Archives For Sex

I woke up with my ass covered in a sunset of bruises, ranging from angry red to purpley-blue. My neck was sore and my scalp tender from having fistfuls of my hair pulled. My lips felt swollen and torn and my throat was streaked with finger marks.

It had been a fantastic night.

 

I like rough sex. I’ve been a pain slut for as long as I can remember, all the way back to college when my then-boyfriend used to tie me up and whack me with a hairbrush.

I need a partner who is dominant to my submissive sexual nature. I’m not into it as a lifestyle; it’s just a kink I like in bed. I’m not even sure how kinky it is, given some of the shit I’ve stumbled on while searching tumblr for cupcake recipes in the wee hours of the night.

I also love porn. In the pre-Internet 1990’s, the Ex and I had to drive into the Bronx like degenerates to buy our porn from sketchy porn purveyors. We had a sizable collection. My personal favorite was a 19-tape cheesy fake-lesbian series called “Where the Boys Aren’t.”

I have never publicly expressed my predilection for being sexually submissive, and I have only touched on my fondness for porn, because I often questioned my own desires. I was afraid that I was colluding with misogynists to objectify and dehumanize women.

Is my love for porn enabling an industry that is incompatible with feminism? An industry that profits from debasing women, forcing them to do things they would never otherwise do? I have read some chilling accounts of former porn stars who claim just that.

Even now, with this article – am I writing from a place of privilege about how I can ‘choose’ to be oppressed, when so many women face that in real-world scenarios, sexual and otherwise?

Does BDSM and porn contribute to the inequity of women?

I think not.

Women everywhere get off on the power play that sexual dominance and submission represents. Many may feel guilty about admitting it, but it’s pervasive. Long before ‘Fifty Shades of Gray’ (which isn’t even a true BDSM story, but seems to have been mistaken for one), BDSM culture has been eagerly consumed in film, literature and music. Sexual power-play tropes were packaged in Harlequin romance novels your mom bought at the supermarket decades ago. #YourMom #ThatsRightYourMom #DealWithIt

And why do you think the “smokey eye” look is considered to be so sexy? It looks messy, smudgy; reminiscent of having been up to naughty things, like having a dick smeared all over your face.

 

Sweet tender lovemaking doesn’t do it for me, never has.

I dated a man I referred to as ‘The Cop’ on social media. He was a great guy; in fact, he was a favorite among my Facebook friends to the point where a gaggle of them were planning our wedding (???). When the relationship ended, I attributed it to our vastly different schedules, but in truth, we were sexually incompatible. He was passionate, but always tender and gentle, and when I wanted him to spank me, he said he was too much of a pussy protector to ‘hurt’ me. He didn’t care for my filthy language in bed, either.

Every time we were together, I left with my stomach knotted in sexual tension. I was craving creamy chocolate mousse cake and being fed a dry Triscuit. I would leave him and end up sexting with an online friend I know affectionately as “Hot Buttered Sock Puppet.”

To be clear: the degradation and debasement of women is not a turn on for me. I’m picky about what sites I go to. I look for sex positive behavior where two (or more) people are together as equals. I object to women being used as demeaned receptacles; I prefer porn where her pleasure is every bit as important as his. Some people refer to this as “feminist” porn. I only know that if I am watching rough sex on-screen, I have to know that it’s consensual.

 

In light of the recent election, I am not being extremist when I say I fear a bleak future for women, one in which we have been stripped of all of our most basic rights. I believe there has never been a time when it is more important for women, for people, to stand together. I have become almost paralyzed, to the point of not wanting to write.

I’ve finally come out the other side of this. My declaration of feminism is more important that it’s ever been. To that end, I refuse to hide my brand of sexuality. I am who I am, and I like what I like. And I am a feminist.

I am wholly self sufficient. I have not now, nor have I ever been, financially dependent on a man. I have been supporting my child since he was born. I raise him without gender stereotypes. I’m his mom, and I’M the one who taught him to ride a bike, play basketball, throw a punch. I believe in the power of women to create world change. I champion women emotionally and artistically and in every way I can. I do not view other women as competition, but as comrades.

I know that there will be anti-porn feminists who disagree, who purport to speak for women, but I don’t fall within their victim narrative. The fact that I love porn, and that I enjoy being sexually submissive, is not a backtrack from equality. As a rape survivor I can state unequivocally that consensual sexual fantasies are not rape. They are FANTASIES, which by definition, makes them NOT REAL.

My sexuality is not a brochure for my political views: it’s how I fuck. It doesn’t model my values; it just gets me off, and it gets me off no where other than the bedroom.

 

Are you kinky? Fess up!
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

(I’ve gotten a bunch of emails from people wondering how I am. I’m GREAT! I will try not to disappear again! I’m working on several writing projects, some music projects, and busy with several life changes but I don’t want to stop blogging. I love you guys!)

The Phone Call

September 23, 2016 — 69 Comments

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“So, basically you just said anything so you could fuck me, is that it?”

He answered without hesitation.

“Yes. Of course!”

His blunt honesty dumbfounded me momentarily, the way an oncoming headlight blinds you. Disoriented by his unabashed admission, I blurted out a rhetorical, “But why?”

“Why do you think?” he said. “Because that’s what men DO. We tell you what we want to hear so we can have sex with you.”

I wanted this to not be true, despite the fact that I believed it was. I should have hung up on him right then. But now I felt like I had stumbled upon a tunnel into a secret room where All The Questions would finally be answered truthfully. And I am a truth seeker.

“All men, all the time? Or just you, because seriously, you were relentless!”

“Oh, you were definitely work,” he said, “but I knew if I kept feeding you what you wanted to hear, I’d get you eventually. But yeah, all men, all the time. Married, single, whatever. We say what we have to say so we can get laid. It doesn’t have to be true. It just has to work.”

I needed air.

I cracked my car window open and the cry of cicadas suddenly filled my car in surround-sound. They were louder than usual, and harsher, as if their haunting vibrato was the audio manifestation of my inner despair.

I was in my car driving home from open school night when I had called him to tell him that no, we weren’t going to be seeing each other anymore and that I didn’t like the way his behavior had changed. That he had gone from months of constant dogged attention to a more disinterested and sporadic communication.

After we had sex, that is.

Now I was pulled over on an unknown street, my car idling in the dark. Up ahead, I could see the lights of the stores still open on Route 9, and I fought the intense urge to drive to a nearby 7-Eleven and buy cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked in years, but suddenly I really, really needed one.

“So that whole first conversation we had, when we were on the phone for hours – was everything you said designed to get in my pants? I wasn’t even going to meet you, but you convinced me to have dinner with you that first night with all the shit you laid on me, about how women are emotional and sensitive and men need to be strong and supportive for them.”

“Yep. I knew that’s what you wanted to hear, so I said it. We had a great dinner didn’t we? We must have, because look where it led. I thought of it as an investment.”

“Dude, that is fucking cold! I mean, I’m jaded as fuck, but really?”

“Really.”

Fuck cigarettes. I needed tequila and opiates.

I said to him, “I don’t even want a relationship! Not a romantic relationship, but just friendship. So when I told you that I couldn’t commit to a relationship, but that I did want a man who would be there for me as a friend, you said you wanted to be that man just to fuck me?”

“Yep!” He laughed. “Why does this surprise you?’

I hated the way he sounded. Cold. Detached. The cruelty tingeing his voice gave him a hardness that didn’t even sound like the man I had spent time with.

“It doesn’t surprise me, ” I answered. “It’s just disappointing. Despite the fact that I think most people suck, I still want to believe that there might be a few decent human beings left. But this is exactly why I don’t get involved. This.”

“I thought you said you wanted to have this discussion in person,” he said. “Why don’t you come over?”

“Come over??!” I was aghast at his inane suggestion. “Because my kid is waiting for me at home, and also, I’d punch you in your face now if I came over!”

He chuckled. “I doubt that. How tall are you? I’m 6’4.”

“Are you drunk? You’re just shy of six feet! What, did you suddenly grow four-”

I stopped.
“Who is this??” I demanded.

“This is Michael. Who is this?”

I looked down at my phone.

I had dialed the wrong number.

 

Did you ever dial a wrong number and have a wake-up call?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

 

Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, so I can have friends without leaving the house. For real, I am NOT leaving my house!

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“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing?”

I was trying to manuever us into the Cat position, and he was mystified.

Apparently, all the *other* women he’d been with had stupendous, earth-shaking orgasms just from the insertion of his Mighty Mighty Penis. And while this is certainly possible for me, why wouldn’t I want to have a different kind of orgasm, or three or seven?

 

Women don’t have sex to have orgasms. Unlike men, we don’t need that climax to feel complete. We have sex for all the other amazing feelings it elicits, but achieving orgasm is not always the be-all and end-all.

 

EXCEPT ME.

HELL YES, I WANT TO HAVE AN ORGASM AND IF I DON’T,  I GET PISSED OFF!

All these other spine tingling feelings are, well, spine tingling, but if I don’t climax, my vagina turns into a wildebeest and howls at the moon.

 

The reason why so many men are inept when it comes to making a woman climax is that too many women just fake it.

I have no idea why. That’s like going into a restaurant, ordering a fabulous meal, and then walking out, rubbing your stomach and saying,  “Wow, that sure was delicious,” and you didn’t eat anything.

Many women don’t want to explain to their partners what they need to have an orgasm. Maybe they feel like they need to present their orgasm to a man as proof of his prowess, to finesse his dainty ego. That’s ridiculous. Women are all so different, a good lover understands there will be a learning curve involved.

If a man can’t handle being told what gets you off, he’s not the right person to be having sex with. Period, end of story. Buh bye.

Some women start to feel bad if it’s taking too long. Don’t. Are you double parked? There is no “too long.” This isn’t a task that needs to be rushed through, like turning all the hangers in your closet in the same direction.

(Okay, if you have little kids, all bets are off. Then it’s every man/woman for himself until someone walks in. In this situation, I found that wedging a Hitachi Magic Wand in between the Ex and me sped up the whole orgasm process. It was magic, aside from my kid wondering why we were using a chainsaw in the house.)

 

We are all so different, not just in terms of sexual preference, but anatomically. Some women really have difficulty reaching climaxes through intercourse alone, which may be because their G-spots are small or more difficult to locate. Some women just prefer clitoral orgasms, whether they know where their G-spot is or not.

Tomato, To-mah-to. Whatever kind of orgasm it is, it’s irrelevant as long as it makes your whole body shake and your toes curl.

Also, the female hormones released in middle age (40 plus) increase a woman’s sex drive. No, this is not an urban myth. Yes, we get more sexual and orgasmic as we get older. It’s a beautiful thing. Vaginal orgasms only became an item on my sexual menu after I hit 40.

 

Men. Please know how to kiss. If you attempt to unhinge your jaw while flopping your tongue down my esophagus like a fish out of water, it’s not a good sign that you are responsive to my needs. I love the sounds of sex, but not the wet “flpflpflpflpflpflp” sound of your tongue slapping against the roof of my mouth.

If you like music to set a mood, then find something that’s going to play awhile without interruption. Never leave an iPod on shuffle. Woman don’t get quite as excited about the Pokemon theme song as you might imagine.

And we would prefer you not have a heart attack because you’re trying to keep up to “Trapped Under Ice” by Metallica. It’s hella awkward if you die on top of us.

Women’s lady parts are nature’s Rubik Cube. You’re going to have to invest a little time into figuring out what works for each woman. This is where the whole “faking it” thing is the Destroyer of Climaxes.

Men, be willing to try anything. There’s a whole world of sexual positions. Change it up. Be adventurous. Try the Flaming Amazon (set her pubes on fire), the Blanche Devereaux, (sex while watching a Golden Girls Marathon), the Texas Rodeo (mount her from behind like a wrestling hold, whisper in her ear, “this is how your sister likes it,” then try to stay on for 8 seconds.)

If you’re telling a man what you like, and he says, “It’s not sexy when women talk in bed,” find a way to get out of their, fast. Fake your own death if you have to. This is the same man who will squeeze your tits like a pair of bike horns. He doesn’t want you to explain anything. He thinks he can “read your signals” because you yelped and jerked out of his vicelike grip while he gave your breasts one-handed Indian burns.

 

Women of Earth, please stop faking it. If you fake your orgasms, he’s never going to learn anything. You are ruining him for all the women who come (or don’t) after you.

And men –  if your woman tells you, “The only way I can climax is for you to drive me to New York, escort me to the top of the Empire State Building and hum the Star Wars theme while you play with my butt,” your immediate response should be, “Let me get my keys.”

Wasn’t that a movie? “Sleepless In an Imperial Starship,” starring Tom Hanks?

 

Have you ever faked it, or been with someone who did? WHY??? 
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

 

Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter  so I can have friends without leaving the house. 

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The Cute Guy’s ex girlfriend is making my life miserable. Why can’t we all just have sex and be one big happy polyamorous family?

I’m willing to overlook the fact that she looks like a middle-aged Snooki. She’ll be fine once I get her out of that desperate MILF outfit and hose her down.

 

Over the summer, CG wanted to spend time with me more regularly than I was comfortable with. At the same time, his ex girlfriend found out through the grapevine that we were seeing each other.

Old Snooki contacted him, flipping out that he had moved on. He was craving more company. In a dysfunctional cloud of jealousy and unresolved feelings,they began seeing one another again.

I really didn’t care. He’s a grown-ass man. He can do what he wants, as long as I don’t catch Herpes Simplex 2 from him. Then we would have a come-to-jesus moment which involved him strapped to a chair with hot sauce on his privates while Wonderwall played on bagpipes.

 

The problem is, Old Snooki does NOT want him seeing me. She’s making his life miserable over it.

He has feelings for her. He tells me “it’s complicated.”

 

I did stop seeing him at one point, to avoid the drama. But we ended up hanging out again because he has a huge penis we have fantastic chemistry.

He’s kind of perfect. He adds pizzazz to the neighborhood when he roars up to my driveway on his motorcycle. He’s super funny. He’s one of the few people who doesn’t exhaust me, even though our dates stretch into dawn. It’s probably because he’s your basic good dumb fuck  not into a lot of in-depth conversation.

 

But he COMPLAINS to ME about how crazy she is.

I’ve been called that by men, so I don’t usually take it too seriously. There’s “leaves nasty messages” crazy, and then there’s “slashes your tires and you end up in jail” crazy.

“Crazy” is something a man labels you after they’ve done shit so heinous that you find yourself at your wit’s end and driven to things like trying to embarrass them in the comment section of their blog, thus lending credibility to their claim.
oopsie. That’s another blog post.

All women are a little crazy. And crazy has its upside. Would I be proposing threesomes if I was normal?

 

Hot chicks are often crazy. If you meet a smoking hot, totally chill woman, she’s a transvestite.

But on the Crazy Matrix, Old Snooki is in the Danger Zone. That’s above the Red Line Sector which contains strippers, redheads, or anyone named Tiffany.

She keeps her hand on his leg to monitor whenever his phone goes off. When he’s with me, he’s nervous that he’ll go home to find her in his driveway. Waiting to smell him.

 

I proposed to CG that we have a threesome. She’s not my type but I’ll take one for the team.

She adamantly refuses.

I understand she’s emotionally attached, but does that have to mean exclusivity? I was in love with my husband, and we still occasionally opened Door Number Three. We even had a steady girlfriend for a while; a young woman we referred to as “Bus Girl” because she used to take the bus to where we live.

Bus Girl was an ex-gymnast, capable of Cirque du Soleil worthy feats of sexual prowess. She was 15 years younger than me, and fucked like a porno Energizer Bunny.

 

Things would be so EASY if Old Snooki just accepted me. The Cute Guy is too stressed over this, and it’s a buzz kill. I can’t continue to see him.

 

The only problem is, now I have visions of a threesome with him in my head.

As an alternative, I spoke to my bestie about him. Not my college or NY bestie. Another bestie. She’s a hot brunette with a terrific giggle and an ass like J Lo. We can call her “Troublemaker” because she is.

Troublemaker doesn’t live near me, but she’s planning to visit, now that I showed her CG’s picture.

Get your minds out of the gutter! I showed her his enormous penis.

 

Women. Men are not biologically programmed for monogamy. Stone Age men, unshackled by stifling societal mores, grabbed multiple cave ladies by the hair and hauled them back to the cave for hot Troglodyte sex.

It takes enormous effort for a man to be faithful. Their penises have a mind of their own. Boasting this protuberance is like owning an extra fridge just to stock beer in. If it’s there, you’re always waiting for a party to break out.

Letting them indulge in a little extracurricular activity sanctioned by you is a great way to let them know you appreciate their efforts.

And If you and your man have completely incompatible sex drives, with his being really high and yours much lower, why not invite another woman in the bedroom and let her play jiffy stiffy? It’s one less thing you have to do around the house, right?

There are so many reasons to indulge in threesomes, not the least of which is (as in the case of Bus Girl) designating the third-party to be the one to fetch drinks and snacks when you don’t feel like getting out of bed.

I could have used another woman for backup during my third trimester, when I was 11 months pregnant and still blowing my husband in restaurant bathrooms. In between Braxton Hicks contractions.

 

The threesome arrangement is not just for your man. Being with another woman is one of life’s great pleasures, ranking up there with shoe shopping and perfectly hot wiring a car.

If you’re daunted by the idea of eating a fur burger, you can keep everything above the waist. You think I’m gonna lick Old Snooki’s snatch? Not on your life. There’s no telling what I’ll find up there. If I put my ear to it like a seashell, her pussy will echo with the cries of a thousand desperate men.

 

Some men are completely disinterested in sex outside of their relationship. This is a unicorn. If you find a unicorn, capture it safely. Modern science would like to study and possibly replicate it.

 

If you do consider adding a woman to your relationship, there’s actually an app to help you find her.

Goddamn, I love technology.

Would you ever have a threesome? What if she had cool clothes you could borrow?
Have you had one? Fess up! 
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter so I can have friends without leaving the house.

Punk Rock MILF

July 14, 2015 — 112 Comments

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He said, “Oh, my wife and I have very generic sex. She doesn’t really have any deep-seated issues.”

The implication being that I’m uninhibited and adventurous in bed because I’m meschugena (that’s street Jew for crazy bitch.)

I’m not buying that. If your wife is vanilla, don’t attribute it to her clean bill of mental health. She’s just a starfish fuck.

 

Psychological baggage may prevent women from getting close to men, or make them difficult and needy. It doesn’t make you a hot scromp.

 

I’m the first one to admit I have raving daddy issues. But it’s not like I’m a cliched “daddy issues girl” who ended up on a stripper pole or addicted to drugs. 

 

Woopsie.

 

At any rate, everyone has baggage. Here’s to life in all its fucked up glory. I still maintain that emotional issues won’t turn you into a nymphomaniac with lascivious tastes in bed. That’s just blind luck.

 

I recently stumbled across a Subreddit called Dead Bedrooms.

*Please note: Do not surf Reddit. You will see things you cannot unsee. There isn’t enough eye bleach in the world to cleanse what I have seen, while searching for cupcake recipes in the wee hours of the dark and lonely night.

Apparently, this is a Thing – it’s when a couple, married or otherwise, doesn’t have sex because one of them is LL (low libido). And it’s not always the woman, although that is the more common scenario.

I’m in groups where married woman discuss sex as if it’s an unpleasant chore. Particularly stay-at-home moms, who have to spend a day taking care of squalling brats. Nothing drains a libido faster than exhaustion accompanied by puke, poop, and spit up. It’s ironic that the ultimate expression of womanhood, being a mother, can leave one feeling  sexless and decidedly unfeminine.

 

I usually keep quiet during these discussions, unless blow jobs are being discussed. I’m enthusiastically pro-blow and try to put in a good word for checking the mic ever since a friends marriage broke up, over blow jobs.

But I don’t join in the I-hate-having-to-fuck my-husband discussions, because I don’t want to disagree and feel like I’m gloating.

I should preface this by saying that I have always had a very strong libido. Even as a kid. I used to watch Star Trek and get little twinges over Mr. Spock (don’t you dare judge me and RIP Leonard Nimoy).  And later, over Charlie’s Angels – but that’s a whole other story.

I grew up in the New York City projects and had the hots for The Jackson Five. All of them. Individually, not some jungle-fever gang bang.

Before you send a marching band to my house to play “Me So Horny” this has not always been positive. There’s such a thing as incompatible sex drives. A relationship I had in my 20’s, the love of my life, the “one who got away” – died of sexual incompatibility.

If I’m in a relationship, I’m an “every day” girl. This man was more of the “once or twice a week” persuasion.  It was a source of constant frustration to me, and not just sexual. It’s emotionally frustrating to walk around all the time throbbing at the heart and the pussy.

I tried everything. I fed him tiger penis soup from China and horny goat weed from India. I dressed as Leela from Futurama.

I went unfucked.

While choosing an island in the Caribbean for our vacation, I said, “I really don’t care where we go. As long as we can have sex five times a day.”

He was visibly horrified.

We broke up soon after that.

 

I had a really strong sex life with my Ex, which is probably why he still stalks me.

We never had that post-baby “don’t touch me” thing happen. We had plenty of sex with that little bassinet right in our bedroom. When my doctor told us to wait six weeks after my son was born to have sex, my Ex said, “Wait a minute. Is that for anal, too?”

Even 14 years into our relationship our sex life really never dwindled or got stale. I don’t know exactly what to attribute that to. I wish I did, and could articulate it to couples who are experiencing Dead Bedroom.

I am adventurous, energetic and kinky as hell, but not because of my “deep seated issues.” Maybe it’s because I’m from New York, and have been exposed to a veritable cornucopia of kinky fuckery? Or because I started exploring my sexuality in college, in a hippie-ish, upstate New York “land that time forgot”? Is it because I grew up with five brothers, and there was so much sperm flung around our apartment it was like living in the Monkey House at the Bronx Zoo?

 

Sex is one of the most fun activities a couple can engage in. It costs nothing. It’s fantastic cardio. The hormones released are natural mood enhancers. Certain positions, like reverse cowgirl, are great for working out your hamstrings and quads.  Reverse cowgirl is also a fabulous position for hitting a woman’s G-spot.

Yes, a G-spot exists. We’re not talking Big Foot or Chupacabra. Although it is pretty fucked up that something which feels that amazing you have to go on a mystical quest to find, whereas everything you need to make a man orgasm is just protruding out there, waggling at you.

 

Women who think having sex with their husbands is like facing a long layover at a crowded airport during a snowstorm, think again.

 

Women are complicated creatures who need to feel safe, protected, and taken care of.  Men are generally far less complicated. They need to be fed and fucked. If you want him attending to your needs, attend to his.

Sex is a powerful stress reliever. It releases calming hormones in the brain, which is balm for the body. Sex correlates to healing faster, getting sick less often and living longer. A panacea for so much of what ails us- automatically installed in our own bodies!

It feels good. Stop denying yourself one of the worlds’ greatest pleasures. Most men are more than happy to give a woman an orgasm. A man I was involved with recently was a sexual gem, more invested in making me have an orgasm than in having one himself. Do both of you a favor, and accept this graciously, and repeatedly.

Reclaim your femininity; your essence. Particularly if you’re a woman who spends her day cleaning up poo and puke and spit and All The Things. You need to remember that you’re a goddess. There’s nothing more restorative than finding yourself through the touch of another.

 

I’m not some kind of sexual superstar. I just feel empowered because I was lucky enough to be given a life to live and a body that functions perfectly.

The physical pleasure of sex, the freedom of it, connects two human beings in a way that lets them endure the pains and losses of being human. It’s a life affirming expression of joy and trust.

 

 

The title of this post is brought to you courtesy of my beautiful Sisterwife Mandi, who referred to me in a conversation as “Punk MILF.”

Mandi is the author of Dear Stephanie, an intense, sizzling, roller coaster of a read. Because I love you all, and because

I’m a proud Book Pimp,

,CERTIFIED BOOK PIMP (1)

please leave a comment. We’ll do a drawing and one of you will win a copy!

 

 

Is your sex drive compatible with that of your Significant Other? 
Have you ever heard of Dead Bedroom? How about Tiger Penis Soup? 
Talk to me. I’m listening.