From the archives. Seriously, I'm just picking these pretty much at random, so if I've already answered these, it'll have been a while and I will have forgotten my previous answers, thus they may be completely different.
1. Where is the most beautiful place on earth and why?
I love waterfalls in isolated areas. The big ones are majestic but not as isolated. There's probably some spot in a forest somewhere which is the most beautiful place but no one has ever seen it. Waterfalls in general though. Tranquil, I love the sounds, I like swimming naked in them if possible.
2. How old is the most expired item in your fridge?
Years and years old. We have to throw out condiments which are left over from before we moved. We're just lazy.
3. What’s under your bed?
Boxes, sometimes a cat, dust, cat toys, probably things I've been looking for everywhere but haven't found, and the sex box with lube, toys, etc. Not that we don't have those last elsewhere, just that there is a box with sex stuff under the bed as well. It's not the stuff we use regularly; that's all more accessible. But it's storage where we can get at it. Can't put that stuff in the attic; it's not temperature controlled.
4. What is in your pocket?
Right now, I'm not wearing anything with pockets. Typically my wallet, a tissue (yes, I'm one of those people, but I need them constantly and they're rarely available), maybe my phone.
5. Which famous person would you like to be best-friends with? Why?
Someone fabulously wealthy who would just give me money? That's not really an answer. I'd love to be best friends with one or more of the MST3K guys because they seem like they'd be fun to be friends with. They're not so famous that it would be like being the third wheel wherever we were. But I don't know that we'd have much in common apart from bad movies. I really don't want to randomly be best friends with famous people. It would have to happen organically, and then it probably wouldn't because I'm bad at making friends.
6. There is now a line of lacy lingerie for men. Would you wear it or like to see your man in it?
Yeah, this isn't new. I don't give a damn one way or the other; I'm not into men's underwear except when women wear boxers which can be very sexy. I like ladies' underwear; in men, I like them naked and hard.
Bonus: Think The Olympics. Men’s gymnastic uniforms–sexy or goofy? Discuss!
I think men in gymnastics should have to wear leotards and tights just like the girls do. That would both be sexy and fair. The current uniforms seem a little silly to me, but whatever. I don't watch gymnastics for the men. They're fine to look at, but they're not eye-candy. I watch swimming and beach volleyball for male eye candy.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
Monday, August 28, 2017
My Conversion Shirt Friend is Back
Be careful what you wish for, I guess. Except no, I wished for this and I'm totally down with it and please send more so I can continue to enjoy the strange wonder that is... well, I'll call him Jak because that's what I called him last time.
You may recall I got a strange comment in January which I attributed to Russian hackers trying to bring me to Jesus. Well, he's back, although less Russian this time (hell, I don't know if it's a "he" at all). Jak really wants to convert me, and he does so by repeating things his youth pastor wore on a t-shirt one time. It's so great.
This was a comment for The Band is Back Together for reasons only Jak can explain, but hasn't.
So much to unpack here and I'm not going to get to it all because it's all so good.
First of all, I don't take my theology from movies about people cutting their own legs off (or whatever that torture-porn shit is), so I sure hope that SAW stands for something else. Except I'm pretty sure it doesn't, because isn't the whole thing in SAW that he has to choose to cut his own leg off? I haven't seen it. I'm not sure Jak has either. His youth pastor probably wouldn't approve. So let's give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that SAW stands for "Sisters Against War." And I'm for that. I'll choose to be against war any day.
This seems less like Russian propaganda this time, which is a shame. I was hoping to hear more about J-Prog's further adventures.
But to return to the beginning: I hate to break it to you Jak, but there's a thing called a 3-way switch. Is the third position Purgatory? If I don't flip the switch the right way, will I wind up with the unbaptized babies and Aristotle? I mean, Aristotle sounds fine (though I doubt he'd think much of me, being a woman and all) but billions of unbaptized babies screaming for all eternity? I'll take Abyss O'Misery, who was an Irish pub owner if I recall correctly. We could listen to ExtremeSupersonicSeventh-Heaven, which was a Red Hot Chili Peppers album from the '90s if memory serves.
I'm not sure why Jak felt the need to reassure me that "you" was "[pl]" which I assume means the collective you, or "y'all" in the vernacular, or "youse" as he put it before. I guess he wanted to make sure I knew that he wasn't just talking to me, but to all sinners great and small, and I appreciate that, since we are all sinners and deserve God's infinite forgiveness and grace.
I'll give Jak this though: "whom you ain't married to" is indeed the correct use of "whom." Good for him. And he's also right that my lover and I aren't married (though I suspect he'd prefer it that way). I'm glad she doesn't get to decide my fate, because occasionally if I have to wake her up, she might doom me to burnt toast for all eternity. I hate burnt toast.
Where it goes off the rails is, "Many analogies we might surmise 4 that proposition..." I mean, yes, those are indeed words in the English language, but I don't think any of them mean what Jak would like to think they mean, to coin a phrase badly. But we should be lenient with him since he was obviously taught English by a mute who could only communicate via text message from a phone where most of the keys didn't work.
And then we get to the best part: Jak believes that we're going to be microchipped by the Antichrist! I was afraid this would all be boring, but good ol' Alex Jones whackery slides in at the end to save the day! So Jak, thank you for your concern, and rest assured that I won't be taking "THE CHIP" in any location on my body, not because I'm afraid of the Antichrist, but because it's a gross invasion of privacy and sounds uncomfortable. Plus SkyNet. Always SkyNet. In fact, Jak, I'll let you have that one for free: don't bow to the Antichrist, reach for the SkyNet!
Lastly, I am never not going to spell it "whorizontal" from now on. So good, Jak. When I'm whorizontal getting railed by a giant cock (to whom I'm not married, possibly to whom I'm related by blood in direct violation of God's laws) I will make sure to think of you. While I'm moaning out my sinful lover's name from a whorizontal position on the bed of our lust, I'll spare you a thought and perhaps moan a few times for you. "Oh Jak, yes, I'm so whorizontal right now!"
So Jak, thank you for your continued attentions, and please do keep sending me these because I want to hear more about GodSpex and J-Prog and whether J-Prog owns a pair of GodSpex and... and... and everything! God, it makes me so whorizontal!
You may recall I got a strange comment in January which I attributed to Russian hackers trying to bring me to Jesus. Well, he's back, although less Russian this time (hell, I don't know if it's a "he" at all). Jak really wants to convert me, and he does so by repeating things his youth pastor wore on a t-shirt one time. It's so great.
This was a comment for The Band is Back Together for reasons only Jak can explain, but hasn't.
Only 2 positions for a light switch, earthling,
UP or DOWN:
the UP position is pointing skyward,
toward ExtremeSupersonicSeventh-Heaven,
which is e.VERY.thang we want
(and I mean everything),
which is what America SHOULD be doing,
puh-ray-zin God in dis Finite Existence;
while the DOWN position is pointing toward our demise,
to the whorizontal,
toward the Abyss o'Misery,
where you [pl] shall feeeel the palpable,
LivingDarkness 4 eternity.
Again, only 2 eternities, earthling
...and 1 of em aint too cool.
And YOU alone decide.
NOT Jesus.
NOT slimy, nasty ol satan.
NOT your friends.
NOT your co-workers.
NOT your lover whom you aint married to.
YOU alone.
Many analogies we might surmise 4 that proposition... yet,only 1 belief in the King of Hearts
who gives U.S. His Magnificent Light.
If that's too difficult 4u2c,
here's what I suggest:
I suggest you getta pair of GodSpexfrom the Divine Physician, mortal.
God bless your indelible soul.
Yes, earthling, I was an NDE:
DO - NOT - TAKE - the - CHIP!!!
(hand OR forhead)
If you do, say hello to being burnt toast, baby.
F O R E V E R.
Make Your Choice -SAW
So much to unpack here and I'm not going to get to it all because it's all so good.
First of all, I don't take my theology from movies about people cutting their own legs off (or whatever that torture-porn shit is), so I sure hope that SAW stands for something else. Except I'm pretty sure it doesn't, because isn't the whole thing in SAW that he has to choose to cut his own leg off? I haven't seen it. I'm not sure Jak has either. His youth pastor probably wouldn't approve. So let's give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that SAW stands for "Sisters Against War." And I'm for that. I'll choose to be against war any day.
This seems less like Russian propaganda this time, which is a shame. I was hoping to hear more about J-Prog's further adventures.
But to return to the beginning: I hate to break it to you Jak, but there's a thing called a 3-way switch. Is the third position Purgatory? If I don't flip the switch the right way, will I wind up with the unbaptized babies and Aristotle? I mean, Aristotle sounds fine (though I doubt he'd think much of me, being a woman and all) but billions of unbaptized babies screaming for all eternity? I'll take Abyss O'Misery, who was an Irish pub owner if I recall correctly. We could listen to ExtremeSupersonicSeventh-Heaven, which was a Red Hot Chili Peppers album from the '90s if memory serves.
I'm not sure why Jak felt the need to reassure me that "you" was "[pl]" which I assume means the collective you, or "y'all" in the vernacular, or "youse" as he put it before. I guess he wanted to make sure I knew that he wasn't just talking to me, but to all sinners great and small, and I appreciate that, since we are all sinners and deserve God's infinite forgiveness and grace.
I'll give Jak this though: "whom you ain't married to" is indeed the correct use of "whom." Good for him. And he's also right that my lover and I aren't married (though I suspect he'd prefer it that way). I'm glad she doesn't get to decide my fate, because occasionally if I have to wake her up, she might doom me to burnt toast for all eternity. I hate burnt toast.
Where it goes off the rails is, "Many analogies we might surmise 4 that proposition..." I mean, yes, those are indeed words in the English language, but I don't think any of them mean what Jak would like to think they mean, to coin a phrase badly. But we should be lenient with him since he was obviously taught English by a mute who could only communicate via text message from a phone where most of the keys didn't work.
And then we get to the best part: Jak believes that we're going to be microchipped by the Antichrist! I was afraid this would all be boring, but good ol' Alex Jones whackery slides in at the end to save the day! So Jak, thank you for your concern, and rest assured that I won't be taking "THE CHIP" in any location on my body, not because I'm afraid of the Antichrist, but because it's a gross invasion of privacy and sounds uncomfortable. Plus SkyNet. Always SkyNet. In fact, Jak, I'll let you have that one for free: don't bow to the Antichrist, reach for the SkyNet!
Lastly, I am never not going to spell it "whorizontal" from now on. So good, Jak. When I'm whorizontal getting railed by a giant cock (to whom I'm not married, possibly to whom I'm related by blood in direct violation of God's laws) I will make sure to think of you. While I'm moaning out my sinful lover's name from a whorizontal position on the bed of our lust, I'll spare you a thought and perhaps moan a few times for you. "Oh Jak, yes, I'm so whorizontal right now!"
So Jak, thank you for your continued attentions, and please do keep sending me these because I want to hear more about GodSpex and J-Prog and whether J-Prog owns a pair of GodSpex and... and... and everything! God, it makes me so whorizontal!
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
TMI Tuesday
From the archives:
1. What was one of the best parties you’ve attended?
Probably one in college, but they do tend to blur together in my decrepitude. Possibly that New Years Eve party with Sheri which is somewhere way back in the archives of the blog but I'm too lazy to find because God damn are there a lot of posts to go through.
2. What is your first memory of being really excited?
Honestly, anticipation of losing my virginity is one of my clearest memories from my childhood. That said, I have vaguer memories of being excited for Christmas earlier than that, so in fairness and not to put too much importance on memory, I'd probably have to say that I remember being excited for Christmas before I was excited for sex. But I remember being excited for sex much more clearly.
3. What was the first thing you bought with your own money?
Good Lord, I don't know. Probably candy or something. What is "my own money" anyway? The first thing I ever bought with money that I actually earned and wasn't given was probably food. I'm pretty sure I took my first paycheck and bought myself something at a restaurant or something like that. Pretty boring.
The first big-ticket purchase I ever made was a bass guitar, at least as far as I can remember. I had a guitar before, but I bought the bass myself. Before that, it was probably toys (not the sexy kind) or food.
4. What story does your family always tell about you?
When I was a child, a nice lady asked me where my pretty red hair came from. I told her, totally seriously, "The milk man." Little pitchers have big ears (a phrase I've never really understood, since pitchers don't have ears at all) and I'd heard it said as a joke because obviously I got my red hair from my parents; they both have varying degrees of red hair, and my siblings do as well. So it was said as a joke, a la "Redhead eh? Well she can't have gotten it from you; must be from the milk man."
It took me years to understand why it was funny, even though I knew all about sex. I thought they were saying that milk men somehow delivered red hair to children or something. It would have made more sense if it were the mail man, and since we didn't have a milk man I don't know where I even got the idea of what a milk man was. Once I realized the joke, I then understood why the nice woman looked slightly scandalized and my parents were slightly mortified. But we laugh about it now.
I don't know if that's the story my family always tells about me, but hey, it's a decent story and it's safe for public consumption, as opposed to the stories that my family could probably tell but don't.
5. At what age did you become an adult?
I don't think I ever became an adult. Though when I was younger I thought that losing one's virginity, coupled with getting one's period, made one a woman, that's bullshit. And that's still not "being an adult" just being a woman. As I grow older, I realize that sex and procreation don't make you a woman any more than having a vagina does. Shout out to all my trans sisters out there (and brothers too; don't let anyone say you're not a man either). Femininity isn't defined so easily.
But again, I don't think I've ever become an adult. I'm not saying I'm immature (I mean, I certainly can be) but I don't feel comfortable in my own skin as an adult. I feel like an imposter, like a girl wearing clothes too big for her and going to the office and lying her way through life. I used to think that adults were people who didn't feel like that, but I'm pretty sure most people feel like that, even when they're adults by any reasonable definition.
We define adulthood by ages, but that's kind of silly. If I had to give an age, I'd say you age into adulthood between 16 and 21 because you can legally do all the adult stuff at that point. But you can't be president, you can't rent UltraPorn (geek test), and there are probably other things you can't do even when you hit 21. But the law thinks of you as an adult at some point in those years, so I'll be boring and say that no matter how you feel about it, you might as well be an adult at that point. If you don't act like it, you still get treated as one when you fuck up.
Society used to have rituals. We still do, but we don't do vision quests, we take driving tests. That came out incredibly glibly, which wasn't my intent, but hey, I'll embrace the rhyme. See? I'm not a very good adult. I can't cope with life for shit and I make stupid juvenile jokes.
Bonus: Do you often subscribe to new comments/replies on blogs? Or do you manually go back to see if someone has responded to what you wrote?
I'm terrible: I don't read blogs. I rarely comment on other blogs. So I don't do either. There's barely enough time in the day to write shit like this, let alone read other people's generally-much-better stuff.
Well that was just a fat sack of crap. Garbage in, garbage out, I'm afraid. You can help with that by giving me questions that wouldn't be asked of Miss America. Email, Twitter, comment, sky-writing, whatever. I will answer them.
1. What was one of the best parties you’ve attended?
Probably one in college, but they do tend to blur together in my decrepitude. Possibly that New Years Eve party with Sheri which is somewhere way back in the archives of the blog but I'm too lazy to find because God damn are there a lot of posts to go through.
2. What is your first memory of being really excited?
Honestly, anticipation of losing my virginity is one of my clearest memories from my childhood. That said, I have vaguer memories of being excited for Christmas earlier than that, so in fairness and not to put too much importance on memory, I'd probably have to say that I remember being excited for Christmas before I was excited for sex. But I remember being excited for sex much more clearly.
3. What was the first thing you bought with your own money?
Good Lord, I don't know. Probably candy or something. What is "my own money" anyway? The first thing I ever bought with money that I actually earned and wasn't given was probably food. I'm pretty sure I took my first paycheck and bought myself something at a restaurant or something like that. Pretty boring.
The first big-ticket purchase I ever made was a bass guitar, at least as far as I can remember. I had a guitar before, but I bought the bass myself. Before that, it was probably toys (not the sexy kind) or food.
4. What story does your family always tell about you?
When I was a child, a nice lady asked me where my pretty red hair came from. I told her, totally seriously, "The milk man." Little pitchers have big ears (a phrase I've never really understood, since pitchers don't have ears at all) and I'd heard it said as a joke because obviously I got my red hair from my parents; they both have varying degrees of red hair, and my siblings do as well. So it was said as a joke, a la "Redhead eh? Well she can't have gotten it from you; must be from the milk man."
It took me years to understand why it was funny, even though I knew all about sex. I thought they were saying that milk men somehow delivered red hair to children or something. It would have made more sense if it were the mail man, and since we didn't have a milk man I don't know where I even got the idea of what a milk man was. Once I realized the joke, I then understood why the nice woman looked slightly scandalized and my parents were slightly mortified. But we laugh about it now.
I don't know if that's the story my family always tells about me, but hey, it's a decent story and it's safe for public consumption, as opposed to the stories that my family could probably tell but don't.
5. At what age did you become an adult?
I don't think I ever became an adult. Though when I was younger I thought that losing one's virginity, coupled with getting one's period, made one a woman, that's bullshit. And that's still not "being an adult" just being a woman. As I grow older, I realize that sex and procreation don't make you a woman any more than having a vagina does. Shout out to all my trans sisters out there (and brothers too; don't let anyone say you're not a man either). Femininity isn't defined so easily.
But again, I don't think I've ever become an adult. I'm not saying I'm immature (I mean, I certainly can be) but I don't feel comfortable in my own skin as an adult. I feel like an imposter, like a girl wearing clothes too big for her and going to the office and lying her way through life. I used to think that adults were people who didn't feel like that, but I'm pretty sure most people feel like that, even when they're adults by any reasonable definition.
We define adulthood by ages, but that's kind of silly. If I had to give an age, I'd say you age into adulthood between 16 and 21 because you can legally do all the adult stuff at that point. But you can't be president, you can't rent UltraPorn (geek test), and there are probably other things you can't do even when you hit 21. But the law thinks of you as an adult at some point in those years, so I'll be boring and say that no matter how you feel about it, you might as well be an adult at that point. If you don't act like it, you still get treated as one when you fuck up.
Society used to have rituals. We still do, but we don't do vision quests, we take driving tests. That came out incredibly glibly, which wasn't my intent, but hey, I'll embrace the rhyme. See? I'm not a very good adult. I can't cope with life for shit and I make stupid juvenile jokes.
Bonus: Do you often subscribe to new comments/replies on blogs? Or do you manually go back to see if someone has responded to what you wrote?
I'm terrible: I don't read blogs. I rarely comment on other blogs. So I don't do either. There's barely enough time in the day to write shit like this, let alone read other people's generally-much-better stuff.
Well that was just a fat sack of crap. Garbage in, garbage out, I'm afraid. You can help with that by giving me questions that wouldn't be asked of Miss America. Email, Twitter, comment, sky-writing, whatever. I will answer them.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
Summer Swims
In the waning days of summer, Sveta and I have found a bit of time to go to some pools to get some water time. She really loves the water, wishes we could go to the beach, but we can't afford it so a poor substitute is a swimming pool. And I used to be a fish in my youth. I was never a competition swimmer, but I passed all kinds of Red Cross certifications and probably could have been a life guard had I been a bit older and also less likely to die of skin cancer.
I've lost most of my skill, but I still love being underwater and feeling weightless. Sveta doesn't like to go under water, and I think she's missing the best part, but she enjoys it nonetheless. I don't have the breath control I once had (stop snickering in the back row, that has nothing to do with it) but I can still manage a respectable distance underwater. I've just lost some speed and stamina, to say nothing of not liking to get water in my ears or burning my eyes with chlorine.
But nothing sexy has come of our swimming trips. Still, they've made me remember a story I don't think I've told yet, so I will.
I was old enough to attract attention, if perhaps too young for that attention to be entirely appropriate. Among boys of my own age group, sure, that was fine, but I would sometimes see older men looking at me too, frolicking around in my bikini (I love bikinis), maybe not as good a swimmer as I had been as a child, but still perfectly at home in the water. A teen, not hard on the eye, and fully bloomed into sexuality, so it was natural that some gazes lingered. I'm not really excusing dirty old men, but I didn't mind and they were discreet in their ogling. I think my father would have been upset that his daughter was being eyebanged by fathers at the pool, but I was old enough to go on my own and I wasn't doing anything other than letting them look.
I remember I had my eye on a life guard. That was rare air; they were aloof and intimidating and probably in college (gasp, so old) but damn was he cute. I don't always go for the tanned hunk of man meat, and looking back with older eyes he wasn't exactly Baywatch, but he looked tasty. But like I said, rare air, and I may be brazen with my sexuality but I'm still quite shy, so I eyebanged him a little from a distance and let others do the same to me, and it all seemed frivolous and a bit pointless but fun.
But I was with friends (well, "friends," they were girls and guys my age and they tolerated my presence and didn't treat me like shit) and eventually one of them must have caught me looking and said, "You've got the hots for Hottie Life Guard!" like it was some big secret I couldn't stand anyone to know.
"He's kind of cute," I said, the way that teens admit a crush, bashful and full of insignificance. No big deal. I was just looking.
"Yeah he is. You should talk to him."
No, that I wasn't interested in doing. Come on, I was here to swim, take in the sights. But she wouldn't let up, brought another girl into it, and pretty soon it was all I was getting from them. My inclination was to ignore and hope it would go away, but it didn't, and finally I said, "Okay, fine, I will." Which shut them up. I think they were as in awe of him as I was.
So I went up to the life guard stand and said, "Hey, want me to get you a drink?" I couldn't think of anything else. I mean, I could, but I knew that it wasn't a perfect world and, "Hey, you're cute, want to fuck my brains out?" would not play well.
He probably heard the line from all the girls. "No thanks, I'm good." He wasn't even looking at me. I know now (and pretty much knew then) that he wasn't allowed to take his eyes off the pool, but it still seemed dismissive.
Shit. "Let me know if you do." Brilliant gambit, Lexi. I swear, this was decades ago and I'm still kicking myself for it as I remember it.
"Okay." He grinned. "Okay, fine, I'll take a Coke. Just don't make a big deal out of it. I don't want to get in trouble." And he glanced at me, just a glance, like he was verifying me.
Can of Coke in hand, I sidled up to the chair again. I'm pretty sure I said something very stupid when I gave it to him, but that memory has been blessedly cleansed. I do remember he asked me my name so he could thank me properly. Which I used to get his name, which was, if I recall, something like Brett. Brett will work. Never took his eyes off the pool except to steal a few glances at me. Knowing me, I think he was pleased by what he saw, but then he probably saw a million other girls wearing bikinis, so it wasn't exactly novel.
"I'll see you," I said, by way of something else to say.
"I go on break at 3. I'll pay you back then."
Shit. Well, my gift was being spurned. His money was in his pants or something. Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I dove back into the pool. Tried to ignore the other girls' questions. Did I get his number? What did he say? I had struck out. I mean, these girls weren't exactly privvy to how much I had struck out; to them, I was a failure at chatting with a cute guy way out of my league, whereas I was actually a failure at getting a cute guy way out of my league to round some bases with me. These girls may not have been virgins, but they weren't looking for action. If any of them had been in my shoes, they would have taken the whole thing less seriously. But really, how seriously could I take it?
At 3, Brett went on break and I figured that was the last I'd see of him, but he just went to a shady spot and sat down, then looked over at me and smiled. Okay. Maybe he wanted me to collect my blood money for the Coke. By that point, my trivial failure to launch had been forgotten and I think the girls were more interested in some fairly-innocent horseplay with the guys with us. I'm sure the allure of skin to skin contact while roughhousing was all they needed to forget me, and if I didn't join in, more for them. I'm pretty sure there were some couples there, but it was a free-for-all of accidental boob brushes and giggling, so minor alliances were forgotten in the fracas.
I went over to Brett and, when he didn't seem to mind, sat down next to him, not so close as to presume, but not across from him.
"So I bet you offer Coke to all the life guards," he said, grinning. That was his opening line. I remember that. But while I don't remember much of the rest of the conversation, I do remember that his eyes, no longer obsessively watching swimmers, were enjoying me. And enjoying that I wasn't getting shy. I let him look.
The upshot was that I slid a little closer and he put his hand on my leg and things became a lot more chummy. To the point that, when I said he could pay me back for the Coke any way he liked, he said, "Okay, I know a place."
I got the feeling that I wasn't the first conquest Brett had made at the pool. He led me to a room filled with pool supplies and told me no one ever came in unless they were doing what we were doing. He was coy about whether he'd ever done this before, but he said life guards sometimes hooked up and if he locked the door, anyone else would know what was happening. I don't know that he knew what he was getting. Probably expected a nice grope, maybe some oral.
My breasts have never been big enough to really pull off the "pull down the top of the cup and the breast spills out" thing, so he pushed it up instead. He liked them, even if they weren't enormous. But when I said, rather heatedly, "You want to fuck me?" his eyes got a little wider.
"You want to?"
"God yes."
That was fine with him, if perhaps unexpected. I pulled his trunks down, his cock rising a little but not yet fully hard, and then I got on my knees and sucked it to life. He wasn't inexperienced, so probably he had used this room before. He held my hair but didn't force anything, and he didn't need to, because by that point I was an expert cocksucker.
"How long do you have?" I asked when I came up for air.
"A while. Why?"
"Are you ready?"
"Hell yes."
We were about the same height, so no towering Adonis he, though life guards always seem more imposing than they really are. He didn't have to struggle to position himself, and I bent a little at the waist and supported myself on a pile of life jackets, and he just pulled my bottoms to one side, admired my pussy for a moment, and then rubbed the head of his cock over my pubis a few times before sliding into me.
He wasn't gentle. I was a little less ready than I should have been, and he loved how tight it made me, but I got into it after a few moments and let him really take the wheel. And then almost as soon as I was getting into it, he was pulling out. "Shit, you were amazing," he said. "I can't hold off. Do you swallow?"
Had I been older and more sure of myself I would have told him to get back in there and make me cum, but I just nodded and knelt and let him spew a weak load onto my tongue and lips, then swallowed and smiled. My pussy was vibrating, wanting more, and I was a little weak at the knees from being railed while standing up, knees locked.
"Thanks," he said. Thanks. Services rendered. Kind of a dick. I figured that was it.
"Do you have more time?" I could help asking.
"Yeah, plenty. You want more?"
"Always."
"Damn girl. What do you want?"
"I want more of your cock. Want me to suck it again?"
"No, not right away. I can finger you if you want, until I can get hard again."
So I consented to being pawed. Not good. He wouldn't have known where to find the clitoris if I'd drawn a map, and he basically just pushed his finger in and moved it around. But he sucked my nipples nicely, and we kissed some, and if I wasn't getting closer to cumming at least his finger was there and keeping me excited. He made no move to offer mutual oral, and I didn't demand it because I was young and stupid and also if he was this bad with his finger, I bet he'd never gone down on a woman before.
Eventually he said, "Okay, you can suck me now," like I had been dying for it (okay, so I was dying to suck him so he'd get hard and I'd get it inside me again). The floor was clear enough for him to lie back against a life jacket, and I put his trunks under his ass and sucked him hard again. He was enjoying himself immensely. I won't attempt false humility: I was probably the best head he'd ever gotten.
Once he was hard again, I straddled him and sank down on his shaft, which wasn't a giant but was good enough. Decent length, decent girth, and it felt very nice inside me. And I rocked, his hands on my breasts and then down my sides to my hips, hooking his fingers under the back of my bikini bottoms and gripping my ass. I remember that. I liked that, it felt exciting. I've always liked fucking in underwear.
Grinding down on him, getting an eyeful of his tanned gorgeousness, was enough to make me cum after a bit, and he loved feeling me cum on him. But then he said, "I need to go a bit quicker. Can we switch positions?" So I wound up on all fours, my knees and palms hurting a little because of the concrete floor, and he fucked away behind me.
"You don't have to pull out. I'm on the pill and I love cum inside me." I couldn't see his face, but I think he must have thought he'd won the jackpot.
"Okay, coming up," he said, or grunted, and fucked harder, his hands gripping the back seam of my bottoms, pulling it up a little. It pressed the front against my clit and was winding me up again, but I didn't make it before he gasped, "Fuck, I'm going to cum in your pussy!"
The orgasm wasn't even as intense as the first one. I basically felt his cock tense and relax a few times. Didn't feel the cream inside. He pulled back and I moved my hand up, even though my knees were screaming at this point, and rubbed my clit, hard, until I got off too. He was wide-eyed at that, when I rolled over and adjusted myself, pulling my top back down and my bottoms back over my pussy. "Damn girl, you're insane," he said, or something similar.
Three was out of the question. I knew before I asked, so I didn't. He wasn't in a rush, offered to finger me some more if I wanted, but I politely declined. "My friends will be wondering where I am," I said, with a degree of truth.
"Well, that was great." And he pulled on his trunks and left in the opposite direction of the pool. To a life guard locker room, maybe. I didn't really care. I went back to the pool, and my "friends" hadn't really even noticed I was gone. I learned later that a boy and girl had sneaked off on their own and gotten to third base or something, and that was all anyone was talking about. My life guard crush was forgotten, and no one even mentioned it. And Brett came back to his station, looking like nothing had happened, and took up watch on the pool again. He looked at me a few times and smiled, but we didn't speak.
Of course, I went home and fucked someone's brains out that evening because it had been exciting but hardly a great lay. And if I ever saw Brett again at the pool, we never fucked again. I wasn't particularly sorry. Decent story, but at the time, somewhat underwhelming.
I've lost most of my skill, but I still love being underwater and feeling weightless. Sveta doesn't like to go under water, and I think she's missing the best part, but she enjoys it nonetheless. I don't have the breath control I once had (stop snickering in the back row, that has nothing to do with it) but I can still manage a respectable distance underwater. I've just lost some speed and stamina, to say nothing of not liking to get water in my ears or burning my eyes with chlorine.
But nothing sexy has come of our swimming trips. Still, they've made me remember a story I don't think I've told yet, so I will.
I was old enough to attract attention, if perhaps too young for that attention to be entirely appropriate. Among boys of my own age group, sure, that was fine, but I would sometimes see older men looking at me too, frolicking around in my bikini (I love bikinis), maybe not as good a swimmer as I had been as a child, but still perfectly at home in the water. A teen, not hard on the eye, and fully bloomed into sexuality, so it was natural that some gazes lingered. I'm not really excusing dirty old men, but I didn't mind and they were discreet in their ogling. I think my father would have been upset that his daughter was being eyebanged by fathers at the pool, but I was old enough to go on my own and I wasn't doing anything other than letting them look.
I remember I had my eye on a life guard. That was rare air; they were aloof and intimidating and probably in college (gasp, so old) but damn was he cute. I don't always go for the tanned hunk of man meat, and looking back with older eyes he wasn't exactly Baywatch, but he looked tasty. But like I said, rare air, and I may be brazen with my sexuality but I'm still quite shy, so I eyebanged him a little from a distance and let others do the same to me, and it all seemed frivolous and a bit pointless but fun.
But I was with friends (well, "friends," they were girls and guys my age and they tolerated my presence and didn't treat me like shit) and eventually one of them must have caught me looking and said, "You've got the hots for Hottie Life Guard!" like it was some big secret I couldn't stand anyone to know.
"He's kind of cute," I said, the way that teens admit a crush, bashful and full of insignificance. No big deal. I was just looking.
"Yeah he is. You should talk to him."
No, that I wasn't interested in doing. Come on, I was here to swim, take in the sights. But she wouldn't let up, brought another girl into it, and pretty soon it was all I was getting from them. My inclination was to ignore and hope it would go away, but it didn't, and finally I said, "Okay, fine, I will." Which shut them up. I think they were as in awe of him as I was.
So I went up to the life guard stand and said, "Hey, want me to get you a drink?" I couldn't think of anything else. I mean, I could, but I knew that it wasn't a perfect world and, "Hey, you're cute, want to fuck my brains out?" would not play well.
He probably heard the line from all the girls. "No thanks, I'm good." He wasn't even looking at me. I know now (and pretty much knew then) that he wasn't allowed to take his eyes off the pool, but it still seemed dismissive.
Shit. "Let me know if you do." Brilliant gambit, Lexi. I swear, this was decades ago and I'm still kicking myself for it as I remember it.
"Okay." He grinned. "Okay, fine, I'll take a Coke. Just don't make a big deal out of it. I don't want to get in trouble." And he glanced at me, just a glance, like he was verifying me.
Can of Coke in hand, I sidled up to the chair again. I'm pretty sure I said something very stupid when I gave it to him, but that memory has been blessedly cleansed. I do remember he asked me my name so he could thank me properly. Which I used to get his name, which was, if I recall, something like Brett. Brett will work. Never took his eyes off the pool except to steal a few glances at me. Knowing me, I think he was pleased by what he saw, but then he probably saw a million other girls wearing bikinis, so it wasn't exactly novel.
"I'll see you," I said, by way of something else to say.
"I go on break at 3. I'll pay you back then."
Shit. Well, my gift was being spurned. His money was in his pants or something. Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I dove back into the pool. Tried to ignore the other girls' questions. Did I get his number? What did he say? I had struck out. I mean, these girls weren't exactly privvy to how much I had struck out; to them, I was a failure at chatting with a cute guy way out of my league, whereas I was actually a failure at getting a cute guy way out of my league to round some bases with me. These girls may not have been virgins, but they weren't looking for action. If any of them had been in my shoes, they would have taken the whole thing less seriously. But really, how seriously could I take it?
At 3, Brett went on break and I figured that was the last I'd see of him, but he just went to a shady spot and sat down, then looked over at me and smiled. Okay. Maybe he wanted me to collect my blood money for the Coke. By that point, my trivial failure to launch had been forgotten and I think the girls were more interested in some fairly-innocent horseplay with the guys with us. I'm sure the allure of skin to skin contact while roughhousing was all they needed to forget me, and if I didn't join in, more for them. I'm pretty sure there were some couples there, but it was a free-for-all of accidental boob brushes and giggling, so minor alliances were forgotten in the fracas.
I went over to Brett and, when he didn't seem to mind, sat down next to him, not so close as to presume, but not across from him.
"So I bet you offer Coke to all the life guards," he said, grinning. That was his opening line. I remember that. But while I don't remember much of the rest of the conversation, I do remember that his eyes, no longer obsessively watching swimmers, were enjoying me. And enjoying that I wasn't getting shy. I let him look.
The upshot was that I slid a little closer and he put his hand on my leg and things became a lot more chummy. To the point that, when I said he could pay me back for the Coke any way he liked, he said, "Okay, I know a place."
I got the feeling that I wasn't the first conquest Brett had made at the pool. He led me to a room filled with pool supplies and told me no one ever came in unless they were doing what we were doing. He was coy about whether he'd ever done this before, but he said life guards sometimes hooked up and if he locked the door, anyone else would know what was happening. I don't know that he knew what he was getting. Probably expected a nice grope, maybe some oral.
My breasts have never been big enough to really pull off the "pull down the top of the cup and the breast spills out" thing, so he pushed it up instead. He liked them, even if they weren't enormous. But when I said, rather heatedly, "You want to fuck me?" his eyes got a little wider.
"You want to?"
"God yes."
That was fine with him, if perhaps unexpected. I pulled his trunks down, his cock rising a little but not yet fully hard, and then I got on my knees and sucked it to life. He wasn't inexperienced, so probably he had used this room before. He held my hair but didn't force anything, and he didn't need to, because by that point I was an expert cocksucker.
"How long do you have?" I asked when I came up for air.
"A while. Why?"
"Are you ready?"
"Hell yes."
We were about the same height, so no towering Adonis he, though life guards always seem more imposing than they really are. He didn't have to struggle to position himself, and I bent a little at the waist and supported myself on a pile of life jackets, and he just pulled my bottoms to one side, admired my pussy for a moment, and then rubbed the head of his cock over my pubis a few times before sliding into me.
He wasn't gentle. I was a little less ready than I should have been, and he loved how tight it made me, but I got into it after a few moments and let him really take the wheel. And then almost as soon as I was getting into it, he was pulling out. "Shit, you were amazing," he said. "I can't hold off. Do you swallow?"
Had I been older and more sure of myself I would have told him to get back in there and make me cum, but I just nodded and knelt and let him spew a weak load onto my tongue and lips, then swallowed and smiled. My pussy was vibrating, wanting more, and I was a little weak at the knees from being railed while standing up, knees locked.
"Thanks," he said. Thanks. Services rendered. Kind of a dick. I figured that was it.
"Do you have more time?" I could help asking.
"Yeah, plenty. You want more?"
"Always."
"Damn girl. What do you want?"
"I want more of your cock. Want me to suck it again?"
"No, not right away. I can finger you if you want, until I can get hard again."
So I consented to being pawed. Not good. He wouldn't have known where to find the clitoris if I'd drawn a map, and he basically just pushed his finger in and moved it around. But he sucked my nipples nicely, and we kissed some, and if I wasn't getting closer to cumming at least his finger was there and keeping me excited. He made no move to offer mutual oral, and I didn't demand it because I was young and stupid and also if he was this bad with his finger, I bet he'd never gone down on a woman before.
Eventually he said, "Okay, you can suck me now," like I had been dying for it (okay, so I was dying to suck him so he'd get hard and I'd get it inside me again). The floor was clear enough for him to lie back against a life jacket, and I put his trunks under his ass and sucked him hard again. He was enjoying himself immensely. I won't attempt false humility: I was probably the best head he'd ever gotten.
Once he was hard again, I straddled him and sank down on his shaft, which wasn't a giant but was good enough. Decent length, decent girth, and it felt very nice inside me. And I rocked, his hands on my breasts and then down my sides to my hips, hooking his fingers under the back of my bikini bottoms and gripping my ass. I remember that. I liked that, it felt exciting. I've always liked fucking in underwear.
Grinding down on him, getting an eyeful of his tanned gorgeousness, was enough to make me cum after a bit, and he loved feeling me cum on him. But then he said, "I need to go a bit quicker. Can we switch positions?" So I wound up on all fours, my knees and palms hurting a little because of the concrete floor, and he fucked away behind me.
"You don't have to pull out. I'm on the pill and I love cum inside me." I couldn't see his face, but I think he must have thought he'd won the jackpot.
"Okay, coming up," he said, or grunted, and fucked harder, his hands gripping the back seam of my bottoms, pulling it up a little. It pressed the front against my clit and was winding me up again, but I didn't make it before he gasped, "Fuck, I'm going to cum in your pussy!"
The orgasm wasn't even as intense as the first one. I basically felt his cock tense and relax a few times. Didn't feel the cream inside. He pulled back and I moved my hand up, even though my knees were screaming at this point, and rubbed my clit, hard, until I got off too. He was wide-eyed at that, when I rolled over and adjusted myself, pulling my top back down and my bottoms back over my pussy. "Damn girl, you're insane," he said, or something similar.
Three was out of the question. I knew before I asked, so I didn't. He wasn't in a rush, offered to finger me some more if I wanted, but I politely declined. "My friends will be wondering where I am," I said, with a degree of truth.
"Well, that was great." And he pulled on his trunks and left in the opposite direction of the pool. To a life guard locker room, maybe. I didn't really care. I went back to the pool, and my "friends" hadn't really even noticed I was gone. I learned later that a boy and girl had sneaked off on their own and gotten to third base or something, and that was all anyone was talking about. My life guard crush was forgotten, and no one even mentioned it. And Brett came back to his station, looking like nothing had happened, and took up watch on the pool again. He looked at me a few times and smiled, but we didn't speak.
Of course, I went home and fucked someone's brains out that evening because it had been exciting but hardly a great lay. And if I ever saw Brett again at the pool, we never fucked again. I wasn't particularly sorry. Decent story, but at the time, somewhat underwhelming.
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
TMI Tuesday
From the archives:
1. Do you think being a sex worker is as legitimate a work option as being an accountant?
Good lord yes. But this is a crappy question because sex work and accounting aren't really in the same sphere of types of work, so it's any easy one to poo-poo. "Oh sure, accountants do your taxes. What do sex workers do?" Better comparison might be to a therapist. I think a lot of people who seek out prostitutes are doing it for reasons other than just wanting to have sex, honestly, but even if that's the case, the reasons why they need to pay for sex are complicated. They need help in some way. So actually, I guess accountant isn't such a terrible comparison: if you're no good at taxes, you seek an accountant. If you're no good at getting people to have sex with you, you seek a sex worker.
But what it boils down to is that the opinions many people have about sex work are either moral or they're premised on assumptions. The moral aspect, I can't really argue with: I disagree with your morality, but if you genuinely believe that sex is something which should only happen in certain ways, then fine. We still allow bartenders and liquor distributors to have legitimate employment, and many people (and I'm not just talking about people of certain faiths) don't believe that alcohol should be used.
The assumptions are more problematic. Many people assume that sex workers are all being exploited. But that's not a feature of sex work, that's a feature of the system which keep sex workers from being able to enjoy the protections of legitimate work. If I locked an accountant in my basement, fed them bread and water, and forced them to do my books for free, that would be exploitation, but it wouldn't be because accounting is an exploitative job. Yes, there are certainly problems with exploitation in sex work, and there is perhaps a case to be made that sex work lends itself to exploitation, but that's an argument for increasing the protections for sex workers, not for shoving them out into the cold.
Politics aside, sex work isn't called "the oldest profession" for nothing. Yes, even that name is problematic, but people have been doing it for as long as there has been a concept of "work" to do, and probably before that. It's every bit as legitimate as any other form of work. And accountants, I love you because I can't fucking do my taxes.
I'll put away my soapbox now.
2. Which of these rules would you follow if your lover had to have it followed in order to be aroused:
a. wear socks will having sex
b. have the lights on during sex
c. have the TV playing, volume up while having sex
d. the room must be in complete darkness to have sex
I could live with all of these things. The TV one might be the one I had the most problem with, mostly because it's distracting, but if we discussed it, I would deal with it. I don't need complete quiet to be aroused.
I have had sex with a few people, guys mostly, who wanted the lights either on or off. I think "off" is more often than not because they're not comfortable with themselves, latent shame about sex or about their body. But I've never had anyone who could only be aroused with the lights a certain level. There are fun things to do in both cases: lights on and you can have some visual stimulation (and I hate to say it but this is more fun when I'm with a girl that with a guy: girls are just more fun to look at, sorry guys). Lights off and there's the whole tactile thing. I would say that in balance I've had way more sex with the lights on than off, but neither bothers me.
The socks thing... I get it. I mean, if my partner is turned on by me wearing socks to bed, that's like the easiest costume play ever. And if they have to wear socks, I'm not into feet so I don't care.
3. You must plan an evening of sex with your lover. Tell us what you’ve planned for the evening.
Soft light in the bedroom, water bottles by the bed, lube and toys all over, and I've probably stripped the bedclothes and may have laid something down so we don't have to deal with wet spots (with Sveta, that's definitely something I do more often than not; we keep towels nearby at all times in case things get frisky). If we're really going crazy, maybe something edible to share.
I'm a bad romantic. But I can tell you horror stories about various supposedly romantic setups which make me totally fine with my lack of prep in the romance department. Rose petals are a terrible idea; they stain bedclothes and they aren't really all that interesting once the going gets going. Massage oils are nice and all, but I've broken out from poorly-chosen ones in the past, so while we do plenty of oiling up sometimes, it's always with safe stuff. And honestly, "oiling up" leaves everything sticky. Getting a nice massage on doesn't leave you clinging to the sheets.
I had a romantic evening with a guy once who decided that life was porn and so he was going to oil me up. I'm not going to lie: the massage felt great, and when he started fingering me after having been over every inch of my skin with his hands, I came like nobody's business. And then we fucked, and it was terrific, just thrusting and cumming, until he tried to flip me over and he couldn't get a grip, and I realized that what I had felt as a nice warm glow was actually sweat and massage oil gluing me to the bed, and it was awkward. And then we got back into it and it was fine again, but afterward, I had to take a shower and we had to change the sheets. And I still felt slightly oily for the rest of the evening, which went from being a pleasant feeling to being kind of disgusting, like I had grease all over my skin. Still, the sex was great, and he was very good in bed in general, so I forgave him.
And I haven't even mentioned candles. Fire safety, children. If you're going to do it by candlelight, the candles should be placed far away from the bed, they should be the kind which won't fall over or melt all over everything, and they probably shouldn't be scented like anything much. And you should get used to the idea that you won't be able to see as well as you think you will. Sure, in movies they set up 8 million candles all around the bed and it looks like that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where Indy gets taken over by Kali, and it looks totally romantic and sexy, but in reality you won't be able to see shit, which may not be a problem until you have to get up.
I once almost set a building on fire because I was young and stupid and put a candle too close to the bed and we, in our enthusiasm, knocked it over, and hot wax went all over the floor and caught fire because we didn't pay attention, and then my partner said, "Hey, what's that smell?" and it was about ten seconds away from catching the bed on fire and then we, if we made it out, would have had to stand around on the front lawn, naked, while firefighters judged us. Which would have been really awkward because I was in no way legal. Nothing kills the mood like having to put out a fire on the floor of your love nest. His erection was gone, I was terrified, and we almost gave it up, but then we both laughed about it and got back into it, by electric light this time. Not that it was such a great loss; the initial enthusiasm had masked the fact that he wasn't all that great in bed, and it had been mostly about him with very little foreplay, but hey, rough and tumble sex and so forth, but when we got back into it and he got back into me, he continued to act with that first rough and tumble urge and I didn't cum before he did, and he didn't offer any help in that regard. Ah, my misspent yoot.
4. Rule: If one of you is in the mood for sex and the other is not, you give the other 24 hours to ‘get in the mood’ before masturbating. Would this work in for you or in your relationship–why or why not?
It would definitely depend on the relationship. I did abstain from masturbation for a time, not because of a rule like this but because of a rule which was that I wasn't allowed to masturbate. Yeah, that relationship was fucked up. But there was plenty of sex so I pretended like it wasn't a big deal, which it totally was and I should never have been in the relationship even though... whatever.
I can understand the rationale, I guess. If you're getting what you need from yourself, you don't have any impetus to get what you need from your partner and thus they don't get what they need. I guess I could see it if that was a concern, although I'm not sure that's the way to address the concern. It also seems like it's punishing the person who wants it more than the person who doesn't.
I've gone without masturbation before too when we were saving it up for each other. I've been away from my lover for a period and, to heighten the eventual reunion, we've both said we wouldn't masturbate before we saw each other again. That can be electric. But I'm not sure this rule would work for me. I don't think the ready availability of masturbation affects my desire for sex most times, and when it does, I'm usually the one who's not in the mood for sex so it wouldn't be fair of me to deny my partner a release.
5. Apparently, even though it is the year 2016, some folks still have a “number” that delineates another person from being normal and liking sex versus being promiscuous. What is THAT number for you? According to a recent U.K. report more than 15 sexual conquests for a man can be off-putting, while more that 14 sexual encounters for a woman may give a potential suitor pause.
I am a fucking slut, or promiscuous, or whatever you want to call it. I think any number is fine, if not "normal" (normal just means status quo, and very few things are actually "normal"). And the language of this question is annoying: it's "conquests" for a man, but "encounters" for a woman. Fuck that shit. Go out and have as much sex as you can, or want, or whatever. I don't keep count of my own partners, but I've probably had an order of magnitude more that any "reasonable" number that people who care about those things might posit.
And what's the difference between liking sex and being promiscuous? They're not even on the same scale. Promiscuous implies number of partners. Liking sex implies enjoyment. You can have one partner and like sex just as much if not more than someone who's had hundreds of partners, and promiscuity is no indication of how much you enjoy sex.
Fuck this question. There is no number, and I will cheerfully "conquest" a virgin or someone who's had more partners than I have, if we're both down for it.
Bonus: How was your weekend?
Long, annoying, and not really a weekend. I've had a rough few weeks. I don't get any particular days off, so "weekend" means very little to me. And since I'm writing this ages before it will actually be posted, it's pointless to talk about it anyway.
1. Do you think being a sex worker is as legitimate a work option as being an accountant?
Good lord yes. But this is a crappy question because sex work and accounting aren't really in the same sphere of types of work, so it's any easy one to poo-poo. "Oh sure, accountants do your taxes. What do sex workers do?" Better comparison might be to a therapist. I think a lot of people who seek out prostitutes are doing it for reasons other than just wanting to have sex, honestly, but even if that's the case, the reasons why they need to pay for sex are complicated. They need help in some way. So actually, I guess accountant isn't such a terrible comparison: if you're no good at taxes, you seek an accountant. If you're no good at getting people to have sex with you, you seek a sex worker.
But what it boils down to is that the opinions many people have about sex work are either moral or they're premised on assumptions. The moral aspect, I can't really argue with: I disagree with your morality, but if you genuinely believe that sex is something which should only happen in certain ways, then fine. We still allow bartenders and liquor distributors to have legitimate employment, and many people (and I'm not just talking about people of certain faiths) don't believe that alcohol should be used.
The assumptions are more problematic. Many people assume that sex workers are all being exploited. But that's not a feature of sex work, that's a feature of the system which keep sex workers from being able to enjoy the protections of legitimate work. If I locked an accountant in my basement, fed them bread and water, and forced them to do my books for free, that would be exploitation, but it wouldn't be because accounting is an exploitative job. Yes, there are certainly problems with exploitation in sex work, and there is perhaps a case to be made that sex work lends itself to exploitation, but that's an argument for increasing the protections for sex workers, not for shoving them out into the cold.
Politics aside, sex work isn't called "the oldest profession" for nothing. Yes, even that name is problematic, but people have been doing it for as long as there has been a concept of "work" to do, and probably before that. It's every bit as legitimate as any other form of work. And accountants, I love you because I can't fucking do my taxes.
I'll put away my soapbox now.
2. Which of these rules would you follow if your lover had to have it followed in order to be aroused:
a. wear socks will having sex
b. have the lights on during sex
c. have the TV playing, volume up while having sex
d. the room must be in complete darkness to have sex
I could live with all of these things. The TV one might be the one I had the most problem with, mostly because it's distracting, but if we discussed it, I would deal with it. I don't need complete quiet to be aroused.
I have had sex with a few people, guys mostly, who wanted the lights either on or off. I think "off" is more often than not because they're not comfortable with themselves, latent shame about sex or about their body. But I've never had anyone who could only be aroused with the lights a certain level. There are fun things to do in both cases: lights on and you can have some visual stimulation (and I hate to say it but this is more fun when I'm with a girl that with a guy: girls are just more fun to look at, sorry guys). Lights off and there's the whole tactile thing. I would say that in balance I've had way more sex with the lights on than off, but neither bothers me.
The socks thing... I get it. I mean, if my partner is turned on by me wearing socks to bed, that's like the easiest costume play ever. And if they have to wear socks, I'm not into feet so I don't care.
3. You must plan an evening of sex with your lover. Tell us what you’ve planned for the evening.
Soft light in the bedroom, water bottles by the bed, lube and toys all over, and I've probably stripped the bedclothes and may have laid something down so we don't have to deal with wet spots (with Sveta, that's definitely something I do more often than not; we keep towels nearby at all times in case things get frisky). If we're really going crazy, maybe something edible to share.
I'm a bad romantic. But I can tell you horror stories about various supposedly romantic setups which make me totally fine with my lack of prep in the romance department. Rose petals are a terrible idea; they stain bedclothes and they aren't really all that interesting once the going gets going. Massage oils are nice and all, but I've broken out from poorly-chosen ones in the past, so while we do plenty of oiling up sometimes, it's always with safe stuff. And honestly, "oiling up" leaves everything sticky. Getting a nice massage on doesn't leave you clinging to the sheets.
I had a romantic evening with a guy once who decided that life was porn and so he was going to oil me up. I'm not going to lie: the massage felt great, and when he started fingering me after having been over every inch of my skin with his hands, I came like nobody's business. And then we fucked, and it was terrific, just thrusting and cumming, until he tried to flip me over and he couldn't get a grip, and I realized that what I had felt as a nice warm glow was actually sweat and massage oil gluing me to the bed, and it was awkward. And then we got back into it and it was fine again, but afterward, I had to take a shower and we had to change the sheets. And I still felt slightly oily for the rest of the evening, which went from being a pleasant feeling to being kind of disgusting, like I had grease all over my skin. Still, the sex was great, and he was very good in bed in general, so I forgave him.
And I haven't even mentioned candles. Fire safety, children. If you're going to do it by candlelight, the candles should be placed far away from the bed, they should be the kind which won't fall over or melt all over everything, and they probably shouldn't be scented like anything much. And you should get used to the idea that you won't be able to see as well as you think you will. Sure, in movies they set up 8 million candles all around the bed and it looks like that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where Indy gets taken over by Kali, and it looks totally romantic and sexy, but in reality you won't be able to see shit, which may not be a problem until you have to get up.
I once almost set a building on fire because I was young and stupid and put a candle too close to the bed and we, in our enthusiasm, knocked it over, and hot wax went all over the floor and caught fire because we didn't pay attention, and then my partner said, "Hey, what's that smell?" and it was about ten seconds away from catching the bed on fire and then we, if we made it out, would have had to stand around on the front lawn, naked, while firefighters judged us. Which would have been really awkward because I was in no way legal. Nothing kills the mood like having to put out a fire on the floor of your love nest. His erection was gone, I was terrified, and we almost gave it up, but then we both laughed about it and got back into it, by electric light this time. Not that it was such a great loss; the initial enthusiasm had masked the fact that he wasn't all that great in bed, and it had been mostly about him with very little foreplay, but hey, rough and tumble sex and so forth, but when we got back into it and he got back into me, he continued to act with that first rough and tumble urge and I didn't cum before he did, and he didn't offer any help in that regard. Ah, my misspent yoot.
4. Rule: If one of you is in the mood for sex and the other is not, you give the other 24 hours to ‘get in the mood’ before masturbating. Would this work in for you or in your relationship–why or why not?
It would definitely depend on the relationship. I did abstain from masturbation for a time, not because of a rule like this but because of a rule which was that I wasn't allowed to masturbate. Yeah, that relationship was fucked up. But there was plenty of sex so I pretended like it wasn't a big deal, which it totally was and I should never have been in the relationship even though... whatever.
I can understand the rationale, I guess. If you're getting what you need from yourself, you don't have any impetus to get what you need from your partner and thus they don't get what they need. I guess I could see it if that was a concern, although I'm not sure that's the way to address the concern. It also seems like it's punishing the person who wants it more than the person who doesn't.
I've gone without masturbation before too when we were saving it up for each other. I've been away from my lover for a period and, to heighten the eventual reunion, we've both said we wouldn't masturbate before we saw each other again. That can be electric. But I'm not sure this rule would work for me. I don't think the ready availability of masturbation affects my desire for sex most times, and when it does, I'm usually the one who's not in the mood for sex so it wouldn't be fair of me to deny my partner a release.
5. Apparently, even though it is the year 2016, some folks still have a “number” that delineates another person from being normal and liking sex versus being promiscuous. What is THAT number for you? According to a recent U.K. report more than 15 sexual conquests for a man can be off-putting, while more that 14 sexual encounters for a woman may give a potential suitor pause.
I am a fucking slut, or promiscuous, or whatever you want to call it. I think any number is fine, if not "normal" (normal just means status quo, and very few things are actually "normal"). And the language of this question is annoying: it's "conquests" for a man, but "encounters" for a woman. Fuck that shit. Go out and have as much sex as you can, or want, or whatever. I don't keep count of my own partners, but I've probably had an order of magnitude more that any "reasonable" number that people who care about those things might posit.
And what's the difference between liking sex and being promiscuous? They're not even on the same scale. Promiscuous implies number of partners. Liking sex implies enjoyment. You can have one partner and like sex just as much if not more than someone who's had hundreds of partners, and promiscuity is no indication of how much you enjoy sex.
Fuck this question. There is no number, and I will cheerfully "conquest" a virgin or someone who's had more partners than I have, if we're both down for it.
Bonus: How was your weekend?
Long, annoying, and not really a weekend. I've had a rough few weeks. I don't get any particular days off, so "weekend" means very little to me. And since I'm writing this ages before it will actually be posted, it's pointless to talk about it anyway.
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
TMI Tuesday
From the archives:
1. Are you more likely to ask someone on a date or a hook-up?
Definitely hook-up. As the following question's answer will illustrate, I'm not all that great at asking people for dates. I've done it, although I'd say that I'm more often asked than asking. But asking someone if they'd like a bit of fun, that's pretty easy. Many of my past relationships have started with sex, rather than working up to it. I like it that way.
2. How do you ask someone out?
"Hey, you want to go out to get something to eat or something?" Seriously, I'm not great at asking people out. Fortunately I'm a girl and we still live in a society where that places much more of the burden on the guy. I've asked some women out though.
Usually it's not something I ask. I meet someone, we hit it off, it's not the kind of thing where I'm going to ask them if they'd like to come back to my place (or wherever) and fuck my brains out, and we talk and we decide mutually that it's nice to talk and we'd like to do it again. I'm bad at it.
I have, on occasion, had someone, usually a guy, be interested in me in an obvious way, and they haven't had the guts to ask, so I've basically asked myself out for them. That's easier. It's not like I'm asking them out, I'm just letting them off the hook. Not much chance of rejection there either.
And yes, I have been rejected. Sometimes because they weren't interested, although I'd say, and I'm not tooting my own horn, that more often it's because they're seeing someone already. I've stayed friends with some of the latter, and even one or two of the former.
3. When you think about sex, what do you think about most?
Penetration. Yes, it's kind of standard, but when I think sex, I think penetration. Even with the ladies. My pussy likes to feel something inside it. Oddly enough, I usually masturbate without penetration.
Other than that, it's flavor-of-the-month fantasy stuff, probably.
4. Name two things that you appreciate about your current relationship.
The love. Definitely the love. And understanding. Plus Sveta is smoking hot, and while I'd still love her if she were disfigured in an accident or something, that she's smoking hot is a nice bonus.
5. Name three things that most excite your imagination.
Depends on the day. Also, I'm assuming we're talking about sexual imagination here. Sometimes it's fantasies which I would never make a reality but which are nice to think about. Sometimes it's thinking about someone. Sometimes I see a stranger and get wet like crazy. You never know with me. Smells too; I can smell wet pussy and get weak at the knees. But it's not always sexual smells. Once I smelled something which reminded me randomly of a sexual experience because that smell happened to be present. It hasn't happened since, so either the smell wasn't quite right or it was just a random thing.
Bonus: If you had three wishes that would come true, what would they be?
Okay, if I thought it would actually work, I'd wish for peace on Earth. But it wouldn't, and that's a boring answer, even if it's likely the one I might actually pick. Or I'd use my wishes to help other people. But selfishly:
1) Money. Sorry, I would wish for a lot of money. I'm assuming this isn't a monkey-paw situation where all the wishes backfire. I wouldn't wish to never want for money again, I would wish for so much money that I would never need money again, but not in those words. I could come up with a figure.
2) A fix for some medical issues, not least of which is my lady-parts problem. I suppose I could just use some of my massive amounts of money to seek a cure, but there might not be one. I'd burn a wish on that. I'd love to wish for my mental health to improve too, but I'm not sure whether that wouldn't be one of those wishes which is too complicated to be a wish. If I just wished to be happy, I could see that backfiring. I could wish for health in general, but again, either too complicated or would backfire.
3) The ability to grow a cock. I'd like to see what all the fuss is about. If I could swing it, I'd like to be come a chameleon and be able to swap sex organs or my entire body, maybe change up my appearance at will. Become a shape-shifter maybe. I don't know. I'd take one wish and wish for all the money because I could do a lot with all the money.
No, actually, I'd wish to be happy, and fuck it if it backfires. I'd wish for everyone to be happy. And then we'd all die when the pleasure centers of our brains exploded or something. I hate wishes. Just give me all the money and I'll use it to make people happy.
1. Are you more likely to ask someone on a date or a hook-up?
Definitely hook-up. As the following question's answer will illustrate, I'm not all that great at asking people for dates. I've done it, although I'd say that I'm more often asked than asking. But asking someone if they'd like a bit of fun, that's pretty easy. Many of my past relationships have started with sex, rather than working up to it. I like it that way.
2. How do you ask someone out?
"Hey, you want to go out to get something to eat or something?" Seriously, I'm not great at asking people out. Fortunately I'm a girl and we still live in a society where that places much more of the burden on the guy. I've asked some women out though.
Usually it's not something I ask. I meet someone, we hit it off, it's not the kind of thing where I'm going to ask them if they'd like to come back to my place (or wherever) and fuck my brains out, and we talk and we decide mutually that it's nice to talk and we'd like to do it again. I'm bad at it.
I have, on occasion, had someone, usually a guy, be interested in me in an obvious way, and they haven't had the guts to ask, so I've basically asked myself out for them. That's easier. It's not like I'm asking them out, I'm just letting them off the hook. Not much chance of rejection there either.
And yes, I have been rejected. Sometimes because they weren't interested, although I'd say, and I'm not tooting my own horn, that more often it's because they're seeing someone already. I've stayed friends with some of the latter, and even one or two of the former.
3. When you think about sex, what do you think about most?
Penetration. Yes, it's kind of standard, but when I think sex, I think penetration. Even with the ladies. My pussy likes to feel something inside it. Oddly enough, I usually masturbate without penetration.
Other than that, it's flavor-of-the-month fantasy stuff, probably.
4. Name two things that you appreciate about your current relationship.
The love. Definitely the love. And understanding. Plus Sveta is smoking hot, and while I'd still love her if she were disfigured in an accident or something, that she's smoking hot is a nice bonus.
5. Name three things that most excite your imagination.
Depends on the day. Also, I'm assuming we're talking about sexual imagination here. Sometimes it's fantasies which I would never make a reality but which are nice to think about. Sometimes it's thinking about someone. Sometimes I see a stranger and get wet like crazy. You never know with me. Smells too; I can smell wet pussy and get weak at the knees. But it's not always sexual smells. Once I smelled something which reminded me randomly of a sexual experience because that smell happened to be present. It hasn't happened since, so either the smell wasn't quite right or it was just a random thing.
Bonus: If you had three wishes that would come true, what would they be?
Okay, if I thought it would actually work, I'd wish for peace on Earth. But it wouldn't, and that's a boring answer, even if it's likely the one I might actually pick. Or I'd use my wishes to help other people. But selfishly:
1) Money. Sorry, I would wish for a lot of money. I'm assuming this isn't a monkey-paw situation where all the wishes backfire. I wouldn't wish to never want for money again, I would wish for so much money that I would never need money again, but not in those words. I could come up with a figure.
2) A fix for some medical issues, not least of which is my lady-parts problem. I suppose I could just use some of my massive amounts of money to seek a cure, but there might not be one. I'd burn a wish on that. I'd love to wish for my mental health to improve too, but I'm not sure whether that wouldn't be one of those wishes which is too complicated to be a wish. If I just wished to be happy, I could see that backfiring. I could wish for health in general, but again, either too complicated or would backfire.
3) The ability to grow a cock. I'd like to see what all the fuss is about. If I could swing it, I'd like to be come a chameleon and be able to swap sex organs or my entire body, maybe change up my appearance at will. Become a shape-shifter maybe. I don't know. I'd take one wish and wish for all the money because I could do a lot with all the money.
No, actually, I'd wish to be happy, and fuck it if it backfires. I'd wish for everyone to be happy. And then we'd all die when the pleasure centers of our brains exploded or something. I hate wishes. Just give me all the money and I'll use it to make people happy.
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
TMI Tuesday
From the archives. Also, I took out all the multiple choice options because most of them were the kind of multiple choice options you get when you ask fairly complicated questions and have to sum up all the answers in a series of multiple choice options, so I was going to ignore them anyway.
1. You want to make love, but your partner says they’re too tired:
I respect that. I might be a bit disappointed, but unless it's something which goes on for weeks, I get being tired. Sometimes I throw people a bone (so to speak) even though I'm tired, but that's mostly because sex for me right now is less about me than my partner's happiness. I'm not saying I never say no at all, but I will lie back and take one for the team on occasion. I did that even when sex was more about me.
If Sveta started saying she was too tired to fuck for days on end, we'd have to talk about it. I wouldn't assume she was cheating on me, but unless I know she's going to be tired all week because she's busy, going for too long rejecting me is probably a symptom of something other than being tired. I'm not saying "me" in this case because I think I'm irresistible, just in general, if your partner is turning you away for a long period, even when you've expressed interest over that period, there might be something else going on.
That said, Sveta, when she gets stressed, frequently wants more sex, not less, so if she were turning me away claiming to be stressed or tired for a long period, it would be even more noticeable. This has yet to happen. If it does, we'll talk about it.
2. Who is having better sex? You or your best friends?
Some of my friends, I have no idea. I don't talk bedroom stuff with every single person I know. I have some relatively conservative friends who would be shocked to learn I am in an open relationship, let alone any of the other stuff (they're not so conservative that they disapprove of me being bisexual, but not both sexes simultaneously). Others, I know I'm having better sex. I have friends who aren't getting any rather consistently, and I feel bad for them. And others... I think Kate might be having more sex than I do, but I'm not sure if it's better. Sveta and I are pretty great at sex. I have a friend or two who might not have as much sex as I do, but they have really great sex, so if it's quality over quantity, they might beat me.
3. How do you feel right after sex?
It depends on the sex. Sometimes, it's energizing. Sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes it's calming. Generally, if the sex was good, I'm a little worn out unless I wish there had been more of it. I'd say it's mostly calming, although it doesn't put me to sleep. It scratches an itch. It feels like right after I scratch an itch, I guess.
4. Which is better? Being a man or woman?
While I would swap bodies with a man if that were possible just to see what it was like, I'm perfectly happy being a woman. I'm a slightly masculine woman, I think, but I've never felt like I was meant to be anything else. No judgments on people who do, or who feel like they're neither. But I don't think there's a "better" here. They're different. And only having been a woman, I can't say anything qualitative about any other gender identity. I'm not hedging my bets, just saying that there are plenty of ways to be and I don't think any of them are better than any other, if that's the way you feel best.
In terms of the strict gender binary when applied to sex acts, I still have a hard time answering the question. I think being a lazy man is probably easier because you can get off pretty easily and you don't have to worry too much about it. But better? Lazy orgasms aren't better. If you're fully committed and trying to be a good lover, being a man has its upsides and downsides: yes, it's probably easier to be a man pleasure-wise, but in terms of giving your partner pleasure, women are hard to please. I can say this from experience. Ladies have an easier time of getting their male partners off, but a harder time getting themselves off, maybe? I don't know. Plus, that's assuming male-female fucking.
This is a dumb question. And I didn't even mention peeing standing up. I'm proud of myself.
5. You and your partner had sex that wasn’t that good. What do you do?
How "not good" are we talking? If it was just not as good as usual, that's still okay, and I don't think that there's much reason to get hung up on it. If I were worried about it, I might discuss it, not accusingly, just checking in, seeing what wasn't working, that sort of thing. If it were stellarly awful, a dark star of sex, then definitely we'd talk about it.
You've got to take into account the length of the relationship and the expected standard. If Sveta and I have an off day, that's no big thing. We're not likely to have done something wrong. It was just a sub-par performance, and that happens. Or we tried something we thought we'd like, but we didn't. No biggie. If the relationship is fairly new and we haven't had much sex, then an sub-par performance might be because we haven't really clicked yet, sex-wise. Maybe it was the first time we did anal and he was too gentle or too rough. Still got to talk about it, but again, it's not a long-running thing which had a hiccup, it's the start of what might be a trend, so nipping that trend in the bud is important.
Of, of course, the sex is the first time and it's terrible and either we like each other enough to acknowledge that and try better or we just don't see each other again. "Partner" is a tough word: it doesn't have to mean long-term.
Where it gets awkward (and this has happened to me more with relationships with guys, I'm afraid) is when it's terrible for me but good for them. It does happen with the ladies too. Usually it's because they're not experienced. I don't hate people who don't know what they're doing as long as they're looking to improve. So with first-time or recent lesbians, it can be bad because they've never had to work a girl's parts before. As long as they're trying and they're worth seeing again, I give pointers.
But sometimes (and again, sadly, the gentlemen feature here more than the ladies) it's bad for me because it was all about them, they got off and they weren't interested in getting me off at all. And that's not really "wasn't that good." That's selfish fucking. If they tried and failed, that's one thing, but if they didn't try, then unless I've got some good reason to keep them around, I don't need that in my life. I'm quite giving, particularly of late, so there's really no excuse for selfish sex. I will make sure my partner gets off.
If, on the other hand, I'm doing a bad job, I want to know about it. That does happen too. I've been with a few women who were looking for something totally different from me than I gave them, and they were usually kind enough to tell me that so I didn't keep doing things they didn't care for. With guys, there are plenty of times when I honestly don't know whether I was bad for them. They didn't tell me, either because they were nervous or jerks or whatever, and so I skated through the session thinking I was making them happy when I might not have been. I haven't gotten too many complaints from guys, and usually when I do it's just that it's a particularly thing I'm doing that they don't like, which I'm happy to change.
5. What advice do you wish you had when you started having sex?
All the options on this one were silly: I either had the advice or it's shit advice. I guess maybe I should have known that orgasms weren't so important. I was never taught that they were, understand, but I put a lot of stock in them growing up, both my own and others. As I've "matured" I think I've come to realize that good sex doesn't have to be orgasm after orgasm. Yes, for me, sometimes I don't cum at all but I can still enjoy it, and that's true for other ladies as well. But also for gentlemen. I still think it's a bad time if I can't get a guy off at least once (unless he, like me, has something preventing orgasms completely) but I care less about guys being able to cum time after time. I love it when I get it, but if I get one, with a good solid session of enjoyment on both our parts, that's okay too. With women, that's very true: I used to pride myself in getting women off, but now I don't just chase the O. Sometimes that's what you do, but sometimes it's better to fuck without worrying about it, just enjoying each other, and if no one gets off, it's still fine and it's still sex and it's still fun.
Bonus: What will your sex life be like when you’re 70 years old?
If I can still get people to fuck me when I'm 70, I will be fucking like crazy. I'm told that the senior population has way more sex that we youngsters would like to imagine, and I'm going to be driving those numbers up if anyone will have me. I confess that it will probably be loaded more on the male side of the scale because I just don't find older women as attractive as older men, but if younger women want me, they can have me. And honestly I'll probably be fine with older women too. I'm going to be a scandal when I'm old.
1. You want to make love, but your partner says they’re too tired:
I respect that. I might be a bit disappointed, but unless it's something which goes on for weeks, I get being tired. Sometimes I throw people a bone (so to speak) even though I'm tired, but that's mostly because sex for me right now is less about me than my partner's happiness. I'm not saying I never say no at all, but I will lie back and take one for the team on occasion. I did that even when sex was more about me.
If Sveta started saying she was too tired to fuck for days on end, we'd have to talk about it. I wouldn't assume she was cheating on me, but unless I know she's going to be tired all week because she's busy, going for too long rejecting me is probably a symptom of something other than being tired. I'm not saying "me" in this case because I think I'm irresistible, just in general, if your partner is turning you away for a long period, even when you've expressed interest over that period, there might be something else going on.
That said, Sveta, when she gets stressed, frequently wants more sex, not less, so if she were turning me away claiming to be stressed or tired for a long period, it would be even more noticeable. This has yet to happen. If it does, we'll talk about it.
2. Who is having better sex? You or your best friends?
Some of my friends, I have no idea. I don't talk bedroom stuff with every single person I know. I have some relatively conservative friends who would be shocked to learn I am in an open relationship, let alone any of the other stuff (they're not so conservative that they disapprove of me being bisexual, but not both sexes simultaneously). Others, I know I'm having better sex. I have friends who aren't getting any rather consistently, and I feel bad for them. And others... I think Kate might be having more sex than I do, but I'm not sure if it's better. Sveta and I are pretty great at sex. I have a friend or two who might not have as much sex as I do, but they have really great sex, so if it's quality over quantity, they might beat me.
3. How do you feel right after sex?
It depends on the sex. Sometimes, it's energizing. Sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes it's calming. Generally, if the sex was good, I'm a little worn out unless I wish there had been more of it. I'd say it's mostly calming, although it doesn't put me to sleep. It scratches an itch. It feels like right after I scratch an itch, I guess.
4. Which is better? Being a man or woman?
While I would swap bodies with a man if that were possible just to see what it was like, I'm perfectly happy being a woman. I'm a slightly masculine woman, I think, but I've never felt like I was meant to be anything else. No judgments on people who do, or who feel like they're neither. But I don't think there's a "better" here. They're different. And only having been a woman, I can't say anything qualitative about any other gender identity. I'm not hedging my bets, just saying that there are plenty of ways to be and I don't think any of them are better than any other, if that's the way you feel best.
In terms of the strict gender binary when applied to sex acts, I still have a hard time answering the question. I think being a lazy man is probably easier because you can get off pretty easily and you don't have to worry too much about it. But better? Lazy orgasms aren't better. If you're fully committed and trying to be a good lover, being a man has its upsides and downsides: yes, it's probably easier to be a man pleasure-wise, but in terms of giving your partner pleasure, women are hard to please. I can say this from experience. Ladies have an easier time of getting their male partners off, but a harder time getting themselves off, maybe? I don't know. Plus, that's assuming male-female fucking.
This is a dumb question. And I didn't even mention peeing standing up. I'm proud of myself.
5. You and your partner had sex that wasn’t that good. What do you do?
How "not good" are we talking? If it was just not as good as usual, that's still okay, and I don't think that there's much reason to get hung up on it. If I were worried about it, I might discuss it, not accusingly, just checking in, seeing what wasn't working, that sort of thing. If it were stellarly awful, a dark star of sex, then definitely we'd talk about it.
You've got to take into account the length of the relationship and the expected standard. If Sveta and I have an off day, that's no big thing. We're not likely to have done something wrong. It was just a sub-par performance, and that happens. Or we tried something we thought we'd like, but we didn't. No biggie. If the relationship is fairly new and we haven't had much sex, then an sub-par performance might be because we haven't really clicked yet, sex-wise. Maybe it was the first time we did anal and he was too gentle or too rough. Still got to talk about it, but again, it's not a long-running thing which had a hiccup, it's the start of what might be a trend, so nipping that trend in the bud is important.
Of, of course, the sex is the first time and it's terrible and either we like each other enough to acknowledge that and try better or we just don't see each other again. "Partner" is a tough word: it doesn't have to mean long-term.
Where it gets awkward (and this has happened to me more with relationships with guys, I'm afraid) is when it's terrible for me but good for them. It does happen with the ladies too. Usually it's because they're not experienced. I don't hate people who don't know what they're doing as long as they're looking to improve. So with first-time or recent lesbians, it can be bad because they've never had to work a girl's parts before. As long as they're trying and they're worth seeing again, I give pointers.
But sometimes (and again, sadly, the gentlemen feature here more than the ladies) it's bad for me because it was all about them, they got off and they weren't interested in getting me off at all. And that's not really "wasn't that good." That's selfish fucking. If they tried and failed, that's one thing, but if they didn't try, then unless I've got some good reason to keep them around, I don't need that in my life. I'm quite giving, particularly of late, so there's really no excuse for selfish sex. I will make sure my partner gets off.
If, on the other hand, I'm doing a bad job, I want to know about it. That does happen too. I've been with a few women who were looking for something totally different from me than I gave them, and they were usually kind enough to tell me that so I didn't keep doing things they didn't care for. With guys, there are plenty of times when I honestly don't know whether I was bad for them. They didn't tell me, either because they were nervous or jerks or whatever, and so I skated through the session thinking I was making them happy when I might not have been. I haven't gotten too many complaints from guys, and usually when I do it's just that it's a particularly thing I'm doing that they don't like, which I'm happy to change.
5. What advice do you wish you had when you started having sex?
All the options on this one were silly: I either had the advice or it's shit advice. I guess maybe I should have known that orgasms weren't so important. I was never taught that they were, understand, but I put a lot of stock in them growing up, both my own and others. As I've "matured" I think I've come to realize that good sex doesn't have to be orgasm after orgasm. Yes, for me, sometimes I don't cum at all but I can still enjoy it, and that's true for other ladies as well. But also for gentlemen. I still think it's a bad time if I can't get a guy off at least once (unless he, like me, has something preventing orgasms completely) but I care less about guys being able to cum time after time. I love it when I get it, but if I get one, with a good solid session of enjoyment on both our parts, that's okay too. With women, that's very true: I used to pride myself in getting women off, but now I don't just chase the O. Sometimes that's what you do, but sometimes it's better to fuck without worrying about it, just enjoying each other, and if no one gets off, it's still fine and it's still sex and it's still fun.
Bonus: What will your sex life be like when you’re 70 years old?
If I can still get people to fuck me when I'm 70, I will be fucking like crazy. I'm told that the senior population has way more sex that we youngsters would like to imagine, and I'm going to be driving those numbers up if anyone will have me. I confess that it will probably be loaded more on the male side of the scale because I just don't find older women as attractive as older men, but if younger women want me, they can have me. And honestly I'll probably be fine with older women too. I'm going to be a scandal when I'm old.
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