be tied
I hope you, my dear readers, will have patience with me if this column reads in fits and starts, because quite frankly, this topic can get me somewhat twitchy in the pants… and I’m particularly prone to drifting off into fantasies while contemplating it.
If the subject header hadn’t given it away, I’ll tell you; today I’m thinking about bondage. Okay, so yesterday I was thinking about bondage and tomorrow I’m sure I’ll think about bondage again, so, okay, today I’m writing
Don’t get yourself tied up in knots about semantics.
I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist that one. Beat me for it, won’t you? (Yes, that pun was also intentional).
Okay, back on track. Mmm, bondage. I love the idea of being bound and helpless and at the mercy of someone else’s whim. It’s just so deliciously sexy to me to be totally teased and driven crazy by someone who knows what I like and how I like it, and refuses to do any of it in order to make me suffer.
But that’s why I like bondage. I was talking to a friend of mine about this last night, and we were trying to figure out why so many men and women like bondage – but women in particular. I mentioned that a number of people who are very powerful outside of the bedroom like to be dominated in the bedroom; people with a powerful personality or a great deal of authority sometimes like to give all that up when they get in the bedroom.
But, the number one reason why people like to be tied up, I said, was laziness.
Sure, pure and utter laziness! After all, what better way to absolve you from responsibility for what’s going on between the sheets and have someone else do all the work than by being tied up?
I mean, how many women have gotten that head push that signals that your partner just might be interested in getting a blow job? Or how many men have had women doing that palm on the flat of the head that means, “Honey, how about you eat me?” This isn’t just for straights, either – although I’m neither a gay male nor a gay female, I think it’s safe to say that some gay couples encounter this ‘gentle hinting’ as well.
So, remove yourself from this problem! Get tied up! Then, when your male partner is hovering over you as you’re flat on your back with your hands above your head, you can tell him, “Hey, it’s a bit tough for me to suck you off right now – I just don’t have the right angle. Why don’t you eat me instead?”
Now admittedly, this doesn’t quite work as well when we’re working with women and their parts. After all, kneeling above someone’s head to get eaten out… well, it works pretty well for us. We generally don’t have much in the way of parts that are going to start throwing your gag reflex into action, so it’s a bit tougher to avoid doing work at that point. But, you can always request a ball gag, and then problem solved – your mouth is already full, so you can’t exactly be using it for fun, and your partner just has to look after you for awhile.
But I kid. No, really. Sometimes laziness is a factor, but really, there’s also a great deal of trust and sexiness that goes into being the one bound and at someone’s mercy. Some people just can’t bear to beg, so being driven to that point means you must be doing something awfully
right, which is a big head trip in and of itself.
I once knew a guy who was feeling a little disappointed with the vanilla sex that he and his girlfriend were having, so one night he tied up his girlfriend without asking her, and she freaked on him. I say, and deservedly so. Being tied up is scary and vulnerable and exiting and arousing… and well, those are my feelings drifting over onto it, but the whole thing I’m trying to say is talk to your partner ahead of time, and keep talking the whole way through. It might not be the best experience the first time, but if you build on it and make it something good, future times will be; if it’s not scary and horrible the first time, then both of you will be much more willing to pursue it again.
Now that I’m all tied up in knots and twitchy from this week’s topic, well, as usual, I’m off. But today, I leave you with a quote:
“I’m a teaser, I’m a pleaser, I’m a midnight squeezer…”
-- from the label of a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade I got once.
Happy binding... and bonding!
posted by Jen on 10:00 PM
What a buzz!
Well, today I got to play in one of my new favourite stores: the sex store. Correction, the woman-friendly sex store. This one in particular has all of their dildoes displayed facing more or less straight out from the wall, so it’s very tempting to go over and “twoing!” the poor things, just to watch them bounce up and down. I’m easily amused, what can I say?
Anyhow, this store had a lovely selection of vibrators, which is what I’d like to talk about today. I like vibrators! They’re great; when you’re feeling lazy, you can get off. When you’re in a hurry, you can get off. When you want to have multiple orgasms and your fingers just can’t do it, you can get off. When you don’t have a partner, or your partner just isn’t managing to do it, you can get off. When your fingers just aren’t getting you there, you can get off. Did I mention, you could get off?
There were great amounts of laughter had today, as I explored the various vibrators that they had. There were a few of the more expensive models that included beads that rotated, a vibrating clitoris thingy, and often a swivelling head. Now, I personally have yet to find a dick that does all that, but if I do, well… I don’t know if I’ll run and hide or run to the bedroom, dragging the guy behind me as I go. No, on second thought, it’s probably the latter. After all, you’d have to try him out just once, for the experience, if nothing else – think of the stories!
Anyhow, back on track. Tonight I also saw a little bullet vibrator attached to a plastic car; it was actually one of the wheels that you turned to start the vibrating and control its strength. Which leads me to another preference; I like vibrators with controllable speeds. That way, you can drive yourself or a partner insane by keeping it at a low, gentle hum… or you can burn off your clit by cranking that sucker.
Okay, okay, don’t hurt yourself. Turn the motor down to an acceptable level – ideally the one that will have you screaming and clutching the sheets or someone’s head. After all, isn’t the point to a vibrator to get off? I think I might have alluded to that earlier.
Anyhow, one of the things I really liked about this store was that all of their vibrators were on display, and contained batteries or a power source, so you could test out the vibrations for yourself and decide whether the one you held was strong enough or would get you off if you sat there all day… which could make for a really interesting BDSM situation, and a damn big tease… but I distract myself.
The vibrator that I found today that I thought was really awesome was called the iVibe Egg (I know, I know, vague overtones of an iMac, but bear with me). If you have about $90 and a mean streak, go buy this sucker as soon as you can. Not only does it have variable speeds, but it has five different ‘functions’: vibrating; pulsating; surging; escalating; and roller coaster. Any vibrator that has ‘roller coaster’ as an option is worth buying for the humour value alone, no? And for the techno nerd in you, it has a little LED screen that shows how strongly you have the thing turned up. Instead of a little turning dial or speed control on the side, it has little touch buttons to change the settings… so if you’re playing in a BDSM scenario, someone’s going to have a lot of fun, and someone else is going to have a lot of torture… and a lot of fun.
I don’t mean for this week’s column to turn into an advertisement for the iVibe, I just thought this thing was the coolest… and since I’ve been discussing BDSM a fair bit lately, teasing and torture were a little on the brain. Just a little.
Sorry, what was I saying? Right, vibrators. The best advice I can give to someone who’s first buying a vibrator is, don’t buy something that makes you uncomfortable. If it feels too strong in your hand, or not strong enough, it’s likely not going to feel very comfortable against your most tender parts. Don’t be afraid to ask the clerks questions; they’ve had much weirder and much shyer people in the store than you, guaranteed. Hell, I’ve gone vibrator shopping drunk, so I’m sure there were stories told about me afterwards. If you feel like bringing in a friend as an advisor, do it. You guys can have a great time laughing at the ones that have weird colours, shapes, or functions.
Anyhow, I think I might head back to that store… I just can’t seem to get that iVibe off my mind. What’s a little teasing before the pleasing? Damn satisfying when you do finally come, that’s what.
posted by Jen on 11:18 PM