Thursday, March 30, 2006

And it Burns, Burns, Burns...

The taste of love is sweet
when hearts like ours meet
I fell for you like a child
oh, but the fire went wild...

I fell in to a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher.
Writing yesterday's post about what non-touch-related internet activity "counts" as cheating has brought an old memory out into the sunlight. Once, years ago, a good friend and I were taking a walk together. She was describing an experience with a particular guy she'd slept with, and I realized that at the time the story had taken place, this guy had been seriously involved with someone. I queried her on it, and she said, "He didn't have a ring on his finger. As far as I'm concerned, if that's the case, anyone is fair game." I let it drop, but her response has always stayed with me. It needled me then, and it still kind of needles me now in a number of ways.

Some thoughts this memory has stirred up, yet again:

I was in a committed relationship for many years. We lived together. We had an understanding that we would be monogamous. We never got married. He never had a ring on his finger, nor did I. With all that being the case, I don't think he should have been considered "fair game" because we decided not to sign a piece of paper or buy matching gold bands. Nor do I think that I should have been anyone else's "fair game," either.

Watch any cheesy reality talk show and you'll see these tawdry episodes titled "He's Sleeping With my Woman!" Or, "I'm Boning my Husband's Best Friend!" What happens every time? The host calls up the unwitting girlfriend, boyfriend, or spouse. The cheating partner makes The Big Announcement. The cheating "other woman/man" walks on to the stage. All hell breaks loose. And who does the cheated-on person run toward to attack? You know the answer. Not their partner. They run at the person sleeping with the partner, fist raised or claws extended, ready to kill.

In more of my relationships than I'd like to admit, I've been cheated on. I know what it's like to be that person, the one who who's been left in the dark while everyone else in the "audience"--whether that's your circle of friends, or just the two people involved in the deception--knows what was going on. I know first hand the emotions you have to deal with: how stupid you feel, how betrayed, how worthless and ugly, how utterly debased and humiliated. You do want to run toward someone--anyone--and hurt, maim, and kill them. I think, however, that in all these cases in my real life, I reserved the majority of the blame for my partner. After all, he was the one who had committed to me, not the person he cheated with. But I didn't think the other person was totally blameless. If any of the women involved in these scenarios had no idea that my partner was seeing someone, I don't think I would have blamed them at all. But the sad truth is that in 100 percent of the cases where someone cheated on me, the woman involved on the other end knew my boyfriend was seriously involved with someone else. And she still chose to do it anyway.

When it happened to me, each time, though I always held my partner ultimately responsible, I always thought about those women. I was angry, sure, especially if she knew me personally. But more than the anger, I would always feel this almost childlike confusion--this deep, abiding hurt and sadness, that would always end up in a question: How could any woman live with doing that to another woman? The only answer I could ever think up for myself was maybe they'd been lucky enough to never have been cheated on, so they didn't know what it was like. How their actions had consequences beyond their own life. I just couldn't imagine if they knew what it felt like that they could bear to even contemplate creating that kind of hell for someone else, even if you'd never have to know or meet them.

Very Christ-like, huh? "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." I guess I'd just like to assign some excuse for an action I don't want to understand, I suppose. But I guess I know deep down what I don't want to know. That's "they don't know what they do" really isn't it. When it comes down to it, they probably knew; they just didn't care. The hurt they caused someone else was less important to them than the hurt they'd feel if they didn't get what (or who) they wanted.

It's hard for me to take. I've known some very good people, my friend included, who have had no qualms about being "the other woman/man," other than that they don't get to spend enough time with their lovers. There are people whom I loved and respected who have cheated on their partners and spouses. I never know how to reconcile those two things.

I don't really know what I'm trying to get at here, exactly. Everything is whirling around in my head...but let me just rattle on and maybe it will come to some conclusion.

It's not that I don't understand the impulse. I'm a single woman. I've been single for a greater portion of my adult life than I have been in relationships. In the percentage of the time that I've been single, there have been a number of men who have wanted me despite being attached to others. And I can't even count the huge number of unhappy married or attached people I've met on the internet, both male and female, who are either looking for a quick cyber situation, or something more romantic, but at a safe distance.

What I'm saying is, I've had a lot of proposals for this kind of thing, both in real life and online. Sometimes the proposals are sleazy and therefore easy to reject. But sometimes, they're not. Sometimes you meet someone who is so wonderful, and exactly what you'd want if only...and it's all you can do to control yourself and keep your wits about you.

But the "if only" IS there. And the girlfriend or spouse, hidden though she may be from my sight, is out there somewhere. I find it impossible to ever fully put these out of my mind, no matter how much I yearn for what I want. And I have major fear of karma. I worry if I "gain" someone through deceptive means, it'll only come back around to mean pain for me in the end of one type of another. How does one win in this kind of a situation? How does the end ever come out happy?

Hemingway once said, "If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it." He was talking about marriage, about the loss of a spouse (because even in the longest, loving marriages, one spouse has to die first and the other will be alone). But how much more does this ring true if you love the person, but can never have the person? And even if you choose to settle for the long-term sad ending in trade for in-the-now happiness, how much more does it still ring true, knowing that choice will mean hurting someone else, not just yourself?

But then I think back to my friend, and her calm, unconcerned statement of her feelings about the whole thing. She didn't think she had any reason to fault her actions. And I think how recently a few people have said that feeling everything is your fault is the ultimate narcissism.

And so I have to ask myself, if I am "the other woman," do I have any responsibility? If I'm single, do I have a moral obligation to respect another's agreement if he is ready and willing to break it?

Or should I just be like everyone else seems to be, and not care about anything except my own needs and my own pleasure?

And if I do that, does it mean I can't say shit when someone eventually does it to me again?

And it burns, burns, burns
The ring of fire
The ring of fire.
(photo credit: "I see a woman's body in the flames" by Stephan Brauchli)

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

But Is It Cheating?

My personal answer to this question has generally been, "If you have to ask yourself the question, then the answer is yes."

But let's examine this for a minute.

In general, "cheating" used to be defined as becoming involved in some kind of a physical sexual act with another person outside of your committed relationship, without your partner's knowledge and approval.

So for instance, looking at porn would not be cheating. While you might get off on seeing a person (or persons) in a photograph or video, that "person" is not "real," in the sense that you can't meet him or her and pursue any kind of human contact. In short, you can not touch that person. You can not "have sex" with that person.

But now, with the advent of the internet, among other things, we have a number of new sexual outlets besides print and video porn, which make the definition above a lot blurrier, and perhaps a lot more questionable.

What do I mean? Well, let's assume for the sake of argument that your spouse or committed lover does not know you are doing any of the following...

Cyber-sex via IM:
No touch here, right? It's strictly textual, no different than reading the Penthouse forum. Except that the text is being created in real time, on a screen. And there is a person on the other end, creating the text, with you. But you can't see, hear, smell, taste, or touch this person. Is it cheating? Is it cheating if you do it once with a complete stranger with no emotional attachment? Is it cheating if you do it multiple times with the same person, who is someone you like or have some affection for?

Video Cam sex chat:
Now you've got text and video. There's a person on the other side, and you can see him or her. You can't have physical sex with them, though. No touch involved. Is it cheating? Is it different than watching a porn video? Again, is there a difference between once, anonymously vs. multiple times, with a connection? Does it "count" more if it's with a real-life, everyday person vs. a professional sex worker?

Phone sex:
No touch. No images. No ability to have real physical sex. But there are two people talking, listening to each other and saying sexual things to each other. Is it cheating? Did you "have sex" if you both got off while talking to each other? Does it count? Again: anonymous vs. regular arrangement? Regular Joe vs. sex worker? Does it matter? Is one better or worse than the other? Is one cheating and one not?

Strip club:
If you're just watching the floor show, there are visuals, but no touch. Is it cheating? Can just watching count as a sexual exchange of some sort? What if you get a lap dance? In that case, touch would be involved, and there is often arousal. There is no technical sex, but there may be an orgasm in some situations. If your partner doesn't know you're at the strip club watching, or that you're getting a lap dance, is it cheating?

Let's say in any of the cases above you don't get overtly sexual. You just flirt an awful lot.

Or maybe, if you're in a strip club, maybe another patron of the gender you're attracted to is a little buzzed and snogs with you a little bit. Nothing heavy, no touching of any "private parts," no official sex of any kind. Just a some stolen kisses, let's say.

Is it cheating? Where is the line drawn?

What do you think?

Letting the Days Go By

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself, "Well...
How did I get here?"
Did you ever have one of those moments where you're not doing anything particularly out of the ordinary, just doing what you normally do, like going to pick up a coffee, or taking out your keys as you walk toward your car in a parking lot, and then suddenly, you're just up above yourself, looking down at the physical being that is you, standing there, in that parking lot, and then looking out across everything that surrounds that being for miles and miles and miles? And you just kind of go, "Wow, is that me there? I can't even recognize myself. What the hell am I doing in that place? That's not what it's supposed to look like at all. That's not where I was supposed to be at all."

And then of course, the question is:

Where am I supposed to be?[*]

And you may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?"
And you may ask yourself, "Where does that highway lead to?"
And you may ask yourself,"Am I right? Am I wrong?"
And you may tell yourself,

"My god!...What have I done?"

[*]And do I actually already know the answer to this, but am I just too afraid of the consequences of trying to make it possible?

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Would You Fuck This Sandwich?

So based on the comments to yesterday's post, it looks like a lot of you out there are passionate about both food and sex. So, it's got me wondering if the two qualities are inextricably linked. Can you tell how good a lover someone is by their relationship to food? If someone is really fussy about their eating habits, does it mean fussiness in the bedroom? If someone is a food glutton, are they a sex addict?


My foodie personality:
  • I love all kinds of food, from basic to exotic.
  • I want dishes that are fresh, inventive, and well-prepared.
  • And yet occasionally, I need to have me some nasty, processed snack cake
  • I think all the fancy presentation in the world ain't worth a damn if it doesn't taste good.
  • I believe a spectacular meal means exquisiteness every step of the way. Don't create a beautiful entree but serve crap wine and forget the dessert. Go all out.
  • I'll try almost anything once. If I haven't tasted it yet, I want it in my mouth.
What does that say about me in bed? I'm gonna leave that to you to figure out. (Go on and speculate in comments if you want. Maybe I'll tell you if you're right.)

So, what's your foodie personality? Would you say it reflects you in the bedroom? Did/do your lovers' eating habits match their bedroom skills?

Should I run screaming if my date orders American cheese with mayo on untoasted white bread? Or does this say absolutely nothing about him?

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Food Porn

If I had to name my top three most pleasurable things, the things I simply couldn't enjoy life without, I'd have to boil them down to sex, sleep, and food. Not just mediocre sex, sleep, and food, mind you. I'm talking exquisite, luscious, totally satisfying sex, sleep, and food. Give me that, as well as music, writing/poetry, stimulating conversation, film/theater, and the other arts, and I'm pretty much set. (All proof, by the way, of my theory that I was born into the wrong era and really should have been a Renaissance- era courtesan.)

But anyway, food. Over at Hiromi_X's blog, there's a lively discussion about parallels between plain vs. unusual food and plain vs. unusal sex. You should read it here.

To me, whether the food's plain or unusual doesn't matter so much as if it's good--and I mean really good. When food is done right, even the most simply prepared dish can become a symphony of sheer orgiastic ecstasy coursing through every part of your mind, body, and senses.

Which reminds me of this really hysterical little feature called "Pornucopia" I heard on NPR's On The Media program, where a writer for Harper's magazine compares the different kinds of TV food shows to different genres of porn. You must have a listen here. (It should download and play in RealPlayer, but if not, you can click on the "listen now" link on the upper left hand side of the page here. There's also a text transcript of the piece on that page, but trust me, you really need the sound to get the full experience.)

(Photo credit: Ms. Belle G. Pepper Poses for a Photograph by MrPixel)

Public Service Announcement

I'd fallen behind on reading and answering comments. I think I've gotten to everyone now. Sorry--life gets so busy sometimes. Real post a bit later.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Sexy Haiku Tag

Well, I've been tagged--for the first time ever--by Anastasia over at Sexualité. And because I suspect she is dangerous when denied anything she wants she is far too luscious to turn down, here is some flash-form haikuiness for your feasting pleasure (at least, I hope it'll be pleasure).
"The game is that you write a D/s, kinky or sexy haiku…write one, write a dozen…it's up to you. What is a haiku you ask? It is verse form having three lines of five, seven, and five syllables."

You, forbidden fruit.
Your voice, a snake’s tempting hiss,
“Ripe. Tassssste.” (Good. Evil.)

Each burn of the cords
Exposing silent assent
To your tongue’s command.

In the dark theater
My hand…there. So light…And then…
You biting your lip.


Who to tag? Well, I'm new to this tagging thing, so I don't know the etiquette. Forgive me if I get it wrong. I picking based on bloggers I read who I know like to play with words, and whose wordplay I admire. If they want to try their hand at this, I'd love to read what they come up with. If not, no expectation or offense taken.

In alphabetical order:

Always Aroused Girl

Chelsea Girl at Pretty Dumb Things


Ellie at Sex In The Smoke

Figleaf at Real Adult Sex

Sugasm #27

The best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Posts are cut at F within each category.


HNT #4 - Assume the Position (
I Don’t Mind it Rough (
Kneeling (
Making Love in the Rain Revisited (
Monde Imaginaire (
The Notorious Bettie Page (
Sadist Taking What is His (
Spanking Site Review: Bars and Stripes (
Thigh High Boots (video) (
Training and Surrender (
Choices - Part Five (
D/s Correspondence (

Erotica/Erotic Experiences

In Three Minds (
My Ultimate Fantasy (
The Slow Fuck (
Teen Lesbians Brittney and Avril on Sapphic Erotica (
The Vixxen Chronicles - Walking Funny, Pt. 3 (
Welcome To My Fantasy (
Coach T… Ch. 5 (
Dear Pussy (

Sex Work
I am now a sex worker (
Half-Nekkid: Topless and Thinking (
Mothers and Prostitutes Don’t Mix (

Going Home (
Single Double (
Women Aren’t the Only Complex Creatures (
Caught Kissing in the Copier Room (

Save the Date! NYC Perverts’ Saloon - Monday, April 3rd (
Twilight + Thebes Podcast Discusses Paddles + Devil Girl Sushi Table (

Gracie on Abby Winters (
My Sister’s Best Friend Review (
I Feel Myself - The Art of Orgasm (
Oops, I forgot. The word of the day is “moisture” (
Sincerely LaRue (
S Spot Hentai Links (

Thoughts on Sex: Sex Commentary, Sex Advice, Blogging
Faking (
Fingering (
Long Ass POST! (
Twats and Knives: Together at Last (
Variety Act (
Advice - Tasting Yourself (
Anatomy Lessons Part 1 (
Come (

Sex News / Grab Bag
For the Youthful-Looking Cooter You Deserve (
Mardi Gras Spanking (
Profaning the sacred (
They’ve Went and Bottled the Pussy! (
Tom Cruise’s Cock (
Charges Dropped in Teacher Sex Scandal (
Dress Up Britney Spears (

Killing An Erection (
after a few shots… (

Join the Sugasm

Friday, March 24, 2006

A Love That Don't Mean a Thing

I want love, but it's impossible
A man like me, so irresponsible
A man like me is dead in places
Other men feel liberated

I can't love, shot full of holes
Don't feel nothing, I just feel cold
Don't feel nothing, just old scars
Toughening up around my heart
This Elton John song was playing in my head when I woke up this morning, and it's been playing over and over in my head all day since.

So often, looking back at my relationships (romantic and otherwise) and at my friends', and even at the relationships described by all these bloggers I read, you just have to wonder why people keep reaching out for each other at all. Love seems to be a far more complex and difficult emotion than we like define it as. It has all the heart throbbing, sure. And after that, the long-time affection, yep. But then, along with that, there also seem to be other things inextricably blended into the mix that no one tells you about. Things like pain, hurt, guilt, misunderstanding, frustration, hidden motives, and even manipulation. Even those in the best relationships say they have to deal with this to some extent.

Often, it seems like love is mostly about overcoming, not...y'know...well...coming (in all the senses described in this post).

It makes me tired. And angry, too, sometimes. I get sick of being made to feel I should want something that's portrayed falsely to begin with. And I get angry that I continue to want it anyway, given what I know, and hear, and see on a regular basis. And I really get pissed when people act like they're sorry for me when I'm not part of a romantic relationship, or ask me if I have a boyfriend and if I say no, ask "Why not?" as if this must imply some inherent defect. I always feel like going, "Why not? Let's turn the spotlight on your relationship for a moment. Any more questions?"

Sometimes, I just wish I could get tough enough to just cut myself off from needing to connect with anyone. I've tried. But I always fail.

I know deep down I fail because it's not really what I want. But I'm just so frustrated that I want anything, when the expectation of what I want is so unrealistic.

I want to be in love, and I want not to feel. That's exactly what I want.
But I want love, just a different kind
I want love, won't break me down
Won't brick me up, won't fence me in
I want a love that don't mean a thing
That's the love I want, I want love.
Does this make sense to anyone out there besides me and Bernie Taupin?

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Are You Obscene?

Don't bother answering that question.

Because, according to the Supreme Court, if you have a blog or website that mentions anything sexual and any community, of any size, anywhere in the United States feels you're obscene, well then, you are. And you can be prosecuted. Under felony charges.

Do you understand what that means? It means your opinion doesn't matter. It means the majority of the American public's opinion DOES NOT MATTER.

It means even if 99.99 percent of the American population agrees you are NOT obscene, but ONE TOWN of, say, 300 people--maybe a town like this one (and by the way, are you STILL buying Domino's Pizza?), decides you are obscene, you, friend, are screwed. Not that you'll be allowed to use that descriptor without more charges being brought against you, of course.

I was reading about this last night and fuming. I was planning to publish a whole diatribe about this, but luckily for me, Steff over at the cunting linguist has already done it for me. Go read it.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Withholding Allowance?

I was just thinking about Aristophanes's play Lysistrata today.

Y'know, like ya do...heh.

Anyway, for those not familiar with this classic Greek play, the basic plot is this: Athens has been at war with Sparta for a damn long time. It's the Peloponnesian War, to be exact. The women of Athens are sick of it. They advocate for their husbands to end the war and seek a peace agreement. The husbands ignore them. The women gather together and decide on a plan of action. They barricade themselves inside the Acropolis and they deny their men sex until they agree to negotiate peace and end the war. It works.

Well, it turns out that while Lysistrata's story is fictional, there have been a few organized women's sex strikes through the ages, as well as some strikes where women stopped doing "women's work." And you know what? It often resulted in shit getting accomplished.

My favorite women's strike story is the Women's Day Off strike in Iceland in 1975, or as the Icelandic men ended up labeling it, "The Long Friday." While this article doesn't make it clear if all women withheld sex that day, I've heard it implied in other accounts. In any case, if it wasn't a sex strike, it was certainly a gender strike--they withheld a lot of their other traditionally expected roles and duties. Ninety percent of the women in the entire country participated. They also staged a repeat on its anniversary in 2005.

Anyway, it got me to musing if there is ever a good reason to withhold sex.

Let's say, for instance, all the women in South Dakota withheld until they got their abortion rights back. Or all the spouses of Congresspeople withheld until they did something about the war in Iraq. Or all the spouses of Israeli and Palestinian soldiers refused to give head until there was a peace agreement.

Could going on sex strike change the course of world events? Could something like this actually work in the modern day?

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Cherry Poppin' Pop

While we're on the topic of losing one's virginity, this is kind of fun.

Different hep bands suggest
Songs to lose your virginity to.

The Black Velvets and the Thirteen Senses nabbed two of my would-be suggestions. But those fellas in Goldie Lookin Chain are obviously the kinkiest of the lot--stay away from them.

Hm. How about the Stone's "She Comes in Colors?" Or maybe another Barry White--"Love Serenade?" Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night?" Why are all these so old?

Actually, I'd love to lose my virginity to Interpol's "Evil." But too late for that now. Though maybe I can pretend with someone, just for fun. Volunteers?

So. Any suggestions from all you musically-inclined pervs out there? If you were gonna bed a virgin, or if you were going to do it all over again, what would be the best song(s) for losing virginity to?

Monday, March 20, 2006

I Bet She's Still a Virgin But It's Only Twenty-Five 'Til Nine

The title's a lyric from one of my favorite Tom Waits songs.

But he's right, you know. For most of us (with key exceptions, of course), after a certain amount of time, the loss of our virginity was inevitable.

The whole discussion surrounding the post last week about the term "defloration," particularly the comments about whether loss of virginity is appropriately celebrated and revered in the modern era, got me thinking more about my first time, and about others' experiences that I've heard about.

If there is no formal ritual or celebration for loss of virginity anymore, are most people substituting their own ritual and celebration? I wonder.

For myself, my entree into non-virginity was most certainly planned. But not, I suspect, the way most such planned instances probably are. Though I could be wrong. I always picture the "normal" girl planning it in a very hearts-and-flowers kind of way, like they always show on soap operas and those dreadful WB teenage dramas. Candles, rose petals, lots of declarations of love by your young boyfriend/girlfriend.

I had sex for the first time later than some people did. Strangely, none of my boyfriends in high school ever pushed even slightly to have sex, and though I liked physical contact, I didn't feel any urge at the time to have sex with any of them. As an aside: I wonder sometimes if the widely held belief of both teens and adults that most teenagers are sexually active (or want to be) is actually true. It certainly wasn't my experience. Maybe it's more of a myth than a reality.

I also had (and still have) a stubborn, independent streak. Even as a young teen, nothing disgusted me more than people who just did things because everyone else thought they should--whether those things were mainstream or counter-culture. And I was determined that before I did or tried anything, I would be certain I was doing it because I wanted to, not because someone else thought I should, or because someone else was trying to manipulate me by trying to make me feel bad, guilty, "uncool," or "slutty," or whatever their M.O. was.

Sex fell under this rule, too. I thought it was stupid how people made such a big issue about whether you were a virgin or not. I didn't think virginity OR non-virginity was such a big deal. I fully expected to enjoy sex when I wanted to have it. But I sure as hell wasn't going to do it until I was damn well ready--and no one else was going to convince me I was ready because they thought it was something that "should be done." I wanted someone else like me, for whom it was no big deal, either way.

Obviously, that left pretty much most college guys out. At that stage of the game, whether they could bed you or not was a VERY big deal to them. The vast majority of guys at that age aren't looking for anything more than the ability to improve the stats on their scorecard, so they can wave it around in front of their buddies. There were a lot of guys who wanted to sleep with me when I first started college, but it always felt too much like I was just going to be a notch on their belt. Plus, despite my own inexperience, I could tell based on the other things I was doing with them, that their technique was certainly not polished. Most of them were pretty fumbly and clueless. In short, I sensed they didn't really know what they were doing, or how to proficiently maneuver a woman's body to full arousal, and hence I felt fairly certain that a first time with any of them wouldn't be any too great. So I turned them all down.

I think most women my age didn't really think about that. And I wonder if as a result a lot of them had disappointing first times with their college boyfriends. Don't get me wrong, I understand that it's only natural most guys at that age are somewhat clueless and clumsy, and it's not their fault--they have to start learning somewhere, after all. My hat is off to all those women who were cool with assisting the boys during their practice runs and scorecard years. I just personally wasn't cool with that. (Sorry, college guys.)

Anyway, because I couldn't find my guy with the "no big deal" attitude I wanted, I set off on an alternate course. I was working in New York City in the summer, and through my job I met a now well-known journalist/writer who at that time wrote for a music magazine. He was cool. He was much older than me (12 years). He was funny and smart and smart-arse-ish and a talented writer to boot--a deadly combination for me. I liked him. I didn't ever feel for one minute that I loved him, and I knew I wouldn't ever feel that way. But I really liked him and I was highly attracted to him. We started hanging out together.

And, obviously, unlike the college and high school boys, he knew how to touch a woman. He'd done it a lot, and he made no secret of that. He was a horny bugger. And when we were seeing each other, I knew I wasn't the only woman he was seeing.

The fact that I was a virgin was, of course, endlessly intriguing to him. He'd slept with a lot of women, but never with a virgin. So yes, there was a scorecard element involved with him, too. But the difference for me was, he didn't lie and pretend the scorecard motivation didn't exist. As with all the people I like most in my life, and unlike all the other guys I was dating at that time, he laid it all out on the table for me, unapologetically, and let me decide if that worked for me or not:

1) I want to sleep with you because I think you're hot.
2) I also want to sleep with you because you're virgin, and the thought of teaching you and being someone's first lover turns me on, and I want to see what that will be like.
3) If you want to have sex with me, I'm going to be right on it. But you don't have to sleep with me if you don't want to. I won't be angry at you if you don't, I won't stop talking to you if you don't. I have a lot of other people in my life I can get sex from, if I need or want it. If you don't want to, no big deal. We'll hang out, make out, whatever you want, and I can get sex somewhere else. What happens with us is totally your choice.

So there it was. No big deal. My choice.

I found the fact that he wasn't trying to hide anything from me very appealing. And though many people I've told the story to think that #3 above sounds manipulative, I can tell you it really wasn't. He wasn't threatening, "If you don't give me sex, I'll go somewhere else." I was clear he had other lovers, and I was fine with that--they weren't a threat to me. And I was clear that even if I did have sex with him, he'd still have other lovers besides me. He wasn't a monogamy guy, and I didn't want him to be. At that time and in those particular circumstances, it actually made me far more comfortable to know he could offer me the no pressure option by going elsewhere, rather than me being his only sex option and having him to be totally focused on getting me to go to bed with him. That he could say, "no big deal for me either way," was really what I needed, and knowing that there was absolutely no pressure or hidden motivations (or hidden lovers) was an incredible relief.

It may not sound romantic to many, but I recognized this was the perfect scenario I personally had been waiting for. I wasn't being pushed, it was all my decision, and there would be no whining or resentment if the decision was no. But if I said yes, I would get to have sex with an experienced man who liked women, who could really initiate me knowledgeably into things I wanted to know more about, and who I found sexually and intellectually appealing.

So I said yes. And one night while I was staying over at his place I had sex for the first time. And it was good. I don't think I came that night (I almost never do the very first time I'm with anyone), but it was very pleasurable, and I learned a lot.

There were no rose petals, or mood lighting (unless you count his cigarettes as mood lighting). There were no false (or true) declarations of love. But there was moonlight coming in through the large windows of his East Village studio, and we were surrounded on every side by books and music, and there was no pretense. And best of all, there was no fumbling.

And for me, that was perfect.

In the morning when we woke up, I don't remember much of what was said, but I do remember there was no embarrassment, shame, or immaturity, just friendly, adult affection and camaraderie. I had no regrets. I'd had a good time. But it still didn't seem like people should make such a big deal about the transition. I was perfectly happy I'd had sex, and it had been good sex. But I didn't feel any better or worse than I had the day before, when I was still a virgin.

As the more experienced person (and seeing as he was a music writer), you'd think an extensive review would have taken place. I'm sure I asked for feedback about what he'd enjoyed and any pointers he had, because I'm like that. But it's all rather hazy. My memory only clearly holds two comments of his that morning after my first time: 1) he called me a sex kitten, and 2) he remarked how incredibly pragmatic I seemed to be about the whole thing, which he hadn't expected, given it was all new to me. I remember feeling pleased with both reviews.

So, in the end, not much ritual or celebration. But in a way, there was a certain approach to the event I wanted to create, and I waited until I could make that happen. So maybe in a strange sort of way, it was a little ritualistic (in my weird mind, anyway). In any case, I felt good about the way it (and he, heh heh) went down. I think a more formalized celebration or too many flowers and hearts would have killed my enthusiasm for the event, not enhanced it.

And that, my friends, is all she wrote. For tonight.

So, how about your first time? (And by "first time," I mean the first time you had sex by your choice). Ritual? Celebration? Humiliation? Planned? Spontaneous? One of those classic rose petal moments? A bleah time in the back seat of a car? Someone you liked? Loved? Someone who "would do?" Good, mediocre, just plain awful? Were you pragmatic or romantic, or both? And if you planned/prepared it ahead of time, did it turn out as you'd imagined it would? Gimme the goods.

And as always, remember you can post anonymously if you want to.

(Photo credit: The Morning After by stepha1202.)

An Unsexy, But Earnest, Cry for Help

As the weather gets warmer, ants are coming up my bathtub drain. I can't seem to figure out how to stop it. Spraying Raid down there only puts them off for a couple days, until the water from my showers washes away the chemical residue. Plus, it's stinky and I hate thiking about what I'm doing to myself, breathing it in inside my home. The exterminator who came to look the problem seemed to have no solution for me, saying ants are attracted to water and there isn't much you can do. He told me to put a mixture of water and bleach down the drain. It didn't work.

Does anyone have ANY clue how to deal with this? I can't have a whole spring and summer of this going on.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

What We Talk About When We Talk About Fantasies

You know how when you're a kid, you assume everyone's family runs like yours, no matter how screwed up your household is, because you have no other basis for comparison? Do you remember the first time you realized that someone else's family dynamic was totally different than yours--which had to mean your family didn't have to operate the way it did?

That came as a shock to me as a kid. I still remember how powerful the impact of that realization was.

I had a similar response when I realized not everyone fantasizes in the same way. I'd always assumed everyone did the same thing as I did when they fantasized.

The "eureka" moment that this was not actually so came while I was in bed with a lover to whom I frequently used to tell my fantasies to get him aroused. One night, I asked him to relate a fantasy to me that he'd always imagined. And he said, "You know, I don't do that the way you do. I don't think up stories. I just think about people I've been with, and things I've done with them, and re-visualize the whole thing, as it happened."

I never do that. My method usually goes one of two ways:
  1. I visualize/make up detailed scenarios involving myself and an imaginary man. Or woman. Or men. Or women. Or men and women. But the largest majority of the time, it's one imaginary man. He may be a stranger, his face unseen to me in the dark as he does things to me, all sensation only. Or he may be fully fleshed out physically and given a name and a role (teacher, virgin, etc.).

  2. I visualize/make up detailed stories about doing things with someone I know. But they are never things I've already done with the person. They're always fantasies about new, uncharted territory. What we could be doing. Things I could tell my lover in bed, or write to him, that are fresh, new, fodder for his and my imagination.
In either case, it seems I always imagine up something that has never happened--my erotic fantasies are always sheer fiction, even if they involve a real person. And while I certainly enjoy thinking back about great sex I've had with current or past partners, I don't use those memories to get myself aroused.

I don't know why this is. But it's interesting, knowing that not everyone's brain works the same way.

How do you fantasize? Do you look forward or back, or both? Do you think about things you've done, or things you haven't done yet? Or both? Do you invent new stories and scenarios? Do you invent imaginary lovers? Are all your fantasy lovers people you know? Are all of them complete strangers? Do you even think of people at all? Do you prefer actual images to stories in your head? Do you even fantasize at all?

I'd like to hear what kinds of variety are out there. (Now that I know not everyone is just like me.)

Remember, you can choose to post anonymously if you feel it's too personal to attach a name to.

(Photo credit:
Dream #32, by ::oscar::)

Saturday, March 18, 2006


Why have we chosen this word to be our euphemism for orgasm?

"Come." Used as a command: Sit. Stay. Come. Being at someone's mercy. You can't help yourself. You're compelled to follow his/her orders.

"I'm coming." The sense of one person moving into another's space. When called from another room, your lover calls back, "I'm coming..." And then he/she is there, with you.

"He came." "She came." The rush of knowing you're desired. You're at the party, hoping he/she will show up. Hoping he/she wants you enough to make an effort. And then someone whispers in your ear, "He came." "She came." And you're suddenly flushed with pleasure and nervous expectation of what will happen next. The air in the space between you crackling with electricity.

"Come for me." The bare exposure of one's need, the desire to not be abandoned or lonely. Yearning for connection. Calling across a distance: I'm alone here. Come for me.

"Come inside me." "I want to come inside you." The sense of giving everything you are to someone. Saying to someone, or having someone say to you: "You don't just get the exterior, the shut door. All the doors and windows fly open at your approach. You get to come inside." Coming in from the cold world, into the warmth of another human being. Two parts becoming whole for the first time, over and over. One ecstatic soul, for one ecstatic moment.

It's a good word.

Sugasm #26

The best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Posts are cut at N within each category. More new blogs this edition, and some old favorites coming back. Yay! It’s all NSFW - read with caution and happy St. Patrick’s day weekend.

Last Night Jane Was Spoiled (…)

Metal Gear Friday (…)
Pornstar Grandad’s Secret: Topical Garlic (…)
Red Eye (…)

Met Models: Zyta (…)
Pool Party at Abby Winters (…)
Saturday Babes (…)
Sexy Tomiko (…)
Erotica-Obscura (
Film Fridays 15 - Luck O’ The Irish (…)
HNT #8 (…)

Fetish and BDSM
A Morning School Fantasy (…)
Seven Messy Girls on Abby Winters (…)
Commit to Crossing the Threshold (…)
Foot Fetish Photoset (…)
Interview with Sexy Kittens (…)

Sex News and Commentary / Sexual Politics
Lexington Steele Daintily Dips Heterosexual Toes in Not-Gay Water (…)
The New Porn Apartheid - Luke Fords Rebuttal Rebutted (…)
South Dakota Paper Bans Abortion Opinion (…)
Top 5 Disappointments and Surprises While Watching Porn (…)
Body Image and Sexual Risk Taking (…)
Girls Warned Not to ‘Go Wild’ on Spring Break (…)

Miscellanea - Sexy Advice, Reviews, & Announcements
Two Straight Men Doing Anal Together (…)
Dermaphoria Fever (…)
A Game For New (And Old) Lovers (…)
I am Shocked, Amazed, and Bewildered! (…)

The Mind Blowing Blowjob (…)
My 1st Shave by the Teacher… (…)
Niagara Fantasy (…)
Separated Only by Distance (…)
True Secret: Two Firsts in New York (…)
Webcam Solo Sex (…)
Why I Started Liking Math (…)
Coffee, Tea, or… (…)
Deeper, deeper, inside, inside (…)
Diary of a Debauched Man (…)
I Had No Intentions… pt 1 (…)

Fantasies & Fiction
Lecherous (…)
Lesbian Seduction on Sapphic Erotica (…)
My Ache for You (…)
Overwhelmed (…)
Talking Dirty (…)
Threesome (…)
Wake (…)
Fingers (…)

More Sugasm…

Join the Sugasm

Thursday, March 16, 2006

In Bloom

I was reading something Anastasia over at Sexualité wrote the other day, and in it she mentioned the term "defloration." And it got me to thinking how I've never really understood or identified with that concept at all.

How anyone can think after the first time a woman has had sex that the "bloom is off the rose?" It makes no sense to me that a girl should be considered to be in "full bloom" before she's had the benefit of mature, satisfying sexual experience. Or, having reached that state of powerful sexual knowledge and expression, that she would be considered a dry, lifeless stalk. Could anything be further from the truth?

To me, growing up, virginity was just a state of being, that I knew eventually I would transition from, into a state of further knowledge and experience. I never thought of the end of virginity as the end of something pure or sacred that I could never get back. Quite the opposite--I saw it as something that would blossom into something else lovely-- a different, but equally as sacred state of being.

It's time for us to drop the whole "deflowering" concept. The imagery behind it is ugly and violent, indicating death or something being purposely destroyed of it's life essence. And that just isn't what happens to women.

Instead, let's take back the whole flower image and make it new. Let's say that in her very early youth, a woman is a delicate, fresh, new, wet bud, just pushing itself up new from the earth, putting its feelers out into the world and getting to know itself. And slightly later on, she's a full, almost-matured bud, bursting with the energy to become something new and dazzling.

And when she has awakened into her sexuality, and holds the knowledge of the full range of her sexual power and allure--when she is fully aware of all the sensations her lush, marvelous body can evoke in herself and others--let's say THAT'S when she's in full, spectacular, alluring bloom.

And, bearing that all of us are growing and blooming in this way, it brings me to a question.

If your sexual being could be represented by a specific flower or plant, what would it be? (Men can answer, too, about themselves--or about the women in their lives.) Go on. Tell us all how pretty you all are.

Monday, March 13, 2006

It's all about meme

I've grown to believe that the thing you're most afraid of or most want to avoid is actually the most important thing you should do or confront. So I'm trying to do everything that scares me most. This leaves me feeling somewhat scared a lot lately, but the end results are usually good.

With that in mind, I'm tackling this meme I found on AlwaysArousedGirl, who got it from Darkneuro, both of whom I should thank for the good idea.

I really don't want to post this. So that's why I'm going to. Feel free to try it yourself, too.

(And also it kind of reminds me of the whole concept behind Postsecret, which I absolutely adore.)

So. here goes.

List ten things you want to say to people you know but you never will, for whatever reason.

Don't say who they are.

Use each person only once.

  1. I think you are a weak man; you didn’t have the stamina to stand up for me when it really mattered. I always felt people thought I was too smart and too intense for you, and I constantly felt like I had to justify you to them. But deep down I agreed with them. You were never enough for me, either sexually or intellectually. That's why we really broke up, not because you lied. I just pretended to myself and to you that that was the real reason so I could feel less shallow.

  2. I've had recurring dreams where you're aggressively hitting on me. I never like it. That freaks me out.

  3. I had a dream where we were having sex. I liked it. That freaks me out.

  4. I know it's not fair, but I don't care. I *do* blame you. I feel like you set me up like a lamb to the slaughter. And then when I was bleeding and needed you most, you left me to take care of myself. Part of me just can't stop hating you for this. Sometimes I feel physical revulsion when I think about you. Stop trying to get me to reassure you it wasn’t your fault. It’s not my job to reassure you or protect you. That was your job, and you failed.

  5. In my whole life, you were the only person who I ever really thought I could feel anything close to real, true, transcendent, unadulterated love for, even though I never told you because I was certain you'd leave me. I yearned for you for a long time after we split up, though I never told you that, either. Some small part of me may still be in love with you even now. I hate that. I wish that part would shrivel up and die.

  6. You were absolutely right. Part of why I moved far away was to get away from you. More than once, I’ve fantasized about what it would be like if you died, because I think that's the only way I'll feel completely free from all your crap.

  7. Talking to you makes me hope for things I’m terrified I’ll never get.

  8. I'm jealous that you have a life I'm not even sure I want.

  9. I'm sorry. I feel like an evil person for what I did to you. I hope you're okay now.

  10. I knew you liked me. I pretended I was clueless because I was afraid. Now I realize what a huge mistake that was.
There now. I only cheated once--someone on there has two entries.

Hm. I feel like this list looks really imbalanced, because it doesn't have a lot of positive things. But I never keep the good things I want to say to people inside. I always share those. So, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately?) it's only the negative things that made the list.

White light, white heat

Just 'cause sometimes your mind needs a break.

Even though it's probably a result most people wouldn't think was very nice, I like it. At least no one can claim I'm a fair-weather anything.

You Are Lightning

Beautiful yet dangerous
People will stop and watch you when you appear
Even though you're capable of random violence

You are best known for: your power
Your dominant state: performing

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Is She Pretty on the Inside?

sacred mirror, originally uploaded by dubphreek.

I'll be your mirror
Reflect what you are, in case you don't know
I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset
The light on your door to show that you're home
I was reading an entry on the absolutely stunning Hiromi_X’s blog a few days ago where she mentions, “I only very recently realized that I'm not ugly.” It struck me how common a refrain this seems to be in the blogs I read regularly. Just off the top of my head, I can think people like Hiromi, Figleaf, AlwaysArousedGirl, and Chelsea Girl who have all expressed either shock at the realization that they were actually seen as beautiful or arousing to others, or their fears about other’s criticism of their appearance.

Meanwhile, in both brain and body, these people are scintillating. Do they look like models? No. They’re beautiful in an entirely different way. A better way, as far as I’m concerned. I’m going to come up short in explaining this. But for lack of a better way of expressing it, it’s “inside/out” beauty. The blog lets you see some of their inner selves, the wondrous combination of confidence, intelligence, insecurity, self-protectiveness, talent, silliness, arrogance, sadness, happiness, and wonder about the world. And that, once expressed, then glows through their photographs for us, making them luminous; at times almost painfully lovely to look at.

In a just world, everyone would be able to see everyone else in this way.

That it’s not a just world in this way has been a painful reality for me all my life.

I mean, I get it. I get why they’re all surprised. They thought people couldn’t see them. Or still can’t.

Probably they’ve never had the opportunity to have many people be able to see both parts of them at once. I mean, you really can’t win either way, the way things are in the world in relation to beauty. You’re either physically hot, or you have a nice personality. You don’t get both. It’s like people have this filter--they simply can’t see both at once. Or, when on the rare occasion both seem to manage to come through, you hear stupid things like, “The best thing about her is that she’s gorgeous, but she's so nice/smart/etc.—she has no idea how hot she is.”

As if, because you’re physically beautiful, you have to be empty of positive personality traits. And, of course, conversely, if you have positive personality traits, you can’t be beautiful. They don’t go together.

And no one, no one wants to admit that someone outside the norm of beauty, say someone fat, or scarred, or etc. could actually be beautiful. Even though, if that filter wasn’t there, you’d be able to see it.

I seem to be able to lift that filter for others. But not for myself.

I’ve recognized a weird phenomenon in myself of late. Throughout my life, a good number of people have often told me I’m pretty. Some even called me beautiful. I never believed any of them. I tended (well, still tend) to think of myself as “cute” at best (a word/concept which I hate), but really the kind of darker, more ethnic looking girl who gets completely ignored when the tall, willowy blonde walks in the room. The sidekick. The smart girl who makes the insightful comments while her friend ends up with the romantic lead. You know, the kind of girl who, when you’re setting a friend up on a date with, you mention she has a “nice personality” by way of an apology for her not being hotter.

Meanwhile, I have these weird epiphany moments of looking back at old pictures. In my 20s, I found a photo of myself at about 14 or 15 and was shocked. I mean, I couldn’t believe it. In the photo I looked…well, stunning, really. (As an aside, I’m cringing here. I still feel completely ashamed to say this. I feel like readers will think I think I’m something special, but trust me, I don’t.)

I didn’t recognize myself as that at all when I was 15. And as a 20-something looking at that photo, I remember thinking, “If only I’d realized then how beautiful I was…too bad it’s too late now.” And then I went along in my 20s the same way I did in my teens. I never exactly told myself I was ugly, but I just wouldn’t allow myself to believe I was anything too special or alluring to anyone. Now I’m in my 30s. And I look back at photos of myself when I was in my 20s and have the same shock of recognition. And again, I think, “If only I’d realized...” I think of the power I would have had, feeling confident in both my body and soul. In knowing it wasn’t arrogant to be both beautiful inside and out—of knowing each fed the other—and that it was okay to be proud of it.

My body keeps changing with each decade. And with each change, I continue to think it’s making me less of what I was, and it’s too late to catch up to how I should have felt about myself. And it seems I can only ever appreciate how beautiful I am from a past perspective, not in the present.

Why could I never believe anyone? I found anyone who expressed the opinion that my body or face was beautiful to be highly suspect. Maybe I thought they could only see that, and wouldn’t be interested in the rest. Maybe I worried that if I allowed myself to admit I was physically pretty, it meant no one would believe I had any substance behind it. But then, ironically, when I got myself into relationships with people who could only appreciate the substance part, they ultimately got around to showing me in one way or another that they thought I wasn’t beautiful enough.

Obviously the missing piece is I have to think of myself as inside/out beautiful without reference to anyone else’s opinion, if I want anyone else to see me that way.

So why can’t I catch up? I really don’t want to be 40-something and thinking I wasted my 30s not allowing myself to feel I’m everything I really am. That I’m inside/out beautiful, like everyone else.

I don’t think a lot of people have ever seen me inside/out. I’m not sure even I’ve ever been able to see myself that way, except for in rare split milliseconds of moments, before something or someone makes it disappear again.

But I'm really glad those other bloggers have finally been able to see it in themselves.

Do you see it in yourself? I hope so. Because it's there.

When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
'Cause I see you

Saturday, March 11, 2006


Last night, when he suggested I might not want to take the subway home alone, so far, so late at night, it was your voice I was hearing. Such a kindly phrased, innocent offer—I’m worried about you, concerned for your safety, that’s all. No expectations. His mouth, moving the words.

But it was your eyes watching for my reaction that gave him away.

It was your eyes that I looked away from shyly, when I said, yes, that might be the wisest thing to do. Pretending to be calm.

As we walked out of the theater lobby, it was his body that held open the door for me, but it was your palm I felt lightly touch the small of my back, guiding me through, onto the dark street.

His arm hailed the cab. And it was his arm that removed itself politely, nervously onto his lap to make room for me on the seat as I moved in, seemingly innocently close. His body language saying, “Trust me” and “I’ll be good.” But it was your outer thigh that I let every dangerous swerve of the cab bring my own thigh closer to, until we were touching, thighs brushing, pressing, just barely, over and over. His hands, kept nervously in his lap. Your arm, skimming against my side, just feeling the hint of the curve of my breast. His eyes, focused on my face as he attempted to make conversation to distract himself. Your eyes, glancing down to see more.

At his studio, his voice nervously offering things. Coffee, water, wine, TV, music, book…a big, chaste, well-worn band t-shirt to sleep in, so I didn’t have to mess up my dress. And then suddenly your voice, sending shivers through all the comfort offerings, suggesting I might be more comfortable with the bed than on the couch.

It was to your voice that I said, yes, that sounded better.

It was he who suggested that he turn off the light before I undressed, so I didn’t have to be embarrassed. So he couldn’t see me change. And it was your eyes I felt watching the outlines of my body in the dark room, taking off my stockings, garter, undoing my dark hair so it fell loose around my shoulders. Your eyes I felt burning on my skin as they watched me unzip my black dress, quickly…letting you see for just a moment what it would be like…a blur of glowing white body, the arch of a back, arms raised, a hint of full breasts lifting, before the t-shirt dropped down to obscure it all.

It was he who was lying motionless in the bed, chest bare, but with boxers on, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. Turned on his side toward me, with his eyes pretending to be closed. It was his body that I got in next to, me wearing his white t-shirt and my black panties—a thin barrier of chastity. Me turning on my side, my back to him, his front to me, but very, very far away. Making him feel he had to be good.

It was you I could feel burning next to me, wanting me, making me wet.

I waited until he fell asleep.

And when he was gone, it was you I started touching.

Sugasm #25

The best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them, this time with new, fancy categories. That Sabrina, all sexy and organized, just like a hot librarian...

Posts with NSFW pics are in italics. Keep in mind NSFW pic labeling is just for photos/layout images on the specific page linked. Pretty much everything here is NSFW, but you like it like that.

The Partistes (…)
Shibaricon: World’s Premiere Annual Pansexual Exhibition 2006 (…)
Stat-Aholic (…)
SugarClick Launched (…)

The Dreaded Scottish Cockblock (…)
The Four of Us (…)
Killing an Afternoon (…)
Losing M (…)
Resistance is Futile (…)
Underground (…)

Eagle (…)
Exhaling (…)
Hot Sugar and Wet Silk (…)
On the Dock (Fiction) (…)
Saturday with Adele (…)
Stormy Night (…)
Tandem Massages (…)
25 Words or Less (contains NSFW pics if you scroll down) (…)
Babysitter (…)
Body Language (…)
Can I Play with it Now? (…)


Jane likes to teeter totter. (…)
Santorum (…)
This is what Happens… (…)
We All Have AIDS (…)
The Cock Interviews: Part Two (…)

Fetish & BDSM
A Long Hot Soak and Burning Candles (…)
Interesting Interactions (…)
New Elena Spanking Pics (…)
On a Power Trip (…)
The Perfect Fetish Photo (…)
“The sweetest thing I ever saw, was you asleep and dreaming.” (…)
Choices - Part Three (…)

House of Babalon (…)
Looking Down (…)
O azul… // The blue one… (…)
Anal Advocate (…)
Aurora Snow, Gauge and a Dildo. Pure Magic. (…)

Sex Advice / Sex Toys / Sexy Reviews
Oh Boys… May I Experiment on You? (…)
One Hefty Dose of Butch, Black, Silicone Bliss (…)
Pretty Dumb Things (…)
Sex Toys Must Have (…)
Tips for Going Bare (…)
The Blind Jockey (…)

Sex Commentary / Sexual Politics
Lara Drops to a C Cup (…)
Porn You Wish They’d Make (…)
Sex in the News - Blog-a-Thon by Blank Noise Project (…)
2257 and Sweet Pink Activist Cunt (…)

More Sugasm…
Join the Sugasm

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Two Words: You. Me.

Someone was encouraging me to put this little game I invented to amuse myself at work today up on my blog, so that you could play along with me. So here goes.

So today, I was thinking of various friends and deciding if I was only allowed one word, ever, to epitomize them, what would that one word would be. Then, when I decided on a word for a particular person, I looked it up on an online dictionary/thesaurus, and sent the link to that friend so they could click and see what word they were to me in my personal emotional dictionary. I encourage you to try it. It's a nice little present you can give people that makes them happy (assuming you don't choose something like "fetid" for them) and it doesn't cost anything. Plus, it keeps your vocabulary and brain active, too.

But now, I put the question out to you, too, so I can get to know you better.

So if you could us ONLY ONE word-to-end-all-words to describe yourself, what would it be?

And just out of sheer egocentric curiosity, if you were to choose one word for me, what would that be?

My word to describe myself: chiaroscuro (Or would it be "chiaroscura," since I'm female?)

"The art or practice of so arranging the light and dark parts as to produce a harmonious effect."

And yes, I know it's not an adjective. That's allowed. Describe yourself as a conjunction, for all I care. Just has to be one word.

P.S. If you want some extra credit: What one word do you think others who know you would choose for you?

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Dirty Secrets in the Dark

Funny thing about sex blogging. Sometimes it feels very much I'm working a peep show.

I can't see them, but I know there are people there. I'm standing alone in this circular room, surrounded by darkened windows, and I can hear the electric whir of privacy screens as they keep rolling up again and again. They're looking. At me. But I can't look back. There's just a dark, intense presence surrounding me on all sides, that feels like eyes. Watching. Taking in. Staring. Assessing my performance. Many, many hidden pairs of eyes.

I can tell from the daily stats that people are coming into the booths every day, every hour, just watching me, listening to me, waiting for me to whisper all these dirty secrets to them that they want to hear. Saying nothing. I can just about make out their breathing through the intercoms, but only a very few people actually speak up and talk back to me.

I see the numbers. It's been two months I've been working this show, and they tell me certain people keep coming back to watch me, and I wonder who they are. What they think. Why they don't talk. If they like what they see.

It's a bit unnerving, really...sometimes in a good way. But sometimes, you just want to say...

Who are you? Are you out there? Say something. Tell me.