Back Door Bloke

The Bloke and I have been experimenting with rear entry. And I don't mean doggie style.

I'd tried anal sex before but just found it frightfully painful. When The Bloke first mentioned it as a possibility, I paused, hesitating to agree.

I've always loved playing down around the butt; I'd had a lover in college who rimmed me and I felt like I'd landed on a cloud. And stick a finger in my ass during sex and I feel electricity running through my veins. But touching and licking are very different than full entry and pounding: that I'd attempted with an ex who wasn't large at all and YIKES! I damn near went fetal from the pain after.

I explained it all to The Bloke and he nodded knowingly. "Yeah," he said "It's all about relaxtion." Sounding a little too flippantly Buddhish for me, I still doubted we could pull this off without causing my posterior irreparable damage. Thankfully, The Bloke's had a lover in the past who is just as kinky as I am and who had turned him on to the ways of anal sex.

The Bloke is also a big beliver in toys, which helped plead his case tremendously. He's bought me an arsenal, so we started small with anal beads. Apparently, the idea is to insert them one at a time until you've reached your limit. You can even snip off the smaller ones at the end if they're extraneous. We dabbled with them one night and they were pretty fun - but we only got about halfway down the chain. I did, however, love when he pulled them out, one by one. Mmmm. Next up was a vibrating anal probe. It looked like a vibrator, but much thinner. The Bloke lubed me and it up and dove in. I got into it, but when it got too far, I asked him to stop. I realized that that is the main problem for me; unlike vaginal sex, going too deep can be very painful. So The Bloke shopped around some more (an aside: it's hilarious to me that he spends so much time shopping, evaluating, comparing sex toys for us....) and he found a silicone butt plug. Aha! It was a bit thicker than I'd've liked to start with, but I agreed to give it a go. We got stoned and he slowly inserted it in me... and my god, it felt damn good. And then we fucked, doggie style, and I swear, I saw stars. I had the most intense orgasm I ever had before. The combination of the butt plug, weed, and his incredible cock sent me over the edge.

SOLD!

I asked him last night if he wanted to fuck my ass. His eyes lit up. We sped back to his place and ripped off our clothes, eager to let the games begin. We smoked the requisite bowl and he lubed me up good. Getting him hard was not an issue since the very idea of the night's possibilities were making him crazy with desire. He started by circling my ass hole with his finger, getting me ready for more. I writhed with anticipation and need: feeling his finger was making my cunt wetter by the second. We had the bag o' toys ready if I needed widening assistance, but he took his time providing that himself. Finally, we went for it: on my belly, my hips raised to him, he slowly began to squeeze his cock into my ass. Slowly, slowly... and the next thing I knew, he was at least halfway in. He didn't pound me, just carefully dipped the head in and out. I was going out of my mind: I couldn't take it any longer, it felt so incredibly good. I finally begged him to pull out and fuck me hard. Which he did.

He's going out of town for a week and a half, so we made sure I was stocked on lube before he leaves. I don't think I'll be butt plugging myself in his absence, but I'm sure a session or two with The Rabbit will be in order. And when he can't hold out any longer and calls me for phone sex, I'd love to rim my hole and describe to him all the ways I need him to fuck me.

Ripe Fruit

Summertime is tough on me.

Like today, for instance: I'm minding my own business, stuck at the very unglamourous laundromat, and watching the world parade down the main street of my section of the city. And then it hit me: just about every woman that walked by was wearing a sexy little dress, meandering dreamily in the sultry heat of today.

Why oh why must every one of them look like a luscious, fresh fig?

-Sigh-

The Bloke and I are going out later tonight. We've talked of adding a friend to our mix; not a current friend, mind you (so any of you reading are safe...), but finding a ready, willing, and able woman to join in our romps.

I've played with a woman only once before as a "going away present" when I left NYC. It was a very considerate gift, I should add; one of my friends knew I wanted to play, so he brought me to a swingers' club one late, tipsy night. I had no interest in the men coming at me with hardened cocks - really, it seemed almost absurd - which made me the least popular woman there, I'm sure. But I did have a lovely tongue-filled session with a young, bronzed beauty, kissing her nipples and mouth and letting my fingers play with her lips and clit. Her man got off watching us. I'd love to have gone further with her but I knew others would join in and it was just a bit too anonymous for me. I kinda paranoid about some things, and I didn't see too many condoms out and about. An explosive orgasm, as much as I'd celebrate it, didn't quite seem worth the risk.

So today, I'll simmer up dreams for myself and The Bloke and download pictures of Dita Von Teese, perhaps one of the most luscious women around. And I'm certain The Bloke will not object to my whisperings in his ear tonight, when we're out at an open air concert in a full crowd, of all the ways in which we could touch, taste, tantalize her...

Reunited, and it feels so good

An orgasm is a beautiful thing.

The Bloke is back in town, albeit breifly, but long enough for me to high dee ho to his gaff for a romp. Sadly, my period made an appearance the very same day - mighty considerate of it, to be sure. While neither of us are exactly prudish about sloppy sex, I'm usually just not feeling my normally hornilicious self on Day One of the bleeds. But, as we know, where there is a problem, we can probably find a solution.

I got to his place and we had some dinner (I rock in the kitchen and the bedroom... doesn't that make me the perfect woman?) and a bottle of wine he'd gotten from his weekend jaunt in wine country. The night was stellar - the sun set the sky ablaze as it sunk over the horizon and we ran over to the shoreline to watch it. It sank more and more quickly and The Bloke had a burst of inspiration: marijuana. We raced back to the house, smoked a bowl, and marvelled at the remainders of the pink-orange sunset.

The Bloke and I normally smoke a bit together, so this is nothing new. What was new for me was the massive boost to my libido. I normally get a bit more rambunctuous, but since that's a constant state for me, it's kinda hard to gauge. But yesterday? Ay, papi, me so horny! I was pawing The Bloke by the water and he was returning the favor, squeezing my nipples and pressing his hard cock into me until I couldn't take it anymore. We raced back (once again) to the house, only to drop his drawers as soon as we got in. I dropped to my knees and wrapped my mouth around him (which is no small feat, I assure you). We grappled our way up to his bedroom, where he pulled out some ropes and old towels: towels to prevent a crimson tatoo on his sheets, and ropes to hold me in place. -Swoon- We had yet another insane romp; he fucked my mouth, my cunt, my ass until I screamed. I pity his neighbors.

But this morning, I was no longer stoned (obviously) and quite crampy. No mind: The Bloke leaned back and stroked his gorgeous erection himself. I was tempted to provide oral assistance, but I rather enjoyed watching him jerk off as I snuggled up against him. I loved watching his face, listening to his breathing change, and hearing him shout out when he came.

I'm meant to see him again tomorrow night, and let's pray this flow is waning a bit because after this, it'll be damn near two weeks before we can romp. Thankfully he's provided me with an arsenal of toys with which I can amuse myself, and about which I can post my reviews.

Ancient Wisdom

One of my best friends got married in 2004. She asked me to be the maid of honor, and I was touched since I'd known her and her now-husband for about 12 years at the point. They'd been living together for five years prior, so I was kind of surprised they had any desire to make it legal - I figured that it wasn't that important to them.

Gifts for them were a bit of a struggle for me since I knew they had all of the necessities. Their wedding gift came easily enough since I knew they were wine enthusiasts. But a bridal shower gift? Hmmm. Figuring five years was long enough to need inspiration, I bought an illustrated Kama Sutra along with massage oils and other accoutrements. The bride blushed when she opened it (a first!) and squealed "THANK you!" Her mother-in-law grabbed it and said "You're not doing THAT with my son, are you??"

Yikes. After five years, one can only hope.

I've owned a non-illustrated version of the Kama Sutra for many years and never read much. I cracked it last night and began reading about stimulating erotic desire, embraces, and petting and caresses. (Bear with me - The Bloke's out of town, so I've gotta make do with my own imagination and props...) It's a delight to read that biting and scratching is considered a normal part of erotic play instead of kinky aberrations. I also learned of all sorts of playful positions, like laying breasts in between a man's thighs to stimulate desire.

I suppose what is most notable to me is the healthy view of sex. Judeo-Christian values have indelibly fucked this country up, and it's always a shock to me to see how many hangups people have about healthy sexual exploration. We've become a nation that forces constant titillation through the media but then judges any sort of indulgement. Quite frankly, any sort of god that would give us the gorgeous gift of our bodies and condemn us for enjoying them sounds like an evil, twisted bastard. But that's just me.

Reading the Kama Sutra reminded me of an exercise we did in grad school: everyone in a class about public education and culture had to make alist of the ten books he or she thought everyone should read. The Bible and The Autobiography of Malcolm X headed most peoples lists (this was in NYC), but I don't recall anyone including eastern philosophy or literature of any kind. I'd add the Kama Sutra; I'd love to see children learn how to enjoy themselves and their partners with respect instead of learning how to be too scared to ask for a condom.

Anyway, excuse me while I go practice venudaritaka, or 'the broken flute.' I have to make sure I can stretch that way before I attempt it...

Night on Bald Mountain

I shaved.

This is big news for me. I normally trim, very carefully, but I don't shave down totally. I'd done it once or twice before and - yeeeIKES - is it ever itchy! I also have Mother Earth tendencies and rather like my dark, thick bush. But I'm an adventerous chick, so I decided I'd have a little fun and get a buzz cut. I suppose I'd spent too much time watching "I Feel Myself" and felt the need to spent more time exploring my cunt. So, during a lunch break (the concept of which is fairly ludicrous since I work from home), I scurried to a shop to get a multiple-setting buzz cutter. Nothing's too good for my pubes!

I did, of course, consider going the whole-hog and getting waxed. And I'm not talking some sissy bikini wax - brutha please! That's for wimps! I considered getting a Brazilian wax. 'Considered' is the operative word in that sentence as idea never evolved into action. And that's because I am a wimp. There's also something faintly disturbing to me about fucking a woman with no pubic hair - it seems like some sort of little girl fantasy is being worked out. Hmm. I'm still torn on it all and maybe - just maybe - if I ever get that stoned or drunk or decide to smoke enough opium, sure - I'll tear it all off.

For the present, however, I'm buzzed. I raced home after my razor acquisition and tore into the packaging. These things are so cool because you can change the settings and thereby gage how low you're gonna go. I went to the shortest possible - I was going to go sans guard at all, but that'd leave my pussy with 5 o'clock shadow. I'm not into leaving razor burn on The Bloke's face when he next chows down. It was indeed a challenge getting all them strays trimmed up and I'm thankful that I'm quite the yogini because several contortions involving the buzzer and a tiny mirror were necessary to make sure I didn't miss anything.

But me likes.

I sent The Bloke a text that I'd just given myself a buzzcut. I was teasing him because he'd just asked me last weekend if I'd ever had my hair in a bob (it's quite long now). I've had my hair all lengths but its so unruly that the longer it is, the better it lays. Still, I knew he wouldn't be quite sure what I'd buzzed.

And, needless to say, he realized it as soon as he saw me last night. And he rather enjoyed the lack of barrier en route to my clit. He was delighting in it this morning as he slammed into me again for breakfast. Maybe I'll go Brazilian for his birthday. And since his birthday is at the end of the year, that gives me enough time to develop a heroin problem to help kill the pain.

Take It Off

The Bloke and I went to our first strip club together.

I'd gone to a few when I was younger downstate (you can imagine which state it was...) My only recollection of one outing was a hot, tight brunette shimmying her way over to our table to offer a lap dance. "Oh," I laughed, "You wanna give me a lap dance?" She slung her body over mine and whispered huskily in my ear "I tell you one thing, I'd enjoy it a helluvalot more!"

Oh! Snap!

Needless to say, I'd been itching to replicate the experience. My last week in NYC resulted in one very very very bad strip club that was just plain depressing. Honestly? If my ass is (a) fitter, and (b) shakes better than those on stage, why would I waste my dollars? That's what mirrors are for.

So.

The Bloke and I mentioned going. I think he was a bit cautious when he brought it up. "Jesus!" I exclaimed, "I'd love to go!" We knew it'd have to be a non-school night since we planned on smoking a bit of dope and probably publicly indulging, thereby risking a lewd and lascivious arrest. Thankfully, the latter didn't happen, but plenty of the former did.

The Bloke sent me a text one morning when we'd planned on getting together regarding some strip clubs in Canada. I promptly donned a little floral dress that involved no bra and, more notably, no knickers.

Hot! Damn!

The Bloke could barely contain himself. We hit The Sundowner in Niagara Falls; I wasn't quite sure what to expect based on the massive number of cars in the lot, but I gave it a go.

Canada is one weird place, dawgs.

First of all? Yep, it was crowded. But never, when fighting my way through the frat boys, did I feel a hand on my ass that I couldn't locate. Those buggers am damn polite up north.

Secondly, despite the tons of gents there, never did it seem close to getting out of hand. The dancers put on pseudo-sex shows, slapping and fingering and licking each other. It was hot, but open and playful. I also watched a very slow, erotic lap dance that almost made me cream - I can only imagine the state of the poor recipient! But at the end, the dancer hopped up, got her cash, and cheerfully wished him a fun night.

Mmmm.

So needless to say, me and The Bloke followed suit: we retreated to the parking lot, smoked a bowl, and I gave him head. After going back inside, I'd press my body up against him so he could feel my cunt through his jeans. Rock-hard en route home? Why, yes.

And honestly? Sure it was fun, but I think the massive fuck I got back at the homestead was far, far better.

But I'm always thankful for inspiration...

Ugly Truth

Ah, bathroom philosophers. God love 'em.

I saw this lil' gem in the loo of a cafe last weekend, and, due to the glories of modern technology, I was able to capture it with my cellphone forever and ever. Or at least until I inadvertantly hit 'erase'.

But as I was hovering there over the pot, I began to ponder the age-old question: how much of attraction is based on physical beauty?

I am not a beautiful woman. I am attractive, but I am certainly not signing on to be the next Gisele for Victoria's Secret. I grew up a fat chick, so I long relied on my wit (of which you are luckily now experiencing the razor-sharpness) and intellect, since I felt no sane man could possibly be attracted to me. But as I've gotten older and leaner, I've learned not only that physical beauty is important, but more importantly, how it is important.

Think about it: when you first meet someone, can you say "Damn, look at the sense of humor on him!" No. That happens a bit after. But when you first meet someone, there's usually some sort of something that is aesthetically pleasing enough to make you want to know some more.

Now lest y'all think this is a rail against fuglies, let me note that so much of percieved beauty is merely attitude. I have not had a problem dating at all since my mid-20s. While that does co-incide to the time during which I lost weight, the difference is all in my attitude: the combination of confidence, knowing what I want, and being brazen enough to voice it seems to be doing the trick.

I think my epiphany happened when I went to a hot springs retreat in California. While I've always been happy to skinny dip, this was the first time I'd be naked around loads of strangers for the bulk of my time there. Since clothing was 'optional', I'd brought a bathing suit and figured I'd just don that if I felt too awkward. However, as soon as I got to the changing room, I realized how ludicrous it was since everyone else was buck nekkid. When in Rome, right? I also noticed the vast array of body types around me: old, young, fat, lean, flabby, toned - you name it. And no one cared. That's perhaps what was most beautiful. I realized that there would always be someone who was "more" than me in some way - better tits, a sweeter ass, leaner legs, whatever. But since everyone was so comfortable in their own skins there, no one stood out as being ugly. It was the confidence and comfort that made it so.

When I met The Bloke earlier this year, I was attracted to his eyes and the way he carried himself. He was tall and lean and came across as a thoughtful, confident man. As I chatted to him and learned a bit more, I was greatly intrigued. "You should call me," I told him. He didn't know what to make of me. The next time we ran into each other, he asked me about it. "Well, you're hot," I told him. And he was. And he responded in kind. I don't think he was enamoured with my stunning beauty so much as my boldness. (Of course enjoying a good fuck helps too, but I digress...)

All of this brings me back to the original question: How much of attraction is based on physical beauty? I'd say about half. It certainly helps get attention. But so much more is confidence and sass.

Think Mae West. Attractive? Sure. But her saucy wit and her delight in carnal pleasures got her much further than her baby blues.

Plus she was from Brooklyn. 'Nuff said.

Bienvenue

So. Today is Day One.

We've upped and decided to create this blog.

Basically, I'm a 30-something chick who loves sex. My partner in pornographic crime is an older bloke who loves that I love sex. I suppose it could be called a symbiotic relationship of sorts.

To sum up, we enjoy a damn good romp, and we seem to have no limits.

We've come to realize, through our own not-so-limited experiences, how few people there are who are really open to erotic exploration, be it due to religious/social hang-ups, physical or psychological insecurities, or flat-out fear. And that, kids, is a crime. So we've decided that a much-needed public service is right before us: we'll be documenting and evaluating different dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, etc; we'll debate the merits of Viagara and its available variations; we'll hunt for the best on-line toy stores and price compare; we'll even get into the gory deets of our day-to-day exploits because let's face it: everyone loves a good ol' fashioned sex story.

I'm also going to try to enlist the help of one of my girls, hereby known as The Kissing Bandit. La Bandita is coming in to her own: she's overcoming her insecurities and discovering the glories of flirting and make-out sessions. While it's become my mission to get her laid already, I'm certainly enjoying the tales she drags home each week.

Right, so that's all for now...